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when she was a Rebel. They meant a lot to her. And our mentor then,
Soulcatcher, thought them of empire-toppling significance.
Thoughtfully, Goblin remarked, "Sometimes the whole is greater than the sum of
its parts. Maybe you should look for what ties it all together."
The thought had occurred to me. A name here, there, elsewhere, revealing the
wake of someone through his or her earlier days. Maybe I would find it. The
comet would not return for a long time.
But I had my doubts.
Darling is a young thing yet, just into her middle twenties. But the bloom of
youth has abandoned her. Hard years have piled on hard years. There is little
feminine about her. She had no chance to develop in that direction. Even after
two years on the Plain none of us think of her as Woman.
She is tall, maybe two inches under six feet. Her eyes are a washed-out blue
that often seems vacant, but they become swords of ice when she is thwarted.
Her hair is blonde, as from much exposure to the sun. Without continuous
attention it hangs in straggles and strings. Not vain, she keeps it shorter
than is stylish. In dress, too, she leans toward the utilitarian. Some
first-time visitors are offended because she dresses so masculine. But she
leaves them with no doubts that she can handle business.
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Her role came to her unwanted, but she has made peace with it, has assumed it
with stubborn determination. She shows a wisdom remarkable for her age, and
for one handicapped as she is. Raven taught her well during those few years he
was her guardian.
She was pacing when I arrived. The conference room is earth-sided, smokey,
crowded even when empty. It smells of long occupation by too many unclean men.
The old messenger from Oar was there. So were Tracker and Corder and several
other outsiders. Most of the Company were present. I finger-signed a greeting.
Darling gave me a sisterly hug, asked if I had any progress to report.
I spoke for the group and signed for her. "I am sure we don't have all the
documents we found in the Forest of Cloud. Not just because I can't identify
what I'm looking for, either. Everything I do have is too old."
Darling's features are regular. Nothing stands out. Yet you sense character,
will, that this woman cannot be broken. She has been to Hell already. It did
not touch her as a child. She will not be touched now.
She was not pleased. She signed, "We will not have the time we thought."
My attention was half elsewhere. I had hoped for sparks between Tracker and
the other westerner. On a gut level I had responded negatively to Tracker. I
found myself with an irrational hope for evidence to sustain that reaction.
Nothing.
Not surprising. The cell structure of the movement keeps our sympathizers
insulated from one another.
Darling wanted to hear from Goblin and One-Eye next. Goblin used his
squeakiest voice. "Everything we heard is true. They are reinforcing their
garrisons. But Corder can tell you better. For us, the mission was a bust.
They were ready. They chased us all over the Plain. We were lucky to get away.
We didn't get no help, either."
The menhirs and their weird pals are on our side, supposedly. Sometimes I
wonder. They are unpredictable. They help or don't according to a formula only
they understand.
Darling was little interested in details of the failed raid. She moved on to
Corder. He said, "Armies are gathering on both sides of the Plain. Under
command of the Taken."
"Taken?" I asked. I knew of only the two. He sounded like he meant many.
A chill then. There is a longtime rumor that the Lady has been quiet so long
because she is raising a new crop of Taken. I had not believed it. The age is
sorrowfully short of characters of the magnificently villainous vitality of
those the Dominator took in olden times: Soulcatcher, the Hanged Man,
Nightcrawler, Shapeshifter, the Limper, and such. Those were nastymen of the
grand scope, nearly as wild and hairy in their wickedness as the Lady and
Dominator themselves. This is the era of the weak sister, excepting only
Darling and Whisper.
Corder responded shyly. "The rumors are true, Lord."
Lord. Me. Because I stand near the heart of the dream. I hate it, yet eat it
up. "Yes?"
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"They may not be Stormbringers or Howlers, these new Taken." He smiled feebly.
"Sir Tucker observed that the old Taken were wild devils as unpredictable as
the lightning, and the new ones are the predictable tame thunder of
bureaucracy. If you follow my meaning."
"I do. Go on."
"It is believed that there are six new ones, Lord. Sir Tucker believes they
are about to be unleashed. Thus the great buildup around the Plain. Sir Tucker
believes the Lady has made a competition of our destruction."
Tucker. Our most dedicated agent. One of the few survivors of the long siege
of Rust. His hatred knows no bounds.
Corder had a strange look. A green-around-the-edges look. A look that said
there was more, and all bad. "Well?" I said. "Spit it out."
"The names of the Taken have been enscribed on stellae raised in their
respective demenses. At Rust the army commander is named Benefice. His Stella
appeared after a carpet arrived by night. He has not actually been seen." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]