entered his mind. He
did not like what the observation implied. It echoed too closely Sleepy’s
thinking, which is why his posh job in Khang Phi is gone and he has charge of
operations on the plain, having abandoned banquets and down mattresses for iron
rations and a bed of cold and silent stone shared only with unhappy, withered
dreams, a crazy scholar, miscellaneous thieves and a house-sized lunatic demon
half as old as time.
All his adult life Blade has been driven by a hatred for religion. He has an
especial abhorrence for its retailers. Considering his current whereabouts and
present occupation it seems likely that he should have restrained his impulse to
share his opinions.
Blade could have sworn that, for an instant, a smile played across the demon’s
features.
Blade chose not to comment.
He is a man of few words. He believes there is little point to speech. He
believes the golem eavesdrops on his thoughts. Unless it has become so bored
with ephemerals that it no longer pays attention.
That hint of amusement again. Blade’s speculation is not valid. He should know
better. Shivetya is interested in every breath every brother of the Black
Company takes. Shivetya has anointed these men as the death-givers.
“You need anything?” Blade asked the old man, resting a hand on his shoulder
briefly. “Before I head down below?” The contact is entirely contrived. But
Baladitya cares nothing about the touch, genuine or not.
Baladitya lifted his pen from his right hand with his left, flexed his fingers.
“I suppose I should eat something. I can’t recall when last I put fuel on the
fire.”
“I’ll see that you get something.” The something was sure to be rice and spice
and golem manna. If there was anything Blade regretted about his life, it was
having lived most of it in a part of the world where a majority of the
population include a vegetarian diet within their religion and those who do not
mainly eat fish or chicken. Blade is ready to start at whichever end of a
spit-roast pig and not stop until he reaches the other.
Blade’s command, the thieves, the Company pathfinders, includes twenty-six of
the outfit’s brightest and most trusted youngsters, all Children of the Dead.
They need to be both smart and trustworthy because Sleepy wants to exploit the
treasures in the caverns beneath the plain and because they really have to
understand that the plain itself will not forgive them if they do the wrong
thing. Shivetya has extended his favor. Shivetya sees everything and knows
everything inside the gates of his universe. Shivetya is the soul of the plain.
No one comes or goes without Shivetya’s countenance, or at least his
indifference. And in the unlikely event that Shivetya remained indifferent to an
unauthorized theft, there was nowhere for a thief to run but back to the
shadowgate opening on the Land of Unknown Shadows. That was the only shadowgate
under control and functioning properly. That was the only shadowgate not certain
to kill the thief.
It was a long stroll across the great circle surrounding the crude throne. That
floor is anything but crude. It is an exact one-eightieth scale representation
of the plain outside, less the memorial pillars that were added in a later age
by men who failed to possess even mythologized recollections of the builders.
Hundreds of manhours have gone into clearing the accumulated dirt and dust off
its surface so Shivetya can more clearly discern every detail of his kingdom.
Shivetya’s throne rests upon a raised wheel one-eightieth the size of this.
Decades ago, Soulcatcher’s tampering triggered an earthquake that battered the
fortress and split its floor into a vast crevasse. Outside the plain the
disaster destroyed cities and killed thousands. Today the only memorial of what
had been a gap in the floor a dozen yards wide and thousands of feet deep is a
red stripe meandering
did not like what the observation implied. It echoed too closely Sleepy’s
thinking, which is why his posh job in Khang Phi is gone and he has charge of
operations on the plain, having abandoned banquets and down mattresses for iron
rations and a bed of cold and silent stone shared only with unhappy, withered
dreams, a crazy scholar, miscellaneous thieves and a house-sized lunatic demon
half as old as time.
All his adult life Blade has been driven by a hatred for religion. He has an
especial abhorrence for its retailers. Considering his current whereabouts and
present occupation it seems likely that he should have restrained his impulse to
share his opinions.
Blade could have sworn that, for an instant, a smile played across the demon’s
features.
Blade chose not to comment.
He is a man of few words. He believes there is little point to speech. He
believes the golem eavesdrops on his thoughts. Unless it has become so bored
with ephemerals that it no longer pays attention.
That hint of amusement again. Blade’s speculation is not valid. He should know
better. Shivetya is interested in every breath every brother of the Black
Company takes. Shivetya has anointed these men as the death-givers.
“You need anything?” Blade asked the old man, resting a hand on his shoulder
briefly. “Before I head down below?” The contact is entirely contrived. But
Baladitya cares nothing about the touch, genuine or not.
Baladitya lifted his pen from his right hand with his left, flexed his fingers.
“I suppose I should eat something. I can’t recall when last I put fuel on the
fire.”
“I’ll see that you get something.” The something was sure to be rice and spice
and golem manna. If there was anything Blade regretted about his life, it was
having lived most of it in a part of the world where a majority of the
population include a vegetarian diet within their religion and those who do not
mainly eat fish or chicken. Blade is ready to start at whichever end of a
spit-roast pig and not stop until he reaches the other.
Blade’s command, the thieves, the Company pathfinders, includes twenty-six of
the outfit’s brightest and most trusted youngsters, all Children of the Dead.
They need to be both smart and trustworthy because Sleepy wants to exploit the
treasures in the caverns beneath the plain and because they really have to
understand that the plain itself will not forgive them if they do the wrong
thing. Shivetya has extended his favor. Shivetya sees everything and knows
everything inside the gates of his universe. Shivetya is the soul of the plain.
No one comes or goes without Shivetya’s countenance, or at least his
indifference. And in the unlikely event that Shivetya remained indifferent to an
unauthorized theft, there was nowhere for a thief to run but back to the
shadowgate opening on the Land of Unknown Shadows. That was the only shadowgate
under control and functioning properly. That was the only shadowgate not certain
to kill the thief.
It was a long stroll across the great circle surrounding the crude throne. That
floor is anything but crude. It is an exact one-eightieth scale representation
of the plain outside, less the memorial pillars that were added in a later age
by men who failed to possess even mythologized recollections of the builders.
Hundreds of manhours have gone into clearing the accumulated dirt and dust off
its surface so Shivetya can more clearly discern every detail of his kingdom.
Shivetya’s throne rests upon a raised wheel one-eightieth the size of this.
Decades ago, Soulcatcher’s tampering triggered an earthquake that battered the
fortress and split its floor into a vast crevasse. Outside the plain the
disaster destroyed cities and killed thousands. Today the only memorial of what
had been a gap in the floor a dozen yards wide and thousands of feet deep is a
red stripe meandering
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