As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Robin Lythgoe

  Lightly, Girl wrapped her fingers around mine and tugged me to my feet to drag me over to Tanris. It was not a far distance on the modestly sized balcony. She held her other hand out to him expectantly, and had to cuff his chest to get him to comply. He did so gracelessly, and she put my hand in his and pumped them up and down. It was rather like shaking hands with a sack for all the effort he put into it. Girl rolled her eyes and promptly took my goblet for a drink, then she made a waving motion.

  What did that mean?

  Flexing her arm, she gestured to her bicep with her—my!—drink. Aha. Time to get to work.

  Tanris yanked his hand to safety, folding his arms again. I looked from one to the other, then out at the view of the palace. Contemplating new living quarters did not protect me from the attentive and pointed regard of my companions. Girl—well, she was just Girl, and although occasionally surprising and therefore sometimes interesting, she and I did not share the same length or depth of connection as did Tanris and myself. In spite of the stinging banter in which he and I often engaged, things between us had changed radically in the months we’d spent together, and it could be no better evidenced than in the fact that he was counting on me now. I could not ignore, either, the fact that I did not feel entirely unwilling to continue with him as a partner. In this one thing we had a common goal, and nothing would turn us aside. However, while Tanris wanted to rescue his woman, I wanted to exterminate mine. And Duzayan, of course. Hidden from them by my body, my hands tightened violently on the balcony railing. What I wouldn’t give to have them wound around Tarsha’s pretty neck.

  “Crow.” Tanris wrenched me back to the present.

  “I do not know where Aehana is.”

  Brief silence met my announcement, and then Tanris joined me at the rail. I eased my grip lest he notice and make injudicious assumptions.

  “Have you asked the ghosts?”

  A little whisk of wind raced between us, cool and earthy.

  “Yes. They cannot find her, Tanris. They don’t know enough about her. You could tell them, perhaps it would help.”

  “Me?” He blinked in surprise.

  “She is your wife,” I pointed out. “You know her best.”

  “I can’t talk to your ghosts.”

  Again, the little huff of wind. This time it came with a prickle of vexation.

  “They do not like being called ghosts, but you can certainly talk to them. They can hear you quite well, even if you are unaware of them.”

  His jaw worked, and he turned his gaze toward the shining palace of Emperor Gaziah. “You really believe you’re talking to them, don’t you?”

  I did not blame him for doubting. Claiming one hears voices prompts unavoidable and unkind conclusions the world over. I have made those conclusions myself. The gods, in their humor, find wicked ways to teach us lessons. “Fine, then tell me about her.” I folded my arms in mimicry of my companion and turned my back to the view, looking instead at Girl, who had taken my seat and my wine and sat listening attentively.

  “Tell you?”

  I suppressed a sigh of irritation. “You want her found, yes? Best we do it before dealing with Duzayan lest he choose to do something spiteful. It is up to you, of course. If you do not wish to talk about her, I have some things to attend to.”

  He didn’t answer me. Reluctance and pain emanated from him. It was not a pleasant thing and I had gathered myself to take my leave when he began in a gruff voice. “I met her about three years ago. It was summer...”

  — 30 —

  An Abundance of Booty

  The Priests of Ishram devote themselves to the care of the sick and injured, and they spend many years studying healing techniques. The tests required to advance within their order are quite strict, and those who do not progress tend to the more basic needs of the patients or to growing the materials used in some of the remedies. Their farms and gardens dot both city and countryside, and they are usually quite beautiful. I have tried to limit the time I spend with the followers of Ishram, as being tended by them generally means I’ve taken an injury and tending to them is unprofitable. They possess little in the way of riches unless one is in the market for herbal collections.

  I did not expect to find myself outside the Mapar Hospice and stood across the street for some time, looking at it with loathing and revulsion. Even from that distance I could smell the odor of sick bodies and the strong herbs the priests used as both cleaning agents and to attempt to cover the stench.

  “Here?” I asked for the second time, because Mapar Hospice was in a very poor district, and the poor districts notoriously produced more sick and injured than the rest of the city and could be counted on to stink more. The Voices chittered at me in a most unsettling combination of excitement, dread, and curiosity. Imagine, if you will, standing in a crowd of people all whispering at the same time. Some of the voices are stronger than others, and some easier to hear simply because of proximity. So it was with these, and I could only catch bits and pieces of what they said. They searched for someone as yet unknown, both fearing and hoping to find him or her. It was not Aehana of whom they spoke, I was fairly certain. They shared remembrances of pain and sorrow, memories of loved ones and hopes for reunion, though the latter seemed an unlikely event to me. Now and then they touched me, reassuring themselves and, strangely, reassuring me. It was an odd sensation like a tiny, cool breeze carrying with it a scent reminiscent of the woods in autumn.

  I wondered if I would ever get used to it. I wondered if I would become accustomed to the way my clothing moved on its own accord when they caressed me. The motion was, of course, much more obvious indoors, away from natural breezes. I had caught Tanris looking at me strangely on more than one occasion, even when I wasn’t saying things to which he could take exception.

  I spent several moments offering prayers and supplications to those deities most appropriate to the occasion. Not only did I want to find Aehana quickly if she was truly in this place, but I did not want to inadvertently contract any of the diseases abounding there, though it crossed my mind to wonder if I might somehow purchase one and use it to infect Duzayan. Finally, mustering my considerable fortitude, I boldly crossed the street and went in through the tall double doors.

  The miasma that greeted me nearly knocked me right back out again. Eyes watering, I covered mouth and nose with my crooked arm, for all the good it did me. The stinging of my eyes blurred my vision, but there appeared before me a green-robed priest exuding concern and amusement. To my vast relief, he pressed into my hand a sweetly scented kerchief, though he himself went without. How in the names of the many gods could someone become accustomed to such a horrific odor? Sickness and death oozed through the place and it took some effort to resurrect my aplomb.

  I explained that I was in search of a relative, but the astute priest pressed for more information, upon which I fabricated the story that Aehana was my brother’s wife. The two of us had returned from a journey, only to find her missing. The more truth one can insert into a false tale, the easier it is to believe. I provided the obliging priest with such particulars as Tanris had imparted to me, giving her name and a detailed description.

  Alas, he shook his head and held his hands out in apology; too many patients might fit the bill.

  Might I take a look around, just to be certain? I would never forgive myself if she was lost on account of my lack of diligence.

  He took a little convincing, but at last I wandered through the wards, looking at groaning, moaning, and occasionally heaving nearly-dead people in hopes I would not actually find Aehana here. Gods protect me from a slow and painful death. People of every age and ethnicity rested upon thin little straw pallets on the floor, covered with thin little blankets that had clearly seen better days. Green robes stood out here and there, gently bathing brows and bodies or offering sustenance from sad little wooden bowls. It was pathetic and awful, and I wanted nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible. I had my own green robe following m
e, though I could not imagine what he thought I might want to do to these pitiable people.

  “Where is Aehana?” I asked the Voices in a whisper muffled behind the kerchief.

  Their direct path would have had me walking on the sick and the dying which, aside from raising the immediate ire of both the patients and their green-robed attendants, would certainly have inspired me to lose the contents of my belly. I picked my way around the bodies and the Voices gave me new directions to compensate. Eventually they brought me to a rail-thin woman with lank, unwashed hair that might have been a pale brown when clean. She laid on her side, knees drawn close to her body, hands fisted, eyes tightly closed. Quiet groans wracked her and between bouts of stiff tension she trembled uncontrollably. An awful, unnatural shade of gray tinted her skin.

  “Aehana?”

  She did not respond, but the Voices assured me that this was indeed the body—er, woman—I sought. Tanris was not going to be happy. As I pondered whether he would be more unhappy if she was never found or if I brought her corpse to him, I saw a fragile chain wrapped around one fist. She held something very tightly and I, curious Crow that I am, wanted to have a look at it.

  “Aehana, it’s me, Fajhal,” I murmured to her, taking her hand in mine. Of course she would not know the name; we hadn’t exactly met. “Tanris is looking for you. He is most desperate to find you.”

  Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned. I could not tell if pain inspired it or my presence.

  “What is wrong with her?” I asked the priest, but he shook his head helplessly.

  “We do not know. She was left here about a week ago, vomiting but without a fever. We have fed her broth, but she cannot keep it down. When there is nothing in her belly, she suffers terrible cramps. Whatever the sickness, it is affecting her muscles as well.”

  “How long?” I whispered.

  Again, he shook his head. “It is a wonder she is still with us,” he murmured softly, respectfully.

  Bracing myself, I tucked the kerchief into my shirt and took Aehana’s hand in both of mine, talking to her quietly as I massaged her fingers loose. I tried to breathe through my mouth but it didn’t help. Thank the gods of loquaciousness, I managed to carry on a fairly convincing, albeit one-sided, conversation with her while I worked the bauble partially free of her death grip.

  Seeing the familiar silver vial nearly robbed me of words. It matched exactly the one Duzayan had given me. I kept chatting while I maneuvered the cap off. One whiff confirmed my suspicion. Our vials held the same antidote, though hers was empty. He’d poisoned her.

  “Can you—” A fit of coughing interrupted my question, and I had to press the scented cloth over my face until I recovered. Eyes watering, I turned to the priest. “Can you help me get her to a hackney? Let me take her home to her loved ones,” I pleaded.

  He searched my face intently.

  I didn’t need to manufacture tears, and wondered about the existence of gods of malady and rot.

  Finally, he nodded. Patting my shoulder, he straightened and left to make arrangements. I waited until he was a good dozen or more paces away, then withdrew my own vial from beneath my clothing. A drop of it on her lips made her shudder, and another brought her eyes open.

  “Who—?” she croaked in a terrible parody of a voice.

  “Hush.” I smoothed her hair back from her face. Little more than a skeleton, her skin was so frail it ought to disintegrate beneath my touch. Tanris was really, really not going to be happy. “I am going to take you to your husband.”

  “More,” she rasped.

  “Soon,” I agreed, and wondered if I was only prolonging her inevitable death. There were drops sufficient only for a week or so, and I was somewhat irked to find myself once again in the position of needing to bargain for the blasted antidote. I could take some small comfort in the fact that at least I wasn’t the one dying; at least not in this particularly odious manner. No doubt Duzayan had plenty of other revolting curses up his sleeve.

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

  I had little alternative but to take Aehana back to the apartment with the view. A knock revealed the fact that Tanris and Girl had not yet returned from the errands I’d given them, and I had perforce to set on the floor the knotted up bundle of bones I carried. Reassured by the locked door, I still sent the Ancestors to have a look around and make sure there were no thugs lurking about and no evidence of pesky wizards. Not-An-Egg slept soundly in his box. He did not even twitch when I brought Aehana inside. Clearly he needed a lesson about overconfidence in one’s security.

  I tucked Aehana into Tanris’s bed and then I paced. If the potion only stopped further growth of the poison, was she in fact doomed? Had the stuff already destroyed her body beyond repair? If so, I had surely done her no favor. If Tanris saw her like this he would be completely useless. I may as well go out right now and buy him a barrel of kemesh in which to drown himself, and that would leave me completely on my own to wreak vengeance. I have every confidence in my own talent and wit, and in the fact that I am beloved by the gods, but there are some fates one simply does not tempt. Common sense dictates that one doesn’t stand on the roof in a lightning storm, nor jump willy nilly off a cliff, nor aggravate a wizard. Those are stupid things and the gods do not love stupidity.

  What had I been thinking to bring her here? I could take her back. No, I would have to take her to another hospice, else rouse suspicion. If my most excellent memory served me well, there was one just to the west a great deal nicer than poverty-stricken Mapar. I even had a little Adamanta Dust in my things still, and could use it to ease her journey to join the Ancestors. Given her condition, it probably wouldn’t take much. Rare and costly as it is, I could do no less. It would be a kindness, no?

  She would go to sleep, never to awaken again, and perhaps when Duzayan was no longer a problem I could tell Tanris what had befallen her. From a distance. A long distance. In fact, I thought I would send him a letter.

  I had no sooner stepped out into the corridor again than a key turned in the lock. Curse the luck! I hastened to the entry to greet Tanris, safely tucking the Dust into a pocket. “Did all go well?” I inquired smoothly, going to the sideboard in the parlor to pour myself a drink.

  “Well enough,” Tanris agreed, following me into the room as I’d hoped he would, Girl trailing behind him with an assortment of baskets and packages. “I got the message and the packet to the commander,” he said, referring to the letters from Duzayan’s allies we had decided should be turned over to people with armies to command. “I couldn’t find that fellow Dambul in the Greenmarket, but you’ll never believe who I did see.” He had that accusing look about him that suggested I’d deliberately sent him on a fruitless errand, which was not only unkind but untrue. I really did want to find Dambul. He was the merchant most likely to be able to replenish the Adamanta Dust, and I wasn’t above throwing an entire bag of the stuff at His Royal Loftiness, the baron.

  “Who was it?” I asked, momentarily alarmed when Girl left with her things and made her way down the hall, but she headed into the kitchen and a moment later I heard dishes rattling.

  “That red-haired fellow that gave us the exciting send-off when we first left the city.” His eyes narrowed even further.

  “Who?” I repeated, mustering an expression of ignorant curiosity. Granted, I hadn’t practiced it much in the last few months, but I was hopeful that my natural skill hadn’t faded.

  “Don’t even try to play innocent with me, Crow. He followed us for a little while, but I lost him in the Saddlegate.”

  I did not visit Saddlegate often, but the name swiftly conjured the smell of leather and horse ointments. “I have no—” Tanris had been keeping up his ability with his glare, and he pinned me with it like a dart to a board. “Maybe he’s a criminal you’ve run into before. I hope you haven’t dedicated your entire career to catching me.”

  He snorted his derision, then frowned. Deeply. “Are you all right?�
�

  Had I left some careless bit of evidence lying about? No, how could I have? I had brought home with me nothing but a bag of bones wrapped in my own cloak, which hung on the hook by the door right where it belonged.

  “Of course.” I quirked a questioning brow. “Are you?”

  Coming near, he reached out with one finger and hooked the chain upon which I carried the silver vial, then looked at me searchingly. “You sick?”

  “No. No, not at all,” I smiled at him, careful to temper the expression with a little curious amusement, all the while mentally kicking myself around the room.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite. Are you sure you lost that fellow tailing you?”

  “What are you wearing this for?” The predictable dog with a bone.

  “I always do,” I defended quite truthfully, even though I usually kept it out of sight. Habit or reminder, I knew not. I resisted the urge to tug it away and drop it back down my shirt. The last thing I wanted to do was look suspicious. He didn’t need encouragement.

  “Hidden.”

  I nodded and tried an expression of patience.

  “So today you decided to display it for all to see.” Look at him! Suspicious!

  As best I could with him still holding the chain, I struck a pose. “You don’t like it?”

  “No. Did you use it?”

  “No.” Also true. Aehana had been the one to use it.

  “I can smell the stuff.”

  “Really? Sorry.” I smiled and rescued the chain, tucking it back into my shirt. “There, better?”

  “You’d better not lie to me, Crow.”

  “Would I do that?”

  “In a word? Yes.”