The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘You expecting trouble?’ asked Talan.

  ‘No.’ The Unknown leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. ‘But even so, short swords should be worn, and not just out of respect for Ras.’

  ‘It’s only now, isn’t it?’ Ilkar had pulled the cork from a bottle of wine and poured himself a goblet.

  ‘What is?’ Sirendor motioned Ilkar to do the same for him. The mage passed over his goblet and filled another.

  ‘Now you’ve stopped to think, now the glint of truesilver has faded, you’re all getting twitchy, aren’t you?’ He sat down in his chair. ‘Xetesk is dangerous. Nothing is ever what it seems. There’s always a bigger story and I for one don’t believe anything he said about that amulet.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Oh, and you’d have listened, would you, Hirad?’ snapped Ilkar. ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand for a day’s ride versus me. Don’t shovel it my way.’

  ‘I don’t see the problem,’ said Richmond. ‘We’re here, we’re safe, the money will be paid. We’ve bought ourselves more choice.’

  ‘If we live to enjoy it,’ muttered Ilkar.

  ‘You’re overreacting,’ said Sirendor.

  ‘You don’t know them.’ Ilkar spoke slowly. ‘I do. If he’s involved us in something, we’re expendable. Xetesk doesn’t have any code and they don’t follow any rules.’ He paused. ‘Look, all I’m saying is, be careful around Denser. We may well have got away with this one but we’ll just have to wait and see.’

  ‘We don’t have to work for Xetesk again,’ said Hirad evenly.

  ‘Too right we don’t,’ replied Ilkar.

  ‘We don’t have to work for anyone again.’ Silence followed Talan’s words. Hirad rose stiffly and walked to the table which carried the drinks. He poured himself wine and brought the bottle, another and more cups back to the fireplace. Those without helped themselves.

  ‘We didn’t have to work for anyone before but I know what Talan means,’ said The Unknown. ‘That two hundred and fifty thousand means we can do everything we talked of when we started and everything we never dared dream we could do. Just think of the possibilities.’

  ‘I think you’d better start by telling me about last night and what you said.’ Hirad drained his cup and refilled it.

  ‘We tried to wake you. We had no desire to exclude you,’ said Sirendor. ‘We went out of the castle to join Richmond. I don’t know about the others but looking down at Ras’s grave I had my first fear that one day it could be me. Or Ilkar—’ He gestured around The Raven, finally nodding at Hirad. ‘Or you. I didn’t want that. I want a future while I’m still young enough to enjoy it.’

  ‘The decision’s made, is it?’ Hirad’s voice was gruff.

  Sirendor breathed deeply. ‘While we were talking, it became obvious that we all felt the same. Gods, Hirad, even you’ve talked about packing it in during the last two years. We all want to live. Talan wants to travel, Ilkar’s under pressure to go back to Julatsa. I . . . well, you know what I want.’

  ‘Husband and father, eh?’ Hirad smiled despite the thudding of his heart and the knot in his throat.

  ‘All I have to do is stop fighting and the Mayor won’t stop us marrying. You know how it is.’ Sirendor shrugged.

  ‘Yeah. Sirendor Larn tamed by the Mayor’s daughter. It had to happen some time, I suppose.’ Hirad wiped at the corner of his left eye. The atmosphere in the room was intense, focused on him. ‘You know I won’t stand in your way.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sirendor, but the look they shared spoke everything.

  ‘You can see the sense in it,’ said The Unknown. Hirad stared at him blankly. ‘Gods, Hirad, I’ve been half-owner of this inn for a dozen years and if I’ve served behind the bar a dozen times I’m lucky.’

  ‘And what about you?’ The barbarian turned his attention to Richmond.

  ‘Before yesterday I wasn’t sure,’ said the blond warrior. ‘But I’m tired, Hirad. Even standing waiting for something to happen is tiring. I—’ He stopped and rubbed his brow with three fingers. ‘Yesterday, I made a mistake I’ll have to carry to my grave. And right now, I’m not sure I trust myself to fight in line and I’d be surprised if you did. Any of you.’

  Another silence. Long. Hirad stared around The Raven but no one said any more.

  ‘It’s unbelievable,’ said Hirad. ‘Ten years. Ten years and yet you’ve made the biggest decision of our lives . . . my life, while I was sleeping.’ He was too angry even to shout and his voice held calm. But at the same time he knew it wasn’t anger. It was a deep and bitter disappointment. The inevitable result of the formation of The Raven. The split. The funny thing was that, at the outset, Hirad never thought he’d survive this long. The future had been meaningless. Until now. Now it crashed over his head and he found he was frightened of it. Very frightened.

  ‘Sorry, Hirad.’

  ‘I just wanted someone to ask my opinion, Sirendor.’

  ‘I know. But the decision wasn’t taken last night, just confirmed.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me.’ Hirad got up and moved to the door. He needed a few drinks and to laugh. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘You retired folk fund the party and I’ll try to forgive you.’

  Styliann’s eyes blazed and his face reddened. In the holding chamber beneath his tower, the three mages cowered where they sat, too exhausted to stand in respect of their Lord.

  ‘Tell me again.’ Styliann spoke low and quiet, the power of his voice filling the small chamber.

  ‘We were only sure three hours ago and even then we had to make our final fail-safe check. We didn’t want to cause concern until we had absolute proof,’ said one, an old mage whose life had been devoted to his single task.

  ‘Concern?’ echoed Styliann, voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘The greatest evil in Balaia’s history has gone missing. Causing me concern is the least of your worries, believe me.’

  The three mages exchanged glances.

  ‘Not just missing, my Lord. Not only are they not in the cage, we don’t believe they reside in interdimensional space either.’ The old mage swallowed. ‘We believe that their essence and souls have returned to Balaia.’

  The silence which followed dragged at the ears. Styliann’s breath hissed between his teeth. He took in the small chamber, its sketches and maps of dimensional space and spell result equation covering every wall. Notebooks were scattered on the single pitted wooden desk. The chairs, arranged in a loose crescent, each contained a terrified mage looking up at him as he stood near the door, Nyer at one shoulder, Laryon at the other. He wouldn’t look left or right; he didn’t have to. The impact of what they had just heard sent ripples through the mana trails.

  ‘How long have they been gone?’ he asked. It was the question they were dreading.

  ‘We can’t - can’t be sure,’ managed the old mage.

  Styliann pinned him with his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’ They looked from one to another. Eventually, a younger woman spoke.

  ‘It has always been the way of the Watches, my Lord,’ she said. ‘The spells are cast and the calculations made every three months when certain alignments offer us more accuracy.’

  Styliann didn’t take his gaze from the old man. ‘Are you telling me that the Wytch Lords could have been in Balaia up to three months ago?’

  ‘They were in the cage last casting,’ said the woman. ‘They aren’t there now.’

  ‘Yes, or no.’ Styliann almost believed he could hear their hearts pounding, then realised it was his own sounding in his ears and throat.

  ‘Yes.’ The old man looked away, tears in his eyes. Styliann nodded.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Clear the room, your work is finished.’ He turned to Nyer. ‘We’ve no choice. Contact the Colleges but say nothing of events here or at Taranspike Castle. We must have a meeting at Triverne Lake. Now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d smelled it with my own nose,’ said Sirendor. He was standing close to Hira
d at the bar of The Rookery, appraising the barbarian’s clothes - leather trousers, a close-fitting dark shirt that showed off his upper body to good advantage, and a studded belt on which hung his scabbarded short sword. Ilkar was with them, dressed in a black-edged yellow shirt and leather trousers, and behind the bar stood The Unknown in a plain white shirt and similar leggings to his friends.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Well, my dear friend, in the hours that we have been apart, not only have you shed that revolting sweaty leather stuff you wear for talking to dragons, but you have obviously had a scented bath. This is truly a momentous occasion.’ Sirendor leaped on to the nearest table, shouting, ‘Ladies, gentlemen, Talan. The foul-smelling barbarian has had a bath!’ There was laughter and the odd cheer. Hirad even saw Denser smile before the mage, dressed in voluminous black shirt and trousers, returned to stroking his cat and gazing into the fire as he sat in an armchair close to the flames.

  ‘You can bloody talk, mighty mouth,’ said Hirad, pointing a finger at Sirendor. ‘Just look at yourself. Your clothes must beg questions about which sex you prefer to fiddle with your balls. Your future bride will be heartbroken.’

  ‘Are you calling me a poof?’ asked Sirendor.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Sirendor pouted and looked down at himself. Embroidered knee-length moccasin boots, laced up the front, gave way to a pair of billowing gold-trimmed brown trousers into which was tucked a huge purple open-necked lace and silk shirt. On his belt was his short sword, and a gem necklace rested on a bed of chest hair.

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Sirendor jumped lightly to the floor of the inn, which had filled quickly as word spread of The Raven’s party, and swept his mug of ale into his hands.

  Denser stood up from his seat, leaving the cat lounging by the fire, and weaved his way through a crowd towards the quartet. Ilkar picked up his drink, turned and walked away.

  ‘I don’t think those two are going to be friends,’ said Sirendor.

  ‘Not much gets past you, does it?’ returned Hirad, a broad smile on his face as he watched the approaching Xeteskian.

  ‘Denser.’ The Unknown acknowledged the Dark Mage with a nod.

  ‘Getting busy in here,’ observed Denser, lighting his pipe.

  ‘Is red wine all right?’ Sirendor picked up a bottle.

  ‘Fine.’ Denser watched as Sirendor poured. ‘Thank you.’ He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. ‘Not bad.’

  ‘ “Not bad”?’ echoed The Unknown. ‘That’s a Blackthorne red, my friend. Expensive speciality of The Rookery.’

  ‘I’m not much of an expert.’ Denser shrugged.

  ‘Clearly. You’re on the cheap stuff then.’ The Unknown turned and scanned briefly along the racks to his left, then picked out a bottle and stood it on the bar top, fishing in his pocket for a corkscrew.

  He paused, looking out past his friends to the crowded bar. Here he was, the other side of the counter, and he felt comfortable. It was a simple feeling but he felt good. Very good. But behind all his comfort lurked an abyss he wouldn’t let himself see into.

  ‘This is the life, eh?’ he said, stripping the cork from the bottle and gazing out over the thickening sea of goblets, faces, colours and smoke. He charged a fresh glass. ‘This muck, Denser, from Baron Corin’s yards, is your wine. Try not to choke.’

  ‘I’ve got a proposition for you,’ said Denser suddenly.

  ‘Oh yeah? More opportunities to be burned alive, is it?’

  Denser stared at Hirad. ‘Not exactly. Will you hear me?’

  ‘If you want, but you’re wasting your time,’ said The Unknown.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we retired a couple of hours ago. I’ve taken a new job as a barman.’ Hirad and Sirendor both laughed. Denser’s face briefly betrayed both panic and confusion as he tried to work out whether they were serious or not.

  ‘Even so . . .’ he said.

  ‘Go on, then.’ Sirendor leant back against the bar, his elbows resting on it. Hirad did likewise, with The Unknown between them, resting on his arms on the wooden counter and fiddling with a corkscrew.

  ‘The amulet we recovered is not the only one,’ said Denser.

  ‘Now there’s a surprise.’ Sirendor turned his head to his friends.

  ‘Look, I’ll be honest, we are developing a new attack spell that we want to be ready in the event of any Wesmen invasion. There are three more pieces we need to complete our research, and I, that is, Xetesk, want The Raven to help me get them.’

  None of them said anything for a time as Denser studied their faces. Eventually, The Unknown straightened.

  ‘We did wonder why you paid us so much for seeing you back here,’ he said. ‘We also agreed that we wouldn’t work for Xetesk again. Take some Protectors.’

  Denser shook his head. ‘No. Protectors are just muscle. I need brain for this sort of recovery work.’

  ‘And The Raven are - were - a fighting team. We’ve never done recovery work and we aren’t about to start now,’ said Sirendor.

  ‘But it’s not even a long-term commitment. And the pay will be on the same basis as today.’

  The Unknown leant back on the bar top. ‘Another set of five per cents, eh?’

  ‘I can’t promise it’ll be as easy.’ Denser half smiled at Hirad.

  ‘Bugger me, but I’d like to see one of your tricky jobs.’

  ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean the bodyguarding was easy.’

  Sirendor’s face broke into a wide grin. He straightened and dusted himself down.

  ‘Denser, a couple of years ago, we’d probably have bitten your hand off for that kind of money. But right now, I for one am no longer interested. I mean, we’d have trouble spending it. Sorry, old son, but retirement has one very clear advantage.’ He turned and punched Hirad on the arm. ‘See you later.’ He strode off towards the main door, through which a stunning woman had walked with two men. She wore a shining blue cloak and pushed the hood back to loose a mass of curling red hair.

  She saw Hirad first and waved. He and The Unknown returned the greeting. Then she began moving towards Sirendor. The two met, embraced and kissed, the warrior ushering her to a table on the right of the bar, close to the back room.

  The Unknown placed a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses on a tray.

  ‘Time for the barman bit, I think.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Hirad turned back to Denser. The Dark Mage’s face was neutral but his eyes betrayed his disappointment and concern. ‘Had it been up to me, I’d have taken your money. We should be taking bastards like you for every penny we can get.’

  ‘I’m flattered. Was that the last word on the subject, do you think?’

  Hirad breathed out. ‘Well, The Unknown was interested, no doubt about it, and I’m pretty sure the boring brothers would tag along. Your problems are Sirendor, who is in love but can’t marry till he stops fighting, and Ilkar, who hates everything you stand for.’

  ‘Apart from that, no problem.’ Denser lit his pipe.

  ‘Tell you what, you work on Sirendor and play up the short time the job’ll take and all the money he’ll earn for his bride and all that. I’ll try Ilkar. I reckon he might want to come along if he knows it’s a spell you’re developing. It’ll be difficult, though.’

  ‘And if you can’t persuade him?’

  ‘Then it’s no go. The Raven never work apart.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Good. Right, where is he then?’ Denser indicated the centre of the bar. Ilkar was talking to the cloth merchant, Brack, and a couple of decent-looking women. ‘I could get my leg over if nothing else,’ Hirad said, then shouted, ‘Hey, Ilks! Need more drink?’ Ilkar nodded. The barbarian picked up a jug and shouldered his way through the crowded inn.

  ‘Hirad, good to see you.’

  ‘You never were a good liar, Brack. Drink?’ The merchant held up his goblet. Hirad filled it and Ilkar’s. ‘I need to borrow Ilkar for a moment
, ladies, but I promise we’ll be back very soon.’ Ilkar looked askance at the barbarian but allowed himself to be led in the direction of the bar. Hirad saw Denser standing at Sirendor’s table and was surprised to see Larn get up and follow the Dark Mage over to the fire. The man must have extraordinary powers of persuasion - he was not sure that he’d have been so lucky so soon after the two lovers had sat down.

  ‘So what did Denser have to say?’

  ‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand, Ilkar. Three jobs. Short term.’ Ilkar shook his head. ‘You know something, Hirad, I’m surprised at you. And I’m disappointed that after ten years you don’t know me well enough not to ask.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’ve said all I have to say. I will not work for or with Xetesk. They cannot be trusted. I don’t care how much he is offering because it won’t be enough.’

  Hirad chewed his lip. ‘Look, Ilkar, why not think of it as just taking even more money from them? Give it all to Julatsa if it bothers you, but I thought you’d want to keep your eye on what Xetesk is doing.’

  Ilkar frowned. ‘What exactly is Denser asking us to do?’

  Hirad beckoned him close.

  The Unknown Warrior leant against the bar, happy to watch the evening go by while he sipped his excellent Blackthorne red. He shifted slightly, moving the elbow of his white shirt out of a puddle of liquid on the bar top.

  Surveying the bar, he could have stepped ten years back in time. Talan and Richmond - the boring brothers as Hirad liked to call them - were sitting together saying nothing to anyone and running their fingers around the rims of their goblets. Hirad and Ilkar were standing a few yards away. They were talking alone and intently. He smiled and shook his head, took another sip from his glass and refilled it from the bottle on the bar.

  His eyes eventually came to rest on the fireplace and the pair sitting in armchairs either side of it, talking to each other. His smile faded. Denser. The mage’s head was largely hidden by the wings of his chair but he could see the cat and the inevitable hand stroking its back. The sooner he was gone, the better. The Unknown hated feeling he was being lied to.