As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  — 3 —

  Of Frying Pans and Fires

  Food didn’t come on tins after that. A loaf of bread was stuffed through the slot in the bottom of the door, and the rats were just as likely to find it as I. I took to sleeping right in front of the door so I would know the moment it arrived. Of course, I was reduced to pounding the mucky rats with my hands. One good thump usually sufficed, but I can’t begin to tell you the number of times I missed and smashed my fist against the hard stone floor.

  I lost all track of time. I fretted about Tarsha. Did she try to visit? Had Tanris found some reason to arrest her? Was she safe? I spent uncounted hours thinking about her. My autobiography dwindled into confusion and at one point I found myself holding one of the dead rats as I petted it and talked to it. Horrified, I tossed the thing away, shouting and carrying on like a madman.

  And finally, the gods returned.

  Tanris came again with his eyeball-searing, soul-warming torch. “Are you ready yet?” he asked.

  “Am I ready?” It masqueraded as an innocent question, but it set off something within me. The Something came out in a tide of hysteria. “Am I ready?” I screeched. “I’m moldering away in this hellish excuse for a tomb! My beard is completely grown in. My hair and my armpits are infested with fleas. I talk to rats, for the love of the gods!”

  Somehow I found his shirtfront and wrapped both hands in the fabric. “What’s worse,” I whispered, “is that the rats are answering.”

  “Are they, now?”

  “Tanris, I’m going to… I’m going to…” I didn’t know what I was going to do. I sank to the floor and wept uncontrollably.

  “Well, well, well… Lookee here. The invincible Crow crying like a baby.”

  It was true, I could not deny it, but having my old archenemy watching me come apart at the seams irked unbearably. It was enough to give me the wherewithal to pull myself together somewhat. The tears stopped and I wiped my face on the hem of my filthy shirt, unwilling to let him witness my embarrassment any further.

  “That’s all?” Tanris asked, disappointed.

  He wanted pitiful? I could give him pitiful. “I can’t let them see me,” I confessed.

  “Who?”

  I gestured surreptitiously toward the corner with my head. “Them. They see everything. They hear everything. If I let them know I’m weak—” I shuddered fearfully.

  “What will they do?”

  “No, no. I won’t say out loud.” I shook my head vigorously. “No, no, no…” I let my voice sink into a whisper and started rocking again. “Garley’s gone to Hamden town,” I sang, still whispering. “Garley’s gone away. Garley’s goin’ to make his fame, Or so they say…”

  Tanris squatted down in front of me and took my chin in his hand, looking intently into my eyes. My gaze darted to the corner and back, and I licked my lips, twice.

  “You want out of here, little bird?”

  “Out?” I licked my lips again. Then I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “They don’t let anybody out. Except in pieces.”

  He drew back and frowned at me. “I know a way.”

  I hunched closer. “How?”

  “It’s a secret. From them.” He nodded at the pile of rats in the corner. "But it’ll cost you.”

  “Cost me what? I’ll give you anything—my shirt—” I started pulling it off. It would be lovely if some of the fleas took up new residence on him.

  He stopped me with a grimace and a rough hand on my arm. “No, no, not that.”

  I sat back on my haunches to rock again. “Not fair. You’re needling me…”

  He shook his head. “There’s a job that needs a professional touch.”

  “A job? For you?” My posterior hit the floor with a thump and I started laughing. I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. I was still laughing when the torchlight disappeared and the door thudded shut. Then the tears became sobs.

  “Idiot!” I shouted at the darkness. “Stupid, brainless, addleheaded idiot! What have you done?”

  It is no small wonder that the gods deserted me. They had handed me my life on a silver platter; I could not have been more unappreciative had I launched it back at their heads like a weapon. I began to wonder how many other times in the recent past I had inadvertently insulted them.

  I humbled myself, prostrated myself on the floor, and begged their indulgence, forgiveness, and unequaled charity. The list of gods was a long one, and I feared lest I should forget any of them. Not one, but two sly, bold rats interrupted my anxiety. It took all of my faculties to defeat them. I tossed them into the growing pile.

  “Loathsome creatures,” I grumbled. “Why can’t you have the good sense to leave me be? Surely you cannot think that I will meekly sit by and allow you to steal my food, shred my clothing, and snack on my person? Ha! I assassinate every one of you, and still you drive me to distraction lying there in the corner, rotting. You rot. The slops rot. I rot. Could anything smell worse than the lot of us locked up in this room together?”

  In the middle of my tirade the door opened again.

  “The Master will see you now,” Tanris announced without preamble in a voice seething with contempt.

  “Whose master?”

  “Yours, if you know what’s good for you.”

  A light blossomed at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I heaved a sigh of relief. The gods had forgiven me. Who was I to argue over their methods?

  My escort consisted of no fewer than four guards—and the now-familiar feline. Likely, the wretched animal worked for Tanris. Our path kept us below street level. Nary a single window marked the walls until we had nearly reached our destination. The hallways we traversed were well lit, austere, and scrupulously clean. We marched up and down stairs, wound through this corridor and that hall, and made more turns than my addled head could keep up with. Frequently, my companions were called upon to support me. It was a long trip and I was weaker than I cared to admit.

  Much to my surprise—and then my discomfiture—I was taken to a large, ornately tiled room. Sunlight, beautiful sunlight, streamed in through high windows, and for a moment I was carried away in an ecstasy of rapture. Collections of towering greenery arranged in tasteful groups adorned each corner. A huge, footed bath gave off clouds of enveloping steam, which would have been infinitely appealing under other circumstances. Before I had a chance to further examine my lavish surroundings, I was summarily stripped of my clothing and physically deposited into the water. All four guards stationed themselves, box-like, around me. A servant hovering nearby produced a long-handled brush. Wordlessly, he approached and began vigorously scouring my hide.

  “Hey!” I knocked the brush away. He came at me again. “I am not so incapacitated that I cannot bathe myself!” As soon as the brush came within my reach I grabbed it.

  “Let go!” he said, yanking hard.

  “You!” I hauled on my end.

  A quick-thinking guard saved the servant from a dunking, and the flat of Tanris’s blade smacked my hand.

  “Ouch!” I let go of the brush. “That hurt!” My next words were lost in a gurgle of water as Tanris grabbed the hair on the top of my head and pushed me under. He kept me there until I was certain I would soon have a face-to-face interview with every god I had ever neglected. When he was satisfied with my saturation level, he dragged me to the surface and leaned his face close to mine.

  “I am not in the mood for your foolish antics today. Unless you have gills as well as feathers, you had best behave.”

  “I’ll behave!” I said, choking and spewing bath water. “But I can wash myself!”

  Under I went. At times like these I fear I have a secret attraction to torture. Someone grabbed my flailing arms and legs, and the servant applied his brush with renewed energy, scrubbing away grime and whatever might remain of the scabs I bore from my beatings. I must confess that he possessed a sure, swift hand, for he finished before the world had gone completely dark around me. It was a feat I shall appreciate t
o the end of my days.

  Tanris hauled me back into the realm of breathability. Unaffected by my coughing and sputtering, he continued lifting me, still holding me by my hair, until I dangled at the vertical and my feet found purchase on solid ground.

  The trusty servant, apparently not satisfied with the rosy color of my hide, buffed me with a towel coarse enough to have passed for sandpaper. My howling notwithstanding, I was then thrust into silk stockings and a pair of emerald green breeches, then roughly escorted to a stool.

  The servant produced a razor and applied himself to stropping the blade. Just how much of me was that edge going to remove? A hot towel was wrapped around my face and two guards held onto my arms. Tanris kept his hold on my hair.

  “Mmmmh!” I shouted, completely muffled.

  Tanris loosened the towel. “What?”

  “Shave?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let me? Please?”

  “Nope.” He let go of my hair long enough to drag a small table next to me. He had the guard stretch my arm across it, then Tanris himself leaned on my elbow, holding it down while he held his sword poised above. “You sit still for this, and you can keep your hand.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  He lifted the blade menacingly. “Shut up.”

  To my vast relief, the servant was much gentler with blade than he had been with brush. My face was efficiently bared of its overgrowth, and then my hair was trimmed, oiled, and combed. The oiling I could have done without. The strongly perfumed smell of it brought more tears to my eyes.

  They garnished me with a white, lace-frothed shirt; a purple vest heavily embroidered with thread of gold; a crimson cut-away coat with deeply slashed sleeves and silver buttons the size of saucers; a pair of well-made leather shoes with ridiculously pointed toes and finally, a tiny blue hat with an overgrown peacock feather jutting out the side.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, examining myself in a full-length mirror. I could only imagine what my sweet Tarsha would say if she saw me like this. She’d hide the laughter behind one hand, but her eyes would give her away.

  “You don’t appreciate the master’s generosity?” Tanris fingered the hilt of his sword hopefully.

  “His generosity, yes. His taste?” I snorted and waved one hand at the reflection. “I feel like a clown. Still…” I couldn’t help but consider the price the overly ornate clothing would fetch. “Do I get to keep them?”

  Tanris wore an expression of disgust well and often. “I imagine that will depend on whether you choose to accept your new task.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Tanris and the four overwhelming guards herded me out of the bathing room and back into the hall for another trek through a labyrinth of halls.

  “Which do you enjoy most, Tanris?” I asked, eyeing the contents of a half-moon table appraisingly as we passed. “The look of surprise on your victim’s faces, or the power you wield by withholding information?”

  He glared at me, but didn’t answer.

  We stopped next in a kitchen area suitable for a sizable kingdom. The wafting odors of fine, hot food floated enticingly down the corridor. I inhaled appreciatively. Without even trying, I could make out the presence of roasted lamb, sweet rolls, apple pie and fresh lemons. My belly rumbled loudly and eagerly.

  Tanris took me to a small, scarred table in a corner and pushed me into a chair. A servant slapped a bowl down in front of me, and I stared at it in a quandary of disappointment. It held a hunk of ordinary bread—buttered nicely, to be sure—and a goopy mess that might have been stew at some point in its existence. Cutting words sprang to my tongue, but I forestalled them by stuffing the bread in my mouth. I was not going to let my spontaneous wit deprive me of much-needed nourishment.

  Tanris gave a curt nod and watched impatiently as I wolfed down my first hot meal in weeks. Although it did not live up to the advertising of the aromas filling the room, it was edible, and it served to fill a gnawingly empty place in my belly.

  “Where to now?” I asked, licking my lips and standing.

  “Now that you’re clean and fed, the Master will see you.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could persuade you to reveal his identity?”

  “No.” He strode away at a speed that required me to jog to catch up.

  “I’ve never actually met any of the Magistrates,” I confessed. Except for some minor brushes with the law in my youth, I had thus far eluded capture. “I understand some of them are quite cruel.”

  Tanris forbore to reply and we continued along, this time above street level. Many windows decorated these halls, and I made a point of passing as close to them as was reasonable, soaking up the light of the sun. The windows wore dressings of the finest fabrics, and the walls bore a variety of highly artistic, painted coverings decked out in expensive frames. Sconces of solid brass decorated the wall, and imported urns held beautiful, lush greenery. The rugs—well, suffice it to say that it seemed sinful to walk on them. Everywhere there was beauty beyond imagining. It felt almost homey. In fact, I felt distinctly as though I had been here before. The servants we passed were garbed in saffron-hued uniforms of one sort or another. I was certain I’d seen them before, but Emperor Gaziah’s colors—and therefore the colors worn by the guards and the magistrates and their sundry officers—were sapphire blue. It stood to reason, then, that this was not the Hall of Justice. Perhaps, then, the private dwelling of one of those distinguished officers of the law. Shrugging off my uneasiness, I passed off my inability to associate the uniforms with any particular house as a result of my confinement.

  :-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

  My audience was with none other than the illustrious Baron Metin Duzayan—the man from whom I had stolen the Great Gandil. Duzayan was no magistrate, so what did he want with me?

  “Baron,” I greeted, bowing deeply and respectfully as I covertly canvassed the tastefully appointed room. It was evidently Duzayan’s personal study. One other door offered egress and, unless I missed my well-trained guess, it would lead to a receiving parlor where some poor fool admitted or denied entrance.

  A plain-looking man of average height and build, Duzayan dressed in subtly exquisite robes. He stood before a globe carved entirely out of ivory and inlaid with precious jewels, one finger tapping the surface. He examined me cursorily, as though he was dealing with an insignificant underling. “You know me?”

  “I try to make it a point to know all my marks.”

  Tanris gave a hiss of outrage at my temerity, but the Baron smiled in genuine amusement. Something in his demeanor shifted slightly. “You’re not afraid.”

  I shrugged. “I have little left to fear.”

  “Not even death?” he asked, coming closer.

  I moved away from him, toward the desk standing between the door and the window. Its surface was inlaid with a border in a geometric pattern of mother-of-pearl. I ran my finger over the design appreciatively, then sighed. This beauty would never fit into my pocket. “Not particularly,” I answered. A carved ivory dolphin sat on the far corner, and I went to examine it. “I have been at death’s threshold too many times for it to impress me any more.”

  The baron followed me slowly as I made my way around the room. A collection of exquisite glass figurines caught my eye.

  “No misgivings about what might lie beyond?”

  “None.” My imagination supplied me with a vision of the stacks and stacks of gold coins that the things in this room would fetch. The baron made no bones about being a very, very rich man. On the wall above hung a painting of a raging sea. “Allabet?” I asked, surmising the name of the artist.

  “Yes.” The baron joined me in examining it. “Some say that it depicts one of the Four Hells.”

  “Some say that sometimes a storm is just a storm.”

  He chuckled. “I take it the Hells don’t frighten you either.”

  “Oh
, no. I’ve visited them a number of times.”

  “And if you had your druthers, which one would you choose: endless darkness, or burning light?”

  He’d left out two of the Hells, but his tone of voice suggested the latter would be every bit as horrible as the former. He certainly didn’t waste any time getting to business. I quelled a rush of apprehension and moved over to look out the window. We were close to the room from which I had made my original escape. Three stories down, something in the quality of light at this time of year made the water look incredibly cold. “Well, let’s see: pain or pain…” I mused, adopting an air of carelessness.

  The baron glided up behind me and adopted an uncomfortably close position. His breath brushed my ear as he whispered. “Do you need help choosing?”

  “I’ve already seen what darkness has to offer. What is included in the light option? Do you offer previews?”

  “Not usually, but this instance is exceptional.”

  I wanted to look at his face, to see what he was thinking—but he had me neatly pinned against the window. Escaping would only indicate weakness on my part. I turned anyway, but held my place. Our noses nearly touched, and he didn’t back away. Bully. I arranged my lips in a small, appreciative smile and looked him straight in the eye, trying to ignore the way he made me feel like a bird in the grip of a hungry cat.

  I let my gaze wander slowly over every feature of his face. Then I lifted the silver pendant hanging against his chest and rubbed it thoughtfully. Did my casual demeanor slip? A cunningly worked puzzle created of interlocking silver triangles, an icon of wizardry. When I land in a dung heap, I like to make sure it’s a big one. I was going to have to tread very carefully. It would have been helpful if I hadn’t still been scraping together wandering pieces of my mind. I crooked a brow at him. “Is there a penalty to be paid for this information?”

  “No penalty,” he said, his voice soft as warm silk. “You will choose between the unbearable and the impossible. The rest of your life hangs in the balance. I think it only fair that you be fully informed of all the inherent risks.”