Summer of Crows

by Hans Cummings

  Stopping, Dwennon gestured to the south, down the road by which he had arrived. Aveline spotted a few carts loaded with the stuff Curton’s potters used to make their wares traveling from the mudders’ shacks by the river toward the gate. “Mostly bad luck. Broken wheels, thrown shoes, that sort of thing. Pacha’s balls, you’d think the drivers would check their gear before we come down out of the mountains.” He lowered his voice. “You might want to watch out, though. During our last stop, my scouts said a sizeable force of draks was about a day behind us.”

  “Draks?” Squinting, Aveline shielded her eyes with her hand. The road disappeared into the foothills of the Iron Gate Mountains. Curton’s guards would not spot anyone traveling it until they crested the nearby hills, only a few hours away. “A battle force?” Aveline knew little of the diminutive dragon kin, aside from those who lived in town; however, she disbelieved they would mount an assault on Curton.

  “A battle force? Of draks? That I’d like to see.” The dwarf shook his head. “I don’t think so. My scouts said they looked more like refugees. Females, hatchlings, carts full of whatever junk they value. Something’s driving them out of their warrens. I’m only glad they didn’t head our way.”

  Refugees. Just what we need. “Thanks.”

  A constable jogged toward Aveline and Dwennon, stopping in front of them. He saluted. “M’lady, I have a report from Jolan.”

  “Jolan?”

  “One of the men searching the west fields for that girl.”

  Aveline nodded. Although she often could not recall their names, members of the garrison addressed her as though she knew each part-time constable personally. “Yes?”

  “A bit away from town, he found tracks from a cart or wagon near the field where the girl was picking flowers. He said it looked like it came from the west perhaps, toward town, but only came to the fields before turning around and going back.”

  “Hey, we spotted a cart or wagon or something in the distance on our way here.” Dwennon nudged Aveline’s arm. “I thought it odd because it wasn’t using the road, but I figured it was just some farmer or something. Don’t you have mines out that way?”

  “Mm… a few. They’re abandoned now. Thank you, Constable. Please find Lieutenant Valon and have him meet me here.”

  Jolan saluted. “Yes, m’lady.” Turning, he raced into the city.

  “Trouble?” Dwennon glanced over at her as he fiddled with a donkey’s bridle.

  “Disappearing people. This may be a clue. I hope it is.” Aveline’s shoulders sagged.

  “I’m sure you’re doing as much as you can, lass. Maybe the cart is just going to the mines?”

  The rock Aveline kicked skittered across the dirt. “The mines that dried up years ago? If that is its destination, it’s for no good purpose.” She stared at the horizon, wondering if the tracks Jolan found would amount to anything and how many other townspeople would disappear before she finally put a stop to it. If I’d done something about it when the first reports of missing prostitutes came in, this would never—

  “Master Stonehelm, you’re cleared to enter the city now.” A guard approached Aveline and Dwennon.

  “At last!”

  Aveline shook herself away from her thoughts, following the dwarf to the head of the caravan. “Dwennon, what news from Dwegarthon?” The only dwarven city between Curton and the Four Watches, Dwegarthon lay on the far side of the Iron Gate Mountains.

  “There’s much, lass. Meet me for an ale after I get this caravan secured, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Watching the caravan move through the entrance to the city, Aveline paced as she considered the new information about Innya’s disappearance. By the time the last of the dwarves passed through the gate, Lieutenant Valon arrived. He brushed his fine, dark hair out of his eyes before he saluted.

  “M’lady?”

  “Constable Jolan found tracks outside of town in the field Innya went to collect flowers. He says they headed west. Assemble a scouting party to investigate. They are not to take any action unless they feel there is an immediate danger. I want them to follow the tracks, then report back to me where they lead. It could be nothing…”

  Lieutenant Valon nodded. “Yes, m’lady. I’ll put Jolan and Brana on it. They’re our best trackers.”

  Aveline cocked a brow. “Who is Brana?”

  “She’s the daughter of Milos and Vica. The farmers with all the goats and sheep in the western hills.”

  Nodding, Aveline returned with Valon to town. She knew of Milos and Vica, although she had never met them. Their farm provided much of the mutton and cheeses sold in Curton’s taverns. I hope this is more than nothing.

  Chapter 6

  “That dress is a little formal, isn’t it?” Aveline pointed at the sorceress. Tasha wore a gold-trimmed green gown. It fit snugly around her upper body, but hung loosely from the waist, allowing her to move freely. Skipping around a pile of horse dung in the street, the sorceress adjusted the bulky package she carried.

  “I tore my sleeve in the shop, but I ran out of thread and didn’t have enough time to get more.”

  Aveline brushed lint from Tasha’s shoulder. “People are going to think you’re trying to look pretty for someone.”

  Blushing, the sorceress stared at her feet. “I’m not. I just didn’t want to wear ripped clothing.”

  “Let’s go. They’re probably halfway through a keg by now.”

  Aveline and Tasha walked abreast. People passed them on both sides, rushing to and from the market as the sun set in the west, finishing their business before shops closed for the night.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Hon’s Hearth.” Aveline liked the tavern, appreciating the dwarves preferred it over rowdier inns like the Drunken Horse. Although she did not know the owner well, she found him respectful and well-spoken every time she dealt with him. The establishment was located on the far side of town, near Miners’ Gate.

  “I didn’t have time to tell you earlier, but we had some news about the girl.” Aveline tugged on Tasha’s sleeve, moving her to allow a cart to pass. “Well, I hope it’s about the girl.”

  “Oh?”

  “A scout found wagon tracks leading away from the fields where Innya supposedly picked flowers the day she disappeared. They led up to the field and then turned away. I sent some people out to track the wagon. Perhaps we’ll have some answers soon.”

  They meandered through the market, ignoring calls by vendors to purchase their goods at end-of-day discounted prices. The street angled downward as it headed toward the river. During the wet season, rain made the cobblestones treacherous and slick, but on this mild day, walking down the hill only made Aveline’s ankles ache. She wished she had dressed more comfortably, although not quite as formally as Tasha. With the recent troubles, Aveline felt ditching her armor would be irresponsible.

  Caravan Bridge, so named for the convoys that used to carry their ore loads to the smelteries, arched over the river. Although those establishments were mostly gone, the bridge’s name stuck. When she allowed herself the time to stop and listen, she found the babbling of the river running under it mesmerizing. As a little girl, she sat on the parapet with her legs dangling over the side, watching fishermen and imagining her vision extended all the way down the river to the sea. Despite rushing to meet the dwarves, she paused on the bridge to gaze downriver and enjoy the sound she so loved.

  Smiling, she recalled one evening during their courtship when her late husband had found her there watching the sunset. Dorian. I haven’t thought about you for a long time. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she shook herself free of the memories. Tasha nodded at her, and they continued their trek. The streets on the other side of the bridge in the Market District twisted and wound through the terrain more than in Old Town, and Aveline often wondered if the builders suffered from an aversion to straight lines.

  By the time they reached Hon’s Hearth, the sun disappeared behind the buildings of Curton. Deep shad
ows cut across the road, and dampness chilled the air. One of the barmaids, the owner’s eldest daughter, stood on a ladder, lighting lanterns to illuminate the entrance from the outside. When she noticed Aveline and Tasha approaching, she descended, then held the door for them as they entered.

  She curtsied. “Good evening, m’ladies. Welcome to Hon’s Hearth.”

  Aveline nodded a curt acknowledgment before leading Tasha into the main hall of the inn. A singing minstrel strummed a mandolin near the fireplace.

  There once was a villain named Vilnas the Bold,

  He died in his bed because he was so old.

  He burned down the villages and killed all the folk.

  Slaughtered the cows and the gods did provoke.

  The table of dwarves across the room jeered, booing. “Don’t you know any good songs? Sing something about Jayne Hammerfist, you fool!”

  Chuckling, Aveline approached the dwarves. Pulling over two chairs from a nearby vacant table, she placed them near Dwennon. After setting her package on the table in front of her, Tasha sat in one, Aveline in the other.

  “Ah, good to see you, lass! I see you’ve brought your friend.”

  Tasha bowed her head. “Dwennon, I have that transcription Darrock Granitebinder wanted. Is he here?” She scanned the faces at the table, but she did not see him.

  Dwennon’s expression darkened. “He died this past winter, lass. I suppose I’ll have to pay for that, so I can take it back to his family now.”

  “Died?” Sucking in a breath, Tasha furrowed her brow. Aveline placed her hand on Tasha’s shoulder.

  “He’s gone to the Soul Forge now.” Dwennon raised his mug of ale. “To Darrock! May Hon’s Hall keep his fantasy of swimming in ale forever.”

  Whooping, the assembled dwarves raised their mugs in tribute.

  Tasha slumped in her chair. “He seemed so young.”

  Dwennon nodded. “Vanity, lass. Black dubbin in his beard. He never left his room unless his beard was as black as his boots, even when his skin started to turn grey and crack. I called him a fool for it, and he thumped me on the head.”

  A barmaid brought a platter of roasted pork and vegetables to the table. A dozen dwarf hands pawed at it like pigs at a slop pile. Shaking her head, Aveline ordered drinks for Tasha and herself.

  “Speaking of libations, lass, I have something for you.” Dwennon ducked and rifled in his pack, then withdrew a bottle, which he handed to Aveline.

  Recognizing it instantly, she squealed. When it was bottled, melted red wax cascaded over the top, sealing the cork and coating one side of the brown bottle, which bore a familiar emblem: that of Honnigbrow Meadery from across the southern mountains in the Northern Watch city of Vornstaad. Grinning, she tore the paraffin off the bottle of her favorite mead, allowing the pieces to fall to the floor like rain. Clenching the cork in her teeth, Aveline yanked.

  Just then, the barmaid returned with their drinks. Aveline emptied the contents of the mugs into the fire, causing the flames to sputter and hiss. She poured mead into the now-empty vessels, then handed one to Tasha. Witnessing the scene, the barmaid’s mouth hung agape. Huffing, she stomped away.

  “This is the good stuff.” Aveline swigged from her mug, letting the honey-sweet liquid slosh around her mouth. Honnigbrow’s mead achieved a balance of wildflowers and sweet, peppery spices that lingered after swallowing. “Ah, mud-free mead. Darrock can keep his ale; I’ll swim in this when I die!”

  “I brought a whole case for you, lass.” Dwennon winked at Aveline. Upon draining his mug, he called the barmaid to bring a replacement.

  Laughing, Aveline hugged the dwarf. “I owe you for this!”

  “Aye, two crowns, you do.”

  Digging in her money purse, Aveline nodded. “It’s worth five.” She pressed the coins into his hand, then felt Tasha tug at her sleeve.

  The sorceress narrowed her eyes. “Five? That’s a lot.”

  Aveline shrugged. “There are enough supplies to get me through to my next stipend from our esteemed Lord Mayor. It’s only a few days.”

  Seeming unconvinced, Tasha insisted on paying for the rabbit stew. Dining and drinking, they listened to the dwarves heckle the bard. His songs seemed improvised. When one of his mandolin strings broke, the dwarves cheered their good fortune.

  “No matter, good people. I don’t need my mandolin to regale you with tales of derring-do! Allow me to tell you the story of a man from the south:

  Jürgen Fairhair!

  His stance was bold, and his sword was old.

  He fought the wyrms, wooed the ladies,

  And drank deep from his horn.

  He came from the Southern Watch to fair Vornstaad,

  And he endured the Jarl’s scorn.

  Aveline took a long draught of mead, put her mug down, and stifled a belch. She leaned closer to Dwennon. “So, what news have you from Dwegarthon?”

  Dwennon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He motioned Aveline and Tasha closer so they could hear him over the minstrel’s oration. “Deep Road is open again.”

  Aveline glanced at Tasha whose face showed no sign of recognizing the name. She returned her gaze to Dwennon. “Deep Road?”

  “It runs under the mountains. For the first time since The Sundering, we have an underground route to our kinfolk in Ironkrag. They contacted us this past winter, a whole caravan!” Chuckling, he placed a meaty hand around Aveline’s wrist. “They were aided by a dragon. By Adranus’s anvil, I swear it’s true!”

  “A dragon?” Leaning back in her chair, she regarded Tasha, Dwennon’s grip still firm around her wrist. Aveline had heard of dragons returning to the world, of course, but she never knew anyone who claimed to have seen one.

  “Aye, a dragon. Could move through earth and stone as easily as the air.”

  “Terrakaptis. The Earth Dragon. Firstborne of Rannos and Gaia.” The sorceress nodded, her jaw clenched.

  Aveline and Dwennon stared at Tasha.

  Releasing Aveline’s arm, Dwennon sat back. “How did you know that?”

  The sorceress fidgeted in her seat, gazing into her mug. “I… I encountered him ten… twelve years ago, when I was involved in that business out by Drak-Anor.”

  Aveline recalled the stories Tasha told of the battle that drove the oroqs out of the city situated in the caldera, paving the way for the residents to open relations with Ironkrag and Celtangate. She did not speak often of the battle during which her lover died, so rarely, in fact, this was the first time Aveline heard a dragon played a part.

  “Well, anyway.” Dwennon jabbed his fork into a potato. “It’s good to reconnect with our kin.” Upon biting the end off the tuber, he chewed, shaking his head. “The frost wyrms are stirring again. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Frost wyrms? I hope they stay in the Watches.” Aveline refilled her mug. Sinuous, reptile-like creatures, frost wyrms lived under the snow and ice of the Four Watches. Mostly dormant in the warmer months, they occasionally emerged en masse in winter to spawn. They were dangerously aggressive. Many scholars thought they might have descended from dragons. They viewed the wyrm as a divergent life form that was not nearly as easy to negotiate with as draks. The wyrms could not speak, and they only concerned themselves with people insofar as considering them a food source.

  Dwennon nodded. “I’m glad we don’t go into the Four Watches once the snows fall. We hear some of the Jarls are stirring up trouble with the oroq holds, as well, so enjoy that mead, lass. It might be the last of it for a while.”

  Raising her cup, Aveline nodded. “I shall, indeed!” As long as the Jarls don’t drive the oroqs this way.

  * * *

  The next morning, Tasha struggled to focus on cataloging the herbs and reagents in her apothecary cabinet. Try as she might, she still could not keep up with Aveline and the dwarves when they drank and swapped stories. Her best efforts rewarded her with a pounding headache. Tasha searched through the drawers. She did not have any dog hair, but she found
willow bark and meadowsweet leaves.

  Barely.

  What little she had, she wrapped into a bundle, tied it with string, and carried it into the back room. After dropping it into a tankard, she set a kettle on top of her iron stove to heat. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she rubbed her temples. Tasha caught herself dozing as the kettle came to a boil. She shook herself awake to pour the scalding liquid over the herbs.

  Steam from the pungent, bitter brew rose from the mug. Feeling guilty for using the last of her willow bark, she muttered a quick prayer that the customer jingling her shopkeeper’s bell did not come in search of a headache remedy.

  Upon entering the front of her shop, Tasha scanned the room but saw no customer. A raspy voice coughed, making her jump, but then a clawed hand bearing ashen black scales tapped the top of the counter. Leaning forward, she recognized the old drak potter, Toviah.

  “Good morrow, good lady.” Toviah cleared his throat, then coughed again. “Perhaps you could help me?”

  Smiling, Tasha leaned on the counter. “What do you need, Toviah?”

  Pounding his chest, he coughed yet again. “I seem to have picked up a chill from somewhere. My throat is also sore. Your herbal remedies are well known. Might you have something to stave off this affliction before it puts this drak in the ground? I don’t want to end up like old Abarron.”

  The old drak’s name brought pain to her heart. Abarron had taught her much about Gaia and Cybele, how they connected to the world, and how she could commune with them. The strain of the cough and fever that found him last week proved too much. It had claimed the old drak’s life, despite her best efforts to help.

  She nodded. “I have just the thing.” Searching through her apothecary cabinet, she located the leaves of the velvet plant. She measured out enough for several servings.

  “Steep these in boiling water and mix in some honey. Drink the brew, and it should help. I have given you enough for three or four days at two mugs per day. Do you need honey?” She placed the bundle on the counter.