If Crows Know Best (Mage of Merced Book 1)

by Aimee Gross

  Wils found his tongue first. “Mothers of earth and water and all else that’s holy. We’ll certainly be noticed about the countryside in this rig!”

  “Wait,” I said. “It looks new and sturdy. It can be painted.”

  “Are we painting the team, as well?” Wils said, walking around the back to get the full view of our purchase.

  “It isn’t like putting in your order at the wheelwright’s, see.” Zaffis did not sound offended by Wils’s remarks, for a wonder. He extended a three-step wooden ladder from the door, and hooked the top over the threshold. The bottom reached the straw and he stepped down to join us. “Traveller folk are not drawing much attention from the Keltanese these days, I’m told. This may serve you better than you think at first glance.”

  Wils looked less than convinced. “And the horses? Is no one seeking a pair this fine, gone missing?”

  “Sought they may be, but no one will be seeking them here,” said Zaffis with a wink.

  “Yah, Wils,” said Bar, straightening from his inspection of the horses’ rumps, which bore no brands. “I have been shoeing these two for your da these five years past. So I’ll say to any who might inquire.”

  I went round to their heads, where they both lipped my outstretched hand and flicked their ears at me. Both mares; we could have a herd if we bred them to Halvor Billen’s stallion. If he still had him after the invasion came through, that is.

  “Sure, Donar Estegg. I’ve brought them down myself to be shod,” I agreed. “This is Cider, and the other is … Honey.”

  Zaffis stood with his arms crossed, while Wils completed his circuit of the wagon and team. He checked the lumber and kegs of beans, picked up the horses’ feet, then looked in each one’s mouth. “You’d better say you’ve been shoeing them these three years past, Bar. They’re young yet.” He wiped the horse slobber on his trousers, and came back to face Zaffis.

  “Much finer than expected. Worth the price in these times, I reckon.” Wils took the pouch of gold from his tunic and handed it to Zaffis, inclining his head to him. Zaffis hefted it judiciously, and tossed it to one of the outriders, who began to count it. He passed handfuls of counted coins to his partner, who tucked them about his saddle and stuffed some in his boots and tunic. When he drew aside his oiled cloak, I saw a small crossbow at his back and a knife strapped to his leg. He noted my glance, and gave me a wolfish grin.

  When Zaffis got the sign all was in order, he extended his hand to Wils. As they shook, he said, “Happy to do business again, my lad. We’re finding our trade somewhat constricted of late as the Keltanese fools try to learn how a harbour is run. We welcome your efforts to harass them.”

  “Our ultimate aim is to banish them,” Wils said. “We may call on you for aid in freeing our troops held on the waterfront.”

  “Judian already has my folk working to burrow under the warehouse,” Zaffis laughed. “Orlo says he knows how to get word to you when we are ready to break through.”

  All eyes turned to me. Had I forgotten to mention this when telling my tale of the rescue? “It was Orlo who thought of it, tunneling under. Good news in any case,” I said lamely. “Are the captive women and child well away?”

  “Aye, far and away. I’ll not say where, as the less you know the less you can tell, eh? I was glad you thought to bring them to me once I thought it over, a little like your brother had to think over his wagon and team, see. But you’re right, it’s good to be owed a favor from a man with the harbourmaster’s influence. Though I wish I could see his face when he finds out smugglers, the bane of his life’s work, helped his family escape trouble.”

  With a loud guffaw, Zaffis pulled on his cloak, mounted behind one of the riders, and raised a hand to us in parting. The two men pulled their mounts around and kicked them back out into the rainy night.

  “I don’t think we’ll need Joren Delyth to drive this rig,” I said, to head off discussion of who had set a troop rescue in motion without consultation. “May I try driving it home?”

  “Joren will be driving the heavy wagon we steal. As you well know,” Wils said with an air of dignified resignation. “I can see Zaffis’ point about this wagon. We can hide men within as we travel. I had wondered how we could keep our numbers secret.”

  Miskin and Beckta, silent looming presences through the encounter, now began to laugh and congratulated me for finding Zaffis and Wils for his handling of the exchange.

  Bar would not hear of us setting out for home yet. “Let them get some road behind them returning, in case anyone did note their coming.” He brought us in beside his hearth to dry out, while he gave our new team a bit of grain and water. Gefretta and her mother Nellen told us to take our wet boots off and have a hot cider toddy. It was getting onto hard cider, but Wils did not say I shouldn’t have any on account of being too young. And after all in a few months, I would be thirteen, so was nearly a man.

  Gefretta studiously ignored Wils, which was only fitting with him being a married man, but I could tell by how she went about it that she wanted him to be wounded by her disregard. I don’t think he noticed. Beckta and Miskin both noticed Gefretta, though, and paid her all the attention she could wish. I supposed she was pretty, in kind of a crisp, tart way. But it seemed to me she was someone who always wanted things her way and no other, and no reluctance in telling anyone if they displeased her.

  Wils drove home when we left. Though the rain stopped, the track ran steep and muddy, he said, and the team might not be used to mountain roads. They drove well together, we found. Still, a relief to pull into our own yard, and unhitch our own horses. Wils put the wagon behind the barn, and I took Cider and Honey into their stalls, newly built. Dink whickered to them amiably from his loose box. Beckta and Miskin worked together to treat the wet harness, so it wasn’t too long before we could find our beds. Dawn would come soon enough, and there would be more work ahead, making ready to be highwaymen.

  ###

  In the morning, Gevarr had a laugh at our fancy wagon, but then, like Wils, allowed it would be good for concealing our load of armed men. Morie loved it and wanted to live in it with Murr, full of crabby remarks when I told her we had to take it to do work instead of leaving it for her playhouse. “Da would let me have the pretty wagon!” she shouted at me as I walked away. That was what came of her being everybody’s pet, a girl and the youngest.

  Those villagers who had put in money, as tracked by Wils and Joren, were invited to share in the beans and lumber. Wils’s reputation was fixed as a fair-minded man. Folks were appreciative and he encouraged them to tell their neighbors who hadn’t shared their gold. So, maybe next time we asked, the hold-outs would remember the benefit, Wils told me aside.

  Wils tasked me with restocking all the caves. “Where else are we going to house the troops if we can free them?” he said. “Or had you thought of what to do with them all? We don’t even have a fair idea of their number.”

  “I hope to hear from the apostate, or the smugglers, how many there are all told. The caves are not so large, the ones I used. But there are more, the mountain’s full of them. I think they must all be connected, if we explore further.” I feared he would suggest exploration for my job, too, and I wanted to go to the border fort with him, to Da. “Of course, I could do the exploring, but then I wouldn’t be here to learn the animal craft from Annora …”

  “I’ll set Miskin, Cobbel and Beckta going deeper in, once you’re sure they can find their way up and back without going astray. Pack the pickaxe and shovel on Dink with the other supplies. They’ll likely have to excavate as they go.”

  Probably he did see through my wheedling, but if it went my way, why should I worry further? As soon as I had escorted the men enough that I was confident they could get back to the house, I pestered Annora to teach me horse-lore with Cider and Honey. I needed to make myself essential to our mission.

  Annora watched me practice for hours in the pasture, calling the mares to me, sending them away, all without a word. Wit
h a mere nuance of gesture, she could send them in separate directions, at differing paces, and bid them stop and stand far across the grass. Wieser and the crows lined up by the fence to watch, and Morie and Murr came sometimes, too. Morie generously told me she liked the mares’ names; I had expected her to pout since I usurped her job of naming new animals. She did see fit to contrast my horse directing efforts with Annora’s, saying, “I don’t think you’re doing it right. They like going where Annora tells them.”

  “How do you know they like it?” I said, sweaty and harassed by flies.

  “’Cause they look happy,” she replied, stroking Murr.

  I looked at them cropping grass, immense gleaming beasts, almost seventeen hands, the pair of them. Happy? Equable, maybe. Docile enough. How could I direct them in a way that made them happy to obey? Did Annora make them happy because of her happiness, with Wils home and productive work to do—that made sense to me. I tried to send out cheerful thoughts for my own part, with our plans for rescue and all I was learning about magic making me useful. I took a deep breath, and gestured Cider to come to me.

  She lifted her head from grazing, ambled over to me and pushed her forehead into my chest. I scratched her forelock and she heaved a great sigh.

  “See, like that,” Morie said, satisfied.

  “Indeed. I see,” I said with a smile.

  I tried to explain my revelation to Gevarr as we worked on griming the wagon to make it less flashy. Annora had suggested we rub it with rags dipped in ashes, and Gevarr’s hands worked well enough for that. He could not grip a weapon yet; maybe never would again, according to Wils. Gevarr listened to my tale of better communication with Cider if I set positive intention, and paused in his rubbing.

  “If you become as skilled as Annora, will your brother take you along? And give over his foolishness about taking her with him?”

  “It’s she who wants to go, he doesn’t want to take her. That’s why I’m to learn animal lore.”

  He grunted and resumed with his rag. “I had a war horse, laid his ears back to everybody. I called him Snake, because that’s how he would lash out and bite anyone in reach. I wonder if you or Annora could have made him happy to do your bidding.” He laughed without humor. “I have to think not, and he wouldn’t have been much good in battle if made tame, anyway.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Don’t know. I lost him when I lost my rank. He’s someone else’s problem now. Or fed to the dogs.”

  ###

  Afternoon lengthened into evening. Gevarr and I turned to loading the wagon with sacks of grain for the team. His strength was coming back, if not his grip, and I passed him the burlap bags as he stood behind the wagon’s seat. He stowed them below the bench. I had just handed up the last one when we heard a sudden cry from the east field. Wieser didn’t look up, but Gevarr and I froze. It came again, Annora’s voice, but crying out in laughter, not fear. She appeared on the path to the back gate, skirts pulled up in her fists, running fast. Wils came pelting after, and caught her up at the gate, with an arm slung around her waist. She gave a little shriek, but turned in his arms to twine her own arms about his neck and kiss him. He swept her up after a moment, pushed through the gate and carried her up the stairs into the house, still kissing her.

  Gevarr stood stock-still, watching. Muscles bunched in his jaw, but he did not look away or put down his burden. I did not like to guess what he was thinking.

  “He’s her husband,” I said at last.

  “I’m clear who he is.” He turned his back to me to shove the sack under the seat. It is a wonder the bag didn’t burst.

  I called Wieser and walked to the garden, trying to sort out whether I should get skilled enough to leave Annora home. It could be better for her to come with Wils, than stay home with Gevarr. Or, maybe I would suggest to Wils that Gevarr be shifted to the caves to live with whichever of the men stayed up there while we were gone.

  I told Wieser, “It’s wearing on me to be in charge of everybody. Da coming home can’t happen too soon for me!” She licked her muzzle and wagged her tail.

  ###

  Next morning, I walked into the barn to find Wils and Gevarr having a blazing row in Honey’s stall. Both had their fists balled up at their sides, but with several feet still between them, I did not think they had come to blows. Yet. That looked to be coming next.

  “If she was my wife—” Gevarr ground out, voice getting louder word by word.

  “As she’s my wife, I’ll be the one to say where she goes,” Wils growled, feral and fierce.

  “What do you know about war!” Gevarr shouted. “You have no idea what you’d be carrying her into. Have you ever seen a woman used by troops in blood-lust? Used to the death? I have.” Here he flung out a hand toward me. “Even your boy brother had sense enough to keep her as far away from soldiers as he could!”

  “Leave me out of it,” I said.

  “Sure, he kept her away from soldiers until he took one into our house. I’m still trying to figure why!” Wils glared in my direction, but kept facing Gevarr, every muscle taut.

  “I’m a trained warrior and you are not. You cannot think to keep her safe. Have sense,” Gevarr growled in his turn. Abruptly he ran a hand through his hair, and shook out his arms. “Just let me keep her here with Morie and Virda. Leave me one man, and I guarantee I—we will keep all harm from them until you return. We’ll even go up to the caves now to make sure. Be a man. Don’t put her at this kind of risk because you’re afraid you can’t keep her heart.”

  Gevarr would likely have been successful but for his last remark. Wils had begun to listen up until then, I could see. As soon as Gevarr suggested Wils could lose Annora, Wils’s face shut like an iron gate.

  “You’ll hear my final decision when I am ready. And live with it,” Wils said, and strode out.

  “Stripling fool,” Gevarr muttered to his departing back. “Can’t you make him see reason?” he said, swinging around toward me.

  “I said, leave me out of it. You know he can see how you feel about her, why would he want to leave her in your care?”

  “Because I can take care of her, and he can’t. I would not … trespass, even if the lady would allow.” He gazed off toward the house.

  “Maybe you’d better tell him that, then. Your tongue does not serve you overwell.”

  “I’m a soldier, not a noble,” he grumbled.

  “If a noble is someone who can keep their feet out of their mouth, then you’re right. That’s not you.” I stomped off to get Dink ready for a trip to the cave, which is what I’d been going to do before I got involved in their own private war.

  ###

  I did not need any uncanny sight to see Wils agonizing over whether to bring Annora or no. Growing more desperate to show proficient in the animal lore, I went to the village to try my horse skills with the smithy’s cob, and any other horses there getting shod. I saw no point denying, Annora had the greater skill with horses unknown to her. I did well enough with those familiar ones at home which knew me. I was not so reliable with any others.

  Annora helped her cause by not pleading, pouting or crying. She only said she would not want to be parted from Wils again, having endured it once. Then she held her head high and went pleasantly about her work.

  While I stretched the too-snug harness and added extra leather, I overheard Wils tell Perk, “It would be easy to bid her to stay if she carried on about going. She acts a better soldier here at home than many we passed on the road. Merchants and farmers whining about sore feet and empty bellies.”

  Perk agreed with him, but added, “She hardly looks a Traveller, though, with all that fair hair. You and I and Judian can pass, but not her.”

  “A woman’s hair can be hidden, under cloak or shawl. That’s not what worries me …” and they walked off together, still murmuring.

  Virda heard them talking, too, and looked over at me as I watched them pace away. “Don’t take it so, Judian. Wils will mak
e a wise choice. Your gift with magic and animals he may not have, but he has a gift of his own. He’s like your da. People come to him, and follow him, look to him for what to do. Why do you think these men came from the fort with Wils, when they had only known him a short time, and knew nothing of where he was from?”

  “Because he asked them to be couriers,” I said, but I hadn’t really thought about it before. They were just Wils’s men.

  “Because of his way with people. Your da has it, too.”

  I thought about it for a bit, then said, “He doesn’t seem to have much of a way with Gevarr.”

  “He keeps Gevarr subdued enough, considering how taken the man is with Annora. Did you think I was too old to notice?” she teased, when I feigned shock at her remark.

  “Never,” I said, though Morie once wondered aloud why Da and Virda did not marry, since they were both old. “Because Virda has sons as old as Da,” I had told Morie, who was puzzled why that was a hindrance.

  As soon as we received word from our watchers in Bale Harbour, describing the off-load of a heavy cargo of oats destined for Keltane, Wils declared his roster. Virda would take over the messenger birds, flying between the farm and the harbour and us on the road. Morie of course would stay with her. Cobbel and Gevarr would remain and do the farm work, and take everyone to the stocked caves if danger threatened.

  Annora and I would drive the wagon, with Wils, Perk, Miskin, Beckta and Joren Delyth within, armed with the weapons from the cache Gevarr had shown Wils in the winter. Wieser and my crows would accompany us as sentries, and to fly to and fro with messages as we ran ahead of the oat wagon to stage our ambush.

  Wils’s look as he laid it out dared Gevarr to comment, but the man kept silent, if pointedly so.

  We carried out final preparations for early morning departure.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Why oats?” Joren Delyth asked me as we loaded our remaining gear, plus all the arrows from the arms cache.

  “Because oats can be cooked with just water, which they have aplenty in the underground cisterns, or ground into flour and baked. And also fed to horses. Unless they’ve eaten all their horses and are living on rats by now.” I could not claim to be at my most polite early mornings, and never as polite as Joren.