What would he do if the Old Man turned up alive?

I was pretty sure Mogaba thought about that a lot.

I was thanked and told to return to my people with no other comment. I did not find out why he sent for me.

Mogaba did just what I feared. He launched a recon in force, maybe trying to find new weak spots. He employed only his own most trustworthy men. And I was content to sit atop my part of the wall, watching. And wondering why Mogaba was so sure we would desert if we got outside.

I tend to ignore Mogaba here. He was a much greater part of everyday life than I show. He was misery on the hoof. My dislike makes it impossible to write about the man rationally so I discuss him only when I must.

Of all the Nar, in those days, only Sindawe ever made the effort to be civil.

Anyway, Mogaba thought he had a chance to hurt the Shadowmaster but the planners outside were getting the hang of how his head worked. He did not let a lack of success discourage him. There was that about Mogaba. He never became discouraged. No setback ever shook his conviction that he was invincible. If his plans fizzled he just recalculated.

Mogaba’s soldiers began to desert without benefit of escape from the city, coming to hide out with friends among our Taglians. They complained that Mogaba was too profligate with soldiers’ lives.

Mogaba responded by ordering special rations and preferential access to prostitutes for his most dedicated men.

We found those sealed jars of grain left over from the Shadowmasters’ first siege. Whether to share generated considerable debate. One-Eye insisted that Mogaba would not be satisfied just to share. He would want to know all about our find. He would want to see for himself. Did we want him wandering around our warrens?

No.

So what does the little shit do? He turns right around and starts selling fresh-baked bread for twenty times what a loaf cost before the siege.

I found a nice quiet spot for just One-Eye and me, atop the wall on a lazy afternoon. There were fresh rumors of a battle up north but that was not our topic. I asked, “What did you tell me about why we shouldn’t let Mogaba share the stores we found?”

“Huh?” This was not the hassle he expected.

“You were extremely persuasive. All that stuff about not letting the man get into our hideout.”

He grinned, proud of himself. “So?”

“You stand by what you said?”

“Sure.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing selling his men bread when we’re not supposed to have no grain to grind for flour?”

He frowned. The connection eluded him. “Making a profit?”

“You really figure Mogaba is so stupid he won’t notice that bread? You really figure he won’t ask questions?”

“You got too rigid a way of looking at things, Kid.”

“You keep up your crap you’re really going to think rigid. You get me killed I’m going to haunt your ass forever.”

“You probably would. There’s times I think you’re halfway a haunt already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“These spells you have. When you have them it’s like there’s somebody else looking out from behind your eyes. It’s like there’s some other soul swirling around you.”

“I never noticed.” Would I notice?

“If we had us a skilled necromancer or a spirit talker we might be surprise what we found. You wasn’t born twins, was you?” His stare was fierce.

A chill stalked my spine. The hairs on my neck stirred. I did feel spooky, sometimes. But he was just trying to change the subject.

Goblin joined us uninvited. “There’s something going on with the Shadowlanders, Murgen.”

A crow nearby made a sound like laughter. I asked, “They aren’t setting up for another big attack? I thought Mogaba screwed their main ramp.”

“I couldn’t get close enough to catch any details. Mogaba is staying out where people can see him. But I think there was a battle. And I think Shadowspinner’s creeps got whipped. We may have friends out there ready to bust us out.” “Calm down. Don’t start packing your gear.” One-Eye snickered. “That’s the runt all over, counting his chickens when he ain’t even stole no eggs yet.”

I grumbled, “You remember what we were just discussing? Stupid moves? And you’d dare get down on Goblin?” Of course he would. That was his great mission. “What’s going on?” Goblin demanded. Uncle Doj materialized. His presence ended the discussion. That man could be spookier than any shade, he moved so fast and quiet. “Speaker says tell you southerners carrying tools instead of weapons are assembling south of the city.”

“And what’s that over there?” From our perch most of the activity was hidden behind the curve of the wall but it looked like a big engineering party had begun to gather north of the city as well. “You see any prisoners or slaves out there ...? Huh?

What’s that?”

That was the sparkle of sunlight off metal in the hills. The sparkle repeated itself. People were moving out there, not carefully enough.

Shadowspinner’s men had no need to sneak. I told Goblin, “Pass the word. Full alert come sundown.”

Uncle Doj considered the hills. “You have good eyes, Bone Warrior.”

“Know something, Stubby? I’d a whole lot rather be called Murgen.”

The squat man smiled thinly. “As you wish, Murgen. I have come on behalf of the Speaker. He says tell you hard times are coming. He says prepare your hearts and minds.”

“Hard times?”

One-Eye laughed. “The party is over, Kid. Now we got to pay for loafing around and getting fat while the hour is slithered all over us.”

“Keep it in mind next time you’re tempted to do some profiteering.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t eat money, One-Eye.”

“Killjoy.”

“That’s me all over. Tell Wheezer to hike over to the citadel and tell Sindawe the southerners are up to something.” Sindawe might be all right. I could talk to him without having to conquer an urge to squeeze his throat. And this would cover me on keeping Mogaba informed.

What would happen if the Shadowmaster just up and walked away, leaving us to sort ourselves out?

Sounded like the smart thing for him to do.

Wheezer barely made it to the top. Then he spent five minutes hacking and wheezing before he could talk. That old man had no business soldiering at his age. He ought to be off living off his grandchildren. But like the rest of us he had nothing outside the Company. He would die under the deathshead standard. Under what passed for a standard today.

It was sad. Pathetic, even.

Wheezer was an anomaly. Usually the mercenary life is brutal and short, pain and fear and misery only occasionally interrupted by a fleeting moment of pleasure. What keeps you sane is the unfailing comradeship of your brethren. In this company.

In lesser bands... But they are not the Black Company.

Croaker and I both put a lot of effort into sustaining that brotherhood. In fact, it looked like time to resurrect Croaker’s habit of readings from the Annals so the men would remember that they were part of something more enduring than most kingdoms.

I told Wheezer, “You better take a couple hours off.”

He shook his head. He would go on the best he could until he could go on no more. “The Nar lieutenant. Sindawe. Sends greetings. He said we better look out tonight.”

“He mention why?”

“He sort of hinted... that Mogaba might try ... some big stunt after... dark.”

Mogaba was always trying some big stunt. Shadowspinner ought to let him set himself up. One raid too many, at the wrong time, and Mogaba would find out personally why Spinner was called a Shadowmaster.

Wheezer said something in his native tongue. Only One-Eye understood him. Sounded like a question. One-Eye muttered a few clicky syllables in reply. I figured the old man wanted to know if it was all right to talk in front of the Nyueng Bao. One-Eye gave him the go ahead.