The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Izack, sound general alarm. I want this camp on horseback and ready to ride faster than you’ve ever done it before. Get a message to the Dordovans. Warn them away from the Ocean Elm. And if you can find our Dordovan mage guides, tell them they are no longer welcome to ride with us.’

  ‘Sir?’ Izack frowned.

  ‘Later. We have to get to the Elm. There’s going to be real trouble, I think.’

  ‘Sir!’ Izack turned and ran, Darrick watching him order a young soldier to the bell and snap out orders that had men running for the paddocks, had tent flaps flying and set the camp alive with the sounds of neighing and snorting horses, chinking metal and a rising tide of urgent shouts.

  Darrick turned and ran for the paddocks for a fresh horse, one of hundreds of men for whom speed was everything.

  The paddocks looked like chaos incarnate but Darrick knew different. All the horses were picketed according to precise instruction and every man could find his mount with the very minimum of fuss and delay. Closer to, Izack, who had somehow got there ahead of him, was bellowing orders.

  ‘Mounted cavalry leave the paddock area and form up by squads at muster point one. One!’ He held an arm aloft, fingers straight up, to indicate to those who couldn’t hear him. ‘Move Lystern, move!’

  Darrick grinned. That would hurt the Dordovan mages, if they had heard it. The mages who shadowed them everywhere with a haughty air and who, he noted, were now conspicuous by their absence. If they had any remaining sense, they’d have left the camp already.

  Dodging wheeling horses, the last saddles being hurriedly fixed and the flare of cloaks as riders swept up and over, Darrick ran on, his reserve mount held by his personal handler. The mare looked perfect in the torchlight, her coat shining, her head steady, bit and bridle polished. Like always. Nodding thanks, the General surged into the saddle, slipped his feet into the stirrups and kicked the horse on, vaulting the paddock fence and galloping to the muster point where he found Izack fretting.

  ‘Not fast enough,’ said the senior captain in whom Darrick had utter faith.

  ‘Gods, Izack, I’m glad you don’t command me. From a sleeping start, this has got to be some sort of record.’

  ‘Doesn’t change the fact we haven’t the time to waste.’

  Darrick watched his men streaming to the muster, the last already in sight. ‘Bring them to order.’

  ‘Listen up,’ shouted Izack, both arms up and spread above his head. ‘General speaking.’ Instant hush fell on the riders.

  ‘This is no charge across open ground to an enemy. Those of you who have ridden to battle with me in years past remember the thrill of the ride. This has to be different. We will be riding through tight streets, past the houses of innocents and there must be no injury to any of them.

  ‘We will ride fast, but we will ride with care. We will keep weapons sheathed until we reach the dockside and the order to arm is issued.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what we will face on the docks but mind that those you thought of as allies may not be so. We ride to save a child from murderers. The innocent must survive. Lystern, ride on!’

  With a roar, the cavalry kicked into action. They ate up the land to Arlen.

  Hirad had turned north, leading the wolves away from the southern approaches to Arlen. This was no preordained plan. He’d wanted to be as near the docks as possible but what he had seen from a rise a couple of miles outside Arlen had shaken him.

  Riding from a camp where fires still burned brightly and carrying lanterns and torches, hundreds of footmen and riders were streaming towards the small port. Dordovans, presumably. And to the west of them, running, indefatigable and closing very fast, a dark smudge issued across the wan moonlit countryside.

  Silent, awesome, like a monstrous black blanket flowing through the lowlands, they came. They had no need of lanterns, they had no need of horses. Or rest. And when they arrived in Arlen all hell would break loose. The Protectors. Once set on their purpose, they would carry out their orders ruthlessly, putting down any that got in their way.

  Hirad knew a man who might be able to stop them but didn’t know where he was. Held somewhere. Perhaps with the Dordovans but he’d never get through there until it was too late. Heading a couple of miles to the north of Arlen, where more campfires burned, was the chance he’d have to take.

  With Thraun and the pack trailing him, he rode into the periphery. The camp was all but deserted, with signs of a hasty exit in evidence. Tent flaps not secured, fires untended and dying down, weapon stands empty, some lying on their sides. He could see only two men, not so much guards as camp minders, standing by the central fire over which hung various steaming pots. Their spears were jammed into the ground and the duo warmed their hands over the flames as the wind whipped at their cloaks.

  Knowing he couldn’t hope to persuade Thraun to wait, he decided to ride straight in, trusting that the wolves wouldn’t attack unless he did and knowing that the pack of five behind him was more likely to secure quick response.

  The soldiers didn’t see or hear him until very late, the wind stealing sound as it roared across the countryside, the harsh firelight making shadows heavy. When they did, their reactions were both comical and predictable, grabbing their spears but both moving back, open-mouthed at what they were seeing. They glanced at each other, weighing up what looked a hopeless situation, knowing they could not run nor hope to win a fight.

  Hirad pulled up his horse and slid off, sensing rather than hearing Thraun move with him into the warmth of the fire. The soldiers said nothing, staring past him at the wolves.

  ‘Impressive, aren’t they?’ he said, hand resting on his sword guard. ‘But not dangerous. Not necessarily.’

  ‘You want something?’ ventured one.

  ‘Good guess. The Raven. Where are they?’

  Recognition flashed across both their faces, frowns deepening nevertheless.

  ‘We were told you’d been killed,’ said the second soldier, both of them young men. ‘By wolves.’ He gestured at Thraun.

  ‘Whoever told you was wrong. Now, The Raven.’

  ‘They were taken to Arlen. To the jail.’

  Hirad nodded. The Raven jailed. An insult but one he had to admit he’d triggered. He swallowed rising anger.

  ‘And Darrick? Come to that, all the cavalry? Assuming you’re the Lysternans I think you are. This camp is too well pitched to be Dordovan.’

  ‘There’s trouble in Arlen.’ They looked from one to another. Hirad understood. They were, after all, Darrick’s men.

  ‘Look, I know you have your orders but, no matter how it may seem, we all want the same thing in the end. Tell me. I’m not about to announce to the General where I got my information but it might just help me save a lot of your friends and I do not have the time to argue with you.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation before one shrugged and the other spoke.

  ‘The cavalry have ridden to the docks. The General thinks there’s been a betrayal. He’s gone to secure the Ocean Elm.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  Both of them nodded but Hirad hardly waited to see. He turned and grabbed the reins of his horse, speaking as he swung into the saddle.

  ‘Gods burning, but it’s much worse than that. The Dordovans are coming in from the south and the Protectors are right behind them. If you can get a message to Darrick, do it. You know where I’m headed.’ He kicked the horse’s flanks. ‘And thank you. Thraun, come on.’ He pushed the horse to a gallop, the wolves following in his wake.

  Ren’erei wanted to shout, wanted to let Erienne know she’d seen and would do everything in her power to get the mage from Selik but knew she couldn’t afford to. It would only cost her own freedom and perhaps her life.

  The Black Wings had taken the Elm so quickly and Ren’erei cursed herself for Erienne’s predicament. But she’d been so scared and it had seemed the only way. She listened to her cries as Selik dragged her back to the main deck and prayed Tryuun had survi
ved to watch over her. Poor Tryuun, whose fear must be almost as great as Erienne’s.

  But Ren’erei had more pressing matters that demanded her attention. The water was cold and, whipped up by the fast strengthening wind, spray stung her face. Her leather was heavy on her body and her sword, though light and slung down her back for balance, merely added to her struggles to keep afloat as she trod water. She had to think fast, weighing up the two available options.

  Though slightly overhung in the classic elven style, the stern of the Ocean Elm could be climbed if, like all the crew, you knew how. But what purpose that would serve was difficult to judge. She was hardly going to liberate the ship single-handed and, besides hiding herself and waiting for some vague opportunity, would otherwise only provide company for Erienne as just another prisoner.

  So, Ren’erei struck out, away from the stern of the Elm, aiming to get to shore in the safe harbour occupied by the fishing fleet. At least there, she would be out of sight of the Black Wings and anyway, their plan was obvious. Erienne and the Elm were a means to reach their ultimate prize; Lyanna.

  The question was, how much more did they know? Enough to take the Elm with such apparent ease was shocking enough but Ren’erei had to assume they had some knowledge of their destination, at least that it lay south. After all, the degeneration of the Al-Drechar’s shield was the reason the Elm was here at all and a smart mage would be able to sense the interruptions in the mana flow.

  Ren’erei swam a powerful front crawl, her economical strokes moving her smoothly through the choppy water. Ahead of her, the fishers’ harbour loomed, a stone and wood structure that had provided placid waters for the relatively flimsy skiffs and smacks for as long as Arlen had been built. Even on the calm lake waters, the winds whipping round the mountains brought squalls and storms and, periodically, the fleet needed a place to hide.

  She swam to the end of the man-made promontory and opted to swim to shore as opposed to walking along the shingle on the lee side of the harbour wall. This wind was no respecter of land conditions and its chill would cut her to the bone as soon as she emerged from the water. Indeed, it crossed her mind as she watched the pitching fishing vessels that many of their owners would be spending a sleepless night, praying to the Gods of the Seas that their boats were undamaged come dawn.

  In the last fifty yards, Ren’erei’s mind turned back to Erienne and the Elm. There was no way they would refuse passage to their captors; nor even delay them for too long - Lyanna’s Night was upon her; and her and Balaia’s fate lay in Erienne, Denser and Ilkar, at least, coming to Herendeneth quickly to provide support for the ailing and weakening Al-Drechar. But that same need for haste brought the Black Wings closer too, and their solution could not be allowed. The One had to survive.

  But the Black Wings had a problem. They needed the elves to see them safely through the waters around Herendeneth and the elves wanted Erienne alive. That meant Selik wasn’t going to be in total command, which gave them all a chance. So, the second option was the only one really open to Ren’erei. Find The Raven and take a ship to follow, if not beat, the Ocean Elm to Herendeneth. There, they would have to hope they had the strength to prevail.

  But as she pulled herself ashore, shivering in the sudden cold of the windswept harbour-side, Ren’erei heard elven orders barked across the echoing docks, heard the thundering of hooves coming closer with every heartbeat and saw moving lights approaching from the south-west. She ran north behind the fish market and towards Centenary Square, wondering if it wasn’t all going to be taken out of her hands anyway. No matter, she had to try and that meant finding The Raven.

  Erienne soon lost even the strength to scream and Selik had just stood, smiled his twisted smile and let her exhaust herself. Now, the fear, loathing and hopelessness swamped her, threatening to turn her legs boneless. There was a dreadful pain growing in her gut, a twisting agony of encroaching terror that blossomed and swept nausea through her whole body, leaving her shaking, tears streaming across her cheeks. Her throat was raw from the screams and she didn’t resist as Selik pulled her back towards the unnatural quiet that had engulfed the Elm.

  Selik walked ahead, strong arm on the neck of her shirt, fingers pushing at the skin of her throat, threat in every kneading movement. At the main deck, he thrust her forward into torchlight and the cheers of Black Wings soldiers. She stumbled but didn’t fall, turning to take in everything she could.

  Blood-spattered timbers, elves with heads bowed and under sword guard, bodies lying where they had fallen, some still moving and one nearby clutching at the base of a crossbow bolt buried high in his leg. His slim face was white and strained and his attempts to stop the steady bloodflow were watched dispassionately by the Black Wings. And there she stood, still unable to cast a spell to heal him because of the damage Lyanna had inflicted on her.

  There were lights on other ships now as crews woke to the trouble in the docks and she hoped that they and those who must have heard in the town would come and help. It was pretty much all she had to cling on to. That and Ren’erei doing the right thing and not trying to get back on board without help.

  Erienne dragged herself to face Selik, summoning up her last dregs of self-belief.

  ‘You’ve got what you want. Now help these wounded before their deaths add to those already on your vile hands.’

  Selik paced towards her, shaking his head. ‘Tut, tut, Erienne. Hardly in a position to make demands, don’t you think?’

  ‘You want a crew to sail this ship, don’t you?’ Erienne could hear the words spilling from her mouth but didn’t recognise the voice as hers. It quavered, with none of its usual confidence and strength. She could barely focus on Selik standing before her, his ruined face and laboured breathing testament to what she had done to him. Yet he lived, and the bile in her throat was all the more bitter that she hadn’t killed him those years ago.

  And in his eyes, she saw hate. Deep, brooding and cancerous hate. It came from him in waves. He had pursued her for more than six years, that much was now obvious; and safe in Dordover’s College for much of that time she’d never given it a second thought. Why would she? Gods she’d killed him, surely? But there he stood, her nemesis, with complete power over her, and it was that which truly terrified her. Because it gave the Black Wings the ability to destroy her family and her life a second time, and the very thought set her heart lurching painfully in her chest. Because she could see no way to stop them. Stop him.

  What choice did she have? He would never let her go now, and to refuse to show Selik the way would condemn Lyanna and perhaps Balaia to death, just as agreeing to do so would. She was trapped and the only option was to buy time while leading Lyanna’s executioners directly to her. She swallowed hard, feeling close to collapse, her vision defocusing, threatening to unbalance her.

  ‘Well?’ she managed.

  ‘I have no intention of letting them die, Erienne,’ he said. He snapped his fingers at one of his men and waved him towards one of the stricken elves whose blood loss was surely critical. ‘But far more efficient help, of a more, shall I say, mana-led nature, will soon be arriving.’

  ‘What?’ And it all crashed through Erienne’s head once again. She was transported back to her time as a prisoner in Black Wings Castle. There she had as much as been told that traitor mages helped the Witch Hunters. She had felt sick at the thought then, now it just added to her overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.

  Selik smiled, his slack mouth stretching unnaturally. ‘Don’t think of it as betrayal, lady mage, consider it help. After all, we all want an end to this mess which the uncontrolled magic of your daughter has placed us in.’

  Erienne surged at him, fingers hooking to claw the skin from his hideous face, but he caught her easily.

  ‘Don’t you touch her,’ she grated. ‘Don’t you lay a finger on her.’

  ‘I? Erienne, you misunderstand me. I have no intention of touching a hair on her undoubtedly pretty head. Indeed no Black Wing will do
so. Others know what is best for the mana creature you spawned and I am happy to leave it in their capable hands.’ He pulled her very close, his fingers digging hard into her upper arms.

  ‘Want to know why I’m still alive? Even after your spell froze my flesh? Your Raven friends dumped my body in the cellars to rot with my companions. They should have left me to burn in the tower, lying in the warm blood of your sons.’

  At the mention of her boys, she hunched inwards, seeing their slaughter as if it were yesterday. Their sightless eyes, their torn throats and the red. The dark red that was everywhere.

  ‘Well, I haven’t finished with the Malanvai family just yet. There’s one left I want. You. And now you are mine for as long as I choose to let you live. And when you are dead, I can live again without your cursed shadow over me. Think on it, Erienne Malanvai and savour your last days.’

  He spun her around to face the ship. It was quiet and through her tear-fogged vision she could see every face staring at her. One thought thundered again and again through her mind. She was lost but Lyanna must survive.

  ‘I pity you, Selik, still a lackey for others better than you,’ she said through a choked throat. ‘Because if you ever set foot where my daughter is living, the Al-Drechar will snuff you out as easily as you might squash a fly. Their power is like nothing you have even begun to conceive.’

  Selik began pushing her towards the aft doors below.

  ‘If that’s what you believe. But my sources have seen the flares in the mana and say they are distressed in the extreme. And clearly, your precious Al-Drechar are not powerful enough to control your daughter. Still, I think it’s time you and I had a private word about them.’

  The aft doors were opened for them as he marched her over. She lifted her head and looked straight into the eyes of the Captain of the Elm, whose humiliation was etched in his face. Behind him, a Black Wing held a sword to the elf ’s throat. He pushed it aside.