Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  When I rejoined Quintus, he indicated the building he'd commandeered and suggested Arianwyn and I wait inside. I was only too happy to oblige– a little peace and quiet was most welcome after the chaos of the preceding hours – and I was only made happier when we entered one of the sitting rooms to discover that Quintus had ordered provisions laid on. Arianwyn didn't eat anything, but propped herself next to me and drifted off to sleep, the portalstone wrapped tightly in her arms.

  I was tempted to follow her example. However, I knew that so short a slumber would leave me feeling worse than before, and I therefore settled for sating my hunger. Quintus had clearly come to a similar conclusion. When he finally joined us, he ate like he expected it to be his last meal. He and I spent the next while in amicable silence, but silence nonetheless. I think each of us sensed that we owed the other an apology, but neither of us could quite bring ourselves to give voice to the words.

  By the time Solomon arrived, night was fully upon us. He was marched across the square by a small army of constables – Quintus was taking no chances. To make matters more difficult for any potential rescuer, Quintus then ordered the prisoner hauled up several flights of stairs and manacled to a chair in a rather fine office.

  When Arianwyn and I entered the room, the constables had withdrawn, leaving Quintus and Solomon alone. The room was illuminated only by a pair of lanterns, and far more of the room was in shadow than was comfortably lit. There were no blinds across the great leaded window, giving me a splendid view of the cordon in place around the cathedral. A reminder, as if one was required, of the need that drove us.

  When I'd last seen Solomon, he'd been wild to the point of madness, his poise completely gone. Now, his arrogance had returned. That he'd some scheme in readiness, I was certain. He'd been out of my sight only a few hours, but that was a lifetime to a devious fellow such as he. I had only the vaguest idea where the next few minutes would lead, and hoped our wits proved a match for his.

  Predictably, Solomon was the first to speak. "An interesting delegation. A heathen, a traitor and an idealist." He shook his head in mock sadness. "I'd expected at least one of my fellow councillors to put in an appearance."

  "Aye, well there's not a great many of your fellow councillors left." Quintus sank heavily into another chair. "Those illustrious men and women who remain don't seem inclined to waste their time with the likes of you, my lord."

  Setting the portalstone on the desk beside Quintus, Arianwyn moved to the window and stared out across the city. I could tell that she hated being in the same room as Solomon even now, but duty drove her to be present. I wasn't any happier about it, but a small part of me took delight in Solomon's predicament. I took up station along the back wall, directly behind the captive. I'd hate not being able to keep eyes on all my captors at once, and I assumed Solomon would feel much the same – his manacles wouldn't allow him to face me.

  "Can I assume you've bungled your attempt to stop Death's grand design?" With no answer forthcoming, Solomon pressed on. "Then I assume the purpose of this cosy chat is to affirm that we're all on the same side."

  Arianwyn stiffened, but said nothing.

  "You can assume whatever you like," I told Solomon, "but we're not allies. It would be much more accurate to say there are now at least three sides. We'd like cooperation, but we're offering nothing in return except the possibility your information will put a stop to Malgyne's plan."

  "You're presupposing that Death worries me enough to even consider such a poor bargain."

  "'Do you think I want to live in the world that he'll create?'" Arianwyn said, quoting Solomon's own words in a passable imitation of his clipped speech.

  Solomon sighed. "I suppose I have to concede that point. I also have to insist on freedom in exchange for cooperation."

  Quintus had a lit pipe in his hand again. He waved it expansively. "Insist away. It won't make any difference. Anyway, to where would you run? If my associates are correct – and I'm prepared to admit they've been right far too many times for a lowly lawman such as myself to consider doubting them – then there's no escaping what's coming."

  "Only a fool would try to fight it."

  "You didn't think that before," I pointed out.

  Solomon twisted in his chair, but the chains held him fast. "That was entirely different. I sought to shore up the mountain before the landslide began." He was irritated, though whether that was due to the manacles, the reminder of his failure – or at our stupidity – I couldn't be sure. "Now the avalanche upon us. Survival is all that concerns me now, as it should concern you."

  "You're not thinking things through, my lord." Quintus said through a cloud of smoke. "Any attempt we make to stop this only improves your chances of survival. Who knows? We might even succeed. I'm not sure what you lose by cooperating."

  Solomon sighed, reluctance plain on his thin, aristocratic face. "You may have a point."

  "And besides," Quintus went on, "if you don't tell us everything we want to know, then I can guarantee you a fantastic front row seat for what comes next. Survival favours the man who cooperates, rather than the one who remains silent, wouldn't you say?"

  Solomon considered this for a moment, and then nodded. He was too canny not to have reached this conclusion long before the conversation ever started, and I suspected he'd merely spun things out to save face. There were other possibilities, of course, but overestimating Solomon was as dangerous as underestimating him.

  Quintus leaned forward. "How about you start by telling us how you discovered that this was coming."

  "With almost childish simplicity," said Solomon. "Some years ago I became aware that the more nihilistic cults were becoming increasingly excitable. Oh, they're always full of energy and self-importance, but these were starting to act like they had a purpose. They were also seemingly acting in a coordinated fashion. Given that we're talking about everything from militant Sidarists to full-blown death cults, it seemed worthy of notice. They don't have a great deal in common."

  He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.

  "By and by, I invited one of the Tressian cult leaders to have a little conversation with me. Sadly, she passed away shortly after. I was left with a fanciful theory I couldn't prove – namely that some power was manipulating these wretched souls."

  "So, being a naturally inquisitive sort, you sought confirmation and issued another such 'invitation'?" Quintus asked.

  "Just so. That confession wasn't simply similar, it was identical. That's when I instigated a full-blown infiltration of as many cults as I could manage."

  Solomon leaned back in this chair. His voice grew distant. "It took years, decades, but finally I knew what they were doing, and why." He nodded at the portalstone. "By the time they'd realised the fragments of that artefact were buried in Darkmere, I knew what they wanted it for. More importantly, my spies had informed me it was the key to thwarting Death's plans. He'd wanted to make sure it was placed beyond the use of mortals, but he'd reckoned without me. I whisked the fragments away from under the noses of his addled servants." He sighed. "I was going to use it to sever the bridge at the moment of creation, before Death could pass through. Now that chance has been lost, thanks to your meddling."

  I let the insult pass. "That's quite ambitious. I can understand how you might use the portalstone to open or close a door to Otherworld, but the timing involved – to say nothing of the possibility of Malgyne fighting back – seems chancy for someone unable to harness magic."

  "And who said I can't?" Solomon snapped. "I can master artefacts like that portalstone well enough. Magic is not all tantrums of raw power and wild emotion."

  Arianwyn turned angrily from the window, her eyes aglow. "Really? Would you like to see another tantrum now?"

  Solomon waved an admonishing finger as well as he could with the shackles binding his wrists. "My dear, I don't want to seem discourteous, but I rather think your friends need my cooperation rather more than you need to make a childish display. I
sn't that so?"

  Seemingly unaware of the tension in the room, Quintus took a pull on his pipe. "As it happens, my lord, I'm more concerned about keeping Lady Arianwyn's cooperation than I am yours. Also, I confess curiosity as to what one of these 'tantrums' – my apologies, my dear, I'm only repeating the word – looks like. Even at my age, a man can always learn something new." He shrugged. "Provided Lady Trelan sees her way clear to leaving myself and the ambassador unharmed – and I'm fairly sure she can – I see no reason for her not to continue." He leaned forward. "Unless, of course, a generous retraction was immediately forthcoming."

  For the first time, I regretted my station behind Solomon – I was fairly certain his face would have made for interesting viewing. Arianwyn had overreacted, but Solomon had heaped great hurt on her in recent hours. Even so, I suspected her simmering anger came more from Constans' perceived betrayal rather than anything Solomon had said. Not that it would have mattered to Solomon – he'd provoked the desired response, only for Quintus to outmanoeuvre him.

  Quintus took another pull on his pipe and turned to Arianwyn. "It's not like you can kill his lordship anyway, but I've no objection to him being hurt. Indeed, it might even help him focus on his immediate priorities."

  "You mean...?" I already knew where this was going. It was the only thing that made sense.

  "He's an eternal."

  Solomon went rigid, then slowly relaxed. Arianwyn took a step back, the light fading from her eyes. I wasn't sure how I felt about this development. In many ways, it seemed obvious. Earlier, I'd remarked how I'd seen eternals use others as playing pieces in a game, and there was no better description of how Solomon had spent his life.

  "There doesn't seem to be any point in denying it," Solomon said reluctantly. "Not when you can so easily test your theory."

  "Oh, I don't know," Arianwyn put in darkly. "It can't do any harm to cut him some, just to be sure." But she made no move. "You want to tell me where you pulled that from?" she asked Quintus.

  "I've known for years," he replied. "A man can change his appearance all he likes, but if his basic nature stays the same, he leaves a trail." He waved his pipe at Solomon. "He's spent years turning Tressia into what it is now, and if he does nothing to help us, that work will have all been wasted."

  I'd no doubt that Solomon would have liked nothing better than to kill Quintus at that point, not simply for laying his secret bare, but also for having perceived his motivation so clearly. I expected at least a little more posturing, perhaps some biting remark at Quintus' expense, but when the captive next spoke, his words were addressed to Arianwyn.

  "Please accept my humblest apologies, Miss Trelan. I have wronged you terribly." Solomon spoke the words without sarcasm, and with a humility I would never have thought the man possessed. It had to be an act. Didn't it?"If you'll listen, I'll tell you what I know."

  Arianwyn regarded warily for a moment, then took to a nearby chair and listened patiently. I kept half an ear on their conversation for a time. However, I soon realised that whilst I understood all of the actual words, the content was entirely alien. I kept just enough of an ear on what was said to make sure Solomon was truly following through on his promise, but let most of it drift past. After a few minutes, Quintus abandoned both chair and pipe, and crossed to my side.

  "Just how long do you think Solomon's been manipulating Tressia?" I asked.

  "Hard to say. Centuries, under one name or another. I try not to think about it. I mean, from what I can tell, he's treated the Republic like a garden, which is all very well unless you're a weed, or a flower that no longer fits the grand design. That's what gave him away in the end. I mean, I had theories, but no proof – not until another eternal tried to establish herself here. She was a real nasty piece of work and clever with it. Before I put an end to her, she gave up a lot of information about his lordship, helped me put some of the pieces together. Oh, she knew she was done for, don't get me wrong – she just wanted to sow some mischief before she went."

  He glanced at Solomon and Arianwyn, then led me further into the corner. "Now, I'm going to tell you this because you're clever enough to think this one through for yourself, and I don't want you blurting it out at an inconvenient moment."

  That sounded ominous, and no mistake. "Go on."

  "Why do you suppose the Trelan family, once one of the most prosperous in Tressia, is all but wiped out?"

  My blood ran cold. "Weeds?"

  "I'd have used the term 'competitors', but the end result's the same. You can't tell her."

  "I can't lie about something like this," I hissed.

  "I'm not asking you to. Just don't volunteer the information. Not yet. The poor lassie's having a bad enough time of it as it is. This could break her. And then she'd break him. For the moment, we need them both."

  "You underestimate her strength."

  "I'd expect you to say that. But is it worth taking the risk?"

  I looked over his shoulder to where Arianwyn still talked warily with Solomon. There was no indication either of them had heard anything. I was unspeakably angry with Quintus for putting me in this situation, but I gradually realised the wisdom of his actions. I'd have reached the same conclusion by myself, given everything else I knew about Solomon, and of course Arianwyn would have been the first person to whom I'd have spoken.

  "I can't keep this from her forever," I said.

  "I'm not asking you to. Believe me, when the time comes, I'll happily help you get shot of him for good. But for now, I don't think we want her distracted."

  A double thud sounded from somewhere above. A moment later, there was another. Arianwyn and Solomon stopped talking. She looked puzzled, he was scowling.

  "What was that?" she asked.

  "I don't know." Quintus moved to the door.

  I held out a restraining hand. "Do you have everything you need?" I asked Arianwyn.

  "I think so. At least, I think I have everything he can tell me."

  Much to my delight, Solomon was still scowling. Funny how the little things can bring so much pleasure.

  "Commander, I think it's time his lordship returned to the Pit," I said. "We've work to do."

  Quintus looked at me for a long moment, opened the door, and bellowed down the stairs. Shortly after, Solomon was gone: escorted away by his small army of constables. I beckoned Quintus and Arianwyn to follow me, and took the stairs to the upper floor.

  We emerged into a long and narrow room, crowded with broken furniture. A more charitable person than I would have called it a lumber room. To me, it was just a tangle of junk. Moonlight washed into the room through a window set in the gable end.

  It was cold in that chamber, and no wonder. One of the window's panes was fully open. In the middle of the floor lay three squirming and securely trussed bodies. Constans perched on the end of a battered table a few feet away, looking uncommonly pleased with himself. As we approached, he rummaged through a pile of objects on the table next to him, holding up each in turn as he described it.

  "Smoke canisters, barbed crossbow bolts, stiletto daggers, blowpipes and several vials of what looks suspiciously like blacknettle poison. These gentlemen were quite serious about their trade." He grinned, teeth white in the near-darkness. "I wouldn't touch the blades if I were you. I suspect they've been coated in something unspeakable. Oh, and I'm afraid there's another one in the street below. He lost his grip at an inopportune time."

  Arianwyn laughed with a joy I'd not heard from her in some time. "No wonder Solomon looked so put out. All that time, he'd been provoking and needling. Anything to stall us long enough for rescuers to arrive."

  Quintus rounded on me. "You might have told me."

  "I might have," I agreed. "But we still don't know how many of your men are working for Solomon. This seemed like the simplest solution." I shot him as innocent a look as I dared. "Besides, it's not like you asked. I simply didn't volunteer the information. Come on, we've got more important things to do."


  Three

  There was a sense of optimism in the air, of a situation rescued from the brink. Even Quintus, never knowingly positive about the unknown, seemed less fatalistic. Of course, only five of us knew – or thought we knew – exactly what was going on, but our raised spirits in turn raised the spirits of those around us.

  Quintus being Quintus, he continued preparations for battle. He had nearly four hundred praetorians in the square now, and perhaps three hundred regular troops. Despite his misgivings, Karov was too prudent a man not to send reinforcements. It was still a pitifully small force, and I hoped to render their deployment unnecessary.

  The only sour note lay in the fact that Arianwyn still refused to speak to Constans. He'd approached her shortly after Solomon had been escorted away, but she wouldn't acknowledge his presence, let alone speak with him. Hers was the kind of hurt that only time and distance would heal, and I couldn't think how to hasten the process.

  With Arianwyn confident she knew how to employ the portalstone, there seemed to be no reason to tarry. At my request, Quintus quickly rounded up fifty praetorians and assembled them before the cathedral doors. She assured us she was well-rested enough to force the doors, and I meant to make sure she'd an escort that could keep the revenants at bay.

  Arianwyn passed me the portalstone. "Here, don't drop it."

  It was the first time I'd handled the fully-assembled artefact. It was deathly cold. Arianwyn walked the last couple of steps to the cathedral door and muttered under her breath. White light flowed her hands and into the timbers. The door began to shake.

  Quintus spoke quietly in my ear. "A useful friend to have, assuming she stays one."

  I caught the dark glint in his eye. "She's not dangerous. Not to us or the city."

  "And you're sure of that?"

  "I'm certain enough."

  "Aye well, let's hope I don't have reason to remind you of this conversation."

  There was no following that ominous comment.

  Timber groaned as Arianwyn pushed the door inwards. Quintus beckoned, and two files of praetorians advanced.