The Raven Tower

by Emma Miles

  She waited, her heart beating hard and her ears straining for any reply; all she could hear was the calling of the ravens.

  She raised her voice further. ‘Jorrun, if you don’t reply I am going to come up the stairs!’

  She listened again, trying not to let her fear grow for the consequences of entering the forbidden tower. Perhaps she should wait for Tantony, but then she would be getting the Merkis in trouble too. She bit her lip and stepped up onto the first stair.

  ‘I’m coming up!’

  Keeping a hand against the wall she ascended the steep stairway until she came to the first door. She knocked lightly, then louder, pressing her ear to the old wood to listen for a response. She tried the handle, and the door swung inward. There was no window in this room, but she could make out shelves full of books from floor to ceiling all around the curving walls. In the centre of the room were several wooden chests. As tempted as she was to look inside she didn’t dare and retreated out to the stairs. She went on to the next door and again knocked before going in. The room was similar to the first but for a small slit window that let in a shaft of light. Dust danced like glittering mayflies in the draft of the door opening. She closed the door at once and went on.

  The next room was different. Again, it had only one slit window that left much in shadow, but the shelves were not full of books but with jars and bottles. There were also several cabinets with hundreds of small drawers set in them. There was a mixture of strong scents, both pleasant and acrid, and she found herself holding her breath. This must be where Jorrun kept the supplies he’d spoken of. She went back to the stairs and looked up; it was lighter, and she could feel a gentle breeze against her face. The sound of the ravens was louder.

  ‘Jorrun? Jorrun!’ She waited, hearing the pulsing of her blood in her ears. ‘I’m going to come up!’

  She had no idea what to expect in the last room of the tower, in the impermissible place that Jorrun spent all his hours. She crept forward, and the last door stood open. A shadow moved, and she blinked. Someone was there!

  She drew her dagger and crouched as she reached the doorway and looked within.

  A thin red carpet covered the floor and a large polished table took up much of the space. It was cluttered with books and scrolls as well as several statuettes of both wood and stone. To either side of the door and between the windows were more bookcases and a small bed rested beneath one open window. A candlestick stood empty on the windowsill, the wax frozen in drips that hung from stick to stone. The fireplace held nothing but cold ash. For a moment she thought the room was empty but then she saw the body between the table and the bed.

  ‘Jorrun!’ She sprang forward and rounded the table. She could see no blood but there was also no sign of his chest rising or falling. His eyes were closed and his skin paler than a man of Elden’s. She knelt and felt for a pulse at his throat.

  For a moment she thought there was nothing, but then the movement of blood tickled her fingertips. She let out the air she’d been holding in her lungs.

  She heard footsteps in the stairway and Tantony’s voice muttering, ‘I’m going to be strung from the gallows for this. Jorrun? Kesta!’

  ‘Here, Tantony! Help me!’

  The scuffing steps turned to a run and Tantony appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t see any injuries.’ She looked around. ‘I thought someone else was here, but I must have been mistaken.’

  ‘Let’s get him up on the bed,’ Tantony suggested.

  Kesta nodded and took his legs. They lay him on the bed and Kesta took off his boots before covering him with a blanket. ‘Can you get the fire going please? His skin is so cold.’ She looked around and spotting a jug of water she poured some into a cup. She sat carefully on the bed, holding the cup between her knees and dipping her fingers into the water. She let the drips fall onto his lips, but he didn’t respond. She carefully forced his mouth open and let the water drip onto his tongue. Eventually he swallowed but otherwise didn’t stir.

  ‘What do you think?’ Tantony asked anxiously as he stood up from the fire.

  Kesta frowned. ‘He is cold rather than feverish, so I don’t think it’s an infection. There are no obvious wounds or injuries to his head otherwise I’d have suspected blood loss or concussion.’ She pinched the skin below his eye. ‘He is dehydrated but he could have been lying here a while and I get the impression he doesn’t really look after himself. This could, of course, be related to his magic; I wouldn’t know where to start with that.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  Kesta sighed. ‘What we can, for now. We’ll get him warm and see if we can get something nourishing inside him. Can you please ask Catya to go to the kitchens and have a broth made with plenty of garlic in it in case there is some infection? She should leave it on the table inside the door as usual. You and Rosa get well away from the tower; as far as we are concerned, you never set foot in here.’

  ‘Bu—’

  ‘No, Tantony, you mustn’t take any blame for disobeying Jorrun’s rule; I’ll take full responsibility.’

  Tantony shook his head but she could feel the mixture of relief and guilt pulsing from him.

  ‘Tantony, he doesn’t need to be dealing with both of us betraying him – even if we know we had to. Let him trust you still.’

  ‘Although that is now ill-earned.’

  ‘Not really. I don’t think we have done anything wrong, but he will. Let’s just say nothing more. I’ll let you know when I can that he’s awake.’

  Tantony nodded reluctantly and went to give instruction to Rosa and Catya.

  Kesta carefully placed her palm against his forehead; he was still cold but there was no clamminess. She touched his dark hair with the tips of her fingers. It was soft. She bit her lip, forcing herself to move her hand away and go back dripping water into his mouth. She took her time studying his face although her heart beat quickly with the fear that he might open his eyes and catch her doing so at any moment. Holding her breath as she touched his bottom lip with the tip of one finger. She jumped as the fire flared up; but it quickly settled, and she gave a snort of a laugh at her own foolishness. After a while she went down to get the food tray. There was bread there, cheese, nuts, and an apple. She ate the apple and put the rest on the windowsill. It wasn’t long before the ravens arrived in twos and threes to eat it. She tried to impress on them all that if anything like this happened again, they must come and find her.

  Jorrun stirred, and she hurried over to him, almost tripping over a wide, flat bowl that lay on the carpet. His eyes fluttered momentarily, but he didn’t wake. She heard the door bang closed far below and went down to find that Catya had left another tray. As well as the broth she’d requested, the girl had also left her a small bladder of wine, some herbs for tea, some of her favourite thyme bread, goat cheese, and olives. She smiled to herself; Catya really was going to be a great student for her. If only the girl had been an apprentice walker.

  Carefully balancing the tray, she made her way back up and, propping Jorrun’s head up on a pillow and her lap, she began spoon feeding him a little of the broth. Each time she checked that he swallowed before trying a little more. His breathing had become more obvious, and she was pleased at how regular it seemed. She checked his pulse and then carefully moved off the bed and settled his head on the pillow. She sat cross-legged on the floor with her back to the bed and nibbled at her food. Eventually she dozed.

  She woke with a start; she’d heard voices. She turned with her hand on her dagger and drew in a sharp breath when she saw Jorrun sitting up on the bed against the wall beneath the window. He was watching her. She scrambled to her feet and perched on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Jorrun! How do you feel? Are you well?’

  ‘I am. You disobeyed me.’

  ‘You were in trouble. What was I supposed to do, leave you up here alone to die?’

  He sighed. He looked exhausted. He had looked that way
more often than not. In the dim light his eyes looked darker and less threatening, almost green.

  ‘Who else has been in the Tower?’ he asked.

  ‘No one else,’ she replied.

  Faster than a hawk he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm. ‘Who?’

  ‘No one!’ she cried out, trying to pull free. He increased the pressure on her wrist and she stopped fighting and instead tried to push her pain back at him. Like her knowing, something in him seemed to block her transference magic. ‘It was just me!’

  ‘And Tantony.’

  Had he been awake? Had he seen and heard them?

  ‘It was just me,’ she said again, crying out despite herself as the pain increased. ‘You can trust Tantony.’

  ‘But I can’t trust you?’

  ‘Of course, you can! You can trust me to do what is right.’

  He let her go, and she stood up quickly to nurse her reddened wrist. She glared at him, breathing fast, her hands shaking. ‘What happened to you?’

  He pulled himself up straighter and the effort seemed to cost him. Despite how angry she was with him she picked up a cup and poured him some wine.

  ‘You have your dagger with you,’ he said as he took the wine. ‘Why did you not defend yourself with it when your magic didn’t work?’

  ‘You were hurting me, not killing me.’

  ‘You didn’t look around the tower while you were here.’

  ‘I didn’t come here to see the tower, I came here to help you.’

  ‘As did Tantony.’

  She opened her mouth to protest but stopped at his sudden smile.

  ‘I know Tantony was here.’ His smile turned to a grimace as he sipped the sharp wine. ‘I also know that you didn’t pry but were only interested in helping me. I know I can trust the two of you and I’m glad you were willing to protect him. Still, it’s not good that you entered the tower.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bother again.’

  ‘Not even if I invite you?’

  She sat slowly on the very edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on his. ‘Has the king said you can tell me everything?’

  ‘He told me I could tell you what I must. Of course, that’s open to some interpretation from me.’ They watched each other for a moment before he went on. ‘My … ‘illness’ … was a result of me disobeying the king. I told you that I am a dream-walker; I hoped that I might find something in the minds of our enemies to tell me their plans. Dream-walking has similar dangers to fire-walking. You can become lost and exhausted; you can even be trapped.’

  ‘You were trapped?’

  ‘No; I was just a fool and underestimated how much power I had already used. I was … I hoped I might get us enough answers, so I didn’t have to send Osun into the danger the king ordered. As you see, I failed.’

  ‘I managed to walk and saw that the ships have left Chem; I know that doesn’t help muc—’

  ‘It helps.’ He reached out and fleetingly touched her hand. ‘Would you excuse me please, Kesta, I really need to sleep.’

  ‘Of course.’ She jumped up. ‘I’ll come back later with some proper food for yo—’

  ‘No! Don’t come back into the tower unless I’ve invited you. Leave the tray downstairs please.’

  ‘You are in no state to be going up and down those stairs,’ she said sternly. ‘I’ll fetch the food straight away and bring it up. After that I’ll abide by your rules. If you want me to come up leave a lantern or candle in the window opposite mine. When there is no candle lit I won’t come up unless the ravens tell me it’s an emergency.’

  ‘The ravens?’

  ‘Yes, the ravens.’

  ‘Very well.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose that’s acceptable.’

  ‘Right; I’ll be back shortly.’

  ‘Kesta.’ He stopped her. ‘Do me a small favour and replace the candle there on the windowsill.’ He smiled, and she found herself returning a grin. She picked up a fresh candle, lit it with a taper she found above the fireplace, and placed it in the holder on the sill. Jorrun had already lain back down on the bed and closed his eyes before she left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Osun: Covenet of Chem

  Osun looked both ways before stepping out of the narrow ally and heading back toward the main street and the temple. His morning had yielded frustratingly little, both in terms of profit and information. Taxes had indeed been set high in the market and the trade monitors patrolled it with seemingly gleeful malice, demanding to see the books of anyone they took a dislike to. He’d decided against setting up a stall and instead had chosen a few small, but valuable items to sell. He’d been stopped twice to have them inspected. He was glad to have found buyers early and had been able to get away in plenty of time to meet Farkle. Lunch had been pleasant enough, but Osun couldn’t help being distracted. He was already regretting staying at the Sunset Inn, if he moved to another inn it would look he didn’t have the money which would hurt his pride, but he was already resenting the loss of his savings. He could, of course, go on his way and head to Arkoom, but the idea terrified him. He needed to find another way to get the information his master needed, here, in Margith.

  He found himself standing opposite the palace of Margith Coven, looking at the hard iron gates. Red-armoured guards stood motionless glowering out at the black paved street. If he was a braver man, he could have tried to ingratiate himself somehow with Adelphy Dunham and find out everything he needed. His hand went unconsciously to his jaw. Would Adelphy recognise him as the boy he’d kicked in the face all those years ago? Probably not, but it was possible he would see the Dunham features stamped in his bones.

  He realised he’d been staring for some time and with a start turned toward the temple. He quelled the desire to hurry. There was a source of information he hadn’t tried yet, it would have to be handled carefully, but it was considerably less dangerous than trying to speak to a Dunham. There was a geranna house near the market and the barracks where the city guards drank. It was rowdy, dirty, and not the sort of place an affluent merchant would frequent but Osun had always taken care to cultivate civility, if not friendship, with the city guards. It was time to see if it would pay off.

  He stopped in the temple to leave a coin with Doranna’s priest and then safely stowed most of his day’s earnings in his wagon in the locked room of the inn. He considered changing his clothing; but decided to be himself rather than risk tripping himself up with too many lies. The market was still busy, and he wove his way through the buyers toward the long street that led to the city barracks. The geranna house was easy to spot from some distance away. Wooden planks over barrels made up tables and benches and off duty guardsmen spilled out across the black cobbles. The sign was painted with the images of a jug and fruit, proclaiming its main produce. Several of the guardsmen paused in their conversation to watch him as he approached. There were a few civilians – probably residents of the street – but not many. The door was ill fitting but swung in easily and Osun lost his composure momentarily in a coughing fit as the smoke hit him.

  A man close to the door laughed at him and spat at the floor.

  ‘You lost, master?’ someone asked in the gloom and more laughter followed.

  ‘Nah, just looking for a decent drink somewhere they don’t dare water it down or charge exorbitant prices.’ Osun tried to grin while blinking at his watering eyes.

  ‘Ha ha, well this is the place.’

  There were a few chuckles, and the room seemed to settle. He made his way around the tables to the bar and squeezed into a space to catch the barman’s attention.

  ‘Spiced or plain?’ The barman was a retired guardsman with a pronounced limp, a crooked nose, and a scar on his chin.

  Osun didn’t particularly like either option; but asking for ale in a geranna house would seem odd. At least the spice would cut through some of the sweetness of the fruit-and-sugar spirit.

  ‘Spiced.’ He nodded.

  The barman filled a long, narrow, horn cup and h
anded it to Osun. Osun placed a coin on his hand and made a slicing motion with his fingers to indicate he didn’t want the change. The barman raised an eyebrow and dropped the coin straight into the pouch at his waist.

  Osun spent four days visiting the geranna house, sipping as much of the spirit he could stomach and still keep some of his wits about him. The barman also served a simple selection of food that clung to the ribs. He picked up bits and pieces of conversation from the guards and from a few warriors and mercenaries that drifted through. The conquering of the Borrows had apparently been brutal. They had taken the largest settlement first, sparing no one but young women with potential bloodlines. A necromancer then animated every viable body with the simple command to obey him and kill all Borrowmen. They went from settlement to settlement, island to island until the Borrows were totally decimated. Had the separate chieftains and tribes come together they might have stood some kind of chance, but they fought only for themselves.

  It was estimated that a few hundred might have escaped by sea, but the Seat of Arkoom didn’t care about them. They had a huge supply of undead warriors and an armada to carry them across the sea.

  From two warriors who had headed up from the coast to escort prisoners he heard something very interesting indeed. They seemed to believe that the first Chemman attack on the Fulmers had been unsanctioned. Argen Dunham had heard that Relta had been trusted with the task of attacking the Icante’s stronghold and conquering it if possible; or at the least taking as many walker prisoners as he could. Seeing an opportunity to strengthen his own Seat and power, Argen had set off to beat him to the Fulmers. News that there was division and rivalry within the Dunhams – even though Argen himself was now dead – would be very useful to Osun’s master indeed.

  ‘Is that you, Oswan?’

  He looked up from his musing and saw one of the guards who regularly had gate duty making his way across to the bar.