As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  “You let me.”

  I punched him again. “You trapped me!”

  “It was my job.”

  “Why?” I shouted at him, hitting him again, hating him, and hating Tarsha nearly as much. He winced with every blow.

  “I’m sorry, Crow.”

  I had never loved anyone before her. I did not want this to be real. “Why should I believe you? Why should I believe any of this?”

  “Don’t believe me.” It was not what I expected him to say. “Believe what you know. Who told you about the Gandil? Who wanted it more than anything? Who told you where to find it? Who challenged you and made you promises if you succeeded in getting it?”

  “Shut up.” The thought of how I’d let her play me like a fool made me sick. My chest hurt, and my brain was numb. I couldn’t process a single useful thought and fell victim instead to a thousand dreamlike memories of Tarsha’s smiles, Tarsha’s teasing, Tarsha’s kisses.

  “Crow—”

  “Shut up!” I shoved him as hard as I could and walked away. I could not share my grief with him.

  “Crow, you can’t go out there,” Tanris called to me.

  “Why not?” I hollered back. “I can do anything I please.”

  His worry pricked at me like sharp thorns. “You walk out there in the dark and we may never see you again.”

  “So?” I kept going. Then I heard him coming behind me—felt him coming. I didn’t want to know what he felt, didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. “Leave me alone, Tanris.”

  “Come back to the fire, and I will.”

  I snorted. Tussocks of grass hid in the dark to upset my pace and wrench my ankles. I didn’t care. None of that mattered any more. Nothing mattered.

  “Are you going to run away?” Tanris challenged, still following me. “Are you going to let Duzayan win?”

  Those words halted my feet, and just as clearly as I’d envisioned the images of Tarsha I saw Duzayan’s smug, knowing expression as he’d led me along.

  “That’s something else I did,” Tanris said quietly a few paces behind me. “I delivered you to Baron Duzayan. I should never have done that,” he admitted pensively.

  “Oh, really?” Sarcasm gave my voice the sharpness of a knife, but its edge could not cut him deeply enough to satisfy me. “I tend to agree with you, but my reasons might be considered a trifle selfish.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Crow.”

  Was that guilt?

  “No?” I spun around to jab his chest with my finger. “How was it supposed to be, Tanris? A quick and tidy hanging? A heavy purse of gold for you and a happy retirement with your darling wife? The bards singing your praises for finally cornering and dispatching yet another filthy, contemptible thief?”

  “No.” Misery came off him in waves. Brows crooked, he looked away and then back. It took a major effort for him to meet my gaze. “I don’t work for Duzayan. I never did.”

  “Mm. And I suppose you’re not really married, either. Pardon my skepticism.”

  “That part is true. You were just a means to an end, and it didn’t hurt that I wanted you caught. Look, I don’t want to talk about this out here. Can we go back to the fire?”

  I stared at him. “You completely ruin my life, and you’re worried about a little cold and dark?” Wet, too. Rain, always rain.

  Tanris’s jaw came out and he folded his arms over his chest. “Suit yourself.” He turned away a little, looking back at the tiny fire and Girl. “About a year ago I accepted an appointment in the Emperor’s Eagles.”

  I frowned. That explained the relative freedom I’d enjoyed from his particular brand of pursuit until recently. I was not sure exactly what the elite and much-vaunted Eagles did, but hunting down thieves—even one as talented and successful as I—seemed rather below them.

  “It was kept quiet and some rumors were circulated about me. Rumors about me and my superiors having a parting of the ways, as it were.” He pressed his lips together tightly and rocked back on his heels. Rainwater sluiced down over his features, shining brightly where the firelight reflected on it. “It was part of a scheme to get me close to Duzayan so I could report his activities and eventually gather solid proof against him. When it comes to criminals, Crow, he makes you look like a toddler.”

  He really needed to add insult to injury?

  His steady eyes met and captured my gaze. “He is a murderer and a traitor, Crow. Those letters of his have names listed in the margins. They’re crossed out because they’re dead. He is recruiting allies from the empire’s malcontents and plotting to overthrow Gaziah. He’s already forming an army, and he is responsible for the deaths of several key government figures.”

  “He’s what?” For about three minutes I’d believed my life couldn’t get any worse. At least not until the poison got busy killing me. Now, assuming I survived that, my name would be linked with a traitor? When captured, traitors got a whole lot worse treatment than mere thieves. A dank, dark cell would be the least of my worries.

  Tanris looked away again, his mouth briefly turning down at the corners. “I should have stayed in the city and finished my job. I left word with the commander that—” He stopped, clearly struggling. “That I had to leave. I can only imagine what Duzayan has been doing in my absence.”

  “Where do I fit into this?”

  “You were my reward for being a good little soldier. For services rendered, Duzayan offered to help rid me of the one stain on my otherwise perfect record.”

  “That’s all? What services did you perform, exactly?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

  “Right,” I snarled. “I’m just a worthless thief.” Why I did not push his nose right through his head I do not know. Instead, I brushed roughly past him to stalk back to the fire.

  “Crow.”

  “What?”

  “He stole both our women. I want mine back, and I’d like you to help me.”

  I whirled around again. “Help you?!” I exclaimed, laughing in startled, humorless surprise. “Why in the names of all the gods would I do that? You didn’t just arrest me, Tanris. You completely destroyed my future and made me a puppet to a madman.”

  He drew his lower lip between his teeth, reluctance making him consider his words carefully before he spoke. “I want my wife, I want Duzayan, and you want your life.”

  Yes, I wanted my life, which was far too dependent on Tanris, on finding the dragon’s egg, on getting back to Marketh, and then on Duzayan’s non-existent good will—never mind dragging the wretched emperor into the picture! What a steaming pile of horse manure. I had never actually wanted to kill people before, but there were three of them lining themselves right up and begging for it.

  “You help me, and I will do everything in my power to help you find an antidote for the poison.”

  “Isn’t that generous,” I sneered, “considering that if not for you, I wouldn’t even need it.”

  He struggled for patience. “I never wanted you to die, Crow. If you do, it will be my fault, and I don’t want that on my conscience. This… rivalry between us has been an honest one, your wits against mine, and it’s been a good fight. I don’t want it to end like this, do you?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I growled, resuming my march back to the fire. The heat it offered was pitiful, but I didn’t need it right now, I had fury to warm me. I did need him, and it galled.

  Girl looked up at us as we returned, her eyes going from one to the other uncertainly. The cat half-sleeping in her lap looked up at us, too, its expression one of benign patience.

  “Have we got a deal?” Tanris asked.

  I picked up a stick and stabbed the fire, sending up a tiny fountain of sparks. Then I looked up at his tense features. “Tell me something, Tanris, and I’ll know if you’re telling me the truth, so you’d best have a care.”

  “Anything.”

  His offer drew another sneer. “I don’t want anything. I just
want to know if you’re supposed to kill me after I get the prize.”

  He blinked at me, then shook his head slowly back and forth. A ripple of shock emanated from him—a ripple I did not want to feel. It absolved him of a slice of guilt, a portion of treachery. “No. I had no idea he was going to do this, I swear. I would never have put Aehana at risk, and I would never have agreed to poisoning you.”

  He was telling the truth. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or to hate him even more for not being a back-stabbing swine after all.

  There was nothing to say, so I said nothing. I did not sleep that night, nor the following day when we struck out again across the gods-forsaken uplands. The sensation of being followed eased somewhat, but I still kept a sharp eye out. Late in the afternoon, Tanris brought down some sort of bird. I did not ask, I did not care. Girl found some tubers and herbs and turned them into a bland soup we shared in silence. The rain continued unabated and the temperature dropped, bitterly cold. When we eventually stopped our travels, if we ever stopped, I suspected I would find mold growing in my armpits, behind my ears, and between my toes. With so much water available we ought to be fairly clean, but we stank of horse and leather and sweat and smoke and mud and wool and… putrescence. Complete and utter putrescence.

  It was another reason for me to hate Tanris.

  Our little fire hardly lasted long enough to cook our meal and certainly not long enough to warm us. The three of us watched it flicker and die, then I laid out my sodden, useless bedroll and curled up in the wet blankets. After a moment, Girl came to lay down against my back—not because she cared particularly about how I felt, but because it gave her a modicum of warmth. Before long, Tanris came to lie down on Girl’s other side. The cat, soggy and smelling faintly mousy, thought it could curl itself up against my chest. The cat was wrong. Lifting it by its mangy scruff, I reached across Girl to deposit it on Tanris’s chest.

  He grunted. The cat purred. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the soft patter of rain hitting the waterlogged ground. There were no night birds, no wind, no howling wolves, nothing. Though nearly impenetrable, at least the darkness wasn’t the murderous black of the Ghost Walk. Small consolation, that. What a horrible place that was. I remembered all too clearly the way the stone walls closed in until they blocked the way entirely, wrapping around my body and holding me deep in the arms of the earth.

  Eerie, fragile green threads wound through the memories of that darkness and made my skin smart. I tried to wriggle the phantom prickle away, but it persisted like that old saying about someone walking over a grave. Graves, caves, crypts… and rain. When I die, have mercy and cremate me.

  Staring at the unyielding fabric of the night and trying to imagine that morning would find me on Pelipa’s beautiful white sandy beaches, I watched a shadowy form slowly pick its way away from the camp into more and deeper shadows. Girl still had an arm around my middle, tightly pressed against my back. Maybe she’d freeze solid to me—another cozy thought to lull me to sleep.

  Behind her, Tanris let out one of his hallmark snores and I caught my breath. If Tanris was snoring, who was that other fellow?

  “Girl.” I tried to move her hand, but she clung fast. “Girl!” I hissed, and she still didn’t budge. I reached past her to smack Tanris.

  He grunted and sat up suddenly. “What? What is it?” Thank the gods of reasonably good sense, he kept his voice low.

  “Someone was just here.”

  “Who?”

  Did he really expect an answer to that? I very nearly seized one of the more-than-plentiful rocks lying about to drop on his head. Instead, I shoved Girl’s hand off me and sat up. She whimpered and sat up, too, hugging herself tightly. “Why don’t I just go ask?” Knife in hand, I got up and set off into the darkness in the direction our visitor had disappeared.

  — 17 —

  Bean Soup

  “Crow!” Tanris whispered. “What are you doing?”

  Sleep clearly fuddled his brain, else he would know what I was doing. I had, after all, just told him. Duzayan had put Tanris in charge of defensive measures and there was a reason for this: namely, he was the big fellow with the sword. But you know what they say about warrior-types—all brawn and no brain, and so it fell to me to go creeping about in the darkness in search of trouble, armed with nothing but a knife. And a rock. I had a fine supply of those and may as well make good use of them. I was tempted to use one of the witchlights to perhaps locate the Visitor, but its glow would surely mark me as an obstacle to avoid. Or a target to kill…

  So I made my way cautiously around the circumference of our little camp as best I could. Dark and mist hid it, but I could sense the presence and direction of my two traveling companions, waiting for me to return. I made a second, larger circle, but found only knobby humps of grass to trip me up, dips in the ground to twist my ankles, and puddles everywhere. I stopped several times to listen and peer into the gloomy surroundings, to no avail. Perhaps it had been my imagination, another dream figure from the Ghost Walk haunting me, and so I returned to our comfortless resting place.

  Tanris was furious with me. I didn’t particularly give a rat’s tail. I got back into my abandoned blankets and worked on going to sleep, a feat made astonishingly difficult with one companion grinding his teeth and the other staring holes in the back of my head.

  When the excruciatingly long night finally ended, we broke our fast with a minimum of conversation, and I couldn’t help peering off into the fog-shrouded morning, looking for some sign of the Visitor. Afterwards, I walked around our campsite again, but the rain had washed away any tracks, so I went back and went through all my things.

  The ropes and climbing gear were all in place and easy to verify. Clothes, yes. Everyday things, yes. I unfastened the ties on a folding leather pouch and checked my lock picking tools. All safe and sound. Another pouch that held sundry items like wax, string, wire and so forth was also accounted for. From the bottom of my pack I removed the letter tube, unfastened the end and peeked inside. Then I inspected the contents of the small box in which I kept certain drugs and herbs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Inventory.”

  To my relief, I found the pharmacy undisturbed. While I had it open, I examined the little glass vials of Adamanta Dust and found them thankfully dry.

  Tanris continued to watch me silently, mouth turned down, disapproval stamped all over him. “All of this because you had a bad dream?” he asked with the silent suggestion that I’d had a lot of bad dreams lately and I was no longer entirely reliable.

  I just grunted and kept working, laying things out in neat rows the way I always did when I checked my gear. Girl crouched down nearby and watched. The cat came and sat beside me. "Shoo!" It didn’t of course, but gleefully pounced among my things as if it had found the most delightful sort of toy. Girl rescued my lock-picking tools before the feisty feline could figure out how to loose the leather ties. I retrieved a jar from beneath the tussock of grass where it rolled. The cat, highly offended, sat on a rock with its back to us. I made a face at it and returned to my inventory. “Things would go faster if you got busy with your own gear,” I pointed out to Tanris.

  “I’m not going to unpack everything just to satisfy your delusions.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  We would see about that. I checked my pouch last. Among the other odds and ends were my two remaining witchlights. Kem still had the third, curse the wretch. When I’d accounted for everything, both in my packs and on my person, I looked at Girl.

  “Girl!” Tanris objected, and I lifted my brows in surprise. Thus far, he’d studiously avoided calling her anything at all. I felt a small sense of victory. She ignored him and got up to fetch her pack and dump everything out to examine one item at a time. When she finished, she shrugged and shook her head. Nothing missing. We both looked at Tanris.

  “No.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at us f
iercely. He needed a shave, both noggin and chin. He was starting to look strange. Hairy. Less Tanris-like, not particularly friendly, and rather a lot like the cat. “Quit looking at me like that.”

  I eyed him for a little longer, just to make him squirm. When he stepped forward and uncrossed his arms in preparation of violence upon my person, I bent my head to finish packing my tools. He stopped, glaring daggers fit to pierce skin. Why was he allowed to glare, but not I? Finally, he went to saddle up the horses, and I straightened my bedroll, climbed back into the deliriously uncomfortable blankets, and started counting. How far would I get before—

  “Crow!”

  Gratification met his burst of incredulousness, though I kept it to myself.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Sleeping. Shut up.”

  He made a strange choking noise. It was always a grand thing to rob him of speech. It was unfortunate that it never lasted, but if it did I would miss the sheer joy of repeating the experience. “We’ve got to get going. We have precious little time to waste.”

  As if he was the one with poison riddling his body, promising a hideous death. “Then quit wasting it. Go through your things and find out if anything is missing. I’m not budging until you do.”

  He treated me to a brief silence. “You’re out of your flamin’ mind,” he grumbled, but he stomped off and soon I heard clinking and thumping and muttering. Lots of muttering. “It’s all here,” he announced after a time, none too pleased about it. I couldn’t really say I was, either. “Are you satisfied?”

  “Yes.” I got up and rerolled the blankets.

  “Why?” he asked, practically dripping suspicion.

  It would have been much simpler if something had been missing, but I knew as certainly as I knew that Horse had a tail that there was something wrong, something I couldn’t put a finger on, much less explain to Tanris. “Because now we know what didn’t happen.”

  If one could hear looks being exchanged, the one that passed between Tanris and Girl positively hummed. I tied the bedroll to Horse’s saddle and dragged myself up. I squished. I swear, I did. “Well?” I asked, giving them a look of exasperation. I didn’t wait, but urged Horse off across the field.