Elaine Corvidae - Lord of Wind and Fire 02 - The Crow Queen

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The Crow Queen
Lord Of Wind and Fire Book 02
By Elaine Corvidae
A DF Books NERDs Release
Copyright ©2004 by Elaine Corvidae
First published in 2004, 2004
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or
distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper
print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe
fines or imprisonment.
The Crow Queen copyright © 2004 by Elaine Corvidae
This work has never appeared in print before.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
A Mundania Press Production
Mundania Press LLC
6470A Glenway Avenue, #109
Cincinnati, Ohio 45211-5222
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
books@mundania.com www.mundania.com
Cover Art © 2004 by Stacey King
Book Design and Layout by Daniel J. Reitz, Sr.
Production and Promotion by Bob Sanders
ISBN: 1-59426-056-7
First eBook Edition * April 2004
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2004100303
Prologue
The Crow Queen crouched in darkness, feeling the cool whisper of a breeze touch her cheek. The plants
that grew in the garden stirred restlessly with the wind, the soft scrape of their large leaves against one
another enough to cover the faint sound of her steps. The stone wall of the mansion in the heart of the
garden lay to her left, half-hidden beneath climbing vines. A torch flickered wildly above a recessed
entrance onto the lower floor. A quick motion of one hand, and the light died.
A soft oath came from within the recess. A guard stumbled out, fumbling in the darkness for tinder and
flint. Only a few moments later, he succeeded in restoring the comforting light of the torch. Cursing the
wind and the night, he went back to his station and took a sip from the cup of mulled wine waiting there
for him, having never seen the slender figure that had slipped in and out while he was otherwise occupied.
Within moments the guard was slumped on the floor, a thin rivulet of wine trailing like blood from his
dropped cup. The Crow Queen stepped over him, pausing only long enough to ransack his belt for keys.
She would return them before she left, and no one would ever be the wiser, not even the guard who
would awake the next morning with a splitting headache and no recollection of the previous night.
"You take too many risks," Yozerf had said once, his voice angry and bitter. "Dead men cannot
remember your face. Why don't you just kill them and be done with it?"
"Finesse," she had replied disdainfully. To spare the lives of the guards and servants who unwittingly
crossed her path—that was the mark of the professional.
He had not said anything—had not needed to for her to know that he believed it the mark of a fool.
The door into the mansion yielded to one of the keys from the guard's belt. The Crow Queen ghosted up
the stair inside, her passage barely a flicker of black amidst deeper darkness. She'd heard rumors that
claimed she could hide the shadow cast by a poker, and the conceit had pleased her. She wished it were
true.
Most of the mansion slept, except for the few guards set about the perimeter. Their master had no true
fear in him, believing that his wealth would be enough to keep him safe, and so the Crow Queen found
herself able to move unimpeded through his home. Following the route she had memorized, she came at
last to the door of his study.
As his wife had promised, he was up late, scribbling in his ledgers. The flames of the candles might have
bent slightly as the door at his back opened noiselessly, but if so he never noticed. The Crow Queen's
boots made no sound on the sumptuous Undish carpets that covered the floor. No premonition of danger
caused him to look up or shift position.
Her gloved hand knotted in his hair, jerking his head back hard. A curved knife sharpened to a lethal
edge sliced through jugular and windpipe before he had a chance to cry out. A torrent of blood splashed
across the papers on his desk, obliterating whatever had been written there. His eyes went wide with
shock, and his hands scrabbled helplessly at the terrible wound in his throat for a moment before his life
bled out. Then he slumped in the chair, the look of surprise still stamped across his features.
So many of them looked surprised, and it never ceased to annoy her. She wondered if the gods would
tell him that his wife had hired an assassin to kill him after he had raped their daughter on her tenth
birthday. Chances were he would still miss the point.
A few sestarrii gleamed golden amidst the papers and blood, and she took them without guilt. Let the city
watch believe that he had been murdered during a robbery. They would never learn the truth anyway.
* * * *
She had only walked three streets away from the mansion when the wizard found her.
One moment, the night was empty, silent except for the near-noiseless whisper of her feet on the
cobblestones. The next ... there was something more to the shadows, as if they had gained a weight and
depth that they had previously lacked. She froze instantly, all her senses attuned to the night around her,
straining to unravel any possible nuance.
White robes caught the faint light of torches locked beyond manor gates; the flames turned them red, as if
they had been washed in blood. Between the ivory bristle of beard and hair, his face looked dark, his
expression lost to her. “I have come to ask of you ... a favor,― he said.
The Crow Queen slowly rose from the defensive crouch she had dropped into, but her daggers remained
in her hands. Not that they would defend her against magic, she thought bitterly.
"What do you want, Ax?― she asked, her voice as cold and expressionless as she could make it.
"To retain your services."
"No."
He chuckled softly. “You have not even heard my offer yet."
"I don't need to.― She would have walked away, if she'd trusted him at her back.
"There is a lord coming to this city. An important man. I want you to keep him safe."
She laughed. “I kill. I don't save."
"If you do not, you will be the last of your kind."
Ice slid through her veins, and she hissed softly. “If you threaten—"
"I merely prophesy. Auglar of Kellsjard must live through all that is to come. If he does not, your son will
die as well."
"What could the fortune of a lord of Jenel possibly have to do with my son?"
Ax smiled briefly. “You will see, Londah Jonaglir. You will see soon enough.― And with that, he
was gone.
Londah stood alone in the street, her fingers gripping her knives so hard that her knuckles had gone
white. Then, with a curse she had learned from the sailors who frequented Segg's port, she slammed her
weapons back into their sheathes and stalked off.
Damned wizards.
Chapter One
Suchen bit back a hiss of frustration as her opponent easily evaded the fist aimed at his nose. Before she
could recover, he grabbed her wrist, his deceptively slender fingers trapping her in an iron grip. She
snapped her knee up at his groin, connecting only with thigh as he out-maneuvered her again, and then
dropped her weight to pull hard against the joint of his thumb. His grip broke and she leapt back, bringing
her forearm up in a fast block to fend of the quick snap of a fist. A second time she blocked, then a third,
and then went on the offensive, whipping her foot up in a kick that should have knocked the wind out of
an attacker, possibly breaking ribs on the way.
He moved aside with an incredible, animal speed and grace, gray eyes tracking her foot so that when her
leg was fully extended, he caught hold of her ankle and used her own momentum to send her tumbling to
the ground.
She hit hard, the wind huffing out of her lungs, and sent one hand scrabbling in the dirt beside her head.
Catching up a handful of mud and rock, she threw it at his face. Her aim wasn't true, but it forced him to
dodge, giving her the opening to get back on her feet. But she was still too slow, and an instant later she
found a sinewy arm snaked around her throat, the other poised to grab her head and snap her neck.
"Dead again,― he said in a voice like velvet and midnight.
"Damn it!― His arms loosened their hold, and she pulled away, kicking at a loose rock and glowering
at the churned mud of the yard where the soldiers of Kellsjard routinely practiced the arts of warfare.
"You did well,― Yozerf protested.
She glanced back over her shoulder uncertainly. A cloud of blood-red hair straggled wildly about
Yozerf's shoulders, blowing lightly in the wind. The only spot of color in a monochromatic landscape, it
contrasted sharply with his black clothing, his bone-white skin, and his sleet-gray eyes. Despite the
inhuman size and cant of those eyes and the sharp bones of his triangular face, he looked beautiful to her.
Beautiful and entirely unflustered.
Damn him—he could at least be polite enough to look a little winded.
"I didn't land a single blow,― she pointed out irritably.
"It takes time to learn a new way of fighting,― he said reasonably. “We haven't been practicing that
long. And none of the Sworn would have done half as well—you're quicker than they are, more flexible.
This isn't sword-work."
Suchen sighed and pushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. No, this was certainly nothing
like the measured pace of swordplay, with its repertoire of attacks and responses. This was the dirtiest
kind of fighting, where there were no rules, no boundaries, and no set forms. It was a style that Yozerf
excelled at, having learned it at an early age on the streets of the city he had been born in.
Having seen how deadly and effective his unconventional style of combat could be, she'd asked him to
teach her as well. It had been something to do to get them through the long, harsh months of winter, when
snow had fallen heavily enough to isolate Kellsjard from the outside world. Something other than watch
the stores in their larders dwindle and wonder what was happening in places poorer and less
well-supplied.
"How long did it take you to learn?― she asked.
He shrugged, an easy movement of his thin shoulders that he still managed to make look graceful.
“Too long.― One white finger lightly tapped the heavy padding that hung over his shirt to protect
him should she somehow—against all likelihood, it seemed—manage to hit him. “And of course I
didn't have this."
The door leading into the keep opened across the yard. Yozerf turned to look, and Suchen saw his
nostrils flare sharply. Over time, she had come to appreciate what a truly keen sense of smell he had. It
was one part of his divided heritage: half Aclyte, half Wolfkin shape-changer.
At any rate, the gait of the man who stepped out into the yard identified him at a distance, even to one
without a sharp eye or nose. He moved slowly, leaning heavily on a wooden staff topped with a dull
globe of steel. The mace head turned the staff into a weapon, at least theoretically, and perhaps took
away some of the sting of having to use such a prop in the first place.
"I thought I might find you here,― Gless called when he was close enough. His golden hair blew
loosely about his face in the biting wind, no longer kept in the dandy's curls that he had once been so
fond of. His clothing was sober, at least for him—gone were the wild colors, the flamboyant cuffs and
ribbons. Lines of pain framed a mouth that still smiled often, but the smile was wan and drawn, as if every
joke was bitter.
Yozerf watched him come, then cocked his head slightly, as if considering. “You may join us, if you
wish,― he offered. Suchen flashed him a sharp glance—surely, such an offer to a man who needed a
staff to walk was nothing but cruelty. But Yozerf's austere face was impassive, a white mask that gave
nothing away.
Still, he was not cruel by nature. Many other things, yes—hard, bitter, ruthlessly practical, and at least
slightly insane. But never cruel.
Who knows? Maybe he thinks Gless could do it.
Gless gave Yozerf a quizzical look, as if wondering the same things as Suchen. Then a strained smile
touched his lips. “No, thanks. You two play too rough. You're the only couple I know who never
quarrel and yet still try to kill each other on a regular basis."
Suchen grinned. “That's us—two of a kind.― She slipped one arm around Yozerf's waist, beneath
the protective padding. Although he had actually gained a little weight over the winter, she could still feel
the curve of bone through a layer of tough muscle. Glancing up, she saw surprise and pleasure touch his
gray eyes at her comment. His arm went around her shoulders, pulling her in tighter to his side.
Gless rolled his eyes at them. “I didn't come out here to watch the two of you make cow-eyes at each
other. Auglar sent me to find you. He's calling together the Sworn and a few other trusted advisors."
"Is this about his bid for the kingship?― Suchen asked softly.
Gless shrugged. “I don't know. It would make sense, though. Spring is here and the roads are finally
clear. There's nothing to keep him from going to the Conclave of Lords in Segg."
Yozerf's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the city he had grown up in, but he made no comment.
They followed Gless back inside, pausing a moment to store their protective padding in the small training
hall that formed one wall of the courtyard. Then, confined to Gless's limping pace, they made their way to
Auglar's study.
When the keep was first built, back when the Empire of Kells still held dominion over all the lands
between the Dragon Mountains in the North and the Undish desert in the south, the fortress of Kellsjard
had been a simple square tower made for defense rather than comfort. It occupied a high hill on the very
edge of the great plain of the Kellsmarch, situated so that any invasions from the kingdom of Shalai would
have to pass by it before penetrating farther. But over the intervening centuries, its lords had added on to
the original keep. Most often, this additional architecture matched the fashion of their own times, in blithe
disregard of anything else around it. As a result, Kellsjard had evolved into a lunatic's dream of sealed-off
courtyards, corridors that went nowhere, and rooms whose purpose had been changed so many times
that they were no longer useful for anything. Visitors were well advised not to stray, and even inhabitants
who thought themselves familiar with the structure's every twist and turn sometimes became confused. If
any enemy were ever to breach the walls, they would find battle in the corridors a nightmare.
Auglar's study was in one of the oldest sections of the keep. The walls were of unfinished stone that held
in the chill even in high summer. Tapestries struggled to enliven the setting, although their colors had faded
through countless decades. Although the air outside was beginning to feel of spring, a fire burned in the
enormous hearth, perfuming the room with wood smoke.
Auglar glanced up as they entered. Black hair straggled into his face and framed a pair of startlingly pale
blue eyes, and ink stained his slender fingers. Although he had come young to his lordship, and had
fought a bitter war of succession to gain it, scholarship was still his first love. “Ah, that's everyone,
then,― he said with a smile that failed to hide the worry that lurked in his eyes.
The small room was crowded, Suchen saw. On Auglar's right sat his wife, Sifya, her belly swollen in the
late stages of pregnancy. Sifya's brother, Brenwulf, was also present. The Sworn—Buudi, Gless, and
Suchen's brother Peddock—were arrayed about the room. Garal, Suchen's assistant, sat nervously at
the far end of the table, along with Wildstorm the scribe and Jiara the healermage.
Three empty chairs remained. Gless sank into one with an audible sigh, his bad leg stretched out before
him at an angle. Suchen sat in the next one, expecting Yozerf to slip in beside her. But instead he stopped
just inside the door and leaned against the wall, his chill eyes taking in the gathering dispassionately, an
outsider observing a scene that had nothing to do with him.
Suchen frowned uncertainly, wondering what this deliberate distancing could mean. But before she could
motion for him to come closer, Auglar rose to his feet.
"I suppose that there's no mystery about why I summoned you all,― he said. Clasping his ink-stained
fingers behind his back, he wandered over to one window, then stopped and stared out. “Most of
you know the events of last fall and winter."
"Only too well,― murmured Buudi, the first among the Sworn. Although silver had begun to streak his
black hair some time ago, he seemed to have aged years over the course of the last winter. The lines on
his rough face were deeply graven now, and the decades looked out sadly from his brown eyes.
Auglar cast him a rueful glance. “Yes. Last fall, the wizard Ax came to Suchen and asked her to
escort a young woman here. Little did we know then that she was Queen Rozah, fleeing in disguise from
her Regency Council, which had kept her prisoner and usurped her power. The Council was destroyed,
but not without the loss of Rozah's life as well."
No one said anything. The Sworn had been charged with keeping Rozah safe, but they had not been able
to save themselves from treason within their own ranks. Although no one could blame them—they had
done all that they could—Suchen knew that they held themselves responsible for the Queen's death.
For that matter, so did she. What she would have done differently, she didn't know, but there had been
many nights when she had lain awake in Yozerf's arms, wondering if she could have done
something—anything—to save Rozah.
As for what Yozerf felt, who had last seen Rozah alive ... not even Suchen could say.
"Since then, Jenel has been without a monarch,― Auglar continued at last. “This is a dangerous time
for the kingdom. Ax warned us that Jahcgroth of Argannon plans to conquer Jenel, as cold and ice
threaten to destroy his own kingdom. Yozerf has confirmed this."
Yozerf nodded once, shortly, but said nothing.
"Jenel cannot afford to remain leaderless for much longer,― Auglar went on, pacing restlessly back
across the room to stare now into the fire. “I am related to the royal line, and so have decided to
present my claim to the throne. Unfortunately, word has reached me that Lord Fellrant intends to do the
same."
Brenwulf's eyes narrowed. “This is the lord who attacked you when your father disappeared?"
"Yes.― Auglar shook his head at old memories. “Fellrant saw an opportunity and took it. He has a
reputation for being ruthless in pursuit of what he wants, and if I may judge by the siege he lay around
Kellsjard, that reputation is well deserved."
"But we prevailed,― Buudi added firmly.
"Yes.― Auglar smiled briefly. “And we will this time as well. Both of our claims are too distant for it
to be immediately obvious which of us should take the throne. Therefore, we have been commanded to
present ourselves before the Conclave of Lords at Nava Nar in Segg.― He cast a rueful glance at
Sifya's belly, then reached out to take his wife's hand. “The timing is dreadful, of course, but if I want
to have any chance against Fellrant, then I have to leave as soon as possible. Sifya will command the
keep in my absence."
"The thanes won't be happy about that,― Sifya pointed out, her accent giving away her peasant
origins.
"The thanes can go to Hel's domain,― Auglar said bluntly. “After last winter, they should be glad I
don't hang the lot of them.― He squeezed Sifya's hand fiercely, then let go. “The Sworn, of course,
will accompany me. Jiara will remain here with you.― His expression turned wistful. “If I can't be
here for the birth of our first child, at least I can be assured that the delivery will be safe and easy."
"You have nothing to worry about, my lord. Either of you,― Jiara added, nodding in Sifya's direction.
"Excellent.― Auglar rubbed his hands together. “Then that is all, for now. We'll leave as soon as we
can. Suchen, see to the supplies we will need for the journey. And if Brenwulf and Yozerf could stay a
moment longer?"
At last, Suchen thought with satisfaction. She glanced at Yozerf's face, to see if he guessed what was
coming. But wariness lit his gray eyes from within, and a slight frown touched his sculpted lips, quickly
hidden.
She rose with the rest, pausing a moment to touch Yozerf's arm. “Don't be so paranoid,― she
whispered, feeling the tension in the muscles under her fingers. “At least until you know why he wants
to talk to you alone."
He nodded sharply, but she could still sense his trepidation. With a sigh, she dropped her hand away and
followed everyone else out the door, leaving the three men in privacy.
* * * *
Yozerf remained where he was, his back pressed hard against the stone wall. Dread pooled in his belly,
for he thought that he knew what Auglar wanted to ask from him.
The human lord paused a moment to stoke the fire. Brenwulf glanced briefly at the flurry of sparks, then
turned his steady gaze back to Yozerf, no doubt scenting the Aclyte's unease. Yozerf pointedly avoided
his stare, a wolf's gesture of submission. He and Brenwulf had never been easy with one another—two
males, one an interloper, the other jealous of his place in the pack.
Auglar turned so that his back was to the fire. The flames leapt up behind him, framing him in gold and
throwing his face into shadow. “You both know that I lost two of my Sworn last winter,― he said
at last, grief edging his words. “Uzco was killed and Dara-Don ... Dara-Don betrayed me and
everyone else. Until now, I have done nothing to rebuild the Sworn, partly out of respect for Uzco's
memory, and partly out of fear. I kept asking myself how I could have judged Dara-Don so badly."
"He was true when you made him Sworn,― Brenwulf said soothingly. Yozerf said nothing—the bonds
of the Sworn were forged from trust. And he had learned long ago that trust was the most dangerous
trickster of all.
"Perhaps. But I fear that leaving a void in the Sworn has done more harm than good to those who
remain. It's been a constant reminder to them of the defeat that they suffered, of the friendship that they
lost. I think it's past time to remedy the situation.
"Brenwulf, Yozerf—I am asking the two of you to become Sworn to me."
It was the highest honor any lord could offer a retainer, short of raising him to the nobility itself. Brenwulf
immediately came to his feet, smiling. “Of course, Auglar. You're my sister's mate—part of my pack.
I would do anything for you."
Auglar clasped his hand warmly. “I knew that already, Brenwulf.― Still smiling, he turned to
Yozerf. “And you, my friend? You saved my life last winter—I haven't forgotten that, and now at last
I have an appropriate reward."
For a long moment, Yozerf simply stared at him, surprise holding back any motion or word. And it came
to him with a sudden clarity that he knew two things.
One: that Auglar was offering him a place. A real place.
No more sulking on the edges of their comradeship, watching from a slight remove that he could never
quite seem to cross. No more the outsider that no one really knew what to do with. No more the
unsheathed blade that was too useful to throw away, but never really trusted.
A place. Belonging.
The Sworn were the men that a lord trusted above all others, even above his own kin. Their obligations
to him were clear: to protect, to advise, and in the end perhaps to die. Their lord valued them above all
others, but in turn they valued him equally. Their bond went deeper in its way than that of blood or
marriage.
He already had a sort of bond with them—didn't he? They—all of the people who had gathered in this
room—were his pack. But that deep instinct, informed by the wolf's understanding, meant less in human
terms than what Auglar offered now. Or perhaps it was simply that humans needed words for these
things to make them real, and that was what Kellsjard's lord wanted to give him. Acknowledgement of
the bond from both sides, not just his.
It was more than he had ever thought to be given, more than he had ever dreamed of having in the long,
hungry years when he had wandered alone.
But he also knew a second thing. Auglar wanted to be king.
Yozerf meet Auglar's expectant gaze and held it for a moment. “No,― he said clearly, then turned
and walked out the door.
* * * *
Yozerf took the nearest stair he came to, following its windings until he reached a window that let out
onto a rooftop. Unseen by anyone, he slipped out onto an expanse of blue slate tiles, following them until
they gave way to copper sheeting, then red pottery. Gargoyles offered convenient handholds, their
smooth-horned heads cold under his thin fingers. Fragrant smoke belched from chimneys, occasionally
blowing into his face and blinding him.
At length, he came to a high tower at the North end of the keep. He had discovered it by accident one
night, its crumbling masonry giving him the handholds he needed to haul himself up through its single, high
window. A heavy wooden shutter had blocked the way, but the iron hinges holding it in place had rusted
almost to nothingness, and he had found it easy to push through.
Kellsjard had many rooms and corridors that had been sealed off during later building sprees, and at first
glance he had believed this tower to be one such forgotten nook. A single rotting table and chair stood in
the center of the tiny room, adrift in mounds of dust and cobwebs. The round shape hanging on one wall
had proved to be a bronze mirror, lost beneath centuries of grime. Curious, he had let himself down
through the trap door in the floor of the room, following a spiral stair until it ended abruptly in the solid
wall whose construction had led to the tower's abandonment.
She had been lying at the bottom of the stair, curled against the unyielding wall, as if she had tried at the
last to force down the stones with her bare hands. Time had not left much of her: a few mice-gnawed
bones, a red layer of dust that might have been a dress, and the dull glitter of gold at her ears, throat, and
waist. Yozerf did not know who she had been, or why she had been sealed away in the tower and left to
die. A rival, a mistress, a sister? With humans, the possibilities for cruelty were endless.
A few questions to the servants revealed that the portion of the keep near the sealed tower was said to
be haunted by a woman's ghost, although no one knew her story. Yozerf briefly considered telling Auglar
of the old bones he had found, then decided against it. Better to leave the unknown woman her silent
monument.
Since then, he had made the tower his sanctuary, a place where he could escape to be away from
humans and where he could plumb the depths of his own secrets in solitude. Only once in all the months
that he had been coming here had he glimpsed the ghost of the dead woman. Shortly after deciding to
make the tower room his own, he had entered to find her standing by the table: a thin, transparent shape
in a red dress. She had started towards him—then flung up her hands in an expression of horror and
fled, vanishing before she reached the trap door.
"Shadows," Telmonra had whispered with a nasty chuckle.
And what are you? he had asked in that silent space in his mind where she could hear him.
"Vengeance."
摘要：

TheCrowQueenLordOfWindandFireBook02ByElaineCorvidaeADFBooksNERDsReleaseCopyright©2004byElaineCorvidaeFirstpublishedin2004,2004NOTICE:Thisworkiscopyrighted.Itislicensedonlyforusebytheoriginalpurchaser.Makingcopiesofthisworkordistributingittoanyunauthorizedpersonbyanymeans,includingwithoutlimitemail,...

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