As the Crow Flies Read online

  “He was ambushed.”

  “Unsuccessfully, alas. Do tell?”

  “He was moving to take over another barony, only his ally in the coup switched sides. Duzayan lost. Got an arrow in the shoulder for his troubles.”

  I couldn’t believe how close my fantasy with the imaginary archer had been. “Were you there?”

  “No.” If he frowned any more intensely, his brow was going to end up on his boots. “You can decipher this?” he asked, holding up one of the letters from the magister.

  “Some, but it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe it’s in code.”

  I sipped my tea. “Yes, if I was a cleric, I’d certainly code all my letters.”

  “You would if the two of you were plotting something illegal.”

  “Priest robes do make a pretty good disguise,” I mused. “Incredibly, hardly anyone ever suspects them of wrongdoing.”

  He flipped a page. “That’s one of the most obvious tricks in the book.”

  “Really? Because I got away from you twice that way. Once in Halim City in the Gilahabai, and—”

  “You did not.”

  “Did so.”

  He finished reading the page before he responded. “You’re unbelievably childish.”

  “You’re a sore loser.”

  He peered at me over the edge of his paper. “Remind me again which of us was the victor in our last encounter?”

  “Hmpf,” I replied elegantly.

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  With those thoughts in mind, I found myself irritatingly restless, and before long I abandoned the cabin. I took my blanket topside, wrapped up in it, and made myself comfortable on the poop deck. From there I could watch the shores creep past and mull over the fact that a man could probably walk faster than the ship moved. How this route might gain us time eluded me. I had spent most of my life on the central coast side of the Bahsyr Empire, where the land was more densely populated than the interior and therefore more lucrative for a man in my line of work. I’d crossed the Rahiya Strait any number of occasions, but again, I tended to spend more time in the big cities than I did the smaller villages and hamlets. The latter served well when I needed to lie low for a while, but rarely provided much opportunity for profitable work.

  I knew enough about the geography of the Empire to know that the relatively warm coastal lowlands stretched toward the interior before rising abruptly into the mostly uninhabited Kerdann Moors. A few large cities dotted the trade routes, and my work occasionally took me to them but, for the most part, vast tracts of wilderness filled the area. The Aiobi Plains took up the south, along with miles and miles of farmland. Farmers make terrible suppliers, and they rarely know how to cook more than the simplest of meals. Beyond the Moors are the Darya Mountains—craggy, rocky country plagued by snow, wild animals, and tribes of bandits. A constant source of trouble for the peaceful citizens of the empire, their incursions require regular and extensive patrols by the Imperial Army. I was more than happy to listen to stories about the Daryas and leave them entirely off my travel itinerary. The coastal lowlands, called the Gilahabai Strip, were much more hospitable, which is one of the reasons I seldom left them.

  Beautiful as the passing view was, it could not keep me entertained indefinitely, and I must have dozed off—a feat aided by the unexpected appearance of the sun and its warming rays. The sky had been overcast all morning, so no one expected the break to last, but by the middle of the afternoon the sun had burned the clouds away and left me basking in its sweet warmth. The shouts of the steersman woke me, giving orders to lay on the oars as we came into the docks at Fesefi, a sizable town bustling with the activity of fishermen and merchants, farmers and vintners. The fertile river valley produced grapes and tart Taharri plums for wine. The latter was something of a luxury item, the serving of which was a symbol not only of one’s social status but the depth of one’s pocket. Many of the nobility and well-to-do owned country homes here, where they retired when the hustle and bustle of Marketh became too overwhelming, or when the political climate—which was constantly shifting—became a little too hot for them. It was a good place to collect items from private collections, although one must expect those collections to be most carefully guarded.

  The animals were the first to be unloaded, so we had not long to wait before we were on our way. The open market abutted the noisy, smelly dock area, and Tanris stopped to procure us a dozen ridged, jade green winter squash.

  “I have a stop to make before we leave town,” I told him, watching a pair of boys running in and out of the stalls. Likely, their pockets would be full of illicit goods by the time they reached the far side. I had half a mind to follow their example.

  “Where?”

  “The Sularem Temple.” While he stared at me with an unreadable expression, apparently the most common one he wore, I made my way through the market booths where herbs and incense were sold. An oblique glance over my shoulder revealed Tanris trailing after me. I made my purchases and he said nothing until we had mounted and set off through Fesefi’s streets. Only the main ones were paved, the others ankle-deep in sticky, smelly mud.

  “You are serious,” he said, and it was not a question.

  I saw no reason to reply, and with the ease of familiarity, I made my way through the narrow, winding streets to the temple. Circular in configuration, thirty-two intricately carved columns surrounded the edifice, supporting an ornate cupola. A matching ring of columnar evergreens stood sentinel around the building. The Sularem Temple, like many throughout the empire, housed a collection of small shrines to the Greater Gods. There are those who complain that it is a commercialization of religion, but it is convenient, especially for those who travel often.

  Leaving my horse tied to a railing outside the evergreen fence, I paid a handful of copper sentini to one of the elaborately uniformed temple guards to keep thieves from making off with either the horse or my belongings. Tanris paused to speak to the man. I limped up the gravel path and climbed the stairs, then stopped to remove my boots and leave them in the shelved vestibule. One did not wear coverings on their feet or their head in the temple of the gods, whether it accommodated multiple shrines or the more traditional single variety.

  Tanris waited at the doorway as I made my way around the building, visiting each niche and leaving the appropriate coin or herbal offering upon the altars. Barefoot and bareheaded, I knelt and prayed at every one of them, offering my profound gratitude for the protection, guidance, comfort, and assistance they had provided me, and begged their continued indulgence in the future, particularly in the matter of dealing with the wizard, and the safety of my beloved. I had a feeling I was going to need all the help I could get.

  “Crow,” Tanris called out, impatient before I’d gotten halfway.

  “Ssshh!” I hushed him and continued my obeisances. I lingered longest at the altar of the god of merchants and thieves, and left the best of the items taken from Duzayan—the ivory figurine. Last, but not least, I made my way to the simple round altar at the center of the temple. A deep, hollow bowl received the offerings to gods other than those with dedicated shrines. The clink of my coins made Tanris growl and mutter, but I ignored him and devoted the next several minutes to thanking all the other gods who might play a part in my continued safety and well-being.

  “Are you quite finished?” Tanris asked when at last I got to my feet and bowed my way backwards toward the door.

  “I believe I am, yes.”

  He clouted the side of my head roughly. “How much of our coin did you give away? Half? More? Where are we going to get more? And don’t tell me that you’ll steal it, because there isn’t anyone to steal from where we’re going even if you did think I was going to let you get away with it. Have you any idea where that coin goes, you dolt? It purchases pretty uniforms and fine houses for Temple Custodians who lounge on their feather beds and drink fine wines while they laugh at the gulls who pay them exorbita
nt sacrifices to do nothing more than guard their horses and sweep the bleedin' stairs!”

  I rubbed my head and glared at him with furrowed brow. “You are free to believe whatever you like, but do not hit me again.”

  “Or what?” He gesticulated wildly.

  “Just don’t.” I sat on one of the benches that faced the shelves and pulled on my boots.

  “Oh, now I’m scared.” He sounded more sarcastic than frightened. “Don’t throw our money away on nonexistent gods and I won’t have to hit you.”

  Getting to my feet, I straightened my coat and ran a hand over my head. Then I gave him a thin, humorless smile. “Have you ever seen a god?” I asked.

  He glowered at me ferociously.

  “If you’ve never seen one, how can you say with absolute certainty that they do not exist?”

  He pointed at me in a threatening manner, and it wasn’t the pointing itself that unsettled me as much as the absolutely furious look in his eyes. I preferred the indecipherable one. Even so, I was not going to let him bully me. I did not back down, I did not give a single inch. Finally, he swatted at the air in front of my face and stomped out and down the stairs. I sighed in relief, bowed again toward the interior of the temple, and followed him out into the sun.

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  Predictably muddy, innumerable carts and wagons churned Fesefi’s northern road to ooze underfoot. Forced to a sedate walk, it didn’t take a mind-reader to discern Tanris’s growing frustration. I let him take the lead without argument, for I had no great desire to have his angry gaze burning holes in the back of my head, and I doubted that my hat would do much in the way of diverting his glare. The vagaries of flight had robbed the thing of its fashionable mien, and I mourned the loss of its beautiful, jaunty feather. I’d forgotten about it while aboard The Nightingale, but in my defense, I’d been somewhat occupied by pain and the distraction of conning the crew. The captain, bless him, refunded most of our passage, though he hadn’t known at the time. It is one of the sad circumstances of my life that I rarely get to admire the astonished faces of those whose lives—and pockets—I’ve touched.

  Having got such a late start in the day on our journey by land, we planned to ride north until we came to Batifa village. I looked forward to a good meal and a real bed, and determined to enjoy them thoroughly, as it would probably be the last for months—a thought I found utterly depressing. I cheered myself by chatting with travelers on the road, several times earning searing glares from Tanris. I could not imagine what had put him in such a sour mood. We had plenty of supplies, coin for more, and good traveling weather, despite the awful state of the road itself, and riding for hours on end put him out not at all. Still, his mood soured further when we were twice called upon to help free mired carts.

  I didn’t take pleasure in the chore, either. It was hard, filthy work made more difficult by my game leg—and with no reward but having done the deed. I couldn’t even appropriate any items from the carts. Well, I could, but while the horses might appreciate the load of hay carried by the first, I couldn’t carry the stuff off in sufficiently useful quantities. The contents of the second were much more appealing. It was a shipment of Taharri Red, the wine of aspiring godlings. I could hardly fit the barrels in my pockets, and watched with deep regret as the cart trundled away down the road to Fesefi.

  Tanris heard my heavy sigh and gave me another sour look. “It is a good thing they didn’t offer to pay us with one of those jars they had up front.”

  My heart sagged. “They had jars?”

  Tanris grunted in the affirmative. “The big, two-handled kind.”

  “And they didn’t even offer us one?” I turned around to catch a last glimpse and consider how I might obtain one, but the wagon had already disappeared around a tree-shrouded corner. It wasn’t far; I could run to catch it if not for the way my leg pained me after all my efforts. I would not have helped at all after the first occasion with the hay wagon, but Tanris had little sympathy for me and several sharp knives, the hilts of which he’d fingered meaningfully when I had begun to decline.

  “Perhaps they’re worth more than a half hour’s labor.”

  His voice held a distinctly cutting edge that I didn’t like at all. “But was our help worth not being stuck in the road indefinitely?”

  A few vehement kicks against a large rock on the side of the road dislodged most of the dirt from his boots, then he headed for his horse. “’Indefinitely' being until the next travelers come along.”

  “That could be tomorrow.” I followed his example. One kick with my game leg, though, convinced me not to work too hard at the task. I would just have to be muddy. The promise of a bath in Batifa grew more appealing by the minute.

  “Or it could be right now.”

  I hated when he was right. A small, lightweight cart came into view at that same corner around which my Taharri Red had disappeared. The farmers driving it even passed a leather flask back and forth between them. “Do we have any wine?” I asked, limping to my horse and pulling myself up into the saddle while Tanris efficiently got the pack horses under way.

  “We have kaffa.”

  Odious man. How could one travel without wine? Clearly, I should have stayed with him and helped with the supplies. Not only was he going to kill me once I got the dragon’s egg, but he was going to torture me beforehand.

  As twilight settled around us, the traffic thinned even further. Most of it was local, and nearly everyone was inside their snug homes at this time of the day, enjoying hearty meals, the aromas of which wafted cruelly from the cottages and domiciles we passed. Knots of houses huddled together on the edges of farms. We could make out the lights of bigger manors further off the main road, some of which I’d had the opportunity to visit myself. The further we rode, the more spaced out the homes became. Occasional stands of trees broke up the monotony of farmland, and now and then we clattered over bridges that crossed the dozens of meandering streams that gave the Fesefi area its lushness and wonderful fruit for wine. The bridges were somewhat long and quite high, arching over stretches of water that could become torrential in the spring. The horses did not like them, and tossed their heads in melodramatic outrage as we trotted across, hoofbeats thundering loudly.

  Darker and darker it grew. The going became even slower, and my backside more tender. I wondered if we would have to stop and ask for lodging at one of the many farmhouses along the way or, better yet, one of the more stately mansions. The latter offered more luxuries than the former. The day’s pleasant temperatures dropped speedily which, while it had me shivering in my saddle, also made the mud much firmer and easier for the horses to traverse. Just as I was about to propose to Tanris that we look for a place to put up, the moon began to edge up over the horizon. Tanris picked up the pace, and it felt like we were making good time. I didn’t ask. I still wanted to curl up some place warm and go to sleep, but as moody as my companion had been throughout the day, I could manage to wait a little longer.

  11

  Shining Champions

  The scents of food cooking still tormented me, and then came a more acrid odor. “Someone ruined their dinner royally,” I commented, imagining the blackened remains of the unfortunate pot.

  “That’s no dinner,” Tanris murmured. We rode along for a few more minutes before he slowed his mount and pointed ahead. “Look.”

  I peered past him into the scene of black and—blacker.

  “House burned down,” he said, and the horses twitched their ears and fidgeted a bit. “Looks recent. Maybe a week or so ago.”

  “Smells recent,” I agreed. As we plodded past, I looked at the remains: a pair of chimneys, parts of walls, lumps of deeper blackness within the shadows I could not identify. Perhaps they had been furniture. The edge of the road bore a pale splotch. The splotch made noise. Tanris pulled his horse up and slid from the saddle. “What is that?” I asked. “What are you doing?”

  The noise revealed its
elf as the pitiful mewing of a cat. Another cat…

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head, invisible in the dark. “Leave it alone, Tanris.”

  “C’mere, cat,” he said instead, in a voice more gentle and sweet than the caress of a new spring sun. It was a shock. In my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined him so tender, and for the space of several heartbeats I just stared. “Come here, little one,” he murmured. “Was this your house? Where did your people go? They just leave you behind?”

  It was revolting.

  The cat didn’t appear to think so. Delicately, it stepped over the sodden grass, sniffed a little, then crawled up onto his leg. Tanris, in an expert movement even I had to admire, tucked the thing into the crook of his arm and straightened. He petted and cooed, and even from fifteen feet away I could hear the thing purring.

  “There’s a good baby,” he said softly, one broad hand enveloping its head and massaging its ears. I fully expected it to scratch and bite and wildly claw its way to freedom—which would have been amusing to watch, especially if it included Tanris yelling and swearing—but it simply climbed into his coat. Tanris helped, unfastening the top few buttons so the useless creature could curl in and get comfortable.

  The thought of having a cat so close to my face made my nose itch, and I scratched reflexively. “What are you doing?” I asked again as he made his way back to his horse.

  “Going to Batifa,” he replied, and saddle leather creaked as he pulled himself up.

  “You can’t bring that,” I objected.

  “Why not?”

  I searched for a logical answer. “It belongs to whoever used to live here.”

  “Whoever used to live here hasn’t bothered to come back for it.” He helped the cat get comfortable. It was still purring. Then he gathered up the reins and urged his horse forward.