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

Chapter 2

His welcome to the bailey was as pleasant as he'd expected.

A wooden palisade and a dry ditch surrounded a stone relic too squat and small to warrant the designation of a castle. Vine and lichen grew across its crumbling stones and crept toward the shuttered windows. He had seen its like before, a fief in dire need of prosperous times, and a noble family so impoverished as to be little more than first citizens among its village's middle-class merchants and artisans. He expected he would find few others at the bailey besides the titled family. Minor nobles such as these might afford a servant, cook, and two or three men-at-arms at most, so he was surprised to find a contingent of armed yeomen a dozen strong in the unpaved courtyard. His astonishment disappeared when he noted the quality of their steel and the way they lingered with their mounts.

A pike barred Krow's path as he rode through the palisade entrance.

"Oi! Halt! Who goes?"

Krow eyed the leather tunic and somewhat flustered appearance of the pike's abrasive wielder, then glanced at the iron chainmail of the group in the yard.

"I say who goes?" The pikeman planted himself in front of the destrier, then blanched when he met Krow's eyes. He fingered the shaft of his pike and stepped to the side, clearing the massive horse's path while still nominally obstructing the way.

"I need to speak with Lady Selbourne," Krow stated in his grating voice.

"Ye off your ploughing nut? There's plague 'ere!"

"Yet it seems I'm not the only visitor," he replied, nodding toward the armed men ahead.

The pikeman squinted his eyes, then hawked into the mud. "Lord Went sent 'em as aid from Cherburg, to help Lady Kastanie until the plague ends."

Krow studied the riders. They were a hard lot, with the bearing of professionals, and they wore this Lord Went's colors as they might any other. A band of lifelong killers no doubt, who went where the coin was good and fought whom they were paid to fight. He knew a great many men of the type. Some were decent fellows. Some were no better than sanctioned brigands.

"What aid are soldiers during a plague?" Krow mused, more to himself than the guard. "More fodder for the spread of disease if it's not yet progressed past the stages of contagion."

The pikeman shifted, squinting up at him in confusion. Finally, he shrugged and spat again. "The lady is with one of 'em now. Ye can't go in." He wrinkled his brow and snorted, appearing both belligerent and apprehensive. "Ye'll have to remain 'ere under guard. By the lady's orders, no one's to leave Bliss until the plague's run its course."

"I've no intention of leaving before it does so."

The poor man's confusion became more pronounced, but he continued his tasks with admirable determination. "Get down and hand over those swords."

Krow complied, stepping from his saddle. The guard moved forward with a relieved expression, but newcomers to the courtyard interrupted them before Krow had even unbuckled his belts.

The first to emerge from the bailey was clearly the captain of Lord Went's charitable contingency. He wore a red jerkin over the same chainmail as the others, secured by a belt bearing castle-forged steel. The second was a swordsman wearing a leather tunic similar to Krow's captor, another of Lady Kastanie's men-at-arms. The last was surely the Lady herself.

The attendant had noticed Krow at the gate, and he strode through the muck of the yard. "Disarm!" the swordsman barked while still at some distance. He placed a hand on his sword hilt.