Read I Know Not (The Story of Fox Crow) for Free Online Page B

as I was.
          Lethargy stole over me, seeping in to mix with the fog, seeming to make it bloom and envelop me whole. I’m not against sleep, in fact I quite enjoy it, but enough was enough. When I wake up, I’m not sleeping for a week.
          And as if no time at all had passed, I awoke.
          This time there were no birds and no hurting. I was grateful, honestly. The only problem, if it could be said I only had one problem, was that Gelia, priestess of Ethryal, hated me with a passion reserved for blood enemies, rapists, and tax collectors. She would not speak to me when alone, and was cool, unhelpful, yet professional to me when the others happened in. She had sewn the rent in my shirt and tossed it in my face like it was the shroud of a leper. Most of the Ethryalite clerics I have met have been much nicer.
          That wasn’t strictly true, I can’t actually remember, but I’m fairly certain. One does not usually get to be a servant of love, life, and healing by threatening the lives of patients.
          I donned the shirt and stretched to test my wounds. My balance was perfect, my belly tender but serviceable. Apparently whatever eldritch concoction the Lady had bestowed upon me, it was enough to bring my battered body back into working order. As soon as I was fully clothed, I exited the ivory colored pavilion and found the early morning sun was much weaker than it had been in living memory, which granted for me was two days. Its rays warmed my face, but not enough to take the sting of frost out of the air. My breath made tiny clouds and my cheeks ached as if being stretched too taut.
          The oldest living member of the princess’ retinue, no great distinction, they were all barely men, was apparently in charge. He was supervising three of the others manhandling a large chest made of oak and iron. It clanked as they jiggled it, making me salivate with thoughts of piles of golden coins. The eldest boy turned to me and I quickly blanked my expression and focused my eyes elsewhere.
          He was just shy of twenty years, his face unlined and unscarred. That was one new thing I had discovered about myself was the huge amount of scarring present on my body. Thankfully, that was at least one mystery solved to a near certainly: The scars, combined with my obvious talent to making armed men into corpses made me a career mercenary, and a very successful one at that from my ornate weapon. Perhaps not all the corpses I left behind belonged to the keep. Perhaps some were my own mercenary company, joining the defenders in a desperate attempt to hold the lost fort. Mercenaries are often bloodless men, bitter realists who murder for pay. Soldiers get cushy jobs. Mercenaries are too poor to be sentimental, at least that’s what they’ll tell you. That would go far and explain much…like my lack of reaction at the horror in the courtyard. I had probably seen such many times before; I had just not remembered that I had. Those exposed to violence and death eventually become inured to it, as I obviously had. All a nice, clean package, eh? A nice, logical train of thought. I couldn’t have been more wrong, well I supposed I could. I have a significant talent for being wrong.
          “Ho, Friend! I am Theodemar, guardian of the lady Aelia. I would know the name of our savior.” Theodemar’s beardless cheeks were as red as mine as they stretched into a guileless grin.
          I quickly donned the friendly mental costume.
          “So, would I Theodemar.” I flashed a smile, a hollow one that I felt carefully crafted to betray both embarrassment and a sociable demeanor, neither of which I was feeling. In fact I was feeling…
          Nothing. Not a thing.
          A thrill ran down my spine as I looked at the guardsmen gathering around the dying fire from their appointed tasks of breaking camp. They were just empty bags of blood and muscle, some rated as higher threats