The Silver spike (30 page)

They had used so little sorcery that he had stopped watching for
it. His own style was smashing hammer blows. Subtlety was the last
thing he expected from anyone else.

It was not till he came upon the same disfigured tree for the
fourth time that he woke to the realization that he had seen it
before, that, in fact, his tireless run had been guided into a
circle about fifty miles around and he had been chasing himself for
hundreds of miles. Another damned stall!

He controlled his rage and found his way off the endless track.
Then he paused to take stock of himself and his surroundings.

He was a little north of the Tower. He felt it down there,
somehow mocking, daring, almost calling him to come try its
defenses again. An affront, it was.

It seemed likely there was nothing his enemies would like more
than to have him waste time beating his head against that
adamantine fortress. So he put temptation aside. He would deal with
the Tower after he had taken possession of the silver spike and had
shaped it into the talisman that would give him mastery of the
world.

He headed north, toward Oar.

His step was sprightly. He chuckled as he ran. Soon, now. Soon.
The world would pay its debts.

Toadkiller Dog loped nearer the Tower, uncertain why he tempted
fate so. He sensed the Limper running in circles north of him and
was amused. These new lords of the empire were not as terrible as
the old, but they were smart. Maybe smarter than any of the old
ones except the Lady herself and her sister. He was satisfied that
the power had passed into competent hands.

Something he had heard some wise man say. About the three stages
of empire, the three generations. First came the conquerers,
unstoppable in war. Then came the administrators, who bound it all
together into one apparently unshakable, immortal edifice. Then
came the wasters, who knew no responsibility and squandered the
capital of their inheritance upon whims and vices. And fell to
other conquerers.

This empire was making the transition from the age of the
conquerer to that of the administrator. Only one of the old ones
was left, the Limper. The heirs of empire were out to crowd him off
history’s stage. Conquerers were too rowdy and unpredictable
to keep around if you wanted a well-ordered empire.

He would do well to consider his own place in this nonchaotic
future.

He trotted to what he considered a safe distance from the Tower
gate, sat, waited.

Someone came out almost immediately. A someone whose vision of
the future had room for a timeless old terror like Toadkiller
Dog.

They formed an alliance.

Smeds groaned as he pushed his blanket aside and rolled over. He
had bruises on his bruises and aches in every muscle and joint.
Sleeping on the ground did not help.

This was the third time he had wakened in this tent he shared
with forty men. He was not looking forward to another day in the
militia.

“You all right, Ken?” a tentmate asked. He was using
the name Kenton Anitya.

“Stiff and sore. Guess I’ll get a chance to work out
the kinks before the day is over.”

“Why keep fighting them? You can’t win.”

Someone looked outside. “Hey! It snowed. Got about an inch
out there.”

Jeers and sarcastic remarks about their good fortune.

Smeds said, “Since I was a kid people been kicking me
around. I ain’t gonna take it no more. I’m gonna kick
back and keep on kicking till they decide it’s easier to
leave me alone.” He’d had four fights with the grays
running their training platoon already.

Another neighbor said, “You’re getting to them. But
your tactics aren’t so great. Got to use your head a little,
too.”

That was Cy Green. Already he was pretty much the leader inside
the tent. Everybody figured Green wasn’t his real name. He
didn’t wear it very good. Everybody figured he’d been
in the army before. He handled the military crap like he was born
to it and he always let you know how you could make it easier on
yourself—if you wanted to know. The guys liked him and mostly
took his advice.

Smeds was reserving judgment. The guy was too much at home for
him. He might be a spy. Or maybe a deserter who got swept up by the
gray recruiters. Smeds had a notion that at least here in Oar, a
deserter with a long military background probably had served with
the Guards at the Barrowland.

“I’m open to suggestions, Cy. But I ain’t
going to back down.”

“Look at what’s going on, Ken. Originally they
worked on you because they wanted to show us what could happen if
we weren’t good boys. You provoked so easy they kept coming
back.”

“Over and over. And probably again today. And I
won’t back down then, either.”

“Calm down. You’re right. It’s gone past
what’s reasonable. But every time you see red you go for
Corporal Royal.”

“Only because I can’t get to the
sergeant.”

“But the sergeant and corporal are halfway decent guys
just trying to do a job that they don’t think there’s
any point or hope to. Your real problem is Caddy. Caddy waits till
they’re a hair short of having you under control, then he
jumps in and kicks the shit out of you.”

Several of the men agreed. One said, “Caddy’s got
his bluff in on the rest of them.”

Green said, “And he’s covered as long as he
don’t kill you.”

Smeds didn’t really want to talk about it. But they were
probably right about Caddy. “So?”

“Go after Caddy if you have to go for somebody. He’s
the root of the meanness. He’s the one going to hurt you.
Make him pay. And try to put a leash on that temper. You got to
blow up, do it when you’re right, not just ’cause you
don’t like how things are going. Don’t none of us want
to be here. We keep our heads, maybe we’ll all get out of
this.”

Smeds wanted to throw a fit right then but he held back, mainly
because he’d be doing it in the face of common sense, which
would cost him the respect he had won.

He was real worried about Smeds Stahl. Smeds Stahl was getting
inclined to let himself get carried away. He did need to keep a
better grip. Or he’d end up doing himself in the way Tully
did.

He wondered if it was the influence of the spike.

His determination to do right got a big boost at morning
roll.

Fortune was all smiles. The tent next on the left started
earlier and he overheard the corporal over there bellow,
“Locan, Timmy,” so he was ready for the trick when
Corporal Royal tried it. He just kind of glanced around dumbly like
everybody else, and did not respond at all when Royal tried,
“Stahl, Smeds.”

They were getting closer. They knew the names now.

He got another shock an hour later. They were stomping around in
the mud, doing close order drill. His platoon passed another headed
the other way and there in the outside file was Old Man Fish.

Fish winked and skipped to get in step.

Exile watching had become a permanent assignment for Silent. And
now it looked like it was paying off. He was excited when he
slipped in.

He signed, “They have come up with the names of three men
who were regular companions of the murdered man. Timmy Locan. Smeds
Stahl. Old Man Fish.”

“Fish?” Raven asked aloud.

Silent signed, “Yes. The description was vague but he
could be the man who whipped you three.”

“Old Man Fish?”

Silent smiled wickedly, but signed, “They have been traced
to a place known as the Skull and Crossbones, which is abandoned
now, except for squatters. But the Nightstalkers had a corporal
billeted there till the night the riots started. They are looking
for him. They think he can identify the men. Exile feels very
close. He is mobilizing all his resources. Also, the Limper is
expected tomorrow.”

Darling was excited. She looked like she had stumbled onto an
unexpected answer. She clapped her hands, demanding attention.
“You will prevent them from bringing that soldier to Exile. I
want him. Deliver him to Lamber Gartsen’s stable.”

She had worked hard, using her Plain allies, to take stock of
what little remained of the Rebel cause. Gartsen was it.

“Likewise, identify and collect the owner of the Skull and
Crossbones. And anyone else who made an extended stay during the
appropriate period. Be careful. They have made no great effort to
catch us but they know we are here. They will be alert for their
opportunities. Outfit yourselves as Exile’s guards. Let us
go.”

They tried to argue. Arguing with Darling was like arguing with
the wind. Faced with no other choice, they went with her, to guard
her.

They departed the temple one by one, unnoticed in the press.
Darling gathered them two blocks away, took reports from Plain
creatures she had sent ahead, signed, “Exile’s guards
are billeted in the Treasury Annex. There are twelve there now, off
duty. Silent, you and Bomanz will neutralize them.”

No if you can or give it a try. Just do it.

The men were rattled. They were not prepared for a head-to-head
with a city very much in imperial hands.

They did not argue this time, though.

Silent knew a spell for putting people to sleep but it was
verbally based. Pruned up in disgust, he gave it to Bomanz. The
wizards went away. Darling gave them a five-minute start.

Silent awaited them at the annex door. He signed, “They
are asleep.”

Darling countered, “I want them under so deep they will
not awaken for days. Then hidden where they are not likely to be
found.”

Silent scowled but nodded.

Shortly afterward, as they donned a guise acceptable on the
streets of Oar, Bomanz said, “Let’s keep it neat here.
The longer it takes them to figure it out, the longer we’ve
got to take advantage of their costumes.”

Raven grunted. Silent nodded. One of the Torques asked,
“What are these brooch things with the garnet faces?
Allegiance badges?”

Silent examined one, set it down quickly, made signs at Bomanz.
The old wizard looked at the brooch. “Allegiance badges, yes,
but also a way for Exile to track his people. We’d better do
something with them. Like have that idiot buzzard fly them out into
the country.”

Darling signed impatiently.

“All right, all right,” Bomanz grumbled.
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can.”

Another half hour passed before they left the Annex. Darling,
Raven, and Bomanz rode, guised as black riders. The rest went as
foot soldiers. Wherever they went people got out of their way.

Once they cleared the city’s center Darling and the
injured Torque split off for the Gartsen stable. There was a
talking stone there. Darling wanted to get in touch with Old Father
Tree. The rest went off to see what they could do about keeping the
imperials from getting their hands on anyone who could identify the
men who had stolen the silver spike.

After I figured out I was probably safer in the militia than
hanging around Darling I settled down and made myself to home. It
was kind of comfortable back in the old rut. Didn’t have to
do no thinking or worrying.

But I guess I spent too much time running loose. It got old
fast. First time I felt like going out for a beer and
couldn’t I knew I was getting out and staying there.

That idea got a boost when the sergeant had us our first weapons
practice. We stood around in the mud while the breeze gnawed on us.
Half the guys weren’t dressed for it. But that wasn’t
what got me. That was what the sergeant told us.

“Listen up, you men. We just got word trouble gets here
tomorrow. All the learning you’re going to get you’re
going to get today. You want a half-ass chance of getting through
alive, pay attention. The only weapon we got to give you is the
spear. So that’s all we’re going to work with.”
He indicated soldiers who had their arms wrapped around bundles of
spears. The spearheads were inside wooden covers so nobody would
get stabbed or cut. “These two new guys are experts. They was
loaned to us by the Nightstalkers. They’re going to run us
through the drills. You don’t do what they tell you, you get
your butt kicked same as if you don’t do what I tell
you.” He gestured at one of the Nightstalkers.

They all learn their piece at the same place, I think.

The Nightstalker stripped the cover off the head of a spear.
“This is a spear.” He was going to blind us with
illuminating information. But I’d played with these toys
lots. Those others guys hadn’t. Maybe some of them needed to
be told. You got to crawl before you walk and walk before you run.
Except my littlest brother Radish. The way I remember, he hit the
ground running.

“This edge is sharp enough to shave with. This point will
go through armor if you put some muscle behind it. The spear is a
very versatile weapon. You can stab with it, jab with it, cut with
it, slash with it. You can use it to hold your tent up or use it
for a fishing pole. But one thing you can’t never do with it
is throw it. It ain’t a javelin. You throw it and you
don’t have shit anymore. You’re meat for the first guy
that wants you.”

So. Rule One.

And so forth. While we froze our butts off.

Came to the part where they start sparring, going through the
basic moves. The Nightstalkers called for seven guys to pair off
with our regular instructors. I was proud. The recruits had
listened to me. Nobody volunteered.

The Nightstalkers grabbed seven guys and started them through
the moves. The sergeant took four pairs and his buddy took
three.

Just like I figured, when they got moving faster the soldier
named Caddy made him a chance to “accidentally” hurt
the guy he was sparring with.

The Nightstalker broke it up. “Seven more. Come
on.”

This one hothead named Ken something was all set to go after
Caddy and get his head busted good. I told a couple guys,
“Hang on to him. Cool him down. And don’t let him pair
off with Caddy.”