As the Crow Flies Read online

  The very narrowness of the alley gave us some protection from the rain, and I hustled Tanris along. We still got incredibly drenched. “How many horses are we going to need?” I asked him. “Do you know where we can purchase a wagon?”

  “A wagon?” He yanked at his arm again and I let him go, taking the moment while he was being all indignant to cast a quick glance over my shoulder. The rain ruined visibility in the darkened alley, but I saw a movement against the dull light of the further end.

  “We can’t take a wagon, you flappin’ fool,” Tanris went on. “The place we’re going is supposed to have dragons. Dragons don’t need roads, wagons do. No wagons.”

  “Surely there’s a road.”

  “If you’d like to call it that, feel free.”

  “You’ve been there before?” I prodded curiously.

  “There? No, but places like it, yes.”

  “Then you can’t know for sure that there’s no road.”

  I did not intend for him to stop to glare at me, but that is exactly what he did. “No,” he ground out, “I don’t know for sure that there’s no road to that particular little village, but I do have some map reading skills, and I do know the country we have to travel through.”

  “Excellent!” I beamed at him, took him by an elbow and got us moving along. We popped out the other end of the alley and I took a left, pulling my cloak up around me as I headed into the wind again. Soaked through, at least the cloak kept the sleet from perforating my skin which, all in all, I found better than the alternative. “Have you done much traveling in the wilds?” I inquired, more to keep him engaged than because I cared particularly.

  “I was a scout in the army.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I just made that up to entertain you,” Tanris snapped.

  His unexpected touchiness about that aspect of his life intrigued me. The future offered plenty of opportunity for ferreting out such secrets, though I could hardly imagine the two of us cozying up by the campfire, sharing the stories of our lives.

  “What’s the name of this horse seller?” he asked.

  “Fyrka Valiscu, do you know him?”

  “Never heard of him. Have you robbed him?”

  “Men are hanged for stealing horses, Tanris, don’t you know?”

  “Men are hanged for stealing other property too, but that’s never stopped you. In here,” he announced and shoved me unceremoniously through a bright red door and into the din of a crowded tavern. I squawked in surprise, but a fist wound in the back of my cloak kept me from stumbling.

  “We already had our midday meal,” I protested, and turned right back toward the exit, yanking my cloak about me. His hands on my shoulders stopped me.

  “I’m not going back out in that, so save your breath.” Looking past me, he gave a solid push and pointed. “There’s some room over there by the wall.”

  “How comfy.” I had little choice but to follow him through the mass of stinking, steaming bodies, and soon we were the proud tenants of a narrow space against the wall. Surely everyone on this block and the next had sought refuge in this particular—and particularly second-rate—tavern. A pair of windows flanked the door, obscured by the press of bodies. “How are you going to be able to tell when the rain’s let up?”

  “Soon as folks by the door start heading back out.”

  Wasn’t he clever? And what were the chances that no one else would be heading in? The ever-watchful gods must have their little jokes, and one had best be prepared for them. Wise to their ways, I kept one eye on the front door and one on the door that led to the kitchen, and a very good thing I did, too. It had been Raza behind us in the alley, and his timing was impeccable. As he and two of his men came in from the street, Yahzir—his trusty second, and a man of rather extreme notions, particularly in the matters of persuasion—appeared from the back way with two friends.

  “We should go now,” I told Tanris.

  “Not until the rain has let up,” he repeated, and muttered something most uncomplimentary about the gods and my heritage.

  I would be offended later. Tanris’s pigheadedness begged argument. I refused to give in or call unwanted attention to us—or worse, to me. So I did the only thing I could. “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s get something hot to drink.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  Tanris rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh, and waded toward the counter. Strategically, I kept him between myself and Yahzir, and my head down in the hopes Raza would overlook me—with the help of the fickle gods. I couldn’t keep it down all the way, of course, as there were personal belongings amongst the crowd to rearrange. First and foremost, I regained possession of the map, clutching at Tanris and swearing as I ostensibly tripped. And just like that, the map went from inside his jerkin to a cozy place down my shirt, right next to my skin.

  “Watch yourself,” he complained, and steadied me.

  “I have no problem doing that,” I informed him with some asperity. “It’s the big feet belonging to other people that sometimes trouble me.”

  A nip here and a tuck there, and soon the fabric of mayhem was sewn. The disquiet of confusion erupted around us as people discovered the redistribution of their effects. What I really needed was something gaudy and obvious. I left off my reorganization for a moment, both to throw off suspicion as Tanris and I moved through the crowd and to look for a suitable mark.

  “What will you have?” Tanris asked, actually making it right up to the bar.

  “A mug of kaffa would be lovely, but unlikely in a place like this.” Impossible to get drunk on the “wine of the bean,” as it were, and this did not appear to be a house that would cater to such diversity. “Mulled wine? Ale? I’m not picky.”

  “Ha.”

  While Tanris tended to the business of giving his coin away, I checked the progress of Raza and Yahzir, who had sensibly chosen not to give their prey an obvious advantage by limiting their combined search to one side of the room. Now would have been an opportune time for one of the gods of extravagant belongings to put in an appearance. I calmly helped myself to a hammer suspended from the tool belt of a carpenter. I felt briefly sorry for him having to do that kind of menial labor in weather such as this, but it was just as well that he did and that it was storming, else he would not have sought shelter and would not have stood so conveniently close to me, happily swigging his bracing ale before heading back out into the tempest to earn a living for himself and his bevy of children.

  He must have felt the weight lift from his belt, for he started to turn toward me. “Think we’ll be so lucky as to find a table?” I asked Tanris in a loud voice and, turning around as though to look for one, I smoothly lobbed the hammer right at the lovely russet waves crowning Raza’s head.

  8

  Head to Toe

  Who expects to have a hammer thrown at them in the middle of a crowded tavern? Certainly not Raza, and he had barely time enough to turn his head to avoid getting bashed in the eye. He bellowed. I would have, too, quite frankly. I was quite pleased, however, when every eye in the room turned toward the noise he made, including those of the poor carpenter who looked quite capable of taking care of himself in a brawl, or perhaps even starting one. Even Tanris turned to see what was going on, a tankard in either hand.

  Accepting mine, I sniffed and sighed. Just ale. Ah, well. I took a swallow, edged behind Tanris, and watched for our cue to leave. Not unexpectedly, Raza put up quite a commotion. The man had the constitution of an ox, for while the blow certainly staggered him, it didn’t knock him out—or even down. Blood ran down his forehead, and his face turned an uncomplimentary shade of red that clashed brutally with his hair. “Who did that?” he asked, retrieving the hammer with a growl. Waving the erstwhile missile in the air, he glowered in our direction, but the burly carpenter stood handily between us.

  “Hey!” he hollered. “That’s my hammer!”

  I perhaps should have advised him that it
might be wise to keep quiet on that little detail, but I didn’t. Raza pointed, and all five of his men converged on the unlucky devil. Well… maybe not too unlucky. He had friends, and they were only too happy to doff their coats, push up their sleeves, and show Raza what friends were for. It might have made an interesting fight to watch, but this was just the diversion we needed.

  “You know this fellow?” I asked Tanris, all innocence.

  “Looks familiar, but I’m going to say no, not well enough for this sort of thing.” He drew back a step or two, a sour expression on his features.

  I ducked an elbow drawn back to deliver a punch, sidestepped, and took another swallow of my ale—which wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. “What do you say we get out of here before the City Watch gets involved?”

  A woman next to him—nearly as broad as she was tall—hurled a tankard into the brawl, spraying half a dozen fighters with her brew.

  “We’re witnesses,” Tanris pointed out, raising his voice over the din.

  May the gods of patience preserve me. “To what? I didn’t see how it started, did you?”

  “No, I just heard Red hollering.” He waved in Raza’s direction with his tankard, then tipped it up for a drink. “But I know some of those who didn’t do it.”

  Raza, in the meantime, used the hammer to good effect, which only reinforced my determination that we get away as quickly as possible. The carpenter, too, was making some decent headway in his attempt to reclaim his weapon. Tool, I mean. Yahzir hadn’t made it to Raza’s side before he and his companions became embroiled in an offshoot of the general melee, which put him firmly between us and the back way out.

  One last quaff of ale, then I abandoned the tankard on the counter and tugged at Tanris’s sleeve. “I’m leaving,” I said, leaning close to his ear to holler at him. “You stay if you want, and talk to the Watch.”

  “You can’t go,” he hollered back, his frown full of fierce moral rectitude.

  I smiled and patted his arm. “The City Watch might want to talk with me for a little more time than I can dedicate just now, if you know what I mean.” My words had the desired effect, and Tanris’s eyes widened. His mouth opened as though to voice further argument, but then he nodded. Together, we made our way around the room’s outside edge and to the door. Once there—and it took no little work dodging fists, flying chairs, projectile tankards and so forth—I paused to look back at Raza. He and his men were firmly embroiled in a fantastic battle unlikely to release them soon. Maybe the City Watch would further detain him. It made me smile to picture him tucked away in some dank, moldy little cell.

  Outside, the rain continued to pound mercilessly at the world. “Hey, look, the rain has let up!” I smiled with false cheer, hooked one arm around Tanris’s neck, and thumped his chest with the other hand—and so the map was returned to his keeping again, and him none the wiser.

  He shoved me off and glared as he pulled up his hood. It hardly mattered; we hadn’t dried out in the least from our last foray. “Where’s that flappin’ wonderful horse seller of yours?” he growled.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to find someplace else to wait out the weather?” I asked solicitously. The rain plastered my hair to my face and ran down my neck underneath my shirt, but I pulled up my hood anyway.

  “We’re already wet; let’s just do this,” he grumbled and turned to head up the street, entirely missing my triumphant smile.

  The purchasing of horses, saddles, bridles, saddle packs, supplies to put in those packs, and all the various and sundry items required for a lengthy trip into the wilds was not only horrendously boring, but time-consuming. Tanris’s patience stretched thin with my many questions but, boring or not, I refused to risk being stuck somewhere outside the realms of civilization with no guide and no clue about what I was doing—not that several hours spent going from shop to shop provided a reliable education. Tanris was only too happy to inform me that the rain and sleet of the coast was usually snow in the mountains. Thank the gods of adventurers, we were not actually going into the mountains themselves, though he assured me the elevation was plenty high enough for frozen white stuff. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I wondered what was so significant about this “egg” that it couldn’t have waited for decent weather.

  My traveling companion cheered me endlessly with the promise of dry, crisp flatbread; dry, chewy jerky; dry, but not moldy (because it was too cold) cheese, and a generous supply of kaffa, but no honey to sweeten it. Before he could depress me utterly, I left him to go get my own gear. Some of my tools had been lost in the escapade prefacing my stay in the baron’s dungeons, requiring me to spend time and coin replacing them. I also disposed of most of the goods I’d lifted from Duzayan’s residence. The wilderness held a dearth of people who could appreciate such fine collectibles, much less own coin enough to purchase them from me. I bought a waxed leather tube a little longer than my forearm in which to keep the baron’s illicit letters, then made my way to the apothecary’s shop.

  The news was not good. He needed more time to attempt to deconstruct the potion, and more of the potion itself to use as a comparison. His advice? Take the antidote and pray to the gods. For his continued study, I surrendered enough blood to make me giddy.

  In a daze, I left the shop. I walked for a while, going whichever way my feet took me and the crowd pushed me.

  I sat in one of the gardens at the edge of the market.

  I walked again, unable to sit still.

  Utter despair alternated with hope until I came to the conclusion that despair offered me nothing at all, while hope could at least provide opportunities for my future. The gods, after all, loved me and I did not believe they would desert me now. Somehow, I would survive. On a sudden whim, I bought myself a hat. It was wide-brimmed like Raza’s, with a low, flat crown and a beautiful white feather decorating one side. It cheered me somewhat and it would perhaps distract Tanris from interrogating me too closely.

  I had scarcely stepped out into the street with my handsome new acquisition when I was abruptly and rudely accosted. Two hulking pieces of manhood caught me by either arm, and I nearly lost both my hat and the burlap sack of supplies I carried. Lifting me right off my feet didn’t trouble either of them, and while they whisked me off down the street, I took a moment to recover my breath, my composure—more or less—and to study their identities. “Do I know the two of you?” I inquired politely while they plowed through puddles I would have chosen to go around. The first splash caught me rather by surprise, but I had the forethought to lift my feet for the second. No sense getting wet when there was an alternative.

  “Raza wants to have a chat with you,” the bruiser on my right informed me.

  “Jolly for him. Would you be so good as to put me down? I think I remember how to walk.”

  “We’ll help.”

  “You’re too kind. Really.” I looked from one to the other of them, but they showed no sign of responding to gentle persuasion and we were making good speed down the street in a direction I had no desire to go. So I held on tight to my belongings and stuck my foot between the legs of the less chatty fellow on the left. He went down in a heap, and I went with him, rolling half onto him. The other man swore and scrambled, trying not to fall, too. I helped him out as best I could by swinging my sack at his head. There was a pair of grappling hooks in there, a climbing rope, metal cleats, and other sorts of paraphernalia a thief might find handy on the job. It knocked him backside over teakettle, which was rather satisfying and alarming at the same time.

  Both my delight and my worry at the damage a hook might have caused were arrested by an arm around my throat. I do not know what the fellow could have been thinking. I had just flattened his companion, and I still had the bag in my hand. The obvious course of action was to clobber him, too, and I did.

  “Help!” I choked, on the off-chance any helpful passersby might step forward. “Thief!” There was no need for anyone to know I was probably more guilty than my a
ssailants. Since the hold on my throat didn’t slack at all, I clonked him again. He made an awful noise, but he let me go, and I scrambled to my feet. The first villain was out cold, but the second one was bleeding and moaning and clutching his head.

  I looked around. An elderly couple held onto each other and stared uncertainly at the scene; a pale-faced delivery boy stood there gawking; and a pair of shabby, middle-aged workmen stopped. None of them said anything as I retrieved my hat and banged it on my leg to shake off the moisture. The beautiful feather was irreparably damaged and dirty. Reluctantly, I tossed it on the ground as the elderly couple turned and hurried away.

  “You—you all right, mister?” the boy managed. At least he pretended to care that I might have actually received some injury in the scuffle with a pair of men twice my size. Speaking of which, the conscious one was making an effort to get to his feet, and the look in his eyes promised exquisite pain should he manage to get his soggy hands on me.

  “I might have died, attacked like that,” I muttered in a voice loud enough for the others to hear. “Bloody thugs. Think they can get away with attacking a helpless man on the street. In broad daylight, mind you!”

  The boy looked nervously at the thugs, then up and down the street. “Want I should run and get the Watch?” he asked, brave soul.

  Rather than answer him, I shook my bag at the brute currently glaring at me. “You better stay right there, mister!” I advised him in a blustering voice. If I should ever be forced to make a change of career, I could do admirably as an actor. Of course, he was having none of it, growling fiercely as he staggered upright. Blood ran down the side of his face, his eyes fairly glowed with rage, and he looked quite awful. I took several strategic steps backward. “I mean it!”

  “I’m gonna hurt you, little man,” he snarled. Pulling himself together, he lumbered toward me.