Nice touch, One-Eye. What you call verisimilitude.
There were twenty-five bandits. They wore ghastly expressions. Their faces went
paler still when they spied Lady, when they saw the specter-banner on Murgen’s
lance.
The Black Company was pretty well known.
Two hundred ghost bows bent. Fifty hands tried to find some sky-belly to grab.
“I suggest you dismount and disarm,” I told their captain. He gulped air a few
times, considered the odds, did as directed. “Now clear away from the horses.
You naughty boys.”
They moved. Lady made a gesture. The horses all turned and trotted toward
Goblin, who was their real motivator. He let the animals pass. They would return
to the inn, to proclaim the terror ended.
Slick. Oh, slick. Not even a hangnail. That was the way we did it in the old
days. Maneuver and trickery. Why get yourself hurt if you can whip them with a
shuffle and con?
We got the prisoners into a rope line where they could be adequately controlled,
then headed south. The brigands were greatly exercised when Goblin and One-Eye
relaxed. They didn’t think it was fair of us.
Two days later we reached Vest. With One-Eye and Goblin again supporting her
grand illusion, Lady remanded the deserters to the justice of the garrison
commander. We only had to kill two of them to get them there.
Something of a distraction along the road. Now there was none, and Charm drew
closer by the hour. I had to face the fact that trouble beckoned.
The bulk of the Annals, which my companions believed to be in my possession,
remained in Imperial hands. They had been captured at Queen’s Bridge, an old
defeat that still stings. I was promised their return shortly before the crisis
in the Barrowland. But that crisis prevented their delivery. Afterward, there
was nothing to do but go fetch them myself.
Black Company S 4 - Shadow Games
Chapter Three: A TAVERN IN TAGLIOS
Willow scrunched a little more comfortably into his chair. The girls giggled and
dared one another to touch his cornsilk hair. The one with the most promising
eyes reached, ran her fingers down its length. Willow looked across the room,
winked at Cordy Mather.
This was the life—till their fathers and brothers got wise. This was every man’s
dream—with the same old lethal risks a-sneaking. If it kept on, and did not
catch up, he’d soon weigh four hundred pounds and be the happiest slug in
Taglios.
Who would have thought it? A simple tavern in a straitlaced burg like this. A
hole in the wall like those that graced every other street corner back home,
here such a novelty they couldn’t help getting rich. If the priests didn’t get
over their inertia and shove a stick into the spokes.
Of course, it helped them being exotic outlanders that the whole city wanted to
see. Even those priests. And their little chickies. Especially their little
brown daughters.
A long, insane journey getting here, but worth every dreadful step now.
He folded his hands upon his chest and let the girls take what liberties they
wanted. He could handle it. He could put up with it.
He watched Cordy tap another barrel of the bitter, third-rate green beer he’d
brewed. These Taglian fools paid three times what it was worth. What kind of a
place never ran into beer before? Hell. The kind of place guys with no special
talents and itchy feet dream of finding.
Cordy brought a mug over. He said, “Swan, this keeps on, we’re going to have to
hire somebody to help me brew. We’re going to be tapped out in a couple days.”
“Why worry? How long can it last? Those priest characters are starting to
smolder now. They’re going to start looking for some excuse to shut us down.
Worry about finding another racket as sweet, not about making more beer faster.
What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“You got a grim look all of a sudden.”
“The blackbird of doom just walked in the front door.”
Willow twisted so he could