Oh, hell, I thought. They’re pushing them our way...

I grinned. Not our way at all. Toward Darling and her null, in a place unexpected.

As the thought occurred I saw the flash of vain sorceries, saw a carpet stagger, flutter earthward. A score of mantas swarmed it.

Maybe Darling was not as dumb as I thought. Maybe these Taken could be taken out. A profit, for sure, if nothing else went right.

But what were we doing? The lightning illuminated my companions. Nearest me were Tracker and Toadkiller Dog. Tracker seemed bored. But Toadkiller Dog was as alert as I had seen him. He was sitting up, watching the display. The only time I ever saw him not on his belly was at mealtime.

His tongue was out. He panted. Had he been human, I would have said he was grinning.

The second Taken tried to impress the mantas with his power. He was too immensely outnumbered. And below, Darling was moving. That second Taken suddenly entered her null. Down he went. The manta swarm pursued.

Both would survive landing. But then they would be afoot at the heart of the Plain, which tonight had taken a stand. Their chances of walking out looked grim.

The windwhale was up a couple thousand feet now, moving northeast, gaining speed. How far to the edge of the Plain nearest Rust? Two hundred miles? Fine. We might make it before dawn. But what about the last thirty miles, beyond the Plain?

Tracker started singing. His voice was soft at first. His song was old. Soldiers of the north countries had sung it for generations. It was a dirge, a song-before-death sung in memory of those about to die. I heard it in Forsberg, sung on both sides. Another voice took it up. Then another and another. Perhaps fifteen men knew it, of forty or so.

The windwhale glided northward. Far, far below, the Plain of Fear slid away, utterly invisible.

I began to sweat, though the upper air was cold.

My first false assumption was that the Limper would be home when we called. Darling’s maneuver against the Taken obviated that. I should have recalled that the Taken touch one another over long distances, mind to mind. Limper and Benefice passed nearby as we moved north.

“Down!” Goblin squealed when we were fifty miles short of the edge of the Plain. “Taken. Nobody move.”

As always, old Croaker considered himself the exception to the rule. For the Annals, of course. I crept nearer the side of our monster mount, peered out into the night. Way below, two shadows raced down our backtrack. Once they were past I took a cussing from Elmo, the Lieutenant, Goblin, One-Eye, and anybody else who wanted a piece. I settled back beside Tracker. He just grinned and shrugged.

He came ever more to life as action approached.

My second false assumption was that the windwhale would drop us at the edge of the Plain. I was up again as that drew near, ignoring naughty remarks directed my way. But the windwhale did not go down. It did not descend for many minutes yet. I began to babble sillinesses when I resumed my place by Tracker.

He had his till-now mysterious case open. It contained a small arsenal. He checked his weapons. One long-bladed knife did not please him. He began applying a whetstone.

How many times had Raven done the same in the brief year he spent with the Company?

The whale’s descent was sudden. Elmo and the Lieutenant passed among us, telling us to get off in a hurry. Elmo told me, “Stick close to me, Croaker. You too, Tracker. One-Eye. You feel anything down there?”

“Nothing. Goblin has his sleeping spell ready. Their sentries will be snoring when we touch down.”

“Unless they aren’t and raise the alarm,” I muttered. Damn, but didn’t I have it for the dark side?

No problems. We grounded. Men poured over the side. They spread out as if this part had been rehearsed. Parts may have been while I was sulking.

I could do nothing but what Elmo told me.

The early going reminded me of another barracks raid, long ago, south of the Sea of Torments, ere we enlisted with the Lady. We had slaughtered the Urban Cohorts of the Jewel City Beryl, our wizards keeping them snoozing while we murdered them.

Not work I enjoy, I’ll tell you. Most of them were just kids who enlisted for want of something better to do. But they were the enemy, and we were making a grand gesture. A grander gesture than I had supposed Darling could order, or had in mind.

The sky began to lighten. Not one man of an entire regiment, save perhaps a few AWOL for the night, survived. Out on the main parade of the compound, which stood well outside Rust proper, Elmo and the Lieutenant began to yell. Hurry, hurry. More to do. This squad to wreck the stellae of the Taken. That squad to plunder regimental headquarters. Another to set out stuff to fire the barracks buildings. Still another to search the Limper’s quarters for documents. Hurry, hurry. Got to get gone before the Taken return. Darling cannot distract them forever.

Somebody screwed up. Naturally. It always happens. Somebody fired one barracks early. Smoke rose.

Over in Rust, we soon learned, there was another regiment. In minutes a squadron of horse were galloping our way. And again, someone had screwed up. The gates were not secured. Almost without warning the horsemen were among us.

Men shouted. Weapons clanged. Arrows flew. Horses shrieked. The Lady’s men got out, leaving half their number behind.

Now Elmo and the Lieutenant were in a hurry for sure. Those boys were going for help.

While we were scattering the imperials the windwhale lifted off. Maybe half a dozen men managed to scramble aboard. It rose just enough to clear the rooftops, then headed south. There was not yet enough light to betray it.

You can imagine the cussing and shouting. Even Toadkiller Dog found the energy to snarl. I slumped in defeat, dropped my butt onto a hitching rail, sat there shaking my head. A few men sped arrows after the monster. It did not notice.

Tracker leaned on the rail beside me. I grumped, “You wouldn’t think something that big would be chicken.” I mean, a windwhale can destroy a city.

“Do not impart motives to a creature you do not understand. You have to see its reasoning.”

“What?”

“Not reasoning. I don’t know the right word.” He reminded me of a four-year-old struggling with a difficult concept. “It’s outside the lands it knows. Beyond bounds its enemies believe it can breech. It runs for fear it will be seen and a secret betrayed. It has never worked with men. How can it remember them in a desperate moment?”

He was right, probably. But at the moment I was more interested in him than in his theory. That I would have stumbled across after I settled down. He made it seem one huge and incredibly difficult piece of thinking.

I wondered about his mind. Was he just slightly more than a half-wit? Was his Ravenlike act not a product of personality but of simpleness?

The Lieutenant stood on the parade ground, hands on hips, watching the windwhale leave us in the enemy’s palm. After a minute he shouted, “Officers! Assemble!” After we gathered, he said, “We’re in for it. As I see it, we have one hope. That that big bastard gets in touch with the menhirs when it gets back. And that they decide we’re worth saving. So what we do is hold out till nightfall. And hope.”

One-Eye made an obscene noise. “I think we better run for it.”

“Yeah? And let the imperials track us? We’re how far from home? You think we can make it with the Limper and his pals after us?”

“They’ll be after us here.”

“Maybe. And maybe they’ll keep them busy out there. At least, if we’re here, they’ll know where to find us. Elmo, survey the walls. See if we can hold them. Goblin, Silent, get those fires put out. The rest of you, clean out the Taken’s documents. Elmo! Post sentries. One-Eye. Your job is to figure out how we can get help from Rust. Croaker, give him a hand. You know who we have where. Come on. Move.”