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left had
fled into Tambor, an even bleaker kingdom to the northeast. I
supposed Tambor would be our next mission.
    I was scribbling away at these Annals one day, when I decided I
needed an estimate of the mileage we’d covered in our
progression eastward. I was appalled to learn the truth. Tome was
two thousand miles east of Charm! Far beyond the bounds of the
empire as it had existed six years ago. The great bloody conquests
of the Taken Whisper had established a border arc just this side of
the Plain of Fear. I ran down the line of city-states forming that
forgotten frontier. Frost and Ade, Thud and Barns, and Rust, where
the Rebel had defied the Lady successfully for years. Huge cities
all, formidable, and the last such we had seen.
    I still shuddered, recalling the Plain of Fear.
    We crossed it under the aegis of Whisper and Feather, two of the
Taken, the Lady’s black apprentices, both sorceresses orders
of magnitude above our three puny wizards. Even so, and traveling
with entire armies of the Lady’s regulars, we suffered there.
It is a hostile, bitter land where none of the normal rules apply.
Rocks speak and whales fly. Coral grows in the desert. Trees walk.
And the inhabitants are the strangest of
all . . . But that is neither here nor there.
Just a nightmare from the past. A nightmare that haunts me still,
when the screams of Cougar and Fleet come echoing down the
corridors of time, and once again I can do nothing to save
them.
    “What’s the trouble?” Elmo asked, slipping the
map from beneath my fingers, cocking his head sideways. “Look
like you saw a ghost.”
    “Just remembering the Plain of Fear.”
    “Oh. Yeah. Well, buck up. Have a beer.” He slapped
my back. “Hey! Kingpin! Where the hell you been?” He
charged away, in pursuit of the Company’s leading
malingerer.
    One-Eye arrived a moment later, startling me. “How’s
Goblin?” he asked softly. There had been no intercourse
between them since Madle’s. He eyed the map. “The Empty
Hills? Interesting name.”
    “Also called the Hollow Hills. He’s all right. Why
don’t you check him out?”
    “What the hell for? He was the one who acted the ass. Can’t take a little
joke . . . ”
    “Your jokes get a bit rough, One-Eye.”
    “Yeah. Maybe. Tell you what. You come with me.”
    “Got to prepare my reading.” One night a month the
Captain expects me to exhort the troops with a reading from the
Annals. So we’ll know where we came from, so we’ll
recall our ancestors in the outfit. Once that meant a lot. The
Black Company. Last of the Free Companies of Khatovar. All
brethren. Tight. Great esprit. Us against the world, and let the
world watch out. But the something that had manifested itself in
Goblin’s behavior, in the low-grade depression of Elmo and
others, was affecting everybody. The pieces were coming
unglued.
    I had to pick a good reading. From a time when the Company had
its back against the wall and survived only by clinging to its
traditional virtues. There have been many such moments in four
hundred years. I wanted one recorded by one of the more inspired
Annalists, one with the fire of a White Rose revivalist speaking to
potential recruits. Maybe I needed a series, one that I could read
several nights running.
    “Crap,” One-Eye said. “You know those books by
heart. Always got your nose in them. Anyway, you could fake the
whole thing and nobody would know the difference.”
    “Probably. And nobody would care if I did. It’s
going sour, old-timer. Right. Let’s go see Goblin.”
    Maybe the Annals needed a rereading on a different level. Maybe
I was treating symptoms. The Annals have a certain mystic quality,
for me. Maybe I could identify the disease by immersing myself,
hunting something between the lines.
    Goblin and Silent were playing no-hands mumbletypeg. I’ll
say this for our three spook-pushers: They aren’t great, but
they keep their talents polished. Goblin was ahead on points. He
was in a good