Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  It was scarcely less tightly-packed within the cathedral than without. I estimated there were thousands of people listening with rapt attention as Olvas droned through his ceremony. Every pew was full, with the front rows packed with councillors, prominent merchants and the great and the good of Tressian society.

  Every eye turned to see the radiant figure in our midst. Only Olvas, utterly intent on the crowning glory of his ambition, didn't notice at once, but even he realised something was amiss before Arianwyn had taken a third step along the nave. The archimandrite turned and, as had everyone else, saw what he'd longed for, rather than what was really there.

  "My lady..." he breathed.

  Arianwyn squeezed my hand even harder. "I can't keep this up," she muttered.

  I dreaded to think what would happen if her aura faded – we'd be lucky not to be torn apart. Quintus was already moving past us and towards the altar.

  Olvas' expression of wonder wavered as he saw the guard captain bearing down on him. "Captain Quintus, what is the meaning of this?"

  "Apologies, eminence, but I must insist the ceremony be postponed."

  "No! This is the worst kind of sacrilege. We must continue. Absent yourself!"

  One of the councillors in the front row – a younger noble named Lord Karov, if I remembered my worthies correctly – got to his feet. "Yes, captain, I think you should leave. We'll discuss your conduct tomorrow."

  Quintus rounded on Karov. "My lord, listen to me, I beg you." That got Karov's attention – Quintus never begged for anything. "The consecration can't be completed..."

  "The consecration was completed just before you arrived," Olvas interrupted fussily. "So it seems that you've no reason to delay us any longer, have you?"

  At that moment, a cold wind swept down from the altar and slammed the cathedral doors closed. Arianwyn's eyes snapped open, and her halo faded. "We're too late."

  Shortly before, I'd worried what our fate would be if Arianwyn's disguise collapsed. As yet, no one had noticed – they were too busy staring at the floor near the altar.

  The tiles between the front pews and the altar bucked and heaved as if the ground beneath them were writhing in pain. Green light glinted through the cracks.

  People were on their feet, pointing and staring. Panicked whispers spread. A greenish glow suffused the air, a sickly pallor all too familiar. I exchanged glances with Arianwyn and Jamar, and saw the same recognition in their eyes.

  Quintus backed away down the nave, his survival instincts clearly in better shape than the councillors who remained obstinately in their seats. Olvas had backed away too, but in the opposite direction. He clawed at the altar and muttered to himself. Though I couldn't hear the words over the growing hubbub, the fearful expression on his face told me all I needed to know.

  With a thunderclap, the ground in front of the altar fell away. The tiles broke apart, the fragments spinning faster and faster in circles as they were swallowed by the swirling abyss beneath them. With a tremulous scream, Olvas lost his grip on the altar and vanished into the depths.

  With that, the panic began. The worthies in the front seats lost all semblance of dignity as the abyss swallowed the first two rows. Some of them scrambled clear. Most met the same fate as Olvas

  People streamed past me, trying to reach the supposed safety of the outside world. They couldn't get out. The doors were sealed shut, and wouldn't move, no matter how many desperate fists hammered on them.

  There was movement in the abyss. It wasn't expanding this time. Instead, something emerging from within it. Slowly, majestically, the tall, thin figure of Malgyne rose out of the swirling smoke, borne aloft on invisible wings. This wasn't Malgyne in his guise as the dark child, nor the old woman, nor even the immaculate young man. This was the God of the Dead in his true form, the raven-creature swathed in robes as black as the deepest despair. He stepped onto the nave, his taloned feet scraping on the tiles. Behind him, a dozen skull-helmed revenants rose from the abyss, come to do their master's bidding in this new world.

  The bridge was complete. The realms of the living and the dead were as one.

  We had failed.

  Part Two

  DEATH'S KINGDOM

  Fate does not like to be denied;

  the net grows ever tighter as we struggle.

  Should we embrace the future, and bend it to our will?

  Or should we fight destiny to the last breath?

  – from the journal of Stefan Dalrand

  One

  With Malgyne's appearance, panic became desperation.

  The air filled with the screaming and whimpering of men and women faced with a horror they'd thought legend. Hundreds fled for the cathedral's doors. Supposedly-civilised citizens clutched and tore at each other in their desperation to escape. Men, women and children alike were battered and crushed. Dozens died beneath the boots of that mad stampede, slain not by malice, but by kinsmen driven wild by unthinking terror.

  My companions took shelter in the lee of statues. Any obstacle was now a haven from the mad tide of humanity sweeping up the nave. Across the aisle, a burly merchant forced his way through the stampede, shoving aside those who didn't remove themselves from his path. Arianwyn was one of these unlucky few. She'd surely have been trampled had Jamar not hoisted her to safety. In one smooth motion, he pushed Arianwyn deeper behind his own shelter, a broad plinth supporting a marble rendition of some stern-looking Sidarist. He then gave the portalstone back into Arianwyn's keeping, and took up a position between her and the surging crowd.

  I nodded my thanks to Jamar – between the screaming and the hammering on doors that wouldn't budge, words had no chance of being heard. From the look on her face, Arianwyn was unhappy at Jamar so obviously shielding her, but she'd the good sense to make no complaint.

  At last, the tide of humanity slackened. My companions aside, everyone clustered around the vast atrium, tearing at one another as they tried to find an exit. The few praetorians who'd guarded the ceremony were amongst the rout, duty forgotten in the mad scramble for survival.

  "We can't stay here forever!" Quintus' shoulder was touching mine, but he had to shout to be heard over the din.

  "I know!" I replied. "But we can't get out unless we can open the doors, and we can't open the doors with that crowd in the way."

  Quintus snorted. "I'll handle the mob, my lord. What of our intruders?"

  I peered around the edge of the pillar. Malgyne hadn't moved since his arrival. He simply hovered quietly above the swirling abyss that had heralded his coming. Beyond the horror of his presence, there was no extant threat, no indication of a visitation at hand. If anything, Malgyne swayed ever-so-slightly, as if disoriented. His eyes were closed, his corvine expression inscrutable. His plan could be gathering pace or falling apart, and I'd have never divined it from his countenance.

  I felt peculiarly disappointed. Given my encounters to date, I'd expected the God of the Dead to have issued a doom-laden speech by now, but such was clearly not to be. Perhaps whatever he'd done to complete the bridge had left him weakened, or maybe maintaining the link required concentration. I'd have to ask Arianwyn.

  The revenants that had followed Malgyne into the living realm had arranged themselves in a loose circle around him. A bodyguard? That would imply he was vulnerable – a notion I wasn't fully prepared to entertain. They certainly seemed no more eager to advance than their master. I had a feeling that wouldn't last.

  I turned back to Quintus. "They're just standing there."

  He sighed deeply, the sound lost in the panic. "Well then, we may as well see what we can do about getting out of here." He jerked his thumb at the crowd. "Or at the very least, about getting that lot clear."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Keep an eye on our ghostly friends. I'd like warning if they start making a nuisance of themselves." He thought for a moment. "Oh, and I'll borrow Constans and Jamar, if I may?"

  "Fine by me." Belatedly, I realised I'd not s
een Constans since Malgyne's arrival. "Where is Constans, anyway?"

  "Over there," Quintus gestured past Arianwyn and Jamar. "He does not look happy."

  He was understating again. Constans stood in the middle of the next aisle across from us, staring with rapt attention at Malgyne. There was an intensity in his stare that didn't bode well.

  "That's why I'd like to borrow him," said Quintus. "I think we'd better find him something to do before he finds himself something to do – something ill-advised, I mean."

  I found myself in complete agreement, but Quintus didn't wait for my acknowledgement. He strode past me, crossed the aisle and spoke briefly with Jamar. The two then made their way to Constans who, with what seemed only a token resistance, allowed himself to be led towards the wailing crowds. I took the opportunity to ghost across the aisle to where Arianwyn knelt.

  She stared with frustration at the portalstone, but looked up as I approached. "Before you ask, I still can't get it to work!" I saw a challenge in her eyes. She glared at the desperate mob by the cathedral doors. "I wish they'd shut up."

  "Quintus is working on that."

  As I watched, Jamar hauled a sergeant of praetorians out of the mob. The man rounded angrily at first, then subsided as Quintus started speaking. I couldn't hear any words, but the guard captain's jabbing finger told the story plain enough. The sergeant snapped to attention with a parade-ground perfect salute. Quintus repeated this pattern three times with different praetorians before I remembered I was supposed to be keeping watch in the opposite direction. Fortunately, Malgyne and his revenants were as motionless as before.

  Quintus had rallied a fair number of praetorians, as well as Lord Karov. Between them they slowly brought the mob under control. I saw one man, driven out of his wits by fear, actually attack Quintus – though what he hoped to achieve, I couldn't hazard a guess. Quintus, unflappable as ever, struck his attacker cold. That one act did much to bring the crowd under control, as the witnesses to the altercation realised Quintus' proximity and waning patience made him a threat in his own right.

  It helped, of course, that there was no longer any obvious danger from Malgyne. Provided the God of the Dead didn't do anything provocative, I had no doubt Quintus could keep control indefinitely.

  After another quick glance in Malgyne's direction, I turned to Arianwyn. "Why isn't he doing anything?" I still had to shout to be heard over the panic, but things had definitely quietened down.

  "Death? How should I know? It's not like he's confiding in me. Besides..." The crowd's clamour dipped, and she lowered her voice. "...besides, we're well beyond the bounds of my experience. Your guess is as good as mine." She smiled sweetly. "Well, almost."

  I held up my hands in surrender. "What's your 'guess' then?"

  "He's completing his bridge."

  "Looking around, I'd say it was complete already."

  She gave me patient look. "All this, you mean? A sickly pallor and a few theatrics, that's all. Well, almost... I can still feel the magic, so we can't be fully linked with Otherworld, not yet. Anyway, Death's not gone to all this effort just to hover in our realm like a monstrous bird. He must be waiting for something important – or doing something important. Completing the bridge is the only thing I can think of that would be so distracting. Unless there's something bigger yet to come, and I think I'd rather not know if that's the case."

  Her words closely mirrored my own thoughts of a few minutes earlier. "Whatever the reason, I'd like to be gone from here before Malgyne has attention to spare."

  "How are they doing with the doors?"

  "Badly."

  In the atrium, Quintus had succeeded in clearing enough room around one door for Constans and Jamar to attempt getting it open. Members of the crowd watched Constans and Jamar uneasily from behind a ring of praetorians. Jamar took a halberd from one of the praetorians. Inserting the weapon's spear-like point in the join, he tried to prise the left-hand door open. All he achieved for his exertions was a slightly bent blade, which he threw down in disgust before beckoning for another.

  "Brute force isn't going to be enough," I said.

  Arianwyn grimaced. "You want me to try, don't you?"

  "Unless you've any better ideas?"

  "Not a one." She rose and dusted her skirts down, awkwardly bracing the portalstone on her hip as she did so. "Do you want this useless lump of stone?"

  "I suspect I might be needing my hands free before too much longer. Give it to one of the others."

  Arianwyn nodded. For a moment, she looked like she was about to say something else, then walked briskly over to the huddle by the doors. Quintus and Karov were arguing about something, but there was no sense in me getting involved in that unless I had to, so I turned my attention back to Malgyne. As before, the stillness of the tableau before the altar was broken only by the swirling abyss.

  So far, my allies were focused on the problem at hand, but that would last only so long. Assuming we got out, what next? I had no ready answer, and was fairly sure I'd be asked to provide one. Somewhere along the way, the others had started taking their lead from me. Given the state of utter ignorance in which I'd stumbled into this affair, this development provoked worry and pride in roughly equal measure.

  I glanced at the door. Quintus and Karov were still locked in heated discussion. Jamar watched them warily from the sidelines. Constans sat on the floor beside a group of children. They stared at him with rapt attention as he used sleight-of-hand to make coins appear and disappear.

  Arianwyn stood stock still, her hands pressed to the door, white light flowing over her hands and onto the timbers. She had the attention of everyone in the crowd. Part of it, I was sure, was the desperate watchfulness of men and women seeking salvation. However, I was equally certain that many onlookers remembered the way in which Arianwyn had entered the cathedral. They might not any longer believe Arianwyn to be Sidara, but if she got that door open – and through mystical means, no less – she could well find herself an object of worship. I was sure Arianwyn knew all this, just as I was sure she'd hate that outcome, but still she made the attempt.

  I glimpsed movement at the altar. Slowly but surely, the skull-masked revenants converged on the central aisle. A dozen more rose from the abyss. Malgyne was not to be left unattended, it seemed.

  I'd no illusions about besting a dozen revenants, even if the confines of the aisle meant only four could face me at once. I was further dismayed to discover my sword did not burst into flame when drawn. On the one hand, this was good news, as it lent credence to Arianwyn's theory that the two realms were a long way from full alignment. On the other, it meant I had no real weapon against the revenants.

  I backed away from the revenants. Praetorians formed two loose ranks around me, and Constans took up position behind me. "Quintus thought you might want company. You must look lonely."

  He alone seemed to relish the prospect of a fight. Quintus might have thrown enough of a scare into the praetorians to curtail their panic, but it was anyone's guess how long they'd keep to their courage. At least they'd had the good sense to abandon their halberds. The polearms were useful enough weapons in their way, but I'd rather rely on sword-work in tight quarters.

  The revenants drew their own swords. No smoke rose from the blades; presumably the weapons followed different behaviours in the mortal realm just as mine did. Nonetheless, the sight sent a shiver through the praetorians, whose own swords doubtless seemed of scant worth by comparison. This was no good. This was no good at all. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and turned my back on the enemy to address my unwilling allies.

  "For those of you who don't know me, I am Edric Saran, prince of the Hadari Empire and Champion of the Golden Court."

  Neither of those last two things was entirely true any longer, but a little bravado couldn't hurt – unless, of course, one of the praetorians thought he'd serve Tressia better by sticking a blade in my back than fighting alongside me. I pressed on, filling my words with all t
he confidence I could muster.

  "We've job to do, and one job only. We're to hold these revenants back long enough for the doors to be opened. I've fought these creatures before, and I've good news and bad. The bad is that our weapons won't hurt them, so don't even try to strike at them."

  That provoked another ripple of apprehension, but it was preferable they knew before the battle was joined.

  "The good news," I continued, "is that I've seen sleeping Thrakkians who made for better swordsmen than these creatures." That drew a rumble of nervous laughter. "So look to your defence, and to that of the men and women beside you."

  Holding firm a moment longer, I retook my place in front of Constans. "Not bad," he whispered. "I really think..."

  The revenants surged forward.

  I quickly settled into the routines I'd learned years ago, countering the blows of the opponent to my front, deflecting strikes and calling out warnings wherever I could. It turned out that the praetorians were a disciplined and well-trained group. Had we a shield apiece, we could have held the revenants there as long as our strength held out. Alas, shields were not part of a praetorian's ceremonial uniform, so our blades were all we could rely on. Worse, the revenants soon realised we were making no attempt to strike back, and grew increasingly reckless in their attacks. In a living opponent, I'd have welcomed this change of tactics. Against beings we couldn't hurt, I was sure it would be our downfall.

  I was proved wrong in the instant I conceived the thought. The praetorian to my right parried a lunge then, acting on instinct, cut at his opponent's outstretched arm. I'd expected the blade to pass straight through, just as Jamar's had in Otherworld. Instead it hacked deep into the revenant's ghostly flesh.

  The creature hissed and snatched its arm back, but the damage was done. Revenants in Otherworld might have been immune to mortal steel, but revenants in the living realm enjoyed no such protection. Yet more proof, if any be needed, that Malgyne's plan was not yet complete.