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Dreams of Steel

The Sixth novel of The Black Company

The Books of the South 02

By Glen Cook

Copyright © Glen Cook 1990

Cover art by Keith Berdak

First Printing: April, 1990

This ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man Jan, 2011

Croaker Has Fallen

and, following the Company's disastrous defeat at Dejagore, Lady is one of the few survivors -- determined to avenge the Company and herself against the Shadowmasters, no matter what the cost.

But in assembling a new fighting force from the dregs and rabble of Taglios, she finds herself offered help by a mysterious, ancient cult of murder -- competent, reliable, and apparently committed to her goals.

Meanwhile, far away, Shadowmasters conspire against one another and the world, weaving dark spells that reach into the heart of Taglios. And in a hidden grove, a familiar figure slowly awakens to find himself the captive of an animated, headless corpse.

Mercilessly cutting through Taglian intrigues, Lady appears to be growing stronger every day. All that disturbs her are the dreams which afflict her by night. Dreams of carnage,of destruction, of universal death. Unceasing -- Dreams Of Steel.

For Keith, because I like his style

Chapter One

Chapter One

Many months have passed. Much has happened and much has slipped from my memory. Insignificant details have stuck with me while important things have gotten away. Some things I know only from third parties and more I can only guess. How often have my witnesses perjured themselves?

It did not occur to me, till this time of enforced inactivity befell me, that an important tradition was being overlooked, that no one was recording the deeds of the Company. I dithered then. It seemed a presumption for me to take up the pen. I have no training. I am no historian nor even much of a writer. Certainly I dont have Croakers eye or ear or wit.

So I shall confine myself to reporting facts as I recall them. I hope the tale is not too much colored by my own presence within it, nor by what it has done to me.

With that apologia, herewith, this addition to the Annals of the Black Company, in the tradition of Annalists before me, the Book of Lady.

Lady, Annalist, Captain

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The elevation was not good. The distance was extreme. But Willow Swan knew what he was seeing. Theyre getting their butts kicked.

Armies contended before the city Dejagore, at the center of a circular, hill-encompassed plain. Swan and three companions watched.

Blade grunted agreement. Cordy Mather, Swans oldest friend, said nothing. He just tried to kick the stuffing out of a rock.

The army they favored was losing.

Swan and Mather were whites, blond and brunette, hailing from Roses, a city seven thousand miles north of the killing ground. Blade was a black giant of uncertain origins, a dangerous man with little to say. Swan and Mather had rescued him from crocodiles a few years earlier. He had stuck. The three were a team.

Swan cursed softly, steadily, as the battle situation worsened.

The fourth man did not belong. The team would not have had him if he volunteered. People called him Smoke. Officially, he was the fire marshall of Taglios, the city-nation whose army was losing. In reality he was the Taglian court wizard. He was a nut-brown little man whose very existence annoyed Swan.

Thats your army out there, Smoke, Willow growled. It goes down, you go down. Bet the Shad-owmasters would love to lay hands on you. Sorceries yowled and barked on the battlefield. Maybe make marmalade out of you. Unless youve cut a deal already.

Ease up, Willow, Mather said. Hes doing something.

Swan looked at the butternut-colored runt. Sure enough. But what?

Smoke had his eyes closed. He mumbled and muttered. Sometimes his voice crackled and sizzled like bacon in an overheated pan.

He aint doing nothing to help the Black Company. You quit talking to yourself, you old buzzard. We got a problem. Our guys are getting whipped. You want to try to turn that around? Before I turn you over my knee?

The old man opened his eyes. He stared across the plain. His expression was not pleasant. Swan doubted that the little geeks eyes were good enough to make out details. But you never knew with Smoke. With him everything was mask and pretense.

Dont be a moron, Swan. Im one man, too little and too old. There are Shadowmasters down there. They can stomp me like a roach.

Swan fussed and grumbled. People he knew were dying.

Smoke snapped, All I can do-all any of us can do-is attract attention. Do you really want the Shadowmasters to notice you?

Theyre just the Black Company, eh? They took their pay, they take their chances? Even if forty thousand Taglians go down with them?

Smokes lips shrank into a mean little prune.

On the plain a human tide washed around a mound where the Black Company standard had been planted for a last stand. The tide swept on toward the hills.

You wouldnt be happy about the way things are going, would you? Swans voice was dangerous, no longer carping. Smoke was a political animal, worse than a crocodile. Crocs might eat their young but their treacheries were predictable.

Though irked, Smoke replied in a voice almost tender. They have accomplished more than we dreamed.

The plain was dense with the dead and dying, man and beast. Mad war elephants careened around, respecting no allegiance. Only one Taglian legion had maintained its integrity. It had fought its way to a city gate and was covering the flight of other Taglians. Flames rose beyond the city from a military encampment. The Company had scored that much success against the apparent victors.

Smoke said, Theyve lost a battle but they saved Taglios. They slew one of the Shadowmasters. Theyve made it impossible for the others to attack Taglios. Those will spend their remaining troops recapturing Dejagore.

Swan sneered. Just pardon me if I dont dance for joy. I liked those guys. I didnt like the way you planned to shaft them.

Smokes temper was strained. They werent fighting for Taglios, Swan. They wanted to use us to hammer through the Shadowlands to Khatovar. Which could be worse than a Shadowmasters conquest.

Swan knew rationalization when he stepped in it. And because they wouldnt lick your boots, even if they were willing to save your asses from the Shadowmasters, you figure its handy, them getting caught here. A pity, say I. Wouldve been some swell show, watching your footwork if theyd come up winners and you had to deliver your end of the bargain.

Ease up, Willow, Mather said.

Swan ignored him. Call me a cynic, Smoke. But Id bet about anything you and the Radisha had it scoped out to screw them from the start. Eh? Wouldnt do to have them slice through the Shadowlands. But why the hell not? I never did get that part.

It aint over yet, Swan, Blade said. Wait. Smoke going to get his turn to cry.

The others gawked at Blade. He spoke so seldom that when he did they knew it meant something. What did he know?

Swan asked, You see something I missed?

Cordy snapped, Damn it, will you calm down?

Why the hell should I? The whole damned world is swamped by conniving old farts like Smoke. They been screwing the rest of us since the gods started keeping time. Look at this little poof. Keeps whining about how hes got to lay low and not let the Shadowmasters find out about him. I think that means hes got no balls. That Lady... You know who she used to be? She had balls enough to face them. You give that half a think youll realize how she laid more on the line than this old freak ever could.

Calm down, Willow.

Calm down, hell. It aint right. Somebodys got to tell old farts like this to go suck rocks.

Blade grunted agreement. But Blade didnt like anyone in authority.

Swan, not as upset as he put on, noted that Blade was in position to whack the wizard if he got obnoxious.

Smoke smiled. Swan, once upon a time all us old farts were young loudmouths like you.

Mather stepped between them. Enough! Instead of squabbling, how about we get out of here before that mess catches up with us? Remnants of the battle swirled around the toes of the foothills. We can gather the garrisons from the towns north of here and collect everybody at Ghoja.

Swan agreed. Sourly. Yeah. Maybe some of the Company made it. He glowered at Smoke.

The old man shrugged. If some get out they can train a real army. Theyd have time enough now.

Yeah. And if the Prahbrindrah Drah and the Radisha was to get off their butts they might even line up a few real allies. Maybe come up with a wizard with a hair on his ass. One who wouldnt spend his whole life hiding out in the weeds.

Mather started down the back of the hill. Come on, Blade. Let them bicker.

After several seconds Smoke confessed, Hes right, Swan. Lets get on with it.

Willow tossed his long golden hair, looked at Blade. Blade jerked his head toward the horses below the hill. All right. Swan took a last look at the city and plain where the Black Company had died. But whats right is right and whats wrong is wrong.

And whats practical is practical and whats needful is necessary. Lets go.

Swan walked. He would remember that remark. He was determined to have the last word. Bullshit, Smoke. Thats bullshit. I seen a new side of you today. I dont like it and I dont trust it. Im going to watch you like your conscience.

They mounted up and headed north.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

In those days the Company was in service to the Prahbrindrah Drah of Taglios. That prince was too easygoing to master a numerous, factious people like the Taglians. But his natural optimism and forgiving nature were offset by his sister, the Radisha Drah. A small, dark, hard woman, the Radisha had a will of sword steel and the conscience of a hurtling stone.

While the Black Company and the Shadowmasters contested possession of Dejagore, or Stormgard, the Prahbrindrah Drah held an audience three hundred miles to the north.

The prince stood five and a half feet tall. Though dark, his features were caucasic. He glowered at the priests and engineers before him. He wanted to throw them out. But in godridden Taglios no one offended the priesthoods.

He spied his sister signalling from the shadowed rear of the chamber. Excuse me. He walked out. Bad manners they would tolerate. He joined the Radisha. What is it?

Not here.

Bad news?

Not now. The Radisha strode off. Majarindi looked unhappy.

He got his hand caught in a monkey trap. He insisted we build a wall because Shaza has been having holy visions. But once the others demanded a share he sang a different song. I asked if Shaza had begun having unvisions. He wasnt amused.

Good.

The Radisha led her brother through tortuous passages. The palace was ancient. Additions were cobbled on during every reign. No one knew the labyrinth whole except Smoke.

The Radisha went to one of the wizards secret places, a room sheltered from eavesdroppers by the old mans finest spells. The Prahbrindrah Drah shut the door. Well?

A pigeon brought a message. From Smoke.

Bad news?

Our mercenaries have been defeated at Stormgard. The Shadowmasters called Dejagore Stormgard.

Badly?

Is there any other...?

Yes. Before the appearance of the Shadowmasters Taglios had been a pacifist state. But when that danger first beckoned the Prahbrindrah had exhumed the ancient strategikons. Were they annihilated? Routed? How badly did they hurt the Shadowmasters? Is Taglios in danger?

They shouldnt have crossed the Main.

They had to harry the survivors from Ghoja ford. Theyre the professionals, Sis. We said we wouldnt secondguess or interfere. We didnt believe they could win at Ghoja, so were way ahead. Give me details.

A pigeon isnt a condor. The Radisha made a face. They marched down with a mob of liberated slaves, took Dejagore by stealth, destroyed Stormshadow and wounded Shadowspinner. But today Moonshadow appeared with a fresh army. Casualties were heavy on both sides. Moonshadow may have been killed. But we lost. Some of the troops retreated into the city. The rest scattered. Most of the mercenaries, including the captain and his woman, were killed.

Lady is dead? Thats a pity. She was exquisite.

Youre a lustful ape.

I am, arent I? But she did stop hearts wherever she went.

And never noticed. The only man she saw was her captain. That Croaker character.

Are you miffed because he only had eyes for her?

She gave him a savage look.

Whats Smoke doing?

Fleeing north. Blade, Swan, and Mather will try to rally the survivors at Ghoja.

I dont like that. Smoke shouldve stayed down there. Rallied them there, to support the men in the city. You dont give away ground youve gained.

Smoke is scared the Shadowmasters will find out about him.

They dont know? That would surprise me. The Prahbrindrah shrugged. Whats he saving himself for? Im going down there.

She laughed.

What?

You cant. Those idiot priests would steal everything but your eyes. Stay. Keep them occupied with their idiot wall. Ill go. And Ill kick Smokes butt till he gets off it and does something.

The prince sighed. Youre right. But go quietly. They behave better when they think youre watching.

They didnt miss me last time.

Dont leave me twisting in the wind. Theyre hard to deal with when they know more than I do.

Ill keep them off balance. She patted his arm. Go shock them with your turnaround. Work them into a wall building frenzy. Get benevolent toward whichever cult shows the most productivity. Get them cutting each others throats.

The Prahbrindrah grinned boyishly. That was the game he loved. That was the way to accumulate power. Get the priests to disarm themselves.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

It was a bizarre little parade. At its head was a black thing that could not decide if it was a tree stump or someone weirdly built carrying a box under one arm. Behind that a man floated a yard off the ground, feet foremost, inelegantly sprawled. An arrow had pierced his chest. It still protruded from his back. He was alive, but barely.

Behind the floating man was another with a lance through him. He drifted a dozen feet up, alive and in pain, sometimes writhing like an animal with a broken spine. Two riderless horses followed him, both black stallions bigger than any war charger.

Crows by the hundred circled above, coming and going like scouts.

The parade climbed the hills east of Stormgard, moving in twilight. Once it paused, remained motionless twenty minutes while a scatter of Taglian fugitives passed. They saw nothing. There was magic at work there.

The column continued moving by night. The crows continued flying, formed a rearguard, watched for something. Several times they cawed at shifting shadows, but settled down quickly. False alarms?

The party halted ten miles from the beleaguered city. The thing leading spent hours collecting brush and deadwood, piled it in a deep crack in a granitic hillside. Then it seized the floating lance, dragged its victim off, stripped him down.

A bitter, remote, whispering voice exclaimed, This isnt one of the Taken! when the mans mask came off.

The crows became raucous. Discussing? Arguing? The leader asked, Who are you? What are you? Where did you come from?

The injured man did not respond. Maybe he was beyond communication. Maybe he did not speak that language. Maybe he was stubborn.

Torture produced no answers.

The inquisitor tossed the man into the woodpile, waved a hand. The pile burst into flame. The stump thing used the lance to keep its victim from escaping. The burning man had a bottomless well of energy.

There was sorcery at work here.

The burning man was the Shadowmaster Moonshadow. His army had triumphed outside Stormgard but his own fortune had been inglorious.

The party did not move on till the Shadowmaster was consumed, the fire burned to ashes and the ashes cooled. The stump thing gathered the ashes. As it travelled it disposed of those pinch by pinch.

The man with the arrow in him bobbed in the stump things wake. The stallions brought up the rear.

The crows maintained their patrols. Once a large catlike thing came too near and they went into paroxysms. The stump did something mystical. The black leopard wandered away, absent of mind.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A slight figure in ornate black armor strained savagely. A corpse toppled off the heap of corpses piled upon the figure. The shift in weight made it possible to wriggle out of the heap. Free, the figure lay motionless for several minutes, panting inside a grotesque helmet. Then it pulled itself into a sitting position.

After another minute the figure struggled out of its gauntlets, revealed delicate hands. Slim fingers plucked at the fastenings holding its helmet. That came away, too.

Long black hair fell free around a face to stun a man. Inside all that ugly black steel was a woman.

I have to report those moments that way because I dont recall them at all. I remember a dark dream. A nightmare featuring a black woman with fangs like a vampire. Nothing else. My first clear recollection is of sitting beside the heap of corpses with my helmet in my lap. I was panting, only vaguely aware that I had gotten out of the pile somehow.

The stench of a thousand cruel gut wounds filled the air like the stink of the largest, rawest sewer in the world. It was the smell of battlefields. How many times had I smelled it? A thousand. And still I wasnt used to it.

I gagged. Nothing came up. I had emptied my stomach into my helmet while I was under the pile. I had a vague recollection of being terrified that I would drown in my own vomit.

I started shaking. Tears rolled, stinging, hot tears of relief. I had survived! I had lived ages beyond the measure of most mortals but I had lost none of my desire for life.

As I caught my breath I tried to put together where I was, what I was doing there. Besides surviving.

My last clear memories werent pleasant. I remembered knowing that I was about to die.

I couldnt see much in the dark but I didnt need to see to know we had lost. Had the Company turned the tide Croaker would have found me long ago.

Why hadnt the victors?

There were men moving on the battlefield. I heard low voices arguing. Moving my way slowly. I had to get out of there.

I got up, managed to stumble four steps before I fell on my face, too weak to move another inch. Thirst was a demon devouring me from the inside out. My throat was so dry I couldnt whine.

Id made noise. The looters were quiet now.

They were sneaking toward me, after one more victim. Where was my sword?

I was going to die now. No weapon and no strength to use one if I found one before they found me.

I could see them now, three men backlighted by a faint glow from Dejagore. Small men, like most of the Shadowmasters soldiers. Neither strong nor particularly skilled, but in my case they needed neither strength nor skill.

Could I play dead? No. They wouldnt be deceived. Corpses would be cool now.

Damn them!

Before they killed me they would do more than just rob me.

They wouldnt kill me. They would recognize the armor. The Shadowmasters werent fools. They knew who Id been. They knew what I carried inside my head, treasures they dreamed about getting out. There would be rewards for my capture.

Maybe there are gods. A racket broke out behind the looters. Sounded like a sally from Dejagore, some kind of spoiling raid. Mogaba wasnt sitting on his hands waiting for the Shadowmasters to come to him.

One of the looters said something in a normal voice. Someone told him to shut up. The third man entered his opinion. An argument ensued. The first man didnt want to investigate the uproar. Hed had enough fighting.

The others overruled him.

The fates were kind. Two responsible soldiers handed me a life.

I lay where Id fallen, resting for several minutes before I got onto hands and knees and crawled back to the mound of bodies. I found my sword, an ancient and consecrated blade created by Carqui in the younger days of the Domination. A storied blade, but no one, not even Croaker, had heard its tale.

I crawled toward the hummock where, when Id seen him last, my love had been making his final stand, just him and Murgen and the Company standard, trying to stem the rout. It seemed an all night trek. I found a dead soldier with water in his canteen. I drained it and went on. My strength grew as I crept. By the time I reached the hummock I could totter along upright.

I found nothing there. Just dead men. Croaker was not among them. The Company standard was gone. I felt hollow. Had the Shadowmasters taken him?

They would want him badly for crushing their army at Ghoja, for taking Dejagore, for killing Stormshadow.

I could not believe they had him. It had taken me too long to. find him. No god, no fate, could be so cruel.

I cried.

The night grew quiet. The sortie had withdrawn. The looters would return now.

I started moving, stumbled into a dead elephant and almost shrieked, thinking I had walked right into a monster.

The elephants had carried all kinds of clutter. Some might be useful. I scrounged a few pounds of dried food, a skin of water, a small jar of poison for arrowheads, a few coins, whatever caught my fancy. Then I walked northward, determined to reach the hills before sunrise. I discarded half my plunder before I got there.

I hurried. Enemy patrols would be out looking for important bodies come first light.

What could I do now, besides survive? I was the last of the Black Company. There was nothing left.... Something came into me like a lost memory resurfacing. I could turn back time. I could become what I had been.

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