The Bloody North (The Fallen Crown) (11 page)

"Why are you gagging him?" the old woman –
Annette
– asked him as he bundled cloth into Tyrer's mouth followed by a short length of rope to keep it in. Tyrer struggled a little, but just one look from Rowan put an end to that. His hands were still bound together and Rowan had taken the liberty of tying him to a rather large and heavy tree a little way from the camp. By the middle of the next day they would arrive in Greyside – there was no sense in feeding and watering the man.

"So I don't have to listen to his horseshit while I eat," Rowan said.
"Nothing worse than a man who talks too much."

"What will he sleep on?" Annette asked.

He shrugged. "Do you care?"

"Guess not."

Back by the fire, Patti had put together a decent enough stew of vegetables and rabbit. Rowan had watched, as late that afternoon, Crow sent Kip down a rabbit hole, only to emerge a moment later with a big buck in his mouth, still alive. Crow had delivered a sharp blow to the creatures back, killing it instantly. Patti had stripped the carcass in no more time than it had taken to kill it.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Crow asked her, nose over the pot. "This brew smells most appetising."

"I should think so," she said. "It was my Mother's recipe. Simple enough. But I don't think you can beat a good stew, especially not in this kind of cold."

"Amen to
that," Crow said. He sat down, and Kip settled in across his lap.

Rowan thought back to the day Quayle and his men had killed his wife and children. Sara had been cooking a stew
then. And dumplings. He shook the memory away and walked to the fire, hands out to warm them.

"Bloody cold," he grumbled.

"Will he live through the night? Being exposed like that?" Annette asked, glancing back through the bushes to where Tyrer was tied up. "I know I shouldn't give a rat's arse, and really I don't . . . but I'm not one to see others suffering. Never have been."

"The most he'll get is a dose of pneumonia," Crow interjected. "And if I'm not mistaken, it won't matter a damn. He'll be in the gallows before the week is out."

"You think?" Patti asked.

Crow
nodded solemnly, absently stroking the back of Kip's neck. "The price criminals pay for coming and going, killing whomever – wherever – they like."

Privately, Rowan wondered if such a fate might befall
him, should he be caught. "You forget I myself am a fugitive of sorts. Not counting my own past before the war, either."

"You are a fugitive f
or different reasons," Crow said. "Besides, do you feel any pity for that man, any kinship, knowing you are in the same boat?"

"No."

"Well then," Crowstone said. He set to filling his pipe, whistling tunelessly. Rowan had discovered that the mage was possessed of many remarkable talents, but whistling was not one of them. Though he was a fair singer, it had to be said.

"Dinner should be ready in a bit,"
Patti said. "I, uh, noticed you had whiskey over there in the pack. If I'm not mistaken, the same you took from Stanthorpe. Could we?"

"Yeah, of course," Rowan got on it straight away. He went to their gear, retrieved the whiskey and found four suitable vessels from which to drink it. He busied himself pouring it out. "There you are."

"Thanks," Patti said, taking her jar of whiskey from him, her hand resting over his a second or two longer than necessary, their eyes meeting. Or had he just imagined it?

Crowstone lifted his tin cup. "To us. Four travelling companions, well met
, if I say so myself."

"I'll drink to
that," Annette said and took a long, hard swallow, not so much as flinching at the whiskey as she shot it back.

Crowstone nodded in her direction. "Now
that's a woman who can drink whiskey."

Rowan laughed. When he looked across at
Patti, her eyes were still fixed on him as she drank. In the dusky light the golden fire danced in them. Later, as he lay looking up into the dark while the others slept, they were all he could think about.

* * *

Greyside was a modestly populated town grouped around the edges of a wide lake, frozen over. The boats that had been moored at the quay were trapped in the ice, and from up on the crest of the hill, Rowan could see the forms of children playing among them, oblivious to the danger of the icy crust cracking beneath their rushing feet.

I was just as young, and just as irresponsible once,
he thought.
Hell, I'm irresponsible now.

Patti
tugged on the rope tied to Tyrer's hands, dragging him along behind her. "So go over it again for me."

"Head for the lawman's office, tell him you've captured Garth Tyrer. And tell him you want the bounty on him," Rowan said. "Crowstone will be with you."

Crow jabbed a finger at Tyrer. "One word about what really happened and I'll turn you to dust there and then, do you understand?"

Tyrer was still gagged but he managed a firm nod of the head.

"Good man."

"I'll wait up here for you to appear down there," Rowan pointed to where the road entered the town at the bottom of the hill. "
Then I'll come on by."

"Probably best you keep
that hood up," Crow said. "Remember, you're one of them as well."

Tyrer turned to look at him and something in his eyes gave Rowan pause. He led his horse closer and gave him a jab with his boot. "If they come find me because of something you've said, you better hope I don't share a cell with you. Because it won't be a hanging you have to worry about. Nod so I know you fucking understand."

He nodded.

"Good."

Crow looked at Annette. "We all set?"

"Yes," she said. "While you and
Patti trade him in, I'll see if I can get us a couple of decent rooms. I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a hot bath."

"It's been a while," Crow said.

Annette looked him up and down with visible disapproval. "Yes it has."

Rowan had to stifle a laugh as they headed off.
Then he happened to look down at himself and realised he was no different.

"I'll leave Kip behind with you," Crowstone said. "Sometimes his presence invokes a less than favourable response from the locals."

"Understood."

He watched as t
hey rode down toward the town. Then Rowan got out of sight, the bearcat in tow, and waited for Patti to show herself.

* * *

Annette was true to her word. Two hours after entering the town, she showed them to the tavern where they'd be spending the night. They left their horses securely around the back, dispersing small change to a couple of the young boys to tend to the animals. Then Annette led them in, handed each of them a key.

"All separate rooms," she said. "Fresh sheets. They got a few big baths at the back, the landlady's up there now filling them up. I told them we'd each be having one. You especially."

Her eyes were hard on Crowstone, but he took it in his stride with a gruff laugh.

"Understood," he said.

"We'll let the women go first," Rowan said. "It's only right."

"Ha!" Annette said. "If you thought I was sharing your water
 . . ."

Patti
's room was next to Rowan's and he watched as she slipped the key in the door. "So you got it all then? Any questions?"

She shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle. They knew it was him though. Seems the lawman here, a big brute called Brady, met him before. Paid me there and
then."

"You split it out
like I said?"

"Yes. Half each to me and Annette, though I think she's pitching in with me in finding a place,"
Patti said. "I think we might stay here for a bit in Greyside."

"
That so?"

"Aha."

He opened the door to his room. "I can see that working well for you."

"Listen, Rowan, I
 . . ."

He shook his head. "No need. I'll see you soon. Give me a knock, will you? Let me know you're out of
that tub? I'm looking forward to it myself."

"I will," she said with a smile.

He went inside and shut the door.

It was dark outside when Crow lifted the window and peered out. Sure enough, Kip was sat down there in the alleyway between the tavern and the next building.

(crow)

"Come on up," Crowstone whispered.

The bearcat clambered up the side of the building, claws finding purchase in the weathered, pockmarked wall until he reached the ledge under the window and hauled himself into Crow's room.

(you told me to wait for dark and that's what I did)

"Good boy. Now remember, not a sound, eh? I don't think the landlady will take too kindly to having you in here," Crow warned him.

(don't worry old man)

"Good," Crow said. "And less of the old."

* * *

The landlady was good enough to top the bath up with piping hot water. She gave him perfumed oils and salts. He thanked the maker
that he'd got Patti's bath water – the thought of sharing Annette's had been a less than attractive prospect. He sank into the hot water and couldn't help but sigh. How long had he travelled in the cold? It seemed as if the ice and snow of the North had settled itself into his bones, worked its way in there, and never let go. The thought struck him, as he nestled down in the tub with his head barely above the water, that he'd spent so long working his way toward another meeting with Quayle that he'd never considered what it would be like when he finally got to him. He'd learned from an old beggar in town that Quayle's farm lay beyond the border of Greyside, on the road opposite to that which they'd followed in.

Tomorrow I'll go there. Sword in hand.

The realisation that he'd finally arrived at the destination he'd been shooting for those years in the wild, fighting alongside Larch West's crew started to sink in. His stomach turned over and over, the way it always had the day before a big battle. To his mind, any man who said they didn't get frightened before a fight was a goddamn liar. In each case, it was highly probable you wouldn't see the other side of it. That it would be the death of you. Rowan supposed his final confrontation with Quayle might be just that – final.

Well, if
that's the case, so be it.

* * *

Crowstone looked a different man. Beard trimmed, skin scrubbed clean. His hair was brushed, no sign of his hat this time around. He waved Rowan to his table. Annette was already with him, both of them with drinks. The tavern wasn't full to brim, but enough so to have some hustle and bustle. The atmosphere was friendly enough. Rowan had been in enough drinking establishments over the years to know when there was a bad vibe.

Not for the first time
, he wondered just how old Crowstone truly was. His hair had plenty of grey in it, but it remained predominantly black. With anyone other than a mage, he might have a guess at fifty. But being what he was, and the bunches of wrinkles at the corners of his otherwise youthful, bright eyes, Rowan suspected he was older than that. Thus far Crow had said very little of his past comings and goings, perhaps to keep an air of mystery as to his origins. It was all relative to Rowan. The man had saved him from certain death, nursed him back to health, sworn to travel North with him and help him along the way – he'd done all of that and more.

He was more than aware he owed Crowstone. A part of him found the prospect of doing a mage a favour unnerving. Just what might such a person ask of a mere swordsman?

As he sat at the table, his hand drifted to the place on his hip usually occupied by his sword. He found it foolish not to have brought the weapon, however friendly the place seemed at that moment.

"No staff?" he asked Crowstone.

The mage's eyebrows rose as he smiled. "Sometimes I like to let my hair down."

"Yeah I see
that," Rowan said. "And plenty of it there is, too."

Annette laughed.
"You can take the man out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of a man," she cut in, glass to her lips. "But I'll admit he scrubs up well."

"I thank you Madam," Crow said. He raised his glass, chinked it against hers
, and drank. "It warms my old heart to know my appearance meets with your esteemed approval."

Annette, for all her keen observational abilities, failed to register the sarcasm in what he said. She instead seemed to take it as a compl
iment.

"You're welcome," she tittered.

The landlady dropped by their table. "Rooms to your liking?"

"Yes my dear, most regal," Crowstone said. "Might we have another round of drinks? The same for us, and whatever young Master Rowan is having."

"I wouldn't call me young," Rowan said. He looked up at the landlady. "Just a pint, if you please."

"Got it. What about your lady friend?" the landlady cocked her head at someone entering the tavern from upstairs. Rowan turned in his seat to be met by
Patti, clean and tidy, out of her travelling clothes for the first time since they'd been reacquainted. She wore more feminine attire and with her hair down, soft brown locks hanging over her shoulders, face glowing in the candlelight, Rowan felt a stirring in his chest. A palpitation, or something else.

"I
 . . . uh . . . I don't know . . ."

The landlady slapped a hand on his shoulder as she brushed past, as if to say
, "Don't worry. I know you're speechless," and asked Patti directly. Rowan didn't hear what she ordered, nor was he interested at that point in time. He got up, pulled the remaining free chair out from under the table so that she could sit down.

"Ah, well, chivalry isn't dead,"
Patti said.

Could it possibly be she is the same girl I rescued from the hand of
that bastard? The same feeble girl cowering from his every word?

"You look
 . . . radiant," he said awkwardly, not sure if he should have spoken out loud the first word to enter his head, and doubting it as he said it.

She giggled. "Thank you."

Rowan saw Crowstone studying him with keen interest, a wry smile somewhere beneath his beard.

The landlady returned with their drinks, set them down and left.

"I suggest a toast," Crow said. "To this fortuitous, if brief, fellowship."

They toasted
, then set to drinking. A round later, the landlady brought them plates of food. Roasted chicken, potatoes in their skins, cut through and laden with salty butter. Sausages and ham. Hefty chunks of yellow cheddar. A heavy, dense cake full of currants and peel. They ate until they simply could not eat any more. After another few rounds, Annette declared her intentions to head for bed and they all three stood to see her off. As if on a whim, she caught Rowan by the shoulders and planted a dry kiss on his cheek.

"What's
that for?"

"For being a good man," she said. "Even if you think you're not."

He watched her go, then felt Patti's hand on his arm.

"She's right you know," she said.

Crowstone excused himself. A group of old timers sat in a semi-circle in the corner, singing. He wandered over, preparing his pipe, already swaying to the melody of their broken voices singing in unison. Rowan felt plenty merry himself. It was so cosy in there, what with the flickering candlelight, the shadows, the singing voices, the tobacco smoke making the air thick and soupy. They'd had a long, tiring ride. He looked down and her hand was still on his arm.

Could the two of them be right? Annette and
Patti telling him he was a better man than he thought of himself as being?

"I've done a lot of bad things," he said earnestly, feeling more than a bit of angst at being seen as foolish.

"I know."

"But bad stuff has happened to me, too," he said.

She reached up with her free hand, touched the side of his face, the side with the long scar from his eye to his mouth. He closed his eyes.

"Lay with me,"
Patti said.

He opened his eyes, studied her face in the soft glow of the candles, heard the bass of Crowstone's deep voice join those
already singing. "Okay."

Patti
took him by the hand, led him to the door at the back of the tavern, up the stairs into the quiet. To her room.