Songs of the Dark

by Anthony Ryan

After a distance of close to a hundred paces the ledge came to an abrupt end where it met a huge curving outcrop of rock. Where the ledge joined the outcrop lay a single, steel-clad corpse. It wore the rusted armour of a Renfaelin knight, the flesh long since faded from the bones to leave a curiously clean skull. It stared up at Sollis as he came to a halt, its bared teeth conveying a distinct sense of mockery.

  “At least one of Morvil’s men made it out, it seems,” Elera observed.

  “He was wounded,” Sollis said, noting the withered remnants of an arrow lying close to the fallen knight’s gorget. He set Verkehla down, the shaman groaning as he propped her against the cliff.

  “There must have been others,” Elera went on, glancing around at the walls of granite. “Perhaps they climbed out.”

  Or got tired of starving and jumped, Smentil signed. He scanned the cliff above with an expert eye before turning to Sollis with a grim shake of his head. No handholds.

  A strange groaning sound drew Sollis’s gaze back to the far end of the ledge and the small dark opening of the tunnel. It took him a moment to recognise it as the massed breath of many beasts in a confined place.

  “There must be some way,” Elera insisted, sinking to her knees and peering over the lip of the ledge. “If they couldn’t climb up, perhaps they…” She trailed off, then a moment later voiced a soft, surprised “Oh!”

  “What is it?” Sollis asked, moving to crouch at her side in the hope she might have discovered some means of navigating the cliff. Instead he found her staring at a cluster of small plants growing from a patch of moss covered rock a few feet down. Plants with narrow stems from which sprouted four, pale white flowers.

  “Jaden’s Weed,” Elera said, voice both sad and joyful. She reached out a hand, lowering herself further over the edge.

  “I think we have more pressing concerns, sister,” Sollis told her, reaching out to ease her back.

  Feeling an insistent pat on his shoulder he turned, finding Smentil sinking into a crouch, bow aimed at the beasts now emerging from the tunnel. The apes came first, streaming out of the hole in a dense mass at least thirty strong, spreading out to scale the cliff above and below. They seemed immune to falling, their claws making effortless purchase on the stone. The cats came next, far fewer in number but showing similar agility. Lynx and snow-daggers seemed to bound across the rock. Of the wolves Sollis could see no sign, making him wonder if they had all perished at the hands of the Banished Blades.

  Smentil’s bow thrummed, Sollis seeing a large male ape slip lifeless from the cliff-face, dislodging two of his companions as he tumbled into the depths. Smentil’s next shaft took down a snow-dagger, his third another ape, then his string fell silent. He gave Sollis a helpless shrug, gesturing at his empty quiver before setting the bow aside and drawing his sword. Sollis followed suit, moving to stand in front of his brother and pausing to cast an urgent glare at Elera.

  “Do you have any Black Eye left?” he asked.

  “A little. But what good will it..?” She fell silent as he switched his gaze to the children. They sat huddled together at the end of the ledge, faces pale though lacking in tears. It occurred to Sollis that he had seen neither of them cry during this whole sorry episode.

  “I don’t know why she wants them,” he said. “But I know it will be a kinder end.”

  Elera’s features seemed to drain of colour and expression as she stared back at him. In anger or grim resolve he couldn’t tell. “Very well,” she said in a harsh whisper, reaching for her pack.

  Sollis turned back to the approaching beasts, finding the nearest ape no more than ten yards off. He was reaching for a throwing knife when the beast came to a sudden, frozen halt. The stillness quickly spread to the rest of the horde. Every ape and cat stopping to hang from the rock, breath misting the air as they stared at their prey, eyes empty of either hunger or rage.

  “Such perfect soldiers they make,” a voice said, echoing from the tunnel mouth. The woman emerged into the light in a crouch, straightening to move along the ledge with a somewhat unsteady gait, reminding Sollis of a drunken lush seeking to convince others of her sobriety. Her features were even more emaciated now, streaked by blood that rendered them into something from a nightmare.

  She bleeds like Verkehla, Sollis realised. These gifts extract a heavy price it seems.

  “No grumbling, no lust for loot or rapine,” the woman continued as she approached. “No wayward thoughts or dreams of past lives to trouble my hold on them.” She came to a halt twenty yards away. Too far for an accurate knife throw. “Would that it was always so easy.”

  She angled her head to survey them, baring reddened teeth in an awful smile as her gaze alighted on the children. Sollis saw her lips twitch in anticipation when her eyes tracked to Verkehla.

  “Not yet dead,” she said with a wistful sigh. “I thought I felt a spark still fluttering away.”

  To Sollis’s surprise Verkehla let out a harsh, half-choked laugh. “Such a fool,” she said, shaking her head as she climbed to her feet. She sagged against the stone and Smentil reached out to help her up, drawing a faint smile of gratitude. She leaned heavily against the cliff as she moved to Sollis’s side, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Baroness Yanna Forvil,” she said. “You’ll find her in a holdfast near the north Renfaelin coast. If she still lives, I should like her to know I never blamed her, never hated her for what she did.”

  Sollis reached out to steady her as she swayed but she shook her head, face drawn in pain as she clawed her way along the ledge to confront the woman. “The wolf already took what you came for,” she told her. Sollis took note of how she leaned against the cliff, both hands flat against the stone. “The child is far beyond your reach now.”

  The grin disappeared from the woman’s face as her gaze, fiercely inquisitive now, switched back to the children.

  “Just bait,” Verkehla told her, laughing again. “And how willingly you stuck your leg into the snare. All the years you have infested this world, and still you retain no more wit than the beasts you command.”

  The woman let out a snarl every bit as bestial as anything uttered by one of her beasts. The horde instantly resumed its charge, apes and cats swarming across the stone.

  “Water,” Sollis heard Verkehla say and saw that she was smiling at him, fresh blood streaming from her nose and eyes. “It’s in everything, brother. The air, the earth, even the mountains…”

  He felt it then, a deep tremble in the stone beneath his boots. “Back!” he told Smentil, pushing his brother towards the far end of the ledge. A huge, thunderous crack sounded and he whirled, seeing a fissure open in the cliff where Verkehla had placed her hands. Fragments of stone flew as the crack extended along the length of the cliff, sending several beasts tumbling into the canyon. He saw the woman charging along the ledge, a short sword in her hand and murderous intent on her wasted features as he closed on Verkehla.

  The torrent exploded from the fissure like an axe blade, snatching away the woman and Verkehla with a swift, savage blow. They hurtled into the depths of the canyon, Sollis hearing a final scream of enraged frustration from the woman, but not a sound from the shaman. The water gave a monstrous roar as it continued to pour from the fissure, more cracks snaking through the stone to unleash fresh torrents, sweeping the entire beast horde away in a scant few seconds. It abated after several minutes of fury, leaving them gaping at a misted cliff face shot through with a rainbow as the sun crested the eastern ridge.

  Of the beasts only one remained, an ape perched high above the fissure and staring about in obvious terror and confusion. It let out a plaintive hoot as its eyes roamed the canyon, no doubt searching for vanished pack-mates. Its calls subsided when no answers came and Sollis saw it cast a curious glance in his direction before it climbed to the top of the cliff and hopped from view.

  Sollis rose from the tight crouch he had adopted, looking down to check on the others. Smentil stared about in relieved amazement, as did the children.
Elera’s face, however, betrayed no joy at their deliverance. Instead, clutching her jar of Black Eye with such a depth of shame and guilt on her face that Sollis found it hard to look upon.

  “You didn’t…” he began, moving to the children, staring into their eyes for the encroaching grey mist.

  “No,” Elera said, voice soft with self-reproach. “I couldn’t. I… I am a coward, brother.”

  “Nonsense.” Sollis bent to grasp her elbow, helping her up. “There were no cowards here. Now, let’s see about retrieving your weed.”

  11

  The ledge had been left miraculously intact by the deluge and they made an untroubled journey back to the tunnel and into the Reach. The fortress was littered with the corpses of the Banished Blades and the dozens of beasts they had slain. Of all the souls that had fought in defence of this place only one remained alive.

  Red Ears sat atop the corpse of the snow-dagger she had killed, letting out a soft huff of welcome as Sollis approached to rub a hand over her bloody snout. Her pelt bore numerous scars but nothing he fancied would leave lasting injury. He glanced up at a touch from Smentil, finding him pointing to a trio of Lonak ponies near the west-facing wall. Having somehow survived the carnage, they stood shivering in distress but otherwise unharmed.

  At least we won’t be walking home, Smentil signed.

  * * *

  Night was falling when they drew within a mile of the Lonak settlement. Torches blazed all along on the defensive wall, indicating a continued sense of insecurity amongst the inhabitants. The torches also convinced Sollis it would be highly unwise to venture any closer.

  “Are you sure they’ll take them in?” Elera asked as Sollis lifted the children from the back of her pony.

  “It’s a Grey Hawk settlement,” he said. “No clan ever turns away its own blood.”

  “But without parents who will care for them?”

  “All Lonak are parents to the children of their clan. Their ways are not ours, sister.”

  “My Order has many orphanages. Places where they will be cared for, educated…”

  “Also shunned and hated.”

  Sollis sank to his haunches in front of the children, taking the Lonak war banner from where it hung on his belt and holding it out to the boy. “If the banner never falls, neither do the Stone Crushers,” he said in Lonak.

  The boy looked briefly at the banner before pushing it away. “He wasn’t really our blood-grandfather,” he said. “Just a braggart with no living kin. He only claimed us so the Varnish wouldn’t kill him for his cowardice.”

  He cast a scowling glare at each of them in turn, small mouth twisting as he spoke the words, “Merim Her!” The boy spat on the ground before taking hold of his sister’s hand and dragging her towards the settlement. The girl looked back only once at Elera, a very small smile of what might have been gratitude on her face. Then they were lost to the gloom, two small shadows hurrying towards refuge.

  * * *

  Sollis followed as short a route as possible to the pass. He didn’t know if they still enjoyed the Mahlessa’s protection and was keen to escape the mountains before word spread amongst the clans that the Grey Eyed Fox now travelled their dominion virtually unprotected.

  They reached the pass after three days hard riding, dismounting in front of the outer gate and setting the ponies loose. Once inside Sollis and Elera gave a fulsome account of their mission to Brother Commander Arlyn who listened in silence throughout. Sollis had expected some questions or even doubt when they came to describe what had undoubtedly been use of the Dark, but Arlyn’s reaction had been only a half-raised eyebrow. When they were done he nodded, offering one of his meagre smiles.

  “My thanks to you, brother and sister,” he said. “Your report is duly noted.”

  Sollis found himself blinking in surprise. “The woman, brother,” he said. “It was clear to me she acted as part of a larger design. We must warn the other Orders, pass word to the king…”

  “As I said, brother,” Arlyn broke in, his voice possessed of an uncharacteristically hard tone within which lay a clear command to silence. “Your report has been noted.”

  Arlyn used a long fingered hand to lift a length of inscribed parchment from his desk, his tone softening to genuine sorrow. “Sadly, it seems I have grim news to share.”

  “The Red Hand?” Elera said. “Has it spread?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Arlyn replied. “This pertains to another matter. Aspect Andril has succumbed to age and illness. Our senior brothers have called me to the Conclave. They wish me to submit myself for confirmation as Aspect of the Sixth Order.”

  “There can be no better choice,” Sollis said.

  Arlyn gave a slight incline of his head. “We shall see. It is ultimately for the Conclave to decide. In one week I shall return to Varinshold. During my absence you will be Brother Commander of the Skellan Pass.”

  “As you wish, brother.”

  “As to your remarkable story,” Arlyn went on, rising and moving to the narrow window behind his desk. “My many years in service to the Faith have left me of the opinion that such things are best left to the shadows. There will be no written account of your journey and I require that you speak no word of it to another soul without my explicit command.”

  He only gave a vague nod as Sollis and Elera spoke their agreement, the corners of his thin lipped mouth turning up a little as he gazed out at the walls of the pass. “I believe I might actually miss this place.”

  * * *

  “You’re sure you’ll be able to find it?”

  “The holdfast of Baron Forvil near the north Renfaelin coast.” Elera tightened a strap on her mount’s saddle, one of the more placid Order mounts from the stables. “I doubt it will be hard to locate, brother.”

  “Thank you. I would go myself but…”

  “The Faith requires that you stay here and fulfil your duties. I know.” She ran a hand over her saddlebags, frowning. “Brother Oskin gave his life for a weed. A cure to a disease that may never trouble this Realm again.”

  “It will ease his soul in the Beyond to know that at least now we can defend against it should we need to.”

  “It could take years to develop a cure, and perhaps sharper minds than my own. But yes, at least now we have a chance.” She turned to him, her frown deepening to sad reflection. “A battle fought. Great courage shown. All those people lost. And the tale will never be told.”

  “The Lonak will tell it,” he assured her. “When the night grows dark and they gather at their fires. They will speak of the Varnish Dervakhim who redeemed themselves in the eyes of the gods. And the shaman who led them and died to honour the word from the Mountain.”

  “And us? Do you think they’ll speak of us?”

  “They will.” Sollis thought of the Lonak boy’s final, sneering farewell. “But not well.”

  She laughed a little, but sobered quickly. “What was it? That thing?”

  “I wish I had some notion, sister. Perhaps it was something that defies our understanding. But I doubt this world has seen the last of it.”

  She reached out to clasp his hand, her grip strong with certainty. “Something stirs, brother,” she said. “Something Dark and terrible. We will be needed. All other needs, or wants, must be set aside.”

  She met his gaze for a brief second, her eyes a brighter shade of blue than he had seen before, and Sollis realised they were close to tears.

  “Oh well,” she said before he could respond. She released his hand and turned to climb into the saddle. “Best be off. Be sure to say goodbye to Brother Smentil for me, and your dog, of course.”

  With that she spurred her mount to a trot and rode through the southern gate. Although he tried to resist the impulse, Sollis found himself climbing the steps to the battlement. Looking to the south he spied a small grey figure amidst the heather clad slopes, riding with practised ease, keeping her gaze firmly on the trail ahead. Somehow, in a small, rarely explored corner of his
heart, Sollis knew she badly wanted to turn around as much as he wanted to go after her.

  * * *

  END

  Author’s Note

  I’ve loved spy stories since catching my first glimpse of Sean Connery as James Bond on television when I was too young to understand such concepts as ‘self-hating alcoholic’ or ‘rampant misogyny.’ A more nuanced appreciation for the genre came in early adolescence with the excellent TV adaptation of John Le Carre’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I found myself immediately fascinated by this cold war shadow-world where characters spoke in deliberately cryptic riddles, truth was a malleable concept and betrayal a constant threat. Later, I would discover the morally ambiguous delights of Len Deighton’s Bernard Samson novels, the adrenalized action hit found in the techno-thrillers of Tom Clancy and the compelling, race-against-time adventures of Jack Bauer in 24. It was therefore something of an inevitability that the Raven’s Shadow books would feature a shadow-world of their own, a place of assassins, codes and secrets where nothing and no-one can be trusted. In Blood Song the principal representative of this world came in the form of Derla, later to re-emerge under a different name in Tower Lord. I had included a few sketchy details of her past and how she came to find herself recruited into the intelligence network of King Janus, but she remained something of a cypher, as befits a spy. Upon receiving an invitation to contribute a novella to Grim Dark Magazine I had the opportunity for a more fulsome exploration of Derla’s past, as well as throwing more light on how she came to meet a Cumbraelin noble with a talent for Warrior’s Bluff and an excessive fondness for wine. I’m sure many will also be quick to recognise cameos from a familiar pair of bumbling thugs, a one-eyed crime lord and a certain urchin with a temper.

  The Lady of Crows