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

by Bruce Blake

  He took a step away, reset, and the other fellow smiled.

  "An honor to meet you, swordmaster Trenan. I'm sure you've never heard of me, but they call me Fellick."

  "Fellick. If you want to leave here with your life, release the prince and princess."

  "Prince and princess, you say?" He tossed a casual glance over his shoulder. "These two? You must have made a mistake. You'll find the heir to the throne hidden somewhere in Draekfarren castle, playing games and learning lessons, not on a patch of grass outside the Green. This be the foretold man from across the sea."

  Trenan fell on him again as he spoke the final word, but the attack didn't catch him off-guard. The blow struck the edge of his blade, slid toward the hilt. With a twist of his wrist, he guided it away. Fellick chose not to counter, instead waiting en garde for the master swordsman's next strike.

  What is he up to?

  He moved to circle him, gaze darting over the fellow's shoulder at Teryk and Danya and the slender man.

  "Over there's Ive," Fellick said, repositioning himself to keep Trenan from slipping past. "Won't hurt them. Not unless I tell him to."

  "Fellick and Ive are the foremost weapons merchants in the Windward Kingdom. You cannot be them. Why kidnap the prince and princess if you are?"

  "You flatter us, sir," Ive called from his place near Danya. She appeared to cringe at the sound of his voice in her ear. "But we are the men of whom you speak. I believe we provided you a sword once. Not the one you wield today, but a lovely hunk of metal, nonetheless."

  Before Trenan replied, Fellick pounced. The master swordsman raised his blade in time, catching the blow. The clang of steel rang out, but he realized his opponent held back from striking with his full force and strength. Instead, he manipulated the attack, so he ended up with his face near Trenan's ear.

  "Have you not seen the fire in the night sky?" he whispered, breath hot on Trenan's neck. "More is at work here than you understand."

  Trenan jerked away, pulling himself from his opponent's grasp. He glared at the man, wanting to question what he meant; he'd watched the streaks of light crossing the sky, appearing to head for the ground, but care should he have for shooting stars? His mouth opened, intending to ask for an explanation, but Fellick attacked again, interrupting his intent. Their swords clanged together again and again. Each blow sounded vicious and likely created a convincing display, but they carried far less than the stocky man's full strength. Confused, Trenan defended himself but didn't counterattack.

  Fellick's advance pushed him in a semicircle, turning him so he saw the complement of warriors who'd accompanied him from Ikkundana. Sun blazed on arms and armor of the women sitting their horses. They watched, awaiting any signal he needed their assistance. They'd stay thus, holding their ranks as he'd taught them, until he told them otherwise or the enemy forced their hand.

  What's that?

  Movement in the bush beside them, behind. A flash of black, then Fellick's attack turned him again, faced him away from his troops. His heart jumped into his throat; the women ranked among the best warriors he'd seen, but they remained untested. In his turns of the seasons training and teaching young soldiers how to fight, how many times did he see his most promising swordsman cut down by their initial adversary? How many froze or fled at the first drop of blood? No matter how confident he felt with anyone's ability, he couldn't guess their true mettle until their weapons tasted flesh, or steel kissed their skin.

  Trenan took the fight to the stocky man, pushing him back toward the others to position himself to peer up the hill. A figure emerged from the brush, features hidden beneath a black cowl. He didn't appear to hold a weapon, though Trenan couldn't see his hands; the dark robe covered him from the top of his head to his feet. None of the warriors noticed him—the master swordsman needed to warn them.

  He deflected Fellick's next blow, then launched a counterattack purposely taking him near the man. He intended to plant his hand against the fellow's chest and push him away, give himself enough room to signal his troop of the impending danger. Before he did, Fellick guessed his intent, caught him and pulled him close.

  "Leave it be," he said, the words carried on a harsh whisper. "Everything about to happen must transpire."

  Trenan stared into his face, pushed against him to break his grip, but he proved too strong. Realizing he couldn't escape the stocky man's grasp, the master swordsman tilted his head and hollered a warning.

  "Yoli! Look out."

  As soon as he spoke the words, Fellick released him. Trenan stumbled away and made what should have been a fatal mistake: he turned his back on his opponent. He didn't have to put thought to it to realize what he'd done, but the need to warn his warriors, to rush to their aid, caused his choice.

  Other figures emerged out of the brush and trees around the riders, all clad in the same black robes, save one. Instead of attacking, they encircled the warriors, arms raised to the sides of their bodies. The women took notice of them at Trenan's warning and faced them, weapons poised to defend. They outnumbered the men three to one, but the sense of danger hanging in the air made it seem the opposite.

  Before any of them moved, the pommel of Fellick's sword contacted the back of the swordmaster's skull. An instant of agony exploded through it, then the world slipped into darkness.

  ***

  The master swordsman's eyelids fluttered open to find himself sprawled on the ground staring at blue sky. He turned his head to the left, cringed at the pain it caused. Beyond a set of legs—Ive's, he judged—grass carpeted the way to the shimmering emerald wall separating the Windward Kingdom from the wilds of the Green. He pushed himself up on his elbow, aware his sword no longer lay at hand.

  The tall and spidery Ive occupied the space between him and the veil. On a log to his left sat Princess Danya and a young woman he didn't recognize, their hands bound, both of them unmoving. A short distance away, Fellick stood beside Teryk. The stocky man's own weapon rested in its scabbard but he held the crown sword loosely in his off hand. Trenan took this in briefly before redirecting his gaze.

  The prince barely looked himself. In fact, if the master swordsman hadn't been with him since birth, he might not have recognized him. Fine reddish-blond whiskers well beyond being called stubble lined his jaw and upper lip, and his dirty, knotted hair hung longer than when last Trenan saw him. It suggested the passing of a much greater amount of time than had truly elapsed.

  "Teryk?"

  The prince's eyes flickered toward him, but the expression they bore lacked recognition. He appeared confused, distressed.

  "Teryk?"

  "He doesn't understand," Danya answered for him. "Or know where or who he is. Words make no sense to him."

  Trenan glanced back and forth between them.

  "Are you all right, princess?"

  She shrugged. "They haven't harmed me or Evalal." Her eyes moved toward Ive, then crossed the space to Fellick before returning to Trenan. "But neither have they let us leave."

  "My humblest apologies," Ive said, though to Trenan's ears he didn't sound either the slightest bit apologetic or humble. "But now we have your brother, our time together is drawing near its end."

  Danya's face contorted as she tried to divine what the weapons merchant's words meant, but Trenan understood. Service in the king's army taught him to assume the worst. Do not expect mercy from the enemy, and give none in return. They wanted Teryk and needed Danya no more. When you're done with a thing, you get rid of it.

  Ive left his place beside the princess and her companion—Evalal must have been who Trenan saw spiriting her away from the execution—and crossed the short space to Fellick and her brother. His footsteps padded in the grass, the lone sound outside the gentle waft of a breeze in the trees, the buzz of unseen insects. Trenan heard no clash of weapons, no shouts of battle. What had happened to his warriors and the men surrounding them? He thought to pivot himself around, peer back up the hill, but the scrawny man's approach to the prince
might hold some threat. Although he held no weapon, Trenan readied himself to leap to Teryk's defense should the need arise.

  Ive settled in beside the younger man, towering over him, a wan smile on his lips as he reached out and grabbed the lad by his shoulder. Teryk raised his gaze, his expression holding no panic or distress; Ive wasn't gripping so tight as to hurt him or cause discomfort. The weapons merchant faced him again.

  "Speak to him now."

  Teryk's eyes widened and he, too, looked to Trenan. The sword master hesitated, and the prince stared at him, waiting.

  "Are you all right, Teryk?"

  His mouth dropped open in a parody of surprise. After a few seconds, it snapped shut again, as though he realized he'd left it agape. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing. His lips twitched.

  "Teryk? Is that me?"

  Trenan blinked. "You are Teryk, prince of the Windward Kingdom."

  What's happened to him?

  XXXIV Rilum – Not So Long Ago

  One of them stirred with the sun risen enough in the sky to cast light upon the forest, but not so high as to melt the layer of hoarfrost whitening the green leaves of the brush.

  The chill of the rime touched once-was-Rilum's spine. As he shifted for the first time in days, it crackled, a second skin splitting wide to allow his movement. Moments later, one of the used-to-be-men raised his chin. Eyes grown over by a thin, white film examined the trees at the edge of the clearing. Ears diminished to naught but pinpricks listened. A tongue protruding through a mouth too small for a finger to penetrate tasted the air. A nose that had melted into its face, the nostrils darker spots beneath ghastly pale flesh searched for and found his scent. Its head bent toward him.

  Once-was-Rilum rose from his hands and knees. The hunger no longer burned in his gut alone; it flowed through his body, his arms and legs, threatening to tie his muscles in knots. If he looked down, he might find a hole in his middle.

  He didn't. Nor did he pay heed to the one who'd detected his presence. He barely held the craving at bay. It drove him, heightened his senses so he felt every living thing around him: the little long-tails scuttling though the detritus scattered across the forest floor; the furry ones climbing in the trees; the fliers; the creepers. Only the small ones nearby—larger prey had scented them and given them a wide berth. He caught the odor of a sharp-tooth, but too distant for him to catch.

  For the first time in many sunrises, he took a step. Time to feed.

  ***

  By the time he'd collected enough of the smaller creatures, all four of them were awake and standing. They remained together in a group in the middle of the clearing, staring at him as he approached. How could they bear to be so near one another when the hunger must be on them the way the orange fungus insinuated itself in the bark of the trees? Whenever he woke from a sleep, blood lust forced him to eat any living thing close to him.

  They watched him stride out of the woods, three of the furry climbers and two long-ears dangling from his blood-soaked hands. He'd resisted the hunger until it made him dig his fingernails into one of the long-ears. He'd pulled free a handful of its innards and smeared them across his face before bringing them to the huddled group. A string of intestines still hung from the eviscerated animal, a loop of wet, pink insides dragging on the ground collecting rotting needles and bits of dirt on its tacky surface.

  One of the four stepped away from the others. The remaining patches of long hair on its head identified it as the fellow once-was-Rilum thought of as their leader. He ate first when he left food for them, drank water before his mates. No noticeable difference between them suggested why. Perhaps in their previous lives, he'd been in charge and it carried through to their new existence within the hunger.

  The hole in the fellow's face where men had mouths stretched open and a sound like rocks rubbed together found its way out. An attempt to communicate from one without the ability directed toward another with no possibility of understanding. Once-was-Rilum continued his approach. When he came within ten paces, he tossed his spoil into their midst, including the one he'd already fed upon. Other prey skulked about the forest waiting for him.

  They fell on the feast with no hesitation, growling and snarling until their sharp nails pried open the animals' bellies and they pressed the steaming flesh to their faces. The animalistic noises turned to slurping and sucking, wet sounds that brought the hunger back to once-was-Rilum.

  Satisfied they'd gotten enough sustenance, he headed into the forest to find more game for himself. Once accomplished, and the craving grew quiet again, he'd return with more for them. And then he'd teach them to hunt for themselves.

  XXXV Horace - Creatures

  It weren't dark yet, but it were gettin' damn close.

  Horace's boots scraped along the forest floor as he pressed on, still by himself. He'd seen no sign o' Ivy, not that a man o' the sea knew anythin' about trackin' in the woods. If a horse galloped its way through, he might've missed signs it'd passed by. Put him on the deck o' any ship and he'd taste the wind and tell you how bad the storm were goin' to be. He'd figure the direction a boat headed by the shape o' the waves. Sometimes, he claimed the ability to smell how close they was to land. In the woodland, everthin' looked, tasted, and smelled like a forest with no distinction between one thing and another.

  He pressed on. What other choice did he have? Lay down on the ground and wait to be ate by animals or bugs? Didn't sound like a good time. At least this way he might find Ivy and, if he did, she'd get him the hell outta here.

  He'd given up callin' out her name a while back thinkin' it more likely to attract them things he didn't want to have comin' for him than gainin' her attention. She were a creature used to the woods and this place they called the Green. When she wanted to find him, she'd do so. In the meantime, he just had to stay alive.

  With great care where he placed his feet, Horace walked beside the translucent veil. While he found himself navigatin' the tangle o' forest on this side, it looked like grass on the other; not that he trusted his eyes 'cause the nature o' the shimmerin' curtain kinda turned everythin' to smudges. He wondered if he'd ever find himself on the other side again. But wonderin' wouldn't get him anywhere, nor keep him from becomin' some beast's meal.

  The ol' sailor shuddered and directed his attention back to his forested bit o' the veil, searchin' between trees for signs o' his friend's sister, watchin' for a creature comin' to eat him. Weren't long before he caught a glimpse o' movement between trunks ahead.

  Horace stopped dead in his tracks, his breath turnin' shallow. For a bunch o' beats from his speedin' heart, he saw nothin' else. The biggest chunk o' him surged with hope at the possibility o' findin' Ivy again, but he weren't takin' no chances until he knew for sure what his peepers was showin' him.

  A patch o' dark fur flashed between a couple more trees and Horace's rapid breath got itself caught in his throat and stopped up completely. Coldness touched his skin and prickled the hair along his arms. The thought o' turnin' tail and gettin' the hell out occurred to him but he realized thrashin' through the brush, the thing'd discover him quicker. Best to stay put and hope it didn't sniff him out.

  A wide, thick bush adorned with jade leaves and ruby berries blocked the creature from his view again. He glanced side to side, prayin' for a glimpse o' Ivy comin' to his rescue the way she'd done the first time they met. He found the space around him empty o' any sign o' the gray lady and his chest threatened to buckle 'round his heart. Energy rushed into his limbs, the fight-or-flight part o' him gettin' ready, but he struggled against the urge. Start backin' away made more sense.

  He eased his right foot back, movin' it with slowness and care to avoid attractin' the beast's attention. It were goin' the same direction he'd been headin', so maybe, just maybe.

  Horace wondered if the furry beast had the ability to climb trees, or if he himself'd be able to if it came down to it.

  The animal's broad head and shoulder emerged from behind the
brush, its gaze trained straight ahead without notice o' anythin' to either side. It loped out into the open. About then's when he saw the woman.

  She walked beside the beast, dwarfed by its size, her skin shining extra white next to its blackness. Her hand rested on the scruff o' its neck, disappeared into the thick fur so it looked like she didn't have one.

  Horace's mouth fell wide, an unintentional breath whistlin' its way into his chest.

  He regretted doin' so and slapped his palm o'er his gob, waitin' for the beast to gaze toward him, to bare its teeth and snarl. It didn't. Turned out he stood far enough clear for it not to hear. Now all he had to do were to hope it couldn't scent him, either.

  He shook his head, attemptin' to wipe away this impossible vision o' woman and animal. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, stared at them expectin' the two o' them to disappear like nothin' but a tricky shape in the mornin' mist. But it weren't mornin', and the forest didn't contain no mist. Fearful spit flooded into his mouth so much, he needed to suck it back in lest he drool down his chin. It became clear he were lookin' at somethin' real: a woman with her hair cut short walkin' alongside a hairy, sharp-toothed behemoth, the fingers o' her one hand graspin' the fur at the big critter's neck. Exactly the kinda thing he'd worried might find him and eat him if he spent too much time in one spot. The creature, not the woman.

  All his thoughts about escapin' left him in a hurry. So far, it didn't hear him or catch his aroma; couldn't take a chance on it seein' him, neither. In spite o' the fear and worry about the ferocious beast, his mind wandered on back to the woman walkin' beside it.

  How come it ain't eatin' her?

  The first o' many questions what rattled their way into his noodle.

  Who is she? How'd she get behind the green curtain? How'd she make a thing like that her pet?