Book 3 - The White Rose by Glen Cook Page B

a Rebel and as Taken. She won most of the most famous
battles of the eastern war.
    Reason reasserted itself but did little to brighten tomorrow.
Once I thought, I reached the inescapeable conclusion that Whisper
knows the Plain too well. Might even have allies out here.
    Darling touched my shoulder. That was more calming than any
words from friends. Her confidence is contagious. She signed,
“Now we know,” and smiled.
    Still, time has become a hanging hammer about to fall. The long
wait for the comet has been rendered irrelevant. We have to survive
right now. Trying for a bright side, I said, “The
Limper’s true name is somewhere in my document
collection.”
    But that recalled my problem. “Darling, the specific
document I want is not there.”
    She raised an eyebrow. Unable to speak, she has developed one of
the most expressive faces I’ve ever seen.
    “We have to have a sit-down. When you have time. To go
over exactly what happened to those papers while Raven had them.
Some are missing. They were there when I turned them over to
Soulcatcher. They were there when I got them back from her. I am
sure they were there when Raven took them. What happened to them
later?”
    “Tonight,” she signed. “I will make
time.” She seemed distracted suddenly. Because I mentioned
Raven? He meant a lot to her, but you’d think the edge would
be off by now. Unless there was more to the story than I knew. And
that was plenty possible. I really have no idea what their
relationship became in the years after Raven left the Company. His
death certainly bothers her still. Because it was so pointless. I
mean, after surviving everything the shadow threw his way, he
drowned in a public bath.
    The Lieutenant says there are nights she cries herself to sleep.
He does not know why, but he suspects Raven is at the root.
    I have asked her about those years when they were on their own,
but she will not tell the tale. The emotional impression I get is
one of sorrow and grave disappointment.
    She pushed her troubles away now, turned to Tracker and his
mutt. Behind them, the men Elmo caught on the bluff squirmed. Their
turn was coming. They knew the reputation of the Black Company.
    But we did not get to them. Nor even to Tracker and Toadkiller
Dog. For the watch above shrieked another alert.
    This was getting tiresome.
    The rider crossed the stream as I entered the coral. Water
splashed. His mount staggered. It was covered with foam. Never
again would it run well. It hurt me to see an animal so broken. But
its rider had cause.
    Two Taken darted about just beyond the bound of the null. One
flung a violet bolt. It perished long before it reached us. One-Eye
cackled and raised a middle finger. “Always wanted to do
that.”
    “Oh, wonder of wonders,” Goblin squeaked, looking
the other way. A number of mantas, big blue-blacks, soared off the
rosy bluffs, caught updrafts. Must have been a dozen, though they
were hard to count, maneuvering as they did to avoid stealing one
another’s wind. These were giants of their kind. Their wings
spanned almost a hundred feet. When they were high enough, they
dove at the Taken in pairs.
    The rider halted, fell. He had an arrow in his back. He remained
conscious just long enough to gasp, “Tokens!”
    The first manta pair, seeming to move with slow stately grace,
though actually they streaked ten times faster than a man can run,
ripped past the nearer Taken just inside Darling’s null. Each
loosed a brilliant lightning bolt. Lightning could speed where
Taken witchery would not survive.
    One bolt hit. Taken and carpet reeled, glowed briefly. Smoke
appeared. The carpet twisted and spun earthward. We sent up a
ragged cheer.
    The Taken regained control, rose clumsily, drifted away.
    I knelt by the messenger. He was little more than a boy. He was
alive. He had a chance if I got to work. “A little help here!
One-Eye.”
    Manta pairs ripped along the boundary of the null, blasting away
at the second Taken. This