A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

The oil streetlamp on the corner illuminated its right forearm briefly before shadow covered it.

Immediately I spun around, back to the beast, waving my arms as I stepped forward, putting myself between the creature and the crossbow that the lord marshal was aiming at it.  “NO!” I yelled but Kiven ignored me and pulled the trigger, the bolt flashing through the air, its sharpened steel head a making it a silver streak in the lamplight.

Another flash came from my left and above, smaller and white, and impossibly it clipped the bolt in midair before glancing off and sticking into the wall of the middle storefront across the street.

The sound of a heavy bolt hitting flesh and the roar of the woldling filled the night.  The beast leapt past me, moving much faster than its deformities would have suggested, angled toward the constables and away from my men.  It hit the line of lawmen and tore through them and bounded off into the darkness.

Jella swore and jumped off the roof, landing easily despite the four-span drop, then took off at a sprint after the woldling.

Chapter 9

“—then it tore through my men like paper, killing one outright and wounding two others, before it disappeared.  But we’ll find it, Your Majesty,” Kiven finished, standing like me, at attention.

Unlike me, he’d been given a full opportunity to report the night’s events as he saw them. King Helat nodded and turned his death stare on me.  He said nothing for a full ten seconds, my mind counting them automatically.  The others in the room, Colonel Erser, Neil Slinch, and Brona, stayed silent as we all waited.

“I have relied on your judgement for years, Savid, often against the counsel of my advisors.  Time and again, you have proven them wrong… until tonight.  By all accounts, you knew a woldling was scouting the city, allowed it to enter without sounding an alarm, failed to kill it when presented with a clear opportunity, and your… teacher actually interfered when someone with guts actually tried to put it down.  Unless I’m misinformed?”

I had seen others in this position before and even been in it a time or two myself.  Foolhardy was the recipient who immediately launched into excuses, denials, or counterallegations.

“Your information is correct, Your Majesty,” I said, staring straight ahead as I had since arriving in the king’s private audience chamber.

I had my eyes locked on one of the crossed war spears on the wall behind him, focused on the tip of a razor-sharp spearpoint. On the edges of my vision, I could tell he was now frowning.  He waited, giving me time to step off the ledge and hang myself, but I didn’t take the invitation.

Another ten seconds ticked by, then five more.  “Perhaps you’ve finally lost your edge?  Happens to everyone eventually.  Perhaps it’s time you sought an alternative to your current situation?”

“As you say, Sire,” I responded, only because his tone required some kind of answer.  I kept mine even and steady.  I could feel his eyes boring into me, actually feel it.  More seconds crept by and then he sighed.

“Alright, out with it,” he said.  “Why?”

“The woldling was different right from the start,” I said instantly, staying at attention.  “He actually showed some skill at eluding Jella.  He was careful about the city.  Then when he entered Haven, he went right to the heart of Shadow territory, right into the middle of the worst people he could face.  And just before the lord marshal shot his nephew through the shoulder, I saw his Ranged Recon tattoo on his forearm.”

Brona sucked in a breath and next to me Kiven shifted, his head whipping around to stare my way.  My frontal vision showed the king’s hand coming up to forestall any outbursts from the lord marshal.  Neil Slinch, whose eyes had been a bit excited by my predicament, frowned.

“How?” King Helat asked.

I held up my right arm and pulled my sleeve back to expose my forearm, or more importantly, the tattoo on it.  It was almost as clear and defined as the day I got it, or I should say night that I got it. The same night that we had graduated Despair.

The image is of a cloaked man, his face hidden by his cowl, kneeling, left hand on his folded knee, right hand outstretched, holding a Recon short sword, blade pointing down.  Under the figure are the Drodacian words “Schotang ewali, keanni ewali.”  Loosely translated, “If I speak of it to you, I must kill you.”

“Our graduation tattoos.  Of the twelve who received it, only me, Cort, Soshi, Drew, and Ash were left alive after the war.”

This time, both the king and the head of his intelligence service joined Kiven in stiffening in shock.

“You are certain?”

“We designed it as a group, Sire.  I added the words.  To my knowledge, no other class has Drodacian hunting language in their tattoos.”

“That would mean that he was changed by the Paul,” Neil Slinch said, “and survived it.”

“And retained an enormous amount of his intelligence and personality,” I said.  “He knew Welton on sight… I saw the recognition in his eyes.  And he wouldn’t leave the area around his house where his wife was bolted in, despite all the Shadows who were surrounding it.”

Kiven started to speak but stopped when the king’s head whipped his way.  “But it… he… attacked Haven constables?” King Helat asked.

“After he was shot.  Jella’s arrow moved the bolt enough that it hit his shoulder, not his heart.  But I’m guessing he has a woldling’s temper if not its intellect.”

“She actually shot a bolt in midair?” Erser asked.

“Clipped it, Colonel, but yes.”

“And now he’s out there somewhere, loose in the city,” King Helat said, frowning.

“Jella and Yawl are on him.  I said he showed skill at eluding her, not that he could actually do it.  I suspect someone is waiting nearby to tell me where he is.”

The king studied me for a moment, then nodded.  “Do it.  Step outside and see if you’re