As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  “Help!” I choked, on the off-chance any helpful passersby might step forward. “Thief!” There was no need for anyone to know I was probably more guilty than my assailants. Since the hold on my throat didn’t slack at all, I clonked him again. He made an awful noise, but he let me go, and I clambered to my feet. The first villain was out cold, but the second one moaned hideously and clutched his bleeding head.

  I looked around. An elderly couple held onto each other and stared uncertainly at the scene; a pale-faced delivery boy stood there gawking; and a pair of shabby, middle-aged workmen stopped. None of them said anything as I retrieved my hat and banged it on my leg to shake off the moisture. The beautiful feather was irreparably damaged and dirty. Reluctantly, I tossed it on the ground as the elderly couple turned and hurried away.

  “You—you all right, mister?” the boy managed. At least he pretended to care that I might have received some injury in the scuffle with a pair of men twice my size. Speaking of which, the conscious one was making an effort to get to his feet, and the look in his eyes promised exquisite pain should he manage to get his soggy hands on me.

  “I might have died, attacked like that,” I muttered in a voice loud enough for the others to hear. “Bloody thugs. Think they can get away with attacking a helpless man on the street. In broad daylight, mind you!”

  The boy looked nervously at my assailants, then up and down the street. “Want I should run and get the Watch?” he asked, brave soul.

  Rather than answer him, I shook my bag at the brute currently glaring at me. “You better stay right there, mister!” I advised him in a blustering voice. If I should ever be forced to make a change of career, I could do admirably as an actor. Of course, he was having none of it, growling fiercely as he staggered upright. Blood ran down the side of his face, his eyes fairly glowed with rage, and he looked quite awful. I took several strategic steps backward. “I mean it!”

  “I’m gonna hurt you, little man,” he snarled. Pulling himself together, he lumbered toward me.

  “Run, mister, run!” the boy advised with fervor, and wasted no time taking his own advice. Up the street he scampered, ducking down an alley and disappearing from view.

  The workmen, only slightly less speedy, turned their apathetic noses away from the scene and beat a retreat, leaving me alone with one possible corpse and a fairly lively and vengeful bully.

  I settled my new hat firmly on my head. It was wet, but then I was too, so it hardly made a difference. Only a few short minutes in my possession, and already it was achieving character. “You’ll have to catch me first,” I pointed out. “And while I realize you just barely did that, the chances of repeating the feat are now drastically reduced.” I quick-stepped backwards down the street while the clod lurched toward me with grim, purposeful determination. It didn’t faze him in the least that he was walking oddly.

  “Come here,” he ordered, and I paused long enough to stare at him in astonishment.

  “Yes, of course I am going to fling myself right into your arms so that you can beat me to a pulp,” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have, in fact, been dreaming of this moment my entire life.”

  He grinned at me, and I wish he hadn’t. I must have knocked him soundly in the mouth, for his smile was a gory shade of crimson. I took three steps back for every one of his forward. “Do I look like an idiot?” I inquired.

  “Matter of fact, you do.”

  Rude, just plain rude. I chose to ignore the insult; he was likely suffering the ill effects of a concussion. “You really should go find yourself a healer or a surgeon.” I gestured toward his face. “You’re bleeding.”

  The grin turned to a ghastly sneer, and I decided that it was an auspicious time to vacate the area entirely. “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you. Give Raza my best, and good luck with—that.” I waved at his face again. He growled and lunged. I spun around and ran. I was faster than he.

  — 9 —

  Unavoidable Detour

  “Tanris, what are you doing?” Of all the things I might have expected to find Tanris doing, I would not have guessed to find him sitting atop the baker’s roof.

  “What does it look like?” Nails he clenched between his teeth mangled his words. Balanced carefully, he wriggled a roof tile straight, set one of the nails, and lightly tapped it into place.

  “Roof repairs?” I ventured.

  “There, see? That wasn’t so hard.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at me critically. “It leaks.”

  A fantastic aroma wafted all up and down the street. What is there that is so utterly appealing about the smell of baking bread that even a man with a full belly will pause in whatever he is doing to appreciate the scent for as long as possible? “Yes, well, let the baker tend to that himself, or hire a roofer.”

  “The baker is not a he.”

  Ah, so. And Tanris a married man…

  He shifted a bit to continue his work. “Besides, I had nothing better to do while I was waiting for you.” He implied that I’d been gone forever, deliberately dragging my feet.

  I debated telling him about Raza and Friends. “I’m here now. Let’s go.”

  “When I’m finished here, Crow.” He set another tile into place.

  I couldn’t resist a look up and down the street, half expecting the appearance of hulking brutes with swords. “How long will you be? Have we got everything? Are the horses loaded?”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes.” He paused to lean an elbow on one knee and look at me for the better part of a minute. “Do you see those animals tied up to the rail, there? Kind of big beasts with long legs, long tails and manes? A mane is the hair that grows along their necks.”

  Funny. Two of them wore riding saddles and bulging saddle bags. The other two—Well, I would have to assume that the oiled canvas bulges with legs were the pack horses.

  “Those are the horses we bought a few hours ago. You might want to get to know them, just so you recognize them next time you see them.”

  Was that sarcasm? I peered up at Tanris in the growing gloom of evening. Rain-threatening evening, no less. “They’re horses. Brown horses. All brown horses look the same.” I could swear I heard him snort, then he turned back to his work. “Which one am I to ride?” I asked.

  “The one with the white socks in front and the snip on her nose.”

  “Snip?” I could figure out the socks perfectly well, but there were two with white marks on their feet. I deduced that I wouldn’t be riding the pack animal, and went to look at the other, which wore a patch of white on its muzzle, lopsided and ridiculous-looking. I looked at the other mount, a much prettier animal to my way of thinking. “What do you say we trade?” I called to Tanris.

  “No.” And a very firm no at that.

  I shrugged. There were more important things to argue about than which horse I was going to ride to make my escape from the city, and I’d choose my battles. So I wound my bag up tightly and fastened it atop of the pile of other things behind the saddle. “Are you ready now?”

  “No.”

  “Daylight is fading, and we need to make the most of it.” I examined our surroundings before I went back into the street where I could look up at him again.

  “We’ve got the horses and the supplies. I trust you’ve got what you need. I’m helping out with this roof. Then we’re going to find food and lodging, get a good night’s rest, and be on our way in the morning.”

  Utterly logical planning except for the tiny detail about Raza Qimeh and the small army he employed. “Fine. Then let’s go look for someplace to stay. It’s not exactly warm out here, you know.” I pulled my wet cloak about me more closely—as though that was going to help at all—and hunched my shoulders. Now that I was no longer fighting or running I was beginning to shiver.

  “Do you always whine like this?” he asked to the accompaniment of another scrape and some more banging. As if he had any room to ask such a question.

&nbs
p; “Not if I’m warm and dry and well fed.”

  He snorted again, but didn’t say anything, and I bounced to keep myself warm while I looked up and down the street, just waiting for my nemesis to appear. After an age, or maybe only a quarter of a hour, Tanris finished and made his way down the ladder. I would have gone inside to get some of that bread that so tantalized my taste buds, but someone had to keep watch. I waited another age while he put the ladder and tools away and went inside to talk to the proprietor. Bless the gods of the unjustly persecuted, he brought a bag of bread out with him and handed me a thick, hot roll. I nearly sobbed in relief. Without a word, he untied three of the horses and mounted up, leaving me to follow suit, and we were on our way.

  We got an entire four blocks on the path to food, heat, and a warm bed before someone slipped out of an alley to trail along behind us. Another block, and two more joined the first. I scratched my cheek and turned forward again, saddle leather creaking underneath me. “Tanris, don’t look now, but we’re being followed.”

  Commendably, he didn’t whirl around to see if I was telling the truth. “How do you know?”

  “There are three men behind us. Well, technically, it’s two men and a woman. And they’re on horses.”

  “What do they want you for?”

  “Me?” I stared at him in astonishment. “What makes you think it’s me they want?”

  Tanris shrugged. “I don’t know, your criminal tendencies maybe?”

  “Look, there’s another one,” I said as we passed a cross street. Where were all the regular people that usually filled these streets? Just because it was dark outside and freezing to boot…

  “Four now? And probably more circling around to get ahead of us.”

  “There’s a cheering thought.”

  “Well, it’s what I would do.”

  “Have done.”

  “Yes. Do you want to talk to them?”

  “Not particularly. You?”

  “Not really. Turn here.” He turned down a street that lay in the opposite direction from the one the fourth man had come down, crowding my horse to do it. It responded placidly enough, in spite of the way I clutched the reins in surprise. The pack horses followed along without any protest, and I looked back over my shoulder. Tanris led us back around toward the baker, started off in another direction, then abruptly stopped.

  Three men stood directly in our path. One of them slapped a cudgel against his palm. Another casually inspected the sharpness of his blade, and the third propped a nasty-looking mace against his shoulder. Behind us the other four closed in speedily. “I don’t think they want to talk,” I pointed out.

  “Doesn’t look that way,” Tanris agreed, securing the lead ropes of the packhorses to his saddle. “I’ll take the two on the right, you take the one on the left.”

  “Fine by me.” The less fighting I had to do, the better I liked it. I pushed my hat down securely on my head, then untied my lethal bag of hooks and cleats. My knives would do me no good in this case. Tanris, on the other hand, had a most impressive sword, and he slid it out of its sheath with a theatrical hiss.

  “We get through here,” he said, “head down to the riverside. If we can’t lose them at the docks—”

  “Maybe we can take passage on one of the boats.” It was a reasonable plan, and plenty of people frequented the docks, day and night.

  “Hopefully, we don’t have to do anything that extreme.”

  “What, and blowing through a trio of lethally armed men isn’t extreme?”

  Tanris pulled a face as he looked at the other four coming up behind us. “Less than it will be in a minute.”

  “Let’s do this, then,” I agreed, putting more confidence in my voice than I felt. Give me a castle to break into, rooftops to fly across. I was much more at ease with those than with hand-to-hand battle. Tanris took me at my word. The flat of his sword struck my mount’s hindquarters, and we were off like a bolt shot out of a crossbow. I heard another smack and a high-pitched whinny, but I was too busy trying to stay in the saddle and bring my inelegant weapon to bear to worry about what else was going on. The fellow with the cudgel had been designated as mine, but I made every effort to steer my frightened horse around him.

  His grin was knowing, his stance ready. I spared the briefest of glances toward the other two, but they ignored me. I yanked the reins hard to one side and my trajectory abruptly changed. The cudgel-bearer was no longer, waiting to knock me clean out of the saddle; he was directly in my path. To leap backward would send him crashing into the swordsman, so naturally, he threw himself forward. Unfortunately, that took him out of harm’s way from my savage sack, but it didn’t keep him from getting knocked sprawling by my horse as we thundered past. And, since I had the sack in my hand, I struck out at the swordsman. The solid thunk of contact reassured me that I hadn’t missed. I didn’t wait to discover the results. My horse carried me through and we thundered down the street. A terrible racket came from behind me—screaming and banging and more screaming and hoofbeats on cobblestones. It was enough to wake the dead, or at least the City Watch, and in this case that might actually be a good thing, but one can never be certain. They might take it into their minds to arrest Tanris and myself, though we were clearly the victims. The best thing to do was to run. Fast.

  As we got closer, the noise of the docks grew, voices and sounds carried to us on a wind that grew even colder by the water. By the time we hit the street that ran parallel to the water, the horses were at a flat-out run. We skidded and careened on the icy cobblestones as we came around a corner. Dock workers and sailors scattered, yelling and swearing at us. I’m not sure what my horse crashed into, but my leg smashed against something brutally hard. Excruciating pain shot up my shin and stabbed my knee, but there was no time to stop and look, never mind tending to an injury. I saved screaming for later and gripped the saddle in a desperate attempt not to fall.

  Tanris somehow kept the pack horses on their feet, and after a few moments’ confusion all four animals bunched together and trotted smartly down the street, white showing in their eyes and ears working madly. We plunged headfirst into the constant busyness of the docks and Tanris handed me one of the packhorse leads.

  “Tie it to your saddle—tightly, Crow!—and fall back a bit. Follow me. Keep up. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you just fine,” I glared, though my throbbing leg offered him some fierce competition. I even knew what he was about: four horses traveling together were easier to spot than two separate pairs. I secured the rope and waved him ahead, then twisted about as best I could to gauge the progress of Raza’s men. Unfortunately, we hadn’t lost them in the brief conflict and the mad dash. Five of them spread out across the wide street, moving together as they searched for us, pushing roughly through the crowd. I took off my hat and jammed it into the cords holding gear to my saddle, then glanced around for a likely-looking fellow wearing a coat. Three subjects and a generous amount of coin later, the cloak Raza’s men were looking for walked away on someone else. My new coat was just as damp as my erstwhile cloak, and smelled like fish. I kept a sharp eye on Tanris during the exchange, and when he turned down a street ahead, I marked it and went past, taking the one that came after.

  Tanris waited for me on the corner. Only one block away from the docks, it was unmistakably quieter. He gave me a sour smile and nodded at my change of attire. “I thought I’d lost you. Good idea.”

  Of course it was a good idea. It was logical. If someone you didn’t want to find you was looking for you wearing a green cloak, you switched it for a brown coat.

  “Let’s not wait for them to find us again.” I nudged my horse into motion, teeth clenched against the pain in my leg. Tanris fell in beside me, and we took a twisting, zigzagging course through the lower districts that edged the river, then headed into the merchant’s quarter and through an area of residences scattered with small shops, livery stables, and a few parks. It all looked very domestic and tranquil, but we looked o
ften over our shoulders. The rain, bless the gods of weather, became our ally. Heavy clouds blocked the light of moon and stars, and the steady drizzle obscured vision.

  Twice more that night we narrowly avoided Raza’s men. Once just before we left the river district, and once again when the convoluted path we took managed to bring us up behind them. We were passing through an area thick with warehouses and distinctly thin on people when I caught sight of them. On such a night the group looked out of place, and there was absolutely no mistaking that fellow with the cudgel. I reached for Tanris’s sleeve, but he was out of reach. “Ssst…”

  His mount stopped abruptly, and his pack horse a heartbeat later. I gestured to a space between the buildings and we eased into it, careful of the noise of the horses’ hooves on the street. The footing there turned abruptly to thick, oozing mud, which quieted steps but made the horses uneasy. Tanris silently soothed his mount, rubbing its neck and then doing the same to the pack animal. I followed suit on the off chance that he knew what he was doing. If petting the great beasts would save me from unwelcome attention, I’d get down right then and there and break out a brush or two, mud or no mud.

  We waited until the others passed from view, then a little longer. Moving at a slow, mostly quiet walk, we went in the opposite direction, keeping close to the buildings as much for their deeper shadows as for some protection from the rain.

  It was not a night for talking. Danger and weather assured that, and we spent an interminable time slogging through the unrelenting deluge. When Tanris finally spoke it startled me. “Your friends have seen us with the pack animals, and they seem clever enough to figure out that we’re leaving town. The city’s too big for them to put a watcher on every road out, but that won’t keep them from asking questions and figuring out which way we’ve gone. Especially if they want you bad enough.”

  “You’re determined they’re after me, aren’t you?” I asked, irritated by his unjust speculation.