A voice from behind me said, "Search him, you retard. He might've been carrying a message."
I glanced back. One-Eye stood behind me, leaning on an ugly black cane. The effort had him shivering. Or maybe that was just the cold air. He had been riding one of the donkeys, tied into place so he would not fall if he dozed off, which he did a lot these days.
I suggested, "Move him over to the side of the road. We need to keep this crowd moving. We have about eight more miles to go before we stop for the night." I pulled that eight out of the air but it was a fact that we needed to keep moving. We were better prepared for this evolution than our predecessors had been but our resources remained limited. "Swan, when a mule with a tent comes along, cut it out of line."
"Uhm?"
"We need to make a travois. To bring the body."
Every face within earshot went blank.
"We're still the Black Company. We still don't leave our own behind." Which was never strictly true but you do have to serve an ideal the best you can, lest it become debased. A law as ancient as coinage itself says bad money will drive out good. The same is true of principles, ethics and rules of conduct. If you always do the easier thing, then you cannot possibly remain steadfast when it becomes necessary to take a difficult stand. You must do what you know to be right. And you do know. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred you do know and you are just making excuses because the right thing is so hard, or just inconvenient.
"Here's his badge," Goblin said, producing a beautifully crafted silver skull in which the one ruby eye seemed to glow with an inner life. Sindawe had made that himself. It was an exquisite piece from talented hands. "You want to take it?"
'That was the custom, gradually developed since the adoption of the badges under Soulcatcher's suzerainty back when the Captain was just a young tagalong with a quill pen. The badges of the fallen were passed down to interested newcomers, who were expected to learn their lineage and thus keep the names alive.
It is immortality of a sort .
I jumped. Sahra made a startled noise. I recalled that something similar had happened to Murgen last time. Although in that case, only he had sensed it. I thought. Maybe I ought to consult him. An entire squad of soldiers had been assigned to tend and transport the mist projector as delicately as was humanly possible. Even Tobo was under orders to match his pace to that manageable by the crew moving our most valuable resource.
Tobo had not done a good job of conforming.
Carts creaked past. Pack animals shied away from Sindawe's remains but never so far they risked straying from the safety of the road. I had begun to suspect that they could sense the danger better than I could because I had to rely entirely upon intellect for my own salvation. Only the black stallion seemed unmoved by Sindawe's fate.
The white crow seemed very much interested in the corpse. I had the feeling Sindawe was someone it knew and mourned. Ridiculous, of course. Unless that was Murgen inside there, as someone had suggested, trapped outside his own time.
Master Santaraksita came along, leading a donkey. Baladitya the copyist bestrode the beast. He studied a book as he rode, completely out of touch with his surroundings. Perhaps that was because he could not see them. Or he did not believe in the world outside his books. He had the lead rope of another donkey tied to his wrist. That poor beast staggered under a load consisting mostly of books and the tools of the librarian's trade. Among the books were some of the Annals, on loan, including those that I had salvaged from the library.
Santaraksita pulled out of line. "This is so absolutely exciting, Dorabee. Having adventures at my age. Being pursued through ancient, eldritch, living artifacts by terrible sorcerers and unearthly powers. It's like stepping into the pages of the old Vedas."
"I'm glad you're enjoying it so much. This man used to be one of our brothers. His adventure caught up with him about fourteen years ago."
"And he's still in one piece?"
"Nothing lives on the plain unless it has the plain's countenance. Even including the flies and carrion eaters you'd expect to find around a corpse anywhere."
"But there are crows here." He indicated birds circling at a distance. I had not noticed them because they were making no sounds and there were only a few of them in the air. As many as a dozen more perched atop the stone columns. The nearest of those were now just a few hundred yards ahead.
"They're not here to feast," I said. "They're the Protector's eyes. They run to her and repeat whatever we do. If they touch down after dark, they'll end up just as dead as Sindawe did. Hey, Swan. Right now, up and down the column, pass the word. Nobody does anything to bother those crows. It might break holes in the protection the road gives against the shadows."
"You're determined to put me on Catcher's shit list, aren't you?"
"What?"
"She doesn't know I'm not dead, does she? Those crows are going to put the finger on me."
I laughed. "Soulcatcher's displeasure shouldn't worry you right now. She can't get to you."
"You never know." He went off to tell everybody I wanted those watchcrows treated like favored pets.
"A strange and intriguing man," Santaraksita observed.
"Strange, anyway. But he's a foreigner."
"We're all foreigners here, Dorabee."
That was true. Very true. I could close my eyes and still be overwhelmed by the strangeness of the plain. In fact, I felt that more strongly when I was not looking at it. When my eyes were closed it seemed as aware of me as I was aware of it.
Once we got Sindawe loaded I continued walking beside Master Santaraksita. The librarian was every bit as excited as he claimed. Everything was a wonder to him. Except the weather. "Is it always this cold here, Dorabee?"
"It's not even winter yet." He knew about snow only by repute. Ice he knew as something that fell from the sky during the ferocious storms of the rainy season. "It could get a lot colder. I don't know. Swan says he don't recall it being this chilly the last time he was up here but that was at a different time of year and the circumstances of the incursion were different." I was willing to bet that seldom in its history had the plain ever experienced the crying of a colicky baby or the barking of a dog. One of the children had sneaked the dog along and now it was too late to change anyone's mind.
"How long will we be up here?"
"Ah. The question nobody's had the nerve to ask. You're more familiar with the early Annals than I am anymore. You've had months and months to study them while I haven't had time to keep my own up to date. What did they tell you about the plain?"
"Nothing."
"Not who built it? Not why? By implication Kina is involved somehow. So are the Free Companies of Khatovar and the golem demon Shivetya. At least we think the thing in the fortress up ahead is the demon who's supposed to stand guard over Kina's resting place. Not very effectively, apparently, because the ancient king Rhaydreynak drove the Deceivers of his time into the same caverns where Soulcatcher trapped the Captured. And we know that the Books of the Dead are down there somewhere. We know that Uncle Doj says—without offering any convincing evidence—the Nyueng Bao are the descendants of another Free Company, but we also know that Uncle and Mother Gota sometimes mention things that aren't part of the usual lore."
"Dorabee?"
Santaraksita I found wore that expression he always put on when I surprised him. I grinned, told him, "I rehearse all this every day, twenty times a day. I just don't usually do it out loud. I believe I was hoping you would add something to the mix. Is there anything? By direct experience we know that it takes three days to get to the fortress. I assume that stronghold is located at the heart of the plain. We know there's a network of protected roads and circles where those roads intersect. Where roads exist there must be someplace to go. To me that says there must be at least one more Shadowgate somewhere." I looked up. "You think?"