Chương 36: A Small, Sad Mound of Green

Dawn at the lake lifts my spirits after a night of troubled dreams. Warm sunlight gently exhales across the lake: by his breath the sun causes a pink-tinged mist to rise from the cold water. And through the mist come a pair of swans, making no sound as they gaze to one side then another with heads that seem to be weightless on their arched necks.

As though in competition – perhaps they are, for mates – birdsong from hundreds of voices resounds around our camp and individually distinct calls even reach me from across the lake. I pack up my tent and roll it tight. Amaris has already harnessed the mules and he says nothing as I approach and tie my roll on to the saddle straps.

'A beautiful dawn to start the day, and fair weather to see us on our way,' I offer, by way of a conciliatory remark. Of course the assassin says nothing in response, only looks at me with an expression that does not settle as it moves between scorn and hate. Corwena on the other hand, having fluttered down to the rocks nearby, cannot restrain herself from chatting rapidly, often turning her head to look at the splendour of the dawn-lit lake.

'Good morning. Good morning. And isn't it a gorgeous one. Being here as the sun rises and shines on the lake always makes me want to sing, it is such a pleasure to be alive. And in the spring too. The long, winter darkness gives way to brightness and hours of play. And I am looking forward to my return home. You are leaving? Now you've seen the difficulty of the challenge. It's a shame but perhaps you'll come back here many years from now, when you have a Teleport spell.

'When you're ready, I'll show you the way home. My home, of course, not your homes. Nekis, I know, from your message. And the Underworld, for your assassin. The inferni. I could not live there, away from the sky. Away from the sun. Away from the forest.'

'Can you show us the way to Cantreth?' asks Amaris, letting go of the mule's bridle.

'Cantreth? Oh no. My family expects me back long before then. Cantreth? So few trees. Not a place for followers of Maghuk, oh no. You go to Cantreth for that dragon's tooth I suppose. Perhaps it is easier than ours.' There's something about the posture of the assassin that makes me feel on edge and, too late, my hand moves to the hilt of my shortsword.

With a shriek, Corwena flies wildly, battering the air and me with flailing wings but getting nowhere until free of an ichor-covered blade whose tip I glimpse within the breast feathers of our bird friend. With a series of shorter and weaker hops, Corwena struggles to become airborne and escape.

'She won't get away,' Amaris has wild eyes and I take several steps away from him before turning and running to Corwena, who has collapsed near Belle and Lisandra, and now lies on the ground panting with ragged breaths. A pale green foam oozes from her beak.

'Mother,' she whispers and her eye ceases to move.

'What in Scrithax's name have you done!' screams Belle and the others come running over.

'That bird was no use to us anymore. And she was obviously a spy. All that chat as we marched. She was finding out our levels and classes and destination. I did Crow a favour. If she had found out you had a tooth, she'd have been off to get an ambush ready. We wouldn't have made it out of the forest.'

'Oh, the poor thing.' Lisandra is crying and stoops as though to pick up the dead bird-girl but holds back at the sight of blood and foam.

'Spy or no spy, that was an evil act. You have broken our pact.' I draw my shortsword and dagger and judge the shadows. I'm not afraid for myself. With Blink and Shadow Step I should be able to keep away from a blade that still has an obvious streak of poison coating. I might not, however, be able to protect the others if the assassin intends to kill us all. While she no longer has her spells, a Level 6 paladin, on the other hand, is a near match for Amaris.

With a high number of hit points and her paladin's resistances Lady Horsta can face him. Will she though? Though I dislike taking my eyes from the assassin I must know, where is she? What is she thinking? Grim-mouthed and storm-faced, Lady Horsta is ten metres behind me tightening the straps of her shield; she is preparing for a fight. Cheeks red with anger, Belle shouts, 'We're finished with you, Amaris. We're not taking another step with you.'

'You worshipers of the dead never were with me in the first place. Traitors. Liars. I'm better off without you.' Amaris is looking past me, but I do not turn. I do not underestimate the speed at which the assassin can lunge and the power of that poison.

'What about you Lady Horsta?' Amaris asks.

'Do you remember the terms of our alliance?' I hear the steps of the paladin approach; her voice is cool.

'What terms? An alliance is an alliance.'

'You swore to do no evil.'

'Killing that spy wasn't evil, it was pragmatic.'

'It was evil and our alliance is ended.' Silence. Even the dawn chorus has ceased as though all the birds in the trees nearby are mourning the death of Corwena. Now the balance favours us and I am relieved and grateful to Lady Horsta. Surely, Amaris will not try to fight us now? Having disappointed Lady Horsta by my secrecy the previous night, it could have been that she would be neutral or even continue her alliance with Amaris.

But no, I can see from Amaris' thin lips and changed posture that he realises that if he fights us, he will be fighting Lady Horsta too. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

'You're as much a fool as them. You've no realm to fight for. Why side with the undead lovers?'

'They aren't evil, as you have clearly proven yourself to be.'

'One last chance,' says Amaris.

'Come with me or side with these people, who are better suited for music and dance than completing the Epic Quest.'

'Leave. And if I see you again, I will consider you an enemy,' Lady Horsta's voice is cold, without anger, and carries utter conviction.

'Very well. So much for a paladin's oath. You do realise you won't even leave this forest? I've killed them as well as the bird and you'll share their fate. When the bird-people find this young one is dead, they will hunt you down.' Fast, so very fast, Amaris runs away from us, slowing only slightly to slash the flanks of the mules with his poisoned blade. The poor creatures barely register shock before they are on their knees and then fully collapsed, snorting their last, desperate breaths.

Looking on, helpless to save the mules, I realise I hate Amaris more than anyone I've ever met. And I feel that he will not permit me to complete the quest. Somewhere, perhaps here in this forest, he will try to kill me. I must focus my skills on being able to defeat him. Immediately, I swap out Shadow Step and take Wield Shortsword as my afk skill.

'We need to run for the plains of Cantreth,' says Gerard.

'Amaris was right; when the bird-people come looking for Corwena, they are not going to wait to find out who killed her. They will slay us all.'

'Even if we could outrun the bird-people, which I doubt, that's not the right choice here. Our other option is to make a bier and carry her body back to her family so that they can mourn her properly.' As soon as Lady Horsta speaks, I am certain she right. As are we all. Even Gerard nods. Cutting down sturdy branches and interlacing the V we form with cords from the flexible branches of willows, it does not take long to make two travois that we can drag behind us, using the harnesses from the dead mules.

One we load with essential armour and equipment. On the other we gently put the dead bird-person. Myself and Aarax take the first turn pulling her bier behind me and I'm glad to do so. I failed Corwena. I should have known what Amaris was capable of and how furious he was that I had gained another dragon's tooth and forgotten about him. As I lean into the harness and tread steadily on the path back east I say nothing.

I am concentrating hard on Spot Hidden to ensure that Amaris is not following us, looking for an opportunity to attack.

A full day before we reach Corwena's town, I begin to notice bird-people: glideflight when overhead, watching at a distance; patientgrip when high up in a tall tree well back from the path. What do they make of us? Are they hostile? Do they intend to attack? It is impossible to tell, but every hour another one joins in flight or in observation from a tree, until perhaps thirty are accompanying us. Despite constant vigilance, I have not seen Amaris all day and am fairly confident that he is not following us.

At some point during the journey, the check between his Stealth and my Spot Hidden would have favoured me, even if his Stealth were higher than my 7 in Spot Hidden (which I doubted, it felt to me from our travels together that the assassin was a 4 in Stealth, perhaps only 3). At last our sorry trail comes to an end. No longer does the sight of the bird-people town seem enchanting. Now it has an air of a disturbed nest of angry wasps, so many of its citizens are in the air above the trees.

Once, when I was about eight, some older boys took long sticks to what looked like a brown packet beneath a gutter. They ran as soon as it fell, partly laughing but mostly in genuine fear. Curious – O curious Crow, be careful, for you are always too curious – I went closer to view the fallen object and didn't understand the dark mist above the brown paper, nor the tingling on my face and bare arms and legs. In fact, I laughed, wondering if magic had turned the air to bubbles.

Only after the second sting and after brushing away a wasp and realising I was feeling their legs as they landed did I start to run. Behind me the swarm was like a pear, thick and spherical, with an elongated neck stretching towards me, formed by the fastest of the wasps. On that day I discovered that the speed of an eight-year-old street urchin from Crumblin is exactly the same as that of an angry wasp. All I could do was sprint as fast as I could, for as long as I could.

My usual escape tactics of swerving, of climbing, of using little hatches and windows and gutters, would not do. Any slowing down and that ball of hundreds of wasps would cover me. They were fixated on me and had no interest in stinging the people I ran past at stalls, and shops, or those idling or playing in the streets.

At last, when I could hardly draw in enough breath, I reached the temple and slammed the door, keeping most of the swarm outside, though they continued to thump into the wood with surprising strength. Later, as she sat with me in her lap, drying my tears, applying ointment and combing through my hair, Mistress Withen counted the dead wasps. Forty-two. By the following day, fear and pain dissipated, I was a boastful Crow: no other child had ever endured so many wasp stings.

What brings that memory back so sharply is that I can see the same terrifying shape of the attacking wasp colony as the bird-people begin to stream towards us from the trees of their town. Dropping the bier, Gerard and Aarax step away from the body of Corwena as hundreds of bird-people land on the limbs of nearby trees. And when these trees can no longer hold them, others fly down to the ground, forming a circle around us. They all have something in their beaks: green-leafed branches.

As I watch the townspeople assemble, my fear diminishes. They are not attacking. Not yet at least. A tall bird-woman, mostly black-feathered but with brilliant white tips to her wings, flies down beside Corwena, dips her beak into the dead bird's chest feathers, then looks up. When that hostile scrutiny lands on me, I hold it and look back into the tempest of yellow-ringed darkness, willing my thoughts to tell her: it was not us.

'Why?' her voice rings out like the cawing of a magpie. Lady Horsta speaks loudly in response, as if to ensure all the bird-people can hear.

'We had a traitor in our group. An evil traitor. The inferni. He hated some of us, and he hated bird-people even more. But he kept his intentions hidden until he realised he couldn't get your dragon's tooth. Then his anger overwhelmed him and he killed Corwena, hoping you would then kill us.' A cold wind ruffles the feathers of the corpse and the wingtips of the spokesperson of the bird-people.

'Go!' cries the bird-woman.

'Come on,' mutters Gerard at once and picks up the travois with our gear. Hurriedly, I go to help him and we go back down the path while we can. When I look back, I see the bird-people taking turns to fly down to the body and drop a branch upon it, so that it is soon a small, sad mound of green.