I am Simon. I am Simon. I must be Simon or I will not survive.
I started to gather my own gear together from where it had been scattered during my madness. I brought up a tunic to slide it over my head, and my hands brushed the bandage across my chest. It marked the newest member of a forest of old scars, but the newest stood out, white and content, against the others. Each one a memory of this old woman and her wisdom putting right what I had broken.
The dark part of me spoke: Don’t be sentimental. She would not have healed you if she knew who you were.
Gelia turned to me and saw my face before I could control it. I don’t know what she saw, but it worried her. She reached out and gripped my arm, trying to impart some strength to me.
Something else inside me replied; That’s not true. She knew from the beginning.
You served her master. She served her master, nothing more. And to that I had no answer. All color drained from her inside my mind, leaving her a hollow form, easily disposed of. I slipped into a numb fugue as the tunic over my head and followed it with a leather doublet. The calculating part of me fell silent to a host of ghostly chattering memories as I laced the arms tightly, pulled on my breeches and heavy boots.
“Expecting trouble?” She asked, a touch too innocently
I looked down, and while my mind had been picking through days gone by like a child with razor edged toys, Left and Right had been busy boys. My quick eyes picked out a dozen hidden blades, spikes, needles, vials, and the one deadly ring. Crow socked Simon, sending him reeling and saying, “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me expect otherwise.”
But rather than settle her, Gelia puffed up further, “Crow, you had better put those thoughts to their grave.”
My fingers were paralyzed, desperately trying to pull my hands apart as they went in different directions to reach a weapon. Guilt flooded me, freezing cold in my gut, boiling hot in my face, and completely foreign to my soul. I cleared my throat, “What-”
“I don’t know what you have remembered, but I doubt you suddenly found out you are a scion of King Ryan.” Gelia kneeled before me and took both little murderers in her two tender healers, “I know she fancies you. I know you are smart enough to know how much. Please, please, tell me you are smart enough to know that this cannot happen.”
And suddenly what she was saying crashed into me like a dying man dropped from a parapet. I blinked hard, squeezing my eyes with the palms of my hands. Fires raged inside me, and Simon could not catch all the sparks before they raged into bonfires. The thunder within rolled like an angry God, shattering my walls like kindling. For a moment, I was thirteen again watching the horrors War unfold all around me.
Gelia embraced me and whispered, “I will wait for you on the landing.”
And she left. And it was best she had, for behind her was the shaven headed maniac that had stared at me out of every reflective surface since I had awoken. If she had stayed there would be no doubt: I was going to kill them all.
15
A World of
Pale Shapes
The Grand Duchess looked up from her dispatches, her beautiful eyes weary. So young, and chained with such weights, and yet she rose to the occasion like a…
She will betray you, I remembered, She will betray you again.
Aelia glowed in bright colors. Her cheeks were in full flush even as the paleness of her neck pulsed in the lamplight. Her auburn hair fluttered like memories of autumn as she pored over missives, lists, and maps. I felt my pulse quicken as I calculated how many gold coins she was worth dead.
Aelia had been planning on safeguarding herself, now she was planning a war. She had discarded the complex whalebone corsets and skirts for something that more closely resembled the riding clothes she had worn in the last weeks' travel. It was a good thing, since trailing skirts and long sleeves would definitely spill papers and demolish colored blocks stacked on a map of the Kingdom to the floor. At a glance, troops were being marshaled northward. It was not hard to guess why. Nor why such a move was complicated.
Even at half the age of most of the men in the room, she still commanded them around like the noble-born she was. They were all shadows, echoes of threats unworthy of my attention. Each would take a single cut or trust to turn aside as empty bags of blood and gold. In the corner Roehm scowled at me through a puffy visage, and I blanked my face as I marked him for certain but slow death should the opportunity arise.
Aelia saw me, and I was comforted by the arrows inside her gaze. She began to pale in my mind, and I took courage from the distance. This would be combat, and I knew combat. Her entire day had been taken up studying maps, trying to deploy forces to contain the border. Well, those parts of her day not taken up with dealing with the destruction I had left in my wake.
“What?” Her words were like the crack of a whip. Too bad for her I have endured real whips, and only feared them when actually present.
I stepped up to the table, but Simon inside my head waved off all mental costumes. I answered calmly, “I am here at your service, My Grand Lady.”
She dug into her belt pouch and took out a cheap bag of sewn canvas and tossed it onto the table. A single small disc escaped and rolled toward freedom, but I caught it before it ever had a chance to fall. “There, Crow. That’s all I owe you. Take it and go. You are dismissed from my service.”
The buttery, beautiful golden coin popped to the top of my fist with only a few shifts of my fingers. The light sparkled across the surface like a winking woman, but then Aelia shifted and I focused upon her again. Suddenly she seemed much smaller, so much more fragile. “How will you fend off assassination without me, Milady?”
She became painfully aware that everyone in the room was gawking at the two of us. “Out!”
Nobody moved.
“Milady?” one of the functionaries- either a general or a handmaiden from the complexity and puffery of his uniform- asked tentatively.
“OUT!” she roared, and the room emptied with passable speed.
She turned and gave a meaningful look at Roehm. Even with his face swollen from my beating he managed to exude injured loyalty. He stood stiffly and began shuffling out with a pronounced limp.
He paused when he was abreast of me and mumbled swollenly, “If you touch her I will kill you.”
I affected a light tone and smiled dangerously, “I’m sorry, didn’t catch that. Were you stung in the face by wasps? Or did you bite off too much to chew?”
He was glaring at me for long after he left.
As the door shut, Gelia let herself in and stood in the far corner, seeking to become invisible in the manner of servants of a noble house down through time.
Aelia straightened out her dress, feeling uneasy of a sudden, “You shaved your head.”
I felt at the ragged stubble, confused. This was how I should always wear my hair, short and harder to grab by an enemy. The only time I grew it long was to ingratiate myself with nobles, “It seemed practical.”
“You remember now.” She said, and it was not a question.
Now I can say for certain that I have a rule: When sharing a secret with another person never, never, never, ever say anything even remotely like: ‘She told you.’ It is much better to just nod and say nothing. So I did.
“Will I like you now, Crow?” Aelia stood straight, swirling her hair up in a simple knot held together with a single pin. She was acting brusque, but her eyes could not lie. They dripped with equal parts loss and fear, “Will I respect you? Will I trust you?”
Her questions splashed to the floor around her, leaving interesting patterns just by marking the void of where she stood. It wasn’t what she was asking, but what she didn’t. I felt a pull from behind me as powerful as any primal urge. I turned and caught Gelia’s pleading eyes, and something moved in my heart that Simon could not totally squash. I turned back and bowed my head slightly. I spoke the truth, “No, Milady.”
She nodded, Simon throttled the ghosts of loss tha
t rose inside my head, “I understand.“
Crow wanted to take his leave, but Simon needed more, because he was planning to return, “What happens now?”
She gestured to the room around her. “King Ryan has sent back word. Sir Walden has fallen, and I am to work with Horatio to contain any activity in the Sorrow Wood and North Ridge Mountains-”
“-using your combined troops.” I interrupted, “That’s very clever of Horatio.”
Aelia banged her fist against the table, “Crow-”
“I am guessing that with troops committed to the Northern Ridge and along the Sorrow Wood, you’d be hard pressed to fight a full scale war in memory of your father.”
“Crow.” My name was a tired plea.
“He asked for this, Aelia. He knows that you know.”
“Crow.” And this time is was a firm request.
“You must strike at him now!”
“CROW!” And now an order.
I felt the truth of my words cut the ties between the princess and myself like an icy knife, “My name is Simon.”
She sighed, “Then gather your things and leave, Simon.”
At that moment the only thing that kept her alive was the promise that someone would pay me to kill her later. I swept the pouch of coins from the table and popped them into my shirt. As I walked past her my own thoughts mocked me. See? After you saved her life, safeguarded all that gold, your reward is a few fingernail scrapings from the treasure and the friendliest of get outs.
The burn on my soul sent smoke up my throat which formed into too honest, too hurtful words, “He will have you killed, girl.”
She drew her tired form upright, summoning courage and power from Gods knew where. She clenched her fists to keep them from trembling as she set upon me with her beautiful green eyes, “I am Aelia Conaill, Grand Duchess of Conaill, and if I’m to die then I will do it with dignity.”
And in her eyes there lay worse; A kind of hurt so deep not even the light of the sun could plumb the depths. My chest felt tight like a formation of overdrawn bows. Simon cut the strings and reveled in the welts they caused as they flew free.
I walked past her into the room the boys shared, where the rest of my things had been stored. Inside were the remaining caravan guards that had survived Aelia’s march around the Sorrow Wood: Miller, Theo, Godwin, and Jon.
Theo bounced to his feet as if I were his commander, and not a stranger off the street. He managed to hold off the salute as he asked, “So, you’re going?”
They shuffled like children, staring at the floor with long faces. I knew they had heard, and I guess that at least one had peeked. Both of those I could appreciate, but the threat of imminent weeping disgusted me. They were nothing but pale shapes, hollow bags of muscle and blood. They were little bags of gold waiting to be collected, or tools ready to be used, broken, and discarded. But even small gold is gold and tools are sometimes useful, so I swallowed my harsh face.
“We thought you had gone,” Said Godwin, “Gone.”
“You sure this is it? Maybe if you apologized to Roehm?” suggested Jon.
“What happened to your hair?” Miller asked.
I tried on a bright easy going voice from the wardrobe in my head, “I’m going and I’ll probably be on the road for some time. No living like a noble, caring for long, flowing locks. But before I go, you have all been dedicated students, stalwart comrades, good friends.” And it took real effort to reach into my shirt and produce the coin that Aelia had given me. I held it out to Theo, “Here. This will make up for the wages you’re being docked by that bastard Roehm.”
The boys crowded around as he opened the pouch to see the gold coins inside. The amount of gems I had hidden in my pack was enough to make it a paltry sum, but it still stung. What hurt even worse was giving up the much larger and heavier pouch containing the dead captain’s bribe. “And this is to be split amongst all of you. Call it a going away present.”
Two gasped, Godwin almost fainted, and Theo involuntarily sat down, but the boys kept enough of their wits about them to not hoot and holler like idiots. This needed to be our secret. It was, in fact, a gamble, or maybe a down payment to pave the way toward future earnings. I picked up my pack, heavier now with clothes and boots, but lighter for gold, and embraced the boys like close kin. They said nothing, because they thought themselves men and if they spoke they would cry. I said nothing, because the best lies are never spoken.
I left them and crossed the main room, Theo in tow. The Generals had returned, but Aelia was gone. I cursed silently, because I had needed- wanted her to see me go. I paused by the front door where Gelia wept silently. She pulled me into an embrace that I returned no matter how much it made my skin crawl.
“You must help her, Crow. Put this right.”
I set my jaw, breathed deeply, and spoke the complete truth, “I will return and end this, Gelia.”
“There is the final feast before the auction tomorrow night. Everyone will need a chit from the Grand Duke to get in.”
I nodded to her, “Then I shall have to do something to get a chit, won’t I?”
I reached to her side, and absently lifted her silver flask of holy water. I shook it, it was mostly full, and gave her a questioning look. she nodded emphatically as I packed it away. She smiled at me, not understanding, and I walked out into the hall. She watched me go with a beatific smile, Theo with a puzzled look. Then the door shut and I was free.
Fools.
The world is full of them. They have gone to the playhouses, listened to bards in the taprooms, and clapped at the damned puppet shows. All these things tell them that everything will be all right. They say that a hero always appears. They say that a young boy won’t be abandoned by the noble warrior king as he tromps off to his coronation. The poxy bards don’t tell you his parents are dead. They don’t tell you he almost starves over and over and over.
They lie.
Because what happens is the boy grows up in a world that doesn’t care, and somehow even just surviving is called a crime. And once you are a thief, what matters a few more thefts? After those thefts, what matters a murder? After the first, murders are much easier to forget. Besides, a wolf is not evil for devouring the child: It is simply hungry. I have been hungry, and I devour who I want and the nobles are only angry because the sheep belong to them.
I heard quick steps on the stairs behind me and the pommel of a knife fell into my hand from up my sleeve. It turned out only to be Theo. I waved him back and made to tell him to go back to his duties, but his voice plowed over mine, “What happens now, will they give up?”
I eyed the sack slung over his deliberately set shoulders. I still needed him to get close to Conaill so I overlooked his harsh tone and told him the truth while I looked for a way to twist it to my advantage, “No, the assassins guild will never give up unless the target or the employer dies.”
“So Lady Conaill will be forever watching for a knife in the dark, then?”
There is the opening, “I won’t let that happen, Theo. I may need your help, but we can keep the Lady safe.”
His next words had a definite edge, “And that’s what the gold is for?”
I acted wounded. I acted offended. I was neither. I was shifting the knife in my hand, “No and how could you say such a thing?”
“How are you going to stop the next assassin?” And that question had a honed point.
There was a pressure in my head beginning to build, pushing at my eyes, “I don’t know, Theo!”
“Because you are always a step ahead of them, an expert on all of their methods and all of their equipment.”
“Would you rather I had let her die, Lieutenant?”
And though his voice was lowered, the force of his heart pushed the words into my face like fists wrapped in iron, “How many of their knives do you have on you, even now? How many vials of poison?
I felt storm clouds gather over me, and dangerous thunder rumbling in my voice, “Watch your ton
e, boy.”
“I am only following orders, sir.” He replied, soft voice dripping with sarcasm, “You told me everyone uses everyone else for their own ends, so who are you using, sir?”
“I drop a weight of gold in your lap and all I get is veiled accusations in return?”
“You told me to question everyone, so I ask: The inquisitor mentioned that sword belonging to one of his fellows. Where did you come by it?”
Involuntarily I backed down one stair, “I don’t remember.”
And like a hound after a fox, he followed, “You’re different. You look at people different. You act different. You are not the man we met on the road. I think you have remembered.”
I looked down at his right hand and saw he had a knife concealed there. Feeling my own knife in my own hand, I felt a strange surge of pride in the boy, that he had learned what I had to teach. Now he was finally a man. He was a person, he was real, and I could feel insubstantial hands pushing on me to look out for his wants, for his needs. I shook them off and prepared to murder him as my mouth stalled for time. Since my near death and resurrection I have found I have a talent for saying the worst wrong thing at the precisely wrong time.
“What do you want of me, Theodemar?”
Slowly, he removed the canvas sack from over his shoulder and held it out to me. The movement created a miniature musical slide of coin on coin. His face, however was not giving, but stony and distant, “Nothing Crow. I want nothing from you.”
I took the satchel filled with the pouches I had just given the boys, and my practiced hand counted their number by feel alone.
Theodemar began retreating up the stairs, still facing me, “My men and I are not for sale.”
Your friend is afraid of you, Simon whispered into my mind. I would say your first new friend, but there are no others.
And then Theo was gone.
See how easily you are discarded? See how much you really mean to them?
I Know Not: The Legacy of Fox Crow Page 23
