“Come on!” Hirad sprang away, running full tilt at the Dordovan horsemen, and hearing the footfalls of the Protectors as they made their progress. A shout went up from the cavalry, who began to move, riders struggling with horses unwilling to ride into the face of the masked killers Hirad led. Their heads down, they could smell the blood of the dead and dying and their hooves were uncertain on the crowded, slick ground.
Hirad raced on. Running straight at a cavalryman, Hirad saw the man heft his blade. He hurdled the body of a still-twitching horse, landed and rolled to the left, coming to his haunches behind the rider. He was up, spinning and jabbing into the rider's kidney before he could turn his horse.
Turning again, Hirad took in the Protectors, a perfect picture of organised savagery. Arranged two and three to an opponent, horse and rider were attacked simultaneously, giving the cavalrymen nowhere to turn, no meaningful defence and no clear target. No chance at all.
With no immediate opponent, Hirad watched, for a few mesmerised heartbeats, a trio of Protectors in action. One crouched and sank his axe into the horse's hindquarters, another slashed his sword into the animal's neck while the third fielded the rider's desperate swing on his axe before slashing through a disembowelling strike with his blade.
It was over before Hirad had drawn second breath and reminded him of nothing more than a pack of wolves.
Thraun.
Dimly, Hirad recalled howling as he stood over The Unknown's body. With the Protectors occupying the Dordovans, Hirad did a full circle, searching for evidence of the pack, but could see nothing. To the west along the dock toward the berth vacated by the Ocean Elm, the Dordovan and Lysternan cavalry had scattered, pockets being hunted down by Protector groups run by mounted mages.
Toward the target ship, the scene was of carnage all over the ground. Protectors had swiftly beaten away any lingering resistance and were already checking every body, crouching to finish off any that were still breathing. Otherwise, the dock was empty and that was very bad. Hirad came to himself with a jolt and knew why The Unknown was lying so close to death. The Raven had allowed themselves to be split and scattered. Something they had sworn never to do.
Thraun would have to look after himself.
“Denser!” shouted Hirad. “Darrick! Where are you?”
His voice was whipped from him by the wind and further diminished by the steady rain that pattered stone, timber and water, and the crackle of flames from the still raging fires spreading toward Centenary Square fanned by the gale.
“Denser!” Hirad swung around. “I need you now!” He looked at the target ship, frowning. It was very still on board. The crew that had lined its rails had gone. All that was left were the lanterns swinging wildly and illuminating the empty deck.
Hirad marched toward the ship.
“Denser!” he roared a third time. “Please! The Unknown's hurt. Denser!” Gods, where was he? He turned and began to walk back to Ilkar and The Unknown. “Ilkar how're we doing.”
“Not well, Hirad. Find him quickly.”
“D—” There was movement on the ship. A door opened and a figure emerged. Denser. “Get down here now.”
“What's up?” Denser surveyed the docks, the scattered cavalry and the Protectors who chased them, and raised his eyebrows.
“Gods, you must have cloth in your ears. It's The Unknown, he's hurt. Ilkar needs you.” Hirad pointed to where the elf knelt over the prone form, his face white in the firelight. “Quickly.”
Denser nodded, cast, and flew from the ship on ShadowWings. Hirad watched him fly through the smoke that blew overhead like low cloud over Arlen. He began to trot back toward the Big Man, not pausing to wonder why Denser was aboard, or where Darrick was. For the moment, it didn't really matter.
The fighting had all but finished on the dockside but he could hear the sounds of violence further back into the town as the Protectors sought the last of the Dordovans. Hirad could see what were probably some of Arlen's guards, wandering aimlessly around the bodies or staring at the fires that heated the chill of the night. The rain hadn't eased at all and the wind howled its force onshore.
Hirad felt drained. It was a long time since he'd run and fought like that and, though the battle had been quick, it had been intense. But more, he'd seen The Unknown cut down and he could see by Ilkar's urgent gestures as Denser landed that the injury was bad. Probably fatal if spells couldn't help him.
Hirad sheathed his sword and slowed to a walk.
“Hirad!” It was Aeb. The Protector was striding toward him, weapons on his back mounts.
“What is it?”
“Come with me.”
Hirad glanced over at Ilkar and Denser, both men still, concentrating as they cast. There was nothing he could do. He shrugged. “Lead on.”
Aeb turned on his heel. As he approached a smouldering mass of black, two other Protectors rose from next to it and withdrew.
Hirad frowned and looked harder, quickening his pace, the smoking bodies resolving themselves as wolves, rain hissing on seared flesh.
“I don't believe it,” he muttered but Aeb restrained him with a hand.
“You can do nothing for them. But you can for the shapechanger.”
Hirad stared into Aeb's blank mask.
“Say that again?”
“The shapechanger.” Aeb pointed to a form which Hirad had assumed was just another body, white face staring at the sky.
“Gods falling.” Hirad ran, sliding to a stop and dropping to his knees, heedless as he splashed down into blood and water.
Beneath the cloak, the figure was hunched in foetal position. Protectors had lain another cloak beneath him and had tucked the loose edges in to keep the chill from his body.
A mass of brown-flecked blond hair flowed from the exposed head and the face was covered in a fine fur perhaps half an inch long, with only his nose and closed eyes hairless. His skin seemed old, somehow, his ears long and more elven than human. Hirad laid a hand on the quivering body and bowed his head. Thraun.
“Never thought we'd see you again, old friend,” he whispered. “Gods, how you must be suffering.”
The barbarian considered for a moment and looked up to Aeb, who was staring over at The Unknown, his Protector's stillness broken by an uncharacteristic repetitive clenching and unclenching of a fist.
“If anyone can save him, it's Denser and Ilkar,” said Hirad.
“We have failed him.”
Hirad nodded, a sweep of guilt washing through him. “We all have.”
Yet again Hirad scanned the dockside, its cranes smashed, its warehouses gutted and its walkways and paths swathed in death. It was not a place for sick men.
“We need to move them both,” he said.
“Arlen has medical facilities.”
“And they'll be full if they aren't destroyed,” said Hirad. “No. Thraun can't be cured like that and besides, they're both Raven. I won't leave them here.”
“I understand.”
The barbarian looked at the ship. It was still quiet. Unnaturally so. What had Denser done? And then, of course, it clicked.
“Help me with Thraun and bring your brothers. It's time to get aboard that ship.”
Aeb said nothing, just nodded and crouched. He picked up the cloak-wrapped Thraun and set him gently over his right shoulder, standing with the slightest hint of effort.
“Are you all right with him?”
Aeb nodded and began walking.
“Are you sure?” Thraun was a big man.
“Yes,” agreed Aeb. “Xye will help carry Sol.”
Hirad trotted over to Ilkar and Denser, vaguely registering the sound of horses’ hoofs which still echoed through the town above the noise of the gale and fires.
“Can you…?” He gestured uselessly at the prone form, seeing for the first time the horrible injury just below The Unknown's waist, where the Dordovan axe had smashed his hip.
“He'll live,” said Denser, his breathing deep as if he'd run
ten miles. “But I doubt he'll walk again.”
“But he can't be—” He broke off, cocking his head. There were hoofs getting louder, much louder and quickly. He turned toward the sound and out of a pall of smoke between two ruined warehouses charged a single rider, Dordovan. He was heading for the Calaian Sun but swung around when he saw Aeb, yelled in anger and rode for the Protector instead.
Hirad started to run but it was obvious he wasn't going to make it in time and that Aeb was stranded, Thraun quite literally a dead weight. Other Protectors were running too but they would all arrive after the event. Aeb stopped, knelt carefully and slid his charge to the ground, cushioning his head, though he must have known the action would cost him his life. But then, Hirad realised, perhaps death was a release for his soul.
Closing in, the rider raised his blade, straightened suddenly and clutched at a crossbow bolt in his neck before pitching from the saddle. With no direction, the horse veered sideways, avoiding the kneeling Protector and galloping straight on along the dock. Aeb looked briefly at his erstwhile attacker, hefted Thraun again and walked on, other Protectors now around him.
Hirad turned on his way to the downed Dordovan. “Ilkar, this place isn't safe. We need to get him on board.”
“On board?” Ilkar's weary voice wafted back.
Hirad heard Denser say something he couldn't catch.
“Oh,” said Ilkar. “All right, we're coming.”
Hirad smiled. Xye was standing by them and the barbarian turned his attention to the cavalryman. He was twitching as he died, his blood pumping sluggishly over the stone. The bolt had taken him a couple of inches below his ear.
The barbarian nodded and looked back along the likely angle of fire.
“Show yourself,” he called, not expecting anything.
Immediately, a figure emerged from the shadows, arms wide, the crossbow dropping to the ground. The elf moved fluidly, the grace identifying the race well before Hirad could make out the shape of the face and ears.
“It was a good shot.” Hirad raised a hand and the elf stopped.
“I was aiming for his eye,” said the elf, the voice female. “Damn Black Wing crossbow. Badly calibrated.”
“Thank you for missing so well, in that case,” said Hirad. “I need your name and what you're doing here. You're not Arlen's, are you?”
“No.” The elf smiled but there was no humour. “I am Ren'erei. I am of the Guild Of Drech and I've just lost Erienne to my worst enemy. We came looking for you, Hirad Coldheart. You, Denser and The Raven.”
Hirad stepped forward and offered a hand which Ren'erei took.
“I think you'd better come and meet the others.”
It was like someone had thrown a lever and it was all over. One moment, the cursed Protectors were running amok in his town, hunting and slaughtering cavalrymen from Dordover and the next, they had reformed into an orderly line and trotted out of the town, leaving their dead maskless, their mages not turning their heads once at the devastation they had left behind.
That, they had left for Earl Arlen to face. The thought of what was on his docks was too horrific to even contemplate and now, with the rain still lashing down and the rumbling of thunder promising no respite, he was standing in a circle of hell.
Centenary Square was ringed by fire and echoed to the sounds of the wounded and the terrified. Arlen's horse lay dead at his feet, his arm was broken and his face bloodied and bruised. Behind him, he knew, more fires raged than he could hope to contain and now he had ordered the pulling down of some more buildings in an attempt to stem the tide of flame driving north toward the castle.
Everywhere he looked, his townsfolk drifted by like ghosts, staring open-mouthed at the ruin that had become of their lives. College men and mages had invaded his town and, in less than an hour, had reduced it to a burned out shell.
Darrick had been right; the Protectors were to be feared. But he had not made his case strongly enough. They were not human. Nothing could be that savage. The demons that controlled them had seen to that. And the mages that rode with them were worse. These were men in possession of their own souls yet he had seen them unleash such horror in the name of magic and so many innocent people had died frozen or in flame, with blood gushing from ears or eyes. He had seen them igniting buildings to frighten horses, he had seen hail drive horizontally across streets to rip man and beast to shreds and he had seen fire like rain fall from the sky to spread panic and more agony.
“Why here?” he muttered. “Why my town?”
Arlen's sword dropped from his fingers and he sagged to the ground in the middle of his square, wishing for the night to be eternal so he wouldn't have to look on the ashes of the morning.
How dare they visit such destruction? What presumption that they could take his land as a battleground for their squabbles? He put his head in his hands and wept, his energy gone, his humiliation complete.
But at least he knew where to lay the blame.
Magic had started the rot in Balaia and magic had sparked the battle that had destroyed everything he had worked for all of his life. There would be a reckoning. Not today, not tomorrow, but there would be a reckoning. And the wielders of magic would be made to suffer for what they so easily wrought and with such contempt.
Perhaps that bastard Selik and his Black Wings were right after all. The Colleges had assumed superiority for too long and they had to be shot from their pompous towers.
Sitting in the mud with rain lashing down from an unnatural sky and his town burning around him, Earl Arlen swore to himself that he would take the first shot.
Darrick and Denser had captured the crew of the Calaian Sun, Denser flying in, carrying the heavy former General the mercifully short distance, and sweeping into the centre of the main deck.
Posing as the first of the Dordovans due to board, the pair had made easy enough progress to the wheel deck and it had been with some apology that Darrick had put his sword to the Captain's neck and invited him to usher his crew into the hold. All the while, Denser stood behind him, the origins of a FlameOrb spell visible between his palms for extra emphasis.
Now, with a gangplank lowered temporarily to allow The Raven and twenty-eight Protectors aboard, the crew had been released to make ready for sail, muttering and scowling as they came.
With The Unknown and Thraun both laid out in cabins, the remainder of The Raven, plus Darrick and Ren'erei, sat around the captain's table. The Captain himself, a brown-haired, tall and muscular elf named Jevin, sat at the head of the table, taking his time to comprehend what he had heard.
The only one of them he had really listened to was Ren'erei and the two had held several quick conversations in an elven dialect that Hirad noticed even Ilkar didn't understand. The barbarian warmed to the elf who had saved Aeb and Thraun. She was earnest and committed and had smoothed the angry elven crew by her very presence and a few obviously well-chosen words.
“And this ridiculous weather pattern is down to this one girl?” Jevin held up a forefinger.
“Yes,” said Denser.
“And you say that she is of the Al-Drechar?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Denser.
“Then why aren't the elves protecting her? She is so important.”
“They are,” said Ren'erei. “But the Guild isn't big enough in numbers and we had to have more support. Erienne needed Denser and The Raven and that has meant we could bring Protectors to help us against the Dordovans.”
“They are Xeteskian,” said Jevin. “Their agenda is no less selfish than the Dordovans.”
“Except in one vital area,” said Denser. “We won't kill her, we want her to live and her talents to come to fruition.”
“‘We’ being Xetesk in this instance,” said Ilkar. “We're The Raven and we aren't working for Xetesk. It just so happens our desires meet in some areas.”
Jevin nodded. “It appears I am invaded by the lesser of two evils.”
“Will you help us?” ask
ed Ilkar.
“I'm preparing for sail,” snapped Jevin. “What more would you like?”
“That isn't what he meant,” said Denser, his voice calm. “I'm sorry for what we've put you through. What we want is for you to help us willingly. You'll be paid, we'll see to that, but more than that, you'll be stopping Dordover committing a crime against Balaia. And you'll be helping to save my daughter.”
At last, Jevin smiled. “The pay had better be good.”
“Double what the Dordovans promised,” said Hirad.
“That will serve,” said Jevin. “And if I'm honest, I've always wanted to meet The Raven. I had imagined it a little differently but there you are. My conditions are these. You will let me sail this ship my way. I know the route to Ornouth and will ask for advice only when I need it and will not risk her keel under any circumstances. You will stand down the Protectors immediately and we will only then leave the dock.
“You are my guests here and not my captors. As such you will follow the rules of my ship which my first mate will explain to you when we are underway. I will assemble my crew and explain our position. Are there any questions?”
Heads shook all around the table.
“Then we have a deal.” He reached out a hand which Hirad, in the absence of The Unknown, shook.
The door to the Captain's cabin opened, Aeb stooped his huge frame inside.
“There is a man asking for you, General Darrick. One of your cavalry.”
Darrick rose quickly. “I'll see to it. Denser, I think you'd better get the Protectors off the deck to let this ship get away.”
“Yes, I suppose I'd better,” said Denser.
The Raven followed Darrick out of the cabin, along a short corridor, up a flight of slatted wooden steps and on to the deck. Half a dozen riders stood under the light of a pair of torches. Hirad recognised Izack at their head.
“Commander Izack,” said Darrick, standing by the rail. “Is this the arresting party?”
Izack chuckled. “No, sir, it most certainly isn't. We've brought The Raven's weapons and armour and have come to offer our services.”
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