He had found a cipher. He had broken it and it had given him the Lady’s patronym, a name common in pre-Domination histories. Circumstances implicated one of that family’s several daughters as the Lady. A little historical detective work had completed the task.
So he had solved a mystery that had baffled thousands for hundreds of years.
Knowing her true name gave him the power to compel the Lady. In wizardry, the true name is identical with the thing...
I could have shrieked. It seemed my correspondent ended on the brink of the very revelation for which I had been searching these many years. Damn his black heart.
This time there was a postscript, a little something more than story. The letter-writer had added what looked like chicken scratches. That they were meant to communicate I had no doubt. But I could make nothing of them.
As always, there was neither signature nor seal.
Twenty
The Barrowland
The rain never ceased. Mostly it was little more than a drizzle. When the day went especially well, it slackened to a falling mist. But always there was precipitation. Corbie went out anyway, though he complained often about aches in his leg.
“If the weather bothers you so, why stay here?” Case asked. “You said you think your kids live in Opal. Why not go down there and look for them yourself? At least the weather would be decent.”
It was a tough question. Corbie had yet to create a convincing answer. He had not yet found one that would do himself, let alone enemies who might ask.
There was nothing Corbie was afraid to do. In another life, as another man, he had challenged the hellmakers themselves, unafraid. Swords and sorcery and death could not intimidate him. Only people, and love, could terrify him.
“Habit, I guess,” he said. Weakly. “Maybe I could live in Oar. Maybe. I don’t deal well with people, Case. I don’t like them that much. I couldn’t stand the Jewel Cities. Did I tell you I was down there once?”
Case had heard the story several times. He suspected Corbie had been more than down there. He thought one of the Jewel Cities was Corbie’s original home. “Yeah. When the big Rebel push in Forsberg started. You told me about seeing the Tower on the way up.”
“That’s right. I did. Memory’s slipping. Cities. I don’t like them, lad. Don’t like them. Too many people. Sometimes there’s too many of them here. Was when I first came.
Nowadays it’s about right. About right. Maybe too much fuss and bother because of the undead over there.” He poked his chin toward the Great Barrow. “But otherwise about right. One or two of you guys I can talk to. Nobody else to get in my way.”
Case nodded. He thought he understood while not understanding. He had known other old veterans. Most had had their peculiarities. “Hey! Corbie. You ever run into the Black Company when you was up here?”
Corbie froze, stared with such intensity the young soldier blushed. “Uh... What’s the matter, Corbie? I say something wrong?”
Corbie resumed walking, his limp not slowing a furiously increased pace. “It was odd. Like you were reading my mind. Yes. I ran into those guys. Bad people. Very bad people.”
“My dad told us stories about them. He was with them during the long retreat to Charm. Lords, the Windy Country, the Stair of Tear, all those battles. When he got leave time after the battle at Charm, he came home. Told awful stories about those guys.”
“I missed that part. I got left behind at Roses, when Shifter and the Limper lost the battle. Who was your dad with? You’ve never talked about him much.”
“Nightcrawler. I don’t talk about him because we never got along.”
Corbie smiled. “Sons seldom get on with their fathers. And that’s the voice of experience speaking.”
“What did your father do?”
Corbie laughed. “He was a farmer. Of sorts. But I’d rather not talk about him.”
“What are we doing out here, Corbie?”
Double-checking Bomanz’s surveys. But Corbie could not tell the lad that. Nor could he think of an adequate lie. “Walking in the rain.”
“Corbie...”
“Can we keep it quiet for a while, Case? Please?”
“Sure.”
Corbie limped all the way around the Barrowland, maintaining a respectful distance, never being too obvious. He did not use equipment. That would bring Colonel Sweet on the run. Instead, he consulted the wizard’s chart in his mind. The thing blazed with its own life there, those arcane TelleKurre symbols glowing with a wild and dangerous life. Studying the remains of the Barrowland, he could find but a third of the map’s referents. The rest had been undone by time and weather.
Corbie was no man to have trouble with his nerve. But he was afraid now. Near the end of their stroll he said, “Case, I want a favor. Perhaps a double favor.”
“Sir?”
“Sir? Call me Corbie.”
“You sounded so serious.”
“It is serious.”
“Say on, then.”
“Can you be trusted to keep your mouth shut?”
“If necessary.”
“I want to extract a conditional vow of silence.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Case, I want to tell you something. In case something happens to me.”
“Corbie!”
“I’m not a young man, Case. And I have a lot wrong with me. I’ve been through a lot. I feel it catching up. I don’t expect to go soon. But things happen. If something should, there’s something I don’t want to die with me.”
“Okay, Corbie.”
“If I suggested something, can you keep it to yourself? Even if you think you maybe shouldn’t? Can you do something for me?”
“You’re making it hard, not telling me.”
“I know. It’s not fair. The only other man I trust is Colonel Sweet. And his position wouldn’t let him make such a promise.”
“It’s not illegal?”
“Not strictly speaking.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess, Case.”
“All right. You have my word.”
“Good. Thank you. It is appreciated, never doubt that.
Two things. First. If something happens to me, go to the room on the second floor of my home. If I have left an oilskin packet on the table there, see that it gets to a blacksmith named Sand, in Oar.”
Case looked suitably dubious and baffled.
“Second, after you do that-and only after-tell the Colonel the undead are stirring.”
Case stopped walking.
“Case.” There was a note of command in Corbie’s voice the youth had not heard before.
“Yes. All right.”
“That’s it.”
“Corbie...”
“No questions now. In a few weeks, maybe I can explain everything. All right?”
“Okay.”
“Not a word now. And remember. Packet to Sand the blacksmith. Then word to the Colonel. Tell you what. If I can, I’ll leave the Colonel a letter, too.”
Case merely nodded.
Corbie took a deep breath. It had been twenty years since he had attempted the simplest divining spell. Never had he tried anything on the order of what he now faced. Back in those ancient times, when he was another man, or boy, sorcery was a diversion for wealthy youths who would rather play wizard than pursue legitimate studies.
All was ready. The tools of the sorcerer appropriate to the task lay on the table on the second floor of the house that Bomanz built. It was fitting that he follow the old one.
He touched the oilskin packet left for Case, the opaque letter to Sweet, and prayed neither would touch the young man’s hands. But if what he suspected were true, it was better the enemy knew than the world be surprised.
There was nothing left to do but do it. He gulped half a cup of cold tea, took his seat. He closed his eyes, began a chant taught him when he was younger than Case. His was not the method Bomanz had used, but it was as effective.