Cook, Glen - SS - Raker

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Glen Cook ("Call for the Dead," July 1980) returns with an inventive and powerful fantasy about

the men of The Black Company. Mr. Cook's most recent book is STARFISHERS (Warner Books).

Raker

BY GLEN COOK

The wind tumbled and bumbled and howled around Meystrikt. Arctic imps giggled and blew their

frigid breath through chinks in the walls of my quarters. My lamplight flickered and danced,

barely surviving. When my fingers stiffened, I folded them round the flame and let them toast.

The wind was a hard blow out of the north, gritty with powder snow. A foot had fallen during the

night. More was coming. It would bring more misery with it. I pitied Elmo and his gang. They were

out Rebel hunting.

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 after the fall of Forsberg. The Limper tried to

stop it and failed. The Lady sent us to clean up the Limper's mess. Her only other option was to

abandon another province.

She endured too many retreats before our coming. She meant the Salient to mark their end.

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 knew them better than kin. You'd fought side by

side for years. Not all of them were friends, but they were family. The only family you had.

In its heyday, three centuries ago, the Company was 6000 strong. The Annals glow with the glory of

those years, when our predecessors served the lords of Hellon. Nowadays my pitiful pages emanate

bleakness. We number a mere 189. Time and fate have not served us well.

The gatemen hammered ice off the windlass. Shrieking its protests, the battered portcullus 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 traveling." Elmo does not talk much.

"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 is an old, old enemy of the Lady, a luminary of the Rebel Circle of Eighteen. His dire

prophecies, skilled witchcraft, and battlefield cunning cost the Lady her province of Forsberg.

Then he came to the Salient and made a fool of the Limper. Another collapse appeared imminent. At

winter's commencement the Lady sent us to replace that nastiest of the Taken. The move sent shock

waves through 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'd 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

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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.

After twelve years I am patient with Elmo. He is our finest platoon leader. We like each other. I

rate him a close friend.

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 round 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 a wizened little black man with a volcanic temper and mouth to watch. He is at least a

hundred years old. The Annals mention him throughout the past 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 doesn't 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 mouth.

He likes his tricks.

"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'd 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'd offered me. No one objected. Even One-Eye seldom objects to anything

Raven decides to do.

Raven. Colder than our weather. A dead soul, maybe. He can make a man shudder with a glance. Even

the Taken, except the Limper, do not effect me that way. Soulcatcher is warmer.

The aura of the man cannot be conveyed. He exudes a stench of the grave. Yours, if you cross him.

He never smiles. Says maybe one word a month more than Silent. Mysterious and spooky. And yet....

And yet there's Darling, his shadow, nine or ten, whom he salvaged from the ruins of a village the

Limper burned. Darling loves him. Frail, pale, ethereal, she kept one little hand on his shoulder

while he ordered his cards. She smiled for him.

Raven is an asset in any game including One-Eye. One-Eye cheats. But never when Raven is playing.

Nobody messes with Raven.

"She stands in the Tower, gazing northward. Her delicate hands are clasped before Her. A breeze

steals softly through Her window. It stirs the midnight silk of Her hair. Tear diamonds sparkle on

the gentle curve of Her cheek."

"Hoo-wee!"

"Oh, wow!"

"Author! Author!"

"May a sow litter in your bedroll, Willie." Those characters got a howl out of my fantasies about

the Lady.

The sketches are a game I play with myself. Hell, for all they know, my inventions might be on the

mark. Only the Ten Who Were Taken ever see the Lady. Who knows if She is beautiful, ugly, or what?

"Tear diamonds sparkling, eh?" One-Eye said. "I like that. Figure she's pining for you, Croaker?"

"Knock it off. I don't make fun of your games."

The Lieutenant entered, seated himself, regarded us with a black scowl. His mission in life is to

disapprove.

His advent meant the Captain was on his way. Elmo folded his hand, composed himself.

The place fell silent. Men appeared as if by magic. "Bar the damned door!" One-Eye muttered. "They

keep stumbling in like this, I'll freeze my ass off. Play the hand out, Elmo."

The Captain came in. He is short, dark, has hard eyes, and radiates the self-confidence of a man

accustomed to instant obedience. He took his usual seat. "Let's hear it, Sergeant." Nobody else

calls Elmo "Sergeant."

The Captain is not one of our more colorful characters. Too quiet. Too serious. Too seldom seen.

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Nevertheless, he is a competent tactician and brilliant manager of men. He compares commanding the

Company to running a zoo. He is the only one of us Raven takes seriously.

Elmo laid his cards down, tapped their edges into alignment, ordered his thoughts. He is obsessed

with brevity and precision.

"Sergeant?"

"Silent spotted a picket line south of the farm, Captain. We circled north. Attacked after sunset.

They tried to scatter. Silent distracted Raker while we handled the others. Thirty men. We got

twenty-three. We yelled a lot about not letting our spy get hurt. We missed Raker."

Sneaky makes this outfit work. We want the Rebel to believe his ranks are shot with informers.

That hamstrings his communications and decision-making, and makes life less chancy for Silent, One-

Eye, and Goblin, our clutch of second-rate wizards.

The planted rumor. The small frame. The touch of bribery or blackmail. Those are our preferred

weapons. We opt battle only when we have our opponents mouse-trapped.

"You returned directly to the fortress?"

"Yes, sir. After burning the farmhouse and outbuildings. Raker concealed his trail well."

The Captain considered the smoke-darkened beams overhead. Only One-Eye's snapping of his cards

broke the silence. The Captain dropped his gaze. "Then, pray, why are you and Silent grinning like

a pair of prize fools?"

One-Eye muttered, "Proud they came home empty-handed."

Elmo grinned. "But we didn't."

Silent dug inside his filthy shirt, produced the small leather bag that always hangs on a thong

around his neck. His trick bag. It is filled with noxious oddments like putrefied bat's ears or

elixir of nightmare. This time he produced a folded piece of paper. He cast dramatic glances at

One-Eye and Goblin, opened the packet fold by fold. Even the Captain left his seat, crowded the

table.

"Behold!" said Elmo.

* * *

III

Tain't nothing but hair." Heads shook. Throats grumbled. Somebody questioned Elmo's grasp on

reality. But One-Eye and Goblin had three big coweyes between them. One-Eye chirruped

inarticulately. Goblin squeaked a few times, but, then, Goblin always squeaks. "It's really his?"

he managed at last. "Really his?"

Elmo and Silent radiated the smugness of eminently successful conquistadors. "Absodamnlutely,"

Elmo said. "Right off the top of his bean. We had that old man by the balls and he knew it. He was

heeling and toeing it out of there so fast he smacked his noggin on a doorframe. Saw it myself,

and so did Silent. Left these on the beam. Whoo, that gaffer can step."

And Goblin, an octave above his usual rusty-hinge squeal, dancing in his excitement, said, "Gents,

we've got him. He's as good as hanging on a meathook right now. The big one." He meowed at One-

Eye. "What do you think of that, you sorry little spook?"

A herd of minuscule lightning bugs poured out of One-Eye's nostrils. Good soldiers all, they fell

into formation, spelling out the words Goblin is a Poof. Their little wings hummed the words for

the benefit of the illiterate.

There is no truth to that canard. Goblin is thoroughly heterosexual. One-Eye is a provocateur. In

Goblin he has met his match, and for years they have pursued a hapless duel.

Goblin made a gesture. A great shadow-figure, like Soulcatcher but tall enough to brush the

ceiling beams, bent and skewered One-Eye with an accusing finger. A sourceless voice whispered,

"It was you that corrupted the lad, sodder."

One-Eye snorted, shook his head, shook his head and snorted. His eye glazed. Goblin giggled,

stifled himself, giggled again. He spun away, danced a wild victory jig in front of the fireplace.

Our less intuitive brethren grumbled. A couple hairs. Big deal. With those and two bits silver you

could get rolled by the village whores.

"Gentlemen!" The Captain understood.

The shadow-show ceased. The Captain considered his wizards. He thought. He paced. He nodded to

himself. Finally, he asked, "One-Eye. Are they enough?"

One-Eye chuckled, an astonishingly deep sound for so small a man. "One hair, sir, or one nail

paring, is enough. Sir, we have him."

Goblin continued his weird dance. Silent kept grinning. Raving lunatics, the lot of them.

The Captain thought some more. "We can't handle this ourselves." He circled the hall, his pace

portentous. "We have to bring in one of the Taken."

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Our most precious secret is the fact that we possess three sorcerers. They aren't great, but they

make us effective where the odds look improbably long. The enemy can't find out. He would squander

his resources, squash us like bugs.

One of the Taken. Cold stole in and froze us into statues. One of the Lady's shadow disciples....

one of those dark lords here? No....

"Not the Limper. He's got a hard-on for us."

"Shifter gives me the creeps." "Nightcrawler is worse." One-Eye said, "We can handle it, Captain."

"And Raker's cousins would be on you like flies on a horseapple. No."

"Soulcatcher," the Lieutenant suggested. "He is our patron, more or less."

The suggestion carried. Soulcatcher is a known quantity. He recruited us into the Lady's service.

We don his death's-head badges when it serves the Captain's purpose.

The Captain said, "Contact him, One-Eye. Be ready to move when he gets here."

One-Eye nodded, grinned. He was in love. Already tricky, nasty plots were afoot in his twisted

mind.

It should have been Silent's game, really. The Captain gave it to One-Eye because he cannot come

to grips with Silent's refusal to talk. That scares him for some reason.

Silent did not protest.

Some of our native servants are spies. We know who they are, thanks to One-Eye and Goblin. One,

who knew nothing about the hair, was allowed to flee with news that we were setting up an

espionage headquarters in the free city Roses.

When you have the smaller battalions you learn guile.

The Ten Who Were Taken. Four centuries ago a sorcerer consummate and cruel established suzerainty

over an empire unrivaled before or since. He is remembered only as The Dominator, his era as The

Domination, and his empire as either The Dominion or The Domination. His chief ally was his lover,

the woman known then and now as the Lady, or Dark Lady. Their true names they obscured with

admirable cunning and caution.

Their slaves-worshippers-captains, the Ten, were drawn from among the greatest of their vanquished

and seduced opponents. They, too, obscured their true names during the long-ago wars of

liberation. They became Nightcrawler, Stormbringer, the Howler, and so on. In the end, the

Dominator was surrounded in the northern forests and overwhelmed. He and his champions were buried

alive in a barrow complex subsequently guarded by every spell of confinement known.

Before he fell, the Dominator prophesied his own resurrection.

Centuries slid away. Some tinkering fool cracked the spells. That which had slept awakened. Graves

opened. The Taken arose. The Lady rose with them - but the Dominator did not. She had tricked him

at their fall, and placed herself supreme.

So. A new empire came into being. In time, Soulcatcher enlisted the Black Company to fight the

Lady's battles.

Every ruler makes enemies. The Lady is no exception. Her greatest are the Sons of the White Rose,

or White Prophets, who claim spiritual and philosophical descent from the White Rose, the she-

general who brought the Dominion down. We call them Rebels. Their high command is the Circle of

Eighteen. They are powerful wizards who steal into the empire masterminding rebellion. The empire

is fraying round its edges. The Lady's armies have been losing battles even when commanded by the

Taken. The future looks grim. The Rebel grows stronger daily.

If one chooses sides on emotion, then the Rebel is the guy to go with. He is fighting for

everything men claim to honor: freedom, independence, truth, the right.... All the subjective

illusions, all the eternal trigger-words. We are minions of the villains of the piece. We confess

the illusion and deny the substance.

There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious

historians rule where good or evil lies.

We abjure labels. We are the Black Company. We fight for money and an indefinable pride. The

politics, the ethics, the moralities are irrelevant.

Soulcatcher hired us on open-end contract. We will serve the Lady till She falls.

One-Eye contacted Soulcatcher. He said he'd come. Goblin said the old spook howled with glee. He

smelled a chance to raise his stock and scuttle that of the Limper. The Ten squabble and backbite

worse than spoiled children.

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Winter relaxed its siege briefly. The men and native staff began clearing Meystrikt's courtyards.

One of the natives disappeared. In the main hall, One-Eye and Silent looked smug over their cards.

The Rebel was being told what they wanted him to hear.

"What's happening on the wall?" I asked. Elmo had rigged block and tackle and was working a crenel

stone loose. "What're you going to do with that block?"

"A little sculpture. Croaker. I've taken up a new hobby."

"So don't tell me. See if I care."

"Take that attitude if you want. I was going to ask if you could go after Raker with us. So you

could put it in the Annals right."

"With a word about One-Eye's genius?"

"Credit where credit is due, Croaker."

"Then Silent is due a chapter, isn't he?"

He sputtered. He grumbled. He cursed. "You want to play a hand?" They had only three players, one

of whom was Raven. Tonk is more interesting with four or five.

I won three hands straight.

"Don't you have anything to do? A wart to cut off, or something?"

"You asked him to play," a kibitzing soldier said.

"You like flies, Otto?"

"Flies?"

"Going to turn you into a frog if you don't shut your mouth."

Otto was not impressed. "You couldn't turn a tadpole into a frog."

I snickered. "You asked for it, One-Eye. When's Soulcatcher going to show?"

"When he gets here."

I nodded. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to the way the Taken do things. "Regular Cheerful

Charlie today, aren't we? How much has he lost, Otto?"

Otto just smirked.

Raven won the next two hands.

One-Eye swore off talking. So much for discovering the nature of his project. Probably for the

best. An explanation never made could not be overheard by the Rebel's spies.

Six hairs and a block of limestone. What the hell?

For days Silent, Goblin, and One-Eye took turns working that stone. I visited the stable

occasionally. They let me watch, and growl when they wouldn't answer questions.

The Captain, too, sometimes poked his head in, shrugged, and went back to his quarters. He was

juggling strategies for a spring campaign which would throw all available imperial might against

the Rebel. His rooms were impenetrable, so numerous were the maps and reports.

We'd had only limited contact with the Rebel since arriving. We'd hurt him some, but nothing like

we meant to when the weather turned.

Cruel it may be, but most of us enjoy what we do - and the Captain more than anyone. This is a

favorite game, matching wits with a Raker. He is blind to the dead, the burning villages, the

starving children. As is the Rebel, who boasts, that he is rescuing people from tyranny. Two blind

armies, able to see nothing but one another.

Soulcatcher came in the deep hours, amidst a blizzard which beggared the one Elmo endured. The

wind wailed and howled. Snow had drifted against the northeast corner of the fortress, battlement-

high, and was spilling over. Wood and hay stores were becoming a concern. Locals said it was the

worst blizzard in history.

At its height, Soulcatcher came. The boom-boom-boom of his knock wakened all Meystrikt. Horns

sounded. Drums rolled. The gatehouse watch screeched against the wind. They couldn't open the

gate.

Soulcatcher came over the wall via the drift. He fell, nearly vanished in the loose snow in the

forecourt. Hardly a dignified arrival for one of the Ten.

I hurried to the main hall. One-Eye, Silent, and Goblin were there already, with the fire blazing

merrily. The Lieutenant appeared, followed by the Captain. Elmo and Raven came with the Captain.

"Send the rest back to bed," the Lieutenant snapped.

Soulcatcher came in, removed a heavy black greatcloak, squatted before the fire. A calculatedly

human gesture7 I wondered.

Soulcatcher's slight body is always sheathed in black leather, throat to toe. He wears a head-

hiding black morion, black gloves, and black boots. Only a couple of silver badges break the

monotony of his apparel. The only color about him is the uncut ruby forming the pommel of his

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dagger. A five-taloned claw clutches the gem to the handle of the weapon.

Small, soft curves interrupt the flatness of Soulcatcher's chest. There is a feminine flair to his

hips and legs. Three of the Taken are female, but which are which only the Lady knows. We call

them all he. Their sex won't ever mean a thing to us.

We wear Soulcatcher's badges, though he is only a patron, not our master. His protection helps

when we have to deal with others of the Taken.

He claims to be our friend, our champion. Even so, his presence brought a different chill to the

hall.

The cold of him has nothing to do with climate. Even One-Eye shivers when he is around.

And Raven? I don't know. Raven seems incapable of feeling, except for Darling. Someday that great

stone face will break. I hope I'm there to see it.

Soulcatcher turned his back to the fire. "So." High-pitched. "Fine weather for an adventure."

Baritone. Strange sounds followed. Laughter. Soulcatcher had made a joke.

Nobody laughed.

We were not supposed to laugh. Soulcatcher turned to One-Eye. "Tell me." This in tenor, slow and

soft, with a muffled quality, as if it were coming through a thin wall. Or, as Elmo says, from

beyond the grave.

Soulcatcher's voice changes every time he speaks, as if there are a hundred people taking turns

talking. Spooky, but you get used to it - till you catch the voices arguing with one another.

There was no bluster or showman in One-Eye now. "We'll start from the beginning. Captain?"

The Captain said, "One of our informants caught wind of a meeting of the Rebel captains. One-Eye,

Goblin, and Silent followed the movements of known Rebels...."

"You let them run around loose?"

"They lead us to their friends."

"Of course. One of the Limper's shortcomings. No imagination. He kills them where he finds them -

along with everyone else in sight."

Again that weird laughter. "Less effective, yes?" There was another sentence, but in no language I

know.

The Captain nodded. "Elmo?"

Elmo told his part as he had before, word for word. He passed the tale to One-Eye, who sketched a

scheme for taking Raker. I didn't understand, but Soulcatcher caught it instantly. He laughed a

third time.

I gathered we were going to unleash the dark side of human nature.

One-Eye took Soulcatcher to see his mystery stone. We moved closer to the fire. Silent produced a

deck. There were no takers.

Sometimes I wonder how the regulars stay sane. They're around the Taken all the time. Soulcatcher

is a sweetheart compared to the others.

One-Eye and Soulcatcher returned, laughing. "Two of a kind," Elmo muttered, in a rare statement of

opinion.

Soulcatcher recaptured the fire. "Well done, gentlemen. Very well done. Imaginative. This could

break them in the Salient. We start for Roses when the weather breaks. A party of eight, Captain,

including two of your witchmen." Each sentence was followed by a break Each was in a different

voice. Weird.

I have heard those are the voices of all the people whose souls Soulcatcher has caught.

Bolder than my wont, I volunteered for the expedition. I wanted to see how Raker could be taken

with hair and a block of limestone. The Limper had failed with all his furious power.

The Captain thought about it. "Okay, Croaker. One-Eye and Goblin. You, Elmo. And pick two more."

"That's seven, Captain."

"Raven makes eight."

"Oh. Raven. Of course."

Of course. Quiet, deadly Raven would be the Captain's alter ego. There is a bond between those men

which surpasses understanding. It is a more than brothers thing.... Guess it bothers me because

Raven scares the hell out of me. More than do the Taken.

Soulcatcher strikes me as an ancestral Raven. They are of a size, and Raven has that same air of

the ice-hearted and impassive.

Raven caught the Captain's eye. His right eyebrow rose. The Captain replied with a ghost of a nod.

Raven twitched a shoulder. What was the message? I could not guess.

Something unusual was in the wind. Those in the know found it delicious. Though I could not guess

what it was, I knew it would be slick and nasty.

VII

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