I Know Not: The Legacy of Fox Crow

by Ross, James Daniel

  As I could have guessed, the road into Carolaughan had gotten no easier. Every day we walked toward our destination, and every night before bed the already exhausted boys learned a little more of the art of killing. Less than three days after burying the Knight of Amsar we were waylaid by another group of ‘bandits.'

  Winter was upon the land as never before in recorded memory, and it was certain that some men would turn from farming or soldiery to banditry. It was easy to stab a stranger so your children could eat, but the presence of tribes of bandits on every major road and hiding at every major intersection near Carolaughan was beyond belief. There would literally be nobody left to rob, only bands of masked men shrugging at one another as they camped along the otherwise empty roads as their families starved at home.

  Besides, a mask does not a bandit make, not when they were wearing the slightly rusty armor and carrying the chipped and dented weapons of professional soldiers. Mercenaries, by the smell of them. I wrestled with one masked man, rolling around on the hard, cold ice as I tried to get his heart and my misericorde to shake hands. Another bandit had shaken off Miller and came at me, prone and occupied. Then there was…

  You don’t even remember his name.

  A ghastly cold hollowness surged inside of me, pushing tears into the back of my eyes. I blinked them back furiously, willing the buildup away. I scowled and put the tankard down with slightly more than necessary force. Many of those who had been looking for a likely pocket to pick went back to their own drinks.

  DORIAN!

  His name had been Dorian. The triumph was short lived, because the worst kind of lie is to say it was good enough to eventually remember the name of someone who had died to save your life. We killed the bandits, we lived. I lived, but it was only because of Dorian. Gelia and the rest had buried him -no older than seventeen…

  Dorian didn’t know me well, no one really can without me knowing myself, and he had been a quiet boy. I had taught the boys everything I could during our morning training sessions, but it had not been enough. I guess he decided I was more important than he to safeguarding his lady. He matched himself to a man many years his senior and many times the swordsman. He died upholding his oath to her and I decided I had a powerful need to know why.

  Out there, covered in blood and under a cold, clear sky, I felt storm clouds eclipse every bright part of my soul. Then, there It was. That Darkly Vicious Thing, always half hidden in the Fog, floated up behind my eyes. It settled in like a comfortingly numb cloak. It whispered in my ear terrible things. Terrible things, terrifying things, but true things. It said that people do not respect someone who loses his head. They can dismiss you, disarm you. They can disassemble your arguments by sliding lies in the gaping cracks of your rage. It said you can distill rage into a compact line and use it as a whispered weapon. You can slip it into their skull and pry out their secrets.

  Man, this beer is horrible. I’ve a mind to not order a third. And I glanced around the bar, but only for a second before the scene of a few days ago continued.

  I had stalked across the clearing with the dark cloak of the Thing in my mind flapping around me, invisible in plain sight as I took all light from my eyes. She saw me coming, still off balance from the stress of the attack, and she retreated before me without even a protest. Aelia continued to give ground, managing nothing but clips of words as she stumbled on her dress. She threw out her hands, tripped again, and fell against the bole of an old oak tree encased in a cocoon of blood-spattered ice. Everyone waited, tension sparking in the air as Theo laid his hand on his sword, ready to kill even me to protect his charge-

  Even as I made tentative plans to murder him the moment his sword left his sheath, a small part of my mind whispered to him, Good boy.

  -But I never looked at him, never glanced away from Aelia as my eyes stapled her to the tree with thunderingly silent questions and accusations. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her lips trembled, revealing at last her lack of years. She was only as old as half her guards, and younger than poor Dorian. Under the crushing weight of my silent judgment, cracks began to appear in her mental walls. From inside the carriage Leoncur yowled.

  Then her clasped hands found an unobtrusive ring perched ungainly on her thumb. She looked down at that plain, gold band as if she had never seen it before. Her head snapped up and her lost, lonely eyes locked with mine, but then she began to change. It started in her shoulders, which started clenched around her neck and dropped like an executioner’s axe. Then her chest swelled, filled from some hidden reservoir inside. Her jaw set. Iron flooded from her heart and straightened her spine. Though more than a head shorter, suddenly we were equals, her fear fled before her unfathomable strength. One, last deep breath brushed aside her lingering doubts, and her eyes blazed like the noon day sun off the snow.

  She mastered herself and in that moment she became more beautiful than any creature of legend. She took the legs out from under the Beast and sent it sprawling in my head. Just gazing into her steady eyes released something fluttering and fragile inside of me. I tried to ignore it, to say I was more than passing successful would be a lie. She gestured to a fallen log on the other side of the road, and even that little motion was enough to push me aside. She walked over, adjusted her skirts primly, and sat on the rotting icy wood as if it were a throne. I took a seat and gazed deep into her eyes. She did not shrink nor flinch.

  You are one hell of a woman.

  “We are not heading to Carolaughan to trade for iron.” Several seconds slipped past, giving the sky precious time to come close over our conversation. The pressure squeezed out white flakes of snow that swirled down on every side as if to curtain off her secrets from the world. “We are going to bid on Red Sky.”

  This was the point where I was supposed to say something witty, something insightful, or failing all else, something dashing. What I managed to get past the flying, trembling lump in my chest was a guttural throat noise. Thankfully, she took it as a sound of disbelief instead of an audition for village idiot. She took a deep breath and continued. “I am completely serious, Fox. The dwarves have long been pressed for men. They have finally begun stripping their outlaying forts to strengthen their main towns and city centers. They cannot simply leave these outposts-”

  “-it would open them to attack without warning.” I finished, nodding. The harsh northern mountains were not just dangerous for men, and there were worse things than barbarians and redcaps. The dwarves were a bulwark against the untamed lands beyond, but it was not kind to their population.

  She smiled at me, “They have taken to selling these lands to humans who can afford the price. They have traveled to Carolaughan, the center of the Kingdom, to give all the noble families a fair chance to bid on the land and the fort.” And, incidentally drive up the price with access to more bidders, I thought as she continued, “They get an infusion of gold and the protection of the fort maintained-”

  “And the high bidder gets to tax anything that goes in or out of the pass.” I finished. Considering the amount of luxury goods and implements of war that come out the dwarvish kingdoms, whatever outrageous sum the winning family pays will be made up in less than ten years. Not only that, any enemy buying dwarven weapons or armor in bulk, whoever taxes the goods will know of it. These thoughts and their implications propelled me to my feet where I paced the road.

  Just as the safety of the Ridge Mountains, and the peace of the Sorrow Wood had both been illusions of luck and fate, so now too the path before me was not a wide trek but a thin board over a rushing river. Still, something did not fit into this new scene. My eyes flicked to the boys, and to Gelia, who still watched like wide eyed children, “You are not from the family of Llewellyn.”

  She lowered her eyes and nodded, but stood to face me with the bearing of a queen, “I am not of the family of Llewellyn, servants to the family of Conaill: I am Aelia of the ancient and revered family of Conaill, Grand Duchess of Conaill, Warden of the Eastern Plains.”

/>   I didn’t feel any more like bowing to her, but I did feel the river below my pathetic board bridge turn into a lake of fire.

  “Ishad’s bones!” I screamed at the sky, invoking in my mindless rage the name of the God of Murder. I spun to face Theo and his crew, all of them pale at my blasphemy, “Make camp!”

  Four days later, I slammed my hand against the table. People on all sides winced. The bartender shouted something, but one baleful eye wilted his objection on his tongue. Drinkers on all sides decided to make it an early night and filed out meekly. Under the hubbub, I slipped my hand under the table and rubbed it as it wailed like a baby. The pain was good. It focused me. It also opened up the floodgates at the back of my head.

  Four days ago, I looked around at the carriage party wondering if my blindness was an effect of the Fog or something softer and far more sinister. It made sense when I thought it through. Having the Church of Ethryal assign one of their number to a noble’s daughter took substantial and frequent donations, out of the reach of even some of the most affluent families.

  Nana, she called her nana! I should have seen immediately that the cleric was not related to the Duchess. That meant she was hired help, meaning Gelia had been Aelia’s keeper since before she could form full words, and that takes money the likes of which most people could not even conceive.

  Have you ever noticed that no matter how many times you tell yourself you should not to trust a pretty woman, you always do? Have you always noticed you always wind up getting kicked where you fork your horse for it? We were on the outskirts of the Sorrow Wood, one of the great bastions of darkness in the Kingdom with a Grand Duchess!

  Low Dukes and Duchesses had enough intrigue in an afternoon to cause a hundred deaths, but the little honorific ‘Grand’ meant she was related to the King. The Grand nobles all like to assassinate other Grand nobles, or capture them for ransom, or to keep them out of the way, or to try the rape-that-turns-to-marriage angle. These are just hobbies they engage in when everything is peaceful! What they would do to one another when there’s a crucially important and mind bogglingly lucrative deal on the table can only be guessed at. No matter what, killing the guards, including myself, would be necessary.

  Wait a minute. I looked back at her through narrowed eyes, now leery that any disturbance in the conversation was a covered pit, “Conaill has a Grand Duke, not a Duchess.”

  Again, she fluttered for just a second before she reasserted control and grabbed hold of something inside herself, impressing of me again, “My father took the direct route. He employed a massed caravan guarded by two hundred men in heavy armor. An assassin took his life before the procession had marched its second day.” My eyes flicked to the stricken faces of the boys; To the heavy, lined face of Gelia; And back to Aelia who lashed her tears down inside to save her dignity, “As his successor, I decided twenty men, moving swiftly, would have a greater chance. I have spent more time than I would like to remember circling the Sorrow Wood the wrong way around to reach Carolaughan. Many men I have known since I learned to speak have died in front of me.” Her voice, on the edge of cracking, gained an underlying plate of rock. She gaze proudly at me and straightened. “In their memory, and that of my father, I will not stop now.” She paused, gathering words against me. “I will pay you ten times what I said to see me to Carolaughan-”

  I stilled her with an upraised palm, my face a hard mask, but the words popped from between my lips with a life of their own, “I have taken a contract. I will complete it as I have sworn.”

  The words were familiar in my mouth, running along a deep rut in my tongue. They were also the truth. I am only vaguely sure of what kind of a man I am, but I know that had it been me, I would have lied too. I don’t have to like it, but I also don’t have to be a hypocrite. I looked amongst the carriage party, and was frightened at the respect I saw there. The enormity of my words was finally driven home by Gelia, who turned away as she blinked back tears of relief.

  I had just committed myself to guarding the whelps that mindlessly worshipped me, the holy woman that hated me, and a lovely lady who lied to me at every turn. And a cat.

  What have I done? Self-loathing bubbled up from deep inside the Fog, a poison that dribbled down my spine, What you have done is put yourself between countless swords and their target. Idiot.

  The point was driven home by the carriage itself. An anchor around our necks this entire trip, now it was almost beyond hope. It had dozens of arrows and bolts prickling from one side, not to mention out of one of the chargers as well as one of the workhorses. The workhorse had already laid down and been silenced, and it looked like the warhorse would be next. We could have lost both the stolen army horses with no trouble, but the heavily muscled chargers were vital to keeping the heavy wagon moving. Instead of saying anything twice, Godwin just patted the shivering, arrow-freckled side of the left charger. Even hooking up the officer’s horse would not make up the loss in strength. To top it all off, one of the carriage wheels was canted slightly and would surely shatter at the very next bump.

  I shook my head, “There is no way this thing is going to make it much further.”

  “We cannot leave the carriage, Crow.”

  The words ignited the poison of my own recriminations, burning down into my belly and exploding into my arms. I ran the last few yards to the door to the carriage, cocking back a fist meant to break the wooden coat of arms that hung there. I grabbed the door with the opposite hand and the curled fingers trembled by my ear. Forgotten disciplines tied down the temper seeking to command my body and, after long seconds, the arm dropped. I swallowed mindless screams of rage, doubtlessly turning an interesting shade of red. Hot breath whooshed out of me with all the pent up energy rage had lent me.

  I just stood there and considered our next move. Well, I stood there and made the boys really nervous as they unhitched the horses, and that’s almost the same thing. Miller and Theo stumbled unloading the money chest from the top of the carriage, it scraped and tumbled, missing Theodemar by less than a fingerlength. It crashed against a jagged stone sticking up out of the frozen soil and a dozen rivets snapped like whips, disgorging the entire contents of the chest out through the broken side. Instead of wealth beyond imagining, it contained only three chainmail hauberks, a few small bags of coins, and some plain goblets and platters and a man weight worth of bricks. This entire time, hauling this thing from place to place, always placing it at the edge of camp, and the damn thing was filled with dregs and dross.

  A light dawned behind my eyes. She had left it at the edge of camp, hoping it would be taken, hoping that our pursuers would waste time trying to escape with it and waste more opening it as we escaped with the real fortune. It was a plan so cunning that I would have been proud to think of it myself. Now I just had to figure out how to convince her that I had known all along. Then I remembered that Aelia was heading to a bidding war, and there had to be wealth, somewhere.

  Suddenly I had to lean forward and steady myself. That’s when I noticed the unnatural cold of the flourishes carved upon the door. It sucked the warmth from my grasping hand faster than any painted wood ever could. I gripped it harder, twisting nastily and marveling as it deformed under my tenderless ministrations. The chunk came free of the nails that sought to keep it in place and lay fully in my hand; Cold, harsh, and heavy. I comforted myself with the thought that nobles paint everything within reach gold, as everybody knew, and would make the same assumption I had. There was no doubt this was not a painted gold design, but the real thing.

  With the amount I held in my hand, I could have purchased River’s Bend and all the lands surrounding. My eyes jumped from one golden carving to another, adding to the grotesque weight of the carriage, the most obviously camouflaged fortune in the kingdom. Suddenly I wanted it, wanted it all more than anything. I closed my eyes and marked every one of the boys in the clearing by sound alone. I plotted a deadly dance that would kill each and every one of them with a single cut, swipe, or
thrust. The Lady would be last, least dangerous and easiest to dispatch-the Fog swirled forward inside of my head obliterating the deep seated starvation of wealth and washing it away just like the loathing for the holy knight. I looked back across my thoughts and felt a cold rush at how deadly, how emotionless, how serious the urge to murder had been.

  I hefted the twisted golden chunk twice and smirked hollowly at the noble lady, “Aelia the ruse worked for as long as could be expected. You set some bait, you changed your name, you disguised your treasure. You did well, but now the carriage is broken, your enemies know your true identity, and your bait is now exposed. It is time to change the plan.”

  The nanny came to Aelia’s side as if to lend her charge confidence. She needn’t have bothered, the young lady faced me like an equal though her irises were still stricken by dredged up memories of loss. The nun’s face lifted to me and our eyes locked. Again, I felt she knew more of me than any other living soul. It made my palm itch for the Angel. She set her jaw against me and asked, “What do you propose, Crow?”

  “They are looking for a noble Lady traveling with a wagon, Priestess, so we must find a way to be as little like that as possible.” I smiled and tossed the lump of metal into the carriage, “You brought hunting bows, did you bring hunting clothes as well?”

  Neither of them smiled back.

  Days later, I emptied the bitter dregs from my cup and slapped two slivers of cut copper coin onto the table. In a bard’s tale, there’d be a pretty and particularly wonton busty barmaid. As if by magic they disappeared and the fat, sweaty barman replaced them with a foaming mug. And of course he’s busty, but in a bad way.

  I escaped that thought by focusing on the dull moaning pain in my back. I had not mentioned it, had not rubbed at it, had not even acknowledged it for four whole days. I was betting as long as I didn’t complain about it, nobody else would either. I took another drink, and couldn’t stop from making a face. I need to start drinking something less corpse flavored. I glanced at the bar, wondering if such a thing existed here.