The Raven Tower

by Emma Miles

  She didn’t miss the ripple of uncertainty. Nineteen of them and a fire-spirit against a necromancer and twenty-eight abominations. ‘We can do this,’ she hissed, showing her teeth. She threw her courage and determination into her knowing and Larissa and Everlyn echoed it.

  Arrus let out a roar, and he set out into the black night with his sword drawn, the others close in his heels.

  ***

  As night set in and no moon showed its face they were forced to slow their pace to avoid any foolish falls. Doraquael kept his light as dark a blue as he could although Dia sensed that to do so used a huge amount of energy. They found the necromancer’s abandoned camp, and the twins guessed that they’d gained an hour on them. She felt every touch of the earth as her feet hit it, as her heart beat, eating up the distance between her and her foe. Her breathing became the rhythm of the Fulmers, those that ran beside her the guardian spirits of the islands; even the strangers from Elden. They reached the forest and weaved through it as though the trees had opened up the way. Earth, air, fire, water, and spirit; she sensed them reaching out to her to lend their strength against this sorcerer of blood.

  ‘Hold!’ Heara stopped abruptly. The scout didn’t so much as breathe as she searched with ears and eyes. Dia saw her friend’s nostrils flare. She made a quick motion with her hand, demanding that they all stay where they were. Shaherra stepped up to take her sister’s place as the scout disappeared.

  They waited breathlessly. Doraquael made himself small. Dia could feel Arrus shifting his feet at her side.

  Heara was beside them so suddenly Dia gasped.

  ‘They’re just ahead.’ The scout spoke close to Dia’s ear so that the others had to strain to hear. ‘They’ve taken up position in an abandoned village. The dead stand completely still out on the road.’

  Dia felt dizzy with both anxiety and excitement. They had him. Could they defeat him?

  ‘Icante?’ Arrus prompted.

  She spun around to address them all. ‘We know the dead can be destroyed by fire. They can also be incapacitated by taking out their legs. I need you all to cut me a path to the necromancer. Larissa, Everlyn, Heara, Shaherra, stay close to me. Doraquael, burn as many as you can. The undead may be people that you knew, but it’s no longer them. Don’t think of them as human, they are monsters now, you will be doing them a mercy to end them.’ She took in a breath and drew her dagger, looking everyone in the eye, Arrus last of all. ‘For the stolen lives of Fulmer.’

  The twins both drew a short sword and dagger and with a nod from their Icante led the last creeping distance toward the village. The smell hit them before the first unnatural shapes resolved themselves in to the gently swaying forms of the dead islanders. Doraquael was the first to reach them, increasing in size to engulf one of the creatures. The twins leapt, both hitting one full in the chest and severing the heads with sword and dagger. Arrus smashed a knee with his sword and then also took off a head, spattering those behind him with gore. Dia called up wind, blowing in the door to the cottage in which the necromancer had taken shelter. An answering blast of air sent the windows and the door hurtling outward in shards and Dia raised her arm to shield her face. Heara managed to roll behind her falling undead to use it as a shield. Shaherra cried out as wooden splinters speared her left arm and side. Doroquael sent up a wall of flame that protected most of the others but Dia and the other walkers were thrown to the ground.

  The undead awoke from their stupor and the speed with which they turned to attack was shocking. Heara screamed as the body she lay beneath grabbed her and began to squeeze the air from her lungs, she heard the crack of a rib. It was Vilnue that hacked through its shoulder, barely missing the scout’s face. He ripped off its arm and pulled Heara out from beneath it.

  Shaherra had run to the walkers and despite her injuries lifted Dia to her feet. Dia was in time to see Doroquael set two more undead alight before darting down through the chimney of the cottage. She called flame to her hands and ducking below the window stopped with her arm against the edge of the door. Bile rose to her throat, and a horrified groan left her as she saw Arrus chop the tiny dead child from shoulder to hip, it continued to try to bite and claw at him until he smashed its skull. Tearing her eyes away she took in a deep breath and span into the cottage, blasting fire out from her hands as she did so. She went to her knees and the two other walkers sent a second wave of fire blazing over her head. Smoke and heat made her eyes water, but she blinked away the tears and, squinting, saw that a table had been tipped in front of the far wall, blistered, smouldering red and black. Cupping her hands together she formed a whirling vortex of air and she threw the table to smash it against the ceiling. The necromancer wasn’t there.

  ‘You missed.’

  The women didn’t have time to turn before the beams above them gave way. Instinctively all three walkers called upon the wind to shield them. Shaherra ran at the necromancer, slashing with her dagger and then following with her short sword. With a gesture of his hand he sent a broken beam shooting toward her to impale her through the chest against the wall where she hung, the light going from her eyes.

  Dia’s insides seemed to turn molten and collapse downward while her feet froze her to the floor. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t loosen her larynx to scream her friend’s name.

  Stones from the chimney erupted outward and Dia was knocked to the floor again as Larissa covered her with her own body. Doroquael flew out, furious at having found himself trapped by a blocked fireplace. Sparks bristled and danced around him while he burnt such a fierce blue he could barely be seen. With a feral grin the necromancer took a small box from his pocket and placed his fingers on the catch to open it.

  Dia pushed herself to her feet and used her magic to tear the box from his grasp. He barely shielded in time as Doraquael, Larissa, and Everlyn all blasted him with scorching heat. Surrounding herself with a shield of air Dia ran through the conflagration straight at the Chemman, he didn’t see her through the fire until her dagger plunged into his heart. She snarled against his cheek as he slipped to the ground.

  ‘Dia, come on!’ Larissa urged as the remainder of the roof creaked and slipped a little.

  She turned to look at Shaherra, at her muscles gone slack and her eyes grown empty. A ball of pain flared larger in her chest.

  ‘Tyranell!’ Doraquael almost wailed.

  Dia dropped to her knees, behind her Larissa gave a grunt as she strained to keep the roof up. She felt something large and hard within the folds of the man’s coat and fumbling for the pocket pulled out a second small box.

  ‘That’sss it! Come on!’

  They ran for the door, Everlyn bumping into Heara and Merkis Vilnue. The scout looked at their faces and froze.

  Behind them Arrus and the warriors were standing catching their breath, gazing about themselves at the fallen undead.

  ‘Shaherra?’ Heara’s voice came out in a choked whisper.

  Dia threw her arms around her friend.

  * * *

  Dia cradled the open box in her lap, staring without seeing the strange runes within. They were dark brown in colour and she guessed that they’d been written in blood. She tossed it into the fire. The process of contacting the families of the dead and arranging burials had been taken over by Larissa; the thought crossed her mind that the younger woman might be a good choice to succeed her as Icante.

  ‘Kesta is coming home,’ she told the fireplace.

  As reluctant as she was to leave the room and face taking up her mantle of Icante, it was Heara that she had to admit she was avoiding. She couldn’t bear to see and feel her best friend in so much pain. She was being a coward, and she knew it. They’d beaten back the necromancers of Chem again, but she couldn’t help but think that the price had been too high. And just to make matters worse they’d managed it so far without the help of the Eldemen. If they’d put Kesta through the ordeal of marriage to that sorcerer for nothing it would be too bitter to take.

  She called
out to the empty room. ‘Doroquael?’

  The fire stirred and sparked.

  ‘Icante?’

  ‘Come on out.’ She sighed. ‘Your friend, Tyranell, he is all right?’

  ‘Yesss. Thank you for freeing him.’

  Dia shook her head. ‘You saved many of my people yesterday. Siphenna … Siphenna would have believed that worth her sacrifice. Is there any word from the other spirits?’

  ‘They search sstill for the main Shem fleet.’

  She sighed. ‘I should go and see Heara.’

  ‘You sshould,’ Doraquael buzzed. ‘Family and friends are presscious.’

  ‘They are, spirit.’

  She stood up and, leaving the sanctuary of her room, went to find Heara. She knocked at the door of the room she’d been given and was startled when Merkis Vilnue opened the door. She was about to apologise when he smiled and murmured, ‘I’ll leave you both too it.’

  She watched him leave and then closing the door behind her went to sit beside her friend on the bed. ‘I should have been here sooner,’ she apologised.

  Heara shook her head. ‘You had your own grieving to do.’

  Dia stopped fighting against herself and let go, she held her friend and let her cry into her shoulder as her own tears pushed up from her tightening chest. Heara was such a seemingly indestructible woman her shaking body and loud sobs were incredibly hard to bear. Her strong fingers clutched desperately at Dia with bruising force and her wordless keening hurt her soul. She felt hot and exhausted, her heart labouring as though she had a fever.

  Heara sniffed loudly, wiping at her nose. ‘How do I go on without half of myself?’

  Dia swallowed, her throat painfully constricted. ‘You go on for her. You go on because you deserve to live still. You go on because there are people here who love you and need you. You go on because you have purpose yet to discover.’

  ‘Why her? She was so strong, so full of life.’

  ‘You know that death has no sense of fairness, my darling.’ She stroked Heara’s long hair.

  ‘I wish that I had been the one to kill the necromancer.’

  ‘I fear you might get the chance to kill one yet.’

  Heara sat up. ‘There are more on the Islands?’

  ‘No, I hope to the Spirits not. There is a fleet of Chemmen still out there somewhere though. We’ll see to our dead tomorrow and then head back to Fulmer Hold to plan what to do next.’

  ‘Can we take Shaherra back to our hold?’

  ‘Of course.’ Dia let go of her friend and moved to the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve neglected my duties and should go and face the hold. You’ll be all right?’

  ‘I don’t think I will ever feel all right again,’ Heara admitted. ‘But I will survive it, no matter how much it hurts.’

  Dia nodded. ‘Oh! And what’s this with Merkis Vilnue?’

  Heara gave a low chuckle. ‘He gave me the comfort I needed.’

  ‘Don’t forget Eldemen have different ways than our island men,’ she warned.

  ‘He is still a man,’ Heara grinned. ‘And Larissa has such beautiful red hair. Perhaps I could have a red-haired daughter.’

  ‘Heara!’ Dia punched her friend in the arm. Then she kissed her cheek. As long as it helped her friend then there was no harm. ‘The day after tomorrow we go back to Fulmer Hold.’

  * * *

  Worvig had done a good job of settling the Eldemen in her absence and both of their warships were out patrolling the sea around the islands. The loss of the seemingly indestructible Shaherra hit the hold hard and the celebrations of their victory were somewhat subdued. Dia did her best to keep a smile on her face but she had to leave it to Arrus and Worvig to stir their spirits.

  ‘Dia!’

  She started, unsure if she’d really heard the whisper. She looked around, but no one seemed to be looking at her or trying to attract her attention.

  ‘Icante!’

  Her eyes widened as she recognised the sibilant voice and moved closer to the fire in the centre of the hall over which their feast was being cooked.

  ‘Arrus!’ she commanded, straightening and hurrying to her own room. She used her magic to light a candle and Doroquael sprang out of it at the same time as Arrus stumbled through the doorway behind her.

  ‘Newss from Elden!’ The spirit darted about their heads. ‘Mantu was attacked lasst night. The Shem fleet is there, and they are overrun. Thane Jorrun is captured in his dreamss. Elden iss in trouble!’

  Dia’s first thought was relief that the Chemman fleet had not come to the Fulmers after all. Then the magnitude of the fire-spirit’s words sank in and she sat down on the edge of the table.

  ‘What do we do?’ Arrus’s fists were clenched.

  Dia regarded him and the fire-spirit. ‘Call Merkis Vilnue in here, he must hear the news. We will send a letter at once to King Bractius and tell him we’re returning his ships and men to him. We will also offer to meet with him in Taurmaline to discuss the possibility of sending him more walkers to fight the necromancers.’

  Arrus opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him with a glare. ‘If Elden is overrun, then there’ll be nothing we can do to stop the Chemmen taking the islands. We cannot stay out of this fight. Not if we want to survive.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jorrun: Kingdom of Elden

  He leant against the window, his forehead pressed to the cold glass and his smile grew. The weight that had been pressing hard against his lungs lifted and pins and needles prickled at his heart as it was freed momentarily from his fears. It was so good seeing Catya so carefree and actually having fun; the change in the girl since Kesta had arrived was amazing. His smile faded a little as he watched the Fulmer woman racing across the ward, laughing, fast as a cat and totally unselfconscious of her appearance in her trousers and tunic. His breath caught as her hair whipped out behind her, catching the light like a raven’s feather. He closed his eyes, stepping back from the window as his heart was clenched once again in fear’s cold fingers. I am not falling in love with her. I can’t.

  ‘She needs to go home.’

  ‘Jorrun?’ Azrael asked in concern, hovering closer.

  ‘Nothing.’ He glanced at the drake and forced his lips into a thin smile. ‘Anything from the others?’ He could feel his pulse still fast against his ribs.

  Azrael made himself small, the fire-spirit’s equivalent of a negative. ‘But there iss another messsage from the king.’

  Jorrun’s shoulders dropped as he turned around and looked at one of the other windows. A raven peered in through the glass, perched on the wide sill. It tapped twice with its beak, getting impatient. He grabbed a slice of meat and opened the window. He had learnt long ago to take the message cylinder before giving the raven any food, they were crafty birds and would keep flying off and coming back for more otherwise. At the rate Bractius was sending them he would have to catch a few and ship them off to Taurmaline sooner than usual.

  He was tempted not to read it.

  Clenching his jaw, he broke the seal and tipped out the tiny scroll.

  Yes, I know it’s probably a ruse. Any news from Osun? I need answers. I expect them when I arrive at the hold tomorrow.

  He dropped the scroll with annoyance. The last thing he needed was Bractius under his feet. He went back to the north window and was disappointed that Kesta had gone in; then scolded himself for having even looked.

  ‘Not good?’ Azrael prompted.

  ‘He is visiting tomorrow.’ Jorrun gave a shake of his head. ‘I don’t know why he thinks his being here will somehow make me able to see that fleet!’

  ‘He thinks a lot of things sshould happen becausse he says so. That’s kingss.’

  ‘Know a lot of kings, do you?’ Jorrun’s mouth twitched upward in a half smile.

  ‘More than you!’ The spirit retorted.

  ‘Come on, let’s get things ready.’

  ‘Are you ssure about thiss?’ Azrael drifted higher so that he was eye lev
el.

  ‘Not really,’ he bent to pick some books up off the floor and flung a discarded shirt onto the bed. ‘I really should tidy this place up.’

  ‘Huh!’ Azrael spat.

  He chose to ignore the drake. He’d never been a particularly tidy person, there were always so many other things to be doing.

  Azrael buzzed softly. ‘I don’t like thisss Jorrun!’

  ‘I know.’ He turned to look at the anxious drake. ‘But Kesta has risked herself to try, you drakes have all been risking yourselves, and my brother puts his life at risk every day because of the misguided belief that I and Bractius are his masters.’

  ‘Ossun needs the sstability of someone to follow because of his childhood.’

  Jorrun waved a hand dismissively as he cleared a space on the floor. It was an old argument and there was no time to go over it yet again. He gathered together five candlesticks, hesitating at the one that sat at the window opposite Kesta’s.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend with her, you know.’ Azrael’s words were as hypnotic as paper curling at the edges of a fire.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he replied stubbornly, although he looked across to the Ivy Tower, anyway. ‘I am the dreaded Dark Man, unbending, vengeful, loyal to the kin—’

  ‘Ssoft-hearted, addle-brained …’

  He scowled but couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Pest!’

  Azrael crackled and snapped, then became serious. ‘Your guise has kept you and Elden ssafe for many years; but that time hass gone. I’ve hated watching you being sso lonely here.’

  Jorrun shook his head, not wanting to think about it, fighting against the sick, empty feeling in his chest. ‘I’m happy enough, spirit; anyway, how can I be lonely with you here to annoy me?’

  ‘How indeed?’

  He knew Azrael did not miss his automatic glance toward the Ivy Tower. ‘Stop being a nuisance and let me finish preparing, bug.’

  Azrael hissed at the old insult. ‘Human!’

  It was so tempting to stick out his tongue, but he kept his dignity and refrained. He set out the five candles and the five objects that would represent the five realms; water, fire, earth, air, and spirit. Were he a necromancer, he would have slaughtered some poor animal and splattered the place in blood. He felt bad enough eating meat; but as the son of a slave he’d learnt to eat whatever was put in front of him. His thoughts turned back to Kesta. Walkers ate no meat, his mother had been forced to, to survive.