Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  Dennah heard someone cough ahead, then a sneeze, and what she thought sounded like a child whimpering. They came around the bend and she saw the source of the noise. All along the passage, tucked against the wall and almost indistinguishable from the shadow, was a line of people. They hugged tightly to the stone, clutching to blankets or their children for warmth. They looked up at her as they approached, the whites of their eyes almost glowing in the dark.

  Dennah could hear them murmuring, their whispers rolling all around her like a bubbling stream. They passed beneath one of the flickering braziers in the wall. The warm light spilled over the shivering bodies stacked up against the wall, exposing them like mercantile goods.

  The hallway was swallowed up by darkness, and for a moment Dennah lost track of which direction was which. She flinched, repulsed by the heavy shadow and the memories they inspired of her solitary patrol through Bardstown when Banus ambushed her. Yet, just as her body started to tense up a sliver of light split the darkness before them. Two guards appeared out of the shadows and pulled open a pair of massive, arched doors.

  The room beyond was blindingly bright. Sayer pushed her forward. She felt warmth waft over her from the bright chamber, but also smelled something sweet, like the crushed herbs her parents burned to rid their house of sickness and bad luck.

  She heard a gentle rustling, one that sounded like the churn and bubble of running water, but as soon as they stepped into the light it erupted into a shower of excited chatter. The sweet, pungent aroma of burning herbs grew stronger as they passed between several massive screens.

  Each linen panel was intricately embroidered with the Council’s insignia, depicting a tower set before a blazing sun. Straight ahead, massive multi-colored windows were set high in the walls.

  Dennah rolled forward and cleared the screens. She caught sight of a wide, wood grandstand lining one wall reflected in the glossy stone of the floor. A number of figures, all dressed in simple black robes sat in a row. They bent low, twisting their heads and pirouetting about to whisper to one another. Dennah’s face flushed hot.

  The strange chair rolled across the large room, passing before a thrown-like chair. Due to the glare of the windows behind it she couldn’t immediately tell if the seat was occupied.

  They passed another section of grandstand seats, although these were all empty. A line of cages stood at the end of the row. Each one was shorter than Dennah and looked barely wide enough for one person to stand comfortably.

  They pulled up to the first cage, untied the rope and tipped her forward until Dennah’s feet came to rest on the ground. Sayer’s counterpart fumbled the cage door open, cursing and grousing, while Sayer bent low and cut the ropes binding her ankles. Gently, but with a firm hand, Sayer eased her into the cage and closed the door behind her.

  Dennah moved her legs, flexing her feet as she turned around and settled onto the simple, plank seat. The two soldiers, now freed of their burden settled down in benches next to her cage. They leaned back and propped their feet up. She watched them joke and banter back and forth, longing for the freedom to lean over and rub the tender spots on her ankles.

  More men in black robes moved in, filling the stands directly across from her. She chuckled quietly, despite the overbearing anxiety that tightened her chest and stole her breath. She couldn’t help thinking that men looked like oversized blackbirds bobbing about.

  Dennah heard a loud click cut through the animated chatter, and then a boom. The sound echoed through the spacious room and made her jump, painfully pulling at the ropes tied around her wrists.

  Her shoulders rubbed against the cage as she turned, searching for the source of the noise. A banded door, previously closed and barred, swung open. Two boys appeared from the room beyond.

  The boys, whom looked no older than eight or nine, wore matching tunics under well-fitted banded leather outfits. They each had knitted caps pulled down over their ears and tied under their chins. They padded across the polished stone floor, their leather shoes slapping noisily beneath them. Each boy ran a practiced circuit, lighting large enclosed braziers with their small flickering torches.

  People streamed in through the large doors now. Some formed a queue before the raised seat, while the others crossed the room and settled into the grandstand. She heard the commotion from the hall outside, and then watched the people streaming in break apart like an agitated flock of birds.

  Dennah leaned forward, grasping at the bars as a procession entered the room. Two soldiers, armored and armed led two more, Roman stuffed between them. The men in the lead pushed any aside that dared linger too close, while another pair of armed soldiers closed in behind.

  The soldiers looked grim. Roman hung between the two large men, his head drooping toward the ground and his body limp. He raised his head as they approached her cage, and as their eyes met Dennah felt her stomach flip.

  Roman’s pale face looked drawn, and even in the disorienting light of the large chambers she could tell that both of his eyes had been blackened. The soldiers pulled up and spun about right before Dennah’s cage, standing alert and ready as the two men drug Roman over and tossed him into one of the cages. The room, which was relatively quiet, save for some idle chatter, was suddenly filled with a chorus of animated cries and shouts.

  Dennah glanced over at her friend as he wiggled, struggling to turn within the tight confines. Finally, after several pained moments he sagged down into the seat and leaned heavily against the bars.

  Angry red splotches covered his face and his nose was bloodied. The soldiers that carried Roman settled before his cage and exchanged looks. The man closer to Dennah licked his thumb and rubbed a spot of blood off of his knuckle.

  The two men, chuckling and joking quietly, suddenly went very rigid as someone emerged from the door behind them. The man was tall, his elaborately decorated jacket hanging down below his knees. His silver hair was a medium length and tucked neatly behind his ears. He walked slightly hunched over with a distinct limp, every other step accented by an ornamental cane clutched in his right hand.

  A host of figures bustled out of the door next, all careful to stay behind the man, while jockeying to position themselves as close to him as possible. Dennah watched the strange procession move past her cage, her heart fluttering and palms tingling. She hovered somewhere between fear and morbid curiosity, until the last of the group caught her eye.

  Markus Teague walked slowly but deliberately past the cages. He had shed most of his armor and now wore a heavy, blue jacket over a plain cotton shirt and a pair of tailored trousers. Dennah almost didn’t recognize him at first.

  The man with the silver hair mounted the dais and settled his aged frame upon the large chair, while the host of men and boys settled into a gallery just behind him. The silver-haired man rapped his cane against the dais several times, silencing the fevered crowd.

  “All hail the honorable Lord Calder Desh. Designated Tribunal Counselor of your Council Lords, Lord Constable, and keeper of law,” a hooked-nose man from the gallery called out.

  “Scribes, mark the day,” Lord Desh said to the gallery of men behind him, before turning and driving his cane into the ground once again. “I will have civility in my chamber at all times. I will tolerate no outcry, no rotten food, or fighting.”

  Dennah was surprised when Lord Desh spoke. He did not sound weak or frail, judging by his posture. Instead, his voice rang out clear and strong, filling the chamber with surprising authority.

  “I will hear any disputes now…before we get to the ugliness that has landed in our midst,” Lord Desh said, gesturing towards Roman and Dennah’s cage with a flick of his hand.

  “First in queue, step forward and make your dispute known!” the crier in the gallery called out, his baritone voice ringing out loudly.

  “State your names and occupation for the scribes please,” the crier stated loudly. The two men, woodmen by the looks of them, responded shakily.

  “I will hear your d
ispute,” Lord Desh stated after clearing his throat in a bored manner.

  The first man, a much larger figure with dark curly hair and a substantial beard took a half step forward.

  “Lord Constable, you see, this man here lives nigh a short horse trot from me. I see him one morning, not long back, jump the fence to me animal pen and make off with one of me goats. I make off to chase, but me leg is no good, you see? I took a cudgel to the leg when I was younger, and now it ain’t much good to me,” the man rattled off, and pointed to his gimpy leg for effect.

  “And what say you as the accused?” Lord Desh asked the other man.

  “He owed me, Lord Constable! He owed me for hay and straw I sold him, and he never put coin to hand. I was only gaining what was owed to me, you see?” the second man responded, his voice slightly slurred.

  “Did you indeed take ownership of hay and goods from this man, sir?” Lord Desh asked.

  The larger man looked around, and then tentatively nodded.

  “And did you pay for these services?”

  The larger man gave a little cough. “I were about to, Lord Constable. You see, we were struck hard when the tax man came. I were going to pay him…”

  “The Council’s law states clearly that every person who makes contract for goods or services has the right to claim payment. I declare this man’s goat is payment for goods. The issue is settled,” Lord Desh stated simply, and punctuated the point by dropping his cane down hard.

  Dennah watched the two men bow to Lord Desh and then were ushered back out of the large chamber. Dennah heard the two men start to argue as soon as they were out of sight.

  Disputers continued forward, one or two at a time, voicing their issues at the feet of the resident constable. A few left when their disputes were complete, yet most lingered in the large chamber, trickling into the crowd, and filling the empty seats in the grandstand.

  Dennah shifted her attention between the lord constable, his gallery of black-capped scribes, and the soldiers standing resolutely before their cages. The proceedings made her realize how very tired she was. Her eyes burned, and her head grew painfully heavy.

  Her head snapped up when the caller cried out suddenly, trumpeting the conclusion of the final dispute. Her heart started to race and her head buzzed as Lord Desh’s voice cut in.

  He was saying her name.

  Chapter 13

  Pushing On

  A ripping pain shot through his chest, tearing him from his sleep. Fear flooded through him, crawling up through his neck and driving away any other thought.

  “Tanea!” Julian gasped. He closed his eyes, the flash of a silver blade still visible in the darkness of his eyelids.

  His heart fluttered, so he took a deep, rattling breath. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, his arms like leaden weights. It took Julian a moment to gain his bearings. It was dark, but no longer cold.

  He moved to roll over and his hand brushed against something soft. He worked his fingers through it. Fur. He slid the fur blanket aside and pulled his legs out, until his feet could drop painfully to the ground.

  Julian leaned forward, his weight braced upon his thighs. His leg muscles felt shrunken. The contact of cloth against his skin hurt. Everything hurt.

  If this is what dying feels like, then let it end, he thought groggily, looking around.

  The room was simply appointed, but comfortable. Fur covered most of the floor. A small table sat next to the bed, a bent and tattered lantern glowing atop it. Crates and banded-barrels were stacked against one wall, while large sacks of what looked like flour dominated the one opposite. He couldn’t remember how he got here, or anything before that, save for snow.

  Julian pushed off from the bed and stood, his legs protesting loudly. Something shifted in the corner, rustling like wind through dry leaves. He turned just as the doorknob rattled, and the door swung open. The bright light of the space beyond obscured the hulking figure that emerged from the doorway.

  “Stay back!” Julian growled in alarm, falling back onto the bed. The figure spun and closed the door as Julian’s memories flashed back in. He remembered the warriors with the strange, curved swords, the whispering stones, and the horrible cold and relentless wind.

  “No need for that, young man. If I was meaning to hurt you, I’d done it when you were flat on yer back and dead to the world,” the man said, turning. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. And with a little bit of fight in you, too!”

  “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “My name is Lam. You are in my public house in Spear Point, the furthest settlement north reasonable folk are willing to settle,” the large man said, his wind-burned face contorting as he smiled. His bushy brown beard split, exposing a mouth of large, white teeth. “Your traveling companions brought you here when you fell ill. Darn lucky too, by the looks of you, I’d say you wouldn’t have lasted another night in these mountains.”

  “My traveling…” Julian asked, looking around the room suddenly.

  “Yes, they’re a strange lot. But then again, that’s mostly what we get up here. Strange ones, criminals fleeing the Council, but mostly poachers and trappers!” Lam said. “I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you this.”

  Julian took the large wooden bowl, and let it hover just beneath his nose. It was too dark to see its contents, but his nose more than compensated. Rich and savory, the soup instantly ignited a terrible hunger, causing his stomach to gurgle loudly.

  “Sounds like you have a bear cub living in that gut!” Lam said, stepping back and leaning against the wall.

  Julian lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a small sip of its contents. It was hot, but not scalding. It tasted sweet and salty at the same time, with thick bits of vegetable and meat. Julian moaned longing and started taking large, messy mouthfuls.

  “Goodness, young man. There is a spoon for you!” Lam stepped forward, but by the time he extended the spoon, the bowl was empty.

  Julian held the bowl out, gasping for breath, his arm trembling.

  “More than, is it?”

  Julian wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and nodded, “yes, please…if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Be just a moment.” Lam, with an amused smile on his face, swung open the door and walked out. The door rattled against the wall behind him, but remained open.

  Julian leaned forward and eased his weight off of the bed. He put a hand to his gut. The satisfaction of the stew was already fading. It was replaced once again with the horrible hollow, empty feeling. It felt utterly bottomless.

  The building was constructed of logs, their white, papery bark coiling like giant springs. A low, open, rectangular fireplace stood in the middle of the floor, a healthy bed of hot coals glowing along its entire span.

  Men and women, bundled in heavy furs, sat clustered around tables. His gaze drifted over one person. He continued to scan the room for a moment, but spun back. He couldn’t believe that he missed her. Tanea sat in a far table, in the middle.

  Her red hair was neatly braided and pulled back, just as he remembered. Her white tunic was clean, the symbol of open palms, brightly emblazoned, shone in the bright light streaming in. She looked up and caught sight of him, her mouth turned up into a smile, and she lifted a hand.

  Julian’s heart leapt in his chest. He staggered forward, pain erupting in his feet with every step. Another cold gust washed over his skin, but he was almost to the fireplace. There would be plenty of warmth.

  His foot struck something hard and he stumbled forward, barely catching his balance. An odd noise filled the air. It was a rushing, crashing sound, like water spilling over a waterfall.

  Julian pushed through. Tanea waved to him, her hazel eyes sparkling in the light. The pulse of her heart pounded in his chest, eclipsed only by the furious tempo of his own. He felt a tremendous force pulling on him, tugging him in her direction. A voice boomed overhead, jarring him back a step.

  He locked eyes with Tanea just as a voice cut into his th
oughts.

  “STOP!” it screamed, staggering him.

  A cold wind rushed over him, stinging his eyes and filling his nose with the smell of water and trees. The room was filled with a blinding light and then he felt snow on his face.

  Julian lurched back a step, his boots crunching in the deep snow. The ground dropped off just a few short paces before him, the landscape plummeting into a deep, rocky valley. A half-frozen river surged along far below.

  Someone grabbed onto the back of his robes, and in the next moment Julian was sprawling backwards into the snow. A hulking shadow loomed over him, a curved, blue blade coming to rest against his belly.

  “What are you doing, soft skin?” the warrior growled, an uncharacteristically edgy tone to his voice.

  The other warrior appeared above him, this one larger than the first. He bent over and easily hefted Julian off of the ground.

  “What is this?” the larger of the two warriors asked.

  The smaller of the two, Ghadarzehi, pushed Julian, forcing him to walk. He said something to his counterpart, but Julian couldn’t understand the tongue.

  The two warriors immediately started to quarrel. They pushed Julian into a camp set in a small windbreak, shoving him to the ground at the base of a tree, before turning on each other.

  Julian thought of Tanea, trying to hold to the image of her from his vision. She looked so real, and so close. He savored the warmth of the building, the fire, and the sight of her. She was so close he could have reached out and touched her, held her. He covered his ears and closed his eyes tight, drowning out the two warrior’s brabble as he focused on the steady pulse in his chest.

  The harder he focused, the stronger it felt, until he could almost sense her presence before him again. Warmth flooded into his body, radiating out through his arms and legs until his fingers and toes throbbed and tingled. Just as the warmth entered his body the pressure formed in his head.