The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan)

by Cornelius Flynn

  “Halt! You may go no further. State your business.” He shouts.

  Their enemies quickly spread out as he counts them. He notes they’re wearing leathers and brown cloaks, garb well suited to the woods.

  “Who are you to give us orders?”

  The leader is simply buying time to move his men into a better position, they see him glancing left and right. There are perhaps two dozen, and Filippo’s relieved to see no longbows in evidence.

  “If you and your men turn around and leave now, we’ll let you live. Should you fail to do so, my lady friend and I will ensure that you’re never heard of again.”

  The man who spoke laughs, cutting the air with his arm as he shouts an order. Immediately the air is filled with the noise of the crossbows being fired and the bolts speed towards their targets.

  Moments later the quarrels all vanish and the fight is on.

  Piper and the old Druid re-emerge from the passageway behind the waterfall to hear the combat up ahead.

  “Go quickly. I’ll wait here.”

  “That does seem best.” Piper replies. “I would hate to have to carry you back to town with an arrow sticking out of you.”

  He smiles, checks that the bottle of the precious liquid is safely within his belt pouch and runs towards the sound of the fighting.

  He meets Lightning first, squatting with her back to a tree looking exhausted.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Too many.” She gasps between breaths. “I just need to rest.”

  “Make your way to the cave, the druid’s there.”

  She pushes herself to her feet and staggers back the way he came. He scans the forest to make sure no one’s following her then moves again.

  In seconds he arrives at the fight and sees several bodies littered around the edges of a small clearing while Filippo and the Wildcat fight back to back in the middle. They still have a dozen adversaries to take care of, and he doesn’t like the odds much, even taking into account the excellent martial skills his two allies possess.

  “It’s time for the Piper to call the tune.” He mutters as he reaches inside his jerkin and withdraws the strange, twisted ornate chanter that is his trademark and plays, but this is no ordinary tune.

  A discordant call fills the air, a noise that sets teeth on edge. It is the screeching wail of the banshee that rises and falls in a rhythm, like the wind at a crack in a window shutter.

  The enemies’ movements stutter. They jerk as though someone has just poured cold water down their backs as previously smooth motions are disturbed.

  Filippo and Wildcat take advantage of this and leap forward, stabbing and kicking as Piper maintains the horrifying screech at the edge of the battle. Men fall dead around them.

  Wildcat slashes the throat in front of her, spins low below a waving sword and throws her dagger with all the force she can muster, watching it plunge into an eye socket to her right. In two quick steps she’s on him as he drops to his knees, ramming it home with the sole of her boot. He collapses, screaming, and dies.

  She pulls another from her belt and turns to see Filippo kick the last of his attackers to the ground and thrust his huge blade through the man’s chest, spearing him to the forest floor.

  Piper removes the ornate chanter from his lips, tucking it away and walks forward, alert for any that might still live, as he joins the others.

  The exhausted Lightning slumps by the side of the old Druid at the cave entrance. He smiles and greets her.

  “I don’t suppose you have any…” She’s in the midst of asking, as he produces a lump of cheese and an apple from the satchel by his side and passes them across to her.

  She thanks him and devours the cheese, the apple clutched tightly in her other hand.

  “Slow down, girl.” He says, examining the shaft which has pierced her leathers. “You’ll give yourself indigestion. There’s no hurry.”

  She swallows. “The others might need my help once more.”

  “No, they are fine.” He sits facing her. “Relax. Eat. Taste your food, enjoy it.”

  “You’re certain?” She chews more slowly, the pain in her shoulder is intense.

  “Completely. Relax, young lady. Your work here is done.”

  He reaches out, covering her with a soft glow as he slowly draws the bolt she had hidden from Piper from her flesh.

  Lightning sighs heavily and leans back against the cliff wall, her eyes slowly closing.

  “You know,” she mumbles, “this is really good chee...”

  “Someone wanted us dead, didn’t they, chaps?”

  Piper walks around the scene of the battle, kicking the bodies to make sure they weren’t getting up.

  “I think they’re supposed to look like brigands or forest outlaws.” Filippo squats and examines the bodies. “They’re dressed as though they live here, and they’d pass as some band of robbers and thieves, but look.”

  Piper and Wildcat peer down to see what he’s found.

  “These leathers are brand-new but someone’s spent time rubbing them with something rough, maybe a stone, to make them look worn.”

  “How do you know it’s not just natural wear and tear?” She runs her fingers over the leather.

  “Because,” he touches the roughened areas, “the wear pattern’s in the wrong place.” He lifts the cloak on one of the bodies and points. “Natural wear and tear would be here on the sides, along the seam, not on the front.”

  “How do you know?” She asks.

  He stands and approaches her. “May I?”

  She shrugs and stands compliantly as he lifts her own cloak aside from her leathers and points to the seam down the side of the jacket. “You see, here, where your arm rubs against the side as you move and work and fight, it creates lighter areas and these roughened parts along the seams.”

  He crouches by her and rolls the nearest body onto its side, exposing the pristine seams on the obviously new jacket.

  Piper squats down. “It’s the same with their boots, they look new. These men wanted to look like brigands, it’s all fake.”

  “Why would they do this?” Wildcat asks. “Why pretend to be brigands, and who are they really?”

  “I’m guessing we’ll have to go through their belongings and try to find out.”

  “Oh, I’ve already been doing that.” Wildcat grins, shaking a pouch that contains many more coins than it did before they arrived.

  “I don’t think he means their money.” Piper says, approaching one of the corpses and checking inside his armour.

  “How many did we kill?” Wildcat asks looking around the clearing.

  “I made it a score at least. Maybe two dozen.” Filippo watches her go from body to body and shakes his head.

  “Make a tally after you’re done robbing them, and we’ll see if we can make sense of this.”

  Almost half an hour has passed by the time they return to find Lightning yawning and stretching with more colour in her cheeks than when they last saw her.

  “You’re looking better already.” Piper comments.

  “Yes, the food is invigorating. I’d love to know where he gets it from. I’d keep a supply handy.” She smiles weakly.

  The old Druid rises to his feet, leaning on his staff. “Is it over?”

  “For now, at least.” Filippo replies. “We dragged the bodies back into the woods and swept the trail clean of footprints. It’ll be quite some time before anyone finds them, if at all. There’s something strange though.”

  He calls Wildcat forward who drops the bundle she’s been carrying, as he explains why these attackers weren’t what they seemed to be.

  “So, someone wanted us all dead but doesn’t want us to know who they were. Do we know anyone who’s tried to kill us lately?” Lightning asks, her voice still trembling.

  “Well, my dear, in my case that would be almost everyone in the town, Since they’re all convinced I’m a murderer, don’t you know.” Piper grins.

  “Had they chose
n anyone else as to blame, I suspect they’d have got away with it.” Filippo looks at their haul of new armour. “Obviously whoever planned all this didn’t know who they were dealing with.”

  “With whom they were dealing.” Piper corrects him. “I mean, really, you’d think after all these centuries you could have at least got an education.”

  Filippo punches him in the arm, knocking him clean off his feet into the long grass by the cliff’s edge. “Oh, mi scusi, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, it must have been my lack of an education.”

  Piper sits rubbing his shoulder and smiling, as the Florentine and the two women laugh.

  Chapter 22

  A bitter wind blows across the roof of the temple compound, threatening sleet or hail as the night goes on.

  Two crows huddle, clinging to a perch on the walled tower in the centre, their feathers ruffling in the harsh air. The Lord Ether stands, staring at them intently before nodding and stepping away.

  “It seems you were correct to call me. The attack has failed. We should never have sent humans to do the job, they are far too slow and fragile.”

  “We sent our best, my lord, they were outmatched as I suspect would be many Fae. You’ve heard their reports.” The Capo Borealis indicates the bedraggled crows. “The battle was unnatural. Whoever Mister Gracie actually is, he and his friends have abilities far beyond that of normal mortals.”

  “Yes, they seemed quite Fae like. Our intelligence has come up with little about them. They appear and disappear at will around the town. I suspect Phineas is involved somehow. Perhaps they’re not human at all.”

  “That could make things more interesting.” A new voice joins the conversation.

  Both of the original speakers spin around to see the newcomer.

  “I do wish you would stop doing that.” Ether exclaims. “It really isn’t necessary.”

  “I have to keep my skills well honed.” The assassin bows. “When you’re in my business, stealth is part of your armoury.” He turns and points to the crows. “I take it your spies have no good reports for you.”

  “No, not good at all.” The Capo Borealis lifts the lid of a barrel and scoops grain from it into a small trough by the perch. “These two were the first to arrive. I suspect others will come in as time progresses. They watched the battle, if you can call that slaughter a battle, and returned leaving others to follow the group back.”

  “Yes, your use of the word slaughter does make it sound like an interesting fight. Please, fill me in.”

  “There will be time for details later.” Ether’ voice is terse. “What we need now is some way of preventing them returning with whatever it is they think will cure him.”

  “Why not just kill him?” The assassin drags a finger over his throat. “It would be over so much more quickly.”

  “Believe me, I’ve considered it.” The Capo replies, lowering his hood. “As you can see, this isn’t quite ready.”

  Ether inspects his face. “That’s good. I take it no one suspects you’re involved?”

  “Everyone thinks I’m a monk from the South. There are advantages to looking like one of them.” The Capo replies.

  “That’s quite a novel approach.” The assassin inspects his face. “I would never have thought of doing it that way.”

  The monk replaces his hood, burying his head deep within its folds once more.

  “I liked it better in the old days, when you just killed everyone who stood in your way and got the job done.” The Fae Lord looks out over the town.

  “Now that’s my kind of thinking.” The Night Stalker joins him at the edge of the tower. “So what do we do now?”

  “We stop Mister Gracie and his friends from reaching Llewellyn. Whatever it takes.” Lord Ether absent-mindedly strokes one of the crows. “The man is a wanted fugitive after all. No one will be shedding any tears should he die attempting to reach the Castle. He obviously intends to murder their precious prince.” The expression on his face could almost be described as a smile.

  “Yes, this fop has proven to be most troublesome.” The dark assassin stretches, rolling his head around his shoulders. “I’ll take care of him myself, if you gentlemen can arrange to stop his companions getting in the way.”

  “I’ll have our trusted knights in position ready. They will not pass.” The Capo replies. “I need another two days at most, to assimilate the last memories, then I can step in.”

  “You have a plan to get the body out?” Pulling his gloves on, the Fae Lord turns to the Capo.

  “Everything is prepared.” His nod is barely perceptible under the hood. “It won’t be a problem.”

  Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Piper, Filippo and Wildcat arrive at the castle wall.

  “Perhaps we should have let her come?” Wildcat says.

  “She was spent. The fight took a lot more out of her than she let us see. Gwen says she’ll need to recover overnight from a wound. All of our abilities carry their curse, as you’re aware.” Piper points to Wildcat’s un-gloved hands as she flexes them and claws peek out from under the fur.

  “Don’t I know it.” Filippo laughs, now standing at less than five feet tall in the dark of the Moon. “It plays hell with your love life.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Piper looks up at the wall. “Shall we get on with this before someone finds us?”

  “I am sure they’re aware we’ve returned, but I doubt they know exactly where we are, since I’ve seen no owls and I’m pretty sure their crows can’t fly in the dark.” Wildcat loops the coils of sturdy rope over her head and shoulder and prepares for her climb.

  “I still think we could have just gone through the front door and fought our way in.” Filippo suggests.

  “We discussed this at length. We can’t guarantee that we wouldn’t have to kill castle guards.”

  Wildcat grins. “Anyone else is fair game.”

  She jumps at the wall and begins to scamper up it, her clawed fingers finding sure grips in the cracks between the large stones used to build the castle centuries before.

  Piper mutters. “I’m betting it’s going to take us about five times longer than her to get to the top, even using the damned rope.”

  Minutes later, the three Ravens stand together on the roof. The darkness conceals their move to the access hatch and the ladder below.

  Piper stops. “They may be waiting for us. You must give the liquid to the prince. We’ll try to hold them off while you do. Use everything you can, and get one drop in him.”

  Wildcat nods. “I won’t let you down.” She lifts the hatch, pleased to hear that it’s been greased recently.

  A voice breaks the quiet night behind them.

  “Well, what have we here?”

  Piper spins to see a dark figure standing yards away by the edge of the roof. Two sword hilts project over his shoulders and daggers hang at the waist of his black leathers.

  “Go. I’ll deal with this one.” He hisses.

  “Really. You’ll deal with me, Mister Gracie. That’s something I would like to see.” The assassin spits at his feet.

  “Shouldn’t we help him?”

  “No. He said he’ll deal with it. We have to help the prince. Keep moving, Cat.”

  They leave the bottom of the ladder and make their way through the upper hallways until they see the entrance to the his chambers.

  “Only two guards. That shouldn’t take long.”

  “Attack quickly and put them to sleep. We can drag them inside in case anyone happens by, but we won’t have much time.”

  “That sounds best. Ready?”

  He nods and they rush forward silently.

  They dive on the two guards and pull them to the floor with choke holds, grasping them tightly until their struggles cease. Standing, they open the door to the prince’s chambers and look around. Seeing no one else, they drag the bodies inside.

  “Bind and gag them just in case.” Filippo looks for some cords. “It may give us a few extra min
utes.”

  The guards are trussed up with decorative ropes from wall-hangings, and gagged with whatever cloth could be found. The two approach the prince’s bedchamber and listen at the door.

  “I can’t hear anything, you?”

  Wildcat signals for silence and puts her ear to the door.

  “Three or more heartbeats and slow breathing. We’ll have to be quick.”

  “You have proven to be most troublesome, Mister Gracie.” The assassin advances. “I assured my employers that you would be the perfect scapegoat for this operation and yet, here you are. At least two escapes from justice, and now attempting to spoil carefully laid plans with your friends and allies to assist.”

  “It’s a habit of mine. I’m resilient. You on the other hand are unknown to me. It’s very rude not to introduce oneself, don’t you know?”

  “Ah yes. Where are my manners.” He pauses. “Oh wait, I don’t have any. You don’t need to know who I am other than the fact that I’m the person who’s going to kill you and collect the reward.”

  “Funnily enough, you won’t be the first one to try that over the last eight hundred years.”

  The other stops and blinks.

  “Really? I thought there was something strange about you and your compatriots. You’re obviously not Fae, but someone’s granted you a long life. It’s almost a shame to take it from you. Almost.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a tight smile.

  “Big words. Shall we see if you can back them up?” Piper draws his rapier and dagger.

  “Yes. I do hope you put up more of a fight than the prince’s bodyguards did. It was over too quickly for my liking.” He looks around the rooftop. “That’s my speciality, though, perhaps I should have mentioned that.”

  “And yet you failed to kill the prince.” His rapier is extended.

  “O most assuredly not. There was no failure. That was deliberate.” He draws two black blades from his shoulders and stands ready. “Shall we dance?”

  Filippo thrusts the door open as he and the Wildcat rush into the room. His eyes don’t adjust quickly to the darkness, unlike hers.