Aziru rolled to his feet and recovered his axe. He was surrounded by the dead. The birds scattered as he moved among the bodies, then swooped back down once he passed. The crows farthest away paid little attention to him and continued to peck at their meals.
Aziru felt the ones in the trees watched him, studied him, cawed at him. Their beady eyes followed him wherever he went. The birds cawed back and forth to one another. Their small, black eyes stared at him as he walked past, searching the bodies for useable supplies.
The mounds of dead men were grotesque in their display.
Aziru did not know how long he meandered amongst the corpses. He did not know most of the men who lay there and he was sure most of them did not deserve such a fate. Why had he been the only one spared?
A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he strode among the dead looking for any sign of Captain Malrik or his lieutenants. They were nowhere to be found. Neither riders or horses lay in the field of battle.
I’ve joined a cursed army, Aziru thought. He fell to his knees. Gods be good, what sort of deaths had these men suffered. What will happen to their souls in a place such as this?
Aziru heard the scrape of metal on metal and turned around. A pale, thin man stood among the dead. He was dressed all in black and wore a long flowing cape made of feathers and a strange head ornament shaped like a crow. The man dug among the bodies, shifting and moving them as though he was searching for something.
“Who the hell are you?” Aziru asked. “What are you doing?”
The man looked up, eyes as blue as the ocean, but said nothing. He went back to digging among the bodies.
“What are you doing?” Aziru yelled.
The man stopped, extended his hand into the pile of corpses. He wrapped his fingers around something that Aziru couldn’t see, then made a jerking motion and stood up.
Whatever was in his hand must have held some importance, for the man gazed longingly into his palm. Axe firmly held in his hand, Aziru struggled forward, clambering over the bodies on the ground.
The man raised whatever was in his hand in the air allowing Aziru to finally get a glimpse of what he held. Echrod’s pendant swung slowly back and forth in his grasp.
“There is … magic … in this,” the man said. His voice was scratchy, almost birdlike, and the words came out haltingly as though he were unused to speaking the common tongue.
“No!” Aziru yelled. “That’s not yours.”
The man turned his head at Aziru’s words.
“I must … study it,” the man said.
Aziru moved quickly, but it felt as though the dead were trying to slow him down. Wherever he placed his feet, he stumbled or nearly fell. He lifted his axe, ready to slay the man where he stood.
A black cloud of birds descended upon him. Talons grazed his skin. Beaks pecked at his face. The mass of birds was so thick Aziru could not see through it. He shielded his eyes and face the best he could from the onslaught and rushed headlong into the swirling mass of birds.
When he finally broke through, he could feel the scrapes of a thousand minor cuts all over him. The birds took to the sky like a roiling black cloud.
The bird-man wrapped the pendant around his hand. Though there was no wind blowing, the feather cloak begin to move like a living thing. He floated up into the air, arms stretched out by his sides.
In the next moment the man was gone and a blue eyed bird was in his place, the pendant clutched in one leg. The bird flapped its wings, but hovered oddly in place.
It gazed at him, blue eyes victorious, triumphant. Then the bird cawed two times, almost as though it were laughing at him and beat its wings, and flew off after the others. All the other birds cawed mightily almost as one. They followed the bird man a swirling mass of black. They rose into the night sky like a funnel cloud rising into the air. There was a single glint of metal that twinkled in the moonlight. As they disappeared from sight, Aziru knew he had failed in his promise to Echrod. Looking at the night sky, he vowed that he would see the pendant returned to Echrod’s daughter, one way or another. Even if he didn’t know how.
#
How would he find them? How would he get Echrod’s pendant back?
It was one thing to make a promise, quite another to keep it. Aziru thought about how to track an animal that could fly and leave no trace of its passing.
Then he realized that maybe he didn’t need to.
Magic.
The bird-man had said the pendant had magic in it. What was that silly tale that Echrod had told him?
Something about a sorcerer being transformed into a bird. Could it be real?
Maybe. It was unlikely and he doubted the story could be true. Sometimes though, myths were based in fact. They only became twisted and disjointed things after many retellings. Either way, Aziru knew where he could find the crows. Whether or not the bird man would be among them he didn’t know.
Aziru hoped that he would find him there, for he had no other way to track where he had gone. Echrod had said that Raven’s Peak had been named after the incident where the sorcerer fought a god. A man couldn’t challenge a god, and Aziru didn’t think the bird-man was a god, but maybe there had been some type of magic battle between two sorcerers and through the years the story had changed. Aziru gripped his axe tighter, he had killed sorcerers before. It was difficult, but it could be done.
His mind made up, his course determined, Azriu set out upon his new mission.
Before he left, he gathered the bodies of the men together. The dead needed to be respected. They had fought together, shed blood together, and as such they had been part of his tribe. As he piled them next to one another he searched them for useful supplies. He discovered some items among the men that he could use: a bow, a quiver of arrows, food, warm clothing, blankets, water, a bigger backpack, and climbing gear. Aziru didn’t know what Persai’s burial customs were, he would have to improvise by using some of his people’s customs. Among his people, the bodies of the dead were set afire in order to make sure the spirit didn’t grieve for what it had left behind and insure that it went where ever spirits were supposed to go.
Aziru wrapped a strip of cloth around a branch and then ignited it. The fire licked at the cold air, hesitant and unsure, but once he lowered it to one of the soldier’s clothing it jumped to life.
The flames grew large and hungry. Warmth radiated from the blaze, helped Aziru feel stronger in its heat.
“May you all return as stallions in your next life and know the feel of the earth beneath your hooves, the wind on your flank, the roll of the green hills under your legs,and the beauty of the heavens above.”
Aziru watched for a time as the flames danced. Then he lifted the sack and made his way back north. There was no sign of any northmen as he traveled, and it occurred to him that they likely knew the fate of the army once they entered those woods and had simply returned home. He didn’t take any chances, to be discovered would likely be the end of his life.
When he returned to the spot where the birds had nested, they were no longer there. The nest were empty, deserted. Their dung had stained the cliff face in streaks of green and white. Black feathers littered the ground.
This was the right place.
Aziru gazed upward and frowned. A lone bird glided on currents of air and circled continuously overhead. If this didn’t work, he would have no other way of finding the pendant, and most likely his promise to Echrod would be for naught.
He put the climbing gear on, let go of any fears that his mission would fail, and begin to scale the tall vertical cliffs. The way was slow, but his people were skilled climbers and the gear he had found helped immensely on the slick, icy slope. Daylight found him about half-way up the cliff.
The sun blazed orange over the mountaintops. Its glow reflected off the snow and caused deep shadows in the folds of the mountain that made it hard to spot good handholds. Aziru looked up, gaging how long he had left to climb. It would be mid-afternoon by the time h
e reached the top. A level perch made a good stopping point allowing him to eat, and drink, and to regain his strength before the final push to the top.
Somewhat refreshed, he continued on, still unsure what he would find when he reached the summit. He cursed himself for a fool when he finally made it to the top. There was indeed a building there. It loomed out of the mist, an old, huge, grey thing that had seen better days. An ever shifting cloud seemed to hang about it and the grey stone, covered in ice, glistened evilly beneath the sun.
It was a huge structure, far larger than any building he had seen in the lands of the civilized men. How long had it sat here? Who had built it? He had not seen a design like that among any of the nations he had visited.
There was no sign of any birds. No sign of the bird-man. No sign of anything living. Aziru walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. He was on the wrong side. An eight-foot-wide gap separated him from the side the building was on.
It had taken him most of the day to climb the cliff. He did not like the idea of having to climb down, then back up the other side. Aziru walked the edge of the cliff, studying how it moved, looking for a spot that was narrower and that might be able to be bridged in some way.
For most of their length the distance between the two cliffs remained constant. Eventually, he found a place he might be able to cross over. On the other side, a rock face jutted out into the gap decreasing the distance that needed to be covered by about four feet. Aziru knew he could jump across the remaining distance, the ledge was wide enough and a little lower than the cliff he now stood upon. What concerned him was the angle of the slope. It was too steep. The momentum from the fall and the angle of the rock would send him sliding downward unless he was able to stop himself in time. If he couldn’t he would fall to his death. There was no other way, he had to attempt the crossing here.
If he were going to try to cross here—he needed to lessen the weight he carried. Aziru opened the backpack and removed the remainder of the climbing tools. There was a pair of climbing spikes that were designed to be strapped to the feet. Since they had to fit a variety of feet, they were big and awkward. Worse, they were made of wood and stiff. That was fine if a person was climbing straight up, but running in them his feet would not be able to flex. He wouldn’t be able to run as fast as he could without them. Yet, there were patches of ice all around, if he slipped while preparing to jump—he would most likely see his mission fail and his life end.
Aziru weighed the spikes in his hand. Would they hurt or help?
He couldn’t stand there all day. He made his decision and strapped the spikes to his feet, then made sure they were tight and wouldn’t slip. He tested them by driving his feet in the ground as he walked. The spikes did what they were meant to do, provide grip on slick surfaces.
Next he tied a length of rope around the pack. Then with the climbing hammer he nailed the other end of the rope to the cliff top. He would need the contents of the pack to make the journey to Persai, he had to take it with him, but he didn’t want the added weight during the jump.
Aziru stepped up to the edge of the cliff, lifted the pack with a grunt. It must have weighed sixty pounds or more. He took a couple of deep breaths, torqueing his body with the motion of throwing the pack, then on the third exhale he threw it across the gap.
The pack hit with a thump, sent some snow flying. It almost appeared that it would stay, for a second, then it started to slide down toward the gap. As it slid over the edge the rope caught it and held. Aziru pulled the pack back up and then threw it again. Once again the result was the same, the pack slid down the cliff face.
On the third attempt, Aziru aimed for a cluster of rocks, hoping they would keep the pack from sliding back down if he threw it far enough. He missed the target area, but a lot of snow went into the air as the bag landed. And there it stayed.
Aziru had learned something from throwing the bag to the other side. The rock was slick and mostly ice. The advantage he had over the bag was that he could act to prevent his fall. Examining the rope, he noticed it had frayed. It could have snagged on a sharp rock or the rope could be poorly constructed.
Either way it didn’t matter. Aziru was going to jump across. He tacked one end of the rope into the side of the cliff, away from where he had thrown the pack across just in case there was a rock that could cut through the rope. Then he unraveled the length of the rope for as far as it would stretch and tied it around his waist. It didn’t leave him much room for the run up to the edge.
Aziru jogged forward, judging the footing, testing to see if there were spots that rose or fell beneath his feet, feeling how the spikes struck the ground and hindered his flexibility. When he came close to the edge he stopped, stared at the distance he had to cross. Did the limits of the rope give him enough room to build speed on the run? Was it dependable?
Far down, at the base of the cliff everything looked small. Slowly, Aziru gripped the rope and held it to his side to keep it from tangling up with his feet. He walked backward, studying the distance, looking once more at the ground, judging at what spot he would need to begin his jump.
Back as far as he could go, Aziru dropped the rope. He pulled out the small climbing pick and his axe. They would help him cut into the ice once he landed. Aziru took a deep breath. Gazed at the spot he needed to begin his jump, then at the distance he had to cross. The group of rocks the pack had landed among were on his left. He needed to get close to them, but not too close.
Taking another breath, Aziru let the cool, cold air fill his lungs. He crouched, preparing his body, feeling his muscles tighten and relax. Another breath, and then he exploded into motion, his legs pounding the ground, taking the force of his body and coming back as his muscles strained to give him enough speed. He pumped his arms, his gaze condensed, focused on the spot he needed to begin his jump. His breath came in short burst, the cold air burning his lungs.
He hit the mark, thrust his body up into the air with every ounce of strength he could muster. His body hurtled the gap, his arms and legs still in motion, nothing but air beneath him as he sailed through the air and crossed the gap.
He landed amongst the rocks. Too close. Smashed into one that set his thoughts spinning. A gash was opened on his forehead and blood began to flow. He was rolling back down the slope, sliding across the slick ice. With little thought he slammed the small climbing pick into the ground. The pick bounced back, unable to pierce the thick slab of ice. Aziru spread his arms out, halted the roll. He was on his back now, inching toward the crevasse and the abyss that would send him tumbling to his death.
Quickly, he rolled over onto his stomach. His axe came down, crunched into the ice. Slowed his momentum. With his other hand he tried again with the small pick. Finally, it sunk in and Aziru came to a stop, his feet dangling over the edge.
The wind swept across the land, stirring up drifts of snow. The snow fluttered back down, a crystalline mist that shone almost like diamonds reduced to dust. The wind pierced Azriu’s furs, made him feel as though he was naked as the day he was born. It caressed his skin, sending shivers rippling all through his body. He could no longer feel parts of his thighs, the tips of his fingers, or the bottom of his toes. No matter how hard he grabbed his furs, he could not pull them tight enough against the intrusive gusts.
He kept his head low, trudged onward toward the structure that rose up from the earth like a refuge created by the gods. The walls rose about five stories high and were capped by a silver dome. When he got closer he could see they were made of marble. Was it Wyborn or Echrod who said the gods lived up here?
With such a magnificent building, Aziru could believe the tales were true. If the gods did live here, what would be the price of his trespass?
No better place to be, Aziru climbed the flight of steps that led up to the door, no longer concerned about who had created such a place or who still lived there.
He pushed open the double doors. The wind screamed inside, howling eerily at his esca
pe from the elements. Aziru turned to close them again. The wind raged on, mad, savage, angry at his escape. As the doors closed the chamber grew quiet and an unnatural warmth was evident. Aziru removed his furs and knelt. He stuffed them into the pack as best he could. With little room inside the pack, Aziru shoved the pickaxe under his belt.
At the end of the room was another double set of doors. Aziru walked to them, placed his hand against the smooth marble surface. It was warm to the touch. Some source of heat kept the walls at temperature when all outside ice ruled the land. There were no torches along the walls, the walls themselves gave off a glowing light that made the building feel like it was early morning to midday.
Opening the doors, Aziru entered a room that stretched the entire length and width of the structure. Black trees, similar to those in the forest, lined the floor in four even rows. Their branches rose up to the ceiling and the marble floor was cut out around them so that their roots sunk deep into rich, black soil.
Painted along the ceiling was a pale blue sky. At least Aziru thought it was painted. The clouds slowly drifted from north to south.
What was the purpose of this place? Where were the inhabitants be they god or man?
Aziru looked down the long rows of trees, the answer was somewhere on the other side of the building and would give him some clue as to what this place was.
He began to walk between the second and third rows, keeping his gaze focused ahead, his axe gripped in his right hand. The room stretched on and on. It felt as though it went nowhere and everywhere at once.
When he looked back, he was amazed to discover the door he had came through was still right behind him. When he walked forward and then looked back again, the door was far away. Whenever he tried to head for the entrance, the distance grew further away. The distance between the two points switching. He finally decided to head away from the entrance, maybe that was the only way he could exit the maze.
As the Crow Flies Page 4
