A spate of snarling and yelling broke out toward town. Brilliant light slashed through the snowfall. “I knew it,” I growled, one fear realized. Toadkiller Dog had found One-Eye and Goblin.
Another carpet lifted. The Lady boarded ours, closed the dome. “Fools,” she said. “What were they doing?”
I said nothing.
She did not see. Her attention was on the carpet, which was not behaving as it should. Something seemed to pull it toward the Great Barrow. But I saw. Tracker’s ugly face passed at eye level. He carried the son of the tree.
Then Toadkiller Dog reappeared, stalking Tracker. Half the monster’s face was gone. He ran on three legs. But he was plenty enough to take Tracker apart.
The Lady saw Toadkiller Dog. She spun the carpet. Systematically she loosed its eight thirty foot shafts. She did not miss. And yet...
Dragging the missiles, engulfed in flame, Toadkiller Dog crawled into the Great Tragic River. He went under and did not come up.
“That’ll keep him out of the way for a while.”
Not ten yards away, oblivious, Tracker was clearing the peak of the Great Barrow so he could plant his sapling. “Idiots,” the Lady murmured. “I’m surrounded by idiots. Even the Tree is a dolt.”
She would not explain. Neither did she interfere.
I sought traces of One-Eye and Goblin as we flew homeward. I saw nothing. They were not in the compound. Of course. There had not yet been time for them to snowshoe back. But when they had not appeared an hour later, I began having trouble concentrating on the reanimation of Bomanz.
That started with repeated hot baths, both to warm his flesh and to cleanse him. I did not get to see the preliminaries. The Lady kept me with her. She did not look in till the Taken were ready for the final quickening. And that was unimpressive. The Lady made a few gestures around Bomanz-who looked pretty moth-eaten-and said a few words in a language I did not understand.
Why do sorcerers always use languages nobody understands? Even Goblin and One-Eye do it. Each has confided that he cannot follow the tongue the other uses. Maybe they make it up?
Her words worked. That old wreck came to life grittily determined to push forward against a savage wind. He marched three steps before registering his altered circumstances.
He froze. He turned slowly, face collapsing into despair. His gaze locked on the Lady. Maybe two minutes passed. Then he looked the rest of us over and considered his surroundings.
“You explain, Croaker.”
“Does he speak...”
“Forsberger hasn’t changed.”
I faced Bomanz, a legend come to life. “I am Croaker. A military physician by profession. You are Bomanz...”
“His name is Seth Chalk, Croaker. Let us establish that immediately.”
“You are Bomanz, whose true name may be Seth Chalk, a sorcerer of Oar. Nearly a century has passed since you attempted to contact the Lady.”
“Give him the whole story.” The Lady used a Jewel Cities dialect likely to be outside Bomanz’s capacity.
I talked till I was hoarse. The rise of the Lady’s empire. The threat defeated at the battle at Charm. The threat defeated at Juniper. The present threat. He said not a word in all that time. Not once did I see in him the fat, almost obsequious shopkeeper of the story.
His first words were: “So. I did not entirely fail.” He faced the Lady. “And you remain tainted by the light, Not-Ardath.” He faced me again. “You will take me to the White Rose. As soon as I have eaten.”
Nary a protest from the Lady.
He ate like a fat little shopkeeper.
The Lady herself helped me back into my wet winter coat. “Don’t dawdle,” she cautioned.
Hardly had we departed when Bomanz seemed to diminish. He said, “I’m too old. Don’t let that back there fool you. An act. Going to play with the big boys, you have to act. What’ll I do? A hundred years. Less than a week to redeem myself. How will I get a handle on things that quickly? The only principal I know is the Lady.”
“Why did you think she was Ardath? Why not one of the other sisters?”
“There was more than one?”
“Four.” I named them. “From your papers I’ve established that Soulcatcher was the one named Dorotea...”
“My papers?”
“So called. Because the story of you wakening the Lady was prominent among them. It’s always been assumed, till a few days ago, that you assembled them and your wife carried them away when she thought you had died.”
“Bears investigation. I collected nothing. I risked nothing but a map of the Barrowland.”
“I know the map well.”
“I must see those papers. But first, your White Rose. Meanwhile, tell me about the Lady.”
I had trouble staying with him. He zigged and zagged, spraying ideas. “What about her?”
“There is a detectable tension between you. Of enemies who are friends, perhaps. Lovers who are enemies? Opponents who know one another well and respect one another. If you respect her, it’s with reason. It’s impossible to respect total evil. It cannot respect itself.”
Wow. He was right. I did respect her. So I talked a bit. And my theme was, when I noticed it, that she did remain tainted by the light. “She tried hard to be a villain. But when faced by real darkness-the thing under the mound-her weakness started to show.”
“It is only slightly less difficult for us to extinguish the light within us than it is for us to conquer the darkness. A Dominator occurs once in a hundred generations. The others, like the Taken, are but imitations.”
“Can you stand against the Lady?”
“Hardly. I suspect my fate is to become one of the Taken when she finds time.” He’d landed on his feet, this old boy. He halted. “Lords! She’s strong!”
“Who?”
“Your Darling. An incredible absorption. I feel helpless as a child.”
We stamped into Blue Willy, entering through a second-floor window. The snow was banked that high.
One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent were down in the common room with Darling. The first two looked a bit shopworn. “So,” I said. “You guys made it. I thought Toadkiller Dog had you for lunch.”
“No problem at all,” One-Eye said. “We...”
“What do you mean, we?” Goblin demanded. “You were worthless as tits on a boar hog. Silent...”
“Shut up. This is Bomanz. He wants to meet Darling.”
“The Bomanz?” Goblin squeaked.
“The very one.”
Their meeting was about a three-question interview. Darling took charge immediately. When he realized Darling was leading him, Bomanz broke it off. He told me, “Next step. I read my alleged autobiography.”
“It’s not yours?”
“Unlikely. Unless my memory serves me worse than I suppose.”
We returned to the compound in silence. He seemed reflective. Darling has that impact on those who meet her for the first time. She is just Darling to those of us who have known her all along.
Bomanz worked his way through the original manuscript, occasionally asking about specific passages. He was unfamiliar with the UchiTelle dialect.
“You had nothing to do with that, then?”
“No. But my wife was the primary source. Question. Was the girl Snoopy traced?”
“No.”
“She is the one to follow up. She is the only survivor of significance.”
“I’ll tell the Lady. But there isn’t time for it. In a few days Hell is going to break loose out there.” I wondered if Tracker had gotten the sapling planted. Much good it would do when the Great Tragic reached the mound. Brave move but dumb, Tracker.
The effects of his effort were apparent soon, though. When I got around to relaying Bomanz’s suggestion about Snoopy, the Lady asked, “Have you noted the weather?”