Summer of Crows

by Hans Cummings

  Aveline shook her head. “It was obviously not clear to Imrus. You have two choices—pay the remainder due to purchase the pot Imrus has offered, or request a refund of your deposit so you can buy from someone else.”

  “I do not offer refunds on deposits,” Imrus huffed, glaring daggers at Aveline.

  She met his glower with a stare. “In this circumstance, it might be better for all if you were flexible with that policy this once.”

  Behind them, a vendor shouted the virtues of his freshly roasted squab. The aroma took Aveline back to her youth when her family lived in Vlorey, far to the north, where street vendors sold grilled chickens and ducks. There, squabs—known as pigeons—infested the city like pests. In Curton, people ate them.

  Both men appeared ready to debate the issue with her. Aveline rose to her full height. While neither man stood short, she loomed over them, cutting an imposing figure. Her warm sepia skin contrasted against her gleaming, steel-plate armor. She made a show of adjusting the grip on her mace in case she needed to draw it. Aveline rarely carried a sword, but she found the heavy cudgel a better deterrent, as well as a reminder of her youth. She’d trained with one when she was young, awkward, and clumsy—with feet that couldn’t get out of their own way. Swordplay required a level of finesse of which she was not capable then. By the time she grew into her feet and handled a sword well, she had become accustomed to, and preferred, the mace.

  The customer backed down first. He withdrew several silver talons from his money purse, thrusting them at Imrus. “Should’ve known you northerners would stick together. I’ll take the pot.”

  Aveline ignored the jibe about her and the redsmith’s common origins. Leaving the men to complete their transaction, she strode across the plaza. Standing before the statue of Jayne Hammerfist, she regarded the stern-looking dwarf warrior.

  “I think today I would rather face your oroq horde than have to suffer yet another fool squabbling over money.”

  The statue offered neither advice nor support. As always, Jayne Hammerfist gazed across the rooftops of the city from her vantage point atop the central plaza on the highest hill of Curton. As they passed, city dwellers nodded at Aveline. Her appearance marked her as a foreigner even though she’d lived in Curton most of her life. Over the years, the townsfolk had come to accept her as one of their own. Just as well since she considered Curton her home.

  Adjusting the strap that kept her shield secure against her back, she proceeded to check in with the guards at the city gates. With luck, one of the trade caravans would return today. She wanted to greet them herself.

  Chapter 2

  After the day waned and the light of the setting sun cast a rosy glow across town, Aveline met Tasha at the Drunken Horse. Notably Curton’s finest inn, it boasted as the largest tavern. Located near the town square, it served as the most popular gathering place for all but the most destitute townsfolk.

  The hearth room seated over one hundred around its central fireplace. Hustling from table to table, attendants served mugs of ale and steaming platters of roasted capon, legs of lamb, stews, root vegetables, and even fish pulled from the river by local fishermen.

  In one corner, a group of old people sat around a table complaining about young people. In the opposite corner, a group of young men sat hoisting their mugs and singing bawdy songs. Dozens of other townsfolk clumped together in groups. From a table near the door, a dusky-haired man with dark eyes stared at the two women entering. The fine cut of his silver cord-trimmed ebony robe marked him as a man of means. Although a bladed staff leaned against the table within easy reach, the patron seemed more concerned with his drink and the generous spread covering his table.

  The man lifted his mug in a salute as Aveline and Tasha sat at a nearby unoccupied table. “Perhaps you two lovely ladies would care to join me? As you can see, I have plenty to share.”

  The armored knight-captain’s face was a stony mask. “I don’t think so, stranger.”

  “I am Vasco Dragonblade, formerly of Maritropa. I am new in town. If you would grace me with your name, we will no longer be strangers. Perhaps then you will accept my hospitality?”

  Scowling, Aveline leaned closer to him, keeping her voice low. “Stranger, I don’t know what you’re selling. I don’t know what your game is. If you want companionship, there is a brothel down by Miners’ Gate.” Turning away from him, she beckoned one of the barmaids.

  Tasha stifled a snort, covering her mouth. “What kind of name is ‘Dragonblade’ anyway? Seems rather pretentious to me.”

  The man smiled. “Ah, yes, well, it’s a self-inflicted moniker.” He stroked the haft of his bladed staff. “From the wing bone of a dragon. Light, strong, exotic. Due to the circumstances under which I left Maritropa, I felt it was best to abandon my family name.”

  A barmaid approached the ladies’ table, then handed them each an ale. When they opted to share a capon, the stranger leaned closer. “Excuse me, perhaps my ignorance is showing. I have, after all, just arrived in town. I don’t wish to step on any toes, but maybe I have misinterpreted your relationship to each other.”

  Aveline snapped her head toward him, narrowing her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

  “He thinks we’re lovers.” Tasha giggled. Watching Aveline take down boorish men remained one of the few pleasures in her life.

  Sighing, the armored knight-captain pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because we’re sharing a meal?”

  “Forgive me if I have given offense. It is common in some cultures. Though, I admit, I am surprised to find it in eastern Etrunia. This region does not have a reputation for being tolerant of certain… choices.”

  The armored woman regarded her companion. “Tasha…”

  “We’re just friends. We share because there’s no point in wasting food. Now, if you don’t mind?” Tasha gestured toward Aveline. “My friend is becoming annoyed, and she’s had a hard day. You don’t want to be on the bad side of a grumpy city watch captain.”

  “Indeed not.” Bowing his head, he raised his mug toward them once more before draining it. He tossed a few talons on the table for the barmaid before pushing himself away from the table. Taking his staff, he nodded at Tasha and Aveline as he headed toward the stairs leading to the rooms on the second floor.

  “He probably thinks he’s charming.” Aveline shook her head.

  Tasha shrugged. “Maybe. He’s a sorcerer. I’d bet money on it.”

  Aveline watched him ascend the stairs. “The staff?”

  “It’s probably his focus. If he is from Maritropa, as he claims, that would explain it. Most sorcerers from the Maritropa Arcane University train in staff combat. It makes for a good show when they’re preening for all the nobles, young ladies, and each other. I trained for a bit, but I never got the hang of it.”

  Sniffing, Aveline returned attention to her mug of ale. “That blade looks deadly enough.” She shifted in her seat, tugging at her armor. “Remind me to take the time to remove this armor before we come here next time.”

  Tasha nodded. “We should keep an eye on him. Maybe he’s just passing through.”

  The barmaid brought their capon, its skin roasted crisp and golden brown. The aroma of herbs wafted from it. Alongside it, she set a tub of butter and a loaf of bread on the table. Tasha tore a hunk off the loaf, then handed it to Aveline before taking a piece for herself.

  “Smells like trouble to me.” Aveline spoke around the bread in her mouth, “I didn’t like how he just assumed we were lovers.”

  Tasha smiled. “What’s wrong with that?” She liked to tease the knight-captain. Tasha enjoyed the company of both men and women, but none filled the longing in her heart like Lorelei. The elf, unlike so many others, had entered her life at the right time. They had planned a future together, a future to which Tasha had looked forward until Lorelei was killed.

  Aveline sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know…” She shook her head, taking a long drink of her ale.

 
; Slamming the door of the inn open, a group of draks singing a bawdy song entered. The rowdy group approached a large round table. Banging on the tabletop, their singing stopped only long to get a barmaid’s attention.

  Tasha changed the topic. “You want to talk about your day?”

  “Gods, no. But I suppose it might help. You always have good ideas.” Aveline removed one of the capon legs. Grease dripped on the table as she bit into it.

  While Tasha waited for Aveline to continue, she carved a hunk of the capon breast for herself.

  “First, I was summoned to break up an argument between a merchant and his customer. I don’t know why anyone thought it was my job to arbitrate petty disputes. I was nearly run over by a runaway vegetable cart. Next, the dwarf caravan failed to show up today, and the Lord Mayor is breathing down my neck about the missing people. He wants to see you, by the way.”

  Several of Tasha’s customers gossiped about the disappearances of several brothel workers, and they warned her to be careful. While not unusual for workers to leave the brothel without warning from time to time, recently, several had left and never returned. High brothel turnover rates were not abnormal, especially if the proprietor was known to be cruel. However, Madam Danica was kind, if strict.

  “What’s the count up to?” The last Tasha heard, three or four individuals had vanished. “And what does the Lord Mayor want me for?”

  “Seven. Two this week alone, plus a beggar from Old Town. The Lord Mayor? Well, he doesn’t share all his plans with me. No doubt he wants to try to entice you to his bed again.”

  Sighing, Tasha shook her head. “I should never have let him know I can’t actually turn him into a frog.” Tasha commanded powerful magics of destruction; however, ever since she revealed to the Lord Mayor her repertoire did not include transmutation sorcery, he’d become more aggressive in his pursuit of her.

  “Threaten to burn down his damned house.”

  Tasha laughed. “That I could do. He’s harmless, though, the sniveling little weasel.”

  “Mostly harmless.” Aveline wiped the grease off her chin. “Anyway, you should turn the tables on him. I’ll bet if you come on strong enough, he’ll run away and never bother you again. Honestly, you’re too much woman for him.”

  Tasha blushed. Candid talk was rare from Aveline. “Thank you. I think I’ll just continue to ignore him. What do you think is going on at the brothel? Runaways?”

  Shaking her head, Aveline swallowed the hunk of meat in her mouth. “No, I don’t think so. Danica can be harsh, but she treats her workers quite well. I don’t think she’s involved at all, but her damned integrity is getting in the way of our investigation. She won’t give up the names of any of her clients.”

  “Have you thought of assigning any constables to watch her place?” Tasha figured her friend tried that first, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  Aveline confirmed her suspicions. “That didn’t work out. They… took advantage of her hospitality. I don’t have time to watch it myself.” She focused her attention on the capon’s other leg.

  “You need more women in the city watch.”

  “I already have three, not counting myself. You want a job?”

  Tasha shook her head. Helping herself to another hunk of bread, she slathered butter on it. “No, but thank you. I’m busy enough in my little shop, and things are about to get busier.”

  Aveline cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

  “The Flametenders have about a dozen eggs ready to hatch.” The most prominent local clan of draks, the Flametenders and the other drak clans relied on her for medicinal herbs and advice. Tasha always set aside extra time to help with the hatchlings.

  “You’ve done more for drak acceptance in this town—”

  A constable burst through the door. Gasping for breath, he raced to their table. “Lady Aveline! There’s…another…” Sweat poured down his beet-red face as he struggled to speak. Upon rising, Aveline gripped his shoulders to steady him.

  “Slow down, breathe, and tell me what’s happened.” All eyes in the inn focused on them.

  “There’s another missing girl. Not one of Danica’s worker ladies. Innya Myasnik.”

  * * *

  “Myasnik?” Aveline waved to gain the attention of a barmaid. Wasn’t that the girl talking to Mother Anya? “The butcher’s daughter?”

  Gulping, the constable nodded. Aveline pulled out a chair, then nudged him into it. Once he sat, she passed her mug to him. Tasha furrowed her brow.

  The constable drank the rest of Aveline’s ale. “Her mother came to the jail in tears. She said Innya went out in the morning to gather flowers for her father’s naming-day celebration and never came back.”

  “When was this?”

  “Just this morning.”

  Aveline reclined in her chair. “How do they know she’s missing? It hasn’t even been a day yet.”

  “That’s what we asked. Her mother said she found her basket outside their home, filled with flowers and a note.” He produced a scrap of parchment from within his tunic.

  Aveline unfolded it. The words were written with a shaky hand.

  You have a pretty girl, butcher.

  Thanks for keeping her pure.

  She is just what we need.

  “Pure? What are they on about?” Sighing, Aveline handed the note to Tasha.

  Tasha shrugged. “If they are related, maybe whoever’s behind the disappearances think they needed a virgin. If the workers are being used in a blood-magic ritual, it wouldn’t be unheard of, though any guild mage will tell you arbitrary standards of purity are a load of horse dung. It doesn’t explain the missing men, though.”

  “Maybe they’re slavers.” The constable took a piece of bread. Aveline frowned. “I hear some pay more for virgins.”

  “Why leave a note, especially if they’re not asking for a ransom?” Tasha returned the parchment to Aveline.

  Rubbing her eyes, the knight-captain studied it. “This makes no sense. The note taunts him. Us.”

  Tasha shrugged. “Maybe the kidnappers want to be found. Perhaps they want to force a confrontation.”

  “To what end? Maybe they’re just arrogant.” Aveline considered the possibilities. If Innya’s disappearance is related to the others, why leave a note now? If it is not related, why leave one without asking for ransom? Why draw our attention?

  “What’s your name again?” Narrowing her eyes, Aveline scratched the nape of her neck.

  “Javor, m’lady.” Wisps of sandy hair peeked from under his helmet.

  “First”—she took the bread from his hands—“stop eating our food.” He shrank in his chair, lowering his head. “Second, find Lieutenant Valon. Have him meet me at the citadel.”

  Rising, Constable Javor saluted Aveline, placing his fist over his heart, then exited the inn. The patrons murmured to each other. Aveline knew word of Innya’s disappearance would spread quickly now.

  Sighing, Aveline put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she caught Tasha smiling at her.

  “Don’t you love it when the constables make a scene?”

  Chapter 3

  At Aveline’s behest, Tasha proceeded to the Lord Mayor’s residence to inform him of the disappearance of the butcher’s daughter. He liked to be kept apprised of the city watch’s activities. He’d be more informed if he’d live in the citadel like the previous Lord Mayor. Scattered clouds blew past Calliome’s moons, the King and Queen. Like a crown, the summer constellation of Tinian, king of the gods, hung over them.

  Built near the western edge of town, in the sprawl outside of the wall at the edge of Old Town, the Lord Mayor’s modest, two-story home was constructed from bricks made with local clay. A brick wall topped with a short, wrought-iron fence surrounded the estate. A lit torch in a lone sconce provided more shadow than light at the gate. The property was not dissimilar in size or style from the traditional manor in which all the previous Lord Mayor’s had lived, but because Koloman came f
rom old money and already owned a home, he insisted on remaining on his own estate. Tasha speculated, as many townsfolk did, that rather than it being a gesture of generosity or fiscal responsibility, he did not want to shoulder the expense of maintaining the old manor house and preferred to use town funds for that purpose as the property grew more decrepit each year.

  Through the iron-bar-clad windows, Tasha observed flickering candles. Yawning, a man with heavy eyelids, wearing dingy chain mail stood guard. As Tasha approached, he angled his spear across the gate to bar her entrance.

  “Who goes there?” The guard’s stern tone demanded an answer.

  “Tasha Galperin. I bring a message to His Lordship from Lady Aveline.” In the dim torchlight, Tasha recognized him.

  “Oh, you. He’s been asking about you. Go on up.” The guard opened the gate for Tasha. As she passed, he cleared his throat. “That salve you gave me helped. Thanks.”

  I thought that was Rickon. She remembered him clearly now. He came to her during the past week for help with an itchy rash he claimed he contracted from a tumble in some weeds. Tasha suspected it arose from a tumble in the brothel, but she nodded, remaining silent.

  Flower gardens lined the river rock path from the gate to the house. Despite her personal feelings about the Lord Mayor, Tasha admired his home’s potential. Pity it’s so dark.

  A single crow cawed from atop a broken lamppost at the bottom of the porch stairs. Cocking its head, it cawed once more before flapping away. Shaking her head, Tasha tromped up the creaky steps, approaching the aged, weathered oak door that showed signs of too much exposure and too little care. She rapped the tarnished brass knocker against it.

  “It is late, herbalist. I would have thought you’d have more sense than to answer one of milord’s summons at this time of night.” The Lord Mayor’s seneschal, an older man, Alik, opened the door just enough to peer out. The balding man wore a perpetual frown, conveying the impression he disapproved of everyone and their lives in general.