A Flight of Ravens

by John Conroe

  “You have your grandfather’s sense of humor,” he said when he had recovered. By that, I knew he was referring to Lord Reis Leica, my mother’s father and not Lord Arcan DelaCrotia, my father’s father, now deceased. Although it was said that Grandfather Arcan had possessed much more humor than his son.

  “You know, I believe he must be around here somewhere, but I have yet to run into him,” I said, glancing around for my grandfather. When I turned back, I saw my mother and sister had joined the greeters of Her Royal Highness, who was already moving about the crowd.

  “Oh, he is,” Lord Sampson said. “He’s back in the corner by the wine pouring station.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” I said. “He would probably offer a reward, himself.”

  Lord Sampson laughed out loud just as the swirl of people that surrounded Brona arrived at our position. “Ha, Lord Sampson,” the crown princess of Montshire said, all attention still on her even as her attention was now on us. “I keep saying that Savid has a wicked sense of humor, but no one believes me. It’s gratifying that you have provided a measure of support to my argument,” she said.

  “Oh, Your Highness, people have no idea!” Lord Sampson said, gallantly kissing her hand. It was shocking, stunning the entire crowd to silence. Once upon a time, people touched hands to greet one another, regularly. And there was a time, long before that, at least according to the church, when some men kissed the backs of women’s hands. The illnesses of the Punishment put an end to that. “Probably something about his dangerous appearance, but suffice it to say that I always seek him out at events such as this. His outlook always brightens my own.”

  “You know, Victor, I find him much the same,” Brona said, smiling brilliantly at the small lord who had just given her the highest token of honor and trust that could be bestowed: to kiss the hand of a person who was not family, not a lover.

  The room had gone completely still, breathless, as the crown princess turned my way, her elegant eyebrow raised as if to ask how will you top that?

  It was easy—and simultaneously went against everything I’ve ever been taught. I kissed her hand too, the same hand, on the same spot that he had. I trust you, Princess, so implicitly that I trust whoever you trust.

  Sampson’s dark face lit with an absolutely delighted smile, the very definition of ear to ear.

  “See, Highness? Never a dull moment,” Lord Sampson said, breaking the silence that gripped the room.

  “That, my dear lord, is an understatement,” she said, her own smile stunning. Then she turned back to my brother and his wife, my father, and the bishop, who were staring at us, shocked. “I have, no doubt, kept everyone waiting long enough,” she said.

  Bishop Miller recognized his cue, even if my family members stood stock still. “Ahem, yes, Highness, while we would never agree that you have caused even a moment’s delay, it is, perhaps, time that we bestow this young one’s rightful name upon his brow.”

  His words kicked the room into action, voices raising and bodies moving as Gracid belatedly stepped forward to direct everyone to the chapel alcove at the far end of the room. Like those of most wealthy families, the DelaCrotia mansion in Haven had its own chapel tucked away behind pocket doors that normally stood closed, looking like just part of the wall. But in times of danger, either man-made or simply bad weather from God, the family could safely uncover the chapel and hold service in complete safety.

  “Brothers and sisters under God, we gather here tonight,” Bishop Miller began almost as soon as he made it into the small chapel alcove and turned to face the guests, “to celebrate new life, a gift from our creator just as he has gifted us in the centuries since he Punished our forebears. The arrogance of man knew no bounds as the Punished sought to create and remake life with their own flawed hands. They twisted God’s very codes of nature and sought to form new, never seen, and never-intended life as well as building corrupted imitations of God’s work from metal, crystal, and lightning. But God turned their abominations against them, wiping the world clean and remaking it as it is now, with clear ice to the north, the storm-swept freshwater sea to the west, and vast, unforgiving oceans south and east. When the meek and the humble crawled from their caves and tunnels, they found a land laid bare—reset by God. Then He touched them with mercy, allowing new, innocent life to be born.” The bishop took Ircian from his father’s arms and held the baby up in a symbolic offering to Heaven, then lowered him back down, smiling warmly at the tiny child.

  “Who offers this child to God?” he asked suddenly, dark eyes now serious, scanning about the room.

  “We do,” Gracid and Camella said in such perfect unison that I knew they had practiced rigorously.

  “Who will see this child protected, taught, and grown to follow God’s way, knowing that God watches and judges each of us on our actions and oaths?” the bishop asked.

  The entire room, Lord Sampson, Brona, and I, answered, “We will,” following the ancient ceremony. Even the servants holding trays of food and drink answered in unison with the guests, as did Salis and Rose.

  “Then know that this boy, named before God as Ircian Tetro DelaCrotia, is your charge under the eyes of Heaven,” Bishop Miller intoned. Tetro? That suck-ass Gracid had given him the same middle name as our father’s. How could I still be surprised by my brother’s transparent pandering after all these years?

  “Ah-man!” chorused through the vast space of the ballroom.

  Bishop Miller, beaming with delight, kissed Ircian on his tiny forehead and handed the babe back to his mother. Instantly, my mother, sister, and a dozen other ladies surrounded Camella, cooing over the baby.

  “You never cease to surprise, Savid,” Brona said softly in my ear, then swept forward to part the sea of women and bestow her own royal blessings upon the baby.

  “Maybe you two should have been the bards,” another voice said, causing Lord Sampson and me to turn. Trell, lute in hand, was standing just behind us with a grin on his face. “There is no way I would want follow that act,” he said.

  “The bishop has years of experience,” Sampson said.

  “I was speaking of you two,” Trell said.

  “Bah, simply two men, one old, one young, fawning over a beautiful woman. I believe it has happened a time or two before and will happen countless times again,” Sampson said. “Now, I see poor Lady Olden looking lost and lonely. Excuse me.”

  “You never even hesitated,” Trell said as the older man moved away. “Utterly brilliant, Savid.”

  Another man approached us, stifling my response. “Lord Marshal,” I said.

  “Sergeant DelaCrotia,” Kiven Armstrong responded, ignoring Trell altogether. I’d resigned from His Majesty’s service as a captain, but my final rank could be said to be that of sergeant, as my demotion by King Helat technically took place after I resigned. Most people these days used my officer’s rank now that I was restored in the eyes of the crown. Brona was having paperwork prepared for her father’s signature that would revoke the demotion. But Kiven was pretty clear in his intent.

  Trell, sensing extreme tension between two large men, slipped backward, giving us room. He wasn’t abandoning me, just doing what we had been training him to do. In fact, he actually stepped back and slightly sideways, putting him more to Kiven’s side. That movement was not lost on the lord marshal, who gave him a hard sideways look.

  “What do you want, Kiven?” I asked, snapping his attention back to me.

  “I hear you’ve been threatening my constables,” he said, voice low to avoid anyone hearing it.

  “I asked them if they sought satisfaction. They didn’t. They should learn to control their words.”

  “They’re officers of the law. They don’t duel.”

  “No, they just throw insults as if they are immune to the consequences. You need to teach them manners.”

  “Each is charged with keeping peace and order in the capital of this kingdom,” Kiven said. “For that, they are spit upon and slighted
, yet they maintain their integrity and high morals.”

  I laughed. “Do they? Maybe a few, but there are those among them who take steel to look the other way, and some who actively participate in the very crimes they are sworn to prevent.”

  “Now it is you who throws insults. If you had a lick of evidence, you’d back up your claims.”

  “I have plenty of evidence, but sharing it will endanger those who really protect this kingdom,” I said.

  A set of shadows falling over us in the well-lit room announced the arrival of others.

  “Gentlemen, I’m pleased to find you both in one spot,” the crown princess said, her voice firm enough to belie her words.

  Kiven held my eyes for a moment, then drew in a breath and turned to Brona, and a second later, so did I.

  “You are both vital to this kingdom, and I will not have you at each other’s throats,” Brona almost whispered, her mouth smiling, her green eyes hard as emeralds.

  “This man sullies the honor of my people,” Kiven said.

  “Marshal, we have already spoken of this. You know that Savid has the faith and confidence of the crown and always has. What went before was theater, yet you continue as if it wasn’t.” She spoke so quietly that I, who was only a span from her, could barely hear her. “As to your nephew, Ash was a soldier of this kingdom and he went on his mission on my orders, approved by my father.”

  “Everything okay here?” my father asked, approaching rapidly, clearly eager to stick his nose into it. A group of nobles crowded just behind him.

  “Fine, Rucian. Everything is fine,” Brona said.

  “Ah, wonderful. Then I feel much better asking my next question. I… we have a question regarding Lady Rubella Dominick. Is she by any chance in the castle dungeon?”

  Brona appeared surprised, caught off guard. She looked at each of the people around my father. In addition to my brothers, Lady Olden was there, along with Lady Kardian, Lord Sampson, Lord Samuel, as well as Bascomb Porter, heir to the Porter family.

  “This is the kind of question you’d ask at your grandson’s Name Day?” Brona asked.

  Father shrugged. “Better here than in your father’s court.”

  “Actually, I will have to insist that you ask His Majesty your questions. Kingdom justice is his to dispense,” the princess said, looking down as she tugged on her sleeves at each wrist.

  “Hmm, I think we might better bring it to the king’s council,” Rucian said, watching her closely.

  She looked up and met his eyes. “As you think appropriate, my lord. Now, it’s getting late. Rose, what is next on my schedule?”

  Rose, who looked very different from her boy persona, answered without looking at her notebook. “Highness, you agreed to stop in at the Bonlee gala, sometime between eight and nine,” she said clearly.

  Mentally I applauded Rose’s judgement. Putting the Highness at the beginning rather than the end of her sentence was a nice reminder of Brona’s position to everyone listening.

  “Then I’ll just pay my respects to your lady wife and be on my way,” she said with a sniff. She turned and glided across the floor to my mother and sister, who were still clustered around Camella and the baby.

  I personally thought she was right on the verge of overacting, but the audience was eating it up. Father and his group turned in on itself, speaking together just quietly enough to foil my hearing. A tug on my arm turned me around.

  “Welton? What is it?” I asked.

  “Pardon me, Captain, Lord Marshal sir,” the boy said, his face flushed from exertion, his breath fast. “She sent me to you. Said to tell you that it was in the city and to come fast.”

  “You can guide me?”

  He nodded, still catching his breath.

  “You ran here?” He nodded again. “Okay, go get Tipton from the grooms. Mount up and meet me out front.” He nodded once and turned, slipping among guests and servers with youthful agility. I saw Rose take note of the boy, leaning in to whisper to the princess.

  “What do you have my nephew’s wife’s relation involved in?” Kiven demanded.

  “He’s just acting as a messenger,” I said. “But you should know that a woldling has entered the city. I’m going to collect it now.”

  “What?” he demanded, voice loud enough to turn heads. He noticed the interest and reined himself in. “I’m going with you!” he hissed, much quieter.

  “Fine. Get your horse and let’s get after this thing.”

  Across the room, Brona was watching me. I twitched the fingers of my right hand. Her head nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  I moved quickly out of the room, Kiven close behind. A few people, my mother included, watched us leave but no one followed.

  Chapter 8

  Outside, I found Welton sitting on Tipton, holding the reins of another horse. “I heard what you said, Lord Marshal, and had your horse brought out as well,” the boy said to Kiven.

  The lord marshal was surprised, but he said nothing as we mounted, me with the boy behind me.

  “He’s coming with us?” was Kiven’s first comment.

  “He’ll be safer with us than running the streets with a woldling loose,” I said.

  “Isn’t your pet Drodacian hunting it? And are you sure there’s only one?”

  “Jella’s been on its trail, but this particular woldling is a different sort of beast. Cunning,” I said.

  “Where was it, Welton?”

  “Not far from the Knife and Needle. Hemppe has called out a general alert. Our people are out in force and Jella is keeping close to it, but it never stops moving.”

  I pushed Tipton faster, Kiven’s horse following suit, their shod hooves clattering on the blackstone in front of the castle.

  We had to slow when we got to the newer parts of the city, the icy cobblestones too slippery to risk either horse’s footing. The streets were well lit, oil lamps reflecting off the dusting of snow on most surfaces. Foot traffic was minimal, most people already in their homes and tucked in against the cold of the night. We made it to my neighborhood in a little less than ten minutes.

  I spotted the first Shadows in seconds, two cloaked figures standing with spears near the corner of a bar two blocks from the Knife. One of the figures raised a hand, made a gesture, and then pointed south. A sharp whistle from that direction told me the quarry was sighted.

  We were close, additional whistles coming rapidly. For an extraordinarily smart specimen, this woldling was in the absolute worse part of the city for it to survive. My Shadows were out in pairs, armed with heavy spears, alert and communicating with each other. If I knew Hemppe, then most of the pairs were battle-hardened vets, experienced woldling killers. Snipers should be on the rooftops, also in pairs, one with a war crossbow, the other providing security, likely armed with a spear.

  More Shadows appeared, focused on the streets ahead, and whistles sang through the cold December air. A trio of familiar figures just ahead caused me to slow Tipton’s pace. Hemppe, armed with one of the inn’s crossbows, was standing with Cort, who held a spear. The third individual was huge, heavily bearded, and carrying the giant axe that was his trademark weapon. Urso, the giant, was a retired RRS sergeant whose woldling killing prowess was legendary. I pulled Tipton to a halt and swung down.

  “You stay on this horse, Welton,” I ordered the boy, handing him the reins as he scooted forward. “Give him his head if this thing gets close.” Tipton hated woldlings and had killed two himself with his hooves during his lifetime. In fact, his ears were turned forward and he was breathing great plumes of steam into the freezing air. “But don’t let him follow me,” I added, pulling the two axes that are always part of my saddle gear. I tapped the hilt of the sheathed short sword also attached to the tack, drawing Welton’s attention to it should he need it.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “It’s just ahead, deep in that alley off Broderick Street,” Hemppe said. “Odd; it keeps running from us but it keeps circling back to this neig
hborhood.”

  “My aunt’s house is over there!” Welton said suddenly, fear in his voice.

  “Yeah, and your Aunt Sissa is safe. Bolted in her house with Jella up on her roof with her bow,” Cort said.

  “Damned thing is weird as hell,” Urso said, spitting a gob of tobacco juice onto the street.

  “Jella’s been tracking it, and it behaves like no other woldling we’ve ever seen,” I said. “Did any of you see it?”

  “I did,” Urso said. “Big one, but all fucked up. Twisted.”

  Long ago, the first Paul’s earliest woldling creations were malformed monsters with uneven limbs, misshapen jaws, lumpy skulls, and misgrown teeth and claws. But over the years, his priests had improved their skills, resulting in the current generation of symmetrical, almost sleek, predatory shock troops. We knew it had something to do with using very young children as the base stock. A mucked-up specimen was exceedingly rare and likely the result of using too old of a child. We hadn’t seen one like that in years and years.

  “Why haven’t you killed it?” the lord marshal suddenly demanded from atop his mount.

  All four of us turned to him, Urso spitting another gob of brown juice on the ground just in front of him. Almost as one, my three people turned away from Kiven and refocused on their watch.

  “A single woldling, more cunning than any we’ve seen,” I said. “Stalked the city for days, entered almost undetected, and now hanging around the one part of the city guaranteed to have lots of armed and hardened woldling killers lurking about. That doesn’t make you even a little bit curious?”

  “My responsibility is to the safety of this city. And why aren’t any of my constables here?”

  “Your stick men don’t patrol here,” Cort said, using soldier’s slang for peace officers who were usually armed with wooded batons. “Haven’t seen hardly a one since the captain here left service.”

  Kiven glared at him, but it was like water beading up on duck’s back for all the impact it had on Cort. Then with a snarl, Kiven turned his horse and galloped back up the icy road, his voice rising as he called for the night watch.