Raven's Bane

by Will Bly

  Yeah. Maybe my bile tastes like blackberries.

  Irulen shook his head. He looked at the others. They faced him but he couldn’t make out their faces in the dark. They were silent wraiths, casting judgement on his every move. He placed his hand on the side of Kay’s face.

  “Mmm.” She smiled ever-so-subtly.

  He caressed her cheek with his thumb, remembered fondly how he used to caress the rest of her. He felt ashamed that he had ruined all that.

  You’ll be fine, because you have to be.

  She lifted his hand from her face. She squeezed his hand to share her pain. He accepted it willingly. He’d gladly take all the pain she had to offer.

  Her hand reminded him of the vast ocean of blackness between his desires and being able to love someone deeply. He felt irreparably broken. His decisions continued to cause people harm. Lynette, though departed for the next world, had forged a relationship with Ithial that proved nothing but destructive to the people around him. He’d never be free of his decision to imbue her with magic, the decision that ruined her body and soul. But she never lost herself completely in all that blackness. Mostly perhaps, but at the end she came back to him. At the end she made amends and for that he would always be grateful. She forgave him, and he forgave her. He’d cherish that forgiveness.

  ◆◆◆

  As fate would have it, they were put up to stay in the same dwelling where Irulen had his… encounter with Marisa. He made sure to take the spot that had been used as it seemed wrong on all levels to let someone else lay in the soiled remnants of his guilt and misery. Cots were granted to everyone forming a half-moon pattern around the circular room: Irulen anchored the front-most corner to the right of the room’s entrance. Kay was coiled up in a ball of stiff pain counterclockwise of him further from the door. Farah’s space was at the top of the room; she sat upright with a scroll in her hand. Then there was Quinn’s space below her and across from Kay—empty, as he went off in search of a hot bath. Irulen gave him the coin to pay for the services—the least he could do for his betrayed friend. Merek busily folded and refolded the furs on his cot to the left of the entrance. The half-circle finished with another empty space set aside for Leofrick whom hadn’t been seen since they returned to town.

  Where is that rotten son of a bitch, anyway? Irulen sat with his legs crossed, his hands folded over his knees. He wondered if Leofrick had taken advantage of their absence to skip out on them. Truth is, I really don’t care. He wanted to lay down. He really needed to sleep. But Kay being in the state she was forced his eyes to remain open. He hunched over and brought his elbow to his knee, balled his fist up and propped it under his chin. “What’s that you’re reading there?”

  Farah lowered the scroll. “Stories. Of all the things Merlane sells. Seems like he sells stories as well.”

  “What’s that one about?”

  “A boy with magic, actually.”

  “Is that so?”

  “The son of a powerful mage is born with enough magic for one spell—or so his father tells him. He spends years searching himself and when he finds the magic, you know what he does?”

  “Summons a brick of gold?”

  “You can do that?”

  “No. But isn’t that why stories exist—to be impossible?”

  She looked at him through hooded eyes.

  “Okay, fine. What does he do?”

  “He makes himself disappear. Vanish. He can’t think of a single spell that would guarantee happiness.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Yes, and you know the kicker to the story? He had more magic in him all along. The powerful mage father simply wanted him to learn the value of magic. To treat it preciously and to conserve it…”

  “Perhaps the father should learn the value of a son.”

  “He does, just the hard way. And too late.”

  “I say.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What would be your one spell?”

  “I don’t know. But I might have to find out sooner than later.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I used a lot of magic shocking Kay back to life.”

  “I’ve seen you do worse.”

  “This is different. The nature of it. We were far from the nearest ley line at the time. Costs more power to do less.” Irulen searched inside himself to confirm what he suspected. “I feel… weakened.”

  Kay cooed from her bed as her legs kicked downward in discomfort.

  “So weak that you can’t help her anymore?”

  “There’s not much else I can do. But yes, for me to try anything would take entirely too much magic. Possibly the rest of what I have. We are far from the nearest ley line where I can use less for more. Here I have to use more for less. It saps me faster.”

  “Isn’t she worth trying, though?” Something in the way Farah looked at him made him think she was asking whether any of them were worth it.

  Irulen cracked his neck without the use of his hands. I hate having my ethics questioned, Farah, you pain in the ass. “The town physician hooked her up with some potions. All we can do is cool her when she’s hot and warm her when she’s cold. Keep her body going through the sweats and shivers.”

  ◆◆◆

  The warm water of the bath house rejuvenated Quinn’s body and mind. He felt the creaks and cracks working their way out of his bones. As for his mind, he thought of The Roasted Duck, of the glorious hot water bath he and Irulen had spent so much time engineering. A truly pinnacle achievement, he wondered if any of the place was salvaged after the fire. He wondered if any of the city was salvaged.

  But looking back wouldn’t help him. He knew that. Looking back revealed layers of pain and regret. The steam of the bath became waves, his eyes followed them like a ship in rough ocean. Aldo, lost at sea. Irulen, lost to mistrust. Quinn, lost in the darkness. Ratsy… the latest victim of violence—a result of all things before and the beginning of everything that comes next. An innocent soul who befriended the wrong guy. The story of my life.

  He wondered how Luthbrook heated these hot baths. Northforge found itself surrounded by geothermal activity. Down here, not so much. He shrugged the thought away. What’s it matter?

  His dry, chapped skin absorbed water at a fast rate. His fingers and toes were already pruned. He wondered if it would be possible for someone to drown through porous skin without actually breathing in the water. He shuddered against the warmth and shook his head. What is wrong with you, Quinn? Happy. You are a happy person. Always the optimist. And you are free. Merlane freed you.

  And he’s probably dead because of it. His shoulders slouched in defeat. Whatever this was, whatever he hoped to accomplish... would take a while. He smiled. At least that piece of shit Ithial is dead. It occurred to Quinn that he hadn’t told the others about Merlane’s fate, and with Kay’s life in the balance neither of them had thought to ask him. He’d have to remedy that, after a long soak and some ale.

  ◆◆◆

  In the dark, it looked like Ithial bled black ink. Dark, blackened globs fell onto Xander beneath him. The horse slowed as he slid to the side. The fall was as if he saw himself from the outside incapable of balancing himself. He fell through space and time and landed hard on the ground. The air knocked out of him. He prepared for final blackness to pour over him. Too much to be done… So close and so far. Just a little longer, and I could survive this. I could have the magic to survive this and so much more. To die now, short of that. No, I can’t.

  “You can’t die yet, Ithhial. The sshadow-hide issn’t ready yet.”

  “The what?”

  “Don’t worry, you mussn’t. You’ll find out in due time.”

  “Did… did you know this would happen, back when—”

  “We ussed your friend Efram for prophesscy? There was a wrinkle, yess, in the fabric of your desstiny. There iss no time—we musst be quick. Call your horse.”

  “Why?”

&nbs
p; “To live, of coursse. We need life ssince you have little left. Need energy.”

  “No…”

  The Snake Druid laughed with a wheeze and a hiss. “You care, don’t you? SSomething left you caring!”

  An image of Lynette by a castle window flashed before his eyes. “It isn’t that—”

  “Issn’t it, though? Issn’t it?”

  Xander was the only thing outside of himself that Ithial felt responsible for. He couldn’t shake the feeling.

  “Perhapss Xander lovess you? You think? Let’ss sspray you with hiss love, sshall we?”

  No!

  Ithial’s mind fell silent, his ears deaf, touch dampened. The horse’s face hovered over him, its eyes swollen with concern and uncertainty.

  He didn’t see the cut, he only felt the spray. Ithial couldn’t hear his own scream as the horse’s blood filled his mouth and eyes.

  ◆◆◆

  Farah put the scroll down and stretched. She found it awkward, all of them sitting in silence. “Shouldn’t you be out investigating something? Asking someone questions?”

  Irulen lay with his eyes closed. “I’m investigating and asking questions in my mind.”

  “Oh, such as?”

  “Which of our lovely trio of ladies commissioned poor Oliver to kill Bertrand?”

  “We have two perpetrators now; this poor sap Oliver and Ithial. You think there’s even more involved?”

  “Yes, I think so. It relates to Oliver’s motives. Killing Bertrand advances his status, certainly. But there was something more to it. In his dying moments, Oliver made mention of a woman. So let’s have a look at the women tied into this whole ordeal. Marisa, Helga, and Mirtha.

  “There’s tension between their stories—history can only lie so much. Marisa is shunned by Helga and her deceased husband. Mirtha despises Helga because Helga is an upstart and represents new wealth—a direct threat to Mirtha’s old wealth and power. Helga conversely dislikes Mirtha because well, why wouldn’t she?

  “There is too much leverage here for Ithial to use. As the master planner of all-things-miserable, he’d thrive in this environment of pettiness and ambition. There’s more leverage over these women and their squabbles than could be found over Oliver, an orchard farmer and dam keeper apprentice on a good track in life with no family. A woman to love, however, well that tips the scale in evil’s favor. Love is, afterall, the most murderous of feelings.” His eyes wandered to the ceiling. “Then there’s Bertrand. From what you told me, he seemed rather dominated by his missus—he’s almost the cuckold type, don’t you think?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He shifted his head and regarded her with a smile. “Sorry—I know you liked him. He seemed rather submissive to Mirtha, that’s all. Really not a threat to anyone, right? Why him?”

  He fell silent for a moment, then continued, “And then Gerald. Can we ignore that he died in a similar—though less dramatic—way? Two wealthy men dying by the river. Was Gerald’s death truly a drowning? I wasn’t there to investigate it. Who knows? It may have been set up just like Bertrand’s.”

  This time Farah filled the silence. “Who gains?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Who gains from the deaths?”

  “Gerald’s death: Helga gains complete domain over his estate. Marisa gains… revenge. Mirtha… nothing? Bertrand’s death: Mirtha gains domain over his estate. Helga gains nothing. Marisa gains nothing.”

  “Or maybe we just don’t know enough yet.”

  “We likely don’t. It could be that one death is related to the other. It could be that they aren’t related at all. If the deaths are related, then how might they be related? Just how sour are their relationships?

  “Sour as the sourest apple, I bet.”

  Kay laughed.

  Farah scowled back but the shame of her lame simile burnt her cheeks. Is she awake?

  Irulen stood and walked to the bedridden friend between them. He pushed at her with a finger. “Hmmph,” he said before walking back to his place. “She’s still under. Maybe you should continue with your awkward jokes.”

  “Shut up. Get back to making us some money.” Farah crossed her arms.

  “As you wish. So, we don’t know everything about their possible motives. But what about the means?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Very funny. I mean who had the means to commit the deed. We know Oliver killed Bertrand down in the valley—but did he also sabotage the dam? Perhaps he had a relationship with one of the women. Where were they? Or maybe the one he worked for ordered him into action.”

  “Mirtha?”

  “She went through quite the hassle touring you around, planting seeds in your head about Helga and Marisa. Maybe she knew who we were—maybe Ithial told her. There seems like a lot of elaboration on her end of things.”

  “But she’s the one paying us.”

  “Then let’s have a look at the other two. Helga was busy about the market place when everything happened.”

  “And Marisa was in town, but not for as long.”

  Irulen fell quiet again. “Look, I need to tell you something. In the interest of transparency.”

  “Then tell me. Don’t tell me you need to tell me. When you tell me you need to tell me, it sounds like I’m going to hear something heinous.”

  Irulen paused again. “Marisa…”

  Oh gods.

  “She… uh…” He cleared his throat. “She… uhm…”

  “Out with it!”

  He shook his head. “She took advantage of me.”

  What? “What?”

  “Forced me, to uh—”

  “Are you saying, you were raped?”

  “Pretty much. Before, when she first brought me here. She gave me some kind of potion. I saw things differently. When I came to, it was too late.”

  “Came to… interesting choice of words.” She stood and headed for the exit.

  He moved in front of her. “I saw you. I thought it was you, you understand?” He put his hands on her arms.

  She shrugged them off. “You are telling me that Irulen—the Great Mage of the North—got drugged and raped by a peasant town-girl?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  She fought the urge to kick him between the legs. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault? It sure feels like his fault!

  “Look, I’m sorry.” He put his hands again on her arms.

  She left them there this time. “No, there’s nothing to be sorry for, right?” Something shifted in his face. Maybe there’s something more. “Tell me.”

  Irulen looked over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze.

  Merek sat quietly in his place, folding and refolding a sheet on his cot.

  “The thing is… and I’m telling you this so she can’t use this information against me.”

  Farah lowered her voice and leaned in to him with malicious intention. “Tell me.”

  “We weren’t alone.” He pointed at Kay. “She was there, too.”

  “Wha—? Are you—are you serious?” The urge to blast his wizard gems leapt back up into her chest. “What do you mean she was there? Was she there before I was there? Was I there and then she?”

  “Actually it was more… of a team effort.”

  Oh… my… gods. Farah shrugged out of his grasp again and sat on her cot. The thought repulsed her to the core. “She raped you with a threesome?”

  ◆◆◆

  Quinn felt ashamed of himself, but he had little room left to worry about Kay. He tried—he wanted to get out of the bath and help her in any way he could. But each time he thought of her, his thoughts turned elsewhere to thoughts of the dungeon, of the serpentine creatures that lurked in the shadows. Of his home—his mother—and fresh bread at the table. A slab of fried kingfish with potatoes. The rare lobster. The rarer still giant crab. The half-domesticated, half-wild goats that roamed his village. The times he and Aldo snuck about at night trying to sneak a look at the village girls. The
time they got caught doing so. I can still feel the whack of the paddle on my ass from that one.

  “Hi there.” A lightly pitched voice pulled open his eyes.

  Quinn had to close his eyes again, rub them, and reopen. Who is this beauty?

  A slender, naked woman filled about half the doorway. “My name is Marisa.”

  “Oh, and I’m anyone you need me to be.”

  Marisa brought her hand to her mouth as she laughed. Such a reserved girl, eh?

  “I work here,” she said.

  “As much as I’d like—I’m not looking to hire those sort of services, pretty lady.”

  “Oh.” She stepped into the room and down into the bath. “I help run the place, is all. This isn’t work… I’m experimenting.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m here to test a direct approach.”

  “It’s working, lady, I’ll tell you that.”

  Chapter 23: Time to Talk

  Irulen regretted telling Farah right away. With Quinn coming back in the fold, the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the middle of a new drama. Besides, I haven’t done anything really wrong, have I? Honesty had to be the best policy. But right now honesty brought him into an undesirable position. Honesty is a cruel, cruel bitch.

  A chill caught his spine and shook it.

  Farah stood in the doorway between him and the nearest comfort. “Go question that Marisa. That…” She leaned to him and whispered “...bitch! And keep an eye on Quinn—we already lost him once.” She turned to walk away, stopped, and turned back to him. “And speaking of missing people—where is Leofrick, anyway? Clean this all up! I’ll stay with Merek and keep watch on Kay. Sort it all out, I say!” She turned again and disappeared into the dwelling.

  It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Irulen puffed his cheeks. He supposed things were better off giving her some space anyway. Max perched above him. “Looks like I’ve been pushed out of the nest this time, friend. Where is your lady, anyway?”

  Max cocked his head to the side but remained quiet.