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Once the flames rose I found that the place had been used before. Smoke had
blackened the rocks. Native humans, probably. They wander in small bands. We
have little intercourse with them. They have no interest in the world
struggle.
Will failed me sometime after the second hour. I fell asleep.
The nightmare found me. And found me unshielded by amulets or null.
She came.
It had been years. Last time it was to report the final defeat of her husband
in the affair at Juniper.
A golden cloud, like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam. An all-over feeling of
being awake while sleeping. Calmness and fear together. An inability to move.
All the old symptoms.
A beautiful woman formed in the cloud, a woman out of daydream. The sort you
hope to meet someday, knowing there is no chance. I cannot say what she wore,
if she wore anything. My universe consisted of her face and the terror its
presence inspired.
Her smile was not at all cold. Long ago, for some reason, she took an interest
in me. I supposed she retained some residue of the old affection, as one does
for a pet long dead.
"Physician." Breeze in the reeds beside the waters of eternity. The whisper of
angels. But never could she make me forget the reality whence the voice
sprang.
Nor was she ever so gauche as to tempt me, either with promises or herself.
That, perhaps, is one reason I think she felt a certain fondness. When she
used me, she gave it to me straight going in.
I could not respond.
"You are safe. Long ago, by your standard of time, I said I would remain in
touch. I have been unable. You cut me off. I have been trying for weeks."
The nightmares explained.
"What?" I squeaked like Goblin.
"Join me at Charm. Be my historian."
As always when she touched me, I was baffled. She seemed to consider me
outside the struggle while yet a part of it. On the Stair of Tear, on the eve
of the most savage sorcerous struggle ever I witnessed, she came to promise me
I would come to no harm. She seemed intrigued with my lesser role as Company
historian. Back when, she insisted I record events as they happened. Without
regard to pleasing anyone. I had done so within the limits of my prejudices.
"The heat in the crucible is rising, physician. Your White Rose is crafty. Her
attack behind the Limper was a grand stroke. But insignificant on the broader
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canvas. Don't you agree?"
How could I argue? I did agree.
"As your spies have no doubt reported, five armies stand poised to cleanse the
Plain of Fear. It is a strange and unpredictable land. But it will not
withstand what is being marshaled."
Again I could not argue, for I believed her. I could but do what Darling so
often spoke of: Buy time. "You may be surprised."
"Perhaps. Surprises have been calculated into my plans. Come out of that cold
waste, Croaker. Come to the Tower. Become my historian."
This was as near temptation as ever she had come. She spoke to a part of me I
do not understand, a part almost willing to betray comrades of decades. If I
went, there was so much I would know. So many answers illuminated. So many
curiosities satisfied.
"You escaped us at Queen's Bridge."
Heat climbed my neck. During our years on the run the Lady's forces had
overtaken us several times. Queen's Bridge was the worst. A hundred brothers
had fallen there. And to my shame, I left the Annals behind, buried in the
river bank. Four hundred years worth of Company history, abandoned.
There was just so much that could be carried away. The papers down in the Hole
were critical to our future. I took them instead of the Annals. But I suffer
frequent bouts of guilt. I must answer the shades of brethren who have gone
before. Those Annals are the Black Company. While they exist, the Company
lives.
"We escaped and escaped, and will continue to escape. It is fated."
She smiled, amused. "I have read your Annals, Croaker. New and old."
I began throwing wood onto the embers of my fire. I was not dreaming. "You
have them?" Till that moment I had silenced guilt with promises to recover
them.
"They were found after the battle. They came to me. I was pleased. You are
honest, as historians go."
"Thank you. I try."
"Come to Charm. There is a place for you in the Tower. You can see the grand
canvas from here."
"I can't."
"I cannot shield you there. If you stay, you must face what befalls your Rebel
friends. The Limper commands that campaign. I will not interfere. He is not
what he was. You hurt him. And he had to be hurt more to be saved. He has not
forgiven you that, Croaker."
"I know." How many times had she used my name? In all our contacts previously,
over years, she had used it but once.
"Don't let him take you."
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A slight, twisted bit of humor rose from somewhere inside me. "You are a
failure. Lady."
She was taken aback.
"Fool that I am, I recorded my romances in the Annals. You read them. You know
I never characterized you as black. Not. I think, as I would characterize your
husband. I suspect an unconsciously sensed truth lies beneath the silliness of
those romances."
"Indeed?"
"I don't think you are black. I think you're just trying. I think that, for
all the wickedness you've done, part of the child that was remains untainted.
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