Raven's Edge

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “Then why, Zhao? What does someone not of this land care for the life of one duke’s son?”

  “Oh, a great deal more than you suppose. War is coming, child.”

  Raven shook her head. “You can’t know that. In spite of her schemes, the duke is to grant Niamh clemency. She’s to be banished, not executed. Some of the northern houses may still grumble, but they’ll be brought in line. The duke is a skilled diplomat.” She hoped this last was true. “If war was your aim, Zhao, then you’ve failed.”

  “Have I?” He tipped back his head and laughed. “You’ve travelled through these lands, have you not seen it yourself, nor sensed it in the air?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The dissatisfaction of the common-folk, who gather to mutter dark words about the cruel and capricious lord who has people dragged from their beds and burned at the stake amid accusations of heresy and witchcraft. Fathers and sons beaten into false confession by henchmen acting on his orders. Dungeons heaving with the innocent, the streets outside filled with the protests of their loved ones. There’s a word being whispered across tables in dim-lit taverns, growing in volume with each passing day, my dear. Rebellion.”

  “You’re wrong,” Raven said firmly. “It’s true that the north has its troubles, but matters have not yet gone that far.”

  “Perhaps. But the application of a little more pressure here, a little there...” He sighed. “Alas, your interference has brought my time here to a premature end, and I must return having failed in my mission.”

  “Your mission?”

  “Indeed. You didn’t suppose that I’m here of my own volition? I was to soften the ground, to prepare the way for those that come after by sowing the seeds of chaos. War is coming, despite what you may believe. I’m not talking about minor scuffles in muddy fields between your barbarian chieftains, but something far greater.”

  Raven started. “You mean invasion?”

  “We have observed your Empire for a very long time, marvelling at how ones so dull and rudimentary strut around so full of self-importance, like children wearing their father’s armour,” he scoffed. “But your land is ripe and fertile, so full of wealth just waiting for those with the wit and vision to make use of it.”

  “You’ve failed,” she said again. “The north remains strong, the south too. Any ships your Xanshian masters send would be repelled.”

  “For now. But the Imperium has a long memory, and when it has set its sights on something it desires, is more patient than your barbarian minds can conceive. It might be ten years from now, or a hundred, but one day another like me will come... and succeed where I have failed.”

  As he spoke, a tiny sound reached Raven’s ears, as of a small stone being disturbed. When Zhao finished, he jumped down into the courtyard area. She used that moment when his eyes were no longer fixed upon hers to glance towards the direction from which the noise had originated. There, just around a section of wall she caught sight of light-brown hair. What is he doing here?

  Regardless, it seemed Zhao hadn’t noticed. He turned to face her, a self-assured smile on his face, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. She sensed the challenge he was about to issue and, the germ of an idea beginning to form in her mind, she cut him off before it could leave his lips. “You’ve explained your actions well enough, the agent of an enemy we didn’t even know we had. But how did you convince a group of humble players to join you in your insane scheme?”

  A look of irritation flashed across his features, then he shrugged. “Must you really ask why a group of outcasts would act against one of the rulers of the land that has shunned them? They were paid for their role, and handsomely too, but I truly believe there were those among them for whom to have struck such a blow was reward enough.”

  Raven gauged the distance between the former harlequin and the figure crouched behind the wall. Too far. Keeping her eyes fixed upon her adversary she began to circle around slowly. As she’d hoped, Zhao did likewise in the opposite direction, inching closer to the wall. Keep him talking. “And what of Niamh, the poor girl you corrupted?”

  “I suspect I could tell you nothing that the lady herself has not already told you.” He laughed. “Don’t be deceived by her pretty face. The looks of an angel that one, but a heart as black as the hair atop your head. Even I was taken aback by how enthusiastically she leapt upon the plan I tentatively proposed. I’m not sure that ox would have lived to see his wedding night even had I not intervened.”

  From the corner of her eye, Raven saw the patch of light-brown hair tremble. She decided to turn the screw, praying fervently that it was the right thing to do. Another few moments and Zhao would circle close enough so as to leave him almost no time to react. “Why was it Kester you marked for death? To have done that to him, over so long... had he actually wronged you, or was he merely a means to inflame the north, a tool to be discarded when no longer of use?” She watched intently, poised to spring forward, as Zhao moved another step closer to the wall.

  “Do I need a greater reason than my disgust at seeing such an oafish lout born into such privilege? Set against the cultured elegance of the Jade City’s highborn, seeing his clumsy buffoonery at court was like watching a three-legged boar rooting about in filth. Not that he was alone in that. Though they have at least the glimmer of wit, I’d have just as happily slit the throats of the smirking second son...”

  Zhao drew level with the wall. Before Raven could react his arm shot out like a striking snake and grabbed hold of something behind it. As the struggling figure was hauled out Raven darted forward, but came skidding to a halt as the one-time player pressed his blade against the boy’s neck, holding him in front of him like a shield. “...or the sneaky younger,” he finished. “Was that your plan, my dear? To keep me distracted as the whelp sacrificed himself on my blade? I’ve obviously done you a disservice. Such ruthlessness is highly sought-after in the Imperium.”

  The boy wriggled against Zhao’s firm grasp, and when his eyes met Raven’s she saw the hurt there. “It’s not true, Conall,” she said. But was it? She’d knowingly lured Zhao into a position where the boy could ambush him. She’d had every intention of using the resulting confusion to assault her adversary, but surely she’d know that this outcome was possible? And yet she’d done it anyway. “Let him go,” she said.

  “I think not.” He watched her carefully, his eyes almost black in the fading light. “So it comes to this.”

  Raven’s whole body was tensed, her senses honed to a razor’s edge. Her ears were filled with the harsh cries of the gulls wheeling lazily through the sky above, the sibilant sound of the waves breaking against rocks far below. The sharp tang of sea salt stung her nostrils, keeping her in the moment. Time itself seemed to slow, the second where Conall’s life hung in the balance stretching on into infinity.

  Zhao, perhaps mistaking her hesitation for wavering resolve, tried a different tack. “There’s another way, you know. Come with me. You’re wasted in this dull little land. Others may not see that, but I do. No-one else came close to uncovering the truth, yet you found me. And what did the duke do when you came to him with your offer of help? He patronised you, did he not, sending you on your way with a pat on the head. Yes,” he went on, seeing the look on her face. “I was there that day, watching from the shadows.

  “He under-estimated you, but even then I saw something. A spark. A reflection of myself, perhaps. I watched as you saved the wise-woman Bronwen from the duke’s hunters, as you followed the right path. While others struck out blindly like a man swatting at a cloud of bees after blundering into the hive, you saw the thread. Imagine my surprise when you stumbled into our camp that night! I might have ended it then, yet something stayed my hand. Once again I sensed your potential. Perhaps I was foolish to leave a piece of the puzzle in your hand, but I knew that if you put it all together and discovered the truth, then my belief in you was not misplaced. And here you are.

  “You owe the duke nothin
g. You’ve fulfilled your contract and been paid, grudgingly no doubt. As far as he is concerned the matter is settled. He need know nothing of this. Come, let us light the beacon and go to my ship together. If you stay here, you will forever be an outsider. But in the Imperium, with you at my side, our rise would be swift. Who knows, perhaps one day we might even rule over a corner of it ourselves. Just say the word.”

  Raven said nothing. She sensed that he was telling the truth, or his version of it at least. And the words were seductive. She’d spent years on the road and was no better off than at the start, nor any closer to finding her father. She realised now how weary she’d grown of her chosen path. If she was lucky, she’d live to be old enough for her body to fail her, and to retire somewhere in poverty to see out her remaining days. The unlucky ones were forgotten even more quickly, left at the side of the road for carrion birds to gorge themselves upon.

  Despite all Zhao had done, all the pain and suffering he’d inflicted and caused to happen, his offer was tempting.

  But he hadn’t mentioned what Conall’s fate would be. He didn’t need to, for it was obvious. The duke’s youngest son couldn’t be allowed to return to his father to reveal what he’d learned.

  Slowly, Raven raised her sword. The sun, dipping towards the horizon behind her made her shadow monstrously long. The tip of the blade held by this elongated giant came to rest against the toe of Zhao’s boot.

  Zhao made a show of looking crestfallen, though something in his manner left her chilled. It was, she realised, just as much an act as any trick he’d performed upon the stage. In that moment she realised she would not have reached his ship alive. “A pity,” he said. “Do you recall what you told me?”

  Raven cast her mind back to that night at the players’ camp. She’d told him much, intoxicated as much by camaraderie as the hallucinogenic powder he’d thrown into the fire. But only one part of it seemed relevant to this situation. When they fought, he would join battle with her knowing she’d never before taken a life. “I do,” she replied, setting her jaw firmly.

  Something in her tone must have unsettled him. A cloud passed over Zhao’s face and he backed towards the cliff’s edge, dragging Conall with him. “Are you ready to take that step?”

  Raven’s heart thudded in her chest. “I’m ready to find out.”

  He smiled. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  Raven, her body coiled like a spring, leapt forward. As she did so, Conall bit down on Zhao’s sword-hand. The former player’s cry of pain turned into a howl as the boy’s heel crunched down onto his foot.

  Raven swung her sword in a flashing arc, the sun once more glinting blood-red on the steel. But Zhao was no longer in the same spot. He’d fallen back, striking at Conall’s head with the butt of his weapon. He slumped to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

  Raven aimed a kick but Zhao was already rolling. Before she could regain her balance, she saw him raise an object to his mouth. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in her neck, like the sting of a wasp. Her hand flew to it, and to her surprise she felt something there. She pulled it, feeling it tear at her skin as she pulled it free. Holding it between finger and thumb she lifted it to her eyes. A tiny dart, no longer than the nail of her little finger. It almost resembled a wasp, in fact.

  “What did you...” she began, then stopped. The voice that came from her lips was not her own. It was distorted, somehow, becoming slow and deep. There was movement, and she looked up to see Zhao jumping to his feet and running towards the ruins of the tower. Only he didn’t move normally, either, his running feet becoming unhurried plods, the sound of his footfalls on the ground like lead tablets being banged together. Her vision swam, the broken walls and piles of debris seeming to lurch up and around in nauseating fashion. Raven felt her gorge rising. Keep it together! she thought desperately.

  Trying to maintain her balance, Raven bent down towards Conall. He hadn’t moved since falling insensible to the ground. “Conall, are you all right?” she asked in her curiously slow voice. She reached out a hand, but drew it sharply back with a gasp. The body was hot to the touch. As she stared at it, she realised that it wasn’t the duke’s son after all. Before her was a charred corpse lying face down on the ground, its clothes seared away to reveal the blackened, bubbling skin of its back.

  She jumped up in shock. Heart still thumping in her chest she looked up at the ruins. Only now she saw that the low crumbling walls belonged not to an ancient fort but a cluster of low, wooden houses. And the red glow surrounding them came not from the sun but dancing flames that licked up through window-frames and crackled across roofs to consume all within and without.

  No, it can’t be. The stink of smoke filled Raven’s nose and throat, making her cough. I’m home.

  She staggered forward through the familiar streets undimmed in her memory though ten years had passed since she’d walked them last. Everything was just as it had been that night. The bodies of friends and neighbours littered the ground; some had been dragged from their beds and butchered in the gutter; others, waking to find their homes already aflame had crawled from the conflagration before succumbing only inches past their doorstep. Many more, she knew, would never be found.

  Clouds of ashes and glowing cinders filled the air, creating a pall through which the flames flickered with a malevolent orange light, turning her childhood home into an infernal hellscape.

  She became aware that her feet were carrying her towards the village’s main square, which surely was no coincidence. It was where their home was... had been. Where she’d crouched, peeking over the window-sill at the screaming, struggling figures falling one by one to the bandits’ blades. Where she’d watched, helpless, as her father, a veritable giant of a man, was subdued at the last and stolen away by Him.

  The green-eyed man.

  From up ahead came the sound of shouting, and it was as if the intervening years were nothing but a dream. Then the sound of a deep voice raised in an incandescent roar, and her heart leapt into her throat. Father!

  Feeling as though the air was thick and pushing against her, as if her feet were moving through treacle, Raven broke into a lumbering run. Ahead, through the cloying smoke she saw the silhouettes of figures, whooping and cheering. As she drew near, the shadows resolved themselves into the same bandits who’d attacked the village. They’d gathered in a circle, which parted at Raven’s approach. She ignored them, her eyes fixed on two figures in the centre. One on his knees, hands splayed against the churned ground, head bowed. Her father.

  To one side, a triumphant grin plastered across his face, the green-eyed man stood exulting. He leaned close to the beaten smith and murmured something Raven was unable to make out over the bandits’ jeers. Her father’s arms and shoulders trembled, as if holding back powerful emotion. Then, just as the green-eyed man raised his fist to strike him down, Raven rushed forward. “Stop!” she cried. “Leave him alone!”

  The green-eyed man’s head whipped around to face her. Raven charged on, bringing her sword around to bear on the grinning figure. He stepped forward, as if to offer some gloating statement, but she didn’t hesitate, swinging the blade in a flashing arc towards his neck. The green-eyed man made no move to defend himself, but instead of cleaving his head from his shoulders, as the steel drove into his neck he vanished in a cloud of black mist.

  Raven reached for her father, to pull him to his feet, but as the tips of her fingers brushed his trembling back he too disappeared into mist. The bandits’ laughter resounded into the sky, but when she whirled to vent her rage upon them they suffered the same fate as their master and his victim.

  The clouds of black mist rose and joined together, swirling around her until she stood in the centre of a whirling vortex. She jabbed at the encircling fog with her sword, but it passed harmlessly through. She may as well have tried attacking the wind.

  “Show yourself!” she yelled into the tumult. She’d been so close to saving him, she wouldn’t waste
this second chance. In response, mocking laughter tumbled down from the vortex. “I won’t let you take him this time!”

  Of a sudden the black mist parted. She saw the green eyes before the rest of him, glowing like emeralds. Then he emerged, brandishing a longsword, its blade as black as pitch. Quick as the wind he lunged forward and aimed a slash at her face. Raven raised her own sword, and flinched as the black blade slid across her own with an agonising shriek. What is that? As he raised it again, this time she noticed the glitter of tiny lights within the blade, as though it was not metal he wielded but a shard of night itself and the lights distant stars. That’s no ordinary sword...

  The green-eyed man lunged at her point-first, then again. Each time Raven turned the blow aside with surprising ease. His movements were as sluggish as hers had been when she arrived in this fragment of the past, giving her ample opportunity to thwart his attacks. From the infuriated expression on his face, it was clear her adversary was just as surprised as she.

  “You can’t beat me,” he hissed. “We’ve danced this dance a thousand times in your dreams. Your every failure is as sweet as the last.”

  “Give him back to me!” With a cry of rage, Raven span on the spot, scything at her adversary’s muscular frame. Once again, rather than draw blood the blade sliced through black smoke. Cruel, derisive laughter floated down from the swirling mist. As the last echoes died away, a charged silence fell over the vortex. Raven turned a slow circle, weapon at the ready.

  At a blur of darkness at the edge of her vision, her arm was already raising. There was another metallic screech as their blades met, one of flashing steel the other a shard of night. Then it was already gone, vanished into mist, while she was still forming a riposte.

  A few moments later it came again, from behind once more. Again she swung her own blade around just in time to turn it aside, and yet another shriek assaulted her ears. Her free hand flew reflexively to her ear to ward away the vile noise. This time she’d barely raised her sword again before her adversary had disappeared from sight.