The day came when we had to skirt the very soul of the empire, the Tower at Charm, built by the Lady after her resurrection. Hard-eyed cavalrymen escorted us. We got no closer than three miles. Even so, the Tower’s silhouette loomed over the horizon. It is a massive cube of dark stone. It stands at least five hundred feet high.
I studied it all day. What was our mistress like? Would I ever meet her? She intrigued me. That night I wrote an exercise in which I tried to characterize her. It degenerated into a romantic fantasy.
Next afternoon we encountered a pale-faced rider galloping south in search of our Company. His badges proclaimed him a follower of the Limper. Our outriders brought him to the Lieutenant.
“You people are taking your damned sweet time, aren’t you? You’re wanted in Forsberg. Quit shitting around,”
The Lieutenant is a quiet man accustomed to the respect due his rank. He was so startled he said nothing. The courier became more offensive. Then the Lieutenant demanded, “What’s your rank?”
“Corpora! Courier to the Limper. Buddy, you’d better get hauling. He don’t put up with no shit.”
The Lieutenant is the Company disciplinarian. It is a load he takes off the Captain. He is a reasonable, just sort of guy.
“Sergeant!” he snapped at Elmo. “I want you.” He was angry. Usually only the Captain calls Elmo Sergeant.
Elmo was riding with the Captain at the time. He trotted up the column. The Captain tagged along. “Sir?” Elmo asked.
The Lieutenant halted the Company. “Flog some respect into this peasant.”
“Yes sir. Otto. Crispin. Turn a hand here.”
“Twenty strokes should do it.”
“Twenty strokes it is, sir.”
“What the hell do you think you’re pulling? No stinking hiresword is going to...”
The Captain said, “Lieutenant, I think that calls for another ten lashes.”
“Yes sir. Elmo?”
“Thirty it is, sir.” He struck out. The courier flopped out of his saddle. Otto and Crispin picked him up and ran him to a rail fence, draped him over it. Crispin slit the back of his shirt.
Elmo plied the strokes with the Lieutenant’s riding crop. He did not lean into it. There was no rancor in this, just a message to those who thought the Black Company second-class.
I was there with my kit when Elmo finished. “Try to relax, lad. I’m a physician. I’ll clean your back and bandage you.” I patted his cheek. “You took it pretty good for a northerner.”
Elmo gave him a new shirt when I finished. I offered some unsolicited advice on treatment, then suggested, “Report to the Captain as if this hadn’t happened.” I pointed toward the Captain... “Well.”
Friend Raven had rejoined us. He watched from the back of a sweaty, dusty roan.
The messenger took my advice. The Captain said, “Tell the Limper I’m traveling as fast as I can. I won’t push so hard I’ll be in no shape to fight when I get there.”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell him, sir.” Gingerly, the courier mounted his horse. He concealed his feelings well.
Raven observed, “The Limper will cut your heart out for that.”
“The Limper’s displeasure doesn’t concern me. I thought you were going to join us before we left Opal.”
“I was slow closing accounts. One wasn’t in the city at all. Lord Jalena warned the other. It took me three days to find him.”
“The one out of town?” - “I decided to join you instead.”
That was not a satisfactory answer, but the Captain slid around it. “I can’t let you join us while you have outside interests.”
“I let it go. I repaid the most important debt.” He meant the woman. I could taste it.
The Captain eyed him sourly. “All right. Ride with Elmo’s platoon.”
“Thank you. Sir.” That sounded strange. He was not a man accustomed to sirring anyone.
Our northward journey continued, past Elm, into the Salient, past Roses, and northward still, into Forsberg. That one-time kingdom had become a bloody killing-ground.
The city Oar lies in northernmost Forsberg, and in the forests above lies the Barrowland, where the Lady and her lover, the Dominator, were interred four centuries ago. The stubborn necromantic investigations of wizards from Oar had resurrected the Lady and Ten Who Were Taken from their dark, abiding’ dreams. Now their guilt-ridden descendants battled the Lady.
Southern Forsberg remained deceptively peaceful. The peasantry greeted us without enthusiasm, but willingly took our money.
“That’s because seeing the Lady’s soldiers pay is such a novelty,” Raven claimed. “The Taken just grab whatever strikes their fancy.”
The Captain grunted. We would have done so ourselves had we not had instructions to the contrary. Soulcatcher had directed us to be gentlemen. He had given the Captain a plump war chest. The Captain was willing. No point making enemies needlessly.
We had been travelling two months. A thousand miles lay behind us. We were exhausted. The Captain decided to rest us at the edge of the war zone. Maybe he was having second thoughts about serving the Lady.
Anyway, there is no point hunting trouble. Not when not fighting pays the same.
