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

me lead the way and take any lumps if I didn’t find ways around my poorer senses.  But now days, we utilized every team member’s individual skills to the fullest.

She shook her head and I stood and stepped forward, dropping through the hole. My hands grabbed the edge and I swung my feet over the catwalk railing before letting go.  Crouching, I searched the darkness, moving slightly to make room for Jella, who landed lightly next to me.

Before, in our drunken stupor, we had moved to the northwest corner of the building and passed out in bundles of sheared sheep wool.  This time, the stench of woldling came from the exact opposite corner in the southeast.  Jella was already facing that way, the dim outline of her eyebrow arching in amusement at my slow orientation.  I ignored her.  A shadow overhead brought my attention up to the torn vent opening.  A feline head leaned over, huge green eyes watching us before withdrawing.  Yawl felt no need to enter with us, yet another confirmation of Ash, should I need one.

I moved the opposite way on the catwalk and climbed down the ladder built into the wall.  Once on the ground, I reached into my black leather jacket and pulled out a wooden cylinder the diameter of a common flute.  Pulling a cork from the end, I slid a glowing glass tube from inside, the green light startlingly bright to my night-adjusted eyes.  An experimental gift from Brona’s armorer, Marshall, to the princess, who in turn gifted it to me.  Filled with the rotting wood of an exotic tree from some island off the coast of Lachia, it emitted a soft luminescent light similar to the glow of the lightning flies we had in summer.

Jella snorted, but even her night vision couldn’t see in pitch dark, so I wasn’t fooled by her act—the spy light was damned cool.  We moved across the floor, slowly and softly but not trying to hide ourselves.  Ahead, I heard a rustling sound, causing me to stop.

“Hey Ash, it’s Savid,” I said.

Jella rolled her eyes at me and pointed at her nose.  Yeah, yeah, so he could smell me.  That still doesn’t help me with trying to talk to a woldling.

The sound of claws on plank wood flooring clicked through the dark.  I held up the spy light, the soft glow barely denting the darkness ahead.  I could just see a large form, slightly less dark than the space around it.  It seemed about ten spans ahead.  A deep growl vibrated through the warehouse.

“Easy, buddy.  We brought you some gifts,” I said, reaching into the slung message bag at my side.  I pulled a bundle of greased paper and threw it underhand across the space.  The lump of wrapped meat hit the floor and slid half a span, stopping almost at a huge, clawed foot.

The green light showed a paw reaching down to snag the meat, pulling it up into the deeper darkness above.  The sounds of teeth ripping flesh replaced the growl.

“Moose steak from Burl’s—your favorite,” I said, moving forward another span.  Enough light now reached the dim shape to be reflected in reddish eyes and white teeth.  “That’s from me.  But this is from your wife,” I said, tossing a second bundle.  A half dozen fresh baked, buttered rolls, wrapped in Sissa’s scarf.  He always missed her baking when we were on missions.

The steak, or the remaining bits of it, fell on the wood floor as he pounced on the rolls.  He brought the whole bundle to his… snout and sniffed it.  He sniffed and inhaled and suddenly sat down, hard, the motion jarring his shoulder and the wooden shaft poking through it.  He growled once but remained focused on the bundle.  Then he tried to pry the loose knot open, but his misshapen hands were too awkward.  The scarf tore, bread rolls falling free around him.  His next growl was clearly frustration, but it shut off as he crammed a lump of bread into his maw.  Even as he gulped the food, his shorter arm held the torn scarf against his nose, breathing in the scent of his wife.

“How’s that wound, buddy?” I asked, bringing his attention back to me.  He growled, turned his head toward the wound as far as his misshapen neck would allow, and growled again, this time more in annoyance.  His free paw brushed the crossbow bolt shaft and knocked it out of the wound to clatter on the floor.

I glanced at Jella, and she just raised her eyebrows.  Woldling blood is corrosive, at least to metals.  No need to dig out arrow and spear heads when they just dissolved on their own.

“Sissa made a poultice too,” I said, tossing a third bundle.  He picked it up with two claw tips and looked at it, sniffing it and looking my way.  “Chew the bark off it—it’s willow.  Then put the herbs on the wound.  It’ll help.”

He bit the bundle and got fully half of it, bark and poultice, into his mouth. At least there were some of the medicinal herbs left to be crammed onto his wound, which he did.  Then he went back to eating rolls, the rest of the steak, and sniffing the scarf.

“Sorry it took me so long to figure out it was you,” I said.  “I didn’t see your tattoo until you held up your, ah, arm.”  I pulled back my sleeve and held my own tattoo under the light of the glow tube.

“Remember getting these?  We were pretty drunk, so it’s good that we designed our class tattoo before graduation.  And we didn’t even know when graduation was, did we?”

He watched me as he chewed and sniffed, his massive frame relaxing slightly.

I turned to Jella to explain, although she was more than familiar with the story already.  But she didn’t protest, just raised a brow as if actually interested. I knew better.

“We were in Punishment week, but we didn’t even know what day it was.