Meystrikt Fortress. Pearl of the Salient defenses. Frozen in winter. Swampy in spring. An oven in summer. White Rose prophets and Rebel mainforcers were the least of our troubles.
The Salient is a long arrowhead of flatland pointing south, between mountain ranges. Meystrikt lies at its point. It funnels weather and enemies down onto the stronghold. Our assignment is to hold this anchor of the Lady’s northern defenses.
Why the Black Company?
We are the best. The Rebel infection began seeping through the Salient soon after the fall of Forsberg. The Limper tried to stop it and failed. The Lady set us to clean up the Limper’s mess. Her only other option was to abandon another province.
The gate watch sounded a trumpet. Elmo was coming in.
There was no rush to greet him. The rules call for casualness, for a pretense that your guts are not churning with dread. Instead, men peeped from hidden places, wondering about brothers who had gone a-hunting. Anybody lost? Anyone bad hurt? You know them better than kin. You had fought side by side for years. Not all of them were friends, but they were family. The only family you had.
The gateman hammered ice off the windlass. Shrieking its protests, the portcullis rose. As Company historian I could go greet Elmo without violating the unwritten rules. Fool that I am, I went out into the wind and chill.
A sorry lot of shadows loomed through the blowing snow. The ponies were dragging. Their riders slumped over icy manes. Animals and men hunched into themselves, trying to escape the wind’s scratching talons. Clouds of breath smoked from mounts and men, and were ripped away. This, in painting form, would have made a snowman shiver.
Of the whole Company only Raven ever saw snow before this winter. Some welcome to service with the Lady.
The riders came closer. They looked more like refugees than brothers of the Black Company. Ice-diamonds twinkled in Elmo’s mustache. Rags concealed the rest of his face. The others were so bundled I could not tell who was who. Only Silent rode resolutely tall. He peered straight ahead, disdaining that pitiless wind.
Elmo nodded as he came through the gate. “We’d started to wonder,” I said. Wonder means worry. The rules demand a show of indifference.
“Hard travelling.”
“How’d it go?”
“Black Company twenty-three, Rebel zip. No work for you, Croaker, except Jo-Jo has a little frostbite.”
“You get Raker?”
Raker’s dire prophecies, skilled witchcraft, and battlefield cunning had made a fool of the Limper. The Salient had been ready to collapse before the Lady ordered us to take over. The move had sent shock waves throughout the empire. A mercenary captain had been assigned forces and powers usually reserved for one of the Ten!
Salient winter being what it was, only a shot at Raker himself made the Captain field this patrol.
Elmo bared his face and grinned. He was not talking. He would just have to tell it again for the Captain.
I considered Silent. No smile on his long, dreary face. He responded with a slight jerk of his head. So, Another victory that amounted to failure. Raker had escaped again. Maybe he would send us scampering after the Limper, squeaking mice who had grown too bold and challenged the cat.
Still, chopping twenty-three men out of-the regional Rebel hierarchy counted for something. Not a bad day’s work, in fact. Better than any the Limper turned in.
Men came for the patrol’s ponies. Others set out mulled wine and warm food in the main hall. I stuck with Elmo and Silent, Their tale would get told soon enough.
Meystrikt’s main hall is only slightly less draughty than its quarters. I treated Jo-Jo. The others attacked their
meals. Feast complete, Elmo, Silent, One-Eye, and Knuckles convened around a small table. Cards materialized. One-Eye scowled my way. “Going to stand there with your thumb in your butt, Croaker? We need a mark.”
One-Eye is at least a hundred years old. The Annals mention the wizened little black man’s volcanic tempers throughout the last century. There is no telling when he joined. Seventy years’ worth of Annals were lost when the Company’s positions were overrun at the Battle of Urban. One-Eye refuses to illuminate the missing years. He says he does not believe in history.
Elmo dealt. Five cards to each player and a hand to an empty chair. “Croaker!” One-Eye snapped. “You going to squat?”
“Nope. Sooner or later Elmo is going to talk.” I tapped my pen against my teeth.
One-Eye was in rare form. Smoke poured out of his ears. A screaming bat popped out of his mourn.
“He seems annoyed,” I observed. The others grinned. Baiting One-Eye is a favorite pastime.
One-Eye hates field work. And hates missing out even more. Elmo’s grins and Silent’s benevolent glances convinced him he had missed something good.
Elmo redistributed his cards, peered at them from inches away. Silent’s eyes glittered. No doubt about it. They had a special surprise.
Raven took the seat they had offered me. No one objected. Even One-Eye never objects to anything Raven decides to do.
