Book 1 - Bleak Seasons by Glen Cook

illusions
drove the southerners crazy. They never knew which threat was real.
But the big reason our side held up well was that there was no
choice. We had nowhere to run.
    Shadowspinner was no help to his people. He was out in those
hills intent on undoing that mystery personally. Clearly he
regretted having made the choice.
    Once again a band of riders came flying back, silhouetted by
pink light. The Shadowmaster did not appear to be with them.
“Goblin! One-Eye! Where the hell are you now, you little
shits? Has something happened to Shadowspinner?”
    Goblin materialized, his breath heavy with the smell of beer. He
and One-Eye had a few gallons stashed somewhere nearby, then. He
dashed my hopes. “The Shadowmaster is alive, Murgen. But
maybe he’s messed his drawers.” He giggled.
    “Oh, shit,” I muttered. The little toad had gotten
deep into the home brew. If One-Eye had, too, I might have one
truly interesting rest of the night. It was possible those two
would forget everything and pick up the feud they have had going
for a hundred years. Last time they got drunk and went after each
other they tore up a whole city block 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