Book 3 - The White Rose by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

though. There were no reliable
histories.
    He commiserated with Bomanz. Poor foolish little man, dreaming,
seeking the truth. He had not earned his dark legend.
    Corbie remained fixed over the chart all night, letting it seep
into bone and soul. It did little to help him translate, but it did
illuminate the Barrowland some. And even more, it illuminated a
wizard so dedicated he had spent his entire adult life studying the
Barrowland.
    Dawn’s light stirred Corbie. For a moment he doubted
himself. Could he become prey to the same fatal passion?
     
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Chapter Nine:
THE PLAIN OF FEAR
    The Lieutenant himself stirred me out. “Elmo’s back,
Croaker. Eat some breakfast, then report to the conference
room.” He was a sour man getting sourer every day. Sometimes
I regret having voted for him after the Captain died in Juniper.
But the Captain wished it. It was his dying request.
    “Be there soonest,” I said, piling out without my
customary growl. I grabbed clothing, stirred papers, silently
mocked myself. How often did I doubt voting for the Captain
himself? Yet when he wanted to resign, we did not let him.
    My quarters look nothing like a physician’s den. The walls
are floor to ceiling with old books. I have read most, after having
studied the languages in which they are written. Some are as old as
the Company itself, recounting ancient histories. Some are noble
genealogies, stolen from widely dispersed old temples and civil
offices. The rarest, and most interesting, chronicle the rise and
growth of the Domination.
    The rarest of all are those in TelleKurre. The followers of the
White Rose were not gentle victors. They burned books and cities,
transported women and children, profaned ancient works of art and
famous shrines. The customary afterglow of a great
conflagration.
    So there is little left to key one into the languages and
thinking and history of the losers. Some of the most plainly
written documents I possess remain totally inaccessible.
    How I wish Raven were with us still, instead of dwelling among
the dead men. He had a passing familiarity with written TelleKurre.
Few outside the Lady’s intimate circle do.
    Goblin stuck his head in. “You coming or not?”
    I cried on his shoulder. It was the old lament. No progress. He
laughed. “Go blow in your girlfriend’s ear. She might
help.”
    “When will you guys let up?” It had been fifteen
years since I wrote my last simpleminded romance about the Lady.
That was before the long retreat which led the Rebel to his doom
before the Tower at Charm. They do not let you forget.
    “Never, Croaker. Never. Who else has spent the night with
her? Who else goes carpet-flying with her?”
    I would rather forget. Those were times of terror, not
romance.
    She became aware of my annalistic endeavors and asked me to show
her side. More or less. She did not censor or dictate, but did
insist I remain factual and impartial. I recall thinking she
expected defeat, wanted an unbiased history set down somewhere.
    Goblin glanced at the mound of documents. “You can’t
get any handle on it?”
    “I don’t think there is a handle. Everything I do
translate turns out a big nothing. Somebody’s expense record.
An appointment calendar. A promotions list. A letter from some
officer to a friend at court. Everything way older than what
I’m looking for.”
    Goblin raised an eyebrow.
    “I’ll keep on trying.” There was something
there. We took them from Whisper, when she was a Rebel. They meant
a lot to her. And our mentor then, Soulcatcher, thought them of
empire-toppling significance.
    Thoughtfully, Goblin remarked, “Sometimes the whole is
greater than the sum of its parts. Maybe you should look for what
ties it all together.”
    The thought had occurred to me. A name here, there, elsewhere,
revealing the wake of someone through his or her earlier days.
Maybe I would find it. The comet would not return for a long
time.
    But I had my doubts.
    Darling is a young thing yet,