Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  Rawls tried to stand, but it was no good. Something deep inside him had been broken, crushed by the stranger’s first punch. He could only watch helplessly as the black-clad stranger approached him one last time.

  Fingers as cold and unforgiving as ice plunged into his thick, black hair and jerked his head back sharply. Then, in his final moments, Rawls knew that he had lost his mind. Before his eyes, the stranger’s hand changed. He would have sworn he carried no weapon, but his arm seemed to flow like water just before it slashed down towards Rawls’ exposed neck.

  Before the last of his lifeblood drained away, the last sight to come to Rawls’ eyes in this world was of his own headless body, tumbling towards the cobblestones below, as limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut. Then, he was falling, spinning towards it end over end in the night air.

  As the darkness claimed him, one last, foolish, thought flashed across his mind: At least I didn’t get taken again.

  CHAPTER 19

  There was no mistaking the Baron’s residence. It was surrounded by a high wall of roughly cut grey stone, around which ran a shallow moat. Cole peered down into it as he was led past the outskirts of the manor house. While the moat no longer presented much of a barrier to invaders, having long since run dry, it was at least still an unpleasant one. The bottom of the channel was a sticky morass of mud, dead leaves and other substances it was probably best not to speculate upon.

  They approached a small gatehouse built from the same grey stone, which granted access to the manor’s gardens beyond. It was on a far humbler scale than the one at the Crag, Cole observed, as he approached the structure flanked by the Baron’s guardsmen. However, it served the same purpose. A thick wooden drawbridge, studded with iron, could be raised or lowered by those inside, allowing those on the far side of the moat to enter. The heavy boots of his escort pounded on the bridge, and as they entered the archway beyond a pair of burning sconces cast lively shadows upon the grey stone walls.

  Cole examined the passageway with interest as they passed through. Like the outer wall of the estate, the stone used to build it had been cut unevenly, if indeed it had been cut at all. Some stones were larger than his head, others as small as his fist. It gave the impression of being far older than the village that sat beside it, built at a time when the art of construction was far less refined.

  Beyond the gatehouse was a garden, of a sort. A wide path of loose stone led between two rows of overgrown shrubs and trailing thornbushes. Some effort had apparently once been made to trim some of the shrubs into novel shapes, but they had remained untended for so long and grown so wild it was no longer possible to discern what those might once have been.

  The loose stone crunched underfoot as they made their way up the path towards the manor house proper. Its frontage was wide, four times as wide as the tavern at least. It appeared to be built from the same materials and means as the outer wall and gatehouse, and again gave the impression of being far more venerable than the village around it. Above its second storey, crenellations had been carved into the rock, and Cole saw the dark silhouettes of sentries patrolling slowly back and forth. There was a score of plain, square windows cut into the front of the manor house. At some point during his visit to the tavern, lamps had been lit within, though the effect created was not a cheery one.

  The front door was a slab of jet-black wood. Set in the centre was a gold knocker crafted to look like the paw of some great beast. The guard-captain did not bother to use it, however. As they reached the door, he pushed it open and shoved Cole through the entrance.

  He found himself standing in a large reception hall, the interior of which was in stark contrast to the decay he had seen elsewhere in the village. A wide staircase led to the upper floor, covered by a luxurious, thick carpet as red as freshly spilled blood. At its foot was a floor of gleaming white marble tiles. The walls were filled with large oil paintings depicting different men in a variety of rich clothes. There must have been a strong family resemblance along the Baron’s bloodline, he decided, as there were striking similarities between the generations. All had the same high cheekbones and mane of golden hair that tumbled past their shoulders. Each had affected a stern expression for their portrait, but their green eyes seemed alive with mischief. The resemblance between them was so strong, that Cole would have assumed them to be the same man, but for the differences in their mode of dress. The subject of each portrait wore clothes obviously of the fashion of his day, with some of the older styles slightly amusing to the modern eye, such as ruffs the size of dinner plates, or tights and codpieces that left too little to the imagination. The earlier ancestors seemed to eschew fine clothes altogether; one in particular had opted for an unusual robe covered in strange runes and sigils, which alluded to an exotic origin. The style of painting also varied vastly from portrait to portrait, obviously the work of different artists.

  Several doors led off from the hall, and he was pushed brusquely in the direction of one in particular. Cole heard muffled voices coming from within. His escort paused outside the door, this time choosing to knock. When the room’s occupant bade him enter, he pushed his way cautiously inside.

  When Cole saw Raven, he could have cried out in relief. She was standing slightly awkwardly before an enormous stone hearth, in which a roaring fire had been lit to warm the salon. There was no sign of Harri that he could see, but another man was with her. When he first saw him, he started in surprise, for it was as though the subjects of one of the portraits had stepped right out of its frame. The man was tall, and had a noble bearing as he stood straight-backed before the hearth. He had the same high, proud cheekbones and golden hair that he had seen depicted only moments earlier. The latter had been tied so that it fell in a long tail down his back. He cut a striking figure, smartly dressed in a scarlet frock coat, matching breeches and midnight black waistcoat adorned with bright gold buttons. Both he and Raven looked up as the door opened.

  “Evenin’ m’lord,” the guard-captain said as he entered, his manner obsequious. “Got the other one here.”

  “Ah, another esteemed guest arrives for tonight’s soiree.” The man strode confidently towards him, with a grin that exposed bright white teeth. He grabbed Cole’s hand companionably. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode. We receive visitors far too rarely.” Jade-green eyes danced with amusement as they regarded Cole.

  “They might be more tempted, Baron, if it didn’t mean risking their lives to come here.”

  The Baron tipped back his head and laughed. “Please, call me Sascha. No need to stand on ceremony here... Cole, isn’t it? And you are no doubt correct. Those who seek solitude should be content when they achieve it, no?” Though he spoke the imperial common tongue fluently, Cole detected a trace of an accent in the Baron’s speech, one he could not immediately place. The Baron snapped his fingers, and a liveried servant appeared at his elbow. “Robard, would you be so kind as to fetch our latest guest a glass of wine? The Wiesgarten red, I think.”

  “You have a beautiful home, Sascha,” Cole said amiably, as the servant hurried away. “It seems as though it is older than the rest of the village, though.”

  The Baron’s eyes glittered. “You show remarkable powers of observation, Cole. You are correct again. This little chateau is the reason why the village founders decided to settle in this spot, for they found it here waiting for them. It seemed a shame to let such a fine place go to waste, so they built their homes around it and the mayor claimed it for his own.”

  “Mayor?” Cole frowned. “But he doesn’t live here still? Did you arrive after the village was settled?”

  “Oh, I’ve been here for a very long time.” The Baron’s smile broadened as he spoke, but there was a wariness in his eyes that had not been there before. “That mayor is no longer with us, sadly. As for myself, it was eventually necessary for me to... press my claim.”

  The servant reappeared, and proffered a clear crystal goblet. Hesitantly Cole took it, and sipped t
he deep red liquid within. It was delicious; full-bodied and rich. The Baron watched him with interest for a moment, and then stepped towards the door. “If you would excuse me, I must check on the preparations for supper. If you desire of anything, the guards outside the door will attend your needs.” With that, he strode from the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

  Raven was staring at him when Cole turned back towards the hearth. “An interesting man, our Baron,” he said. “Where’s Harri?”

  “I don’t know. When they came for us at the healer’s house, he had still not awoken. When we arrived in this place, our host summoned me here while his servants whisked Harri away. Somewhere comfortable, they said, to recover.” She chewed her lip pensively. “I don’t like this, it feels wrong.”

  “Really? What could be wrong about an ancient fairytale castle in the middle of the most dangerous forest in the Empire?”

  Raven smiled, though her air of concern did not abate. “Put like that, nothing I suppose. Even so, we should remain on our guard here. At least he confirmed Harri’s suspicions about where we are.”

  “Yes, Faerloren.” Cole grimaced, recalling his embarrassment at the tavern earlier that evening. “Are you going to tell me about it now?”

  Raven hushed him to silence. “No, not yet. We are almost certainly being observed, and I would rather not alert them to our suspicions. It’s better that they believe us ignorant.”

  “But I am ignorant,” Cole protested.

  She smiled again. “I’m sorry Cole, I don’t mean to be obtuse. Just know that the danger is very real, and we must be careful. Beyond that, even I don’t know what we may encounter here. Here,” she added, reaching down to a leather pouch around her waist. “I grabbed it when they came for us, but feel free to take it back.”

  Cole caught it as she tossed it towards him. Something stirred restlessly inside, and he heard a muffled curse. “How are you doing?” he asked, as a small hairy head poked through the opening.

  “Oh, just peachy perfect, I is,” replied Grume sarcastically. “Snatched up, banged around and then ‘urled frew the air, it’s a wonder it even woke me up.” The little boggit’s nose began to twitch. “Did I ‘ear some biggun say somefin’ ‘bout supper?”

  Cole sniffed, and indeed the smells of cooking had wafted into the salon. “Yes, half the village has been invited by the sound of it.”

  Grume licked his lips. “Just make sure you drop some of worrever lands on your plate my way,” he said, jabbing Cole in the stomach to emphasise his point. “Bladdy starved, I is.”

  “Make sure he stays hidden,” Raven told him. “If they catch sight of him he’s more likely to end up on a platter rather than dining from one.”

  Moments later, the guards returned and escorted them to the dining hall. Raven had evidently not noticed the gallery of paintings when she had first entered the Baron’s manse, as her eyes widened as they passed them.

  Cole had been joking when he’d told Grume that half the village would be in attendance that evening. But as they entered the grand dining hall, he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t after all touched upon the truth. Two long benches ran parallel along the length of the room, at which more than two-score people were sat, murmuring amongst themselves. At the fair end of the room was a raised dais, upon which a smaller table rested.

  It was towards this that they were led by the guardsmen. As they walked past the rows of villagers, many of them glanced up at the newcomers. In each of them, Cole noticed the same peculiar mix of fear and good-humour that he had noted in the tavern that evening. It was as if the two contrasting emotions were vying with one another within them. Just like Emmett and his friends, the villagers here were stick-thin too, their ragged clothes hanging loosely from their frames.

  “Welcome once more, esteemed guests.” The Baron’s voice boomed out across the hall. He was standing upon the dais, arms spread wide to greet them. As they reached him, he gestured towards two chairs, before which cutlery and glasses had been laid. When they were seated, he lowered himself into a larger hardwood chair at the head of the table, with Cole on his right and Raven his left.

  “Our thanks for your invitation, again, Baron,” said Raven, smiling at their host. “It’s a nice gesture to invite people from the village to feast with us also.”

  “It looks like they could do with the extra food,” Cole added. He was a little surprised at Raven’s cordial tone, but as the Baron’s attention transferred to him, he saw her quickly slide one of the knives set before her up a sleeve. The movement was so fast he would not have seen it had he not been looking in the right place at that moment.

  The Baron laughed. “It is true, food is a little more... scarce of late than we might wish. But never let it be said that visitors came to our door and found our hospitality lacking. As for inviting in my people, it was a tradition begun by my predecessor, one I was keen to maintain. It is a good tradition, no?”

  “Very kind,” Raven replied. “But it is a shame for our friend to miss out on such an occasion. Where did you say he was, again?”

  “I checked on him only moments before you arrived, hatabi,” the Baron assured her. “He is nearby, and comfortable. Alas, he has not yet awakened, otherwise I would have had Robard set the place for another.”

  Cole frowned. “Your predecessor? Was that the mayor you mentioned, or was there another baron here before?”

  The Baron’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he turned to Cole. “The mayor. A kind man, when it came to those he governed. Yet, at the same time, curiously... bitter.” He grinned widely, flashing his white teeth again. They seemed different, however. Sharper. “Ah!” the Baron suddenly exclaimed. “Supper has arrived, and not a moment too soon.”

  A handful of servants were making their way along the rows of benches, laying large platters between the villagers, who watched their progress with ravenous eyes. There were some limp, boiled greens that Cole could see, and some hard, dark breads that didn’t look particularly appetising. But the centrepiece of the meal was the meat. Pink, glistening joints were placed along the benches, the steam that rose from them reaching almost to the ceiling. The mouth-watering aroma of roasted meat seemed to fill the entire hall.

  No sooner were the joints placed on the benches than the villagers fell upon them, serving themselves with thick, pink slices hacked off with their own knives. Some did not even wait to use their cutlery, ripping ragged hunks off with their fingers. Despite his hunger, the spectacle turned Cole’s stomach.

  Finally, a large gleaming platter was placed on their head table. The Baron stood, wielding a long carving knife. It looked wickedly sharp. “I trust no-one will mind if I do the honours?” When neither he nor Raven objected, he began sawing slices from the joint. Up close, there was something about the soft, pink meat that Cole found unnerving.

  “Is this pork?” he asked, as the Baron placed a thick, steaming slice onto his plate. “I didn’t see any pigs outside in the village.”

  “The forest provides,” the Baron replied with a grin.

  As their host turned to the joint once again to carve for Raven, Cole cut a piece from his own slice and dropped it into Grume’s pouch. Almost immediately, the sounds of happy chewing began to emanate from within. Raven looked at him sharply, and silently mouthed four words: “Don’t eat the meat.”

  The Baron made no sign that he had noticed. After laying another slice of meat onto Raven’s plate, he placed the carving knife onto the serving platter, and sat down. Raven eyed the long blade intently, but made no movement towards it. “Are you not eating with us, Baron?”

  “Of course! What kind of host would I be if I simply sat and watched my guests eat their fill?” He snapped his fingers, and again a liveried servant appeared behind him, this time holding a covered silver dish. “It is simply that I have very... particular tastes.”

  The servant placed the dish before the Baron. With a flourish, he removed the cover to reveal what lay beneath. Raven cried out. B
efore Cole could even react, she pulled the knife from her sleeve and flung it towards the Baron. It flew end over end, before embedding itself in the wooden chairback less than an inch from their host’s left ear. Cole could only gawp at the dish, his chin hitting his chest the moment the cover was removed. Sitting on a bed of stewed greens was a human hand, the stump bloody where it had been hacked from its wrist. One finger still wore a silver ring, bearing the bow and arrow crest of Hunter’s Watch. Harri’s ring.

  The same instant the knife thudded into the wood, the Baron flung up an arm and traced a complex shape in the air with one finger. A second later, Cole felt his arms pinned to his sides. He fought against the invisible force, but it easily overpowered him. Evidently Raven had been affected by the same enchantment, as she struggled vainly opposite him. Whatever sorcery the Baron had used to hold them, it had not affected her mouth, however. She was screaming obscenities at him. “You son of a bitch! What have you done to him?”

  “Now, now,” the Baron chided her. “There’s no call for language like that. It is not proper for a guest to insult their host.” He grinned savagely, and this time there was no doubting it. The canines in particular were markedly longer than they had been before, and sharpened to wicked points. “I can reassure you, you will be reunited with your hunter friend before long. Yes,” he added, seeing her startled expression, “I am fully aware of what he is. And who he is.” He tapped the silver ring with a fingertip, the nail of which was now curved like a claw.

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll kill you,” she hissed. “The last thing you see will be my face as I cut out your heart. I swear it.”

  The Baron looked momentarily taken aback. Then his expression of surprise was replaced by an arrogant sneer. “That would be quite some trick, hatabi, one almost worth seeing. However, I would prefer to eat my supper in peace now, I think.” With that, he traced another shape in the air, and Raven’s jaw shut with a snap. He held her venomous gaze as he reached out and plucked the severed hand from the dish. With a sharp jerk, he snapped off a finger, much as one would break off a leg from a boiled crab, and popped it into his mouth.