I padded quietly down to the front entrance. To their credit, one guard remained behind, quite cleverly concealing himself in the shadow created by a tall bookcase. It was my pleasure to relieve him from that duty with the handle of my knife bashed to the base of his skull. I caught him as he sank to the floor, and eased him down so as not to alarm the master, who had gone to his liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink with hands that shook enough to rattle his delicate glassware. In the light cast by the candlestick he’d set on top of the cabinet, I could admire the clarity of the pure, graceful crystal.
“Would you be so kind as to pour a drink for me, as well?” I asked politely, gliding up behind him. “Whatever you’re having will be fine.”
He whirled, his face paling. “What—?” He took one look at the knife I held in my hand—the blade a generous span of fine Taessarian steel—and his eyes rolled up into his head. I rescued the wineglass from his suddenly limp fingers as he measured his length on the exquisite parquet flooring.
“Tut, tut,” I murmured. “Another poor fool who can’t hold his liquor.” I drank down the wonderfully bracing wine, fetched a pillow for the fellow’s head, and started out. A small curio cabinet drew my attention, and I paused. Tiny ivory figurines crowded one shelf. Unless I was mistaken (and I knew I was not), they were Cataran. I counted the figures. Twenty-one. A complete set. I expressed my amazement and delight with a low whistle. A hundred years ago, Catara had been a premiere sculptor sought by the wealthiest and most discriminating of collectors. In his latter years, he had worked on commission alone, and this set—one of a dozen Emperor Gaziah had commissioned as special rewards after the Ten Years’ War—was worth more gold pieces than I had time to contemplate. They made the transfer from the shelf to the pouch at my waist without a whimper.
Outside, the street was empty. Too empty.
Peering through the cracked door, I watched and waited for one of the guards to reveal himself. In my experience, patience is not a virtue to be taken lightly. However, the longer I waited, the more likely were the chances I would be espied by the Baron’s returning lackeys and the more my abused body would proclaim its hurt. I most certainly did not want inactivity to stiffen my muscles. I chewed on my lip for a moment while my brain raced through the alternatives.
Behind me, the master of the house moaned. He did not, apparently, realize the true danger of his situation, else he would have remained unconscious a spell longer.
I went over to him, drawing my knife again from its sheath. I put on a show of examining its finely honed edge in the imperfect light of the candles. Even as he opened his eyes and let out another quivering moan an idea came to me. He was roughly my height and build except for an unfortunate tendency toward portliness around his middle. Hopefully his taste in clothing would run along the same lines as his taste in decor. If his robe and nightclothes were anything to go by, I was in luck. I couldn’t wear my own torn and dirtied gear without attracting unwanted attention.
The moment he saw me standing above him his eyes journeyed to the back of his skull again. “Ah-ah, my dear sir,” I scolded, going down on one knee to pat his cheek smartly. He blinked back at me, and his lower lip trembled. I stood up. “On your feet now. You have nothing at all to fear if you do as I request.” He took my proffered hand and got up, shaking like a leaf in a gale.
“What—That is—Don’t—”
“Not to worry,” I assured him, offering a bright smile and patting him on the back companionably. “I need only for you to escort me quietly to your sleeping chamber. Do you think you can manage?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead nodded his head and said nothing at all.
“Very good.” I gestured toward the stairs with the hand that still happened to be holding my knife. He blanched, picked up the candle, and mutely led the way.
“It’s awfully quiet,” I said, halfway up the stairs. “Is your entire staff on holiday?”
“N-no, they’re in their quarters. Where I sent them when, er, when the Baron’s men came.”
He hadn’t of course, but I suppose he couldn’t have known I was watching. The absence of any sort of staff raised questions about his financial stability. Still, I kept an eye and an ear out for the possibility of the sudden appearance of a butler or maid. “Weren’t you afraid?”
“Of c-course not.”
I chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar.” Candlelight glimmered softly against the rich wood paneling, and I could make out portraits framed in gold hanging on the wall. We stopped in front of a closed door. A trickle of light seeped through the crack at the bottom. “Where is your wife?”
He gulped noisily. “In, er, Chatay. With her parents. Visiting.”
I took his wrist and twisted it gently behind his back as I reached around him and pressed the tip of my knife against his neck. “Open the door and tell her to move slowly to the center of the room.”
A tremulous little moan escaped from his throat. “D-don’t hurt us, please!” he whined.
“Don’t give me a reason to.” He was disgustingly spineless. He possessed all the constitution of a bowl of gelatin. I put a little pressure on his crooked arm. “Your wife?”
“I c-can’t—open—the door.”
Ah, yes. Between us, we had all hands occupied. I pushed him aside and opened it myself with my knife hand. The blade banged noisily against the doorframe.
“Windel?” a woman’s voice queried timorously. “Is that you, dear?”
We pushed into the room where a woman knelt on the bed. She covered her cheeks with both hands and gave a little scream, like a trapped mouse.
“Do as he says, Darling!” Windel gushed. “He’s got a knife!”
Yes, I’m sure she missed that, poised as it was at her poor, sweet husband’s throat. Glancing around the room, I guided Windel to a chair. “Darling,” I said, addressing his wife, “fetch me a few of your pretty scarves.”
She blushed. “Scarves?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
She scrambled off the bed, snatching up a robe as she went, and dashed toward a closed door. Opening it, she disappeared inside for a moment, then returned with a handful of the requested items. Shortly, Windel was snugly attached to his chair.
“Your turn, Darling.” I pulled another chair over beside Windel’s and gestured toward it. The woman meekly sat.
“Are you going to rob us?” she asked as I fastened one wrist to the arm of the chair.
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“Torture us?” she asked, a little breathless at this notion.
“Darling!” Windel protested.
“Would you like me to?” I inquired.
“Oh!” The color in her cheeks increased. “No, thank you!”
“Very well, then.” I went first to the bedchamber door to close and lock it, then went to the door Darling had used. A peek inside revealed a decent-sized room filled nearly to overflowing with clothing and shoes. “Lovely,” I smiled. I sorted through them until I found Windel’s things, then picked out a pair of breeches, a shirt, and a coat.
“What do you think?” I asked, returning to my hosts and holding up the clothing for their inspection.
“That depends,” Darling said. “What sort of look are you trying to achieve? Judging from your present attire, I would say you prefer a look of quiet strength and understated elegance.” She tipped her head and examined me critically. “And perhaps just a touch of the unexpected.”
“Darling!” Windel objected with a touch of outrage.
I beamed at Darling. “You are most perceptive, madam.”
She fluttered her eyelashes and dimpled in a manner that was meant to be becoming, I’m sure. Her position and her sleep-tousled locks rather ruined the effect.
I popped back into the closet and came back with a new set of clothing. “How about this?”
“Oh, no,” Darling shook her head. “Those trousers are strictly for morning. They’re not at all a
ppropriate for evening wear!”
Irritated, I tossed the clothes on the bed. “I don’t have time to dawdle!”
“Well, I could help you,” she offered.
“Darling!” This time Windel was really upset. “He’s a criminal! He’s broken into our home and tormented us! Gods alone know if he’s robbed us yet, or what he’ll do to us before he’s through!”
“All the more reason to give him what aid we can. Don’t you see, Windel? The better we cooperate with him, the better are our chances to come out of this unharmed!”
“She has a point, Windel.”
“If you screamed, the servants would come to our aid,” Windel reasoned.
“Me?” Darling squealed. “How did this suddenly become my responsibility? You’re the one who brought him upstairs to our bedchamber!”
As they continued to wrangle in increasingly shrill voices, I loosed the lady’s bonds. Taking her hand, I pulled her toward the closet. “Come along, Darling, let’s go discuss the possibility of ravishment in privacy.”
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
I somehow managed to escape unscathed; I don’t know what they were worried about. I made my way through dark, snowy streets in a bitter wind, hugging myself tightly. I didn’t see the Baron’s men again. Their absence produced a repeated urge to rub the back of my neck.
When I arrived at Tarsha’s apartments, I took up a post against the wall across the street, out of the wind. Then I waited. Anticipation made my heart race, and only the experience of years kept me in my place, making sure I hadn’t been followed. Even out of the wind the night was cold, and my nose wore its own icicle in a matter of minutes. It didn’t matter. In mere minutes I would behold the joy on Tarsha’s perfectly sculpted face when I showed her the prize I’d won for her. I stayed until the soles of my boots had nearly frozen to the pavement and all of the cuts and bruises I’d acquired had set up a cacophony of complaint. Then I limped up the stairs.
I rapped out our coded knock and the door opened.
“Tarsha, my dove,” I greeted, grinning. The warm air of her rooms embraced me, fragrant with the scent of her perfume.
“Crow.” Her lovely eyes widened. “What’s happened to you? You’re a mess! Are you hurt?”
“Nothing your sweet kisses won’t fix,” I replied, reaching for her.
She laughed softly and touched her finger to my abused nose. “You’re freezing, too.”
“I am.” I put my hands on her slim waist and tugged her closer. “Will you warm me?”
She spun nimbly away. “That depends on what you’ve brought me…” She gave me a coy look. The diaphanous fabric of her robe fluttered around her, barely enough to conceal. Her eyes were bright and expectant.
I followed her inside and took off the cloak and muffler I’d procured. “No small talk? No chit-chat?”
“Since when was that important?”
I contrived a pout. “I’ve been out for hours in the cold, risking life and limb for you. Weren’t you the least concerned?”
She glided close and ran her fingers up my chest. “I was,” she whispered in a husky voice. Her lips were warm as summer and sweeter than nectar. If there were ever an island upon which a man would be content to be marooned, it was the Island of Tarsha.
“Was?” I asked between kisses.
“Well,” her arms crept up around my neck. “You’re here now, safe and sound. What’s to worry?”
“Indeed…” I slid my hands slowly down her back. Angling my head, I bent closer to taste the delicate skin of her throat. She made a small, adorable noise and buried her face in my shoulder. Her mouth was out of reach, but her hands remained busy.
“Where is it?” she asked.
“Where is what?” I wanted only to kiss her again.
“The Gandil. I know you have it.” She backed away, looking at me seductively from behind the fall of her dark hair. “You mustn’t tease…”
“Oh, mustn’t I?” I laughed, catching her hand, refusing to let her escape. “That’s hardly fair to say while you’re carrying on so shamelessly.”
The hint of a smile curved her lips. “That’s different.”
“How so?”
With her free hand she fanned out the fabric of her robe. “You’ve already seen what you want.”
“True.” I tugged her close and kissed her.
“Please?”
Still kissing her, I removed the jewel from my belt and held it high over her head. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
She gave a little shriek and jumped to reach it. “You did get it!”
“Of course.” I spun away, keeping the treasure out of her reach a moment longer. “Pretty spectacular for my final job, don’t you think?”
“The bards will sing about it for decades. Let me see!”
“Ah-ah… I need another kiss first.”
She laughed and paid her toll with an ardency that took my breath away. The pearl seemed made to fit her hand. Seeing her ooh and ah over its sky blue perfection made every bruise and scrape I’d collected worthwhile.
The Great Gandil, which had always sounded to me like the name of a hedgerow conjurer or a comedic play, was purported to have magical powers. Perhaps it did. Something transformed in my heart as I watched my love. I reached for her, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear so that I might not miss one iota of her excitement.
An awful din on the door, accompanied by booming shouts, interrupted us. Tarsha pulled away from me even as the door burst open, a look of alarm on her face.
“Scream!” I ordered, pushing her backwards. Scarcely had I turned toward the intruders, my hand on the hilt of my knife, before a small brown shape attached itself to the top of my head and began screeching.
“Thief! Thief!” The demon. “Robber! Pirate! Brigand!” It had a voice like an un-oiled hinge, only worse, and a grip that belied its size.
I shouted and struggled to pull it off before it raked my face with its claws. Hands grabbed me and dragged me to the floor, pinning me down like a prize hide. I could neither move, nor see. Nor could I do anything to resist as my person was searched rather more thoroughly than civility required.
“Here it is,” someone said.
The pearl? How had it got into my pocket?
“And these.” A small, clinking sound came to my ears.
“Get it off.”
The demon was removed from my face. Half a dozen athletic and dangerously scarred men looked down on me. There wasn’t a friendly face among them.
One man, still standing, gently tossed the Baron’s pearl up in the air and caught it. “You’re a thief,” he stated. He had a remarkable way of making the word sound like something dredged up from the bottom of a latrine.
“I’m not,” I protested.
“Ah, and a liar, too.” I don’t know how he managed such a sublime aim with so many men holding me down, but the toe of his boot connected solidly with my ribs.
“You’re wrong,” I grunted.
“You saying you don’t know anything about this?” He held up the stone between two fingers.
“It’s mine.”
“And the demon?”
“I don’t know anything about the wretched thing. Ungh—” His foot smashed into my side again.
“And these?” He produced two pieces from the Cataran set.
“Mine,” I choked.
“Wrong answer.” He kicked me again. “Get him up.”
They did, easily. “Let me go,” I said. “You have—”
This time it was a fist in my belly. I would have crumpled, wanted to—but the soldiers held me upright.
“Don’t!”
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Tarsha, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and lips compressed into a hard, tight line. She looked irritated. I could hardly blame her; the interruption made me quite cross, too. I had, after all, a retirement to celebrate and a lovely woman to accompany me.
; The man who had spoken—I assumed he was their captain—gave her a stiff nod. “We’ll get him out of your way. Thank you, ma’am.”
I feared they would take her prisoner, too, but it was me they dragged willy-nilly out the door and down the stairs without the benefit of my cloak or the use of my own feet. Out in the snowy street, the captain faced me again.
“You sure you don’t want to tell the truth about your little collection?”
“I told you the truth.”
“Liar.”
“Thug.”
His smile was not a comforting sight. “Do you know what liars and thieves are good for, fool?”
I smiled back. “Inventing admirable tales and redistributing wealth?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “For an educated man, you don’t seem very smart.”
“I’ve done pretty well so far.”
“Until now.”
“I think I can manage.”
He shook his head and folded his bulging arms across his chest. “Why don’t you boys teach him a lesson?”
— 2 —
Tails of the Crypt
I gradually became aware of something hard striking me again and again. The motion rocked my body. Just as I realized it was the butt of a spear jabbing my ribs, consciousness of pain rolled over me like a wave. My belly twisted itself into a knot, churned once, and heaved. I was vaguely aware of someone nearby swearing.
I ignored it and slowly rolled onto my back. It took a moment for my eyes to focus on the glaring face above me. “Tanris,” I croaked. The name was as sour as the spittle on my lips.
“Aye, little bird,” he answered. “In a cage where you belong at last. How does it feel?”
I closed my eyes. He was too ugly to look at in my current condition—or any other condition, come to think of it. “Feel?” I asked, running the thing that passed for a tongue around the inside of my mouth. “Reminds me of the morning I woke up in bed with your sister.”
“You’re such a donkey, Crow.”
As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 2