The Unknown Warrior immediately changed direction, cutting off the new approach. Hirad frowned, unable to take his eyes from the solitary black-cloaked figure behind the swordsmen.
The sounds of battle from outside the wall began to fade as Hirad focused on the task ahead. Seeing them, the enemy, who outnumbered The Raven by almost three to one, moved to intercept. Five warriors were ahead of the main group, running on, swords held high, shouts ringing from the walls as they came, confident in their numerical superiority.
‘Form up!’ shouted The Unknown, and The Raven switched seamlessly into their fighting line as they advanced. As always, The Unknown himself took the centre of a slight-angled and uneven chevron. To his left ranged Talan, Ras and Richmond and to his right, Sirendor and Hirad. Behind them, Ilkar prepared the defensive shield.
The Unknown tapped the point of his two-handed blade rhythmically on the ground with each pace and Hirad, searching for recognition in the eyes of their adversaries, bared his teeth as he found it, noting the ghost of a break in their stride.
‘Shield up,’ said Ilkar. It sent a shiver through Hirad even now, ten years on. And the reality was that he couldn’t actually feel anything. But it was there; a net of security from magical attack, a momentary shimmering in the air. The Unknown ceased tapping his sword point, and a beat later, The Raven joined battle.
The Unknown brought his sword up in a right-to-left arc, making a nonsense of his opponent’s defence. The man’s blade was knocked aside and his face split from chin to forehead, blood spraying up from The Unknown’s weapon as it exited.
The man was hurled backwards, crashing into two of his colleagues, not even raising a scream as he died.
To the right, Sirendor caught a blow on his kite shield before sweeping his sword through the enemy’s ribcage and Hirad evaded a clumsy overhead with ease, swaying right then jabbing two-handed into the neck of his opponent. Others were hesitant to fill the gap. The barbarian fighting man grinned and stepped forward, beckoning them on with a hand.
To The Unknown’s left, the going was less straightforward. Ras and Talan were trading blows with competent shield-bearing warriors while Richmond, distracted, was on the defensive, his quick, fluid strikes causing his enemy great difficulty nonetheless.
‘Spellcaster moving. Our left,’ he said. He parried a blow to his midriff and shoved his opponent back.
‘I have him,’ said Ilkar, his voice distant with the effort of maintaining the shield. ‘He’s casting.’
‘Leave him to Ilkar,’ ordered The Unknown. His blade thudded against the shield of an enemy. The man staggered.
‘Still moving left,’ said Richmond.
‘Leave him.’ The big man slashed open the stomach of the man in front of him as Talan, immediately adjacent, finished his first victim, taking a cut on his arm.
The enemy mage barked a command word. Heat scorched the air and in the moment’s ensuing silence, both sides paused, falling back half a pace.
‘Ward!’ yelled the mage, and buildings along the back wall exploded, clouding the air with splinters and hurling broken planks to spin and tumble across the courtyard.
Chaos.
Half a plank thumped into Hirad’s standing foot. His balance gone, he sprawled forwards, trying to turn on to his back even as he fell. To his left, The Unknown took the force of the explosion on his broad back with barely a flinch. Thundering his blade through waist high, he cut the man in front of him clear through to the spine.
‘Shield down!’ shouted Ilkar. The shock of the detonation had pitched him to the dirt, breaking his concentration. He was up on his feet immediately. ‘I’ll take the mage.’
‘I’ve got him.’ Richmond, who had all but fallen into his opponent’s arms, recovered the quicker of the two and rammed his sword into the man’s midriff. He turned from the battle.
‘Stay in line!’ roared The Unknown. ‘Richmond, stay in line!’
Hirad was staring straight into the eyes of the man who was about to kill him. Hardly believing his luck, the man swung his sword towards the helpless barbarian but the blow never reached its target. Instead, it clattered against a kite shield. Legs straddled Hirad, and Sirendor’s sword uppercut into the man’s neck. Sirendor stooped and helped Hirad clear.
The half-dozen paces Richmond took away from the line before he realised his error were fatal. Ras, engaged with one man, was not aware that his left flank was totally exposed. Seizing his chance, the second enemy stepped quickly around his companion and buried his sword in the Raven warrior’s side.
Ras grunted and collapsed, clutching at the wound as blood soaked through his armour, falling against Talan’s legs with enough force to unbalance his friend. Talan just about defended one strike but was in no position to avoid the next.
‘Shit!’ rasped The Unknown. He set his blade horizontally across Talan’s path, fielding two blows aimed at the struggling warrior, and kicked out straight with his right foot, connecting with his opponent’s lower abdomen.
Richmond crashed back into the battle. At the same time, Talan recovered to stand across the stricken Raven man, skewering another enemy through the chest and wrenching his blade free, the man’s screams turning to gurgles as he drowned in his own blood.
And behind the battle, Ilkar could only watch as the Xetesk mage, running towards the wall he’d exposed by destroying the wooden buildings, paused, turned to him, smiled, said one word and disappeared on his next pace forwards.
Ilkar gritted his teeth and switched his attention back to the fight. Ras was lying curled and motionless. The Unknown hacked down another man, and to his right, Sirendor and Hirad killed with practised efficiency. Only Richmond’s blade flailed, the whole set of his body giving away his feelings. Ilkar strode forwards, forming the mana shape for a holding spell. It was enough. The remains of the enemy unit saw him, disengaged and ran back the way they had come.
‘Forget them,’ said The Unknown as Hirad made to chase the fleeing enemy. The barbarian stopped and watched them go, hearing the jeers of the castle garrison help them on their way. Elsewhere, cheers rose from the ramparts as horns sounded retreat across the battle ground.
For The Raven, though, victory was hollow.
A pool of silence spread across the courtyard from where they stood, and as it reached out, others fell quiet, turning to see what few had ever seen. When Hirad looked around, all but Ilkar were crouched by Ras. Hirad joined them.
He opened his mouth to ask the question but swallowed his words hard. Ras, his hands still clamped to the horrible wound in his side, was not breathing.
‘All day sitting around and now this,’ said Hirad. ‘We’re never taking a reserve force job again.’
‘I don’t think this is the time or the place for this discussion,’ said The Unknown softly. He was aware of a crowd beginning to gather.
‘Why not?’ Hirad rose, arm muscles bunching beneath his heavy padded leather armour, his braided russet hair bouncing as he jerked to his feet. He jammed his sword back into its scabbard. ‘How much more evidence do we bloody well need? If you spend a day up on the ramparts you aren’t sharp enough when it comes to the fight.’
‘There’s a few here that wouldn’t agree with you,’ snapped The Unknown, gesturing at the slain enemy.
‘We’ve lost three men in ten years, all of them in contracts we shouldn’t have taken on. We should be hired to fight, not to sit around watching others do it.’
‘This was a good money contract,’ said Ilkar.
‘Do you think Ras cares?’ shouted Hirad.
‘I—’ began Ilkar. He put a hand to his head, his eyes losing focus. He squeezed The Unknown’s shoulder.
‘This discussion and the Vigil will have to wait. The mage is still in here,’ he said. The Raven were on their feet in a moment, each man ready.
‘Where?’ growled Hirad. ‘He’s a dead man.’
‘I can’t see him,’ said Ilkar. ‘He’s under a CloakedWalk. He’s close by, tho
ugh. I can sense the mana shape.’
‘Great,’ said Sirendor. ‘Sitting targets.’ His grip tightened on the hilt of his blade.
‘We’re all right. He’ll have to lose the Cloak before he casts again. I just want to know what he’s doing here.’ Ilkar’s face was set, his frown deep.
Hirad switched his gaze up to the keep and round the ramparts. A closing of the cloud hastened the setting of the sun and the fading light washed grey across the castle. A light rain had begun to fall. All activity had ceased and a hundred eyes stared at The Raven and at the body they encircled. Taranspike Castle was quiet, and even as victorious soldiers walked back into the courtyard, their voices caught and faded when they saw the scene.
The Raven’s circle moved gradually outwards, with Ilkar separate from it, always with one eye on the newly exposed wall.
‘How could he miss us with that spell?’ asked Talan, indicating the debris of wood and grain scattered about them. ‘He was practically standing on top of us.’
‘He couldn’t,’ replied Ilkar. ‘That’s why I’m—’
The mage was by the wall. He had blinked into view with both his hands on it. They probed briefly and a section of the wall moved back and left, revealing a dark passageway. The mage stepped into it and immediately the opening closed.
Ilkar ran to the wall and examined the section minutely, the others crowding around him.
‘Open it, then,’ said Hirad. The elf turned to stare at the barbarian, his leaf-shaped ears, pointed at the top, pricking in irritation.
‘Can you open it?’ asked Talan.
Ilkar nodded. ‘I’ll have to cast, though. I can’t see the pressure points otherwise.’ He switched his attention back to the wall and the rest of The Raven gave him space. Closing his eyes, Ilkar spoke a short incantation, moving his hands over the wall in front of him, feeling the mana trails sheath his fingers. Now he placed his fingertips on the stonework, searching. One after another, his fingers stopped moving, finding their marks.
‘Got it,’ he said. No more than half a minute had passed. The Unknown nodded.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘But you—’ he indicated the stocky figure of Talan, his short brown hair matted with sweat and the old scar on his left cheek burning bright through his tanned skin - ‘stay and get that cut seen to, and you—’ spitting the words at Richmond - ‘start the Vigil and think on what you’ve done.’
There was a brief silence. Talan considered objecting but the blood dripping from his arm, and his drained face, told of a bad wound. Richmond walked over to Ras, sighting down his long thin nose, tears in his pinched blue eyes. He folded his tall frame to kneel by the body of the Raven warrior, his sword in front of him, its point in the dirt and his hands clasped about the hilt guard. He bowed his head and was motionless, his long blond ponytail playing gently in the breeze. It was he, along with Talan and Ras, who had joined The Raven as an already established and respected trio four years earlier, after the only other battle that had seen the death of a Raven warrior; in this case, two of them.
The Unknown Warrior came to Ilkar’s shoulder.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Ilkar. He pushed. The wall moved back and left. ‘It’ll stay open. He must have closed it from the inside.’
There was light at the end of the passageway, wan and flickering. The Unknown trotted into the passage, Hirad and Sirendor right behind him and Ilkar bringing up the rear.
As The Unknown Warrior moved towards the light, a shout of terror, abruptly cut off, was followed by a voice, urgent and loud, and the scrabbling of feet. The Unknown increased his pace.
Rounding a sharp right-hand corner he found himself in a small room, bed to the right, desk opposite and firelight streaming in from a short passage to the left. Slumped by the desk, and in front of an opening, was a middle-aged man dressed in plain blue robes. A long cut on his creased forehead dripped blood into his long-fingered hands and he stared at the splashes, shuddering continuously.
With The Raven in the room behind him, The Unknown knelt by the man.
‘Where did he go?’ Nothing. Not even recognition he was there. ‘The mage? In the black cloak?’
‘Gods above!’ Ilkar elbowed his way to the man. ‘It’s the castle mage.’ The Unknown nodded. Ilkar picked up the man’s face. The blood from his wound trickled over gaunt white features. His eyes flickered everywhere, taking in everything and seeing nothing.
‘Seran, it’s Ilkar. Do you hear me?’ The eyes steadied for a second. It was enough. ‘Seran, where did the Xeteskian go? We want him.’ Seran managed to look half over his shoulder to the opening. He tried to speak but nothing came out except the letter ‘d’ stuttered over and over.
‘Hold on,’ said Sirendor. ‘Shouldn’t that wall let back on to—’
‘Come on,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’re losing him the longer we wait.’
‘Right,’ said Hirad. He led The Raven through the opening, down a short corridor and into a small, bare chamber. In the dim light from Seran’s study, he could see a door facing him.
He moved to the door and pulled it open on to another, longer passage, the end of which was illuminated by a flickering glow. He glanced behind him.
‘Come on,’ he said, and broke into a run down the passage. As he approached the end, he could see a large fire burning in a grate set into the wall opposite. Sprinting into the chamber, he glanced quickly left and right. There was a pair of doors in the right-hand wall perhaps twenty feet away, set either side of a second, unlit fireplace. One of them was swinging slowly shut.
‘There!’ he pointed and changed direction, not waiting to see if any were following. His prey was close.
Hirad skidded to a stop before the door and wrenched it open, stepping back to look before dashing in. It was a small antechamber, set with massive arched double doors opposite. They carried a crest, half on each side. The walls were covered in runic language; braziers lit the scene. Hirad ignored it all: one of the big doors was just ajar and a glittering light came from inside. The barbarian smiled.
‘Come to Daddy,’ he breathed as he ran through the gap and into the chamber beyond.
‘Hirad, wait!’ shouted Sirendor as he, Ilkar and The Unknown raced into the larger chamber.
‘Get after that idiot, Sirendor,’ ordered The Unknown. ‘Time to take stock, I think.’
Above the fire hung a round metal plate, fully three feet across. On it was embossed the head and talons of a dragon. The mouth was wide, dripping fire, and the claws open and grasping. Otherwise, the room was bare of ornament. The Unknown moved towards it, half an eye on Sirendor as the warrior hurried towards the door through which Hirad had chased. He stopped suddenly, glanced behind him and frowned.
‘What is it?’ asked Ilkar.
‘This isn’t right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Unless I’ve gone badly wrong, this ought to be the kitchens and that end of this room—’ he pointed right to the two doors flanking the unlit fire - ‘should be in the courtyard.’
‘Well, we must be under it,’ said Ilkar.
‘We haven’t gone down,’ said The Unknown. ‘What do you think?’ But Ilkar wasn’t paying attention to him any more. He was staring at the crest over the fire, his face paling.
‘That symbol. I know it.’ Ilkar walked over to the fire, The Unknown trailing him.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the Dragonene crest. Heard of it?’
‘A few rumours.’ The Unknown shrugged. ‘So what?’
‘And you say we should be standing in the courtyard?’
‘Well, yes, I think so but . . . ?’
Ilkar swallowed hard. ‘Gods, we’d better not have done what I think we’ve done.’
It was the size of the hall he entered that first slowed Hirad’s advance, and the heat that assailed him the moment he was inside. Next it was the odour, very strong, of wood and oil. Pervasive and with a sharp quality. And finally, the huge pair of eyes regarding him from
the opposite side of the room that brought him to a complete standstill.
‘Gods, Hirad, calm down!’ Sirendor yanked open the door to the right of the fireplace and ran inside, seeing the crested double doors in front of him. He pulled up sharply, the dark-cloaked mage appearing suddenly before him. He raised his sword reflexively and took a pace backwards, realising the mage’s abrupt appearance was caused by the dispersal of a CloakedWalk spell. Probably in his late thirties, the mage would normally have been handsome beneath his tousled black hair and unkempt short beard, but now he looked pale and frightened. He held out his hands, palms outwards.
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘I couldn’t stop him, but I can stop you.’
‘You’re responsible for the death of one of The Raven—’
‘And I don’t want another one to die, believe me. The barbarian—’
‘Where is he?’ demanded Sirendor.
‘Don’t raise your voice. Look, he’s in trouble,’ said the mage. There was movement in his cloak. A cat’s head appeared briefly at its neck then disappeared once more. ‘You’re Sirendor, aren’t you? Sirendor Larn.’ Sirendor, standing still once again, nodded. The mage continued. ‘And I am Denser. Look, I know what you’re feeling but we can help each other right now and, believe me, your friend needs help.’
‘What kind of trouble is he in?’ Sirendor’s voice was low too. He didn’t know why, but something about the mage’s attitude worried him. He should kill the man where he stood but he was obviously scared by something other than the prospect of death at a Raven warrior’s hand.
‘Bad. Very bad. See for yourself.’ He put a finger to his lips and beckoned Sirendor to him. The warrior moved forwards, never taking his eyes from the mage nor the slightly shifting bulge on one side of his cloak. Denser motioned Sirendor to look through the doors.
‘Great Gods above!’ He made a move to go in but the mage restrained him with a hand on the shoulder. Sirendor turned sharply.
‘Take your hand off me. Right now.’ The mage did.
The Raven Collection Page 2
