‘You saw the spell and you saw the condition of the mages who walked away. Two didn’t.’ Denser sucked his lip. ‘What you don’t know is what went on before, or the long-term aftermath. Those mages spent two weeks in preparation, testing and resting. They were secluded from the rest of the College to maximise their concentration level. Now they’ve cast, they’ll be unable to perform any spell for the best part of three days, and as for the DimensionConnect, not for another two weeks. And that assumes that the dimension with which we want to connect is in alignment with ours.’
‘But the Wesmen don’t know that,’ said Hirad, worried more than he hoped he was showing that this spell was not available every couple of days at the least.
‘There will be enough Shamen able to make educated guesses about the spell once they’ve heard information about it,’ said Erienne.
‘And consider this,’ said Ilkar. ‘There’s probably only one spell written that is more powerful, and I don’t need to tell you its name. Any Shaman worth a damn will know we’ve originated a dimension spell and used it. That’ll tell them all they need about the likely effort required to cast it.’
The night was warm but Hirad felt a chill on his body. The powers they were dealing with, the power they’d already seen and the power they wanted to unleash. He couldn’t help but feel it was all spiralling out of control. And if they took the Death’s Eye Stone from the Wrethsires, it would make Denser the most powerful man in Balaia.
‘Something else has been bothering me.’ They all looked at Will. ‘Do you think the Wytch Lords know we’re here, this side of the pass?’
‘The Raven?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’ The Unknown was certain. ‘All they can possibly know now is that the pass has fallen - spectacularly - and they’ll be doing their level best to retake it. They - or rather, their agents - know there’s a search for Dawnthief because of our appearance at Septern’s house but they won’t have enough information to target us or our position. Not yet at any rate.’
‘To stop any confusion,’ said Denser, ‘remember the Wytch Lords have not regained corporeal form yet and their power is still limited. When they are walking, that’s when we have to worry, though we don’t know when that will be.’
‘How many Wytch Lords are there?’ asked Will.
‘Six,’ said Ilkar. ‘Embarrassingly enough, I don’t know all of their names, although I should. Denser?’
‘Seriously?’
‘It was never high on my learning list, no.’
‘Gods, it was a mantra to us. Pamun, Arumun, Belphamun, Weyamun, Ystormun, Giriamun.’
‘Very impressive.’ Ilkar smiled.
‘Not really,’ said Denser. ‘Names to terrorise errant mages, generally. It’s a shame they are no longer an idle threat, isn’t it?’
The conversation broke up. The beasts had been named and each member of The Raven, perhaps for the first time, took on the enormity of what they were trying to achieve. And its potential futility. For while they were guaranteed defeat if they lost Dawnthief to the Wytch Lords, they weren’t guaranteed victory if they destroyed them.
Denser lit his pipe, his thoughts drifting inevitably towards his Familiar. He forced himself to push them aside, concentrating instead on images of the single great tomb that dominated Parve and the Torn Wastes. A grand stairway led up to the heart of the pyramid. Ornate mosaics and decorations adorned the walls and floor of a great domed hall at the end of which a single door stood at the entrance to the crypt. Inside, the Keepers tended the six stone sarcophagi, preparing the way for the return of the Ancients. Waiting for the movement within that signalled the reincarnation of essence that would stir the Wytch Lords’ bones and bring the regeneration of the flesh. He shuddered and prayed they would be in time.
With full night holding sway, The Raven moved on to the trail leading directly to the Arch Temple of the Wrethsires. Thraun was convinced that no one would pass them in either direction, and Denser, beginning to believe the Temple would be empty, wondered why the thought worried him so profoundly.
They were at the Temple in an hour, its squat dark shape looming into view against the flat black of the cliffs behind as the path opened out beyond the edge of the tree line. The silence was complete but for the lake on their left, whose soft ripples brought an aura of calm to the scene that was not reflected in the minds of The Raven.
They fanned out and walked slowly towards the huge iron-banded oak doors. The Unknown stood at the centre of the chevron, Hirad and Jandyr to his right, Thraun and Will to his left.
Behind them walked the three mages, Ilkar with the command word for a spell shield on his lips, Erienne preparing light and Denser something altogether more destructive.
At the doors, Jandyr moved up and placed an ear to the wood. ‘I can’t hear anything, but these are very solid. Put it this way, there aren’t three hundred screaming worshippers in there.’
‘Only one way to find out for sure,’ said Hirad.
He trotted up the half-dozen worn stone steps, grasped the handles, turned them and pushed. The stench of death swept out as the doors swung back, hinges protesting. Hirad stepped back a couple of paces, his face turned away.
‘Gods, that’s bad. We need to give it time to clear a little.’
Hastily drawn swords were resheathed and mana shapes were dismissed. No one was going to attack from within.
The Temple was pitch dark inside. While the rest sat on the steps facing away up the path, Ilkar stood to the right-hand side of the doors, looking in at the carnage but turning his head to draw breath. He told what he saw.
The immediate impressions were of bodies and blood covering the black, white and green tiled marble floor. Looking closer, the elf tried to map out the likely course of the fight that had taken place. Right inside the doors, three armed and armoured men in green cloaks lay in a tangle surrounded by four of what had to be the aggressors. They weren’t Wesmen, mercenaries perhaps, but their dark leather and look meant they couldn’t have been Temple guards.
But what lay further within presented a confusing picture. At the far end of the Temple were sprawled the bodies of at least half a dozen Wrethsires, identified by their deep green cowls, their blood mingling in puddles that collected in dips on the tiled floor. And scattered about the Temple were perhaps twenty more of them, weaponless, defenceless, slaughtered.
Ilkar’s eyes, though, rested longest on the scene right in the centre of the Temple. On a five-foot-high plinth, and set in a metal and glass case, sat the Death’s Eye Stone - a black orb shot with striations of carmine red and emerald green that swirled around a disc of piercing blue.
Surrounding the stone were half a dozen bodies, though it was difficult to be exact, such was the state of them. Bent, broken, torn and scattered, the swordsmen had been hacked to pieces, in some cases literally. Blood smeared every surface, hugged every crack and spattered every panel of floor and plinth. But it wasn’t the dismembered bodies that worried Ilkar; it was that he couldn’t fathom who it was that had done it.
So many factors didn’t add up. The bodies around the stone were not Wrethsires or guards, their clothing told him that, yet they appeared to have been defending the area around the plinth. And whoever it was that had massacred them so comprehensively hadn’t stopped to take the stone. Not only that, they hadn’t lost a single one of their number and had then left without leaving a trace of themselves. It just didn’t make sense.
He took a deep breath, held it and moved a couple of paces inside.
‘Careful, Ilkar,’ said Hirad.
Ilkar turned, exhaling. ‘Hirad, they’re all dead.’
‘How long?’
Ilkar knelt and put his fingers to a puddle of blood. It was dry. Not a trace of stickiness.
‘It’s impossible to say. It must have been an oven in there today, it’s still hot now. They smell four days dead but it could be less than a day.’
‘Let’s get moving. Is it breathab
le?’ Hirad ambled up the steps to join his friend.
‘Just about.’
‘Right,’ said Hirad. ‘Let’s get inside, secure the place and start clearing bodies away from the stone. Nobody touch that case just yet.’
Erienne set a standing LightGlobe above the Death’s Eye Stone while Thraun took a taper to the braziers set around the walls, at about head height. Will and Jandyr hauled bodies from around the plinth, leaving them against the walls, and The Unknown stood guard at the main doors, scanning the tree line for something he knew could not be there but that gnawed at his insides just the same. Ilkar checked the curtained-off rooms at the rear of the Temple.
Hirad joined Denser, who was studying a series of statues let into alcoves around the walls.
‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ said Denser. Hirad turned a slow circle, taking them in. There were eight of them, floor-standing. Cloaked in green, each statue wore a rich coloured tabard over ceremonial plate and chain armour. Painted masks covered the faces and each carried a double-bladed axe in the crook of its arms. They stood more than eight feet high.
‘Completely out of place, aren’t they?’ asked Hirad.
‘Not at all.’ Erienne came to his shoulder. ‘They have a well-documented warrior past. And those masks represented maps of life or death energy, which is where they believe they draw their magic from.’
Denser looked at her askance. ‘Something of an expert, are you?’
‘No, but it pays to have a little knowledge of your contemporaries, ’ said Erienne shortly.
Ilkar walked back into the main body of the Temple.
‘Any idea what happened here?’ asked Hirad.
Ilkar shook his head. ‘There are a couple more bodies of guards back there but nothing’s been touched. What I don’t get is that those dead around the stone had to be mercenaries, and I’m certain they wouldn’t be hired by the Wrethsires.’
‘So you’re saying they weren’t defending the stone?’ asked Denser.
‘Well, no, I mean, it’s still here, isn’t it?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Will. ‘Let’s just grab it and go.’ He was standing right over the case.
‘Don’t touch it!’ snapped Denser. ‘Sorry, Will. We haven’t checked it for traps or wards yet.’
‘I thought you said they had nothing to do with mana,’ said Will.
‘They don’t. But you can hire it in if you want to.’ Denser took in Erienne and Ilkar with a glance. ‘Shall we?’
The mages tuned to the mana spectrum and examined the plinth and its case. It was a brief investigation.
‘It’s clean of mana traps,’ said Erienne.
‘And what about the Wrethsires’ own magic?’ asked The Unknown, taking a pace back into the Temple.
Denser huffed. ‘They have no static magic capability.’
‘You’re sure?’ said Hirad.
‘There’s nothing over the stone,’ said Denser deliberately.
‘Nothing we can detect, anyway,’ said Ilkar.
‘All right,’ said Hirad. ‘Are we secure?’
The Unknown nodded, turning back to the path outside. Will hunched low over the case, examining its edges and panels, barely even letting his breath fall on it. The rest of The Raven stood in loose formation, watching, Thraun smiling to see Will’s hands so steady.
‘It’s sealed, not trapped as far as I can see. Access is through the top, or do you want me to smash it?’
‘No,’ said Denser. ‘We can’t risk damaging it in any way. Take your time and lift the lid. If even a shard of glass were to scratch its surface, it would affect Dawnthief.’
Will inclined his head and fished out his tools. He sorted through the intricate pieces and selected a flat-headed wedge of metal, which he inserted gently into the seal of the case lid.
There was a whispering in the Temple. A breeze blew from nowhere, taking the doors and slamming them, the sound reverberating through the building. The Unknown was caught a glancing blow. He staggered but kept his feet. The braziers blew out, leaving only Erienne’s globe to light them. Shadows fled up the walls, cutting across the masks of the statues and accentuating their height. They loomed into the Temple, threatening. Beyond the limit of the globe, the darkness closed in and the light seemed weak against it, like a child pushing on a heavy door, never quite able to force it right open.
The whispering gained in intensity, multiple voices swirling in the air, unintelligible, malevolent. The Raven grouped, swords clear of scabbards, the whispers becoming a noise like rushing wind, though the air was still, warm and cloying, the smell of the dead rising to assault the nostrils.
‘Ideas, anyone?’ asked Hirad. The Unknown pulled at the handles of the main doors. They were stuck fast. ‘Try the others. Try the shutters. Thraun, take the opposite route.’ Hirad was forced to raise his voice over the clash of hundreds of voices from nowhere threatening to drown him out.
He checked either side of him. The mages were unfocused, preparing spells, but the deep frowns suggested they were struggling. Jandyr, scared and wide-eyed, looked everywhere. Will worked furiously at the stone’s case. Hirad was dimly aware of the hammering of Thraun and The Unknown on shutters and doors, the dull thuds merely background to the increasing intensity of the whispering voices.
Erienne had her hands to her head, no longer able to concentrate. Ilkar lost his mana shape too, feeling his grip on the fuel of magic loosen. He glanced at The Raven to see them standing in a rough circle about Will and the plinth. His body went cold.
Abruptly, the whispering ceased. The light from Erienne’s globe flickered and died. Darkness was total. There was a tinkle as Will dropped his prising tool. Panic.
Erienne stumbled into Denser, sending both sprawling. From the blackness, The Unknown cursed as his head connected with a wall. Will, swords drawn, pushed his way past Hirad into space, breath rushing in and out of his lungs in huge whoops. He stepped on a body and fell, crying out. Hirad, heart beating hard against his ribs, tried to find the remotest chink of light. There was none.
‘Ilkar, Jandyr, Thraun, tell us what you see. Erienne, more light. Denser, what’s happening?’
The sound of metal scraping on stone rang around the Temple.
‘Anybody?’ Hirad asked of the dark. To his right, he felt Denser lifting Erienne. ‘We need that light. What was that noise?’ He swayed, balance diminished by the totality of the blackness, boot smearing through the dried surface of a pool of blood. The temperature was rising, the stench of death closing in, stinging the eyes. ‘Can’t someone light a taper, for God’s sake?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Will’s tone was edged with desperation. His swords rang back into scabbards; he scrabbled to find light. The scraping sounded again, this time accompanied by a series of heavy thuds that rippled though the floor.
‘Oh, no.’ Ilkar’s voice, laden with dread, cut through the tension.
‘What? What?’ Hirad was shouting. There was a clang. Then more. Another scraping and metal-shod footsteps.
‘The statues are moving. This way,’ said Ilkar. ‘We’ve got to form up. Fast. Unknown, Thraun, to the centre.’
‘Where the hell’s that?’ snapped the big man.
Ilkar could see him stumbling in vaguely the right direction. ‘Keep coming dead ahead. Thraun, give him a hand.’ He watched Thraun guide the big man quickly past the scattered bodies of the Wrethsire guards.
Hirad looked right, seeing nothing but sensing Erienne near. ‘Erienne, where’s that light?’
‘I can’t get the mana shape.’ Her voice shook.
‘Calm.’ Denser’s voice held steady. ‘It’s all right.’
‘No it isn’t,’ said Ilkar. ‘Something’s disrupting the mana flow. I can’t shape anything. And we’ve got less than a minute before they reach us. Will, get back to the circle, we need that stone.’
‘Yes,’ said Will. ‘Jandyr, guide me.’ He sounded calmer now.
Soon, The Raven was complete. The Unknown stoo
d next to Hirad, Ilkar next to him. To the right of the barbarian, Jandyr, Denser, Erienne and Thraun. In the middle, Will, patting the floor, searching for and finding his wedge tool. He began to nudge again at the lid of the case.
The clang of metal on marble, the scraping of stone on tile came closer with every heartbeat, and Hirad could sense them. Looming presences, huge in their invisibility, terrifying in their quiet. He moved his blade to ready.
‘Ilkar . . .’
‘Gods, it’s the Temple itself.’ Ilkar’s sudden shout made Hirad jump.
‘What?’ said Denser.
‘We were blind before the lights went out. Denser, think. Circular building, domed roof, sealed absolutely, needle point spires . . .’ Ilkar trailed off; he could see realisation cross Denser’s face like the knowledge of guilt.
‘We’re in a Cold Room.’
‘Hirad, we’ve got to get a door or shutter open. Trust me on this. They’re on us in twenty seconds.’ Ilkar swallowed hard.
A clashing sound signalled eight axes brought to the ready on gauntleted hands. Hirad shook himself, fighting to hang on to his senses. Around him, The Raven stood ready. At least they would die working to save each other. He made his decision.
‘Ilkar, Erienne, see what you can do. Everyone else, let’s close the circle, try to give them and Will time. Careful underfoot, the blood isn’t as dry as it seems. Thraun, Jandyr, keep talking. Gods, that smell is powerful.’
To Hirad’s left, The Unknown tapped the point of his sword on the ground. It was time.
‘Almost on us,’ said Thraun. ‘Hirad, you have two, axes raised, upper guard. Denser, you have one, Unknown, two. They’re all going to swing in unison, left to right diagonal.’
‘Ready, Unknown?’ Hirad’s voice cut through the fog of his own mind. He breathed and gagged, feeling sweat beading in his forehead and dampening his armpits.
‘You can never be ready for this. Angle your blade down to move the blows or they’ll knock you over.’
Abruptly, the scraping and clanging stopped. There was a susurration around them. Cloaks rustled in the ghost of a breeze. The quiet sent a shiver through Hirad’s body.
The Raven Collection Page 45
