key part of that. I did understand that he
was telling her not to piss Croaker off because he might toss them
out. And that was something he could perfectly well do. He
considered them little more than camp followers. And Croaker hates
camp followers. He considers them worse than leeches.
I had to wonder if Uncle Doj was not interested in something
more than just revenge for the murders of Sahra and Thai
Dei’s son To Tan.
I am not certain where we were. I think about eighty miles south
of Dejagore and passing over into territories only recently taken
into our hands, where our appearance was endured with the same
stoicism as the earthquake. Not much cleaning up had gotten done
because the Shadowmaster’s henchmen had employed the locals
in a vain attempt to blunt our advance. Brave fools. Now there was
no one to bury them.
Total paranoia hit me there.
I was unaware of the fact because I was in the wagon but we were
just making camp. I was out scouting the maneuvers of
Mogaba’s cavalry and sitting in on his planning session for
making our lives much more unpleasant at Charandaprash. I had a
sneer in my heart. He would not have a single surprise for us. From
having watched Lady and all the special forces she and Croaker had
put together I knew we would have plenty for Mogaba.
Bright man, he expected that. He got to know Croaker pretty well
before he deserted to the Shadowmaster.
Then the paranoia hit. Smugness evaporated. Had I been in flesh
I would have begun to shake as though suddenly thrown into an icy
river. I knew I was not alone.
I would have panicked except for the dullness of emotion out
there. I did do a sort of sudden spin around on the spirit
level.
For a second I thought I saw a face, not directed my way.
It was a face out of a collective nightmare, as big as a cow,
the color of ripe eggplant. Its smile was all fangs. And it was
smiling at whatever it saw.
Its eyes were plates of fire that, at the same time, seemed to
be pools of darkness capable of drowning souls.
I withdrew, very carefully at first, but in full flight toward
the safety of reality when the face seemed suddenly startled and
began to turn. I emerged too terrified to be hungry or thirsty. I
was shaking and babbling and making no sense at all. The Old Man
was close by. One-Eye had him in the wagon by the time I got myself
under control.
“What the hell happened, Murgen? You have some kind of
fit? You going to start going away again on me?” He touched
me, felt the shakes that still went right down to the heart of me.
“One-Eye . . . ”
I croaked out, “I just saw Kina. I don’t know if she
saw me.”
Death is eternity. Eternity is stone. Stone is silence. Stone
speaketh not but stone doth remember. Deep within the dark heart of
the grey fastness stands a massive throne of worm-eaten wood. This
throne has shifted sideways and tilted dramatically. A dark shape
sprawls upon the throne, locked in enchanted slumber, nailed down
by silver daggers driven through its limbs. Its once vacant face is
drawn in agony.
The figure draws a deep breath. Silence yields to a great slow
rumbling beat.
This is immortality of a sort but its price is paid in diamonds
of pain, in treasure by the bucket.
In the night, when the wind no longer blows and small shadows no
longer creep, the fortress reclaims its silence.
Silence is stone. Stone is eternity. Eternity is death.
----
----
12
South of Shadowlight, which offered no resistance, the land rose and became gorsy, stony, and as wrinkled as my
mother-in-law’s face. Snow lurked wherever sunlight seldom
fell. Trees were scattered but of a variety that clung stubbornly
to some of its fruit throughout the winter. That fruit was tough
and dry but it grew tastier as we moved farther from civilization
and anyplace where we could acquire more palatable foods. The route
the Captain insisted we follow was one that had received very
little preparation. And there were no navigable waterways up
was telling her not to piss Croaker off because he might toss them
out. And that was something he could perfectly well do. He
considered them little more than camp followers. And Croaker hates
camp followers. He considers them worse than leeches.
I had to wonder if Uncle Doj was not interested in something
more than just revenge for the murders of Sahra and Thai
Dei’s son To Tan.
I am not certain where we were. I think about eighty miles south
of Dejagore and passing over into territories only recently taken
into our hands, where our appearance was endured with the same
stoicism as the earthquake. Not much cleaning up had gotten done
because the Shadowmaster’s henchmen had employed the locals
in a vain attempt to blunt our advance. Brave fools. Now there was
no one to bury them.
Total paranoia hit me there.
I was unaware of the fact because I was in the wagon but we were
just making camp. I was out scouting the maneuvers of
Mogaba’s cavalry and sitting in on his planning session for
making our lives much more unpleasant at Charandaprash. I had a
sneer in my heart. He would not have a single surprise for us. From
having watched Lady and all the special forces she and Croaker had
put together I knew we would have plenty for Mogaba.
Bright man, he expected that. He got to know Croaker pretty well
before he deserted to the Shadowmaster.
Then the paranoia hit. Smugness evaporated. Had I been in flesh
I would have begun to shake as though suddenly thrown into an icy
river. I knew I was not alone.
I would have panicked except for the dullness of emotion out
there. I did do a sort of sudden spin around on the spirit
level.
For a second I thought I saw a face, not directed my way.
It was a face out of a collective nightmare, as big as a cow,
the color of ripe eggplant. Its smile was all fangs. And it was
smiling at whatever it saw.
Its eyes were plates of fire that, at the same time, seemed to
be pools of darkness capable of drowning souls.
I withdrew, very carefully at first, but in full flight toward
the safety of reality when the face seemed suddenly startled and
began to turn. I emerged too terrified to be hungry or thirsty. I
was shaking and babbling and making no sense at all. The Old Man
was close by. One-Eye had him in the wagon by the time I got myself
under control.
“What the hell happened, Murgen? You have some kind of
fit? You going to start going away again on me?” He touched
me, felt the shakes that still went right down to the heart of me.
“One-Eye . . . ”
I croaked out, “I just saw Kina. I don’t know if she
saw me.”
Death is eternity. Eternity is stone. Stone is silence. Stone
speaketh not but stone doth remember. Deep within the dark heart of
the grey fastness stands a massive throne of worm-eaten wood. This
throne has shifted sideways and tilted dramatically. A dark shape
sprawls upon the throne, locked in enchanted slumber, nailed down
by silver daggers driven through its limbs. Its once vacant face is
drawn in agony.
The figure draws a deep breath. Silence yields to a great slow
rumbling beat.
This is immortality of a sort but its price is paid in diamonds
of pain, in treasure by the bucket.
In the night, when the wind no longer blows and small shadows no
longer creep, the fortress reclaims its silence.
Silence is stone. Stone is eternity. Eternity is death.
----
----
12
South of Shadowlight, which offered no resistance, the land rose and became gorsy, stony, and as wrinkled as my
mother-in-law’s face. Snow lurked wherever sunlight seldom
fell. Trees were scattered but of a variety that clung stubbornly
to some of its fruit throughout the winter. That fruit was tough
and dry but it grew tastier as we moved farther from civilization
and anyplace where we could acquire more palatable foods. The route
the Captain insisted we follow was one that had received very
little preparation. And there were no navigable waterways up
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