Ilkar shook his head.
‘What have I done now?’ demanded Denser.
‘All these years and you still miss the point sometimes, don’t you?’ said Ilkar.
‘Get what? Hirad lost it and now he’s gone, dead, missing or whatever. I get that. What else is there?’
‘He’s angry, Denser. He feels betrayed by you and he’s going to be confused and distressed by what happened between him and The Unknown last night. But he’s Raven. We’ve been his whole life’s focus despite his work with the Kaan and he won’t walk out on us. He agreed to help you, under duress I know, but he agreed and he’ll never fail a contract until it kills him. That’s what being one of us means.’ Another shake of the head. ‘You should know that by now.’
‘But we haven’t been The Raven for almost six years.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference. Not to Hirad,’ said Ilkar.
The Unknown listened to the exchange and wondered if Ilkar was right. He wanted to believe it but he had seen the look in Hirad’s eyes before he left and it hadn’t been distress, it had been shock. And if the barbarian couldn’t rationalise what had happened, he wouldn’t come back because The Raven as he understood it would have ceased to exist.
‘That doesn’t change the fact that we’re caught, I haven’t been able to attempt another Communion and he,’ - he stabbed a finger at The Unknown - ‘was supposed to be on guard. Some Protector you turned out to be.’
‘Is alienating the only people you can trust just a recent hobby of yours?’ Ilkar’s ears pricked and reddened. ‘Because you seem pretty well practised.’
‘True, though, isn’t it?’ said Denser, glaring back at Ilkar.
‘I am no longer your given Protector, Denser,’ said The Unknown, his voice low and menacing as he attempted to disguise the hurt inside. Perhaps he had failed them all. It was a thought not simply quashed though he had ample justification. ‘None of us could have suspected this lot would have ridden all night to get to us - why would they?’
‘But you didn’t hear them,’ insisted Denser. ‘How could you not? There are two bloody hundred of them.’
‘But only Darrick entered the camp.’
‘So why didn’t you kill him?’ asked Denser.
‘Because I was protecting you,’ replied The Unknown calmly. ‘And because I didn’t fancy becoming target practice for the elven archers Darrick would have had positioned out of my sight. You may consider yourself able to outwit archers, two hundred cavalry and two dozen mages with range spells prepared but I’m not. You are alive because I chose not to fight.’
‘But to what purpose? It’s pretty clear your good friend Darrick is fighting on a different side to ours. He’s hardly likely to let us go once we reach Arlen. What good can this do? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Only I can stop this.’
‘Patience,’ said The Unknown. It was easy to see how Hirad had lost his cool. But The Unknown could see further than that. He could see the desperation in Denser’s eyes and had watched him fidget and heard him sigh, frustrated though they were still going in the right direction.
And what Denser hadn’t seen was Darrick’s unhappiness. The General was plainly not in favour of holding The Raven. But the ability to follow orders was just one reason he was such a fine soldier.
When they reached Arlen, the situation might well be very different and The Unknown planned to talk with his captor, fairly sure that he could turn the unhappiness to doubt and the doubt to insubordination.
The Unknown always liked to think there were options. If nothing else, he was riding with two of Balaia’s more powerful mages. That couldn’t hurt their chances. Deciding to say no more, The Unknown smiled instead and turned his eyes, as ever, it seemed, to the sky.
Thraun stared long at the human he recognised as a man-packbrother and bade the pack spare him. They would also spare the prey though the scent of the meat had them all drooling. The night before, he had howled into a tempest, his voice lost, drowned by the rain and tattered by the wind. It was a bad wind. It had scared him.
Others had been stalking those he needed. Whether to kill them he couldn’t be sure so he had watched the forest until man-packbrother had left the fire, taking his horse with him. And when the stalkers found the others, and he knew the pack couldn’t help them, he had left them and watched the one.
Man-packbrother had been scared but now he was not. He would help them. And they would help him. Alone, he was surely vulnerable. He was alone no longer. Thraun licked the man’s hand, then sniffed the sky again, hoping for comprehension.
Hirad knelt in front of Thraun, feeling the roughness of the wolf’s tongue on his hand and watching as he pushed his snout into the air. The barbarian ran a hand across Thraun’s head and looked briefly to the other wolves. All four sat alert, staring at him, animal confusion written across comically expressive faces.
‘You can feel it, can’t you?’ he said and pointed skywards.
It was fascinating and it was an immense relief that the shapechanger was still alive, though the term didn’t necessarily apply to Thraun any more. But, Hirad reasoned, if he were truly a pure wolf, his behaviour would have been very different.
Hirad supposed The Raven had been followed all the way from Thornewood. And the only possible reason Thraun would have done that was because he remembered them somehow. After almost six years, he should have been wild, with almost no vestiges of his human life to trouble him, but that was plainly not the case.
‘There’s something still going on in there, isn’t there, Thraun?’
Thraun growled gently in his throat and locked eyes with Hirad at the sound of his name. The barbarian saw recognition there, and something he was sure wasn’t lupine. It was a calmness, an assurance of purpose. And knowledge. Hirad understood wolves to be animals of instinct but Thraun knew things. That meant he had to retain memory.
Hirad leant towards him. Thraun didn’t flinch.
‘Remember.’
The wolf pawed at the ground and shook his head, actually backing up a pace.
‘You can understand me, can’t you?’ said Hirad. ‘But can I reach you to bring you back? And do you want to come back?’ He remembered the spark in Thraun’s eyes the times before when he’d assumed his wolven form. That wasn’t in evidence now, so many years later, but he still had intelligence, there was no doubt about that.
Hirad pushed himself to his feet and looked around at his horse. The animal was still badly scared but would have some sense by now that its life wasn’t immediately threatened. Walking back to his camp, Hirad untied and rolled the leather, strapped on his sword and scooped up his saddle. Placing it on his horse’s back, he felt the animal calm further and the stallion even managed to nuzzle his back as he bent to tie the girth strap. Attaching bit and bridle, Hirad planted a kiss on the top of its nose.
‘Good boy. Now then.’ He put his head close to its left ear and stroked its cheek gently, his voice carefully soothing, in the tone he knew would work. ‘Remember you’re the one that shares a home with dragons. These are just a few wolves. You aren’t going to let me down, are you?’
The horse snorted softly and nickered, trying to turn its head to him, to look at him through a big dark eye.
‘I knew you wouldn’t. Come on then,’ he said.
Never leaving his position close to its cheek, his free hand now caressing the front of its face, he led the still reluctant horse gently towards the wolves, speaking to Thraun as he came. ‘We need to get to the others. To The Raven.’ He pointed the way he wanted to go but Thraun growled and immediately the pack stood in his way. He stopped, grip tightening on the bridle, his horse digging in its back hooves.
He frowned and shook his head. All five wolves were looking at him, almost pleading. It wasn’t a threat, it was a warning.
‘What is it?’ he spread his arms wide, bridle hand slipping down the reins. As if in answer, Thraun trotted past him towards the risen sun and in th
e direction of Arlen. He paused and looked back at Hirad, the growl in his throat sounding like an order.
‘Come on, Thraun, the camp’s that way.’ Hirad pointed away into the forest. Thraun barked once and changed direction, the rest of the pack hesitating momentarily before following.
Hirad hauled himself into the saddle and goaded his unwilling horse after the wolves. He leaned forward and stroked the stallion’s face, whispering words of encouragement into his ears.
He had only half expected The Raven to be at their campsite but was still disappointed to find it empty. But as he rode in, it was clear something was badly wrong. The fire hadn’t been doused and cleared. A small pile of dry branches still sat near it. Surely they should have been taken for the next blaze. He dismounted and looked around.
There were no signs of any struggle but The Raven had left in a big hurry, the mud churned by hoofprints as if horses had been galloped out. Hirad squatted down, his frown deepening. He dragged gloved fingers through the mud and looked over at Thraun. The wolf was standing with the pack, watching him.
‘What happened here, Thraun?’ he asked.
He walked along the route the horses had taken out of the small clearing. Then he saw it. The churning wasn’t down to galloping. It was because more than three horses had been in the camp when The Raven had left. Many more. Hirad could see the widening column of prints as it drove away, back to the edge of the woodland.
They had been taken, surely. Ignoring the growls of Thraun, he remounted and rode along the trail carved into the sodden ground. Wherever they had gone, he would follow them and free them. He couldn’t leave them as prisoners. They were Raven.
And so was he.
Chapter 18
After the heavy seas of the past seven days, the River Arl was placid by comparison. Coming across the estuary on the rising tide, the Ocean Elm sliced calmly through the water, all sails full on a run with the wind blowing dead north, funnelling along the tree-lined shores. Further north, the trees would give way to rolling hills westwards, and spectacular escarpments eastwards, before open lowlands came to dominate the miles until the Arl opened into the beauty of Lake Arlen.
Ringed from its southernmost point to its north-western arc by trees that climbed part way up stark, snow-capped mountains, it seemed idyllic to anyone sailing towards it, bettered only by the body of water at Triverne. The port town of Arlen occupied the west bank, its deepwater berths home to ocean going vessels, its fishing fleet sheltered in a shallow harbour, and its offshore anchorages served by craft fitted with rope-and-pulley assemblies.
Incoming sailors could see the whole town sweeping up a low rise, culminating in the castle whose white scrubbed stone shone in the morning light, flags from its four turrets snapping in the prevailing breeze. Today, though, the white would be muted. None in Balaia had seen the sun consistently for what seemed like an age, with lowering, rain-bearing cloud washing almost ceaselessly across the sky. The land had cooled dramatically and many species of bird had flown prematurely south, insects had died early or never hatched at all and farming communities were counting the cost of poor crops this harvest and the certainty of hunger next year.
Erienne stood near the prow of the Elm, her mind still a fog from the mana attack, her stamina yet to recover fully and her feelings mixed as they had been ever since she left Lyanna behind on Herendeneth.
At least she felt she was doing something to try and maintain the safety of her daughter; and she felt an undeniable thrill at the thought of seeing Denser very soon. But ever-increasing had been her longing to hold Lyanna again, to sit in the orchard watching her beautiful child play, or to read her a story from her favourite book. She had found tears on her cheeks every morning, sleep having breached her defences. And, for the last three days, with her mana abilities damaged, she had known another emotion. Fear.
Fear that she would never be able to cast properly again, a threatened isolation that would soon become terrifying and unbearable. And fear of what she would find in Arlen. If Ren’erei was right, the Black Wings were strong again and Selik was still alive. He had been the right-hand man of Travers, and had the same zealous insanity in his eyes. She had only encountered them once but it had been an encounter that had cost the lives of her firstborn twin sons.
She knew now that the ache for them would never pass. Some days it was less, others more, but always there. And it was another reason she had to do what she was doing now. No one was going to take a child from her again.
Erienne let the wind whip at her hair as she stood in heavy cloak and trousers, looking back along the Ocean Elm’s length. She felt a little better this morning. Better enough that when Ren’erei walked along the deck towards her, she didn’t wish the elf gone.
As she approached, she looked hard at Erienne, trying to gauge her mood. She was wearing her brown and green cloak, laced leather trousers and brown shirt.
‘How are you feeling?’ Ren’erei asked, coming to lean with her back on the rail, arms folded, half turned to see Erienne’s face.
She shrugged. ‘Not bad. Less foggy.’ She made a scrunching gesture at the sides of her head.
‘Is that good?’ Ren’erei smiled.
‘Yes, it’s good. Mostly, I’m just glad we’re nearly there. This voyage has seemed very long.’
Ren’erei nodded, her expression becoming sober. ‘I can understand your impatience. But we have to be careful in Arlen. Denser’s right, you should stay aboard. We’ll find him.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What is it?’
Erienne sighed. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless and it was something that did not aid her shortening temper.
‘I’m irritated because I can’t contact him and he, presumably can’t contact me either. Gods in the sky, Ren’erei, we don’t even know if he’s there. And now you’re having to search the streets and all that’ll do is alert them.’
‘The Black Wings?’
Erienne nodded, finding herself unable to speak the name. A sudden knot of anxiety twisted her stomach.
‘They’ll be nowhere near here.’
‘No?’ snapped Erienne, her anger flaring. ‘How can you be so sure? Just ask Tryuun about them. When I was with The Raven we thought we’d destroyed them back before Dawnthief was cast. Gods burning, I swear I saw Selik die by my own hand. Yet you tell me he survived, and Tryuun’s face is evidence enough.’ She wiped a hand across her face, moving the stray hairs that blew about it. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped forward and covered Ren’s hands with her own.
‘These men are dangerous. They have mages working for them. I’m just imploring you to be careful. You’re a good friend, Ren. Don’t go getting careless. My daughter’s at stake here.’
Ren’erei nodded. ‘I’ll never forget that. And I’ll mind what you say. We’ll find Denser, don’t worry.’
Erienne’s next words were cut off by a shout from the wheel deck. They turned to see the Captain pointing away to the east bank where the trees were slowly thinning to lowland plains on the approach to the lake’s mouth. Ren’erei followed the lookout’s arm, staring intently into the trees. Erienne could see nothing. They were over one hundred yards off the bank, right in the centre of the Arl’s flow. To Erienne, the shadow under the canopy obscured whatever it was the lookout had seen.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Riders.’ Ren’erei continued to stare, unmoving. ‘Four of them. Scouts.’
Despite herself and her knowledge of these elves, she had to say it.
‘I can’t see a thing.’
Ren’erei turned to her, her eyes alive, her face brimming with patience.
‘Erienne, they are scouts because they ride horses with both short-sprint speed and long-ride stamina. They wear little armour and carry light weapons. But mostly, they’re elves and they know we’ve seen them.’
‘They’re looking for us?’
‘Who else?’ Ren’erei’s smile was forced.
‘How?’ Erienne felt suddenly exasperated, her fleeting good humour gone, her heart rate racing. ‘And who? Who knows we’re coming?’
‘I expect we’ll find out in Arlen,’ replied Ren’erei. The elf looked back across the shore, tracking the riders Erienne couldn’t even see.
She felt more helpless than ever and scared for all their lives. Their docking at Arlen was suddenly so much more risky and people, maybe even Black Wings but more likely Dordovans, would be after them. But there was support close by. She wanted Lyanna but Lyanna wasn’t near.
Fortunately, The Raven were.
By next morning, with Arlen less than a day’s ride away, The Unknown had managed to persuade the Lysternan guard that he posed no threat to Darrick and the two men rode side by side at the head of the column. For once, the wind wasn’t blasting across Balaia and there were breaks in the cloud, allowing precious spears of undiluted sunlight to fleetingly caress the ground.
The mood throughout the cavalry was lighter following another drenching night spent huddled under leather and leaf bivouacs. Around them, the gentle undulating moorland that led inexorably down to Lake Arlen’s west bank seemed less bleak and The Unknown felt some small relief, though Denser’s scowl had not eased.
‘Some prisoner you are,’ said Darrick, picking up another confused gaze from one of his men.
‘I’m sorry you even think of me that way,’ replied The Unknown.
Darrick chewed his lip, unable to meet The Unknown’s gaze for a moment.
‘You have to believe me that it’s for your own protection,’ said Darrick. ‘And I’m sorry too. For the necessity to take your weapons and for keeping Ilkar and Denser under mage guard. None of us like it.’
‘Just orders, eh?’ Try as he might, The Unknown couldn’t work up any anger towards the General. He just had to understand what it was all about.
‘I was advised that your reaching Arlen might be precipitate,’ said Darrick carefully.
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