A King's Ransom

by Lia Black

  "Crow…" Barlan croaked, unaware that he'd said the name aloud until Renwal responded.

  "We'll find him, Barlan. Just hold on."

  Barlan was quietly grateful. Perhaps having Renwal here would help keep him awake long enough for them to find Crow. If he was going to die, he wanted to at least see Crow one last time, and tell him that he loved him. It was a shame that he'd never been able to touch him the way he'd yearned to.

  *~*~*

  Crow had just dropped down near a set of stairs that went up into a tower, when the ground shook and opened up in front of him. At the edge of the opening were buildings that Crow had thought were stables, until he saw people—and not livestock—running out. He blinked in surprise when he realized that they were elves.

  He would have gone to investigate, but someone ran past him, coming down the stairs from inside the tower. Crow ducked back to keep from being spotted by the men coming out. Guards began to come towards the men, trying to move them away from the chaos. In the mean time, Crow slipped silently inside the tower to hide in the shadows until he could figure out just what was going on.

  In the darkness, his eyes adjusted immediately, a byproduct of evenings spent scouting through the forest. He made out one staircase that curved down and another that continued up into the tower. He suspected by the angle of the downward staircase, that it led to the room which had collapsed underground. From down these stairs, he heard a woman cry out.

  Crow shouldered his crossbow and crept down into the gloom. He heard the sound of skin slapping against skin and the woman sobbing now, pleading.

  "You knew this was going to happen, bitch!" A man's voice, angry and human, punctuated with another slap.

  Another slap then more sobbing. Crow pressed his teeth into his tongue. This was not part of their mission, but he had to investigate. He moved like a shadow down the stairs, alert for any signs of shifting earth or stone, until he came upon two people in a dust-filled corridor. He could just make out the silhouette of a large man dressed as a castle guard drawing his sword above a woman who was curled defensively on the floor below.

  "Should have gotten rid of you a long time ago, you shriveled old witch!"

  The moment the man's sword left its sheath, Crow squeezed the release on his crossbow and let the bolt fly, striking the man in the throat. The man dropped down onto one knee. His sword clattered to the ground near the woman as his hands rose to his neck, trying to stop the spray of blood.

  Crow pulled his knife from the garter on his thigh and strode up to the man, plunging it into his heart to silence him for good.

  The woman was trembling and sobbing softly, her face hidden in her hands. She was an elf, he could see that now, and he spoke to her in the Elven Tongue of his Court.

  "He won't hurt you anymore."

  Trembling, the woman moved one hand aside to look at Crow. He could see from her features that she was not of the Northern Wind Court—perhaps a mountain race, whose subtle differences from his own were never apparent to humans. But still, regardless of her origins, he considered her kin.

  "Thank you," She answered in a Court's tongue that was similar enough to his own for him to understand.

  "I am called Crow. Are you injured?" He spoke to her now in Commonspeak.

  The woman sat up, her lip bloodied and one side of her face swelling where the man had struck her. She was older than Crow by at least two decades, but possessed the kind of beauty that would outlive youth.

  "I will be fine. I am Melina… I…" she looked back at the dust filled corridor as she stood up, leaning against the wall as she swayed. She absently wiped at the blood left on her skirts from the dead man. "Veyl…"

  "Veyl? I am looking for a man who has that name," Crow told her.

  She seemed as if she was about to run back into the blackness of the collapsed hallway but stopped and looked past the dead man and up the stairs. "They ran past me," she said, more to herself than to Crow.

  So that was who had run out from the tower. Had he known, he wouldn't have likely been able to stop them, but he could have at least followed to see where they would go. However, he was certain he had done the right thing by coming down here. Melina would have been killed had he not.

  She looked at Crow again, her features lined with confusion, "You are looking for Veyl?"

  "I am assisting his lover, a human named Kaidos. He has the Archduke of Parthus supporting his efforts as well."

  "The archduke…" Melina murmured, her eyes wide.

  "We must leave this place, I do not know if it is safe," Crow told her gently.

  She gave a curt nod and they moved swiftly back up the staircase.

  The sky was only beginning to lighten, and fires burning in the cressets continued to illuminate the courtyard, although the chaos was just as obvious without them. There were elves fighting with the guards as they tried to get inside the precariously leaning long house and save their kin. Crow looked wildly for Melina, who had disappeared once they made it outside and spotted her as a guard reached out to grab her.

  He let fly a bolt that hit the man in the shoulder, allowing Melina to scramble away. But Crow's shot attracted the attention of the guards now from the other elves onto him—the only elf with a weapon, and one who so obviously did not belong. Better that they come after him, he thought, perhaps it would help the elves and buy the rest of his party some time to locate Veyl.

  "That one!" Someone yelled and the courtyard full of soldiers came surging towards him like an angry sea of iron and steel.

  Crow looked for a way to escape them, moving just quickly enough to remain a few steps ahead as he ran. Here there were no trees to carry Crow's enchantment. Crow beseeched once more his god of the heartwood, to come to aid him and protect the elves trapped here as slaves.

  Immediately, there came a deep, thrumming sound like hundreds of flags snapping against the wind. The sound grew louder and with it came the stirring of the air. Like a heavy bank of clouds that floated across the rainy pre-dawn sky, a shadow began to spread, and the rain momentarily stopped. The cloud kept widening, its blackness blotting out the light completely until the sky above seemed boiling and alive.

  When pieces of the sky began to rain down, the soldiers panicked and ran for cover; too frightened to consider that this could be anything but the blackest form of magick, coming down upon them as demons from the clouds.

  Crows. Hundreds of them. The sounds of their wings was like a raging river; a steady, vibrating force of nature.

  Crow stopped running and turned as his pursuers scattered for cover inside the castle. The birds only went after the soldiers, leaving the elves outside staring and dumbfounded beneath the wind of black wings and a cacophony of the bird calls.

  The white crow landed on Crow's head as he made his way towards the long-house, hoping to aid his kin further in any way that he could. He did not, at first, notice the stares nor hear the murmurs of the elves, many of whom dropped to their knees as he passed.

  The birds landed around the courtyard, many flocking to land on him. And it was only at this point that he noticed the many trembling hands reaching out to touch his clothing, his skin. The elves in their foreign languages—for there were many from different Courts—began to call him words that sounded to him like "king." He looked around at them all, shaking his head in astonishment, and worry. It was not possible they could believe him so blessed. He who had no name. He'd merely made a humble request, and the gods had thought his cause worthy enough to intervene.

  Children were held up to him just as he'd seen infants offered to the Queen of the Northwind Court. It meant a silent pledge—that the one who would lead their Elven Court would rule and protect their most precious for generations to come.

  They looked to Crow now for this blessing, but all of this was causing panic to lengthen along his spine. There were so many of them, and once they understood what he was—or wasn't—they would all turn their backs on him as his own people had. At the
moment, that might have been preferable; never in his life had he had so many eyes upon him.

  He opened his mouth to tell them—to disappoint them with his truth, when he heard someone calling his name.

  "Crow!"

  A vaguely familiar human voice called to him and Crow shook out of his confusion. It was a human male--dressed in the archduke's colors—who came running towards him across the courtyard from the dungeon.

  The elves around Crow turned their stony gazes upon the strange man, making a wall between him and Crow with their bodies.

  "He's an ally," Crow told them, though finding his voice was a struggle. They parted to let him pass through, yet still they remained vigilant in the presence of the human. Were they protecting him?

  Crow recognized the human as Kel when they met in the middle of the courtyard—the archduke's archer and one with whom they had entered through the aqueducts. He thought at first that the man might be bringing news that Veyl was found, but when he saw the expression on his face and his clothing coated in mud. Crow felt his chest go tight.

  Kel was out of breath, his face was pale and his eyes glassy. "Barlan—" he panted, bending over to try and gulp in air. "Crow, you have to come!"

  Crow's heart sank, and his limbs began to tingle as if the blood was no longer flowing freely. "Lucania?" He whispered, as though maybe it wasn't the same Barlan—wasn't his Barlan who caused this human to look at him with fear and pity.

  Kel grabbed his arm and tugged, drawing Crow out of his panic-addled thoughts. He swallowed back the gall that had risen in his throat and nodded, running after Kel, back towards the dark stairway which led to the dungeons below. With each step, Crow felt his heart hammering in his chest and his sense of dread increased. By the time he got to the long corridor lined with empty prison cells, he could barely move.

  "Why do I hear water?" He could see mist rising in the air.

  Kel held Crow's gaze over his shoulder, and the words came as an apology. "The floor collapsed into the cave below."

  Crow blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the pale glow at the end of the hallway that shouldn't have been there if the floor was intact.

  "Be careful, we'll have to go around this way," Kel gently took Crow's sleeve and pulled him along towards the gaping hole in the floor, moving him around to one side. Crow could smell the blood mixed with the damp earth below him, and when he looked down, his limbs turned to jelly. He could see the pale shape of a body, partially crushed beneath a heavy block of stone.

  "Come on, Crow. He's still alive, but I…" Kel stopped speaking when Crow looked at him, and he dropped his gaze.

  It couldn't be true. Lucania had promised him that he wouldn't leave him alone. He'd promised to be patient and sit quietly by until Crow was able to handle his affection and return his love. Crow tasted blood and realized he'd bitten his lower lip—something he'd not been doing as of late. His mouth filled with the bitter tang of metal and saliva that indicated being sick was not far behind. He had been asking the gods for too much, and now, perhaps they saw this as their compensation and a reminder that he was unworthy of any more.

  Crow hadn't realized that he'd dropped down into the hole until his bones were jarred by the landing. As soon as he saw Barlan's ashen face, he fell to his knees.

  "Little scout," Barlan croaked and a mist of blood came with his words. He offered Crow an apologetic smile, and the gesture sent a blade through his heart.

  "Lucania…you can't…" Crow wrestled with his words as tears turned every breath into a gasp, "…you can't leave me alone…"

  "Looks like you're not alone," Barlan was looking beyond Crow, and Crow became aware of a warm hand on his shoulder.

  "Coraith du--Your Majesty, allow us to serve you."

  It was an elf—an older man—who spoke to Crow. Gradually he noticed that there were others filling up the space behind him. He would have turned, but he was afraid that to take his eyes off of Lucania would mean that his Dulath would slip from this world without him.

  *~*~*

  Crow had stared at Barlan for what seemed a small eternity, his expression—as usual—unreadable, except his eyes. At first Barlan saw terror, disbelief, anguish. As Crow fell to his knees in the mud, Barlan saw his tears begin to flow, and it pained him that he could not hold him. Worse still was the knowledge that it was he who was causing Crow's anguish.

  When he sensed people moving in behind Crow, Barlan's first instinct was to protect his cub, but he was surprised to see many faces he recognized from his time as a prisoner as the elves began to enter through from the forest side of the tunnel. They converged upon them, an old man spoke to Crow in their strange and beautiful language, and Crow seemed stunned by their presence.

  Two women coaxed Crow closer to Barlan, and Crow touched Barlan's hand. So warm, even through the numbing ice that made his blood sluggish as his body kept trying to heal to no avail; Barlan curled his stiff fingers over his cub's little hand.

  One of the older elves who used to visit him in the dungeon came to Barlan with a handful of wet leaves he'd gathered outside.

  "For the pain," he told him.

  "Doesn't hurt so much," Barlan said. It was the truth, which was how Barlan knew just how bad the injury was.

  "It will," the elf said kindly and fed the leaves to Barlan.

  Barlan chewed the bitter greens, his eyes on Crow the entire time, who was staring down at their hands, his tears flowing beneath eyelids that were now closed. The women were sitting on either side of Crow, murmuring things softly to him, but he offered little response. Were they trying to soothe him? Barlan hoped so. Perhaps they were promising Crow a place in their clans—somewhere he wouldn't be alone. That was what Crow needed—a family, a place to belong, much more than he needed Barlan. It was a bittersweet thought. Selfish, Barlan knew, but his own loneliness had made him covet the time he spent with Crow. It was a shame that it hadn't been nearly enough.

  The other elves came closer, speaking amongst themselves around Barlan and the rock. They were careful not to get too close and disturb the soil as they gestured to one-another and a group farther back.

  "We're going to do our best," the older elf who'd fed him the leaves smiled kindly.

  "Do your best?" Barlan only mouthed the words, or thought that he had. Things were beginning to slip away, and he wasn't certain if it was the drugging effects of the herbs or his own impending death. Whatever it was, it did not bring him peace. He was not ready to close his eyes upon Crow's beautiful face. If he had to lose the future, the least he could do was to have a few more minutes with him now. He winced as Crow's hand left his.

  The next thing Barlan realized was that there was something sliding under the front of the stone, partially into the wet earth. The elves to his right crouched against the stone, fingers gripping underneath. Others gathered around Crow and laid their hands on Barlan's arm, leg and shoulder, and he suddenly understood what it was that they meant to do.

  Did they really think they could move this stone? While Barlan appreciated the concerted effort they were willing to expend to save him, there was no way these tiny people, many of them malnourished, could possibly hope to do anything but snap their own bones like twigs. He tried to stop them, but his weak voice was drowned out by a yell of instruction and a collective grunt of reply as all of the elves moved at once like some amazing machine made up of an intricacy of parts.

  And oh, there was pain. So much that Barlan blacked out for a moment and his head swam through nauseating darkness. He felt then the swift movement of many hands yanking him free, his body was flipped over and he felt the ground tremble as the stone was set back down beside him. Then there were hands on him, how many he could not tell, sending heat and energy through the mass of broken bones and pulverized flesh. Something blessedly cool pressed against his face, and then hot breath kissed his lips.

  Barlan squinted up through the tears filing his eyes and saw Crow looking down at him. Barlan's head was
in his lap and it was Crow's cool hands that caressed his face.

  He sighed, able to do so now successfully, despite the pain that was growing steadily worse as the elves' healing magick knit back together flesh and bone. With Crow here now, Barlan finally allowed his eyes to shut and let his consciousness slip away.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  The Final Choice

  The world around him was silent. Veyl tried to move, but wasn't even certain he had anything to move. There was no weight, no resistance, no stirring of air to let him know that he was whole. And then he couldn't remember why he'd cared.

  He was mostly unaware that there were things outside of this place. Occasionally he'd find snippets of abstract ideas that interrupted the steady flow of darkness. There was something that acted like an anchor and kept him from moving any deeper into the black. It was like an umbilical cord, perhaps, though that would mean he hadn't been born, and so the faces he thought he saw would not be memories, but perhaps dreams or visions of things to come.

  One face he remembered more than the others. The copper-skinned man with steel grey eyes. At the times this face attracted his consciousness, Veyl felt his own heartbeat, and the anchor line, pulse in response.

  And then there were times like these, where all he knew was utter despair. He was alone. And something in the deepest darkness called to him. It was a place he knew he could go where he would no longer have to feel. It seemed inviting, yet this line, that was so warm, would not let him go.

  Suddenly, a roar was all around him and Veyl felt as if he'd just been thrust through the surface of rough water. The light was too bright and he could not breathe. He struggled back down, letting himself sink back into the quiet, despite the voices again, and the sensation of many hands reaching to his rescue.

  It was just after this, that he felt the line begin to fray.

  It began with a sensation where his heart used to be. Crushing, twisting, bitter pain. It was as if barbs had been set inside of him, and now they were slowly and steadily being pulled out. His memory of the copper-skinned man flashed to comfort him, and for the briefest of moments, the pain stopped, only to be renewed and much worse when his image faded once more.