in Taglios.
All the while the Speaker’s grandson hung back in the shadows and watched like
one of those goddamned crows. There were a lot more of those around now.
Old Wheezer came puffing up from the street. He had to take a break before he
got to the top. He hacked and coughed and spat blood. He was from the same part
of the world as One-Eye. They have nothing else in common except a taste for
beer. Wheezer had been to the barrel a few times, too. He came on up top as I
surveyed the city and tried to guess how bad things really were. We were getting
very little pressure right then.
Wheezer hacked and wheezed and spat. A new generation of pink lights erupted at
the feet of the hills. They cast two shadows against the sky. There was no doubt
they were shadows of Widowmaker and Lifetaker, the dread alter egos Lady created
for herself and Croaker so they could scare shit out of Shadowlanders.
“This isn’t possible,” I told my tame wizards. One-Eye was back. He used one
hand to support Wheezer, who seemed to be suffering an asthma attack along with
the effects of his tuberculosis. In his other hand One-Eye clutched something
polelike wrapped in rags. I continued, “That can’t be Croaker and Lady because I
saw them go down with my own eyes.”
A handful of horsemen drifted toward town. Among them was a blob of darkness
that had to be Shadowspinner. He was staying busy. Pink fireflies swarmed around
him. He had trouble fending them off.
As though they realized their boss would be in a foul temper when he got back,
the southerners’ attack suddenly picked up.
“I’m not sure,” Goblin mused. He sounded like he had been scared sober. “I can’t
get any sense of the one in the Lifetaker armor. There’s a shitload of power
there, though.”
“Lady had no power left,” I reminded him.
“The other one does feel like Croaker.”
Couldn’t be.
Wheezer finally gasped, “Mogaba . . . ”
Several men spat at mention of the name. Everybody had an opinion about our
fearless war chief. Listening to them you might have concluded that Mogaba was
the most lusted after man in town.
A writhing pink thread reached for Shadowspinner’s party. The Shadowmaster
batted it away from himself but it slew half his party. Parts of bodies flew in
all directions.
“Shee-it!” somebody said, pretty much capturing the popular feeling.
Wheezer barked, “Mogaba wants to know if we can free up a few hundred men to
counterattack the enemy who are inside the city.”
“How stupid does that bastard think we are?” Sparkle grumbled.
Goblin asked, “Don’t that camel’s wife know we’re on to him?”
“Why should he think we might suspect him? He’s got such a tall opinion of his
own brain . . . ”
“I think it’s funny,” Bucket crowed. “He tried to screw us and only ended up
with his own ass in a sling. Even better, maybe the only way he can pry it out
is to have us do it for him.”
I asked Goblin, “What’s One-Eye up to?” One-Eye looked like he was praying over
one of the ballistas with Loftus. Rags lay scattered around their feet. A
gruesome black spear lay in the engine’s trough.
“I don’t know.”
I checked the nearest gate. The Nar there could see us. Mogaba would know I was
lying if I claimed we were too beat up to send help. I asked, “Anybody think of
a reason we should help Mogaba?” To hold my sector, besides the Old Crew itself,
I had six hundred Taglian survivors from Lady’s division and an uncertain and
changeable number of liberated slaves, former prisoners of war and ambitious
Jaicuri.
Everyone replied in the negative. Nobody wanted to help Mogaba. As I approached
the engines I asked, “How about if we do it just to save our own butts? If we
let Mogaba get stomped we could end up facing the rest of the Shadowlander mob
by ourselves.” I glanced at the gate. “And those people over there can see
everything
All the while the Speaker’s grandson hung back in the shadows and watched like
one of those goddamned crows. There were a lot more of those around now.
Old Wheezer came puffing up from the street. He had to take a break before he
got to the top. He hacked and coughed and spat blood. He was from the same part
of the world as One-Eye. They have nothing else in common except a taste for
beer. Wheezer had been to the barrel a few times, too. He came on up top as I
surveyed the city and tried to guess how bad things really were. We were getting
very little pressure right then.
Wheezer hacked and wheezed and spat. A new generation of pink lights erupted at
the feet of the hills. They cast two shadows against the sky. There was no doubt
they were shadows of Widowmaker and Lifetaker, the dread alter egos Lady created
for herself and Croaker so they could scare shit out of Shadowlanders.
“This isn’t possible,” I told my tame wizards. One-Eye was back. He used one
hand to support Wheezer, who seemed to be suffering an asthma attack along with
the effects of his tuberculosis. In his other hand One-Eye clutched something
polelike wrapped in rags. I continued, “That can’t be Croaker and Lady because I
saw them go down with my own eyes.”
A handful of horsemen drifted toward town. Among them was a blob of darkness
that had to be Shadowspinner. He was staying busy. Pink fireflies swarmed around
him. He had trouble fending them off.
As though they realized their boss would be in a foul temper when he got back,
the southerners’ attack suddenly picked up.
“I’m not sure,” Goblin mused. He sounded like he had been scared sober. “I can’t
get any sense of the one in the Lifetaker armor. There’s a shitload of power
there, though.”
“Lady had no power left,” I reminded him.
“The other one does feel like Croaker.”
Couldn’t be.
Wheezer finally gasped, “Mogaba . . . ”
Several men spat at mention of the name. Everybody had an opinion about our
fearless war chief. Listening to them you might have concluded that Mogaba was
the most lusted after man in town.
A writhing pink thread reached for Shadowspinner’s party. The Shadowmaster
batted it away from himself but it slew half his party. Parts of bodies flew in
all directions.
“Shee-it!” somebody said, pretty much capturing the popular feeling.
Wheezer barked, “Mogaba wants to know if we can free up a few hundred men to
counterattack the enemy who are inside the city.”
“How stupid does that bastard think we are?” Sparkle grumbled.
Goblin asked, “Don’t that camel’s wife know we’re on to him?”
“Why should he think we might suspect him? He’s got such a tall opinion of his
own brain . . . ”
“I think it’s funny,” Bucket crowed. “He tried to screw us and only ended up
with his own ass in a sling. Even better, maybe the only way he can pry it out
is to have us do it for him.”
I asked Goblin, “What’s One-Eye up to?” One-Eye looked like he was praying over
one of the ballistas with Loftus. Rags lay scattered around their feet. A
gruesome black spear lay in the engine’s trough.
“I don’t know.”
I checked the nearest gate. The Nar there could see us. Mogaba would know I was
lying if I claimed we were too beat up to send help. I asked, “Anybody think of
a reason we should help Mogaba?” To hold my sector, besides the Old Crew itself,
I had six hundred Taglian survivors from Lady’s division and an uncertain and
changeable number of liberated slaves, former prisoners of war and ambitious
Jaicuri.
Everyone replied in the negative. Nobody wanted to help Mogaba. As I approached
the engines I asked, “How about if we do it just to save our own butts? If we
let Mogaba get stomped we could end up facing the rest of the Shadowlander mob
by ourselves.” I glanced at the gate. “And those people over there can see
everything
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