Читать книгу Orphan's Blade - Aubrie Dionne - Страница 12

Raven’s Eye

Nathaniel launched after the red-haired raider. The quarter moon provided limited light as the boy disappeared down an alley by the butcher’s shop and the candlestick maker. When Nathaniel reached the alley, it was empty. He ran alongside the stone buildings, adrenaline pumping in his veins.

Did he truly wish to find the boy?

Who knew what measures Brax would take to get the information he needed? But, Nathaniel couldn’t have gangs of raiders attacking every caravan departing from the castle. And poor Kent would be punished if the boy wasn’t found. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But this boy certainly had.

Glass shattered, drawing Nathaniel to the dimly lit part of town in the north by the back gate. Nathaniel watched his footing as he ran over the broken cobblestone. A shadow disappeared into a building with a crumbling foundation. Nathaniel picked his way over the remnants of the roof sprawled over the floor. Footsteps creaked on the broken stairway. The boy climbed over a hole in the staircase and pulled himself to the upper floor.

“Wait.” Nathaniel called after him. This part of town was dangerous, not only for the broken glass and deteriorating wood, but thieves hid in the shadows. Besides, there was only one way out, through the back gate and into the moorland with swamps so deep, entire carriages could sink to the bottom and never be found again.

But what could he promise the boy to come back to? He might be better off taking his chances in the moors.

Nathaniel leapt up the stairs and stepped on rotten wood. His foot fell through, and he tumbled forward. An upturned nail sliced his palm.

“Horred’s grave!” He clutched his injured hand against his chest and regained his footing, following the boy to the back room. Pigeons took off from the posts of a sodden bed. Tattered curtains flowed from broken windows. Nathaniel pulled open the closet door, and a bat flew toward his head. He ducked, and pulled out a thick blanket covered in moss. It hung over a chair with only three legs.

No one.

Rats scurried away as he checked under the bed. He turned toward the broken window. A thick clanking resounded from the wall, slow at first, then picking up speed. Chains strained and pulled, and a deep creaking rumbled in his gut.

The gate was opening.

Dread settled in Nathaniel’s stomach. He scrambled down the rotten stairs and ran into the street.

Timber caught up, huffing. Fear and surprise lit his wrinkled face. “Helena’s sword, what does he think he’s doing?”

“Getting away.” Nathaniel tied his handkerchief around his palm and raced ahead. Timber followed, running faster than he should for his age. “Leave this to me.”

“I will not allow you to go alone.” Timber called from behind him.

The gate rose inch by inch as they lurched uphill toward it. Countryside black as soot and endless as the sky stretched out beyond the walls. The dank smell of rot and mold wafted in on a breeze so cool, it settled into his bones.

Nathaniel ran under the gate and stopped abruptly at the edge of the murky water. The spring floods had risen higher than ever before, covering most of the ramp leading to the gate.

The raider had disappeared without even a ripple in the water.

“Would you look at that?” Timber came up behind him. “I cannot even make out the road.”

“Must have been a snowy winter up there.” Nathaniel gestured toward the darkened peaks. He kicked a rock into the water, and the muck swallowed it with a clump. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

“That’s the problem. You don’t have to.” Timber crouched and scanned the surface of the water. Reeds and tall marsh grasses blew in the cold wind. “He wouldn’t be the first one lost in the depths.”

The wind changed direction. Was the howling from a man? He tried not to imagine rowing out there with only a lantern for a light. “We’ll need a boat to continue the search.”

Timber placed a heavy hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Wait until morning.”

“I’ll have to inform Brax.”

“Either way, he’s going to know.”

Nathaniel nodded, promising himself to cover for Kent when he reported back to Brax. Timber spoke with the wisdom and patience of his age. The boy wouldn’t get far. That was if he survived at all.

Only the gods knew why Nathaniel longed to save him, even if it meant crossing the moors.

Just as he turned back to the gate, movement from the dark peaks drew him back. A black mass spread from the highest mountain, thinning into dark specks as it widened over the valley below. A chorus of caws filled the air.

“Crows.” Nathaniel squinted at the sky. “Thousands of them.”

The birds flew in strange patterns, coalescing into spiral shapes and breaking at the top, like tornadoes unleashing darkness upon the land.

Timber pulled his bow from his back along with an arrow. He aimed as the birds flew over their heads.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure.” He fired, and the arrow pierced a bird, felling it over the gate. They ran back to the city.

The beast lay in the middle of the shambled cobblestone road with the arrow through its heart.

Nathaniel bent over it, as a current of sorrow drifted through his chest. He knew what it felt to be aloft, soaring triumphant and free and to be hit with an arrow through the heart, ending the dream that life once was. “Why did you fell it?”

“Don’t touch it!” Timber crouched beside him and used the tip of his bow to move the wing. He cocked its head to the side. A milky, cataract-covered eye glanced up at them. Bald spots covered its body where the feathers had been plucked, or had fallen out. The blood that oozed from the arrowhead was a black, gelatinous goo.

Nathaniel had never seen anything like this in his lifetime, but he’d heard enough stories. “An undead bird?”

Timber nodded, then watched the sky with suspicion.

None of the crows had settled in the city. They’d come and gone so quickly they wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been standing at the back gate.

Timber glanced over his shoulder at the open gate and the moors that lay beyond. “Spies.”