Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  “Go, you old fool!” he hissed, and crawled back through the doorway.

  He stood once he was concealed within the stairwell and climbed down, moving as fast as he dared in the darkness. He could still hear the young woman talking. Good, he thought. If she was talking, then they weren’t moving yet.

  The monk moved to turn right at the bottom of the stairs, to head toward the front door, but stopped. The large doors of the audience chamber crashed open ahead, followed by the chorus of boots against the ground.

  Left, he decided immediately, turning and heading back in the other direction. Brother Dalman followed the outside curve of the hallway, using his hands to navigate in the dark. He came upon the door, his finger crawling up and over the heavy wood locking bar.

  The wood refused to move, so he shifted, hooking one hand inside and the other outside. He strained until his arms and shoulders shook.

  “Damn!” he cursed, glancing back down the dark hallway. Time was of the essence.

  Ducking low, Brother Dalman set his right shoulder under the locking bar and pushed with his legs. He relaxed and tried again, and again.

  Finally, after his legs started to shake, the bar broke loose. Quickly, and as quietly as he could, Brother Dalman lifted the beam free and set it down. His hands trembling, the monk pulled the door open and slid outside.

  * * * *

  Luca sat on his bed, his right leg hanging stiffly off the side. A single oil lamp burned on the table in the corner, but its limited glow left most of the room in shadow. A board creaked in the far corner, but it didn’t bother him. Everything seemed to make noise anymore.

  He stared down at the picture of the yörspring, or what he affectionately referred to as the stone egg. He held the shawl the merchant had given him in the other hand, the soft fabric bunched up between his fingers.

  The thought of Emma accepting his invitation to the winter festival still made him warm inside. He thought asking her to go would be the hard part. He still had to give her the shawl, and not turn bright red or fall down in the process.

  His gaze drifted back over to the colorful ink and flowing lines of Cassida’s drawing. She was offering to make him a regular boy again, to take away his pain and stiffness. Or, she was just making him promises.

  Never make, or accept promises that can’t be kept, Luca thought, suddenly. He didn’t know where the saying came from, it just popped up out of nowhere.

  “Goddess!” he breathed, excitedly. Did I just remember something?

  Luca wanted to tell someone. He wanted to tell Father Thurstan, or Emma. He tried to get off of the bed, but his stiff body denied him. He rocked forward, and only managed to settle back into a seated position.

  “Stupid legs,” he growled, crumpling up the parchment a bit in his anger. Luca took a deep breath and squeezed the shawl. He lay the drawing on his lap and smoothed it flat once again.

  What if I take it, and she doesn’t help me? He thought, frowning. Luca couldn’t remember anything of his life before Pine Hall, but what Cassida was asking him to do felt an awful lot like stealing. He didn’t need to know a great many things to know that stealing was bad, even for a crippled little boy from somewhere down river.

  Luca bit his tongue, troubling over his dilemma. Father Thurstan and the others had been good to him. They put a roof over his head, put clothes on his back, kept his belly full of food, and not to mention the healing prayers as well.

  They did their best for me, he thought, picking up his stiff leg and straightening it on the bed. And yet, he couldn’t run or jump. He could barely walk. He couldn’t play games with the other kids, but what pained him most was the wound deep inside, the one that kept him from remembering who he was. Luca wanted a family.

  He bunched his fingers up in the shawl once again, remembering Emma, and her rosy cheeks.

  She knows what I am, and she still said yes. She is going with me, and doesn’t care. The warm tingly feeling returned, along with a cold draft down his back. Luca shivered and considered the drawing from Cassida one final time, and then crumpled it up in his fist.

  I don’t want to be bad. I want to be good, he thought. Before he could throw the wadded up parchment an icy breeze passed over his arm and blew it across the room, where it disappeared into the shadows.

  Luca looked to the window, which was closed, and the door next to him. He suddenly didn’t want to be alone in his dark room anymore.

  Wiggling and grunting, Luca scooted off of his bed. He tied his scarf around his neck, pulled on his coat, and tucked the shawl neatly into his pocket.

  He wedged the crutch under his arm, and limped out of the room. Emma was standing in the warmly lit entrance hall, and turned when she heard the thump of his crutch on the stairs.

  “Here, I’ll help,” she said, running easily up the flight, and helped him down the remaining stairs.

  “You make that look so easy,” Luca said, huffing slightly from the effort.

  “Oh, you’ll be rid of that thing and running down these stairs before you know it. Just a bit more time,” Emma said, smiling.

  Luca just smiled and nodded. He wished that he shared her optimism, but at this point, he would just be happy to walk without using a stick.

  “Are you ready for the festival?” Luca asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” Emma said loudly. “I’ve wanted to go so badly, practically since I can remember. Oh, the first thaw I was here, they strung lanterns all along the roadway from the docks, clear up to the Hall. You should have seen it, Luca. It looked like a glowing path to the heavens!”

  Luca watched Emma turn in a circle, her arms held out wide. He beamed, soaking in her excitement. She was wearing a fairly simple, but pretty white dress. It was worn in several spots, but appeared to have been skillfully mended.

  “You look nice. I like your dress,” Luca said nervously.

  “Thank you,” Emma said, smoothing out the front of her garment. “I wish I had the coin for a new dress, though, perhaps one with a bit of color. I know white is winter tradition, but the color would be nice.”

  “Wait!’ Luca said, stuffing his hand into his pocket and pulling out the shawl. “This is for you.”

  Emma’s eye grew wide and her cheeks turned red. “Luca, you didn’t have to…” she said, taking the garment from his proffered hand and holding it up before her. “It’s beautiful!”

  Luca felt his face flush and turn warm, although the strange cold draft touched his neck and shoulders. He hiked his coat collar up a bit and shivered.

  Emma wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and turned on the spot. “Well, how do I look?” she asked.

  “Wow, you look…pretty,” he said.

  “Why thank you,” Emma replied, and curtsied. “Tell me now, my good sir. Shall you escort me to the festival?”

  Luca nodded eagerly and hooked his free arm in hers. They walked out of the Chapterhouse together, emerging in the cold, but surprisingly calm winter night.

  “Mani blesses us this night. No wind,” Emma said excitedly.

  A horse nickered down the lane, its shooed hooves clattering against the hard cobblestones. It appeared a moment later, pulling a carriage up the lane. A driver sat atop the buggy, donning a fancy, fur-lined white coat and matching hat.

  “Excuse me, sir!” Emma called out, waving her hand.

  The driver pulled on the reins and stopped the carriage before them, the horses snorting great steaming clouds into the air.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Are you taking people to the festival?” Emma asked.

  “I am. Have ye some tickets?”

  “Oh!” Luca breathed, and pulled the two shiny slips of parchment from his trouser pockets. He flashed them to the carriage driver.

  “Climb aboard, young ma’am and sir,” he said, smiling genuinely.

  Emma leaned into Luca, giggling into his ear. “This is fantastic!” she whispered.

  Luca limped forward, his crutch, as it always did,
tapping loudly against the stone. As soon as the driver saw him struggle forward, he hooked the reins and leapt to the ground.

  “Here, let me be of service, little sir,” the driver said, hooking Luca under the arms and lifting him into the carriage.

  “Thank you,” Luca said sheepishly as he settled onto the bench.

  “May I be of service, ma’am?” the driver said, extending his hand to Emma.

  “Thank you,” she said, grinning, and stepped up into the carriage.

  The driver bowed after she’d gotten in and kissed the back of her hand lightly before letting go. Luca watched, an angry wasp buzzing around in his belly.

  Emma turned to him, her face alight with excitement. The carriage rocked as the drive climbed into the seat, and with a snap of the reins, it started to rumble up the lane.

  “This is going to be so much fun. I love to dance! I think I’ll dance until my feet fall off,” she said, running her hand over the colorful shawl.

  Luca pushed away his jealously and did his best to smile. He couldn’t dance, sixth arm, he couldn’t even really walk. He just hoped she didn’t grow bored of him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Emma said, reading his expression. Then, she jumped over onto the bench next to him. She grabbed his hand, and clutched it in her own.

  Luca’s smile widened, his erstwhile thoughts instantly falling away.

  * * * *

  Brother Dalman cut through the gardens, feeling more than a little fear and shame as he hid behind trees and flowing sculptures. He approached the main gate and ducked behind the large fountain. Silver flashed ahead as armor caught the moonlight.

  “Damn-damn-damn,” he cursed under his breath. He was hoping to beat them there.

  He waited, crouched over and cold, his legs trembling from the effort, until the sizable force passed by. Only then did he creep out from around the fountain.

  Brother Dalman could see the green-eyed soldiers ahead, their columns formed perfectly. They didn’t wobble or sway. It was unnerving. Whatever they were, they were something to fear, and avoid.

  He followed the column of soldiers, ducking as close to buildings as he could, trying to keep his body in the shadows. He paused, shrinking behind an arched doorway as the column came to an intersection in the lane and broke apart.

  “Damn,” he cursed softly. The road straight ahead led to the city’s main gate. The two perpendicular routes would take him to the smaller gates in the east and the west. There was no way for him to get to the gates first, save running by them in the streets.

  “The livestock gate,” he whispered.

  Brother Dalman was up and walking in a heartbeat. He quickened his pace, until he was almost jogging. Anything faster and he would tire, and likely attract all the wrong kind of attention.

  He turned left at the intersection, but instead of following the group of green-eyed soldiers straight, he ducked down the first alley to his right.

  His confidence started to swell. There was no one ahead of him. That meant that they likely didn’t know about the small gate located in the southeast. It was small and off the beaten path, far from the busy thoroughfares used by highborn and stuffy merchants.

  Emboldened by the alleyway’s darkness, Brother Dalman started to jog. It felt good, sapping his nervous energy and allowing him to focus on something else for a time. After a time, his legs started to burn and his sides ached, so he slowed to a fast walk.

  Save yourself, you old fool. If you’re half-dead when you get to the gate, how will you run if needs be?

  The monk crossed a lane. He looked left. A massive building sat not far away, its flying buttresses and arching windows alight with candles. The Manite Chapterhouse looked strong and warm. They would take him in, and likely listen. Who knew if they would believe him? But he wouldn’t be safe there. He wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the city.

  Brother Dalman continued on, passing many lanes, and many buildings. His hands and feet were already cold, and worse, numb. He longed to stop at his room and retrieve his possessions, but he dared not stop. Not for anything.

  Finally, after an arduous trek, the alley opened up into the southern market. Heavy wooden stalls dominated the outer ring. They were all empty. He passed one and something crashed. A rat tore off into the darkness, likely spiriting away produce left behind after that day’s market.

  Beyond the merchant stalls was a round pen, surrounded by a waist-high railing. Straw and animal manure covered the ground inside. Brother Dalman climbed up and over the railing, grunting and tumbling ungainly over the other side as his robes caught.

  He cursed, picking himself off the ground. His robes ripped and tore as they pulled loose from the railing. It didn’t matter. Robes could be replaced. His life couldn’t.

  Dodging the dark mounds of manure, Brother Dalman entered the narrow path connecting the animal pen to the outside gate. He approached the gate, grasped the locking bar and lifted. Nothing. The bar refused to move.

  The monk grunted and pulled, even dropping his shoulder beneath it, but nothing worked. Working his hands over the weathered wood, Brother Dalman made his way down the long board. His fingers caught and tore on jagged metal. He wiped his fingers on his robes and ducked in close.

  “No…” he breathed. He had caught his fingers on the exposed head of a massive nail. Someone had effectively sealed the door shut.

  His chest tightening, Brother Dalman turned and sprinted back through the animal pen.

  Chapter 34

  Filling a void

  Dennah secured the straps on her bag and slipped it on. She snugged down her jerkin, pulled on her cap, and made for the door. She turned and considered the small room.

  She missed the stout walls, soft bed, and warm fire already, and hadn’t even left yet. With a nod, she pulled the door closed behind her and walked out into the hall.

  “Were you fixing to leave without a proper goodbye?” Alma appeared around the corner, her hands resting on her hips.

  “You caught me. I was looking to sneak out,” Dennah said, matching the woman’s stern glare.

  Alma’s brow furrowed deeper, but then her mouth cracked in a deep smile. Dennah threw her arms around the woman and pulled her into a tight hug.

  They embraced for a long moment before pulling apart. Alma reached up and wiped a bit of moisture from both her eyes. Dennah cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She was closer to tears than she would otherwise appear.

  “You take care of yourself out there, you hear me?” Alma said, sliding back into her usual stern timbre.

  Dennah knew better, however. Alma cared deeply, and the only thing she feared more than people finding out, was seeing good people get hurt.

  “Remember. You don’t turn your back on anyone you don’t trust. Don’t take any meadow muffins from anyone, and you protect yourself. Best to stick with someone you know and trust. Everyone needs an Alma in their life!” Alma said, smoothing out Dennah’s jerkin, before grabbing her by both arms.

  “I’ll just take you with me then?” Dennah said, smiling.

  The woman snorted and pulled her into one last hug. She pulled her out to arm’s length and whispered.

  “Ain’t right what they did to you. But you’re a strong one, dear. Please take care of yourself. I mean that!”

  Dennah nodded and said, “I will. You’ll see me again.”

  “Well of course I will. Now you run along, before I break down into a blubbering mess!”

  After bidding Alma farewell, Dennah turned to leave. She passed through the hall and mounted the stairwell. She remembered the first time she climbed the stairs. It was right after Lord Desh decreed that she’d receive a dispensation. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  Her thoughts slid to Roman again, as they so often did. He was still down there, somewhere. The thought bothered her. How was she just supposed to forget about him? Pretend that he didn’t exist, when she knew very well that he did?

  Yet, it was the Coun
cil that wanted him gone. Who was she to challenge their desires? The thought wasn’t just frustrating. It was maddening.

  Dennah considered taking a liberty day when the caravan returned to Silma. She could take a boat across Lake Mynus to Castle Astralen. Lord Thatcher sat in audience there. She could take the matter before him. Perhaps he didn’t know. Or, perhaps he wouldn’t agree with Lord Desh. Dennah didn’t want to consider what would happen if he did, however. Perhaps it would be her locked in a cell.

  Sayer was waiting for her in the entrance hall. She knew something was wrong right away. He was still wearing his red tunic and white shirt.

  “You’re going to get cold wearing just that, don’t you think?” Dennah said as she approached.

  Sayer’s smile crumpled in on itself. He glanced towards the door, before addressing her. “Uh, yeah. Well, plans have changed. Lord Desh summoned me late last night. He’s changed his mind. You are to head north to Bardstown, accompanied by a number of contract soldiers. They are to fill in for the fallen city guard until replacements arrive from Silma.”

  “Contract?”

  “Sell swords,” Sayer said, his face scrunching up with the word. “All I know is they have been here since before the snow, and came up from Bargeron in the south. I don’t know them, and I don’t trust them.”

  Dennah nodded, her mouth going very dry.

  “I argued the point, but there is no changing the lord constable’s mind. I’d be wary of this group,” Sayer hissed, leaning in as he opened the door for her.

  She followed the bailiff outside, shielding her eyes from the bright sunshine.

  “I’ve already saddled your horse and loaded your bags, plus strapped a new shield to your gear to replace the one you lost. You should be well provisioned for the ride north. Our best guess is that the caravan is still in Bardstown. If not, you should be able to catch them in short order,” Sayer said loudly, his demeanor changing now that they were within earshot of the group of men.

  “Thank you, bailiff,” Dennah said. She sized up the group. They wore heavy furs over tunics, thick twill trousers, and padded boots. The closest man wore a short sword on either hip, while the man next to him had fashioned a rather long looking blade to his back. They all wore beards in various lengths.