He made me work at it but I stayed with him till my world began to shake.

Earthquake? Again?

It dawned on me at last. Somebody outside the ghostworld wanted me. Reluctantly, I returned to flesh. “About damned time!” the Old Man snapped when I opened my eyes. “I really thought we lost you this time.”

“Huh?” That came out a dry-throated croak. I tried for a cup but found I had no strength to extend my arm. I was wasted bad. The Captain had to pour water into my mouth for me.

“I really fucked up. How long was I out there?”

“Eleven hours.” That was how tough One-Eye had made it to track him.

“I bet there’s no finding him at all once it gets dark,” I said after I had gotten a little sugar water inside me. I was confused about when I was. I meant after dark the day he fled. He could lose himself thoroughly in the dark.

And darkness always comes.

Croaker wasted a lot of energy cursing.

I said, “I can watch for crows. Wherever there’re crows there’s something they’re watching.” Except around Goblin, who had his owls and confusion spells. Unless they never looked because Catcher did not know he was out there. “Mostly they’re too dim to be fooled by low-grade glamors.” Which had to say something about people and crows both but I am not bright enough to define it.

“I’ll just count him gone. For now. I don’t want you going out there if you’re going to lose track so bad that you forget you’ve got to come back.”

It was my own habit of dreaming that endangered me. I had encountered fewer perils roaming around that way.

Again Croaker said, “I’ll just count him gone.” He smiled grimly. “He’ll be back. Right after he strangles that woman. Which will happen about as soon as the new wears off. You go back over there. Keep a close eye on the standard. And send me whatever writings you’ve got ready for review.”

Ulp. I was not ready for this. He had not shown much interest ever before.

“When are we going to move on? Or are we not going to?”

“Not till we have our crops in. Unless we’re under really heavy pressure. Five months minimum. Enjoy the rest.”

Enjoy the rest. Like I enjoyed all that loafing around when we were bottled up inside Dejagore. He missed all that because he could not turn down the chance to go off and play games with Soulcatcher.

“When you went after Catcher the other day... Was there a plan? Did you really expect to accomplish anything?” I retained doubts about the depth of their antagonism even now.

“Check with my dearly beloved. That was her scheme. You’ll probably see it again. She’s got the notion that if she keeps harassing Soulcatcher, Catcher won’t be able to concentrate on giving us grief.”

“Now there’s an idea. Jab sticks into a nest of vipers so they don’t have time to come hunt you down. Why not whack on hornets’ nests and hibernating bears while we’re at it?”

“Find One-Eye or go work on the Annals. I’ve got all the bitching I can handle right here at home.”

“You ought to get some sleep,” I said, heading out. “You’re way too crabby.”

There is color. There is life of a sort. There is light. Without light there can be no darkness.

There is death. The husks of a hundred crows surround the listing throne.

Death will find a way. Darkness will find a way inside.

Darkness always comes.

The thing on the throne sits wide-eyed, blind. Its orbs show no pupils. They are half-fried egg-white blanks, yet the creature does seem to see. Certainly it is aware. Grimacing in agony, its face turns as it tracks each venturesome spy from the world. It concentrates its will on each newcomer, wanting it to land. A twinge of evil humor stirs its features whenever a weak bird fails to carry out its instructions.

The earth quivers.

The throne slides a foot, tilts another inch. Alarm underscores the refreshed pain on the face of the sleeper.

The crack in the earth opens wider. The color wafting up brightens. A breeze whispers out of the bowels of the earth. It is colder than the heart of a starving spider. It carries a black vapor.

The throne jerks another inch.

Death will find a way.

Even the gods must pass.

Things went too well for too long. Summer was an idyll. It never got too hot. The rains were perfect for the crops we planted. We were threatened with the sort of harvest for which peasants pray. We made sure the peasants we encountered understood that the wonderful weather was all our fault. Our foragers had liberated draft animals enough to support us if we traveled light, leaving the heavy equipment that had followed us down from friendly territory. There were even a few sheep for those not bound by Gunni strictures against eating flesh.

The old saw is true. An army does travel on its stomach. What we accomplished by projecting the Taglian will the distance we did was a tribute to Croaker’s planning, preparation and devotion. And psychosis. And, of course, it was founded on the four years given us by Longshadow’s utter failure to interfere. Poor boy. Should have listened to Mogaba. He would not be living in a kennel. Not that he could be faulted for having been deceived by the Mother of Deceivers when Kina could spin webs of deception to warp the eyesight of gods as great as she.

We had not yet fattened up from the winter but we were getting set to take the next leap already.

Neither Soulcatcher nor Mogaba, neither lost Taglian loyalists nor the local population seemed further inclined to make our lives miserable. We were getting along with the latter fairly well, now.

After apparently at Lady’s insistence finally sending recon forces to winkle out the secrets of Overlook, the Old Man had discovered that the fortress contained several treasures. Half became the Company treasury, something we have not had for a generation. All pledged brothers received equal shares of the rest. Eventually, Croaker ordered a market established where locals could bring anything they cared to sell.

Results were disappointing at first. But once we demonstrated that we would not rob or murder anybody trade picked up. Peasants are resilient. They are realists. These did not see how our yoke could weigh heavier than Longshadow’s. They had no problems with old or imagined myths of the Black Company despite existing so much closer to Khatovar.

They did not know the name Khatovar, as such, either. Nor were they concerned about Kina, under any of her names. Their Kina was a creator as well as a destroyer, fierce but no unhallowed queen of darkness. The Year of the Skulls was no terror to them. They could imagine no future more grim than their past.

Nobody hailed us as liberators, however. We were but the shadow that displaced the darkness.

I wandered the market occasionally, accompanied by Thai Dei and an interpreter. Thai Dei objected. He was sure my curiosity would get me killed. He was not shy about advising me that curiosity was a lethal curse.

Uncle Doj usually tagged along. Despite pretenses to the contrary, a lot of strain had developed between us. I could not forgive Sarie’s absence, though I controlled my urge to bring my knowledge into the open. What I did to irritate him was ask every southerner I interviewed about the constellation called the Noose.

But nobody knew it.

Except for the devastation that was Kiaulune it would have seemed a good world.

I enjoyed myself, except for missing Sarie. And I saw her in my dreams. There were fewer demands on me lately, though I was in charge at the Shadowgate. Red Rudy and Bucket did most of the real work there, showing me the ropes as they went. Nobody said so but I was getting educated in case I ever had to take over. I did not remind anybody that I managed the Old Crew tolerably during our ordeal in Dejagore. I did not remind them that we had a Lieutenant and she was a whole lot more experienced and hard-edged than me. Anytime you say anything you just get more work piled on.