I Know Not (The Story of Fox Crow) (4 page)

      The oldest living member of the princess’ retinue, no great distinction, they were all barely men, was apparently in charge. He was supervising three of the others manhandling a large chest made of oak and iron. It clanked as they jiggled it, making me salivate with thoughts of piles of golden coins. The eldest boy turned to me and I quickly blanked my expression and focused my eyes elsewhere.

      He was just shy of twenty years, his face unlined and unscarred. That was one new thing I had discovered about myself was the huge amount of scarring present on my body. Thankfully, that was at least one mystery solved to a near certainly: The scars, combined with my obvious talent to making armed men into corpses made me a career mercenary, and a very successful one at that from my ornate weapon. Perhaps not all the corpses I left behind belonged to the keep. Perhaps some were my own mercenary company, joining the defenders in a desperate attempt to hold the lost fort. Mercenaries are often bloodless men, bitter realists who murder for pay. Soldiers get cushy jobs. Mercenaries are too poor to be sentimental, at least that’s what they’ll tell you. That would go far and explain much…like my lack of reaction at the horror in the courtyard. I had probably seen such many times before; I had just not remembered that I had. Those exposed to violence and death eventually become inured to it, as I obviously had. All a nice, clean package, eh? A nice, logical train of thought. I couldn’t have been more wrong, well I supposed I could. I have a significant talent for being wrong.

      “Ho, Friend! I am Theodemar, guardian of the lady Aelia. I would know the name of our savior.” Theodemar’s beardless cheeks were as red as mine as they stretched into a guileless grin.

      I quickly donned the friendly mental costume.

      “So, would I Theodemar.” I flashed a smile, a hollow one that I felt carefully crafted to betray both embarrassment and a sociable demeanor, neither of which I was feeling. In fact I was feeling…

      Nothing. Not a thing.

      A thrill ran down my spine as I looked at the guardsmen gathering around the dying fire from their appointed tasks of breaking camp. They were just empty bags of blood and muscle, some rated as higher threats than others, but none seemed like people. None were quite real to me. Opportunities and threats…that was all.

      Thomorgon’s Gates, what kind of man am I?
Theodemar chuckled and was about to speak when out of the pavilion to my left exited the noble lady. The guardsmen bowed, as did I, though a moment late and much more uncomfortably. I hoped she would take my stiffness as a result of the now healed belly wound, but I knew it was because the Fog rankled and made the motion jerky.

      A slight smile graced her heart–shaped face—that could be very good, or very bad. “My dear savior, I expect that your tale would be some entertainment while we prepare to move on to Carolaughan.”

      The guardsmen–as–servants took the hint and scrambled back to their work, though none found anything out of earshot that required their attention. Gelia exited the tent in which I had rested and entered the princesses own, exiting a moment later with a folding chair. “I am Aelia, daughter of Duke Robert Llewellyn. It would seem–“ her smile took on a cleaner edge– “I am in your debt master…?”

      The priestess put the chair down behind the princess, who sat upon it without looking. The display of noble efficiency made my teeth itch, though to say I knew why would be a lie. I cleared my throat, “I am truly not sure, milady. I…”

      Her eyes were the color of fresh heather, like a tranquil river for they too ran with a hidden strength. My mouth was open, and the truth began to emerge. She leaned forward, her slightly–too–big nose melding with the rest of her face’s perfection to put me at ease. She was not an elf, seemingly carved from marble by expert hands, and was all the more human for it. As I felt the story spill from me, her eyes twinkled knowingly. I suddenly felt exposed, like a man who stops with one foot carelessly hovering over a previously unseen abyss.

      Without causing a single eye to bat or muscle in my face to ripple, walls of steel and stone slammed shut within me. Immediately I began sifting the story, leaving out my dream at the pond, the Animal that had overtaken me in the woods, the way I almost did not help her, how her cleric had treated me, and my odd detachment from other people. Once again, she was a threat—and I had to grudgingly admit an opportunity.

      Her body was sheathed in silver velvet, trimmed in white rabbit fur. A cloak of heavy black wool with a rich platinum trim further armored her from the cold. Her jade earrings were simple and understated but worth more than their weight in gold. Only a yellowed cameo hung between the curvature of her thickly covered breasts, winking in a silver setting that subtly whispered of lineage and money. At last, I had finished “…It was then I heard your scream, and felt I had to come to help.”

      “You are mistaken my dear man, I would not scream and give the ruffians such satisfaction.” Her spine stiffened and her face bore a certain resolution reserved for the rich and ignorant. “It was Gelia who screamed in fear of my safety.”

      The cleric met my gaze, and her stern face clouded for a moment. Her pride was not injured by the revelation, but something about the account reached into her and twisted. She dismissed my story as a complete fabrication in mere seconds and her face became placid once again. Her mistress continued, “It is grave news you bring. The man you described could only be Sir Walden, Marshal of the Northern Ridge. He was adept at holding back the barbarians within the dark pines of those mountains. His death and the loss of his stronghold may prove disastrous. We must make haste to Carolaughan so the King and the surrounding nobles might be alerted.”

      Even though I was rankling at being called ‘young’ by a girl at least ten years my junior, I had time to be properly shocked.
I had been wandering around alone on the Northern Ridge? I’m lucky to be alive.
Every society has outcasts, even barbarians. The cruel, heartless men of the north and the bloodthirsty, vicious men of the west tended to force their incorrigibles into the Northern Ridge mountains in the same way a man may place a bloody axe in a closet against a future need. The peaceful journey had been a masquerade; I was safer now than I had been since I had first awakened in the keep.

      Her face made it clear she was worrying at the problem in her mind, and seemed genuinely concerned. So, the almost–beauty was not only a woman of breeding, but practical, “I can say that Walden was known for hiring mercenaries and scouts of the finest quality. He had a great treasury in the castle to pay them and always hired the best for high wages. You, it would seem, would fit his qualifications as a master–at–arms.” She turned to her nanny. “Gelia, would a head injury such as his have caused such a loss of memory even after his healing?”

      Gelia’s eyes pierced me, tried to read me even through my Fog to see my inner–most being.
Good luck, grandma.
Her face screwed up as an inner battle against some conflicting judgments warred. I was startled to find my hand creeping toward the hilt of my sword; I had not even realized I had brought it with me from the tent. Apparently my hind–brain knows me better than I do,
no surprise there
.

      “Yes, if he is speaking the truth, he may never retrieve his recollections in any sensible manner.”

      I felt like cursing and cheering at the same time. She could have poisoned my relationship with the Lady, but did not by opting for the truth. Then again, if she spoke honestly I might never fully realize who I was. My face, of its own accord, portrayed picture–perfect resigned determination. Theodemar came forward from helping harness the horses to the carriage and the lady nodded for him to speak. “Mistress, at our present strength, perhaps an extra sword would not go unneeded if Walden and his fortress has indeed fallen.”

      She set those sparkling green eyes upon me, “Well, swordsman?”

      “What waits for you in Carolaughan?” I asked.

      “My father has sent me to barter with a dwarven mining clan for iron.” The shock must have been readily apparent on my face, for she laughed at me. My estimation of her had already been thrown heavier into both the threat and opportunity scales. Sending a girl to barter in a far town spoke volumes of her talents in states–craft. This woman would not be easy to…

      What? What was I planning to do?

      “Of course milady, I would be honored to ensure the safety such a remarkable woman as yourself.”
Well, I am apparently planning to protect a very intelligent and resourceful young woman with a gaggle of beardless youths in tow.

      I knew I was heading for trouble because she smiled warmly at me. It was an honest smile, one that comes from the deepest part of the soul and could make any face shine like a heavenly figure. Somehow, that alone was worth it, and that fleeting second of sentimentalism felt alien. The warmth dissolved under the withering gaze from Gelia’s pale, gray eyes. Of course it rekindled when Her Ladyship paid me a fist full of gold crowns, up front, for my work.

      History has shown that money is a salve unto itself for any malady of the troubled mind.

4   

Vulnerability

Well, my string of good luck was holding, the lady Aelia was quite taken with me now that my head did not look like it was distended by generations of diligent inbreeding. I was quickly being looked to as her personal guard, something between a swordsman and a whirlwind composed of razors. I just had to ignore the glowering old woman over her shoulder.

      Perhaps it was as simple as that: I did slay several men before Gelia’s eyes with almost festive zeal and no compunctions. Such a man as that may not win any smiles from a Cleric of Love and Mercy, even if hers were the goiter pulled away from the knife. Within the depths of the fog, mocking voices told me it wasn’t that I had done it, but that I enjoyed it, that bothered the nanny nun. In seconds of solitude I turned over those joyously brutal moments of mayhem, trying to dismiss the disturbing feelings of exultation, but such doubts were easy to push back with Aelia and the boys hailing me as a hero.

      The rest of the camp was broken down easily and packed efficiently, making it obvious that the soldiers were much better servants than swordsmen. Sad for me, because it soon became clear that my job was not merely ornamental. While I didn’t have to help them dig the graves for Aelia’s fallen guardians, nor did I have to string up the bandit corpses to act as a warning to others, I did have to walk alongside the carriage with the other guardsmen. It was so laden with camp gear that even though pulled by a pair of magnificent geldings it could only crawl on its round, wooden legs. Massive and obedient, their burden rattled down the heavily rutted road mile after mile until about an hour after midday.

      We had left behind the high pine road and come down into the lower slopes of the Northern Ridge Mountains, into the forested northern bosom of the Kingdom. The trees here were exploding in cold flames, leaves of orange, yellow, and red shushing the wind dryly. It was peaceful like old age, life winding down as the growing season breathed its last.

      I caught the shadow of a tall building thorough the trees and I waved the boys back as I readied the Phantom Angel. I crept forward alone, but my caution seemed unnecessary. A charming spring spouted from the native rock of the hillside, and at some elder time had been walled up into a beautiful, flowering pool. What interested me, however, was the blackened skeleton of a large building.

      It had been sizable, with the shadows of burns along the ground marking the graves of a wooden defensive wall and stable. What was most telling were not the piles of charcoal or shards of burnt wood, but the green plants that grew through the carnage. I stood up and waved the entourage forward. I idly climbed over the cracked pile of stones that once made the foundation and lower wall to the building and poked at the dirt.

      Something was speaking to me here, amidst the fledgling saplings and resurrecting ground cover. Despite the certainty of renewed life, the echoes of devastation stripped away layers of calluses from my soul. I smelled the sour ghost of old smoke. I heard a child crying.

      I dipped my hands into the water to splash the strange ghosts from my head, but the face in the water was not mine. Short bristles of hair sprouted from his head. His eyes perched on hollow cheeks like monuments to madness. His smile was not that of a lover or a friend, he was an animal baring his teeth in preparation for battle. He reached for me. I recoiled, feet churning the earth.

      “Is it recent?”

      I looked back at the water, but the short haired man was not there. I shook off the feeling of being hunted and focused on what I knew was real. I want to say I heard the boy coming, chinking in his chainmail like an elephant made of links, but it would be a lie. Uncertain emotions wilted inside of me, frozen and shattered by the dark thing in the Fog. I clenched my fist, but squeezed the resentment out of my voice as I stood and turned, “No, Theodemar.”

      The guardsman’s eager young face peered past the fallen forest of black beams, “From the Reunification War, then?”

      “No, Theodemar.” I could not stifle a sigh as I picked my way out of the wreckage, “This happened only two years ago, four at most.”

      I pointed my boots back toward the pool when Theodemar caught up with me, jingling discordantly, “How can you tell?”

      I worked the knots out of my jaw, desperately trying to keep my voice light and easy going, “The plants were growing through the ash. There were a few saplings, less than an inch wide and hip height.”

      Theodemar the walking chime came to a complete stop, turned back to look backwards, and then caught up to me as I palmed water out of the pool to my mouth. “Sir, sir? How did you know… I mean, I understand how you know, but how did you see…? What I mean to say is: why did you notice that?”

      I stubbornly brought another clear handful of water to my face, but inside I saw a tadpole trying to find a way out. I dropped the water as my stomach turned. “I don’t know.”

      Gelia walked up to the well, a silver decanter held in her wrinkled fists like a weapon. Her face was set in an expression of cold stone, “The mistress commands a word.”

      Commands
? I swallowed a growl and folded my grimace into a smile, “Of course, good priestess.”

      Of course she commands a word; she can theoretically command anything she wants
. I comforted myself with the idea that other than the few boys, she was in charge of a nun, two horses and a cat. Any noble could command the wind, but unless they parted their legs and made it themselves it did them little good. Those thoughts sustained my temper as I made my way to the carriage window. My only source of annoyance now was that Theodemar decided to follow at my side like a puppy in plate armor.

      “Sir?” Lady Aelia pushed back the curtains, lips pursed in mid thought, “You know you are going to have to come up with something to call you except for ‘swordsman’, ‘sir’, or ‘you, there’.”

      I bowed slightly, “I will endeavor to pick out something appropriate, Lady.”

      “Very good.” Her eyes probed my cherubic features, having caught a whiff of sarcasm and seeking out the source, proving again she was more perceptive than I would have guessed, “I watched you range bravely ahead approaching the ruin. It seems to me a fine idea. You should take one of the guards and keep watch ahead in case of more banditry.”

      I smiled sweetly, “Of course, good Lady”

      She matched my expression, and I wondered if there was also a mirrored hostility beneath it, “Carry on, then.”

      I bowed and backed off from the carriage, feeling my insides twist a bit. I walked out back to the road and looked down the curving road, cursing my bad luck. It was one thing to walk while others got to ride, it was another to be forced to walk twice the distance, ranging back and forth to sweep for trouble. Not to mention winding up the first one into the bear trap if there was an ambush. I considered just going off into the woods and leaving them completely. To my north and west were the Ridge Mountains. To the East was Sorrow Woods, a place not named because of the light and airy denizens of the dark hollows and swampy valleys. The only convenient way was southward. In that case, I might as way tag along.

      Again, within seconds there was the telltale sound of a thousand cats made of empty cans pouncing on one another. I took a deep breath to steady myself. Theodemar was the nearest thing the Lady Aelia had to a guard captain, or a lieutenant, or a sergeant. Considering their ages, they were barely footmen. He was the first to enter Aelia’s service amongst his peers, and so now leadership fell to him. At least it should have.

      “Are we ready to forge ahead, Hero?”

      Heat pulsed behind my eyes, and I could not completely remove the wasps from my voice, “First: never call me that again. Second: We are not ready. Third: We are not going. I am going. You stay with the carriage.”

      Theodemar set his face into a picture perfect expression of young (read: ignorant) determination. “Pardon, Sir, but I am commanded to come with you. The Lady believes that four eyes will see more than two.”

      I turned to face the boy, and it struck me that his cheeks were flushed, the rest of his face pale, and it was nowhere near cold enough for his hands were trembling like that. The kid didn’t want to do this any more than I did, but for different reasons. Despite my best efforts, I softened to him, shaking my head in resignation, “Very well. Go and rid yourself of that chainmail, the shield, and spear. If you have some bows, we should take them.”

      He nodded and headed off like a good little soldier. I sighed again. I appreciated his ability to snap to orders without complaint, but it just didn’t seem right. My only qualification for giving out orders to Aelia’s guards was appearing from nowhere and swinging a sword with just enough skill not to die. He should be questioning me, pushing me, requiring more from me than simply an order. Then again, the kid was a guard. I get the vague certainty at the base of my skull that all nobles have a skeleton or two in the closet. Or in the dungeon. Occasionally one or two in a tower somewhere. And there’s always a legion or three more buried all over the countryside. He was probably discouraged from asking too many questions lest he become one of them.

      I busied myself tying the Phantom Angel to my back with a thong, cursing the lack of a proper sheath, but it wasn’t discomfort or inconvenience that was fouling my mood. The man from the spring had been the same lunatic in the mirror in the keep. He was following me, or at least the delusion was.

      Theo trotted back without his armor or livery, but I swear inside his gear he looked like a guard, out of it he was an off duty guard. He could not have been on the job for longer than a year, but it had already worked itself into his very bones.

      “We were in luck. We brought these,” He said handing over a crossbow and a bundle of quarrels, “for foraging.”

      And he was right. A war grade crossbow could put a quarrel half through a horse or a tree, and could core an unarmored man without slowing down. Even the heaviest of plate armor would become an expensive tomb as the iron head crumpled in the breastplate, slowly suffocating the knight while pinning his lungs to his backbone. What I had in my hands was no toy, but it wouldn’t do if we came up against…
Why is he staring at me
? I opened my mouth and the truth popped out, “Why are you staring at me?”

      Theo jumped, and then smiled self–consciously, “You really look like you know what you are doing.”

      I grunted and went back to the bow, testing the strength of the catch on the trigger bar, examining the twist on the string for fraying, and giving the groove an eye for straightness.

      “Can you teach me what you are doing?”

      I stopped; staring at him as dozens of replies flicked behind my eyes, each one of varying levels of nasty. I was going through them the way a lover picks rare flowers out of rich soil, the only question was how much scorn I could get away with, and how badly I needed his help in the future. My stomach fell as some part of me took a step back and judged myself the way I was now judging him.

      The boy’s brow wrinkled and his smile became frightened and fragile as he retreated a bit. “Is it something I said?”

      And that was when I realized that I was still staring at him like he was a roach beneath my falling foot. Seventeen excuses fluttered inside my head, and I settled on the simplest. I faked a gargantuan sneeze, sniffled a bit and blinked my eyes furiously, smiling like a man caught behind a bush with his trousers down, “My apologies. That one was building for a whole day.”

      His expression said,
Oh
!, and he bobbed his head knowingly. I turned toward the road and waved him on, a smile of friendly sincerity hurriedly slapped on my face. I hooked the quiver of bolts onto my belt, sneering inside that it did not have a ring to be tied down to my thigh. If I had to run it would flop all over the place, “I might be able to show you a few things, but since I’m not sure what I know, it’s going to be a little unwieldy. I suppose you could ask questions and I’ll answer what I can.”