Michael Stackpole: When Dragons Rage

“You’re saying Cavarre knew?”

“He must have, yes.”

“Who else?”

The Black shrugged. “Augustus, certainly; a few others. Once Hawkins was believed dead, he passed from notice. Some of the Vorquelves know, but the Vorquelves would never betray Crow, since he is a key to getting their homeland back.”

Alyx shivered. The revelation of Crow’s true identity had shaken and confused her. He was a comrade in arms, a friend. She liked him. He had risked his life to save her. He had opposed and destroyed sullanciri . He had given her good counsel. He had lied to her, but only to hide his identity.

“Crow knew my father, then?”

“They were well acquainted, for a time. Hawkins impressed your father with his honesty and courage.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You knew my father?”

“I never had the pleasure of embracing him and calling him brother, but I did know him and certainly knew of him. He was a good man, and he would be inordinately proud of you.” The Black grinned again. “But we can reminisce about your father another time, because it was your concern over Crow that brought you here.”

His comment brought her up short. “Can you read my mind?”

He shrugged. “As you get more practice here, you will become more comfortable. I am not really reading your mind; there are just some things you are thinking rather loudly. For example, you are correct in supposing that Crow should not be executed for the crimes he was accused of so long ago. You will think of a plan to rescue him, though I urge caution in executing anything that would put you on the wrong side of authority. You are a princess, albeit of a nation still occupied by Aurolani forces, but you can use your station.”

She smiled. “Even though I’d rather just break him out of the root cellar where he’s being held and disappear?”

“I like the direct approach as much as you do, but that’s a plan that will label you nothing more than a strong arm with a sword. You will need a different plan: one to confuse your enemies and keep them off balance.”

“Chytrine will not care.”

“It wasn’t of her that I was speaking.” The Black gave her a golden-eyed stare. “Chytrine is not the only one who desires power in the south. As you become powerful, others will find reason to oppose you. They are a cautious lot, however, and the more you give them to think about, the slower they act.”

“And now you’ve given me something to think about.” She smiled, hearing in the Black’s words something Crow had told her back in Yslin. “Yes. I think I have a plan to save Crow. All I need to do is…”

The Black held a hand up. “Don’t say anything, or you will be unable to mention it in the physical world. If what I glean in flashes from your thoughts is at all accurate, however, this plan will do as much to confuse your enemies as it will to save Crow—both of which I applaud heartily.”

“Thank you. And, belatedly, thank you for the warning about the theft of the Jeranese fragment of the DragonCrown. If you had said nothing, Chytrine would now have it.”

The Black shook his head. “No thanks are required. Telling you was all I could do. You did the hard work, and all the praise is deservedly yours. And now you will save Crow, for which I shall also be grateful. Go now, daughter, and do what you must. The world requires it.“

The Black gestured, and a wave of dizziness washed over Alexia. She blacked out for a moment, then reappeared in her bed, the din of the tavern’s common room buzzing up through the wooden floor. The plan she’d formulated had crystallized in her mind. Throwing back the blanket, she swung her long legs from the bed and began tugging her boots on.

“Crow, you’ve spent a lifetime saving other folks. Starting now, that investment gets paid back.”

Will Norrington paced the floor at the foot of the bed, shooting venomous glances at the powerfully built Vorquelf leaning back against the headboard. “They’re going to kill Crow. How can you just sit there? Some friend you are.”

Resolute blinked once, slowly, then regarded the youth with a cold, argent gaze. “Choose your words carefully, boy.”

A shiver ran down Will’s spine, but the hot fury racing through him didn’t let that chill get far. “Are you going to kill me because of what I’m saying?”

“No.” The single word came husky and low, more growled than spoken. Because he was of elven stock, Resolute had long limbs. And, were he standing, the brush of white hair that ran in a stripe over his skull would have touched the ceiling. Moreover, the Vorquelf lacked the slender build of most elves. His arms rippled with muscle, and the flesh sheathing them was amply decorated with arcane tattoos. Scars likewise crisscrossed his skin, with thick knots standing out on his knuckles.

The Vorquelf’s eyes tightened. “You should choose your words carefully, because you’ll be eating them if you continue. Out with what you’re really thinking.”

Will, who was Resolute’s physical antithesis—being small, slender, and relatively unmarked in his youth, with grey eyes and brown hair—planted his fists on his hips and frowned. “I am saying what I think. I think we should go out there, pull Crow out of that turnip-bin they’re keeping him in, and get away from here.”

“Really?” The Vorquelf’s silver eyes had no whites, no pupils, so Will couldn’t be sure when he was being stared at or not. “Let us play with your scenario, shall we? Not with the obvious things, though.”

“Such as?”

“Such as having no place to go. Such as being outnumbered by the troops on hand.”

“Local militia. We could slip past them and spirit Crow away, and you know it.”

Resolute did allow a faint flicker of a smile to flash over his face for a heartbeat. “Regardless, they would come after us.”

“So we kill them.”

“Really?” The Vorquelf’s expression tightened. “For what?”

“They are going to kill Crow. Did you miss that when Call Mably met us out on the road? They think Crow was this Hawkins, and he’s under a death sentence. They’ll take him to Meredo, King Scrainwood will pretend to listen to him, and then he’ll kill him. It’s wrong!”

“Why?”

Will’s eyes widened. “Because Crow isn’t Hawkins. He isn’t the Traitor, and there’s no way we can let them take him. If some of them have to die because they’re too stupid to see the truth, well, sometimes stupidity is a fatal disease.”

“It is, at that. I’d be careful, though.”

Something in Resolute’s tone sliced into Will’s outrage. “What is it?”

The Vorquelf arched an eyebrow. “All your posturing is built on your belief that they have mistaken Crow for Hawkins.”

“They have.”

Resolute shook his head. “No, they haven’t. Crow was Hawkins.”

Will’s jaw dropped and he hunched forward, grabbing the foot of the bed. He felt as if he’d been gut-punched, for no breath could come. He knew from the Vorquelf’s voice that there was no deception, no hidden meaning in those words—and try as he might, he could find no way to twist them.

But that’s impossible ! Everyone knew the story of the Traitor, the one who betrayed the world’s heroes to Chytrine. In songs he had become Squab, always conniving and craven, always defeated. It was common knowledge that the real Hawkins had killed himself in shame over what he had done.

“No, it can’t be. Not Crow.” Will looked up and caught Resolute’s unwavering gaze. A lump rose in his throat and tears began to leak from his eyes. Crying? No, no, no . He covered his face with one hand and slammed his right fist down on the bed. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”