Shadows Linger: A Novel of the Black Company (Chronicles of The Black Company) Read Free

virgin daughter. What the hell was a tavern slut for, anyway?
    Shed shuddered, pushed it out of mind. He needed Raven. Needed every paying guest he could get. He was surviving on prayers.
    He delivered the wine. Raven dropped three coins into his palm. One was a silver leva. “Sir?”
    “Get some decent firewood in here, Shed. If I wanted to freeze, I’d stay outside.”
    “Yes, sir!” Shed went to the door, peeked into the street. Latham’s wood yard was just a block away.
    The drizzle had become an icy rain. The mucky lane was crusting. “Going to snow before dark,” he informed no one in particular.
    “In or out,” Raven growled. “Don’t waste what warmth there is.”
    Shed slid outside. He hoped he could reach Latham’s before the cold began to ache.
    Shapes loomed out of the icefall. One was a giant. Both hunched forward, rags around their necks to prevent ice from sliding down their backs.
    Shed charged back into the Lily. “I’ll go out the back way.” He signed, “Darling, I’m going out. You haven’t seen me since this morning.”
    “Krage?” the girl signed.
    “Krage,” Shed admitted. He dashed into the kitchen, snagged his ragged coat off its hook, wriggled into it. He fumbled the door latch twice before he got it loose.
    An evil grin with three teeth absent greeted him as he leaned into the cold. Foul breath assaulted his nostrils. A filthy finger gouged his chest. “Going somewhere, Shed?”
    “Hi, Red. Just going to see Latham about firewood.”
    “No, you’re not.” The finger pushed. Shed fell back till he was in the common room.
    Sweating, he asked, “Cup of wine?”
    “That’s neighborly of you, Shed. Make it three.”
    “Three?” Shed’s voice squeaked.
    “Don’t tell me you didn’t know Krage is on his way.”
    “I didn’t,” Shed lied.
    Red’s snaggle-toothed smirk said he knew Shed was lying.

Chapter Six: TALLY MIX-UP
    You try your damnedest, but something always goes wrong. That’s life. If you’re smart, you plan for it.
    Somehow, somebody got away from Madle’s, along about the twenty-fifth Rebel who stumbled into our web, when it really looked like Neat had done us a big favor, summoning the local hierarchy to a conference. Looking backward, it is hard to fix blame. We all did our jobs. But there are limits to how alert you stay under extended stress. The man who disappeared probably spent hours plotting his break. We did not notice his absence for a long time.
    Candy figured it out. He threw his cards in at the tail of a hand, said, “We’re minus a body, troops. One of those pig farmers. The little guy who looked like a pig.”
    I could see the table from the corner of my eye. I grunted. “You’re right. Damn. Should have taken a head count after each trip to the well.”
    The table was behind Pawnbroker. He did not turn around. He waited a hand, then ambled to Madle’s counter and bought a crock of beer. While his rambling distracted the locals, I made rapid signs with my fingers, in deaf-speech. “Better be ready for a raid. They know who we are. I shot my mouth off.”
    The Rebel would want us bad. The Black Company has earned a widespread reputation as a successful eradicator of the Rebel pestilence, wherever it appears. Though we are not as vicious as reputed, news of our coming strikes terror wherever we go. The Rebel often goes to ground, abandoning his operations, where we appear.
    Yet here were four of us, separated from our companions, evidently unaware that we were at risk. They would try. The question at hand was how hard.
    We did have cards up our sleeves. We never play fair if we can avoid it. The Company philosophy is to maximize effectiveness while minimizing risk.
    The tall, dark man rose, left his shadow, stalked toward the stair to the sleeping rooms. Candy snapped, “Watch him, Otto.” Otto hurried after him, looking feeble in the man’s wake. The locals watched, wondering.
    Pawnbroker used signs to ask, “What