As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  He shrugged eloquently.

  “I assume you have a plan?” I inquired, rather than pursuing the topic of his irreproachable virtue. He was right, of course, about what Raza’s men would do, and I knew from personal experience that they would follow the trail until there was no trail to follow. The best and most thorough way to throw them off the track would be to take to the river.

  “Leave the city on the east side, ride south and come in again to the west. Find passage upriver to, say… Fesefi, where we can cut across country. Maybe get a day or two travel time back.”

  It was somewhat disconcerting to have Tanris following my line of thought so closely. Sometimes a crow’s path isn’t perfectly straight. “Best not to stop anywhere before then,” I agreed, and rubbed my aching leg. Dismounting when the time finally came would likely land me in a graceless, moaning heap, but I was so tired and cold right now I just didn’t care. All I wanted was to be still and warm and dry.

  None of those things happened with particular speed. It took nearly forever to cross the city, another eternity to ride around the southeast edge, cross the river to further throw off the hounds, and then we made our slow way up the river itself in search of passage, stopping and starting until all six of us—men and horses—were ready to drop from fatigue. I was too numb for relief when the captain of The Nightingale agreed to take our horses on board, and I hadn’t the energy to protest when Tanris haggled the price down. He had no idea how unlikely it was that we would run out of coin, and it was probably best to let him remain in ignorance.

  As predicted, my dismount was less than elegant. A death grip on the saddle held me upright, but only just. A pair of deck hands came to lead the packhorses aboard, and I just stayed still, clutching leather and waiting for the fire in my leg to die down to a bearable flicker.

  “You all right?” Tanris asked, bringing his horse near to mine to give me a critical inspection.

  I nodded. “Fine.”

  “Don’t lie. What happened?” His voice was unexpectedly curt. In the dull light of another rainy day, he looked gray and tired. He needed a shave.

  “Horse banged my leg into something. I’ll live.”

  He studied me for the space of several breaths, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Can you walk?”

  I didn’t have the slightest desire to experiment, but there was something about his grim expression that said I needed to. The sudden awareness of what a broken leg would mean filled me with frigid apprehension. I forced myself upright and, teeth clenched, I took one small step, putting my weight on the injured leg. It gave beneath me with another stab of pain that forced a gasp out of me. Tanris’s hand around my upper arm kept me from collapsing, and I clutched at the leather gear he wore, finding a handhold in the buckles.

  “You, there!” he called out over my bowed head. “Come get this man below decks, and send someone to help me with the horses! Do you have a healer on board?”

  I have no memory of how I made it down the companionway and into a narrow berth in a crowded, dark little cabin, but it was a relief to lie down—clear until someone peeled off my boot. I let out a strangled scream and lurched upward to beat my assailant off, only to bash my head into the bunk above me. My attacker had no trouble at all pushing me back down onto the bed. I heard something about “headache” and “less troublesome that way,” but my ears rang too loudly to make out the rest.

  “Here, take this,” someone said. “Hold it on your head.”

  “What is it?” I asked, words slurring.

  “Ice.”

  “Ice?”

  “From the river.” There was only ice on the river in the coldest years. Sometimes chunks floated downstream, but it had never frozen over. Not here on the coast.

  “Here, what’s that on his hand? Blood? Sir, did you get hurt anywhere else? Sir?”

  A gentle shaking made me pry my eyes open, and I looked at the hand that was being wiped with a clean, damp cloth. I did not want damp, I only wanted to be dry. It struck me that I was going to have to take off my wet clothes. “No… No, it was just the leg. Tanris? I grabbed Tanris.”

  “Sir?”

  “What?”

  “No, the other sir.”

  I was too confused to do more than stare at the two blurry figures crammed into the room with me. Even that was too much. I closed my eyes and left them to do what they pleased.

  Tanris didn’t let me sleep right away. The cruel swine shook me awake—most violently—and made me strip off my wet clothes, claiming he didn’t want me to catch my death. It was a miracle several times over that I hadn’t already. In just one night I’d escaped from Raza’s lackeys six or seven times, spent countless hours soaking wet and playing keep-away in the rain, then knocked myself on the noggin so hard I’d probably be dented. To his credit, however, Tanris had managed to conjure up a mug of hot soup, and he made me drink all of it.

  My leg, in spite of its loud protestations to the contrary, was not broken. Black and blue from the ankle to above the knee, it hurt something fierce, but the gods had protected me yet again. Best to stay off of it and let it mend, the healer said, and I agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, our schedule didn’t allow for weeks of lazy recuperating.

  Tanris had been lucky. A vicious slash across his side—imperfectly deflected by his leather armor—might easily have been a fatal stab to the belly. The swordsman he had so fearlessly taken on had been a bit more of a challenge than either of his other comrades. Tanris remained reticent on the subject, though I couldn’t imagine why. Most warriors enjoy bragging about their skills, at least enough to gain the respect they believe they deserve, whether merited or not. Tanris was not like them, and it made me curious.

  We spent most of the first day sleeping, and why not? The Nightingale offered little in the way of entertainment, and it was too cold to spend much time on deck. Between naps, I daydreamed about Tarsha. Thinking about how I’d been forced to leave her was unproductive, so I fantasized about the little white-washed house I would buy her in the islands, the garden we’d grow, the sailing we’d do, and the children we’d have. A boy and a girl. Tarsha would dance only for me, and I could safely and comfortably retire. Ah, what a dream…

  Nausea made my convalescence uncomfortable. I thought it a result of pain, or perhaps the herbal tea the healer gave me, but it worsened by leaps and bounds. Even more alarming was the advent of cramps. Duzayan’s words rang in my ears and much against my will, I had to face the fact that he had not deceived me on this particular count. Tanris, thankfully, left me alone to rest, only checking in on me now and then. I was able to conceal my sickness, though he did once lay a hand on my forehead to see if I had a fever. He announced that I was clammy and my color was poor, and promptly went to fetch the healer. I took the opportunity to dose myself with the bitter antidote. Not long after, I began to recover. The healer, none the wiser, gave me another unpleasant brew to down, hoping to fight infection.

  When I ventured from my berth the next noon, the first mate entertained me with lessons about the current and then educated me about proper caulking techniques, which was nearly too exciting for words. After dinner I cheerfully fleeced him and two of the other crew members in a game of cards. Lucky for them, Tanris came along and stared at me for an unforgivably long time, or they might have lost even more. It was not that I didn’t think I could cheat while he was watching, but he made my opponents nervous. We played a few more hands in which I let them win back a little coin and confidence. “You’re welcome to join us,” I invited Tanris, but he declined, saying he didn’t play.

  “Do you want me to teach you?” I asked, idly shuffling the cards as my last opponent drifted away.

  “I don’t play,” he said again.

  “Because…?” Sitting at the narrow trestle table in the galley, I laid out an arrangement of the single-player game, Blind Path.

  “Because I dislike what men become when they get greedy.”

  I don’t
know why he looked at me so pointedly. “And what about passing the time? How do you do that?”

  “I keep myself busy.”

  He was so marvelously stoic and focused. I could understand how he might make a first-rate soldier. “And if the busy work runs out?” I asked, counting and turning cards, moving them from one column to another. He didn’t say anything, and when I finally looked up I found him watching me rather than the cards, as most men might have done. His face was still and silent, revealing nothing of what he was thinking.

  “We’ll be another three days on the river,” he said at last.

  “Yes, I’ve been to Fesefi before.” I went back to playing my game and attempted to ignore the way he stared at me.

  “Do not steal from the crew, Crow.”

  One brow lifted, but I did not look up at him. Three cards I counted out, then slowly played each in its proper place. “Do you think me a fool?”

  “A fool, no; a risk-taker, aye.”

  “Some risks, yes. I find it invigorating, but I haven’t stayed alive this long by choosing them carelessly. And you needn’t speak as though taking chances is immoral. You take them as well. Everyone does.”

  “Not everyone does it so he can lord it over other men.” His voice was mild, but carried a tone of censure.

  “You have no idea why I take chances, Tanris. Maybe I don’t think what I do is chancy at all.”

  He made a small sound of dismissal in his throat, then straightened from his lean against the wall. “Maybe I know you better than you do,” he said.

  He could not possibly know me better than I did myself, but his words had me thinking for a long time after he’d gone. I played several more rounds of Blind Path, but it did little to distract me. Being a thief wasn’t just a choice, it was a vocation. It was a talent. For centuries, the priests had been drumming into the heads of their followers the admonition—nay, the divine law—that to waste a talent was to affront the gods. Each of us, with our diverse gifts, was a part of the greater balance. Without people like me, people like Tanris would be out of work.

  — 10 —

  Tall Tales

  The next days were every bit as tedious as the first which, all things considered, was probably an advantage. Pain and immobility are surprisingly exhausting. I slept a lot, took my foul-tasting medicine every morning, played cards with the crew members, swindled the same—modestly—and learned from another passenger more than I ever wanted to know about whaling off the chilly coast of Uburrh and the multitudinous uses of the parts of said whales.

  I also discovered what occupied Tanris in his free time. The ship’s captain wouldn’t allow him to help out with the crew’s duties, so he checked and polished the horses’ tack, checked and polished his weapons—a fairly large collection—mended his mangled armor, and sorted through our supplies, reorganizing and redistributing them—a pointless exercise, seeing as how we’d just purchased new gear and Tanris had expertly loaded the pack saddles the first time. When he had done all that could conceivably be done, he read.

  Frankly, I wouldn’t have taken Tanris for a scholarly man, but I discovered him in the cabin we shared. He’d taken the musty, straw-filled mattress from one of the unused upper bunks and used it as a cushion against the small table attached to the wall between the two sets. Our collection of horse blankets covered him where he curled up in his cozy little nest, reading.

  “What is that?” I asked, squinting and twisting my head to get a look at the title as I sat on my own bunk, mindful now of the low clearance.

  “A book,” he said without looking up.

  “So I see. What book?”

  He read for another moment or two before peering at me over the top. “Tales of the Amber City. You’ve heard of it?”

  “The Amber City? Yes. I had no idea you were interested in fables and children’s tales.” I winced as I adjusted my leg more comfortably. What I wouldn’t give to soak in a hot bath for an hour or so.

  Tanris watched my struggles without volunteering to help. “I had no idea you were so well-traveled.”

  “I’ve been a great many places, I’ll have you know.” I pulled the blanket up around me, but it left my feet exposed.

  “So you’ve been there.”

  “The Amber City? Of course not. It doesn’t exist, except in the minds of dreamers and desperate academicians attempting to anchor their flagrant flights of fancy in their own selfish interpretations of reality.” Gathering the blanket up again, I held onto the edge and tossed the bulk of it foot-ward, then smiled at my success.

  “If you’ve never been there, how can you say with absolute certainty that it does not exist?”

  I wriggled myself into a semi-comfortable position and tucked the poor excuse for a pillow beneath my head. The berths aboard a boat built for river transport are not exactly spacious. Narrow boxes nailed to the wall, they could use considerably more cushioning. Luckily, they didn’t have lids. “I have been to one of the places it was reputedly located, and it was certainly not there. Scholars, historians, and explorers have been trying to prove its existence for years, and they have come up with nothing more than vague interpretations and conjectures.”

  Tanris lowered his book to study me thoughtfully. “So… In a couple hundred years when some scholar comes across an obscure reference to an allegedly notorious criminal going by the ambiguous name of “Crow,” and there is no obviously marked grave site, memorial, or structure to commemorate his life—will he not have existed?”

  Try as I might, I could fabricate no logical argument. “Can we not make it a well-told legend rather than an obscure reference?” Something dug at my hip where it pressed against the board. Recalling the hard, knobby ball Duzayan had given me, I took it out of my pocket, turning it over my fingers. I’d meant to sell the thing in Marketh, but Raza had upset my plans. At least I could be happy it didn’t weigh much and didn’t take up a lot of space.

  He gave me a sour look. “You’ll have to work much harder on your reputation. Perhaps you can write a book.” He looked back at his own. “You should probably start now.”

  “Now? Why now?” I squirmed into a slightly better position. Tanris, in his cramped corner, somehow managed to look comfortable.

  He turned a page. “If you don’t die from poisoning within the next few months—or from any of the other hazards we’re likely to encounter on our journey—I suppose you might write your stirring autobiography from a gaol cell.”

  I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I have no intention of going to gaol.”

  “Mmm. And I have no intention of letting you go free.”

  He certainly had a way of putting a damper on a conversation. “Do you imagine you can catch me again?” I asked. “It took you years to do it the first time. Maybe the next time will take even longer.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, you are not exactly free.”

  “You can see things however you like.” Pocketing the Web, I turned away from him, signaling an end to the conversation. That I would rather die than go to gaol seemed a foolhardy thing to claim, so I kept my mouth shut. There was a very real probability that I would die. If the baron’s poison didn’t kill me, the baron would put every effort into doing the job himself, I was certain.

  Eyes narrowed, I considered my companion in a new light. What if Duzayan was paying Tanris to assassinate me? The plan was beautiful in its simplicity: as Duzayan’s sworn man, he would accompany me and “guard” me until I had the dragon’s egg. The fake kidnapping of his wife, if it was indeed his wife at all, had been arranged merely to get me to lower my defenses by promoting sympathy for him. And then, when I least expected it, ssrriikk! One of Tanris’s blades would bring an untidy end to my too-short life.

  That certainly put things in a new perspective, and it wasn’t a pretty one. I could always part ways with Tanris in Fesefi, but he knew where we were going and could probably get there faster, even if I regained possession of the map, which I didn’t foresee as a
difficulty. Our destination—a place with the ridiculously lengthy name of Hasiq jum’a Sahefal—was little more than a village, and avoiding him there might pose problems. I did have to wonder that such a remote and inaccessible site was so craftily constructed or guarded that Duzayan needed a thief of my caliber to infiltrate it.

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

  “What are those?”

  I blinked eyes bleary from reading manuscripts in the paltry light of a single, swinging lantern. “Letters.”

  Tanris’s jaw worked. Evidently he didn’t much like his own sarcasm exercised on him. “Whose?”

  I toyed with the notion of stringing him along a little further. “You didn’t happen to bring me some tea or kaffa, did you?” I asked.

  To my surprise, he held up a mug. He didn’t hand it to me right away, and I thought for a moment he meant to keep it for himself and have his own little joke, but after a lingering hesitation I could not possibly miss, he crossed the small space of the cabin and handed the drink over. “More of the healing stuff.”

  “Ah, yes, knitting bone and sinew for optimal health.” I set my reading materials aside and swung my legs over the side of the box. Er… bed. The effort wrung a grimace from me. I missed the luxurious convention of a table and chair. And plenty of light. “Thank you.”

  “The letters?” he pressed, foregoing any comfortable small talk.

  “Mmm. Communications between his supreme ugliness, Baron Duzayan, and friends.”

  “Are they supposed to help us find the egg?” Perching on the edge of the bed beside me, he picked up one of the papers.

  “Hopefully.” I drank my tea while he read. Someone had added an extra dollop of honey, which made the tea nearly palatable.

  “Duzayan didn’t give these to you, did he?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Not that he’s aware. Shall I give them back?”

  He glared.

  “It’s an interesting assortment. Some are between him and a certain army captain concerning the rerouting of supplies and troops.”