I Know Not (The Story of Fox Crow) (32 page)

      It disappeared without ceremony, without a green flash, ominous laughter, or puff of smoke, it simply sat in the hottest part of the fire, crackling merrily as all bodies in the room but one began to breathe again.

      “To all things come the fire eventually. And in the flames there will be an accounting.“ She quoted the Amsarian holy book, her voice powerful, vibrant, and sonorous. She then impaled her childhood friend with a stare that could cave in armor plate, “There will be an accounting.”

      Primly she glided across the floor to where the rest of us still stood. She addressed Gelia first, “Please take him to our room and see to his wounds.” And she motioned for two of her soldiers along the wall to come forward and help the old woman carry me. Then, without pause she floated onward to Roehm, “See the book burns to ashes. Kill anyone who reaches for it.”

      And then, with the grace of a true Grand Duchess of the Kingdom, Aelia Conaill sat back at her place and continued her meal.

      I was taken upstairs and gently laid face down into one of the luxurious feather-and-rope-frame beds. From the sparse, military items arranged neatly in small piles, this had to be Roehm’s room. It was Aelia’s old room, the one with the smashed window. Even now it was covered over with greased parchment. A corner had ripped, and it was letting in a refreshingly chill breeze.

      The aged cleric picked at the incinerated remnants of shirt burned into the wound. She started snapping orders like a general. The room cleared quickly, intrusion only coming with some holy or medical instrument before the bearer was dispatched again.

      “What happened, Crow?”

      “You weren’t around. Started bleeding.”

      My mirth died there in the silence that followed. The cleric was crying silently at my current state. I reached out a hand to pat hers gently, but when she took it, there was a deep finality to her voice, “How did you make it back to The Grand Sage?”

      “I soaked my back in icy water from the mountains until I could walk.” I said truthfully. In fact the bath had been wearing off since I had arrived. “It washed the ash and burnt clothing out of the wound.”

      “You saw black strips in the water?”

      “Yes.”

      “Crow, that was your skin.” She said, her voice cracking, “I don’t think I can help you, Crow.”

      “At least the burn erased the mark.” I said, gasping at the pain returning to the edges of the wound.

      The next man that came in with clean bandages was tasked with lifting the mirror off of the vanity. Gelia dug inside her bag to pull out a smaller polished silver mirror and hold it up so I could see my back for the first time. It was not just the grotesque burn that made the nobles gasp, it was that the bleeding tissue unmistakably formed the silhouette of a raven in flight. I had been marked by Death Himself.

      I chuckled quietly, knowing that my penance was not yet paid, that it would soon be at hand, and that the chances of healing such an open wound without infection taking me was zero. “Thomorgon has a sense of humor.”

      “Crow! you should not-”

      “Gelia, I think it is time to dispense with superstition. The God of Death knows right where I am. He has for weeks.”

      The break in the conversation was like watching a grand dwarven bridge collapse into a cavern. Gelia fidgeted for a moment then stood up with sudden purpose. “I have some herbs to dull the pain but they must be steeped. Wait here.”

      I nodded, a strange hollowness taking all panic and sadness away from me and leaving me morbidly serene. She left, keeping the door open should I call out, and I was alone with the stillness of my own mind. I glanced about and saw the Phantom/Angel leaning within reach at the head of the bed, and my eyes began to tear up.

      Then there was a strange, throaty trill, a flash of grey, and a warm furry presence in my face.

      “Leoncur?” It was true, the little ungrateful beast that hissed, spat, and yowled at me every step from the mountains curled up in my face and purred as loud as a rockslide. I reached up and ran a bruised finger under his chin as he pushed back eagerly. There was something strangely satisfying to having made peace.

      Then two perfect hands, more tan and slightly more worn that the first time I had seen them, lifted the cat from in front of me.

      “You are not well, sir.” Aelia’s voice was like crystal, beautiful but fragile. “Sir?”

      I smiled bitterly, “My apologies Milady, I am still addled. Some dreadful creature thought I owed it a waterweight of flesh and took to collecting immediately without warning.”

      A small smile cracked her brittle exterior. After weeks on the road her hair was shaggy on the ends, her dress was new and obviously pinched her in many places. She had been marked for death, assaulted, hunted, and stalked, the experience did not sit well upon her. “Is it over?”

      “The Master of Assassins is dead. The guild is shattered. Even when replacements grow up to fill the void, the contract will be long forgotten… as long as you have that paper you took from the book.”

      Gelia’s voice from the doorway made Aelia jump, “What was in that book? The records of the Assassin’s guild?”

      She regained her composure as she turned to her cleric, “How is he?”

      The old woman was still troubled as she accepted the clumsy misdirection as a prerogative of nobility. She gave her diagnosis with a voice heavy with grief as she circled around behind Aelia to set down the kettle, “His condition is dire. The skin across his back is gone, with it so open to infection he will most likely become gangrenous and die.“

      And there it was. My penance was neigh.

      Aelia swallowed hard, “I have scoured the city, but there are no potions, no philters, no draughts nor tinctures to be had.”

      I laughed darkly, without humor, “I am not surprised.”

      And with so many nobles under threat of attack, I was not.

      The princess turned to me, and our eyes met. Instantly all time shuddered to a stop as we allowed ourselves to feel the painful longing inside that we had shared for one another for weeks. She kissed me on the cheek, both innocent and scandalous at the same time as she whispered in my ear. A gruff and somewhat indecent cough from the door announced that Roehm had seen her indiscretion.

      Without a hint of modesty, Aelia stood and made to leave, barely clearing the door as Roehm turned to my prone form with his sharp demand, “What did the lady say to you?”

      The voice that came from out of the room was that of a Duchess that would brook no further discussion, “Roehm! There is a small army outside the gates sworn to the Conaill family without a leader. Go see to them. Now.”

      He looked to me, suspicion erupting from him in professionally straight lines aimed at my heart. She had whispered
I will always love you
. And now I could die. It may be slow in coming, but at least it was all finally over. Gelia soaked her tincture onto a piece of leather and spread it across my back.

      I blinked.

      Evening had disappeared and dawn had arrived. Theo was sitting in the chair in the corner, sleeping deeply. I reflexively swallowed an exclamation and kneaded the bedclothes underneath me as my back erupted into pain and movement. I grunted as it felt like the skin was pulled far too tight. I strangled a cry and arched my wounded back as it seemed hundred of needles tied to thousands of strings were wielded by dozens of rodents as they reformed my flesh.

      And then, it stopped.

      The very first thing I noticed was that my back was not a field of utter agony. Still, six little points stabbed into the base of my spine like gently pressed needles. Then the points moved.

      I shot upright, sending the unknown visitor on my back fluttering to the windowsill. He was large and black; his glossy wings folded behind him like a gentleman’s cloak. His head turned to spear me with one, bottomless ebony eye. He was another raven, maybe the same raven. I put my feet on the floor as I breathed in the cold air coming in through the ripped parchment window. Death’s Messenger shifted to look at me appraisingly, then he flapped and hopped over to the footboard. There he simply watched.

      I realized that, despite the magical potion bought by Aelia’s father, despite Gelia’s prayers and ministrations, despite skill and luck, the only reason I had survived the journey here, the cistern, and the long walk back to The Grand Sage, was simply because Death had simply not collected me yet.

      I should have been grateful, really, but I was still marked, owned, and bits and pieces of me inside rankled at the idea. So, no, I was not completely grateful. Still, the message was clear, though unspoken,
I am not through with you, yet
.

      I considered death, my life strewn with vile sins and the debts I owed hundreds of ghosts. I nodded at the bird, “That is fair.”

      Theo came awake with a start, just in time to see the raven leap and flutter around the room before silently plunging through the hole in the window and out into the dawn.

      “You are healed?”

      I marveled as I stretched, plagued by no more than an unpleasant tightness across my back.”It would seem so.”

      “A miracle?”

      And though I said, “It would seem so.” I secretly wondered if all blessings came with such chains attached.

      “You came back.” I turned back to my protégée, seeing the hurt and the uncertainty written there but in a much more hidden language than before. He was learning to guard himself and his emotions.

      I nodded.

      He did not manage to denude all the doubt from his voice when he asked, “So who are you, now?”

       I thought long about that, letting the sun come up and the castle wake up around us. My eyes kept wandering to the rip in the parchment and the wide world outside. I feel as if I had never seen it before, “I know not, Theo. All I can say is I am not who I have ever been.”

      His eyes narrowed, “Clever answer.”

      I rubbed my eyes with my palms until I saw stars, “Good that it seems so, for I am witless.”

      But that was not enough. Theo came to his feet, fists clenched and trembling, “I must know. Are you the man who is my friend?”

      I looked him dead in the eye, watching him mature under my very gaze, “I am more that man than any other, Theodemar.”

      And he embraced me so fiercely I thought I was going to pass out.

      I wondered if this is what coming home felt like.

Epilogue

I suppose a hero would have died
there, dark and alone in the recesses of the Cistern. It would be a nice, neat ending to this story. Then again, as you know, I am no hero. And you will forgive me if there is more, this is my life, not some poxy bards tale.

      Aelia had found the answer to the death of her father, as politically crippling as it was. She sent a series of masterfully worded letters to Horatio, never quite threatening him with the folded parchment near her bosom and worse (me, to be precise). Not that she asked me to assassinate him, not that I would have accepted if she had asked. I’m not in that line of work anymore. At least not directly.

      Instead he gave mountains of gold to her as ‘gifts’ by way of making reparations and then took up the expensive task of guarding the North Ridge Mountains without the support of her troops. That would save even more carts–full of gold in the long run, but I know she would gladly become a pauper to have her father back. There would be bad blood between The O’Riagáin line and the family of Conaill for generations…even after no one remembered why.

      With all those costs, Horatio could not even bid on the dwarven stronghold, but Aelia did not win the bid either. Aelia had fought hard for it and lost much, but as I have said it is neither a fair, nor often a just, world.

      Horatio lived in constant fear that the parchment ripped from the Book of Assassins would surface and call for his execution. It never did. In fact, it never could. Aelia had destroyed it, lest it be found and the game given away. It would always be a much better threat than a hammer

      I traveled with Aelia in her carriage back to her castle and told her the truth. The whole truth. She took it well, and didn’t pry into the details I left sketchy. Because I am not a liar, I have to say that much of my life I was trying to forget and she allowed me that dignity. She did hug and hold me and promise that whenever I needed a home I could stay with her. Then, when we got back to the castle she disappeared like a wraith. She was always busy overseeing some facet of her lands or titles. She had to settle disputes between the nobles beneath her, make sure taxes were collected, rule in court over capital crimes, in short: I saw her less and less.

      Theo was made into her high–warden, trained by Roehm himself, and charged with keeping the roads cleared of bandits and worse things. He took his boys with him, and they were happy enforcing the law.

      Gelia was her nanny, and always would be. She took to caring for me as well, often coming to speak with me during the cold nights of winter. We talked of little things, because my life was yet to be filled with anything big. I was just practicing, honing my skills with daily exercise throughout the winter, learning every brick and block of this massive castle. Now it is spring, and ravens have begun frequenting the castle in noticeable numbers. I don’t feel like I can stay any longer.

      I am staring now, as I pen the final words of this tale, out of a window that overlooks the fringes of the Sorrow Wood. I am wondering if the darkness inside me has been tamed, or simply sated for a time. Here is like a child’s play room, safe and secure. Whether I am a good man or bad can not be judged here, it must be out there, under magnificent wine–colored sunsets like the one before me. I don’t know how I have survived so far, or how I will continue, but I will. I must. I have questions about who I have become that need answering. Of course this has nothing to do with the fact that Aelia has become engaged to be married.

      In the bard’s tale I would be hopelessly, endlessly in love with Aelia. I cannot lie. For once, they would have gotten it right.

      I didn’t bed the girl, get the gold or become a king, life is funny that way. I know there will be other girls, other tales. Looking at the bright, crisp, silvery blade of the Phantom Angel as it lays at my side I know at least one question has been answered. I am no hero, but one day maybe I can be better than what I am. At least I killed the monster, and I will never be him ever again in my lifetime. That, at least, is something.

      I know, it is an abrupt end. That is because, my friends, it is an artificial one. My life went on before this story and will continue afterward. I think this is more a story of a bad man than a good one… and I know not what kind of man it will see at its end.

–– Simon Crow