Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  That's what I thought he'd said. "And why would she do that?"

  "It was symbolic of the death of veneration and nobility in Tressia," Olvas averred with fragile pride. "She weeps daily for our sins and sorrows, and of our lost position in the world. It is my hope that when this cathedral is finished, she will appear to me in her true radiant form."

  He really was mad. In a quiet way, perhaps. Quiet enough that his piety – which I'd no doubt was genuine – disguised it. Certainly he was less inclined to ranting and castigating than other Sidarists, and probably that was all most folk saw. I wondered how Olvas would react if I told him his dreams hadn't been visited by a black-clad Sidara, but rather by a power of a completely different kind. One who habitually wore black because he could get no other shade to grace his form?

  The archimandrite wittered on about how 'Sidara' had guided the building of the cathedral, and had helped him find ways of convincing the councillors to back the construction.

  I let him continue for a little longer, then made my apologies.

  Olvas was understanding itself. "Of course, ambassador. Besides, you'll return soon enough, won't you? For the consecration ceremony this evening? When the final stone is laid?"

  I finally remembered the official invitation I'd received a few days and a lifetime ago. That was tonight? Of course it was. Tonight the moon was full. For all the Sidarists' dismissal of pagan worship, there were some traditions they just couldn't let go of.

  Olvas regarded me with mild suspicion. "Of course, eminence. Sorry, I've a lot on my mind."

  "Think nothing of it," he said magnanimously. "I just wanted to be sure you'd received the amended invitation. Will you join me in prayer before you go?"

  I didn't want to join him in prayer. Unfortunately, my pretence of being newly-converted would hardly have held up had I refused, and goodness alone knew what his reaction would have been then. Besides, the way things were looking I'd happily accept the blessing of any power that would grant me one.

  When I finally got outside, I found Constans and Jamar waiting for me, the former wearing an impatient expression.

  "You've been a long time."

  "I'm sorry about that. Olvas does rather labour his points."

  "Did you find out anything?"

  I spared them most of Olvas' ramblings, but did recount what the priest had told me about his dreams. Jamar shook his head with slow disbelief. Constans reacted rather more forcefully.

  "Right. You find Avanov. I'm going in there, I'm going to haul that lunatic out by his heels, and then I'm going to hold a dagger to his throat until he confesses his madness to the citizenry."

  I put a hand on his shoulder. "No you're not."

  "Really? Why?"

  "I can think of several unanswerable reasons." Jamar rumbled. "Firstly, we don't want to attract attention. Secondly, it's too late now. If he's been duped by Malgyne, we have to assume the plan he's serving is near to completion. The third point is most important, however."

  "Do tell," said Constans with feigned interest.

  "The ambassador and I don't know how to find Avanov."

  Constans subsided with a frustrated sigh.

  "Come on," I said. "I've a feeling we're not done with Olvas or this cathedral yet, but the best thing we can do right now is get Avanov's piece of the portalstone."

  *******

  As we travelled, Constans told us what he'd discovered about Highvale. One of the constables at the lychgate had been amenable to sharing details in exchange for a few coins. and explained that several of the graves had been dug up in the small hours of morning. The constable didn't know exactly which graves in particular had been desecrated – he'd drawn gate duty because of a profound aversion to the sight of dead bodies – but he'd been told that it appeared whoever had performed this vile act was looking for something in particular. It was a morbidly fascinating tale, but neither I nor Jamar saw what it had to do with our current concerns, so Constans let the subject drop.

  We finally arrived at our destination: a large mansion set in private gardens. And what private gardens they were. It took us a full five minutes to walk from the main gate to the front door, escorted the whole time by a guard in burgundy livery.

  At the main door, the guard handed us into the keeping of a butler. He hummed and hawed about our presence, but then agreed to show us into an exquisitely-furnished reception room.

  We were kept waiting for some time, long enough for Constans to examine every painting and give an opinion as to whether each was a forgery or the genuine work. I had the impression he was trying to cover a deep unease, but perhaps I came to that interpretation because I felt decidedly uncomfortable, like a joke was being played somewhere and that I was part of it, but didn't yet know how. If Jamar was concerned, it didn't show, but his eyes never ceased their quiet watchfulness.

  I was about to ask Constans what was bothering him, when Lord Avanov finally entered the room. He was a middle-aged man, with greying hair and the kind of elegant deportment that couldn't be taught – you were either born with it or you weren't.

  "This is most irregular." He fixed Constans with a steely stare. "Just because you and I have had some common cause, it does not mean I take kindly to my home being invaded."

  "Sorry, my lord." I don't think Constans was physically capable of issuing a genuine-sounding apology, but he gave a creditable effort. "It concerns Lord Solomon and a matter of importance."

  "Everything concerning Solomon is a matter of importance with you people." Avanov gestured at me and Jamar. "And who are these men? Foreigners by the look of them? No, never mind, it's probably better I don't know." He paced nervously back and forth before the fireplace.

  "We've come about a piece of rock your lordship acquired a short while ago," Constans explained. "It's black, about the size of your fist and has something of a greenish glow about it."

  Avanov stopped pacing. "I don't know what you mean."

  Constans smiled. "Yes you do, my lord. It's one of those little trinkets you've picked up through those 'luxury' merchants. You know, the ones who on no account should your fellow councillors learn of, what with these particular merchants being quite relaxed when it comes trifling matters like 'ownership'."

  Jamar leaned in close to me. "What's he talking about?"

  "I've no idea," I replied.

  "I'm talking about corsairs, Edric," Constans chided. "You know – piracy on the high seas. His lordship's managed a nice little arrangement with them over the years. After all, the quayside is his little fiefdom, so he's got final say over who stays and who goes, to say nothing of whose ships gets searched and whose don't."

  Avanov scowled at Constans and angrily gestured at him to be silent. "Are you threatening to blackmail me, Reveque?"

  Constans smiled. "Only if you don't cooperate."

  I decided I'd let Constans perform the negotiations long enough. "My lord, forgive my associate. We're in a desperate hurry and we really do need that rock. Lives are at stake, quite probably your life, and those of your family."

  Avanov flinched at that last part, but it served to focus his attention. "Very well. It's in the cellar. That's where I keep more... sensitive... items. I'll take you."

  He turned and left the room. We filed out after him.

  "You see, not everything has to be a threat," I told Constans.

  He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  The entrance to the cellar was a sturdy wooden door, with bolts top and bottom. Avanov unbolted it and beckoned for us to precede him. We didn't move.

  Avanov sighed. "Not very trusting, are we?" He produced a lantern and set off into the darkness below. "Well, come if you're coming. I want you all out of the way as soon as possible."

  I looked at Constans. He shrugged, and led us downward.

  Racks of wine bottles, and indeed whole barrels of wine, occupied much of the gloomy space near the stairs, whilst crates and boxes were scattered wherever there was room. It was like the p
alace vaults, if on a far smaller and pettier scale.

  Avanov seemed embarrassed by the mess. "I'm a collector, but not much of an archivist." He led us through a brick arch and into a small chamber beyond. Just as I reached him, he extinguished the lantern and ran for the stairs.

  It turned out Avanov was pretty spry for a man his age. By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs, he'd passed through and bolted the door.

  "That treacherous..." Constans broke off as Jamar pushed his way past.

  Reaching the top of the stairs in three loping strides, the havildar slammed his heel repeatedly into the lock plate. The door sprang open.

  There was no sign of Avanov in the corridor. "Upstairs or downstairs?" I asked Constans.

  Just then there was a thud from above our heads, the kind of thud that might be made by a desperate man missing his footing. Ashana knew I'd done enough of that recently.

  "Upstairs," said Constans.

  We found Lord Avanov sitting in the corner of a dressing room, head in his hands. The butler tried to bar our entry, but Jamar solved that problem by seizing the fellow by the scruff of his neck and hauling him out of the way.

  "Lord Avanov is in a meeting," he told the terrified servant. "Please let it be known that he is not to be disturbed."

  The butler scurried off as soon as he was released.

  Avanov took advantage of the distraction to snatch a pistol crossbow from a nearby dresser. Defiantly, he levelled the weapon at me – or rather he tried to. With a whisper of movement, the hilt of one of Constans' daggers smacked into Avanov's fingers. The lord yelped in pain, dropped the weapon and desperately began trying to massage life back into his fingers.

  "We don't want to hurt you," Constans said in soothing voice. "But we need that rock. Give it to us, and we'll forget that the rest of this ever happened."

  Avanov gave him a look of pure misery. " I don't have it."

  I perched on the edge of a valise. "Tell us what's going on."

  The last of Avanov's defiance was gone. He told us that Solomon had visited at first light, looking for the portalstone fragment just as we were now. Not only had he taken it, he'd also taken Avanov's daughter, and told her father that if he wanted to see her again, he'd find a way to delay anyone else who came looking for the rock.

  "I'm sorry," Avanov said wretchedly. "I hate that vulture as much as you do, but he has my daughter."

  That bit about the delay was troubling. What could Solomon possibly be doing with only two sections of the portalstone that made delaying us so crucial?

  "I think you'd better come and see this, savir," called Jamar.

  I joined him at the window, and stared past his shoulder. Avanov's mansion was just about on the highest part of the hill, and from there we could see all the way out to the city wall. I took in the great fortress towers gleaming in the sunshine, but one drew my attention far more than the others. It was the tower in the centre of the span, and even at this distance I saw plumes of smoke rising from its windows.

  The Tower of Stars was on fire.

  Twenty Three

  I don't think anyone ever crossed the city as fast as Constans, Jamar and I did that morning. We ran with abandon, careless of patrols and praetorians, hurtling pell-mell down cobbled alleys and flagstoned streets. Such was our pace, each of us should have fallen a dozen times, but somehow we didn't. It is said that desperation lends men wings, and perhaps it's true, for never before had I known the desperation possessing me that day.

  After a seeming eternity we ran through the Tower of Stars' gatehouse and into the aftermath of a battle. Dozens of bodies lay in the courtyard, weapons clasped in dead or dying hands. From appearances, they were an even mixture of praetorians, street toughs and Thrakkian mercenaries – the latter looking out of place with their plaited beards and studded leathers.

  Oddly, each of the dead had pieces of bone strung around their necks. Some gruesome badge of identification?

  Grey fragments lay scattered amongst the dead, but it wasn't until I nearly tripped over an unmoving stone torso did I understand the significance. As best as I could tell, there were the remains of three sentinels, their bodies presumably smashed apart by the long-handled warhammers still clasped in the attackers' lifeless hands. For each sentinel who had fallen, at least a dozen men lay dead, but that the tower's defenders had put up such formidable resistance was of little comfort to me.

  I was consumed with need to get inside the tower proper, to discover what fate had befallen Arianwyn. That task was complicated by three praetorians arrayed on the stairway to the keep. The mood I was in, I could have killed them single-handedly without pause for breath.

  I drew my sword and quickened my pace, aware that Constans and Jamar had done the same.

  We were still twenty paces short of the keep when the trap was sprung. A score of living warriors sprang up around us, kicking corpses to one side as they got to their feet.

  My companions and I came to a reluctant halt, knowing we couldn't reach the keep before our attackers were on us. Even as I watched, three Thrakkians joined the praetorians on the steps.

  Jamar's face was implacable, his eyes missing nothing of our predicament. By contrast, Constans' visage twisted into a hateful rictus, an expression so out of place on his features that I was momentarily taken aback. Without a word, we shifted position until we stood back-to-back.

  The circle of Solomon's soldiers tightened, but cautiously. Apparently no one wanted to be the first to test our mettle.

  "We need to get into the tower," I said.

  "Actually, we don't," Jamar replied calmly.

  Frowning, I watched him discard his sword, stoop, and pluck a mace from the ground. It was a clumsy weapon, with a haft nearly as tall as I. Jamar spun it through the air as if it weighed nothing.

  "We don't need to get into the tower," he said simply, "but you do." I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. "Find the lady, my prince. Constans and I will attend to these." He hefted the mace experimentally and his face set into a stony expression. "Believe me, I'm looking forward to it."

  "Go," Constans bit out, his eyes glinting no less wickedly than the daggers in his hands. "Better still, we'll rush the group by the steps first. That should get you clear inside."

  I stood silently as the noose tightened slowly about us. I wanted to thank them, but couldn't find the words – just how could I express gratitude to men going willingly to their deaths?

  Jamar clearly sensed my thoughts, or at least my hesitation, and decided to set things moving. "One."

  "Two," said Constans, shifting his daggers to a throwing grip.

  I closed my eyes in silent prayer. "Three."

  And with that, we charged the keep.

  We bellowed as we ran, loosing a battle-cry that had no words but channelled all the anger, sorrow and worry we'd borne since leaving Avanov's mansion. The mismatched group on the steps stumbled back. Who could blame them? I don't doubt that they sensed the madness that was upon us. Around us, Solomon's hirelings quickened their advance, emboldened by the fact that our backs were now to them.

  All at once, our enemies on the steps regained their courage. They'd realised they outnumbered us two to one even without their comrades, and that the odds in their favour would improve with every passing second. It didn't matter. Had all the great powers of the world stood arrayed in their defence, those men would have died that day.

  Constans killed the first two. His daggers buried themselves in yielding flesh before we were even in sword's reach. Jamar's mace swung crushed the skull of another. My sword battered a praetorian's blade aside, and sliced forward into his groin.

  There were only two between us and the gate now, a ragged-looking Thrakkian and a one-eyed praetorian with a mildewed eye-patch. Constans ducked the Thrakkian's desperate axe swing and, in a single fluid motion, scooped a fallen sword from the floor to slit open his attacker's belly. The praetorian cut at me, but his blow went wide as Jamar's heavy bac
kswing spun him off the steps.

  Our path was clear now, but other assailants were close on our heels. Jamar shoved me towards the gate. I took one last look over my shoulder, and saw Jamar hurl the mace end over end to snatch a praetorian off the steps. Then the attackers surged onto the stairs with a battle-cry of their own.

  With heavy heart I left my friends to their battle, and went to find my own.

  The inside of the tower was a smoke-clogged ruin. Fire had ravaged that opulent entrance hall, leaving only ash and smouldering debris in its wake. The ceiling was hidden by smoke. Here and there, flames still burned, but most combustible material had already been consumed. I didn't doubt that the fire still raged in the upper floors.

  Firing the tower was an act of spite typical of Solomon. It wasn't enough to simply beat his enemies – he had to utterly destroy them. I was surprised he'd ordered the tower set alight with him inside – the presence of guards convinced me Solomon was still here. Perhaps hatred had overcome reason or just possibly his minions had started the blaze under their own initiative.

  Then again, the fire was hardly the only mystery. I didn't understand how Solomon's forces had beaten the tower's enchantment. Arianwyn had made it clear entry was almost impossible for anyone outside her dwindled bloodline. It didn't matter now, I decided. I didn't care much about the Tower of Stars, but I cared a great deal about Arianwyn's fate.

  I charged up the charred stairway to the next floor. There I found a pair of Thrakkians, presumably left behind as a rearguard. They didn't stand a chance. I swung my sword to hamstring the first, hacking at his neck as he fell. The second mercenary managed to bring his sword around. I parried the clumsy stroke and ran him through. Leaving the bodies behind, I headed upward.

  Nothing awaited on the fourth level save for angrily crackling flames. Here, the fire had not yet devoured everything and burned with full vigour. As I crossed the landing, I heard someone making their way up the stairs behind me.

  I ducked to one side in the hope of surprising my pursuer, and waited with mounting impatience as the sounds of pursuit drew closer. Finally, I estimated he was at the top of the flight and spun out to face him, blade ready.