A Flight of Ravens

by John Conroe

  “She said almost exactly as much. She also said that her commander would skin any RRS operators who didn’t render aid as long as it didn’t jeopardize their mission. She didn’t think much of the regular military. She did, however, seem to think a great deal of you, as did the rest of her squad.”

  “Yet I get the feeling you view me about like you might a death rattler?”

  “I am wary of your Forester’s pet cat too,” she said. “Watching normal people interact with you, it is clear that some part of them, either consciously or unconsciously, recognizes the need for caution. But to one such as I, you quite simply radiate danger—like the heat of a fire.”

  “All my people are dangerous, and Jella is a battlemaster,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes, but you out radiate them, even the Drodacian. There’s also the matter of the crown princess. I’ve seen her from a fairly close distance. She was in a carriage and I was on the street, but it was close enough. She is… different,” she said, eyes watching me cautiously.

  “You think so?” I asked, keeping my tone mild.

  “She is extremely… focused. Deadly focused. It’s no secret that she’s fully committed to her kingdom.”

  “True,” I said.

  “In a different way than her father. Her commitment is… singular,” she said, clearly choosing her words with care.

  “I think the word you are looking for is ruthless,” I said.

  “Among several,” she agreed. “And you are, by an enormous margin, her favorite weapon.”

  “I am,” I acknowledged. “I’m not sure why that scares you though, especially when you chose to join our team.”

  “The leader of the cavalry troop who ran us off the road was ruthless too, but he was also both careless and uncaring. Your princess is more than that. Her intelligence is like a beacon to my Talent. She smiles and waves to the people, looking the part of the beautiful princess. And she hands out food to the hungry, runs orphanages and shelters for the destitute. But under those perfect looks is a mind that sees everything, plots constantly, calculates all the odds. Behind that smile is a master Rik player, always ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

  “She scares you; I scare you… yet here you are?”

  “She would never run a family off the road unless it was absolutely imperative. She’s not careless, reckless, or unthinking. She feeds her people, provides clothes and clinics for care. It may be a carefully thought-out strategy, but it’s still the right one. I want to work for people who would avoid the kinds of actions that killed my family while protecting the country and still taking care of the people, even if their ultimate motivation is cold and calculated.”

  It was my turn to be surprised. Few are the people who see Brona clearly. I nodded at her words. “She’s more complicated than that, but you are not wrong in your observations.”

  “And somehow, as much as you are her weapon, I think you somehow act as her balance.”

  “Perhaps, although no one stops Brona if she deems an action to be vital. Now, back to this trinket. You think it was impressed as you say, with something that changes people? Can you read all that?”

  “No. I sense just a little of it. But I think you could read it.”

  Chapter 22

  I must have stared for a moment too long as she suddenly shifted in her seat. “Kassa, I think you are seriously overestimating what my particular Talent is about. I can locate objects and people. That’s it.”

  She tapped the side of her head. “I am gifted with a memory for things I hear that is almost perfect… better, in fact, than Trell’s trained bardic memory. I can literally hear my grandfather’s voice talking about Finders. He was much impressed with that particular ability.”

  “And what exactly was he impressed about?”

  “Kassa, my darling, one of the most interesting Talents is the ability to Find,” she intoned in an eerie impression of a man’s voice. “As you have no doubt memorized by now, it is an offshoot of Knowing, but it is a very particular one. You see, dear girl, a Finder must establish a connection from what they are Finding to either a person or a related object. A Knower reads the vibrations of an object, but a Finder both reads the vibrations and tracks them across distance and even, get this, across time.”

  “What? What did he mean by time?”

  She reached up and touched one of her gold earrings. “If I misplace this, you could locate it, without ever having seen it before, simply because I have worn it and it is therefore imprinted with vibrational energy that is particular to me. Or if I lost it and, say, Trell brought you the surviving twin, you could track it based upon the similarity between them.”

  “Yes, that’s pretty accurate, but it doesn’t answer my question of what your father meant.”

  “I’m getting there,” she said with a smile, clearly enjoying her role as teacher. I could see why Trell was smitten. She was not only very attractive, but she was very sharp, highly observant, and clearly brave. “Tell me, Captain: Did your sister or mother ever ask you to find some valued trinket that had been lost for a considerable amount of time? Say, a childhood toy or keepsake that had been misplaced and forgotten years ago?”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering doing just that for both Jolanna and Brona.

  “I’ll tell you something you might not know, in the interest of our agreement for me to pipe up. People’s vibrational energy changes as they age. Your sister’s energy as a child was different from what it is now as a grown woman. Sometimes it varies just a little, sometimes a great deal, yet I would hazard that it wouldn’t matter to your gift. You could still track the traces of childhood Jolanna DelaCrotia despite her now being adult Lady Jolanna Jens. That is what Father meant.”

  “Isn’t that just because the energies are still so similar?” I asked. “Not really across time at all, is it?”

  “From my father’s perspective, what you do is quite different from what I do or your… the crown princess’s Reader does. We read the mental energy of the individual and translate that in our heads to understand thoughts or intentions. You, on the other hand, somehow sample, as my father called it, the entire vibrational energy of an individual or object, then reach out into the environment around you and find a similar pattern, even if it has become different because of time. Quite remarkable, really.”

  I took a second to process all that. “And you think I can do, what? Read the vibrations from this trinket and track the eslling that modified it?”

  She nodded slowly. “I do. It will be tricky, though, as you can’t touch it or you risk that whole running amok thing we discussed earlier,” she said with a sardonic smile.

  “I don’t even know how to begin,” I said.

  “Then it is a very good thing that you have me on your team,” she said.

  “I came to that realization when Fontina first came to the Knife and Needle. The entire team is well aware of your value,” I said.

  “Hmm, maybe not the entire team, but it’s early yet. And I’m just checking how you feel. I have a considerable regard for my own abilities, and I want anyone I work with to have the same opinion,” she said. I simply nodded, amused at her forthright nature. This young lady would be very good for Trell, setting his considerable ego in place on a regular basis.

  “Now,” she said, “to begin with, just hold a hand over the object. Not too close!” she added when my right hand was the width of my palm over the artifact.

  “Now just relax, close your eyes if that helps, and just try to let your mind run free,” she said, watching me closely. “No eyes closed? Don’t trust me?”

  “Kassa, if you watch any of us over time, you’ll realize that we only close our eyes when we’re sleeping. A Shadow with any of their senses shut down is usually a dead Shadow.”

  She held my gaze for a moment, then nodded.

  “I feel something,” I said as I suddenly realized it.

  “What?” she asked.

  I couldn’t answer right away, as I h
adn’t figured it out yet myself.

  “It’s like an itch.”

  “A rash, then?” she smirked.

  “Not how I’d describe it,” I said with a light frown.

  “Then describe it better,” she said, a challenge in her eyes.

  I gave her a glare back, but she wasn’t fooled. So instead, I took up the challenge and concentrated on the feeling in my hand, or rather the palm of my hand. It took a few seconds to decipher, but what I had called an itch was really more of a pulse—a very, very fast pulse, almost more like a buzzing, or… vibration.

  “It’s vibrating,” I said.

  She smiled and nodded, waving a hand for more. I moved my hand upward, farther away, and the buzz diminished in power but not speed. I pushed closer and the vibration picked up intensity. A little closer and I suddenly felt anger, not my own but someone else’s. I pulled back and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “It’s generating emotion—anger, maybe even rage,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her.

  “If you say so,” she said. “I can only tell that it’s not normal, but I don’t pick up anything else. Not my wheelhouse—more yours, I’d say.”

  “Thank you, oh mystic teacher,” I growled out, but she only laughed.

  “It might take you some time to suss it out,” she said, “being as this is all new, but with some time and experimentation, it might well be possible.”

  A knock came at the door and I covered the artifact with its silk wrapping before speaking. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Cort’s face popped in. “You both need to see this,” he said, moving his head to indicate something outside the room.

  Chapter 23

  We followed him out of the private room and out of the inn, then across the street, around a corner, and down a short alley. It was cold, and a light mist had slicked the road and buildings with moisture. At the brick wall at the end of the alley, Cort started to climb a roof drainage pipe, not bothering to look back at us.

  Kassa looked a bit intimidated but she still stepped forward and put her hands on the lowest brackets that held the pipe. I pointed out a foothold and she gamely started to climb. Luckily, she still wore the trousers that Soshi had insisted she travel in rather than a dress. When she was half again my height above the ground, I started to follow, watching to be sure she didn’t fall. I pointed out one handhold and two footholds, but that was the only help she needed. Up on the roof, Cort waited long enough to see us standing steadily on the wet tiles before turning and moving up to the peak. We followed his lead, both ducking down when he did so as to cautiously poke our heads over the top.

  Below us, a crowd had formed on the street that ran parallel to our building. Actually, it was two separate crowds, one on either side, facing off.

  “The side directly below is Berkette; the ones across the street are from Mandrigo,” Cort whispered. “Soshi’s on the roof of the building across from us. Drew is down below to the left.”

  I looked across and found my team sniper behind a chimney on the street side of the roof, curled in a sort of stuffed kneeling position that I couldn’t have copied, a special long-barreled bolter in her right hand. The chimney both hid her small frame and kept her from sliding off the roof. She was watching to see when I would notice her and waved as soon as she saw me looking. I nodded, knowing her sharp eyes would pick up the small motion. She used her free hand to signal clear for action. Most snipers wouldn’t signal that without a tuned crossbow and a stable hide, but Soshi was a different sort altogether. I had no doubt she could hit most of the targets below her with just a handheld bolter, particularly that one.

  When we had been in the alley, we hadn’t heard anything, but now, peering over the roofline, the noise of the crowds was obvious. Most of the sound was cheering or booing, along with a healthy amount of curse words. But it was only the two spokespeople whose voices were clear. A man from Mandrigo was squared off against a woman from the Berkette side, each yelling at the other. It was an orderly sort of argument, with one waiting for the other to finish before replying. The boos and cheers were the crowds’ responses.

  “You’re nothing but slaves to a handful of families!” the woman yelled out. “Property of the queen and her nobles!”

  “Our royal family has proven itself over and over while your oligarchy is simply corrupt and spineless!” the man yelled back.

  “You overfish the ocean and overcharge your customers, all to pay a greedy queen.”

  “We fish our ancestral waters with respect while you live off the fruits of our labors, paying just nails on the rustie for every lobster, crab, oyster, and fish we risk our lives to catch.”

  “They’ve been at this for at least twenty minutes,” Cort whispered. He probably could have spoken at full volume and no one would have heard him, but Shadows are cautious for a reason.

  Both of the spokespeople were pacing back and forth on their respective side of the street, and I saw a glimmer of gold when the man turned. I glanced around at the other people on the street and started to pick up little flickers of gold and silver about chest height as more of the artifacts caught the yellow light of Porye’s street torches.

  “Have any of them come to blows?” I whispered back.

  “That’s the odd thing—no. It’s been going on like this almost since it started, yet nobody’s thrown so much as a punch, despite all the shit talk. Er, excuse my language,” Cort hastily apologized to Kassa. She waved his embarrassment away as inconsequential, her attention focused on the scene below.

  “It might take an amplifier of some kind,” she whispered.

  I caught her meaning right away, but Cort looked confused. “The necklaces have been tampered with by an eslling,” I explained.

  His mouth formed an O but he didn’t say anything as he processed that. “It’s all artificial, then?” he asked.

  “We think so. But the fact that that they haven’t fought is interesting. Freyla made it sound like anyone who touched those artifacts would go berserk,” I answered.

  “Actually, she merely thought it a possibility, and I believe she was specifically worried about you,” Kassa said to me.

  Cort’s face turned very serious. “I’ve seen that before…” He broke off at my glare.

  Kassa glanced at us and caught the exchange. She raised one eyebrow, then turned back to the action below. “Something’s happening,” she said, pointing.

  Cort and I both leaned over the peak and looked where her finger indicated, the right end of the street.

  A group of five newcomers, all wearing white robes with black trim, were headed down the street. Six big men, armed with cudgels, followed them, eyes watching the crowds.

  “The Holy Assembly of Reformed Wickedness,” Kassa said, so surprised, she forgot to whisper.

  I had recognized the robes on sight, as well as two of their wearers.

  “Is that your girlfriend from Pit?” Cort asked, also speaking normally. I turned, a finger on my lips.

  “Girlfriend?” Kassa asked, eyebrows up.

  I waved a hand to dismiss it. “We’ve met one of the parsons in that group before. Cort was smitten.”

  She turned and studied the clergy for a second, then turned back. “Gotta be the blonde behind the old guy, right?”

  “Yup, that’s her,” Cort said, his own eyes locked on the girl below.

  “Gwen Vancour, parson and assistant to Deacon Kittleby, the old guy in front,” I said. “What the hell is the Holy Assembly doing on Montshire soil?”

  “Hear me, residents and visitors of Porye alike,” the deacon called out as they approached the tense standoff. “Put aside your vitriol, your anger, and your distrust, and recall the long history you share. A history of beneficial cooperation and tolerance.”

  Kassa stiffened, her shoulders hunching at the same time that a wave of some sort of emotion rose from below. She whipped around to Cort and me, her expression alarmed. “Someone is projecting,” she
said in a normal voice, but I still almost didn’t hear her over the almost instant roar of anger from the crowds.

  Below us, the church group had slowed to a stop, alarm beginning to show on the deacon’s face, his security people moving forward. A rock flew from the Mandrigo side and hit the deacon in the middle of his chest. It didn’t seem to hurt him much, but the effect on the Berkette faction was instant. With a roar, they rushed across the street to attack the Mandrigans and battle was joined.

  “The church party will be killed,” Kassa said but I ignored her, instead signaling Soshi. Prepare for action, alert team member, evade and regroup.

  She signaled affirmative and tucked her bolter away as she turned and started to climb back up the roof.

  “Corporal, prepare two flash grenades. Kassa, start back down to the ground; we’ll be behind you in a moment,” I said. The young essling woman stared at me for a moment, then hurriedly began to pick her way down the roof. “Go slow and careful. Falling from this height would be bad.”

  She stopped without turning around and visibly took a breath, then breathed it out slowly before restarting her descent a bit more cautiously. I turned back to find Cort pulling one proscribed piece of equipment after another from within his common workman’s jacket. Two round pottery objects the size of plums, followed by a small brass cylinder with a length of rope hanging out of it. He untangled fuses from the tops of the clay balls and twisted the top off the cylinder. Then he looked at me and nodded.

  Across the way, Soshi was gone. Behind us, Kassa had made it onto the climbing pipe, her head level with the edge of the roof. Her eyes met mine and then she climbed down out of sight.

  From inside my own jacket, I pulled two coiled lengths of very thin, very strong climbing cord and looped each around a nearby chimney, tossing both ends of each cord back down into the alley where Kassa would hopefully be waiting.

  Turning back, I held a pair of ropes in each hand. Below us was mayhem. “Now, Corporal.”

  Cort pushed a tiny lever on the side of the brass cylinder, which immediately sparked, and a small ember appeared on the charred rope poking out of the cylinder’s exposed top. He waved the device around, making the ember glow brighter, then with smooth, sure motions, he touched the smoking cord to each fuse to ignite them. Holding the sparking bomblets without seeming regard for imminent danger, he unhurriedly put away the rope lighter and coolly watched the fuses burn down. When he judged them right, he casually tossed them underhanded out into the air above the street.