As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  “What are you talking about?” He trotted after me. Girl trotted after him. Catching sight of a pair of the brothers coming in through the gate, I slowed to a pace more suited to the woefully injured and pressed an arm against my side in pretend discomfort. Tanris put a solicitous hand under my elbow to help me along.

  “Do you remember what he told us?” I asked, pulling open the door and striding down the hall a little more quickly once I was out of sight of any watchers. I slipped into my room with my little train trailing behind. “He said to burn it.”

  “Wait, no…”

  “Yes.” I went to the fire and crouched down. “We’re already here, so the obvious instructions have already been accomplished.” I held the map over the flames by opposing corners, and little wisps of smoke curled up around it. For a moment nothing happened, and then the center slowly darkened. As it did, pale lines appeared.

  “What is that?” Tanris whispered in my ear, bending close.

  We watched as the center continued to become darker and a new map appeared, just faint at first, then the lines grew thicker and more confident. My hand shook slightly and I held my breath, waiting. As the page transformed, the fuzzy sensation from earlier increased until my fingertips smarted as though needles stabbed each digit. I held on as long as I could bear, but the more it hurt, the stranger the coloring in my fingers became. With a hiss, I let the map go and staggered backwards.

  Tanris gave a startled yelp and grabbed for the parchment. “Crow!”

  “It hurts!” I exclaimed, holding my wounded hands against my chest.

  “You didn’t even touch the flames! What’s the matter with you!?” He dropped the map on the little stone hearth and slapped out the flames eating away one corner.

  Girl stared at me for a moment with her fingertips pressed over her mouth, then dropped down to examine my hurt. While Tanris dealt with the minor conflagration, the two of us watched my fingers go from a sickly greenish color to a healthy pink again. Mouth pursed and brows drawn in concern, she looked up at me. It was a tender and unexpected expression. I flashed a quick smile, then crawled back to the hearth. The new illustration had faded considerably, so I had Tanris hold it over the heat again while I examined a detailed map of the Temple of Nadimesh, including parts we had not yet seen and parts an ordinary visitor was never even supposed to know existed…

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  Long after the brethren—most of them, at any rate—and their servants had gone to sleep, the temple lay quiet and dark, just the way temples ought to do at such a late hour. A light shone in one of the upstairs rooms, but thankfully it was not Melly’s. I didn’t need some nosey wizard awake and alert to sniff out things he was better off not knowing. Predictably, the guards were stationed at unfortunately interfering intervals. They were, however, not wildly vigilant. An utterly reasonable development, given that the building they guarded was, after all, clear in the middle of nowhere. Rational, sensible people stayed on well-traveled highways and visited well-populated cities, or even towns, and visitors to the illustriously named Hasiq jum’a Sahefal had to be about as rare as snake feathers. And besides, I’d suffered a terrible injury, eh?

  Getting into the temple was not as hard as it might have been in one of those well-populated cities where the guards commonly defend against criminals, vagrants, and transportation merchants such as myself. The cat made it a little trickier. Tanris would have had my hide for using it as a diversion, so I didn’t tell him. Besides, I had no intention of hurting it or letting it be hurt. For whatever bizarre reason, Tanris liked the fool creature.

  Once I’d put the thing in the bag I’d brought along exactly for that purpose—no mean feat, I’ll tell you now—it quieted down. I suspected it would wait until I opened the sack and then leap to freedom, incidentally clawing my face to ribbons on the way by. I wore my coat for the padding it would provide as much as for protection against the cold, and I tied the sack across my back. The cat remained very still, but its low-voiced growling made shivers go up my spine.

  The guards were stationed all the way around the temple and right up to the cliff wall, so up and over them I went. Traversing the face of a cliff is something of a different matter than going across the side of a building, but there were certain similarities, and I took my time. I only had to backtrack once before I reached the roof. From there it was a simple matter to use my knife to lift the latch on one of the dormer windows and slip inside.

  I pulled the window closed and glanced around, pleased to note I’d correctly discerned its purpose as a storage room. A convenient stack of crates stood by the door, and I hurried to put myself behind them, crouching low so I could scoot out the door behind whoever might come to investigate the disturbance.

  Moments went by, measured in heartbeats. I did not trust the silence and waited a while longer, until the cat squirmed once, suddenly, against my back. It startled me and I sucked in a breath, but it was only the cat. Quiet as a shadow, I made my way out of the room toward the main level. I had only discovered three sets of guards indoors; one pair at Magister Melly’s quarters, one pair at the massive entrance doors, and one pair at the doors leading into the Vault.

  The temple’s main stairs stood at the back of the entrance hall. They were flanked by gigantic marble columns at the top of which fantastically beautiful sculptures of men, every one of them different, held up the towering ceiling which was itself a work of astonishing beauty. A man could get completely sidetracked studying the story told by intricately painted panels set into the domed ceiling and separated by slivers of glass. The first flight of stairs, shorter than the others but at least twice as wide as I was tall, ended on a landing overlooked by the statue of some glorious, haloed hero inset in a niche. The stairs continued on the right and the left, ascending into arched doorways and thence to additional wings. Even at night braziers burned, lighting the stairway, gilding the carvings and paintings, glimmering on inlaid jewels and precious metals. Such elegance did not belong in an obscure, remote temple, but who was I to doubt the sanity of the gods that allowed it?

  The guards, thank the god of clever thieves, were stationed outside the fabulous, three-man-tall double doors to keep less enterprising burglars from entering. Wary of surprises, I crouched low next to the carved stone balusters and slipped down the stairs. Just as I reached the upper landing, the whisper of leather on marble announced the presence of one of the good brothers. Head bowed, he rubbed his face and shuffled slowly across the wide entryway. Three-quarters of the way, he stopped and came back. Behind the bulk of one of the columns, I breathed quietly, waited until he’d satisfied his curiosity and continued his journey, waited a few minutes longer, then glided down the steps to the entry floor. Left around the column brought me to another staircase tucked directly beneath the grand one, but much narrower. Eleven steps down, it met a landing and branched into two staircases, one left and one right, parallel to the front of the temple. A hall led off each stair, and another intersected them. At the center of that intersect was another hall leading toward the mountain—and the uninspiring Vault.

  I tiptoed toward my goal, peered around the corner and, just as I’d expected, found the steadfast guards—and this was where the cat came in. Crouching down against the wall, I loosed the bag’s tie and the cat sat up slowly, fur ruffled and eyes brimming with umbrage at the indignity it had suffered. Ears laid back, it glared at me fiercely. Wary, I took hold of the fabric and gave a tug or two to encourage the cat out. It stumbled a bit, then stepped delicately free of the bag, only to sit down and begin grooming itself.

  I waved my hands at it in a shooing motion, but the cat ignored me completely, calmly licked its paw, and wiped its face. Scooting back a step or two, I flapped the bag at it, and the cat jumped away, then looked up and down the hall as if I didn’t even exist. Tail held high, the very tip twitched back and forth carelessly.

  I snapped the bag sharply, which inspired it to a piteous
meow and garnered the attention of the guards. That was more like it, except the blighted thing still just stood there, looking right at me. I withdrew my blade, fully prepared to do it more than just a little insult—and the cat turned its head, looking down the hall toward the noise of an approaching guard. It padded toward the corner and peered around, froze, then abruptly shot across the corridor. I dropped down low and tight against the inside wall as the guard broke into a trot, chasing after the cat, calling foolishly after it. “Kitty! Here, kitty!”

  I didn’t have long at all to accomplish my task, and leaped to my feet to hurry toward the other guard. I had not become a successful thief on looks alone, though they certainly didn’t hurt. Palming a vial of Adamanta Dust, I worked the stopper loose as I walked. “The cat!” I called out to him. “Have you seen it?”

  He was obviously surprised to see me, but pointed helpfully back the way I’d just come. “Marjan just chased it that way.”

  I assumed an expression of annoyance. “But I just came from that way… It must have run around the stair. Blighted beast.” I waved my hand in irritation—and tossed the powder from the vial right into his face. He blinked and sucked in a startled breath, which was just what I needed him to do and exactly the wrong reaction for anyone planning on defending the treasures of the Temple of Nadimesh. The powder stung one’s eyes violently, I knew, and I was very careful not to breathe the stuff. The guard coughed, and when he sucked more air into his lungs, I blew the remainder of the powder off my hand and into his face. I caught him as he crumpled to the floor, quieting his fall. His weight pulled me over in the process and I barely grabbed his long and lethal-looking halberd before it clattered to the floor.

  Across from the Vault were several small rooms whose purpose the map had not revealed. The first was locked, but the second opened up for me. Into it I dragged my unconscious companion, shut the door, then dashed further down the hall. “Kitty?” I called, letting myself be heard and peering into the few open doorways. Frankly, the torches decorating the walls did nothing to light the interiors of the rooms beyond, and I wouldn’t have seen the cat if it was ten feet tall until it jumped out at me. “Where are you, cat?”

  “Hey!” the returning guard hollered at me, and I whirled to look at him in surprise, then made my way back to him, another vial in hand.

  “Have you seen my cat?” I asked, walking right up to him. “Well, it’s actually Tanris’s cat, but it ran in here and now I’ve lost it and he’ll probably want my hide for it. He’s brought the wretched thing across miles and miles—” I paused to hold my hand up in an innocently questioning motion, and gently blew the dust in his face. I did not want to kill the guards, but I certainly couldn’t have them scampering about, alerting the other guards to the night’s activities and trying to chase me down. They’d only get in the way.

  I grabbed Guard Number Two’s halberd and let him fall, then I dragged him into the room across from the Vault to lie next to his partner. I used the sashes they wore, torn into long strips, to bind and gag them thoroughly, removed everything of value that I could find on them—rings; an earring of fine pearl; another of the lacquered pendants, though this one was strung on a leather cord and didn’t have a clever little key worked into the back; coins (not many of those); an ordinary key ring; and of course their weapons. I tucked the trinkets in my pouch and the knives into my belt, and then I took their boots. Barefoot pursuits are notoriously short-lived.

  I checked the hall, then pulled the door shut, locking it with the very handy keys. With a few twisted, finger-length strands of fine wire shoved into the keyhole, I jammed the mechanism and used one of the smaller keys to push the exposed ends out of sight.

  It was but the work of moments to employ the keys again, unlocking the great and heavy Vault door. I brought the boots and the halberds with me, then eased the door shut and locked it again, thanking the very powerful and unpredictable god of luck. As Brother Two had promised, the flame in the channel still burned.

  A large, ugly urn received the boots as well as the cumbersome swords, and I hefted the halberds, balancing them against my shoulder. A fantastic triptych hung at the back of the repository, three carved panels in separate frames with the two narrower ones on the outside hinged to the larger one in the middle. The scene depicted a dragon in flight over a village—presumably Hasiq jum’a Sahefal—and all the little villagers running wildly, mouths and eyes agape and some of them on fire. It was rather disturbing.

  According to the map the door into the Real Vault hid behind the center section. Some investigation proved that the middle and left-hand panels swung away from the wall, and behind the panels—more wall. Lovely gold squares of marble, polished to a glossy shine. The temple would work well as a museum of marble. Where all the varieties had come from I could only guess, and marvel at the cost of import. I held up the witchlight and examined the wall carefully, but its pale light didn’t reveal the seams that must surround the door, and indeed, the stonework was so fine I didn’t believe they could be seen. It was a magnificent example of masonry, but not really what I needed in my life right now. I swung the panel of the ravaging dragon wide and stepped back. I could discern nothing in the wall, no handle, no embellishment perhaps hiding a latch, no discoloration, no shadow indicating an indentation. The smooth stone floor didn’t have any secrets to share, either. Knocking on the panels proved fruitless, so I pushed—and the heavy door slid back on well-oiled tracks. Thank the gods of expert construction. I had no time to admire the work, but slipped inside

  Pulling the triptych panels closed, I went around the door to slide it closed again, then turned to look about for a way to jam the thing. It is a wonder my eyes did not fall out of my head. What I had first failed to notice was that the same sort of channel ran around the outside of this room as had encircled the pathetically small Fake Vault. At least as wide as the aboveground portion of the temple, this room extended a considerable distance further into the mountainside. The marble plinths holding up the exterior room’s assortment of almost-valuable items were here as well—very, very many of them. Here were the sacred, the precious, the invaluable, the extraordinary. My slack-jawed admiration had to wait while I jammed the end of one of the halberds into a track and kicked it firmly into place.

  Out of curiosity, I had once visited Gaziah’s Imperial museum, and this room easily rivaled any one of the rooms there. Piece after piece of astounding beauty sat upon velvet cushions. Now and then there were some hideously ordinary things, but I discovered something as I explored—or rather, I confirmed something I had only guessed. Every time I reached toward one of the treasures, my fingers began to tingle. Some of them I could touch; the larger ones made my entire arm ache and my hand glow green.

  What was this thing? What had happened to me? Moreover, could I get rid of it? Not only was it ridiculous and unattractive, but held the potential to ruin my career. It is a curious fact of life that while the general populace avoids wizards like they avoid stinking, rabid dogs, they are hopelessly enamored of magical things. I steal magical things for a living. Granted, I steal other items as well, but magical items earn me the most coin by far. How could I steal them if I glowed hideously and—worse—I couldn’t even pick them up without experiencing terrible pain?

  A particularly attractive dagger caught my eye, and I brought the witchlight closer to examine it. Cast all in one piece, a foreign, beautiful script marked the length of the blade. As I tried to place the style, I became aware of a whispering noise.

  “Go away,” I hissed, not wanting a repeat of the incident in the tunnel.

  If anything, the whispering grew louder. Soon I could make out words.

  Ours… ours… ours… Look! There it is. Can you see? Come look! Come! Come! The voices beckoned me to the right side of the room.

  “I don’t want to see! Go away!” Hefting my halberd, I marched down the aisle toward the back of the enormous room where the map indicated another door.

  Ours
! Can he take it? So long… So long! How is it here? …stolen from the Hall… Who? Who? …he touch it? Bring him. Come! Come!

  “I can’t hear you!” I called out in a singsong voice, and I would have covered my ears if not for carrying the halberd and the light. Even as I started to put the latter in my pocket, it dawned on me that it hadn’t made me tingle or light up. I stopped and stared at it in mute surprise. “Hey!” I asked my invisible companions. “Why isn’t this hurting me?”

  Hurting! He is hurting! Help him. What can we do? Help… help… help…!

  “No, no, it’s not hurting me. Pay attention. Do you know why?”

  Ours! It is ours… ours… ours!

  “It is?” What did that mean?

  Come! Come! the voices insisted.

  “Who are you?!” I growled at them, lifting the witchlight and looking around. I had nothing for company but treasures. Two rows of plinths ran down the length of the room, and beyond them stood other, different displays. Larger items sat upon raised daises. The very largest items occupied niches all their own, and there were several fantastically carved statues, some of men and some of strange creatures that I would just as soon not meet in this world or any other.

  A finger of suspicion tickled my spine. Aside from the very obvious question about where the elusive egg might be located, where had all these things come from and why were they here, on the very outermost edges of civilization? A king could not claim such mystic wealth, never mind an obscure order of priests. Baron Duzayan would turn a vivid shade of green with pure jealousy. Of course then he’d dispense with the brothers and their guards so he could take for himself an assortment of magical and historical gewgaws that would make taking over the empire as easy as slipping in cow dung. Such a collection in the hands of any one wizard—or even a group of them—nauseated me. What power they would have!

  Come! Come! the voices kept insisting and didn’t answer my question. I found myself standing in front of a large brass statue of a man with six arms, eyes of some sort of white stone glowing eerily, and a bejeweled tongue hanging out of his mouth. The jewels were appealing, the tongue not so much.