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

Chapter 5

Three days passed before necessity forced Krow to ride into Bliss.

The village felt hostile. The rain and mist of the past week had cleared since his arrival, leaving the roads thick with mud but no longer swampy canals. More of the townsfolk were out, exchanging wide, fearful glances as they scurried about their business in groups of three or four. Workers had gone back into the fields, each separating themselves from their fellows by large spaces, when possible. The air held a wild, paranoid feel, like whispers in deep shadow.

Krow halted Namtar at the inn, opting with the familiar to begin his search. As soon as he entered, he knew he'd made a mistake. Apart from three locals sick enough of solitude to risk genuine sickness for company, Lord Went's men-at-arms were the only patrons. They were enough to make the inn feel crowded. As he entered, Krow locked eyes with Rawlings. The mercenary sat smoking a long-stemmed pipe in a shadowy corner, and he nodded before turning his attention back toward the others at his table. It wasn't Rawlings Krow was worried about so much as his fellows, six of whom were boisterously entertaining themselves with drink, dice, and cards. The mercenaries had arrived with a full dozen, but he did not see two of them. He had no doubt they were out keeping an eye on something. Or someone.

"Innkeep," Krow said, nodding to the proprietor, who swiped at a mug with nervous but practiced hands. "Business looks better than when last I was here."

"Master Krow," the thin man replied. "Indeed, though be it for better or worse we shall see. There is still plague, though ye are to deal with that, I have been told."

"Aye." Krow ignored the eyes that had turned on him at his entrance, trying to concentrate on his business. He could feel the glares burning into his back from the likes of Scarface and Haystack, and the mood inside had grown ugly and volatile. "That's why I'm here. I'm in need of clean bandages, soap, various medicinal supplies, including some rare herbs. Could I acquire such provisions anywhere in Bliss?"

"I've clean cloth here, healer, though little of it. Try Barthon's general goods for what ye may need. It's near the smithy to the west, though the damned swindler may be holed up in his home instead of opening up shop with the troubles. I've no notion of herbs."

"There's no apothecary in these parts?" Krow asked. "Perhaps a village herbalist?"

"Apothecaries are too rich for Bliss, I tell ye," the innkeep declared. "Though, aye, we had a cunning woman. The plague carried her off weeks ago."

Krow nodded. "What did the village do with her belongings?"

"Nothing," the man shrugged. "None venture out if they can help it. After all, mayhap the pestilence still sleeps in her hut? None approach even to burn it down for fear of the black boils."

"Perhaps I can find what I require in her supplies."

"If it will help end this cursed plague, ye are welcome to whatever ye find," the innkeeper said. "Ride west along the path past the smithy until you reach the Spire, a tall, twisted rock on the trail. Ye can't miss it, as it looks the work of sorcery. The cunning woman's hut is in the ravine just north."

"I'll find it. Just one question more. Not a soul has arrived at the cottage since my arrival. The plague has stricken no one else?"

"Nay, not for four, five days. Alvor's daughter was feverish and cold, but no sign of the dreaded sores. A common illness, he believes."

The scrape of stools reached his ears, and the innkeeper's eyes grew wide. The man set the mug in his hands atop the counter and retreated into the kitchens without so much as a farewell. Krow sighed grimly. He'd expected a confrontation from the moment he walked in, but he'd hope it could be avoided anyway.

"How does a freak like you come to be alive, eh, half-breed?"

Scarface.

The man's chainmail rustled as he leaned up on the bar. Krow turned, placing his back against the wood and glancing to Rawlings' corner, but the leader was gone. Haystack stepped up in front of him, while a third hemmed him in on the other side.

"Your mother must have been quite the whore to let an orc plough her," Scarface continued with a nasty smirk that pulled at the mutilation of his face. "Perhaps she obliged free of charge? No doubt she was sopping wet just imagining a beast fuck. What do you think, Trant?"

"I wager she dreamed of having a monster cock inside her," guffawed the third mercenary, a thin, long-faced man. He grasped the front of his trousers. "She didn't have to fuck an animal; I could have given her what she wanted!" His comrades snorted with mirth.

Krow said nothing.

"You won't tell us, whoreson?" Scarface said.

"I thought it was a lie when they said he was a healer," Haystack chuckled. "Orcs are all fighters; I've never heard of no orc healers. 'Course, I've never heard of no orc cowards either, but here we are."

"You ever drawn those swords?" Scarface asked. "Or are they just for show?"

"Unarmed men are likely to get killed on the road these days," Krow said slowly. "Bandits and the like. Swords will deter a lot of problems. So, yes, they're for show."

"You want a chance to swing 'em at somebody?" Trant demanded. He continued when there was no reply. "It seems you're chickenshit. I'll have to think of something that will get your gander up." He paused for a moment, then snickered. "Maybe after I plough Lady Selbourne, eh? Maybe after the boys and I fuck her bloody?"

"He'll just try to join the fun!" Haystack laughed. "Then we can kill him whether he draws or not. No one steals the cunt we earn."

Krow kept his hands very still. "I'm not looking for trouble."

"What the fuck are you looking for?" Scarface demanded. He stepped forward angrily, and his hand stroked the hilt of his dagger. "I've heard enough of this gutless shit–,"

"Merce!" A quiet voice cut across the inn, and Scarface stepped back hastily. Rawlings stood in the door. "Sit down and leave the healer alone."

"We were just funnin' with the breed," Scarface replied. Krow noticed he and the other two immediately headed for their seats.

"No doubt," Rawlings growled. "Healer, get back to your plague. Civilization is no place for you."

"I was just leaving," Krow agreed.