Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  I remembered Eirac's words. My uncle had said we'd need cleverness, not strength, and once again he'd been right. If Quintus was in the north with Solomon, that meant Constans must have crossed the Estrina, and he'd clearly done so without being spotted.

  "How did you get to this part of the city if the bridge over the Estrina's still down?" I asked.

  "Down? Who said it was down? They've repaired it, after a fashion. I didn't take that route, though," said Constans. "I used the sewers. For some reason the fallen don't watch that way."

  "But the sewers don't cross the Estrina," Morecet objected. "It's a separate network on either side of the river."

  Constans sighed theatrically. "Where'd you find this one?"

  "It'd be more accurate to say he found us," I said, earning a filthy look off Morecet. "It's a fair question."

  A ghostly raven alighted on a nearby lamp post. Wary of it being a spy for Malgyne, I heaved a stone at it. My aim was poor and the stone ricocheted away. The bird gave me an evil look, then took to the skies before I could make another attempt.

  "Give me some credit," sniffed Constans. "There are two fair-sized outlet pipes facing one another on either side of the river. I set up a simple ropewalk between them when we headed north – you never know when something like that is going to come in handy. After all..."

  Constans kept talking, but I wasn't listening any longer. I was too busy formulating a plan. It might work. It might very well work. There was certainly nothing to be lost by trying. "Constans, you're a genius."

  "I am? I mean, of course I am." He paused. "Do you mind telling the others why? Obviously I understand, but..."

  "There's a passage between the palace and Olvas' chambers in the cathedral," I reminded him. "If it's still viable, we can reach Malgyne without having to fight our way through the fallen."

  "Edric, that's brilliant," Arianwyn said. "You're right: Constans is a genius."

  She turned to see if Constans had appreciated the sentiment. He wasn't there – he'd already gone in search of the nearest grating. I left a message for Calda with a member of the royal guard, then followed.

  *******

  Our last journey through the sewers had been relatively uneventful, and much to my surprise, this one proved to be exactly the same. There were the same near misses and dunkings due to suspicious substances underfoot, the same almost-sightings of monsters lurking in the dank, but nothing more serious. In fact, the worst part of the whole journey came when we reached the outlet pipes and found the ropewalk Constans had mentioned.

  "You must be joking," said Arianwyn. "I can't cross that."

  'That' was a set of three ropes, one level with the bottom of the pipe, one a little below waist height, and the last at around chest height. It was a fairly standard ropewalk, and I'd used them on occasion in the past. Arianwyn clearly had not. Why this was a problem and mad skittering across the Highvale roofs hadn't been, I couldn't imagine, but then phobias seldom surrender to rationality.

  "Of course you can," said Constans. He shimmied a little way out along, and then bounced up and down. "See? Perfectly stable."

  That little performance didn't convince Arianwyn any. I couldn't blame her. Though the ropes appeared to be securely tied onto iron bars set into the pipe, the assembly didn't look terribly sturdy. The drifting mist and the sound of the Estrina's rushing waters below weren't much comfort either.

  Rightly sensing that he wasn't helping, Constans crossed the ropewalk and beckoned from the far outlet. In the end, Arianwyn plucked up the courage to inch her way along the line, though I swear that she'd her eyes closed for most of it. I went next, then Morecet. Finally, there were only the two guardians left perched on the edge of the river, both gazing mournfully at the ropes.

  "I suppose they'll just have to wait for us," said Morecet.

  It seemed the guardians agreed, because they retraced their steps back down the tunnel.

  Arianwyn shook her head. "I think we'd better stand back."

  I looked again, and saw Jaspyr and Fredrik loping back towards us. Jaspyr leapt first, sailing gracefully through the air and managing a perfect landing on all four paws some distance inside our tunnel. Fredrik was not quite so lucky. He'd launched slightly askew and his haunches clipped the edges of the pipe as he landed.

  Chunks of stone broke from the pipe's edge and tumbled into the water. Then, with a scrabbling of bronze on stone, Fredrik joined Jaspyr at Arianwyn's side and conspired to look rather pleased with himself.

  After that, everything went relatively simply. Only one wrong turn was made, and that was mine. I'd started to feel confident about how the tunnels were arranged, so of course I picked the wrong junction at the very next crossroads.

  "That's not the right way," Constans explained politely. "It'll bring you out on the hill beneath the cathedral. You're guaranteed a warm welcome, I suppose, but the palace is over here."

  He pointed to the next tunnel along and we headed off . We walked up some chipped and slime-encrusted steps, passed through a metal grating and emerged in the palace grounds.

  When I'd last seen the palace gardens, they'd been tangled but presentable pleasure grounds lit with lanterns. Now they were something out of a nightmare. The ground had been mangled and disturbed by some struggle, and the once verdant grass lawns were scarred and gouged. Lanterns still burned in places, but the light they cast only served to make the scene more ominous.

  Here and there, the fallen had set corpse pyres similar to the ones I'd seen in other places in the city. These had burnt down to nothing, leaving naught but charred ash and bone in their wake. That was bad enough, but the true horror lay elsewhere.

  There were dead fallen everywhere. We passed hundreds upon hundreds of broken bodies as we walked. All were wild-eyed, as if their final moments had been filled with stark terror. And little wonder, for no mortal weapon had smote their ruin. Gnarled yews squatted atop piles of mangled corpses, their roots trailing across the churned lawns or plunging through the bodies to reach the soil. Ivy trailed across the paths and over the walls, more fallen entangled in its grasp, branches woven around throats and limbs.

  "What in the world went on here?" Morecet demanded.

  His eyes darted from grisly tableau to grisly tableau. I don't doubt he'd worked out the answer to his own question – he just didn't believe it. Arianwyn didn't appear particularly comfortable either. She looked askance at every sliver of greenery, as if she expected it to attack at any moment. Even the guardians seemed uneasy. Only Constans looked unconcerned.

  "Constans? Care to answer the man's question?" I asked.

  He smiled. "You remember Jerack had some ideas? Well, this was one of them." There was a certain relish in Constans' voice, and I wondered whether it had been him who'd answered, or Jack, using his voice. "We had hopes of so much more. Sadly, the trees in this city are neither angry or energetic enough to manage more than a brief flurry of activity. Still, it gave him a shock."

  "Who?"

  "Our enemy, of course."

  I noted he avoided naming Malgyne or referring to him as 'the Raven'. Constans being insufferable, or Jack being evasive? I found neither possibility welcome.

  Arianwyn stepped gingerly over a twisted root. "Will they attack us?"

  Constans shook his head. "No. They're exhausted, sated or feeling deliciously superior. It'll take a decade or so before they can even move a few feet. The gardeners might have a few questions – if and when they come back, of course."

  "Of course."

  I examined the nearest yew. Its bark was blood-spattered, I saw a torn and mangled corpse lodged in its lower branches. The local flora might be quiescent now, but its brief fury must have been terrible to behold.

  We picked our way through the wreckage of the gardens, careful not to disturb any more trees and vines than we had to. We made it to the palace in good time and without any upset – if I didn't count Morecet falling flat on his face after getting his foot snarled in a stray
root. He claimed the thing had grabbed at him, and perhaps it had. There wasn't a very great deal that I wasn't prepared to believe any more.

  We entered the palace through one of the servants' doors without having to resort to brute force or burglarious means. The door was already open, and we took care to move as quietly as possible – for all we knew, my brother and others of the fallen might still have been within. Much of the palace was shrouded in darkness so I led the way, relying on my superior night vision to warn us of any trouble. We found none.

  It seemed the fallen had been and gone from the palace, but they hadn't done so without a few acts of destruction. We stumbled over the remains of several guardians. Despite my own mixed experiences with the creatures there was something sad about the sight, but it was nowhere near as mournful as watching Fredrik plant his haunches on the carpet and stare thoughtfully at the remains. Was it just taking note of a possible threat, or did the things feel a kinship with one another?

  I rounded a corner and found myself face to face with a fallen. Not just any fallen, but Alfric. My brother still wore the same dark tunic I'd seen before, but it was now stained with blood. He'd found ways to amuse himself once Arianwyn and I slipped through his grasp. More deaths to lay against his blackened soul.

  For a split second we stared incredulously at one another, then we went for our weapons with unison that would have been comedic, in other circumstances. The warped mirror shattered as Alfric laid a hand on the pommel of his sword and he noticed that I was not alone. Abandoning all attempts at drawing a weapon, he turned and fled deeper into the palace. Giving no pause to consider the consequences, I ran after him, sword in hand.

  "Edric, wait!" Arianwyn's worried shout chased me down the halls.

  On some level, I knew I was behaving foolishly. But like all bad ideas conceived in the heat of the moment, its logic seemed irresistible. I didn't care that I was running into danger. I didn't care that I was abandoning my companions. All I wanted was to make my brother pay.

  Alfric hauled a door shut behind him. Bolts rattled. I didn't even slow down. It was a well-built door, but it had been designed primarily for appearance, not to withstand the force my shoulder brought to bear. With a crash, the door slammed back on its hinges, and I was through into another section of corridor.

  I was in agony. Without thinking, I'd struck the door with my injured shoulder. But I couldn't stop, not now. Alfric didn't wait to see if his gambit had worked, but drove hard for the far end of the corridor. I ignored the pain and stumbled after him. I heard the others hurrying after me, but I didn't wait. All that mattered was that Alfric was getting away.

  A few paces from the end of the corridor, Alfric hurled himself through another door. Heels skidding on the carpet, I charged after him and found myself in the main council chamber. Portraits of councilmen past and present stared down at me, but the room's dominant feature was the great oaken table that ran one end of the room to the other. It was over a hundred paces long – it had to be to accommodate the various lords, scribes and lackeys that would have occupied its chairs during matters of state.

  There was little room to manoeuvre between the rows of chairs and the wood-panelled walls, so Alfric leapt onto the table and continued his flight along its polished surface, scattering candelabra as he ran.

  I followed. I was vaguely aware he was drawing me further and further from my friends, and the rational part of my brain – which I freely admit hadn't seen much use in the preceding seconds – began dwelling on the real possibility that I was running blindly into a trap.

  Alfric reached the double doors at the end of the room now, and glanced back at me. He appeared to consider sealing those doors too, but then decided that he didn't have the time and kept running. With a final effort, I leapt down from the table and charged after him.

  ...and tumbled to the floor as something struck my shins.

  Instinct took over, which thankfully meant that my forearms, rather than my forehead, bore the brunt of the impact. I even managed to keep a grip on my sword – for once – though this didn't matter a great deal as a heavy boot stamped it out of my grasp and kicked it clear. I tried to stand, but another heavy sole slammed into my back, pinning me in place.

  "Predictable as ever, Edric." Alfric squatted in front of me and cocked his head on one side in an effort to meet my gaze. "You should really learn to look where you're going. It'll be the death of you."

  His eyes flicked behind me, presumably to whichever minion had his foot pressed hard against my spine. "Quickly, into the other room – make sure his friends receive a similar welcome."

  A great many sets of footsteps departed the room. The doors slammed. Sadly, the unseen minion using my back as a footrest remained. Alfric had a small army, and I'd charged in without a moment's thought. I deserved whatever I got.

  A heavy bolt was drawn. "Get him up!" Alfric ordered.

  Two pairs of hands hauled me roughly to my feet. Or thereabouts. The fallen who were now my gaolers each took one of my arms in theirs and left me dangling, heels kicking uselessly between them.

  "I thought you'd come back here, if you were still alive." Alfric paced back and forth as he spoke. Despite his hunched posture, his actions had a certain mad energy to them.

  My two captors didn't utter a sound. It was one of the absolutes of existence, I supposed: dead, alive or damned, hired muscle was hired muscle – no one looked to them for banter. It didn't matter, because Alfric was spewed words at a rate sufficient for everyone.

  "My associates out there will definitely keep your friends busy, perhaps forever." Alfric's words were hurried, almost desperate. Had the madness of his life spilled over into his new existence as a fallen? "So I can't enjoy this as much as I'd like."

  He threw a punch at my gut. Held as I was between his two minions, I had no chance of evasion. It hurt, but not as much as it should. Alfric had always been a 'hands-on' maniac, preferring not to leave the physical side of torture to others.

  "You know why I'm doing this, don't you?" he asked.

  "I suppose Malgyne's making you do it?"

  I spoke with as much sarcasm as I could muster. It was mostly bravado. I had no doubt Arianwyn could deal with the fallen by herself – with Constans and Morecet along as well, the victory was certain. However, I didn't know long it would take them, and what Alfric would do in the meantime.

  "Hah! I thought you'd say that!" Alfric drew his sword. "But you're wrong. I'm doing this because of you." Still pacing, he jabbed a frenetic finger at the back of his head. "You're buzzing in my mind. All those years of disapproval, of disrespect, of hindering my fun." His voice grew louder. "I still feel your sword, twisting in my guts. I hear your sanctimonious voice whining in my ear. He makes sure of it."

  "He makes sure of it?"

  "Of course," Alfric shouted. With every outburst the tip of his blade wove disconcertingly through the air in front of me. "You don't think he's forgotten the scraps of help I gave you in Otherworld, do you? Or the time I disobeyed him in order to let you escape? This is my punishment, and it'd never have happened without you!" With a final snarl, Alfric drew the sword back high, and hacked down with all his strength.

  But not at me.

  The fallen holding my right arm never saw the blow coming. Alfric may have been physically weak, but that sword was razor-sharp. Black blood sprayed as the blade bit down, and then the fallen collapsed to the floor. I went with him, using the momentum to pull my other captor off balance. I didn't know what Alfric was up to, but he'd given me the best chance to escape that I was going to get.

  As I'd hoped, the combination of surprise and dead weight pulled the other fallen off his feet. This was not the winning strategy I'd hoped for. Firstly because it meant that Alfric's second wild swing arced over the fallen's head rather than through it, but mostly because the fallen landed smack on top of me, pinning me face-first on the floor.

  I was distantly aware of a commotion in the next room, but I coul
dn't worry about that now. My sword was almost within my grasp, blazing merrily to itself on a tile – just as well it hadn't landed on a carpet or the whole place would have caught light – but I couldn't reach it. My fingers scrabbled desperately, but no amount of straining made the situation better. Things grew worse when the fallen, who for whatever insane reason had decided to ignore the maniac with the sword, locked his fingers around my neck and tried to squeeze my head off.

  There was a hollow thud from the other room and another, meatier, one from somewhere a little behind me. Alfric wrenched his sword free and hacked again at my attacker. Still the fallen continued in his single-minded assault on my throat. Then Alfric struck him a third and final time, and the pressure finally eased.

  I rolled onto my back and scrabbled crab-wise towards my sword. I caught its grips on the second try. Keeping the point at Alfric's chest, I slid up the wall until I stood opposite him.

  Alfric staggered back a step and raised his hands, fingers spread, so they were level with his head. His sword clanged to the floor. "Ah, so this is what it's like to play the hero."

  There was no longer any trace of his previous histrionics; in fact, his voice was calm and level. He started to lower his hands, but I jabbed the point of my sword and he resumed his pose.

  "How are you finding it?" I asked, watching him all the while.

  "Tiring. One should really have servants for this kind of thing." There was a gurgling scream from the other room. "Can I put my hands down now, please?"

  "No. Not until you tell me what's going on."

  Alfric laughed. "I'd have thought that was obvious, I'm helping you."

  "Last time we met, you tried to kill me."

  "Did I, Edric? Seems to me that I had plenty of opportunity to do that if I'd wanted."

  I recalled our last encounter. Certainly Alfric could have been spinning things out long enough for me to find a way to escape, but it hardly seemed likely.

  "You're a fallen. You serve Malgyne."