A Flight of Ravens

by John Conroe

  “You are worried?” she asked, recognizing my body language.

  “You’ve taken rather drastic steps and you are contemplating additional, extremely drastic ones.”

  “Ah. Well good. Thank you for being honest, Savid,” she said with a smile. She meant it.

  “Am I missing anything?”

  “You’ve been away. On missions. Father has lost every game of Rik that we’ve played in the last two months. He stopped playing me because he got so mad. He claimed I was cheating.”

  I thought about that before choosing my response. Their father-daughter games were legendary, at least among the castle staff and closest council members. Their skill levels were very close. These last few years, Brona maybe won a few more games than her father, but not by a large number. And it is very, very hard to cheat at Rik if both players pay attention.

  “Every game?”

  “He started to make mistakes, then accused me of cheating. I gave him back his own line that if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying to win. He didn’t like it. Then he started to suggest that I should go easy on him.”

  Her father had never, ever shied away from beating Brona at any endeavor, but he had also never before been such a bad loser to his daughter. Others—yes. Brona—no.

  “So therefore, he cannot recover?”

  “Correct. Not if Montshire is to survive. Believe me, I wondered if I was just falling prey to my own nature, but after a very careful, very thorough analysis, I concluded I wasn’t. And you weren’t here to double-check me. Which, by the way, is changing immediately. I need you by my side. There are threats to my rule; I’m considered too young, too progressive, too whatever. I can’t have my best defense and best offense out in the field.”

  “My field work is over?” I asked, shocked at how suddenly threatened I felt.

  “Not all field work, my Savid. Just any that takes you out of Haven or away from me. Now that I am queen, I cannot trust anyone but you, not fully. And I must hold you up to the kingdom and to our enemies. That was another mistake Father made. He kept Toothaker tucked away, hidden from sight. Then he’d send him to murder someone or wreck something. He used fear as a weapon, but he did so awkwardly, like a poor swordsman waving his blade. I want the world to know you are by my side. I want you in overall command of the Shadows and the RRS. In time of war, you will have overall command of all military forces.”

  “Ah, are you sure? I don’t have anywhere near the experience of General Ewald, particularly with heavy infantry and cavalry.”

  “But you listen. Most of them don’t. I’m confident that you would recognize Ewald’s good council and take it.”

  “But how will he feel about it?”

  “Feel?”

  “Many of the same threats you mentioned regarding your position as queen are similar for me if I took overall command.”

  “Ah. Yes. I see. Which is why you would only be given full command if we go to war. Ewald didn’t win the last war… you did.”

  “I followed his command to disrupt the enemy.”

  “You disrupted the enemy so thoroughly that the enemy had to sue for peace. Anyone can give a command; hell, Father commanded Ewald to win the war and he, in turn, commanded you to disrupt the enemy. And you did. Completely and utterly.”

  “You’ve thought this through?”

  “For a very long time. I was neither happy nor sad to take the steps I took. They were necessary. So is this.”

  “My father will be a problem,” I said.

  She smiled. “Rucian is nowhere near as smart as he thinks he is. Your brother Tallen is alive and well. Rucian will find it hard to lie and twist his way out of that truth.”

  “I would like to see him.”

  “Your father? No, your brother,” she said. “Of course.”

  “And I need to find Ash.”

  “Another giant blunder by Father. Is he still around?”

  “Yes. I don’t think he’ll go far from Sissa. But he bit Fontina’s head off. I don’t know what that will do to him.”

  “Ash Newberry is a Shadow, now and forever. You handle the Shadows, Savid.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Which reminds me. Toothaker was never found. The squad you sent after him lost his trail completely. Can you Find him?”

  “I don’t have anything of his. The river washed all his blood off my weapons. If we could locate where he lived or stayed when he was in Haven, then yes.”

  “Hmm, we’ll have to look into that. Now, your queen has grown bored of this talk and you’ve rested,” she said, raising one brow. Her hand disappeared under the covers, only to make its presence known almost immediately.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said as I rolled up and over her.

  But after, while she slept, I lay awake, working my way through her actions. She set up Slinch to panic, to trigger emergency plans, and then she foiled them—mostly. Her own father was collateral damage from her actions, and she was okay with that. Her reasoning was consistent with the Brona I have always known: Montshire first, foremost, and always. And Helat had been slipping, perhaps even before the striker venom.

  Technically, she was acting queen, as per the kingdom’s laws of succession. But if Helat failed to improve within six months, she would become queen fully and permanently. And from her own lips, she had told me that he would not recover. He might even just pass away from his wounds, the odds of that half natural and half… arranged.

  I had always known that the day would come when Brona would ascend to the throne, and I had imagined many, many scenarios whereby this would come to be. Her father dying in combat, of old age, from illness, assassination, by accident. Those were the ones I thought most likely, and in every one, I pictured myself by her side, protecting her from all threats. But deep in the recesses of my mind, there had always been another potential chain of events. This one, I shied away from, choosing to let it hide in the darkness. See, I knew my princess very, very well, and once I made my decision to mold myself into a tool, a weapon for her eventual use, she had made her own decision. To mold herself into Montshire’s ultimate protector, one who would let nothing and no one threaten her kingdom and her people. Not her father, not her councilors, and likely, not even myself. But she also made me swear a childhood oath, one that still bound me, one she still reminded me I had taken. Should she ever become a threat to Montshire, to her kingdom and her people, then it was my job, my duty, to take whatever steps were necessary to remove that threat.

  Epilogue

  It took some time for his rage to subside, for his combat fury to cool. It didn’t help that he could still taste the blood of his prey in his mouth, could still feel the crunch of her bones, the tearing of her flesh when he visited his revenge upon her. His anger flared as he thought of her killing his packmate, her bolt striking the man down. His response had been instant, overwhelming rage, his leap carrying him to the ground far below his rooftop perch, his feet propelling him to her, jaws delivering his immediate judgement of her actions.

  But that was the past, maybe not too distant a past, but still it was in his yesterdays. Today he followed the woman, the one he must always follow, always protect, always hunt for—the mate. The boy and the boy’s mother were with her, all of them pack. They walked in the sunshine while he watched from the shadows, their boots noisy on the stone roadway while his paws stayed silent on the slate rooftop.

  They moved at a steady pace, the women holding several thick blankets, the boy lugging a basket that hovered on the very edge of his ability to carry it. Down each street, around each corner, they moved with purpose, yet without hurry. At the edge of the city, they continued on and he was forced to wait for a clear moment to dart from rooftop to forest before catching up to them. The boy’s chatter carried clearly in the cold winter air and thus he was able to track them even when he couldn’t see them, calming his anxiety.

  They moved out into a vast field, one that stirred memories deep inside h
im. He had been here before—many, many times before. It covered many spans in each direction, numbers he couldn’t fully process anymore. Several sets of wooden stands had been constructed on the edges of the field, their wood scarred from age and weather, yet still showing plenty of signs of ongoing care and maintenance. The boy and the women headed for one of these structures, one currently basking in a rare winter sun that was warm enough to have melted frost and snow from the seating, leaving just damp wood.

  His woman spread her blankets out on the plank seating while the other one helped the boy set down his heavy burden, which he excitedly opened, proudly unlatching its clever lid. Something about the very nature of that handmade basket tickled at his memories, tugging at foggy remembrances from before.

  The boy brought out a small porcelain pot and gleefully opened the top, holding it up for a deep sniff. Even spans away, he could smell bacon, beans, onion, and a spicy sauce that captured his complete attention.

  “Put that down, Welton,” his mother scolded although her voice held amusement rather than any tone of anger. “Lay it all out first and remember, we have to wait for your brother.”

  “It just smells so good, Momma,” the young one said, reluctantly setting the pot down and returning the top. The woman pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from the basket. It smelled of still-warm bread, followed by a big block of cheese, a wax cloth bag of dried and jerked venison, a crock of fresh-churned butter that smelled of chives, a small sack of apples, and two jugs, one of wine, the other water. His woman just sat and held her heavy stomach, looking tired.

  His senses tracked everything around him, so he heard the tramp of footsteps a long time before the women and boy did. Two men, downwind and unscentable, as of yet. Presently they came into view, one man younger yet almost as big as the other, and his features were much the same as the boy by the woman’s side. The other man was older but not old, instead clearly in his prime, and he was instantly recognizable as alpha.

  “There they are,” the boy alerted the women.

  “Yes, Welton, right on time, and we haven’t even sliced the bread and meat yet,” his woman said.

  “Never you mind, Sissa. We have it under control,” the other woman said.

  The boy turned and focused on using his belt knife to prepare the food, all while the two men approached at an unhurried pace.

  “Thank you for delivering him to us, Savid,” the woman said, her voice warm and friendly.

  “A very small price to pay for a sample of your famous cooking, Treena, and yours too, Sissa,” the alpha said. Sissa—that name again, a word that fired his nerves and made him shuffle his heavy feet.

  “You honestly think this will work?” the Sissa asked.

  “It already has,” the alpha responded.

  “He’s here?” she asked, her body tensing, her head turning to look at the forest that surrounded much of the field.

  “Of course. Did you think he would leave you? Ever?” the alpha asked.

  They were speaking of him, he knew that, yet neither had looked his way and even if they did, he was instinctively confident of his cover among the pine boughs.

  “How could I know?” she asked, frustrated.

  “Doubts are normal and expected,” the alpha said. “This is uncharted terrain. But you know him, as do I.”

  “But are you certain? Can you Feel him?” the Sissa asked.

  “Yup. He’s watching. Actually, I would say that he’s probably on overwatch. Had Brent and I been two other men, approaching you, Treena, and Welton out here where no one is around, you’d likely have seen him already—as would they.”

  “What if that had happened? What if some innocent person came along?” she asked.

  “No one is coming. We’ve seen to that. No one will come near these fields till we’re done here,” the alpha said. “Don’t worry. He’s drawn to you, Sissa. He’ll always be drawn to you. Now I suggest that we just settle back and relax and see if we can get him to approach.”

  The older boy snorted. “You just want to dig into Mom’s famous beans.”

  The alpha chuckled, the young boy laughed, and the Sissa smiled even as her eyes looked around the forest, passing right over his hiding place. The other woman smiled too as she spooned out beans into wooden bowls.

  The two boys sat on either side of the Sissa and the other woman. The alpha sat to the side of the oldest lad while the women both slathered butter on bread. His eyes had locked onto the food, his stomach growling, when he felt eyes on him. A glance at the alpha found him locking gazes, triggering more memories, remembrances from this very place, this very field.

  “Welton, why don’t you move between Brent and your mom,” the alpha said, moving farther down the wooden seating to make room. The boy obeyed, as he should, reshuffling to be next to his brother. The Sissa was watching the alpha, her body tense. The movement had left her side open.

  “It’s fine. Just set out a bowl and some bread for Ash too, right next to you, Sissa,” the alpha said. She did as he suggested, without hesitation and without smelling of fear—anxiety, but not fear.

  “What do you think, Ash?” the alpha asked, looking right at his hiding spot, speaking directly to him. “You know you’ve been missing Sissa’s bread, and I’ve heard you reminisce about your sister-in-law’s delicious beans too many times to count. Come on out and have some.”

  He didn’t move, his brain flooding with memories, recent ones. Savid—the alpha was called Savid. He was called Ash. The young pup was Welton, the older one Brent. He stood and looked back toward the city. No one moved on the near streets, even though the sounds of an active community came from farther inside its borders. The alpha had seen to that. Turning back to the stands, he found the others all staring at him. The youngest was smiling, his hand raised in greeting. The oldest sat calmly, alternating bites of buttered bread with spoons of bacon and beans. Treena and Sissa watched him, Sissa’s face seemingly blank. Yet he knew that face, knew the subtle signs of body language, understood she was anxious. He was too. Anxious at her response to the sight of him. Yet she hadn’t moved, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t even flinched.

  “Ash?” she called, her voice uncertain, yet hopeful. “Ash, would you like some bread?” she asked, holding up a thick slice.

  His feet were moving before he was even aware of them, his steps slow, uncertain as he stepped fully into the open. But she just sat there, calmly holding the bread, her face now relaxed and maybe even hopeful.

  His feet made the decision for him, moving him across the frozen ground, slowly at first, yet getting a little faster as his pack sat, watching, waiting, and even eating.

  Suddenly he was there, right in front of her, inhaling her scent, searing her image into his head, hearing the fast beat of her heart. He crouched, making himself smaller, bringing his head down lower, almost as low as her own. She smiled, moving the hand that held bread toward him. “Take it, Uncle Ash,” the young one said. “If you don’t, I will.”

  He immediately gave the boy a little growl and carefully took the bread from her palm, using forefinger and thumb claws to delicately pluck it away. Then he stuffed it in his big mouth, slipping it past his gnarled teeth.

  “Hah, I knew it,” Welton said. “Mom’s chive butter is the best. And wait till you taste the beans.”

  Sissa—his mate—reached for him slowly, her movement freezing him midchew. He didn’t move a muscle as her hand lightly brushed the fur on his arm, her eyes studying it with sadness but also something like wonder, before flicking up to meet his own. “Soft. Much softer than I expected,” she said with a small smile. He could feel the heat of her hand, smell the scent of her hair. Both boys were still eating steadily but watching, and when he looked at the alpha—at Savid—he found him smiling.

  “Told you,” Savid said.

  “Welcome home, gravel head,” Sissa told him.

  Author’s Thoughts, Notes and other Drivel:

  As usual I must thank Susan Helene Gottfrie
d for her editorial work and Gareth Otton for his art skills. A Flight of Ravens will be followed by A Mischief of Rats, hopefully in Fall, 2021. I have at least one Demon Accords to finish (Blood Drawn) before I can get to that one.

  2020 was a difficult year for the whole planet. I was asked many times if Covid-19 would be a topic I would put in my stories. My answer was always the same – I already did – Web of Extinction dipped into that when it came out in the fall of 2019, just a few months before the real deal. The pandemic taught us all a lot of lessons: be prepared to take care of yourself and your family and if you’re able, help some others too (toilet paper anyone?), be resilient, be patient, be careful, and be kind (especially to your loved ones), are the ones that stand out for me. It’s interesting to write about times of chaos, stress and pandemonium, but it’s another thing to live it. The vaccines are rolling out as I write this (haven’t had mine yet) and there is light ahead. But we would all do well to remember what 2020 taught us.

  John Conroe

  P.S. Keep scrolling to find the list of characters and terms and stuff.

  Cast of Characters and Other Stuff

  Savid Thomas DelaCrotia – Our protagonist. Ex-captain Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron,

  Holder of the Kingdom Cross, Lead Shadow, 3rd son of High Family

  DelaCrotia.

  Princess Brona Olivia Tersi Warcan – Crown princess of Montshire, heir to the kingdom, head of the Shadows.

  King Helat Morrison Warcan – Ruler of Montshire.

  Queen Ilana Warcan – Deceased, Brona’s mother.

  Lord Rucian DelaCrotia – Head of High Family DelaCrotia, Savid’s father.

  Lady Jean DelaCrotia – Savid’s mother, wife of Rucian.

  Salis – Brona’s Wenkroy bodyguard.

  Marda – Brona’s secretary.

  Gracid DelaCrotia – Savid’s oldest brother, heir to High Family DelaCrotia.

  Tallen DelaCrotia – Savid’s second oldest brother, spare heir.

  Jolanna DelaCrotia – Savid’s sister.