When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods 4)

by Bruce Blake

  "You'll understand."

  Evalal's words set a tight knot in Danya's gut. What sorts of answers were these?

  No answers at all.

  The princess stopped walking, the lump in her belly growing into anger and frustration. She'd left her home, risked the wrath of Trenan and her parents, lost her brother, and for what? To carry a color-changing seed to who-knew-where in the company of a child? She pressed her lips together, peered at Evalal from under her brows, aware that, an instant before, she'd understood why they trusted the youngster. For that moment, she believed in the Goddess and the mysterious task laid before her. But now exasperation washed it away. Part of her wanted to stop it from happening, but she'd lost control over it.

  "Those are not answers," she snapped. She didn't mean for her words to sound so harsh, but her mouth operated without her consent. "Not another step until you tell me where we're going."

  Evalal faced her, the expression she wore not what Danya expected. Not an air of upset or displeasure, but the aspect one might see worn by a nanny having to explain a simple concept to a child. Her head tilted, a corner of her mouth bent up in a placating smile. The shine in her eyes, the cast of her features infuriated the princess further. She stepped toward the girl; they stood close in height, but Danya took full advantage of the slight difference. She pulled back her shoulders, puffed out her chest. She'd seen Trenan and other soldiers act in this manner when they wanted to appear threatening.

  "My brother is gone," she said, the words forced between clenched teeth. "I've left my family behind. The time for platitudes and vagaries is done. Tell me where we're going, what we're meant to do."

  Evalal's smile disappeared from her lips, but the softness of her countenance didn't change. The princess interpreted what remained in her expression as pity.

  "The Mother of Death told you everything we need to know. The Seed of—"

  "Do not say the bloody seed will guide me," Danya snapped, cutting the girl's words short. She glared at her, hands clenching into fists, her thoughts coiling into one she didn't recall ever having before:

  If she mentions it again, I'll strike her.

  The sentiment caught her off-guard; in her life, she'd never hit anyone other than in practice or jest. Teryk's shoulder often received both gentle and not-so-gentle punches—as his love taps bruised hers—but she'd never struck a single soul out of anger, nor did she remember having the desire to do so. Why should she now?

  "Tut, tut, ladies. Is this a polite way to converse?"

  The voice startled Danya. After traveling the entire morning without seeing anyone, she expected no one within leagues. Evalal's posture stiffened. She diverted her gaze from her companion to the speaker, her usual languid nature absent from the movement, replaced by the woodenness of trepidation. The princess pivoted to see who'd spoken.

  She'd never seen the man before. He wore a thick and unkempt beard, a thin twig caught in it at one side like a rabbit in a trap. His hair—what remained of it—dangled limp upon his shoulders, and the smile he cursed them with lacked at least one tooth, perhaps more. Despite the grin and the calm tone of his voice, the princess suspected this to be someone they didn't want to meet alone on the road so far from help.

  Danya reached for the hilt of her sword, but the thick wool garment thwarted her attempt to grasp it. When fashioning a cloak meant for the sick, ease of drawing a weapon wasn't a consideration.

  "Is it a blade hidden beneath your shawl? Not what I'd expect from someone dressed in the garb worn by the Goddess' tribe. Better move your hand away."

  She dropped her arm, fingers balled into a fist. Why hadn't she considered the difficulties wearing the garment might present? What good were those seasons of training with Trenan if she couldn't draw her blade when necessary?

  "In fact, it be best you take it off. Seems too warm a robe for a sunny day."

  "Do you know what this cloak denotes?" Evalal asked, though she didn't wait for a reply. "We're bound for Ikkundana where my companion will live out her last days."

  "Ikkundana, is it? Sad for such a youngster." He glanced along the trail, then back the other way. "A shame this road don't go near the place. Take off the woolly cloak."

  He lifted his hand, rested his fingers on the short sword hanging at his waist. No scabbard held the weapon; his belt pinned the bare steel against him like something he'd found and possessed no other way to carry it. Danya thought he'd most likely cut himself or the belt if he drew it in haste. Still, with her own blade hidden beneath the unwieldy tunic, she stood no chance to counter him should he attack.

  Danya stole a glance toward Evalal, saw the confidence of her ruse fade and her shoulders sag with it. She possessed no more plans to get them safely away; it fell to the princess to save them.

  She nodded and untied the bows holding the robe closed at the front, unwound the garment from around her and let it fall to the ground. As it slid off, her sword hand darted for the hilt of her weapon. The fellow standing before her reacted by shaking his head and laughing.

  "Tch, tch. I don't think you'll be wanting to do that."

  An instant later, Evalal cried out, startling her. She jerked her gaze toward her companion.

  A second man had sneaked up on them while the first held their attention. Much bigger than the girl, he'd grabbed her around the middle, pinning both arms to her sides, and pressed a short blade to her throat. To Danya, it didn't appear any more than a sharpened butter knife, but enough to open the artery in her companion's neck. The girl's expression of terror drained any thought of defiance from the princess and she let her hand drop from her sword.

  The man holding Evalal grinned, his attempt at a smile proving more gap-toothed than his counterpart. Besides two extra missing teeth and a twig for his beard, they might have been the same person.

  Twin thieves.

  "We got 'em, didn't we, Jon? Got 'em good," the second fellow said.

  "That we did, me brother John." Now the first man took the time to draw his weapon. He inserted the fingers of his free hand between his skin and the belt, ensuring he'd pull the blade without severing it or cutting himself. "Lose the sword belt, lass."

  Danya gritted her teeth, her pulse beating at her temple. She'd never been in a real fight before, only sparring with Teryk or Trenan or one of the other soldiers. Part of her felt nervous at the prospect of engaging this man, but the possibility of testing her training excited another part. It took one more glance at the panic in Evalal's eyes for her to give up the thought. She used two fingers to draw her sword, held it dangling in front of her to show she posed no danger, then let it drop to the ground.

  "Don't hurt her," she said, staring at the first man, the point of his short sword directed at her with the practiced ease of someone who passably knew how to use it.

  "We won't, but you will have to prove you can listen better. I said to take off the belt. I've a feeling whatever be in your pouch is more likely what we'd be after."

  A chill crawled across Danya's skin, prickling goosebumps on her arms. The seed was the reason for this journey, why they'd left the castle and ended up on this dangerous road. It featured in the prophecy along with so many other things she didn't understand. Belief in the ancient scroll meant a link between the fate of mankind and the Seed of Life. Wasn't it worth more than the life of one young follower of the Goddess?

  The second man squeezed Evalal tighter, soliciting a frightened squeak from the girl's throat. The princess didn't look toward her, but hearing her reaction brought a tightness to her chest and gut. She drew short, shallow breaths through her nostrils as she rubbed the back of her teeth with the tip of her tongue.

  What would Trenan do?

  A simple answer: he wouldn't have put himself in this situation.

  Resigned, Danya reached down and unbuckled the sword belt, took it from around her waist, and held it out toward the man, dangling it from her fingers. She looked at the pouch drooping off it, imagined the seed inside, h
ow its surface changed colors before her eyes, the trial she'd been through to retrieve it. Was it supposed to end this way? She might hold the fate of the world in her hand, and she was about to give it up to two toothless, unkempt brigands in the middle of nowhere.

  "Don't—" Evalal whispered, her word cut off by her captor squeezing her tighter.

  No one else spoke. They stood for a long stretch of heartbeats, the belt swaying in Danya's grasp as the first man stared at the pouch and she watched him staring. They might have remained stationary longer if not for the interrupting crunch of a boot heel on dirt.

  The brigand diverted his gaze down the road toward the sound, then Danya did the same.

  She recognized the tall, slender fellow right away. They'd met the weapons merchants before leaving the inn. Which one was he? Fellick or Ive?

  And where is the other?

  The princess cast her gaze behind him, looking back along the dirt track, but saw nothing. No wagon bearing swords and axes, and no stocky partner standing in the lane.

  "Halt yourself where you are," the man holding the short sword said. He'd developed a quiver in his arm enough to shake the tip of his sword. "Ain't a thing here concerns you. Turn around and walk away."

  The tall fellow continued toward them for ten more paces before halting. For someone who looked far from imposing and dangerous and appeared to have no weapon, he carried himself with a great deal of confidence.

  "I beg to differ. I presume the two of you must be Jon and John? What other set of twins does one find along this stretch of road?"

  "Aye, that we are," Evalal's captor said, pride noticeable in his tone. "You've heard of us."

  "I have," he conceded. "And do you know who I am?"

  Twig beard nodded. "You're the weapons merchant. You pass this way often."

  "I do. And what's my name?"

  His gaze held the man with the short sword as though he looked right into the fellow instead of at him. The subject of his intensity swallowed hard, throat clicking.

  "Ive."

  "Correct. Of Fellick and Ive. Do you understand my meaning?"

  Danya wasn't sure what she was watching transpire. Her gaze trailed from the weapons merchant to first the one Jon, then the other. Both men's eyes flickered away, searching along the road or into the forest beside it.

  "I'll happily answer for you, gentlemen. It means Mr. Fellick is near. My friend and business partner is never far. You'll not want to anger him, I believe. He's a good man, but I'm afraid an ill temper is a shortfall of his." Ive shook his head and clicked his tongue. "He has such trouble controlling it."

  The weapons merchant wore a bemused smirk; despite being outnumbered, he knew he'd won the exchange by mentioning his partner. The two brigands appeared resigned to end the standoff, but they both remained a measure too wild-eyed for Danya's liking. Would they let it finish with a whimper, skulking away with nothing to show for their efforts, or leave in a splash of blood and chaos? Though the knife the second man held was small, it looked sharp, its point deadly. The muscles in her body tensed, turning her rigid; she clenched her fists so tight, her nails dug into the palms of her hands. Her knees bent, ready to launch her toward Evalal should he make the wrong move.

  But the girl must have noted the change in Danya's attitude. She caught the princess' eye and shook her head ever so slightly. The air crackled briefly with the indecision of the two men, then the first lowered his arm, the tip of the sword drooping until it pointed at the ground. The bit of his cheeks visible above his beard had turned red, and he appeared to find it difficult to keep his gaze on one subject for more than a second.

  "Let the young ladies go and take your leave and I'm sure Mr. Fellick's mood will not sour."

  Jon with the sword looked to his brother, nodded once, and backed away. He didn't raise his weapon again, but neither did he return it to its place at his belt. His companion lowered his knife, pushed Evalal from him as he followed his twin's retreat. The girl stumbled, but Danya got to her before she fell, catching her under the arms and keeping her on her feet. The sudden action with her body already so tense forced a knot beneath her shoulder blade. She winced at the pain, but the relief of her companion's safety made her forget it.

  After retreating five or six paces, the two would-be thieves turned and ran, veering off the road and into the woods. They thrashed through the brush, their figures disappearing amongst the foliage long before the sound of their passing faded.

  "Are you alright?"

  Evalal nodded as she stood upright and brushed off the front of her smock with the palms of both hands. "Goddess protected me, as she does."

  Behind them, the tall man snorted. "No one has called me a Goddess before."

  The girl's mouth tilted in a smile reminding Danya of the patient expression of a parent explaining something to a child who couldn't understand. The princess strapped her sword belt back around her waist as her companion took the time to set the weapons merchant straight.

  "No, you are not a goddess, Mr. Ive, but, whether it is within your awareness, Goddess' will brought you here."

  "I am a merchant. This is a merchant road. Look close enough and you'll find the tracks of my wagon's wheels in these ruts."

  "Of course. But to be here today, at this moment—Goddess' work."

  Ive waved his hand, dismissing her assertion. "Yes, yes. Goddess looks out for her sheep. And yet it's common to have mutton for dinner, isn't it?"

  Evalal's smile did not fade, but the princess saw a change in her companion's eyes. Not resignation—a man of the weapons merchant's ilk couldn't sway her faith—but a weariness Danya didn't expect to see in a girl so young.

  "My compatriot is waiting around the next bend, guarding our wares. You've seen Mr. Fellick; he's exceptional at protecting things. We can make room in the wagon for you."

  His gaze held Danya's as wind rustled through the trees and a crow flew overhead, cawing at them. The princess wanted to respond—and the weapons merchant's demeanor suggested he expected the same of her—but how she should do so failed her. All she thought to do was stare at the man.

  "It's this particular skill of Mr. Fellick's that brought me here," he continued, sensing they needed further explanation. "While you'd certainly say Mr. Fellick is the brawn in our partnership, the fact leaves the brains to me; I do my best to accept this mantle with humility." He chortled a laugh as dry as his humor. "It occurred to me: if I have ever seen two souls in need of protection, they belong to the young ladies standing before me."

  A smile crept across his lips. It held none of the comfort Evalal offered when she smiled, but neither did it suggest menace. His grin sat squarely in between, as though painted by an artist unsure what to do with the mouth. The princess glanced at her companion; if his demeanor set her at unease, she didn't show it.

  "Thank you for your concern," Danya responded, "but we have no need of an escort. We appreciate your offer of protection but it's unnecessary."

  "I understand how one might believe such to be the case." He lowered his chin, gazed upon them from beneath his brow. "Your response is what I'd expect of someone who has never traveled this road, but you have seen what dangers it can hold. Jon and John are the least of the perils you may encounter. This is a merchants' route, a fact well-known by the lesser element of our society. This is why I travel with Mr. Fellick." Ive leaned forward, spoke in a quieter timbre. "It's not for his social graces and pleasing conversational skills, to be sure."

  "We will be safe, Mr. Ive." Danya's tone hardened a degree.

  "I'd never forgive myself if Mr. Fellick and I left you to your own devices and ill befell you. Then we'd shoulder the fault as much as the perpetrators."

  Heat rose in the princess' cheeks. Part of her—the part experiencing gratitude for Ive's presence having negated the threat to Evalal—thought it might be a good idea for them to have protection. But the other part—the larger part—argued they knew the weapons merchants no better than the twin bri
gands who'd accosted them. Then pride weighed in. She was the kingdom's princess, trained by the best fighter in the king's army—she needed no one's help.

  "We—"

  The tall man's smile melted from his face. "Please don't make me insist. I am not enamored with forcing aid on others. It is so much more pleasant to give it to those who accept with grace."

  Danya glared at him, the knot in her back making its presence known again. She resisted the urge to roll her shoulder to relieve the pain, using it instead to fuel her anger at the man's suggestion of their inability to take care of themselves. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Evalal laid her hand on her forearm. The girl turned away from the weapons merchant, leaned closer to her companion.

  "I think we should accept his offer." She spoke in a whisper.

  As Danya's brows angled toward the bridge of her nose and the frustration she'd felt at Evalal before the twin brigands appeared returned, a tickle on her leg distracted her. She shifted to assuage the irritation without success. Evalal whispered again before giving her the opportunity to reply.

  "Sometimes Goddess makes the path clear."

  The irritation in Danya's thigh grew until it became less a sensation and more a vibration. She reached her hand down, meaning to use her touch to calm it, when her fingers encountered the pouch dangling at her belt. She realized the quivering didn't begin in her leg, but emanated from within the doeskin bag. Startled, Danya felt her breath catch in her throat at the realization.

  It's trying to communicate. What does it want me to do?

  Evalal watched her companion touch the purse. "What does the Seed tell you?"

  Danya's resistance and anger dissolved and, for an instant, she forgot the other two people standing with her on the dirt track. Memories flooded her mind: Teryk, the scroll and its prophecy, the Mother of Death and her proclamations. They didn't clarify the meaning of the Seed of Life's vibrations but brought focus to her thoughts; the world needed saving and, like it or not, she'd become linked to it. No matter what it took, accomplishing her tasks—whatever they may be—must be more important to her than everything else.