The Omens of a Crow [COMPLETE] (Watty 2018 Award-Winner)

Chapter 1

"Ye'd best turn around and ride."

Krow did not answer.

At first sight the village of Bliss appeared deserted. Except for the silent girl who met him by the road, he had yet to see a soul. The timbered houses and thatched roofs were in good repair and smoke drifted from many a chimney, but such were the only signs that Bliss was not a ghost town. That and the eyes. Curious, cautious eyes that peered through the cracks in the shutters at the sound of hooves. A stranger in Bliss, the eyes whispered. Why would anyone come here now?

"Stranger? Are ye deaf? Word must've reached ye on the road. It'd be best to turn around and ride out before anyone stops ye."

A thin man in a greasy apron had come into the deserted outdoors to toss a pail of slops into the street. Krow pulled his destrier to a halt and sat wordlessly.

If the innkeeper was perturbed by his silence he didn't show it, and instead carried on with his stubborn exhortations. "There's plague here, stranger. By the gods, I don't know how ye've not heard before now. Go on. On with ye. There's naught here but pestilence and death, I'm afraid. Come back in happier times, if we live to see them."

Krow dismounted slowly, to the obvious exasperation of his newfound acquaintance. He removed his sodden cloak, saturated with the wet of the mist. From the corner of his eye, he noted a start of surprise.

"I...good sir," the village's sole occupant stammered. The man's eyes flickered from his blazing red hair to the swords on his back and hip. "The plague. The plague, sir..."

"I've no fear of your plague," Krow said quietly, as always, to soften the guttural, unpleasant sound that was his voice.

"But–,"

"Let us go indoors and escape this ceaseless drizzle." Krow patted his giant warhorse. "Is there anywhere to shelter Namtar and my effects from the damp? I shan't be long. A place for him to rest under the eaves is sufficient." The man gestured, and he led his steed under an overhang before proceeding inside.

The inn was empty and dark, but Krow's eyes adjusted to the gloom immediately. The innkeep sat behind a table, shifting in his chair.

"You must forgive the lack of food and drink." The man wrung his hands. "But with the sickness no one leaves their homes in hopes of avoiding the black touch. I can have something prepared–,"

"That won't be necessary."

"Ah, I–, I see. Then, what can I–?"

"Just some information."

"What with the plague, I'm not sure what I can tell ye. Precious little happens when sickness grips a village." The innkeeper ran his tongue over his lips with a repeated motion, and his eyes had grown wild.

Krow leaned forward. "You know what I am?"

"I–, yes. I once witnessed an execution in the capital. Messy, it was. The headsman would be better for it, but that's for nobility, not for commoners or...folk like yourself. The rope didn't break his neck, what with how dense he was – thick as a tree trunk. He strangled for an eternity." The man cowered a bit further into his seat. "Ye have the look. As the fellow on the scaffold, that is. Only he was brutish huge, and his hair was black. And he looked more...well–,"

"Savage?"

"Aye," the man said, picking at the tabletop. "Like a monster." His eyes darted up to meet golden irises, then quickly fell.

"You're very observant," Krow admitted. "You would be surprised how often I can pass as a full-blooded human, if an eccentric one." The innkeeper's brow rose, and he ceased his cringing. "Now focus," Krow commanded in as calming a tone as he could manage with his grating rasp. "Look at me. Tell me of this plague. When did it arrive? What are the symptoms?"

"Simptins, sir?

"When someone becomes sick, what are the signs? What happens to them?"

"The first to catch the bloody boils was Odrin, a hunter 'round these parts, though a goodly number came down with it near the same time. Must have been some two moons ago. Seemed like nothing but a light fever at first, but none got better and it just kept getting worse. Soon dozens were falling to the body aches and chills, while those who first became sick got these nasty black spots that puffed up and swelled. That's when the alderman realized we had a full-blown plague on our hands. He announced a quarantine, then brought the matter to the attention of the Lady Kastanie."

"Where is the alderman now?"

"Dead," the innkeep said, shaking his head. "Fell ill not a day later. It burns through like a fire. Those who get the boils are almost always dead within three days."

"There are survivors?"

"Mayhap. None return from the cottage. We don't want the plague to spread further."

"I see." Krow stood. "With the alderman dead, I need to speak to someone with authority. This lady...there is no lord in Bliss?"

"Aye, sir, there's Lord Hoster, the Lady's father. He's the true lord, though he's not been well for years. Everyone knows Lady Kastanie runs the fief in all but name."

"Strange," Krow muttered. "She's no husband or sons?

"She's a widow, sir. Ser Geoffrey was killed during the Hundred Days, and she was never with child."

"Hm," Krow grunted. "Where might I find her?"

"The castle on the bluff. Just continue riding south on the road. Ye can't miss it."

"Thank you." Krow tossed a haypenny on the table, then turned to the door. It was time to speak with the power in these parts, who was, of all unlikely things, a woman.