The Black Company in Equestria

In those days the Black Company was in the service of the Emir of Al-Tarish, one Ali Ahmad bin Tahmid. At least, that was whose picture was on the coins we were paid in. The man we really served was the Emir's Vizier, a round little brown man with no certain name and with all kinds of fun titles like “The Merciless”, “The Cruel”, “The Cunning”, and so forth. I gotta tell you, we all laughed when we found out. That's one of the most overused characters in fairy tales, right? The evil vizier, lurking and plotting to overthrow the good and just emperor, stopped just in time by the hero. I don't know about any heroes, but we've been working for the guy for about a year and a half now, and he's always paid on time and hasn't yet tried to double cross us, which is all you can really hope for from an employer. Our wizards all hate him, but in fairness, there's only a few people they can stand anyway. I think they're just jealous that this guy, without a lick of magical talent, managed to become the most powerful man in this part of the world, while they're stuck taking orders from him like the rest of us grunts.

Wizards, by the way, were what brought us here in the first place. You see, the Empire of Al-Tarish is absolutely lousy with wizards, fakirs, shamans, necromancers, warlocks, and sorcerers. Each one of them is absolutely convinced that with a few hundred soldiers and maybe a mystical whatsit or two, they could transform the Empire from the middling-to-large place it is now into a world-spanning dominion with them at the head. So instead of sitting in their towers and hoarding books like normal wizards, these guys are out digging for artifacts, raising mobs, setting their fellow wizards' towers on fire, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. The Vizier started getting worried, what with all the freelance empire builders running around. He needed someone not afraid of jumping into a wizard brawl and busting heads. Enter the Black Company. As always seems to be the case, we rolled up just in the nick of time. The Vizier plunked down some gold, signed everything we put in front of him, and just like that, he got himself the services of the Black Company: ass-kickers, name-takers, and all around badasses.

Fighting wizards isn't as exciting as it sounds. To a man, they're paranoid, suspicious little buggers. Some of them got out as soon as they heard who they'd be facing, which gave us a little extra swagger in our step but didn't actually help us considering they'd rather sit on the sidelines and watch than join our side. Most of the rest elected to bunker down in their towers and hope they were too hard for us to crack. Tough luck for them, seeing as the Company has eight centuries of siege experience to draw on. When you've cracked places like the Tower of Torments, the Jade Fortress, and the Gray Mountain, a few spells and ten feet of limestone are more of an intellectual exercise than an actual obstacle. Our wizards seemed to think so, seeing as they made us use a different technique on each place. My favorite has to be what we did to a little out of the way place whose local name is about ten syllables too long but translates to something like Running-Waters-Flow-Sweetly. We camped around it and put up standard defenses while our wizards went off a few miles and spend two days rerouting the aquifer running under the place. Then they hiked back and we all stood around and watched the place collapse into a sinkhole.

It was the ones that didn't give up or go to ground that really made us earn our pay. We brought them down one by one, but it cost us. They started getting desperate, which makes a wizard twice as dangerous. Things like 'common sense' and 'basic precautions' start getting thrown out, and things like 'demons' and 'stitched-together abominations' start coming in. We're the Black Company. They wouldn't have hired us if it was easy. They get mean and desperate, we get sneaky. Show me a desperate wizard and I'll show you a wizard who's making mistakes. Mistakes in tactics that we can take apart. Mistakes in spellcraft that our wizards can unravel and use against him. Matim ibn Bukkaresh self-immolated when a spell backfired on him, courtesy of our own wizards. The badly named Samthed the Blessed was gutted and crucified by his own starving men. Rides-With-Power died from handling his favorite staff, which we had lovingly coated in poison. Vaijbur was killed when his flying steed was shot down by Company ballistae. So it went. Finally we were down to the last stubborn holdout, a particularly talented and wary fellow who went by the name of Grayborn. Local intelligence placed his base of operations in the Tarus Mountains, a small but rugged range that backed right up to the Gulf of Hedjaz. Of course, anyone who trusts local intelligence deserves to be killed, stuffed, and mounted as a warning to fools, which is why the company wizards were dispatched to sniff things out. And of course such things need to be recorded, which is why I found myself packed onto a crowded ferry with eight other Company brothers, holding onto a rope like grim death and praying the ancient tub would make port before it capsized or just fell apart. A port, mind you, that was probably a major base of operations for the sneakiest, nastiest, most desperate wizard in the region.

Note to self: learn to delegate.

**

We made port just fine. It was a filthy, crowded, busy little place called Dewar, although that was just the name the Al-Tarish put down on their maps. The natives had their own unpronounceable name for it, but they didn't have maps or a written language to put on them. The eight of us eased in and set up shop in a big rambling tavern that backed up to a warehouse. The locals weren't exactly welcoming, but money has no provenance as they say. We stashed our gear and headed out to ask a few questions. What we found was plenty of people willing to spill what they knew for a few silver, but not much to tell. All we dug up was the name of Grayborn's number two: Bonesinger. Apparently he visited Dewar fairly regularly, mainly to enlist any mercenaries, thugs, or pirates willing to hire on. If the various accounts could be believed, Grayborn had himself quite the little army hidden away. As for Grayborn himself, there wasn't the slightest trace. Bonesinger showed up, bought some supplies, hired some thugs, and headed away north towards the mountains. He never stayed very long, and he never raised a fuss. Bonesinger didn't seem to operate on a set schedule, but he did show up every time there was a convoy from Phut, a rich little kingdom across the Gulf. And they did run on a set schedule. Combining our vast intellects, we decided that waiting a few weeks for the convoy to show would be the best time to lay hands on Bonesinger.

**

“Convoy's due in tomorrow.” Egg reported. He flopped down on his cot, wiping sweat from his great shiny head. I've seen a fair few men in my time with the Company, and Egg is the biggest, blackest one I've ever seen. The Annals say that there was a time when the Company was all men like Egg. Now there's only a few. Most of the Brothers are brown, like Jackal, Marsuf, and Flick, or pale, like Jacky Boy, Lamb, Priest, and myself.

The rest of us were sprawled around the low room. Flick, Priest, and Marsuf were playing Tonk. Jacky Boy and Lamb, under Jackal's direction, were putting the finishing touches on some tricky little devices that Jackal promised would incapacitate our prize without killing him. I was camped out by the window, watching the ebb and flow of traffic in the street beneath us. I liked doing that. If you watched long enough you started to see patterns in the traffic. Then you started seeing people standing out of the patterns because they were acting differently. It is a talent not entirely devoid of practical application. All but the most gifted assassins have tells that an observer can spot. Just because they're in the crowd doesn't mean they're part of it. Jackal backs me up on this. He says that when sneaking up on a dangerous target, its best to not even think about them. Let your thoughts drift or focus them elsewhere, he said, because people can sense focused intent.

“Marus!” Flick's voice jarred me out of my reverie. “You wanna go over the plan or just stare out the window all day?”

“Sorry.” I muttered, taking my place at the low, rickety table. The others were gathered around, watching Jackal lay out his thaumaturgic arsenal. I eyed the four metal cylinders neatly lined up in the center of the table. “Those are what's going to get us Bonesinger?”

“Correct.” Jackal said, preening like a strutting rooster. He loved showing off. “It is unknown whether Bonesinger possesses any Talent, thus we proceed assuming the worst. Once he is located, we deploy these, incapacitating Bonesinger and any guards he may have. We dispatch the guards, collect him and bring him back to the safehouse for interrogation.”

“Sounds easy.” Priest grunted. “How do they work?”

Jackal grinned his toothy grin. “Like so.” He whipped a fifth canister out of his sleeve like a conjuring trick, slammed his palm into the thing's convex top, and tossed it on the table. We stared at the thing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him cover his ears and duck down.

Marsuf saw it too. “Oh shi-”

Explosion. Blinding white light, like staring into a blast furnace. My ears rang with the concussion. I was disoriented and blinded for a few moments. When I came to, I was lying on the floor and Jackal was laughing his namesake's hysterical laugh.

“Damn you, Jackal.” I groaned, trying to sit up. My head felt like it was going to split open from the inside and my ears were ringing.

“How do you feel?” he choked out between laughs.

“Come over here, you bastard, and I'll show you what it feels like.”

Egg and Priest rushed Jackal, tried to pin him to the wall. He slipped and dodged, still giggling hysterically.

“They work! They work perfectly!” he cackled.

“Bloody fucking hell they work.” Jacky Boy was trying to blink the spots out of his eyes. “So why in blazes did you have to go and test them on us, you shit?”

“Had to experience the effect first haiieeeee-” Egg and Priest finally got their hands of Jackal and all three went down in a pile of flailing limbs.

“Enough!” Lamb dispassionately kicked Egg in the back of the head. “You've had your fun, Jackal. All of you get up. Now, how exactly are we going to do this?”

Jackal dusted himself off, re-seated himself. “As I was saying, we hit Bonesinger hard and fast, before he can react to defend himself. I should be able to negate any spells he has up. You see, the beauty of these little things-” Lamb slapped his hand away as he reached for another of the cylinders, “-is that they will not set off any of the normal defensive spells keyed to the protection of one's person, should I somehow miss one. They are not, strictly speaking, a threat to one's safety.”

“Could've fooled me.” Priest grumbled.

“Usually do.” Jackal smirked. “Now, as to the where.” He looked around the circle, his grin getting wider. I got an uneasy feeling in my gut. When Jackal improvises, things get messy.

“The original plan called for us to ambush Bonesinger in the bazaar. While it is a natural choke point, I felt that there were too many factors beyond our control. The crowds. Guards. Too many exits. So, we hit him at the gate.”

And there it was.

“How exactly is this better than the bazaar?” I objected. “This place may be a backwater shithole, but it has a wall, with guards on it and everything. I don't fancy nabbing Grayborn's number two while some yokels plink at us.”

Jackal's smirk got wider. “Well, as the resident master of all things arcane-”

“Only because Flint's not here.”

“As the wizard who's going to save your sorry asses, I've pulled some strings.”

That got Lamb's attention. “Do tell.”

“Well, the details aren't important, but I've managed to ensure that the guards at the gate tomorrow will be looking the other way while we snare our prize.”

“Jackal. Will this come back to bite us?”

“No no, we are under obligation to no one. I merely provided a few services in exchange for the guard's blindness.”

“Good. Let's go over the equipment before we turn in. I want everyone to know how these work in case the worst happens.”

**

“Tonk!” Flick triumphantly flipped his last card down on the table, raked in his winnings. The rest of us groaned. This was the third hand in a row he'd won. Flick took his time stacking his coins while Marsuf vengefully cut the cards.

“I swear, that happens again and I'm holding you down and beating that good luck right out of you.” Jacky Boy grumbled. He took pride in his reputation as a card shark. Losing was hard on his ego.

“Try it and I'll be recording your passing in the Annals.” I said as I gathered up my cards. Flick might get on your nerves, but he was hell with a knife. I studied my cards. Two tens, two eights, and a seven. I glanced around at the others. This hand was looking good. Jacky Boy snapped up the discard, dropped a jack. I pulled the top card, a three, and drop my seven. Flick grabbed my seven, laid a run down, seven-eight-nine. Marsuf laid down a run of his own, dropped a queen, was down to one card and a grin. Jacky Boy was staring hard at his cards when Egg's shadow fell across the table. “Sergeant says Bonesinger's coming. Get ready.”

We abandoned our game, hurried out of the tavern into the street. I fell in with Egg and Priest. We were the rearguard, the stopper in the bottle. I noticed Egg had his massive ironwood club strapped to his back. It is the only remnant of his former life before he joined the Company. He never talked about it, but I suspected that hunk of wood had all kinds of sentimental value to Egg.

Besides Egg's giant toothpick, we were all kitted out with assorted hardware. Egg was a walking armory, with his club, a sword hanging from one hip and a long knife stuck through his belt, plus a few short javelins. I had my sword and crossbow, plus one of Jackal's cylinders tucked safely away inside my shirt. Priest had his sword and crossbow, plus about five knives hidden away. Despite all the gear, we didn't draw many glances. Dewar was a rough place, the only people unarmed were fools and slaves.

We sauntered the short way to the gate, tucked ourselves into a niche beside the arch and tried to look inconspicuous. I spotted the others as they drifted into position a few dozen yards down the street. Flick, our best shot, was up on the porch of a tavern, seemingly deep in his cups. Lamb, Jacky Boy, and Marsuf were haggling with a street vendor. Jackal was out of sight, probably grinning ear to ear.

We waited. I got the rush like I always do before a fight, the cold shakiness that dried out my mouth and dampened my palms. I pushed it back like I always did, fell back on my training. Training won't desert you. Neither will your brothers. I looked over at Egg. He was as steady as a statue. He gave me a tiny nod, went back to watching the gate.

My back was to the gateway, so I didn't see Bonesinger ride in. Pros that we are, Egg and Priest didn't even glance over as he rode past. I did. Bonesinger and his men didn't look any different from a normal band of camel-riding nomads, with the exception of the big ol' skull that Bonesinger was wearing like a hat. Looked long and toothy. There was a clear ringing sound, like a bronze bell being tapped next to my ear. I yanked out my cylinder, slapped the top in, and tossed it into the cluster of targets. I was careful not to put too much arm into the throw, Jackal warned us about overshooting and hitting each other. I was just a hair quicker on the draw than Lamb and Marsuf: I caught a glimpse of their canisters arcing in as I ducked away and covered my ears. For two heartbeats there was nothing but a startled shout from someone in Bonesinger's group. Then the thunder hit me like a solid thing. Even behind my clenched eyelids I caught an edge of the flare behind me.

Flick had already shot down one man by the time I rushed in. Priest emptied another saddle with his own bow. Egg charged in with his club. I swear by the Annals I saw him shoulder check a camel. The others waded in from the other side. We had more trouble with the camels than the men. Lamb cut down Bonesinger's camel, Jacky Boy jumped him on the way down. Marsuf ripped the skull hat off and bopped him in the back of the head. The three of them hustled him off into an alleyway while the rest of us finished off Bonesinger's men. It only took a few moments. No one pursued us.

We regrouped in our new hideout, a ramshackle building on the edge of the city. Jackal was waiting when we marched in, dragging our prisoner with us.

“Thanks for the help, oh mighty wizard.” Jacky Boy grumbled as he and Marsuf unceremoniously deposited Bonesinger at Jackal's feet. “Gods forbid you help us out here.”

Jackal grinned. “Lest you forget, I made the canisters.” He squatted down, started searching the prisoner. “Besides, this man possesses not the slightest shred of Talent.” He sounded vaguely disappointed. “I did not see the need to reveal myself unnecessarily. Although, judging by the state of this man, I'm sure I could have done better alone.”

Victory rendered us immune to Jackal's carping. We hunkered down, tended to our duties while Jackal and Lamb went over Bonesinger. After being searched, he was bound, gagged, and tossed in a corner to wake up. Jackal tried teasing a few answers out while the man was still unconscious, but apparently had little success. He contented himself with firing off a message to the Captain to apprise him of our progress. Priest checked the men. Beyond a few scratches and bruises, everyone came out unharmed. I jotted some notes and kept watch on our prisoner. Jacky Boy, Marsuf, and Flick resumed their interrupted card game. Egg disappeared upstairs to keep watch.

**

Bonesinger finally woke up late in the evening. We stayed out of the way, let Jackal and Lamb work on him. Lamb asked the questions. Jackal provided the incentive to answer them. When they were finished, they tossed him back in the corner. I sidled over. “So? What'd you find out?”

“Everything.” Jackal looked smug. “I'll contact headquarters, let them know the good news.” He headed off to make contact with his mystical pals.

Lamb looked pissed, but then again he generally does. I started in with the questions.

“Good and bad,” he said. “Good because we know where Grayborn is. Bad because getting to him is going to be the mother of all bitches.”

The other guys perked up. “He's in the mountains, isn't he?” Priest asked.

“Looks like it.”

“Tunnels?” Priest was hopeful.

“Like an anthill.”

Priest grinned, held out a hand to Jacky Boy and Marsuf. “Pay up, you bastards.”

“I assume he's got an army in there?”

Lamb nodded. “That's the strange thing. Everyone we've asked tells us you can't grow crap in the mountains. Our boy Bonehead here hasn't been buying food, just weapons, equipment, and men when he can get 'em.”

I started to understand. “So how is he feeding his army?”

“Exactly. Now either he's got enough mojo to conjure up an army's worth of food every day-”

“Can't be done!” Jackal shouted from his pallet.

“-or he's sneaking in supplies some other way.”

“We checked that.” I objected. “The whole reason we're here is because Bonesinger's trips are the only contact between Grayborn and the outside world.”

Lamb had a weird look on his face. He put an arm around my shoulders, pulled me away from the others. “Here's where the 'other way' gets strange. Bonesinger kept going on about a door. Some kind of doorway to another place.”

Uh oh. Doorways to other places are mentioned in the Annals. When the Company encounters them, its because something bad is coming out or going in.

“What exactly. Do we know. About this door.” This was for my own peace of mind as much as it was for the Annals.

“Not a hell of a lot. Our boy here was under some kind of spell when it came to the door. He's been through and back, but he couldn't tell us what's on the other side or where the door is in the mountains.”

“Wait, he went through?”

“Several times. And not just him, seems like Grayborn keeps most of his army on the other side.”

“That's a new one.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Doorways are temporary. Wizards open them to summon demons and the like, they don't keep them open and then walk through.”

Lamb shrugged. “This one did. Sounds like he liked what he found on the other side too. I'd bet a month's pay that he's feeding his army from the other side.” He grinned at my expression. “Cheer up, Marus. We found something new for your Annals.” He moved off to stand over Jackal until the wizard came back from his trance.

I drifted back to the card game, got dealt in. My mind wasn't on the game though. I kept glancing over at Bonesinger lying against the wall. He looked ordinary. He didn't look like a man who'd been through a doorway to another place, maybe another world. I wished he could talk about what he saw. If Grayborn was feeding and housing his army there, it couldn't be too inhospitable or alien. Whatever it was, it was probably a regular land of milk and honey compared to where we were now. A year and a half in the desert could make a man long for something as simple as trees that actually give shade, water that wasn't bitter or sandy. Maybe the other place was a lush garden with fruit and grass and water everywhere.

Sure, and maybe it was a magical land of friendship and happiness and rainbows.

I shrugged fatalistically. One way or another, we'd know for ourselves soon enough.