Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  Koschai's was the most recent portrait. The oldest was a battered and cracked representation of Josiri Trelan. The remainder depicted generation after generation of Trelans, with the occasional inclusion of what I assumed were notable individuals who had married into the line. I had heard of some of the nobles depicted; the Trelan family's influence had come and gone over the centuries, but its sons and daughters always had a knack of finding themselves in momentous events.

  Halfway down the gallery was a depiction of Peroth Trelan, a great bear of a man. He'd single-handedly held the gates of Callastair for a day and a night, or so the legend went. A little further back I found matched portraits of Sorika and Yelenor Trelan, twin sisters who had forced a brief and unwilling peace on our warring peoples three centuries earlier. And then, at the far end – next to the strange gap – I found a portrait of the Trelan family's most famous daughter.

  This was the second rendition in oils I'd seen of Sidara – the first having been in 'Lord Droshna's Triumph', the painting from my embassy which was now presumably ash along with the building. Sidara was much older here, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, so at least ten years before she mysteriously left Tressia, never to be seen again.

  I was, if anything, slightly disappointed by what I saw. I'd expected a depiction of great beauty, or at least a woman whose eyes shone with wisdom, but Sidara was disturbingly ordinary. If the painting was at all accurate, she was attractive enough, but hardly the being of godlike grace Olvas proclaimed would one day return. People were never quite the paragons or monsters that history painted them, figuratively or otherwise.

  Remembering I was supposed to be tracking down my errant hostess, my missing sword, or both, I abandoned my examination of the portraits and headed off. At the next landing, I had something approaching luck. Three rooms down I saw Zorya standing still and silent beside a closed door.

  [[Good evening, Edric Saran. I trust you slept well.]]

  "I did, thank you."

  [[And the clothes, they meet your needs? Mistress Arianwyn thought you might wish to be a little less conspicuous.]]

  "They do indeed. Whose were they?"

  [[They were Master Koschai's.]] So I'd been right about that. [[He does not require them at present.]]

  That was putting it mildly. "Where's my sword?"

  [[Mistress Arianwyn wished to study it.]]

  "She might have asked me first."

  [[You were sleeping. I decided discussion was not important. I apologise if that was incorrect.]]

  I stared at the beautiful stone face, trying to work out if Zorya had just told me the truth. I decided she hadn't, but had apologised simply to close the issue.

  "It doesn't matter," I lied. "I was looking for Arianwyn?"

  [[Mistress Arianwyn is working, and should not be disturbed.]]

  "Where is she? I'd like to speak with her."

  [[Mistress Arianwyn is working, and should not be disturbed.]]

  I had the distinct impression that I'd get bored of asking questions long before Zorya would tire of repeating that answer.

  "Is she in here?" I reached out for the door handle.

  I needn't have bothered. A slender grey hand locked itself around my outstretched wrist. I tried to pull away. Again, I needn't have bothered. That wrist had borne two sets of shackles in the last few days, and neither had possessed a grip like Zorya's. The only small mercy was that she'd judged the pressure perfectly. There was no pain, but I wasn't getting that hand back unless she decided to release it.

  [[Mistress Arianwyn is working, and should not be disturbed. Do not force me to restrain you. It will lead to more cleaning.]]

  That was as indirect a threat as I'd heard recently, but no less daunting for all that.

  "Hello Edric." Another voice came from the end of the corridor. It was Constans. He looked far more cheerful than I would have liked, and considerably more cheerful than I'd have thought he'd any right to.

  "Making friends again? Don't tell me you've gotten into a brawl with Zorya already. Do you meet anyone you don't fight?" He walked closer and peered at me. "No. No. I don't believe you've had the pleasure of this battle yet. Zorya's vicious when she gets going, or so I've been told. Don't be fooled by the pretty face."

  Turning his back on me, Constans kissed Zorya lightly on her cheek. The sentinel stared impassively back.

  "I think you can let him go now, Zorya. I daresay he's learned his lesson. Whatever it was." He turned back to me. "What were you doing?"

  "I was trying to open this door; I'm looking for Arianwyn. Zorya seems to think she shouldn't be disturbed."

  "Ah, I understand. Zorya, as I'm here and can look after our guest in your stead, perhaps you'd see if Ari minds being disturbed?"

  Without preamble, she released my hand, opened the door and passed into the room beyond. The door closed behind her with more force than was strictly necessary.

  "She's a wonderful creature," said Constans. "But sometimes a little protective of Ari. I understand you've had an amusing time since I saw you last?"

  I rubbed circulation back into my hand. "Nothing I can't handle."

  Constans smiled and threw his hands open. "How beautifully laconic! He speaks with his dead brother, vanquishes a host of spectral assassins, tries to get his hand snapped off by a sentinel, and it's 'nothing he can't handle'."

  "It's been an interesting few days." I stared pointedly at the door. "Would she really have harmed me?"

  Constans shrugged. "Who can say? As I mentioned, she really is very protective of Arianwyn."

  It seemed no one around here gave straight answers. "How did you get away from Quintus?"

  He grinned. "The problem with having so many men at hand is that they get in each others' way. I confess, I left a couple of them a little bit bruised. Nothing serious, you understand, but enough to slow their reactions by two or three hours."

  I examined his expression, gauging whether he was speaking the truth. "Surely you didn't fight your way out?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. I'm irreverent, not mad. No, I'd prepared a hidey hole under some floorboards in the hallway. It was awfully cramped, and I wouldn't have liked to have stayed there long, but once Quintus realised you'd all flown the coop, he lost interest in the place. Well, not quite all interest, hence the bruised constables, but enough so I could make my way out with a minimum of fuss." He waved his arms expansively. "Of course, I had a couple of thrilling moments – you wouldn't believe the turn of speed some of those praetorians have – but it all came out well."

  "Why did you stay behind?"

  Constans shifted slightly. "Well, you know how it is..."

  I didn't know how it was, and didn't find out, for at that moment Zorya reappeared.

  [[Mistress Arianwyn informs me that she would be pleased to receive you in the library.]] She managed to imply I'd foolishly thought otherwise.

  "Thank you, Zorya." Constans slipped through the door.

  Before following him, I indulged a little curiosity. "Have you ever fought a man, Zorya?"

  [[No Edric Saran, I have not.]]

  "Ah." I relaxed a little.

  [[A fight implies a contest. He was... fragile.]]

  "I see." I wasn't sure whether or not this was the sentinel's peculiar sense of humour surfacing. "Would you really have twisted my hand off?"

  [[Of course not, Edric Saran. I anticipate you would have ceased being uncooperative long before it was removed.]]

  Suppressing a shudder, I followed Constans through the door.

  The library was a circular chamber, built on five rising concentric levels, each broader than the last. Every wall was lined with books and statues – real ones, not sentinels like Zorya, so far as I could see. In the ceiling's centre was a great plain glass window, through which I could see the fiery red skies of the evening slowly passing away into night. There were no windows built into the sides of the room, so light was provided by a score of calmly glowing lanterns. A table of irre
gular shape stood in the middle of the lowest floor. It wasn't until I got closer that I saw why: it a single piece of wood, a cross-section of some massive tree whose rings were many and tightly packed.

  Arianwyn sat in a leather-bound armchair at the table's far end. Elsewhere, the polished expanse was clear of clutter. In front of her, the tabletop was barely visible, concealed as it was beneath piles of open books. Atop the books sat two objects of interest: my sword – no longer aflame, and looking just as a sword should – and the fragment of what Solomon had called the portalstone. Constans stood behind Arianwyn, his gaze directed at one of the books. As I walked forward, he reached down, twitched a page over and snorted with amusement.

  Arianwyn greeted me without looking up. "Good evening. I hope you're well rested, because I think it'll be a busy night."

  "I think that depends on whether I get my answers, don't you?"

  Arianwyn looked up and waved me into a nearby chair. "I imagine so. What would you like to know?"

  "We can start with 'Can I have my sword back?' and 'Why did you take it?'"

  Her eyes widened. "Oh, of course. I only wanted a closer look, to see if I could discover why it behaved as it did in Otherworld." She pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry, I should have asked."

  She looked genuinely embarrassed, as if she hadn't even considered to this moment that taking the possessions of a sleeping guest might be a poor idea.

  I waved the apology away. Now I knew I could retrieve the sword without a fight, verbal or otherwise, it no longer seemed quite so important. "And did you?"

  "Not really. The sword's not enchanted, I know that much. I'm not a great expert on such things, but there'd be a definite sense of power if there was any sort of magic in the blade." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's a little like trying to explain sound to the deaf. We don't really share a common frame of reference."

  Constans took a seat opposite me. "I have a theory." After satisfying himself that both Arianwyn and I were listening, he continued in serious tones. "There is more magic in the world than the staid form that was once taught in this tower. Think about the legends concerning Sidara. She was no mage, but somehow her touch defeated Droshna, despite all of Malatriant's power flowing through him. Sidarists tell you that it was purity of spirit that made victory possible, but that's a very abstract explanation and wrapped up in religious platitudes besides. What if it was the blood?"

  "The blood?" I asked.

  "You've seen the windows in the cathedral. When Sidara faced Droshna, her hands were covered in Josiri's blood – the blood of an innocent and noble man betrayed by a friend. We know that blood magic is a powerful thing – otherwise it wouldn't have been such a popular tool with tyrants over the years. Perhaps Sidara unthinkingly unleashed the power of Josiri's blood?"

  "That's very interesting, I'm sure," I said, "but I don't quite follow how it explains my sword. It's not tasted blood for a long time; innocent, guilty, noble or otherwise. And it's definitely been cleaned since it did."

  Arianwyn looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

  "Ah, but now you're being very literal." Constans wagged a finger in my direction. "There are plenty of philosophers who'll tell you blood is more than physical; it's also a spiritual fluid imbued with honour, pride and other nebulous aspects. You might have scrubbed off the crusty red stuff, but how do you clean away an emotional bloodstain?"

  "You're saying his brother's blood made the sword behave as it did?" Arianwyn asked.

  "Why not? An emperor's blood must be more interesting than that of common folk. And if that emperor was not only murdered in cold blood..." He shrugged an apology for his directness. "...but was murdered for a noble cause and then, in death, repented his worldly deeds, that blood would have power. Especially in Otherworld, and against spiteful creatures like revenants."

  "That's a little far-fetched," I protested.

  "Perhaps," Arianwyn said thoughtfully, "but it does fit events. It's worth considering."

  It was clear that neither of them really knew anything for certain, and I decided that belabouring our ignorance wasn't going to achieve much. "Next question, then. Where's Jamar?"

  Arianwyn smiled. "That one I can answer with certainty. He's sleeping in a guest room. Zorya treated his wounds and gave him medicine. What he needs now, more than anything, is rest."

  "Will he live?"

  "Goodness, yes," Arianwyn replied. "This library contains a wealth of surgical and curative knowledge, and Zorya knows all of it. If Jamar were at death's door, Zorya would have a reasonable chance of halting him on the threshold. She assures me he'll be up and around in a few hours. But that's only two questions. I'm sure you've more on your mind than that."

  "Believe me, I'm only getting started." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Let's assume we're allies, at the very least, against Solomon. I want to know my allies' strengths."

  "In what sense?" Constans asked.

  "You I've seen at work." I looked at Arianwyn. "However, I'm still none the wiser as to how your magic works, or its limits. I don't want to underestimate you and so waste a valuable weapon, or assume too much and ask the impossible."

  "A fair question, I think," Arianwyn allowed. "As I said yesterday, I'm not really that practised. I can agitate fire and am reasonably able to manipulate bodies in motion – that's how I managed to walk across those rooftops more easily than you, for example. I can also, with a measure of trial and error, and a lot of effort, hear other peoples' thoughts." I started at that and she smiled. "Oh, don't look so worried, it requires physical contact and a great deal of concentration to be at all effective. It's all self-taught and very unreliable; apart from opening gates to Otherworld. That I'm good at."

  "Why on earth would you have become practiced at that?"

  Arianwyn shrugged. "It's something I've always known how to do. Father forbade me from using it when I was younger, then helped me to refine the skill so I'd use it responsibly. As I believe I said, Otherworld's not normally a perilous place for the living – not if you obey a few simple rules, anyway."

  It still struck me as peculiar, but no more so than anything else I knew about Arianwyn, so I moved on. "What about Zorya, will she be able to help us?"

  "Unlikely," said Constans, "I don't think she can leave the tower. Certainly I've never known her offer to do so."

  "Maybe she's just never had a good reason."

  "That's a possibility," said Arianwyn, "but you'd have to ask Zorya. She's forthcoming, if you phrase your questions properly."

  I made a mental note to do just that. "Fair enough. I assume this is your main base of operations?"

  "It's the only one, now that the townhouse is compromised." She offered a wry shrug. "It's not the end of the world. We can always buy another when things calm down."

  "You have that much money to draw upon?"

  "That and more," she smiled. "It's a long time since the Trelan family has been without coin. If we really need money, the books in this room are worth a small fortune to the right collector."

  "What about other help? You spoke of 'quiet allies'."

  For the first time, Arianwyn looked uncomfortable. "I did, and it's mostly true. There are a few councillors who want Solomon's power curtailed, but they're too craven to act directly. We can probably get a little tangential help, but only if they can be convinced Solomon won't find out."

  "They're not reliable then?"

  "Not remotely. I'll use them if we have to, but I'd rather it didn't come to that."

  Wonderful. This was looking to be very one-sided, but then that was always the nature of conspiracies. I re-examined my mental checklist and found that I'd covered off almost everything. "That just leaves the big question: tell me about that." I pointed at the fragment.

  "We're back to guesswork, I'm afraid," Arianwyn apologised. "I've gone through Stefan's book. Much of it's in code. I found a few references to portalstones in older texts. Apparently they were used to open and seal gateways to Other
world."

  "Gateways like the ones you use?"

  "No, much larger – the sort you can march armies through."

  I exhaled slowly. "I can see how that sort of thing could be useful." An army moving through Otherworld could completely bypass any enemy's defences.

  "If the army knew how to navigate, certainly. It gets worse. In a lot of the texts, it is strongly implied that you don't even need a mage to activate a portalstone..."

  "...and you therefore don't need one to access Otherworld," I finished. "Wouldn't an army just get lost?"

  "Not if enough of them knew how to read the paths. As I told you, it's more a matter of learning to be guided by your heart's desire than actual cartography. Once you've the knack, it's very hard to follow the wrong route."

  "That makes Solomon's interest obvious," said Constans. "He'd dance for joy just for the ability to send his spies unseen into the heart of enemy territory. Imagine what would happen if he could send entire armies."

  And with that, it all started to make a grim sort of sense. "He wants the portalstone so he can finally destroy my people. With access to Otherworld, he could send assassins straight into the heart of the imperial palace. If we lost another emperor so soon after my brother's death, the various kingdoms would go their separate ways. Your armies could conquer us piecemeal."

  "And that's thinking small," Arianwyn put in. "Imagine the carnage if Solomon brought the Hadari armies to battle far from the cities, only to have his troops vanish into Otherworld and then slaughter the unprotected populace?"

  For a moment, the library was fell silent, the three of us lost in our own private visions of the evil Solomon would wreak.

  Constans leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I know this isn't exactly a politic thing to say, given the company I'm in, but perhaps we should let Solomon have his way? A lasting and final peace. Perhaps it's worth the price."

  I froze, suddenly very aware I was the only Hadari in the room."We have peace now."

  "We do indeed," Constans agreed. "But for how long?"

  "And how many more lives will be lost if Solomon gets hold of the portalstone?" I demanded. "It could take years of fighting before the last kingdom was subdued. That's thousands upon thousands of lives ended, searching for a victorious peace to replace a functional stalemate."