Cole was picking himself up off the ground when a long, low note sounded through the air. A horn! He looked up at the guard tower, in time to see the sentry blow another long note. The tower was not far, and he hurried over to see what was happening.
At its foot, the town gates stood open – Cole later learned that they were shut and bolted each night, but generally kept open to traffic during daylight – and by the time he reached them a group of onlookers had already gathered.
He jostled his way to near the front of the crowd. Past the gates he could see a lone rider atop a pale grey horse trotting along the road towards them. There was a ripple of excitement and somebody called out “Harri’s back.”
In the distance, Cole could see a man sitting straight-backed in the saddle, reins held lightly in one hand. His clothes were a mixture of dark greens and browns, while a long cloak the colour of earth was draped around his neck. Long, straw-blonde hair tumbled past broad shoulders. As he drew closer, Cole saw that he was young. Or, at least, his features were youthful. Stern grey eyes and a grim expression made him seem far older than his years.
When he reached the gate, the rider looked up at the guard tower. “Hail Patrek,” he called out. “Where is my father?”
“In the langhus, awaiting your return,” the sentry replied.
“Good.” The rider nodded curtly.
He spurred his horse on again, and the crowd parted to allow him through. As he passed, he did not so much as glance in Cole’s direction.
Intrigued, Cole followed. He was not the only one. Many of the crowd that had gathered at the gate also fell into step behind the rider and his horse. As the procession made its way towards the marketplace, faces large and small came to the windows to watch.
When they reached the crowded town square, further progress was impossible. Little by little, the hubbub of the market quieted, until silence reigned. Cole looked around, and saw Raven emerge from an open doorway to one side of the square. She surveyed the scene with interest, arms folded.
There was a loud crash, as the door of the long wooden building on the hill flew open. A large man in his middle years emerged. His hair was greying and his granite face deeply lined and care-worn. A large wolfskin, as dark as smoke, covered his back, fastened at his neck with a large golden clasp. He was not as tall as Bjorn – few men of the Watch were, from what Cole had seen so far – but he was obviously as fit as any man half his age, his stomach still as flat as a slab of rock. He strolled forward to where the path led down to the market, then stood, arms crossed against his chest. “You’re back,” he barked. His voice carried easily across the now-silent square.
“Yes father,” Harri called back, still seated atop his horse. “I’m sorry for my late return, but I had urgent business in the forest.”
Yaegar, for it was he, grunted noncommittally. “A late return is better than none at all, I suppose. You will come to the langhus tonight. We will feast to celebrate your arrival.”
“I will come,” Harri agreed. “But there should be no feasting. There is much we need to discuss, and clear heads are needed.”
The older man’s face darkened. “Come, or don’t,” he growled. “By Valdyr’s beard, we will toast your return regardless. Already half a dozen good hunters have had to wait for you to show your face before we could honour their safe return. Anything you have to say can wait until after the old ways have been observed.”
For several moments the two men, father and son, held each other’s gaze across the square. Even Cole, to whom both men were strangers, could feel the tension between them. Finally, the young rider nodded his head almost imperceptibly. “As you wish, father. I have no wish to dishonour our traditions.”
Yaegar grunted again, apparently satisfied with the outcome of the reunion. He turned and stalked back to the langhus, slamming the door shut behind him.
The rider turned to one of the men standing nearby. “Farhang, summon all the hunters, including those in the wilds if they can return in time. Tell them it is time for a krigsmoot. It seems we must feast, but there will be important decisions to be made after.”
“Aye, Harri, I’ll put out the word and light the signal fires. Any that see the smoke will hasten back to the Watch.”
As the man hurried off to carry out his orders, the rider turned his horse around, and left the square. Sensing that the spectacle was over, half the crowd began to disperse, while the remainder resumed their trading.
Cole sauntered over to where Raven stood. “Father and son back together,” he said with a wry smile. “I was almost overcome by the raw emotion of it.”
“It didn’t take long for you to see what Bear was talking about over lunch,” she said. “Yaegar sees too much of himself in his son, while Harri is caught between trying to live up to his father’s legend and wanting to carve out his own. It frustrates them both.”
“Will you go to the feast tonight?”
Raven let out a bitter laugh. “Unlikely. No outsiders and no women. I’d be twice as unwelcome there as you.”
“I think you’re underestimating just how unwelcome I can make myself.” He grinned. “So, what’s the plan now?”
Raven shrugged. “While I’m pleased to see Harri return safely, it does mean that you won’t be able to speak to any of the hunters this evening. They’ll all be at the feast. Bear is repairing a couple of things for me at the moment, and he was threatening to fashion a supper of some kind in his fleapit of a kitchen afterwards. Just try to make yourself comfortable. You could be here a bit longer than you hoped.”
“Me?”
“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” Raven said, and Cole thought he detected a hint of regret in her voice.
“More wrongs to right?”
“Something like that.”
The rest of the day passed peacefully. Cole spent some time browsing the stalls dotted around the market, with the crowds thinning as evening approached. Little remained; a few unappetising cuts of meat, a number of ragged pelts, several bolts of wool. It seemed that all the best items had been purchased already by the caravan, which departed as the sun began to dip towards the horizon.
When the traders started to pack away their stalls, the square by now practically deserted, he wandered back into Bjorn’s forge. He could hear the clatter of plates and voices coming from within, and he found he was very much looking forward to whatever repast the blacksmith had been able to rustle up.
* * *
Cole fidgeted on the mattress, unable to sleep.
Bjorn had not lied, he’d been relieved to discover. The pallet he had set up inside the forge was comfortable, although possibly only in comparison to the hard ground he had slept on for much of the past week.
The workshop was dark and still while, although it was no longer burning, a pleasing warmth continued to emanate from the furnace. Cole gratefully closed his eyes, hearing the occasional creak of the building settling.
It felt a little strange, however, in truth. It was the first night he had spent beneath a roof since leaving the Crag. He had dozed for several hours during the day in the Brandts’ spare bed. Apart from that, all that was over his head while he slept were the stars.
Perhaps he had grown accustomed to resting in the open air, or maybe it was because he had spent most of the day idle, but he found that sleep would not come. He rolled from one side to the other, in search of a position that would help him drift off, but it was to no avail.
Cole sighed in the darkness. It would likely be his last night in a solid building until he reached his destination in the mountains, probably many weeks hence, and it was starting to seem as though it would not be a restful one.
Supper that evening had been surprisingly good. Bjorn had fried up chunks of rabbit meat with a selection of vegetables – carrots, potatoes, beans and even a few aromatic herbs that apparently grew locally in abundance.
The red-haired smith had also proven to be a convivial host. Throughout the meal he kept the
ir mugs filled with sweet mead, and long before he had finished eating Cole’s head had begun to swim. For the most part, Bjorn and Raven chatted about people and places of which Cole had never heard. He let most of their conversation wash over him as he had done earlier that day, but chimed in with the occasional wry observation, to be rewarded with a boom of laughter from their host.
After supper, and with night fallen, Bjorn had led him into the forge where a bed had been made up for him. “The door will be closed but unlocked, it keeps in the heat better,” the smith told him. As Cole settled onto the pallet, he heard them talking more over the sound of crockery being tidied away. Gradually the voices faded, and Cole was left with the silence of the workshop.
And now, several hours later, he still could not sleep.
Cole yawned, and scratched his chest. There, he felt a lump. So much had happened in the past few days, he had forgotten that he still wore Merryl’s crystal pendant. He drew it out from his undershirt. Even in the darkness, he thought he could see a faint green sparkle from within.
On a sudden whim, he clasped the crystal in his hand, and closed his eyes. A moment later he felt the familiar sense of speed and weightlessness and then, when he opened his eyes again he was back in the forge. Or rather, he could see it around him; faint outlines and shadows at the edge of his vision. He was standing on grey sand, and he could feel the crunch of the grains beneath his feet, but he could also just make out the dark hazy lines of floorboards. It was like the ghost of a building, barely visible, all around him.
Cole looked around. A dozen yards away or more, he could see a number of sky blue orbs hovering above the ground. From where he stood, he guessed that they belonged to Bjorn’s neighbours, presumably fast asleep in their houses.
He walked towards the nearest ones, passing through the ghostly wall of the forge as though it wasn’t there. In a sense, it wasn’t. After a few moments, the outlines of the other buildings faded away entirely, leaving only the grey desert, stretching off in all directions as far as his eye could see.
A few more steps brought him to the nearest orb. It was quite different to those he had encountered during his exercises on the Crag. Unlike Brother Merryl’s, there were no tethers attached to these. He could see images flash across their surface – several of which were erotic in nature and made him blush – but when he tried to press his fingers against one of the orbs, it repelled his touch. He pushed against it, and was able to get within an inch of its surface but no closer. There was a spark and he snatched back his fingers with a yelp.
He turned around to look back the way he had come, and saw a large blue orb hovering some twenty feet above the sand. Another one was close beside it, only this one was a brilliant white. Puzzled, he approached them. When he was only a few yards away, still beneath them, he stopped. A strange compulsion came over him, and he lifted his arms. He concentrated on the two orbs above him and, without knowing quite how, pulled with his mind. With a lurch, the two orbs dropped down to his level.
He ignored the blue orb, and instead reached a hand out to the pure white sphere. He caught flashes of images, but they were indistinct, impossible to decipher. This time, when his fingers brushed the surface of the orb, there was no resistance. His hand slid into it and...
He stood in a dim room. He looked around, and saw a furnace, unlit. The walls were covered with racks of tools, while a well-used anvil sat in the middle of the floor. For a moment he thought he was back in Bjorn’s forge, but it was larger and arranged differently. He shivered. The room was ice cold; it had clearly been a long time since the furnace was last lit.
On one wall, three steps led up to a wooden door, its edges illuminated with a cold light. Cautiously, he climbed the steps, and pushed the door gently open.
The room beyond was empty save for a table in its centre. Silvery moonlight shone down on it from a high window. It was bright enough to see the silhouette of a figure seated at the table with their back to him.
Cole took a few steps into the room. The figure was dressed in dark clothes, and sat hunched over with their face buried in their arms. They seemed small, child-like. The sound of muffled sobs came to his ears.
He took another step, and a floorboard creaked loudly under his foot. The figure stiffened, then whirled around in their chair. It was a girl, no more than six or seven summers, with long black hair and blue eyes as cold as winter. She glared at him.
“Raven?” In the funereal stillness of the room, his voice sounded far too loud.
The girl hopped down off the chair. Without taking her eyes from him, she reached for a scabbard at her hip, and drew out a long, thin blade. Then, her eyes fell to the crystal pendant at his neck, and widened.
“Wait,” he shouted. “Stop!”
The girl screamed. Then, she lunged forward.
* * *
Raven awoke with a start. The bedroom was still, and silent but for the soft breathing of Bjorn beside her. Her brain was still fogged by the lingering cobwebs of her dream, and she rubbed her eyes to help clear her head.
What had woken her? She lay still, waiting to see if there were any noises that might have alerted her. After a few moments, she was satisfied that there were none. There weren’t even any sounds coming from the forge downstairs, where Cole was sleeping.
Cole... she sat upright as her dream came back to her. He’d been there, wearing a green crystal around his neck. The thought of it made her blood run cold. Did the dream mean something? Is Cole not what he seems?
Even as she thought it, it felt wrong. Cole had been in her dream, true enough, but had not felt like part of it. Her dreams were mostly fuzzy and faded quickly upon waking. But Cole’s presence had been as solid and real as a brick.
Gently, so as not to wake the slumbering blacksmith, Raven slid off the bed, grabbing a sheet to wrap around her bare skin. She padded silently to the bedroom door, retrieving one of her short swords from the top of a nearby dresser as she passed.
She stole down the stairs to the living area, towards the door that led into the forge. Something about Cole’s appearance in her dream had left her feeling deeply uneasy. He seemed like a kind-hearted boy – nearly a full-grown man, corrected a voice in the back of her mind – and as naive as anyone of his age she had ever encountered. But what do I really know about him?
It wasn’t like her to so readily accept the company of a complete stranger. But mounted on her horse that day in the clearing, ready to ride away and fulfil her promise to poor Dariel, something had compelled her to help Cole.
She nudged open the door and peered inside. What she saw inside the forge made her gasp. Cole was lying on his back on the pallet Bjorn had set up for him, his face bathed in a faint green glow. The eerie light seemed to be emanating from an object he held clasped in one hand. With a sick feeling in her stomach, and the memory of her dream still fresh, Raven guessed what it was.
With a snarl she pulled the sword from its sheath and crossed the floor in three strides. Cole’s eyes opened wide in fright, as she kicked him hard in the ribs and knocked him to the ground.
“Raven, what are you...” he started, the whites of his startled eyes clearly visible despite the darkness of the forge.
She pressed the point of the blade against his throat. Enough to hurt, but not to cut. Yet. “Who are you?” she hissed angrily. “What are you doing with this?” She snatched the pendant from his unresisting hand, and dangled it in his face.
His eyes were fixed on the blade. “I haven’t lied to you,” he said nervously. “My name is Cole. The stone belonged to a friend, who was struck down in front of me. Before he died, he bid me to travel to the mountains. Everything I told you is true.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed. “The truth, perhaps, but not all of it. You’re with the Order. Did they send you to find me?”
“Find you?” Cole frowned in confusion. “Nobody, I swear it. I don’t know what you...”
She jabbed the blade into the skin of his throat, dra
wing a drop of blood. “Don’t lie to me, Cole. You saw what I did to those men in the forest. I would do the same to you without hesitation. Tell me everything and tell it true. I won’t warn you again.”
Raven was furious. She felt foolish. Worse, betrayed. How could she have let one of the Order get so close to her without realising? She wanted to hear the truth from his lips, but despite that she felt her control beginning to waver. If he cried, or apologised or begged for his life, she knew she would end it in one quick thrust of her sword. Instead, Cole did the one thing she did not expect.
He laughed.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said. “You want to know why I am here? Fine. There are people after me who wish me ill, but I don’t believe you are one of them. If you take away the blade from my throat, I’ll tell all.”
For several heartbeats Raven held his gaze, looking for any sign of deception in his eyes. There was fear, despite his bravado, but that was all. “As you wish,” she said at last. She took a step back, but still held the blade in readiness. “Speak.”
Cole eased himself up into a sitting position. “I am not of the Order, you were wrong about that,” he said. Raven’s blade twitched and he held up a hand. “I never took their vows, but I was brought up among the Brothers on the Crag, an island fortress in the west.”
Raven motioned for him to continue, so he told her his tale in full; his life being brought up among the novices, the Archon’s arrival, his fight against the giant, Merryl’s death and his subsequent flight from the Crag. He explained as best he could about the experiments he had carried out with the crystals.
“So, you’re saying that you can go into people’s dreams?” Raven asked.
“I... think so. When I join with one of the crystals, it takes me to a place where I can see these shapes, and I can tell that they’re really people. I can walk between them, and I can look at them to see what they’re dreaming. Sometimes, I can put my hands inside, and manipulate the images they’re seeing, bring them up to the front of their mind. I can only draw on their own memories, though, I can’t create anything that isn’t already there.”
Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) Page 16
