As the Crow Flies Read online

  He pried open red-rimmed eyes and stared at me as if I had sprouted an extra head. “I thought you left me,” he croaked with an exhalation of dragon breath.

  I withdrew to safety. “What, without saying goodbye? I have better manners than that. I’m leaving now, though, so goodbye.” In spite of the fact that he’d always been a thorn in my side, I had always respected him. He was doggedly determined and fairly clever; all in all, a decent opponent. The disappearance of his few endearing qualities put a damper on my opinion. As I turned away from him, my foot knocked into something, producing a gentle clunk. Going down on one knee, I fetched not one, but a threesome of bottles from beneath the bed. They were ample reason for him to sleep all the way through a night, an entire day, and then another night. I straightened and thonked him smartly on the head with one, though not hard enough to knock him unconscious or break the bottle, however tempting.

  He sat up abruptly, clutching his abused noggin. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “For your wife, and because I’ve been wanting to do it for years.” I tossed the bottle onto the bed next to him and went to collect my gear, such as it was. Rather than attempting a probably dangerous shopping trip in the middle of the night in the city that never slept, I’d opted for a good meal and some well-deserved sleep of my own. In a more perfect world, I would have had a week or so to recover from the indignities heaped upon me whilst tucked away in Duzayan’s dungeons. Thus far, I had enjoyed exactly one full night’s sleep since my release.

  “Where are you going?”

  “If you recall,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, and it was a wagonload, “we have been volunteered to become the stuff of legend. In order to do this, we are supposed to hunt down a mythical dragon for its mythical egg to give to a mystical—and clearly deranged—wizard. And after we have accomplished this wonderful quest, he is going to kill us.”

  “Kill us? Why would he do that?”

  Such a fantastically idiotic question was worth the minimal effort it took me to cross the small space again to flick my finger sharply against the side of Tanris’s head. “Will you pretend for just a moment that you are intelligent?” I snapped. “Try to put the clues together, my dim-witted friend.”

  He frowned and rubbed his head again. “Stop yelling.”

  Snorting, I held up one finger. “Duzayan is a wizard. Did you know that?”

  His mouth worked for a moment or two, then he finally nodded his head. “Yes, I knew.”

  “Let me guess—he swore you to secrecy.”

  Another nod. “People don’t much like wizards. He couldn’t let his talent become well-known.”

  I snorted again. “Safer for him, of course, and easier to dupe unsuspecting fools like you.” Finger number two lifted. “He’s kidnapped your wife and my lover, threatened them both with death or worse, poisoned me, and asked us to steal something he deems highly valuable.” It occurred to me suddenly that Duzayan must be afraid of me, though not Tanris. Why else would he poison just the one of us? Or perhaps the kidnapping of Tanris’s wife had been an elaborate ruse to buy my sympathy for my new “partner.” Safest to keep such observations to myself. “After going to such lengths to acquire this incredibly valuable egg, by what logic would he leave the witnesses alive? We might steal the egg back. We might blackmail him. We might start some vicious rumors that would upset his careful plans or reveal his filthy secret.”

  Tanris’s already pale face blanched further. “We must turn him in to the authorities.”

  “Oh, yes, brilliant idea. That will, of course, assure the safety of the women,” I went on in an acid tone. “And Duzayan will happily hand over the antidote, which is good because I am extremely enamored of breathing.”

  “Then what are we going to do?” he asked like the sodden lump that he was.

  He disgusted me. “I advise you avoid getting drunk when things get difficult. It severely hampers your already limited thinking ability. In the meantime, we are going to leave this unsavory hovel in favor of—Where do you live?”

  Picking up the bottle, he held it with both hands against his chest, his expression utterly doleful. “Yesterday, I was Captain of the Guard and living at House Duzayan.”

  I might have expected as much. “Day before yesterday, but never mind. We’re not staying here. Put your boots on.” I swung my new knapsack, sweetly heavy with yesterday’s booty, over my shoulder and headed for the door. Tanris stomped his feet into his boots, grabbed his coat, and stumbled after me. I was certainly not going to take my arch-enemy to my own quarters, but there were plenty of other places where we could put up, and I had the wherewithal to pay our way. “I need you to draw a map of the underground portions of the baron’s citadel—everything you know. Closets, sewers, passages to other parts of the city, secret doors. Everything.”

  “What for?”

  “So we can look for Tarsha and—What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Aehana. He won’t have kept them there.”

  “As ex-Captain of the Best of the Best, do you have any idea where, then?” His former position ought to give us some kind of advantage. One could only imagine the knowledge entrusted to the leader of a guard force. When and why had Tanris shifted from the government and into the private sector?

  Outside, the wind was bitterly cold. I turned away from its bite and headed down the street toward an area with more savory transportation.

  Tanris waved his hand in a wild gesture. “They could be anywhere, Crow! In the city. Out of the city. Across the gods-forsaken ocean, for all we know!”

  I leveled a warning finger at him. “Pull yourself together, man! Now is not a good time for you to go from ‘thorn in the side’ to ‘pain in the rump.’ You can help me, or I can leave you so fast your fuzzy little head will spin.”

  Grim-faced, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked along beside me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me.”

  “You need my help to travel through the wilderness.”

  “I’m not going through the wilderness.” I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the wind, then whistled for the first hackney I saw.

  “Of course we are. We must, Crow. The mythical egg, remember? The women? Your life?”

  As the carriage pulled up, I gave the driver directions, then swung inside, well-pleased to escape the wind. Tanris was right behind me. “Mythical being the key word, here, Oh Wise One. We have better things to do with our time than going traipsing off across the empire on a wild-goose chase that will take us away from both the women and the antidote.”

  Tanris put his hands back in his pockets and glared out the window while the carriage rocked along.

  “What if it’s not an actual dragon’s egg?” he asked after a long moment of sullen silence. “What if it’s a figure of speech or a—a similar description for something else entirely? Say, an item that looks like an egg, or the answer to a riddle?”

  That was the Tanris I had come to know and appreciate over the years of our association, a man like myself, quick-witted and not confined to the obvious. He had come up with the perfect answer to our utterly impossible question, and at that moment I cheerfully hated him.

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  “I’m not going to argue about it any more, Tanris.” Draining my tankard of ale, I thumped it down on the battered table of the dull little public house in which we found ourselves and folded my arms, distinctly tired of the badgering that had lasted all the way through our meal. “I’m not trekking off across the country on a wild goose chase.”

  We had originally set out to rent a room from which we could work to free the women. The man—as I well knew but had not experienced in such close quarters—was a dog with a bone. The quicker Tarsha and Aehana were freed, the happier I would be. And now, several hours later, we had no room. Instead, we had spent the better part of the morning contending the best course of action.

  “You’re not being reasona
ble.”

  “So you have said. Repeatedly.”

  “Well, it’s true.” Tanris leaned back in his seat, copying my posture. A hard-looking man with a shaven head, his nose appeared to have been broken on several occasions. The glower he gave me might have intimidated a lesser man. “And if you’re going to complain about repetition,” he sniped, “I swear if I hear the phrase ‘wild goose chase’ one more time, I will stuff your tankard down your scrawny throat.”

  “Then you agree, it would be best if we cease and desist this line of conversation.”

  He drew a deep breath and let it out very slowly. One could almost see his temper rising. “Let me break this down into something more simple for you.”

  “Not another word.” I glowered and narrowed my eyes dangerously, but that did not dissuade him from proceeding.

  “If we stay here in the city, we might recover the women. Your apothecary might duplicate the potion which might extend your life. If we go after the egg, then we have a tangible item to use in exchange.”

  “And I am still dead.” More glowering on my part.

  “You might like it.”

  “I might take you with me.”

  Tanris shrugged and gave me a cheeky smile. “Taking on a dragon, we’d be heroes.”

  “Martyrs. What fun is fame if we’re not alive to enjoy our celebrity?” I asked.

  “Is it going to be fun dying anyway, taking Aehana and Tarsha with you, and knowing you could have bought their freedom with one little dragon’s egg?”

  My chest tightened, and the stuffy air of the public house suddenly seemed fresh and clean. I would do anything to save Tarsha, and although overcome for a moment by the thought of actually exchanging my own life for hers, I kept the emotion from my companion. “Fine,” I said, contriving an off-hand manner. “How long is it going to take us to get to the dragon’s dire lair?”

  Years of interrogating suspects and prisoners had inured Tanris to surprise—most surprise, anyway. One perhaps ought not count the emotional shock of seeing his wife weeping at knife point. My sudden capitulation only made him look at my eyes intently, first one, and then the other. Then he reached into his jerkin and promptly ruined my theory about his resilience. His eyes widened in horror.

  “It’s gone,” he said in a strangled voice.

  “What’s gone?”

  “The map. I had it right here! I put it right here just after Duzayan gave it to me!”

  Priceless panic filled his rough features, sorely tempting me to let it turn his scanty hair gray. The trauma, however, might very well lead to another round of drinking and moaning about how he’d let his wife down and was a miserable failure. May all the gods protect me. “This map?” I asked, producing the folded parchment from my pouch.

  “You stole it!”

  I snorted. “I did no such thing. It is ours, and I took it for safekeeping while you were so soused you couldn’t even stand up.”

  “I wasn’t that badly off.” He frowned again, as if getting drunk was my fault.

  “If you weren’t, you’d never have let me get away with it. Besides, better me than some common thief.”

  “You are a—”

  “Ah-ah…” I waggled a cautionary finger, my voice soft. “Do not insult me, friend Tanris.”

  His mouth curled in a most-unattractive sneer. “But it’s all right for you to insult me?”

  I considered briefly. “In a word, yes.” With bated breath I waited for his witty rejoinder.

  Instead, he reached for the map. “You’re insufferable, Crow.”

  “Isn’t that what inspires you to devote so much time to trying to catch me and lock me away forever?”

  He did not answer me, but unfolded the parchment and smoothed it carefully, his brows furrowing as he studied it. While he worked out the details of distance and time, I pulled out the little white ball Duzayan had given me, turning it over in my fingers. It looked like a ball of thread that had been painted. The paint did not entirely cover the minuscule, hair-like ridges that went round and round the thing. When I squeezed it, it gave just a little under the pressure, but otherwise remained motionless and unfathomable.

  Rolling it in one hand, I looked about the room, idly considering which patrons might unexpectedly contribute funds to our upcoming journey. This particular tavern—dull, as I have already pointed out—didn’t exactly cater to people with heavy purses, although, to be sure, there were always those like myself who had funds they didn’t flaunt. Those sorts presented a more challenging target. Modest in dress and manner, they invariably concealed their ready money in places other than the obvious coin purse.

  A few tables over there were a pair of rough-looking fellows in homespun, common laborers, likely. Further on there was a man in fox fur and brilliant green velvet. The color and the glimmering collection of rings on his fingers was gaudy and tasteless. He talked loudly and made free with the serving maid when she came to refill his tankard, as though he had unquestionable authority to do such a thing. Now and then I could catch a whiff of the heavy scent he wore, even at this distance, and cast him as a vulgar social climber with more money than taste or sense. He might have contributed a healthy amount to the Journey Fund but for the threesome of men sitting across the table from him. The trio were outfitted in leather and steel and hard features. Mercenaries, the lot of them, and too much trouble for me to want to bother with.

  Past them I beheld a modestly gowned but very well-lubricated young woman with attractive features, a pretty blush, and a pair of young men with obviously lecherous intentions. They looked to be merchants—or perhaps the sons of merchants—and therefore somewhat promising, at least for what I was contemplating, if not in the matter of the lady’s doomed virtue.

  “Do you ride?” Tanris asked, interrupting my scheming.

  “Ride what?” The following silence from my dour and moody companion could only be described as pregnant. I turned a distracted look on him to find him regarding me with patent disgust.

  He smiled faintly and without the slightest trace of humor. “I’d say that four months is a fair estimate of the trip there and back. Optimistic, even.”

  That was not news I wanted to hear, though hardly unexpected. I could not even begin to comprehend what a two-month-long ride in the deep of winter would be like, never mind the obvious lack of civilization we would have to look forward to. Dragons, after all, don’t take up residence in elegant apartments in the upper districts of cultured cities like Marketh. Collectors of falsely named dragon’s eggs, however, ought to have better sense. At least we could enjoy Spring on the return trip—flowers budding, birds singing, poison creeping inexorably through one’s system, and all of that.

  As I contemplated the heartbreaking turn my life had taken, another group of thirsty patrons made their way inside. Victims of recent precipitation, they crowded near the large fireplace, immediately inflicting the rest of us with the odor of warm, wet wool. One of the newcomers pushed a wide-brimmed hat off his head, revealing a shock of red hair and a scarred, hawkish face. Raza Qimeh! Him, I did not need to see.

  “We should be going,” I said, getting to my feet. I needed a hat like Raza’s. Why didn’t I have one? It would surely be handy now, but I would have to make do with my cloak. And Tanris.

  “Now?”

  “You did say four months was a generous estimate. You’re not going to argue about it now, are you?” I speared him with a reproachful look.

  “No, but—”

  “Fine, then let’s be on our way.” I did not give him opportunity to quarrel, but wound my way between the tables and toward the door, scooting around behind Raza and his lackeys, and manufacturing a struggle with my cloak in order to obscure my face as I slipped past them.

  “Crow…“

  I could happily have crammed a loaf of bread down Tanris’s throat at that moment, but I pretended not to hear him and tried not to run out the door. Running would draw attention I didn’t want—not that the use
of my name hadn’t. I would have to have a word with Tanris about flinging it around so freely. Later.

  “Did he say Crow?” someone asked behind me. I left the door open, ostensibly for my companion to follow, and pulled up the hood of my cloak. Outside, a dreadful deluge filled the gutters and drains, running in rivers down the cobbled street. Wind drove icy sheets of water straight at me, prompting an instinct to turn my back and protect myself. Instead, I clutched my cloak around me, ducked my head, and hurried straight into the storm.

  “Crow!” Wind and rain muffled Tanris’s voice.

  As soon as he came abreast of me, I grabbed his arm and steered him across the street. “You said we need horses, no?” I had to shout over the ruckus of the storm as half-frozen raindrops easily the size of hen’s eggs beat the living daylights out of rooftops, overhangs, the street, and us. “I know a very fine horse trader over in Harley Court. It’s not far!”

  “It’ll wait until the storm lets up!” he shouted back, and tried to pull his arm free.

  I was having none of that, and dragged him into an alley. An interception by Raza and Company would only delay our departure. That, and they might try to break me. Some people held grudges for inordinately long periods of time. Now, you must understand something about Raza. He is not a forgiving man. Some years previously, before branching out into his “protection” services, he and I had been competitors, or at least he liked to believe so. The truth was that my talent exceeded his, a fact irrefutably proven when we both took jobs—from different clients, mind you—to liberate the same item. I got to the scene just barely ahead of Raza, skipped away with the precious jewelry, and left Raza to be arrested by the City Watch. He was not well pleased by that, though while he’d been caught trespassing fair and square, they couldn’t prove that he’d stolen the jewelry, and naturally I was long gone. Things were complicated further by my involvement with a woman, but truly, I had no idea at the time that Raza had his lumpy little heart set on her! Is it any surprise that she didn’t share that tidbit of information with me? She was a woman, after all. And Raza, well… we never had the kind of relationship that allowed for discussion of romantic involvements.