Page 114 of Fortune's Blade

The waterfall helped with that, sending dancing light shadows to further highlight it, as did the two statues that framed the portico. This time, they weren’t ravens, but a giant on the left, his shaggy beard reminding me of the one I’d fought in the arena, although his clothes were considerably finer. And on the other, was someone who looked like a member of the light fey.

I thought at first that it must be another giant, maybe a younger version as he had no beard. But the longer I looked, the less I believed that. The two statues were of a height, probably so that they would match or be seen as equals, but even so, they were clearly not the same.

The light fey was far less imposing, with none of the bulging muscles and stocky, square body of the giant. His facial features were also different, being more slender, almost delicate, with a thin nose and lips and high cheekbones. Even without the height difference to go on, one would never be confused for the other.

So, what were they doing there?

I chalked it up to one of the very many things I did not understand about Faerie, and moved on. Or rather, I tried. But the initial shock had worn off now, and I was taking more in.

Causing me to keep stopping to gaze around in awe and growing realization. Because it was a city spread out around us. An entire city of the dark fey.

Ray had spoken of their unusual use of portals, but I hadn’t really understood until now. They really had just picked up a city and taken it with them, hadn’t they? But how?

How could they possibly power something like this? A village, yes, that I could understand, although it would have been quite a feat. But this broke the brain to even contemplate, or at least, it broke mine.

And my ride wasn’t any happier, although the view wasn’t what had caused a low growl to emanate from between his lips.

He was staring at something further up the bridge, near the arch where it started down the other side. For a moment, I squinted in puzzlement, not understanding what I was seeing. It looked rather like a beaver dam which had somehow ended up blocking most of the pathway, just a great mass of sticks and debris.

But then I glanced to the side and saw similar structures on the towers and dotting the roofs of surrounding buildings, and light dawned.

It’s a nest, I thought, and felt the ogre nod slightly. He’d already known that, and didn’t like it. Perhaps because the gigantic creation covered so much of the path that we were going to have to get a bit too close for comfort in order to edge around.

Or perhaps his distress was because there were sounds emanating from it.

Ripping, tearing, gobbling sounds.

He thought briefly about the battle ax slung across his back. But grabbing it might be taken for aggression, and anyway, it would require putting down the barrel and he was not putting down the barrel. He edged closer.

The nest was a testament to the ravens’ strength, being formed of small trees instead of sticks and containing a worrying number of bones woven through the mix. Along with wool, some sizeable tufts of some unfortunate animal’s fur, huge strips of bark, withered grasses, and even pieces of clothing, the latter probably stolen from the trolls’ laundry lines. But those were just the supports; the decorations were even showier, including small mirrors, pretty bits of ribbon, seashells, someone’s boot, which had been made of red leather and buffed to a high shine, even pieces of jewelry and coins stuck in patches of dried mud.

But despite the latter, no one had come to retrieve their items, and as I passed by using the scant open area of path left to us, I realized why. For there were two birds inside, still with the bald, prickly skin of the recently hatched, without a single feather. Yet they were already savaging the carcass that a loving parent must have left for them.

I did not know what creature the carcass had belonged to, as it was too mangled for identification, but it was the size of a stag, giving some ideas of the little one’s appetites. They were tearing into it with glee, their beaks bloody and their faces gory, until they paused when we came too close, to watch us with bright black eyes. I strove to look as unthreatening as an ogre can although I wasn’t worried about the babes, for neither was above a foot high and the blue speckled eggshells in the muddy bottom of the nest proved that my estimation of their age was correct.

But there were altogether too many of the massive adults about, so many in fact that none cared that one of their nests lay on a public thoroughfare. And had probably been there for years, as ravens on Earth tended to reuse nests, and this one did not look new. But then, who was going to disturb it?

Not us, we mutually decided, and assured that our feet did not linger.

But we weren’t fast enough, for a massive shadow rippled across the bridge as we cleared the obstruction, covering us in its shade. And a rustle of wings caused the delicate lamps swinging overhead to sway as if in a stiff breeze. The ogre started and looked about wildly for a second—and then looked ahead again slowly, to find himself staring directly into the eyes of the biggest raven I’d ever seen.

It was taller than us by at least two feet, had huge claws, a truly savage-looking beak, and a great mass of iridescent, blue-black feathers with tints of green in them when the lantern light hit just right. But its size was not the strangest thing about it, no, not by half. Because I’d been wrong before; it wasn’t staring into the ogre’s eyes, whom it barely seemed to notice.

It was staring into mine.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ilooked back in shock, not sure how it could see me, but being certain than it did. It tilted its head slightly, and that razor sharp bill came even closer as it looked me over, as if it had never seen anything like me. The feeling was entirely mutual.

There was intelligence there, I thought, gazing into those dark eyes. A great deal of it, and something else besides. Something like a distant mirror, through which I could see . . .

Was that me?

I realized with a start that I could see myself, my real self, as a blue tinged ghost crouched on the ogre’s shoulders with my hand disappearing into his head, like a puppet master with his doll. The view was unsettling, and not just for me. The ogre started, as if seeing the same thing I was, and that left me with a dilemma.

His very inebriated state was causing him to question his eyes, but I didn’t know how long that would last, and I didn’t want to hold him against his will. Or risk having him hurt himself trying to get away. But we’d only just started and I needed him to help me find my father.

I had been too upset earlier to ask Mircea what he was doing here, not that I would have gotten a straightforward answer if I had. He would tell me only what he wanted me to know and I needed more than that. I needed a great deal more if I were to risk myself and Ray in whatever mystery required a senator and a Pythia to solve, which I did not believe was simply the kidnapping of a king.

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