A Flight of Ravens

by John Conroe

  Jella followed me up, making the climb look easy even though she was my mother’s age. A splotch of black blood stained the roof tile directly off the crane support. Across the roof was the square wooden frame of the vent, tipped over on its side, splinters of broken wood lying around its base. Back in the day, I had just popped it loose and pulled it aside. Wounded woldling Ash hadn’t been that patient.

  I remembered that a catwalk was just off to one side of the vent opening. Drunk and disorderly, we’d had to hang from the opening and then swing our feet over the rail. I glanced inside, listening and smelling. The stink of woldling fur wafted out and more black blood was smeared on the edge of the opening, but the dim outline of the catwalk looked clear. I pulled back and let Jella take a look. She could undoubtedly hear, see, and smell more details than I could, which is why she was always our best scout. Back during my training with her, she would have made me lead the way and take any lumps if I didn’t find ways around my poorer senses. But now days, we utilized every team member’s individual skills to the fullest.

  She shook her head and I stood and stepped forward, dropping through the hole. My hands grabbed the edge and I swung my feet over the catwalk railing before letting go. Crouching, I searched the darkness, moving slightly to make room for Jella, who landed lightly next to me.

  Before, in our drunken stupor, we had moved to the northwest corner of the building and passed out in bundles of sheared sheep wool. This time, the stench of woldling came from the exact opposite corner in the southeast. Jella was already facing that way, the dim outline of her eyebrow arching in amusement at my slow orientation. I ignored her. A shadow overhead brought my attention up to the torn vent opening. A feline head leaned over, huge green eyes watching us before withdrawing. Yawl felt no need to enter with us, yet another confirmation of Ash, should I need one.

  I moved the opposite way on the catwalk and climbed down the ladder built into the wall. Once on the ground, I reached into my black leather jacket and pulled out a wooden cylinder the diameter of a common flute. Pulling a cork from the end, I slid a glowing glass tube from inside, the green light startlingly bright to my night-adjusted eyes. An experimental gift from Brona’s armorer, Marshall, to the princess, who in turn gifted it to me. Filled with the rotting wood of an exotic tree from some island off the coast of Lachia, it emitted a soft luminescent light similar to the glow of the lightning flies we had in summer.

  Jella snorted, but even her night vision couldn’t see in pitch dark, so I wasn’t fooled by her act—the spy light was damned cool. We moved across the floor, slowly and softly but not trying to hide ourselves. Ahead, I heard a rustling sound, causing me to stop.

  “Hey Ash, it’s Savid,” I said.

  Jella rolled her eyes at me and pointed at her nose. Yeah, yeah, so he could smell me. That still doesn’t help me with trying to talk to a woldling.

  The sound of claws on plank wood flooring clicked through the dark. I held up the spy light, the soft glow barely denting the darkness ahead. I could just see a large form, slightly less dark than the space around it. It seemed about ten spans ahead. A deep growl vibrated through the warehouse.

  “Easy, buddy. We brought you some gifts,” I said, reaching into the slung message bag at my side. I pulled a bundle of greased paper and threw it underhand across the space. The lump of wrapped meat hit the floor and slid half a span, stopping almost at a huge, clawed foot.

  The green light showed a paw reaching down to snag the meat, pulling it up into the deeper darkness above. The sounds of teeth ripping flesh replaced the growl.

  “Moose steak from Burl’s—your favorite,” I said, moving forward another span. Enough light now reached the dim shape to be reflected in reddish eyes and white teeth. “That’s from me. But this is from your wife,” I said, tossing a second bundle. A half dozen fresh baked, buttered rolls, wrapped in Sissa’s scarf. He always missed her baking when we were on missions.

  The steak, or the remaining bits of it, fell on the wood floor as he pounced on the rolls. He brought the whole bundle to his… snout and sniffed it. He sniffed and inhaled and suddenly sat down, hard, the motion jarring his shoulder and the wooden shaft poking through it. He growled once but remained focused on the bundle. Then he tried to pry the loose knot open, but his misshapen hands were too awkward. The scarf tore, bread rolls falling free around him. His next growl was clearly frustration, but it shut off as he crammed a lump of bread into his maw. Even as he gulped the food, his shorter arm held the torn scarf against his nose, breathing in the scent of his wife.

  “How’s that wound, buddy?” I asked, bringing his attention back to me. He growled, turned his head toward the wound as far as his misshapen neck would allow, and growled again, this time more in annoyance. His free paw brushed the crossbow bolt shaft and knocked it out of the wound to clatter on the floor.

  I glanced at Jella, and she just raised her eyebrows. Woldling blood is corrosive, at least to metals. No need to dig out arrow and spear heads when they just dissolved on their own.

  “Sissa made a poultice too,” I said, tossing a third bundle. He picked it up with two claw tips and looked at it, sniffing it and looking my way. “Chew the bark off it—it’s willow. Then put the herbs on the wound. It’ll help.”

  He bit the bundle and got fully half of it, bark and poultice, into his mouth. At least there were some of the medicinal herbs left to be crammed onto his wound, which he did. Then he went back to eating rolls, the rest of the steak, and sniffing the scarf.

  “Sorry it took me so long to figure out it was you,” I said. “I didn’t see your tattoo until you held up your, ah, arm.” I pulled back my sleeve and held my own tattoo under the light of the glow tube.

  “Remember getting these? We were pretty drunk, so it’s good that we designed our class tattoo before graduation. And we didn’t even know when graduation was, did we?”

  He watched me as he chewed and sniffed, his massive frame relaxing slightly.

  I turned to Jella to explain, although she was more than familiar with the story already. But she didn’t protest, just raised a brow as if actually interested. I knew better.

  “We were in Punishment week, but we didn’t even know what day it was. They only let us sleep a few hours a day while we ran raids, infiltration exercises, and mock battles. Suddenly, right in the middle of our biggest battle, instructors just popped up and started to pull us away, one at a time. Finally, it was just you and me, right, Ash? We kept fighting for another hour or so, getting our asses kicked, but suddenly the instructors called the battle and led us away.

  “We thought we were getting kicked out, that we had screwed up by getting beat down by so many opposing force members. They led us through the forest, to a part of Despair that we’d never been allowed into before. It was a section of woods behind the instructors’ quarters, a grove of thick, old oak trees. Right in the middle was a clearing, maybe ten or twelve spans across, with a huge fire circle of standing boulders, each half a ton. Twelve boulders spread about four spans apart. Huge bonfire in the middle, flames reaching five or six spans high.”

  Ash was still chewing rolls, but his jaw was moving slower and drool was stringing down onto his furry chest. His red eyes were fixed on me, slowly blinking every so often.

  “Around the fire pit were twelve big chairs, each with an active duty RRS trooper or officer in them, set like the hours on a clock. Our instructors led us into the clearing and that’s when I saw the other members of our class, each standing in a space between the chairs. There were only twelve of us left, the survivors from a starting class of fifty-five men and women. You and I were the last to arrive. Right, buddy?”

  Ash was slumping now, and he shifted just slightly at the question.

  “Then the person sitting in the twelve o’clock seat, a corporal I think, wasn’t it, Ash?”

  He blinked a little but didn’t move.

  “Anyway, even though there were officers there, whoever sat in the numbe
r twelve seat ran the show, and this gal started to explain that the hour was late and the time had come. The time for us to take up the uniform of the Squadron. And just like that, she graduated us and the active troopers to our left turned and pinned the crossed short sword emblems on our field dress.”

  Ash was fully collapsed, head against his chest, which moved with each deep breath, his eyes closed tight.

  I looked at Jella for confirmation. “Out like he’s been poleaxed. I don’t know if it was the horse drugs or the story. I almost passed out myself at that snoozer,” she said.

  I ignored her and stepped forward lightly. Using two thick strands of silk rope, woven from the webs of Mandrigan trap spiders, I tied up his big wrists and ankles, binding him tight.

  Jella had gone to the warehouse door while I secured him and let in a wagon and horse driven by Drew. Cort and Urso ran over to me and the three of us hauled the dead weight of our woldling comrade up and onto the wagon bed, where Drew wrapped him in a sheet of dark canvas.

  It was done quietly and efficiently, and then the three of them rode the loaded wagon out while Jella and I relocked the door and cleaned up the scene.

  The leftover meat scraps and rolls went into a bag, as did the remains of the drugged poultice, although I handled that with thick gloves on. Getting him out of the warehouse unconscious was the only way we could come up with that wouldn’t attract too much attention. Using his wife’s scent to cover the drug was Soshi’s idea. Woldlings have a good sense of smell, but not being born with it makes it easier to fool them then it would be with a big cat, wolf, or bear.

  With the scene cleansed, we climbed back out through the roof, pushed the slightly broken vent cover back into place, and exfiltrated my family’s property, slipping silently into the foggy night.

  Chapter 11

  I was exhausted as I reported to the castle, but as I had learned back in Despair, exhaustion was just another obstacle to be put aside, like pain, fear, and discomfort. Still, the sun wasn’t far from coming up when I was shown into the king’s council room, a different room than his personal audience chamber where Kiven and I had reported.

  This one was much bigger, with a large meeting table, currently occupied by the king’s council, or at least most of it.

  King Helat was at the head of the table, of course, with Brona at his right side. The lord marshal sat on his left, with General Ewald, head of the Montshire military next to him. Neil Slinch sat next to the general, with Lord Bottis Grantell next. On Brona’s right was Colonel Erser, Bishop Miller, my father, and at the end of the table was Carson Mackmore, minister of commerce.

  I had forgotten that dear old dad had taken up one of the High Family seats when Lord Dorian Hatch was suddenly removed following the Harvest Ball costume party. The Families always hold two of the council seats, rotating the position among the heads of house. Obviously, King Helat’s opinion of the selection held significant sway.

  “Well?” King Helat greeted me.

  “The situation is resolved,” I said.

  “You can speak plainly, Captain,” the king said, waving a hand. “The council is up to date on the matter.”

  I took a breath as I considered my words. Just because the council members were aware of Ash didn’t mean I could be free with information.

  “We have him in safe custody, his wound treated. He is definitely Ash Newberry.”

  “Where? Where do you have him?” my father demanded.

  “He’s in a safe location, under careful guard,” I said. “He’s currently sedated, but as soon as he comes out of it, we’ll start debriefing him.”

  “What?” Lord Grantell asked, aghast. “He’s a woldling, man. You can’t communicate with them!”

  I ignored him, keeping my eyes on the king and Brona. Helat shot an annoyed look at both lords but gave me a nod to continue.

  “He understands us and remembers who he is. He knows all of his family members. I spent significant time communicating with him during the retrieval.”

  “You’re just protecting your friend, Savid,” my father said. “Admirable, but misplaced. You can’t think that a woldling retains any humanity at all?”

  I started to respond but Neil Slinch spoke first. “Your Majesty, I find myself agreeing with Lord DelaCrotia. The bonds of loyalty run deep in the military and especially among the members of the Ranged Reconnaissance Squadron. I suggest that Captain DelaCrotia’s objectivity is compromised in this case. May I suggest a transfer to the Ravens?”

  “Humpf, I object,” General Ewald said. “This is a military incursion and the military, the active military, should have jurisdiction here.”

  “This is a transgression against God,” Bishop Miller said, leaning forward to look at the king. “The church must be involved.”

  “Must?” King Helat asked, eyes drilling into the bishop, who was smart enough to look down as he responded.

  “It seems a matter of religion, Sire.”

  “Really? When the Paul’s woldling hordes overran our borders, was it a religious matter? Because I don’t recall the church holding the line back then,” King Helat shot back. Then he turned back to me. “Why should the Shadows hold him?”

  “He knows us and will communicate with us. Put him in anyone else’s hands and he’ll shut down just like he was trained to do. We need information, Sire, and we need it fast. He’s Ash, but he’s also very much a different… being. If the Paul’s priests have improved their techniques to the point where they can turn adults into functioning woldlings who retain their intelligence, we have a real problem. We’ve already seen other woldling surprises recently, and this is arguably worse.”

  “What surprises?” Lord Grantell asked.

  The king waved a hand at him, keeping his eyes on me. Then he turned to the one person he almost always listened to. “Daughter?”

  “Savid is correct that a Shadow will resist questioning, even by esllings. And the Shadows are very close-knit, Father. I can see greater cooperation with friends than enemies.”

  “I object to being termed an enemy,” Neil said, keeping his tone mild but somehow hurt.

  “You know exactly what I mean by that, Neil. Don’t obfuscate,” Brona said.

  “Hmm, I agree with you, Brona… but with conditions,” the king said. “One of Neil’s people should monitor the questioning. The bonds of soldiers who’ve faced combat side by side are incredibly strong. We wouldn’t want any conflicts, would we?”

  Not what I wanted to hear. Neil’s people and my people coordinated fairly well, but there was professional jealousy there too. King Helat had been ecstatic when Brona had turned her formidable attention to helping her father manage and protect the kingdom. He had willingly let her have her own intelligence arm, but Neil took it as a threat to his own job security. He was constantly trying to divine our secrets, methods, and intelligence. There had been moments, early on, when we had shared information, only to have him bring it to the king first, claiming credit.

  Having an operative placed among my people while we debriefed Ash was a major damper on our activities. Which worked for him either way; either we produced information and he learned many of our secrets, or we didn’t and he got to claim that we were ineffective and thus Ash should be removed from our custody.

  Brona locked her eyes on mine and flicked her focus from one of my eyes to the other, side to side. No… don’t object.

  “Your agent should present themselves to the Knife and Needle,” I said to Neil.

  He smiled. “It would be more efficient for her to head to the facility you’re holding him at.”

  “That’s incredibly poor tradecraft, Neil,” I said, mentally noting the pronoun he used. “I’m surprised you would even suggest it.”

  He had long ago mastered his facial expressions, and the only sign of his displeasure at my criticism was a very, very slight tightening of his features. “Ah, you’re suggesting that my hand-chosen agent would have such poor skills as to be detected app
roaching your building?”

  I let myself frown. “I’m not suggesting. I’m telling you that operational security on this will be watertight and under Shadow control.”

  “As entertaining as this pissing contest is… sorry, Princess,” my father interjected, “but I’d like to bring up the matter of Lady Dominick and her detention.”

  On the one hand, I was glad he had changed the topic; on the other, by apologizing to Brona for his indelicate language, he had slighted her. From the frown on her face, I realized that she would handle his insult, and likely he would pay for it. And from the frown on her father’s face, I gauged that my father had stepped too far.

  “My Lord DelaCrotia, did you somehow forget that this is my meeting and I control its agenda?” the king asked. Father froze, which for him was the equivalent of squirming.

  “No, Your Majesty. It seemed like that topic was exhausted,” Rucian said.

  “It’s not,” the king snapped. “Savid, you have full control and the requisite responsibility for the security and containment of the prisoner.” He looked at me carefully to see if I understood.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “Now, you said you can communicate with Ash the woldling. How?”

  “He understands what we say, Sire. I distracted him during the retrieval with memories of our service together. He appears highly motivated to see his family. As soon as he is alert, we’ll start asking him questions. I’m confident that his information will be valuable. I highly doubt that the Paul anticipated how ineffective his terror weapon turned out to be.”

  “Which may press the Paul to escalate his actions,” Neil said. “No doubt his eyes and ears in Haven are waiting for a blowup, and the general population already knows that a woldling was shot by the lord marshal himself. That kind of news travels like lightning.”