The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

She started and ran on, taking the right turn.

  Twenty yards and it opened out on to war. The street beyond was ablaze. Men ran everywhere, orders were barked over the deafening roar of battle. Spells fell at random, fire and lightning gouging rents in the ground and destroying unshielded soldiers. Corpses and the screaming wounded littered the ground.

  ‘Ten yards and stop!’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Take the doorway. Crouch small.’

  Not waiting to see her do it, he swung to face the opening, dragging out his sword, its point tapping rhythmically in the mud. Their pursuers were only moments away, their breath and words betraying them. First was a bowman, tearing blindly round the corner, an arrow nocked in his bow. The Unknown shifted his weight forward and drove his sword up between the archer’s legs and out through his ribcage, the power of the blow launching him backwards, dead before he hit the ground.

  A couple of paces behind came a pair of swordsmen, one slightly in advance, both more wary than their erstwhile companion. The Unknown batted aside the first blade and straight punched the soldier in the face, feeling his nose break and sending him tumbling back. The second, quick and accurate, whipped a deep cut into The Unknown’s left arm.

  He swore at the sudden pain and brought his sword back one-handed low across his body, biting into his attacker’s thigh. The man cried out and half fell forwards. The Unknown took his chance, lashing out with a foot and catching the soldier on the point of his jaw. His head snapped back with a wet crack. He crumpled.

  The Unknown advanced on the other swordsman, who looked at him through bloodied hands, turned and ran away, shouting for help. It would have to be enough. The Raven warrior hurried to Diera.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘Your arm.’ She reached out.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, glancing at the blood slicking over his hand.

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘No time for bandages. We’ve got to go. Now.’ He leaned in and kissed her. ‘Stay close to me and you’ll live.’

  ‘We’re going out there?’

  ‘It’s the only way.’

  The Unknown knew what he had to do. Sword in right hand, Diera’s trembling hand in his left, he moved quickly to the opening onto the main street, keeping as far into the shadows as he could.

  Out on the street it was mayhem. To the left, Xetesk was defending the entrance to a small square but the line was fragmented. Dordovan forces were pouring down the street from the north, their mages bombarding the rear of the line with FlameOrbs and HotRain, filling the sky with orange radiance. Soldiers threw themselves on the wavering Xeteskians, pounding them, threatening to drive them back and turn their flanks. It had to be one of half a dozen key conflicts in the town but the defence he wanted wasn’t there.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know,’ said The Unknown. A ForceCone tore out from the Xeteskian line, scattering unshielded Dordovans. There was an opening. ‘Let’s go.’

  Diera’s scream was lost in the storm of noise that assaulted them out in the street. The Unknown lashed to his right, a soldier fell clutching at his entrails. The big warrior hauled his wife and child behind him, running full tilt at the back of the Dordovan assault.

  He ignored the voices raised against him as he passed, praying for the confusion of the fight to hide him for just long enough. He glanced down at Diera, so small and fragile, and fear grabbed his heart. That he might not get her through. That she and Jonas might fall under the swords of men who attacked them because of him and him alone. At the same moment, she glanced up, and through her terror, he saw determination. She clutched Jonas tighter under her cloak. The Unknown nodded.

  Never letting her go but keeping her just behind him as he dodged through the chaos he hoped would shield them, he pushed men aside, sword hilt connecting roughly with shoulder, face and back.

  ‘Move! Move!’

  And they reacted like all conscripts to a voice of authority. For a few priceless heartbeats, a path opened to the fighting line but he knew it couldn’t last. One of them turned and recognised him.

  ‘What—?’

  The Unknown’s sword took out his throat. He tightened his grip on Diera’s hand and surged on, soldiers on all sides alerted to the enemy in their midst. He drove his blade through the back of a man too slow to react and kicked him aside, swayed left to dodge a blow from his flank and clashed swords with a third who turned from the fight.

  ‘Open the line!’ he roared at the Xeteskians. ‘Open the line!’

  But there were still Dordovans in the way. Just yards from relative safety and he was going to be trapped. He swung Diera round and backed towards the left-hand side of the street.

  ‘Shout if anyone comes behind,’ he said.

  FlameOrbs dropped into the centre of the street, flaring off SpellShields, the fire routed harmlessly into the ground. In the flash of light, The Unknown saw eight or ten Dordovans moving towards him, all wary of his reputation unlike the others before them, but all confident in their advance.

  ‘Sol . . .’

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ said The Unknown.

  But it wouldn’t. He looked frantically at the line of Xeteskian warriors backed by archers and mages and hemmed in by the Dordovan aggressors.

  ‘Push your right, damn you!’ he shouted, not even sure now if they’d seen him at all.

  A sword thrust came in. He blocked it easily. He squared up to

  the overwhelming numbers, letting go of Diera at last and gripping his sword two-handed. He weaved it slowly in front of him, fencing away the first feints. He identified first and second targets and wondered how many he could take with him.

  ‘Take a dagger from my belt. When I fall, run. Hug the wall and try to get through. Find a Protector.’

  ‘I won’t leave you.’

  ‘You’ll do as I say. I got you into this and I’m getting you out.’ He lunged forward, striking left to right, blade weight beating aside a weak defence and nicking through leather. The target fell back; The Unknown did likewise. The rest closed, scant feet from him now but unwilling to attack. They were a disparate group, not under command. Maybe. Just maybe.

  Consternation rippled through the Dordovan line to his left. ForceCones flew out from the Xeteskian mages, scattering Dordovans behind the front. Two of his attackers fell. A heavy detonation sounded. The building next to him shook and tottered under an EarthHammer. More ForceCones. Very close. The edge of one caught him a glancing blow and he sprawled. Diera screamed.

  The Unknown rolled onto his back. Dordovans ran at him, three at least fast on their feet.

  We are come.

  Panic spread in the Dordovan line. The trio running at The Unknown faltered then came on again. Halfway to his feet, The Unknown sheared aside a thrust to his chest and jumped back. A second came in but it didn’t get close to its target, stopped by the flat blade of a massive axe.

  Protectors sprinted in front of him. He drove to his feet as Diera yelped in surprise. He turned to see her lifted from the ground by one of the Xeteskian elite taking her to safety. He heard a voice by his ear.

  ‘You go too.’

  He looked round into the blank mask of a Protector and nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Go.’

  A backward glance told him the Protectors were holding the gap. The Unknown nodded again and ran after his wife down to the dockside where the Calaian Sun bobbed against the wharf.

  With his wife and son safely below deck in their cabin, he came back to the wheel deck to shake hands with Jevin, the ship’s captain, but could see instantly that all was not right. There were Protectors and Xeteskian mages everywhere on board and the ship was already under way.

  ‘Thank you for waiting.’

  ‘It’s what you pay me for,’ said Jevin curtly.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ asked The Unknown. ‘I agreed half a dozen research mages. There must be twenty here.’

  ‘Thirty,’ c
orrected Jevin. ‘And a hundred Protectors.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ask him.’ Jevin gestured at a tall young mage striding towards the wheel-deck ladder. ‘I’ve got a ship to sail.’

  The Unknown watched the mage quickly scale the ladder and smile as he approached.

  ‘The Unknown Warrior,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I’m glad you got through.’

  ‘Sytkan,’ said The Unknown, ignoring the hand. ‘Are you going to tell me what this small army is doing on board Jevin’s ship?’

  Sytkan at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘It was felt at the highest level that Herendeneth should be secured from Dordovan invasion.’

  The Unknown cleared his throat and looked back to the dockside. It was ringed with fire but secured. Spell after spell crashed into the shields all around it and, high in the sky, he could just pick out the silhouettes of Xeteskian demon Familiars, watching the perimeter. He shuddered, imagining their maniacal laughs all too easily.

  ‘This was to be a peaceful mission,’ he said. ‘You’re sharing your findings with the other colleges. Or supposed to be.’

  Sytkan waved a hand at the ruins of Arlen. ‘Things change,’ he said. ‘The Dordovans wanted something we were not prepared to give.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Their mages in the research party.’

  ‘And this is the result?’ The Unknown shook his head. ‘Gods burning, was it really worth going to war over?’

  ‘If not this then something else.’ Sytkan shrugged.

  The Unknown slapped the railing. ‘But this was supposed to help broker peace! What the hell went wrong?’

  Sytkan didn’t answer.

  ‘Dystran and Vuldaroq,’ said The Unknown, answering for him. ‘You don’t need this, you know - the colleges, that is. There’s already unrest.’ He gestured back at Arlen. ‘This sort of thing will be the death of magic, ultimately.’

  Sytkan snorted. ‘I hardly think so.’

  The Unknown rounded on him and pushed his face in very close. ‘Don’t underestimate Selik and the Black Wings. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a family to attend to and a cut to stitch.’

  He nodded at Jevin as he descended the ladder, pain shooting through his left hip and lower back. Now the adrenaline was gone, the liberties he’d taken with his old wound were taking their toll. Before going below, he scanned the deck once more, seeing too many Xeteskians on it.

  Ilkar wasn’t going to like this. He wasn’t going to like this at all.

  Chapter 2

  Two hours before dawn and the mood of the rainforest changed. Imperceptible to all but those whose lives were inextricably linked to the canopy but there just the same. Rebraal became utterly still, all but invisible against his background.

  Behind him, the green-gold dome of Aryndeneth rose two hundred feet into the air, its apex on a level with the highest boughs of the canopy. The temple had stood for over five thousand years, its stone partially hidden beneath a tapestry of thick mosses, ivies and liana. It was periodically cleared but the voracious forest growth didn’t lose its grip for long.

  But whether cleared or not, the temple was barely visible more than fifty yards away.

  It hadn’t always been like this. In the centuries after its building, Aryndeneth had been a place of pilgrimage, revered by the elves as the centre of their faith. The Earth Home. A grand stone apron with a carved path between the massive slabs had greeted travellers, and the rainforest trail had been carefully cleared and maintained for a hundred miles north.

  Now the trail was long gone, and though a portion of the apron and its path was still visible beneath the weeds and creepers the rainforest’s march was relentless, and Rebraal and his people fought a constant battle against it.

  Rebraal looked to his right across the great iron-bound wooden doors of the temple. Mercuun had sensed it too. His eyes were scanning the dark, his ears pricked gauging the forest mood. Further out, on the tree platforms, Skiriin, Rourke and Flynd’aar had bows ready. It was all the confirmation Rebraal needed.

  He cocked an ear and listened hard, trying to gain a sense of the potential threat. The noise of the forest surrounded him, the heat stifling even in the hours before dawn. A dozen species of birds called mating or warning, monkeys screeched and greeted, their progress through the canopy marked by the rustle and crack of branches. Myriad insects buzzed, vibrated and rasped and the growl of a wildcat punctuated the pre-dawn cacophony.

  In every way but one, it was as every other night Rebraal could remember. This night though, the accent of the warnings was different. There was a change in the atmosphere and every creature in the forest felt it. Strangers. Close and dead ahead.

  The clicking of a brown tree frog filtered down from one of the platforms. Rebraal looked up. Rourke signalled eight strangers approaching in single file; warriors and mages hacking a path to Aryndeneth. They were not pilgrims. No pilgrims were due until after the rainy season and that was fifty days away. Rebraal nodded, put fingers to his eyes and drew another across his throat. Whoever they were, they could not be allowed to escape with word of the location.

  He snapped his fingers twice and heard Erin’heth and Sheth’erei move up on his left. SpellShields were deployed and he went forward, sensing Mercuun matching his pace. The two warriors made no sound, the mages behind them moving only to keep them within the shields. Glancing at the platforms suspended thirty feet into the trees bordering the apron, Rebraal saw the trio of archers tracking targets. From the angle of the bows, they were close, perhaps fifty yards away, no more. He stopped, hand up.

  The blundering of the strangers was easily audible now and the forest around them was quietening. He waved behind him with his left arm, pointing up to send Erin’heth ahead to shield the platform. He drew his slender, quick blade, holding it in his right hand. With his left, he reached across and unclasped the pouch of jaqrui throwing crescents on his belt.

  Now he paced forward again, acute eyes narrowing, seeing movement in the darkness ahead. The strangers were carrying no light but that wouldn’t hide them. He could hear the regular hack of blades on vegetation, the cracking of twigs underfoot and the odd snatch of speech. No doubt they had been told that noise would deter predators in the rainforest. And so it was but with one particularly deadly exception.

  The strangers would never set eyes on the temple. Rebraal called the peculiar wail of the tawny buzzard and began to run, footsteps ghosting over the edge of the apron and on into the forest.

  Arrows whipped away from the platforms. Strangled cries came from the strangers and he heard the sound of bodies hitting the forest floor. Another volley thrummed into the dark. Orders and shouts snapped out and the surviving strangers scattered. Rebraal gripped a jaqrui and ducked low as he entered the thick growth, flicking it out backhand when he saw the face of a crouching warrior peering over a fallen log. Shaped like a miniature sickle with a two-fingered grip at one end, the razor-sharp double-edged crescent whispered as it flew, small enough to find gaps in the hanging vines.

  The warrior might have heard it but he didn’t see it coming, looking straight at its trajectory as it struck him in the forehead just above his eyebrows. He screamed and fell back. Rebraal tore on, flitting through gaps in the lush flora, circling the survivors with Mercuun appearing again in his vision to complete the pincer.

  He could see a pair of mages, one crouched, one standing, staring blankly up into the canopy, searching for the platforms. One had prepared a spell, one had cast, his face creased in concentration. Presumably a HardShield to beat away more arrows.

  Rebraal stormed in, the standing mage seeing him only when he was within five yards. He leapt the crouched mage and struck his companion with both feet in the chest, the man going down before he had a chance to cast. Rebraal landed astride him, stabbed down into his heart, turned and lashed his sword into the throat of the other, who had turned to stare at their assailant. Another arrow punched through the foliage an
d a man gurgled and fell close to Rebraal’s right side. He heard the clash of steel, the thud of a sword on leather armour and a cry of pain, quickly cut off.

  ‘That’s all of them,’ came a voice from a platform.

  ‘Keep watching, Rourke,’ acknowledged Rebraal. ‘Good shooting. ’

  He checked for signs of life at his feet then moved away into the bush to retrieve his crescent. The warrior was still breathing but blood and brain oozed from the wound. Rebraal skewered his heart with his blade then placed a foot on the man’s skull, leaning down to lever the crescent clear. He wiped it on his victim’s shirt before returning it to the pouch, which he snapped shut.

  He felt Mercuun at his shoulder.

  ‘What shall we do with them?’

  Rebraal looked into his friend’s dark-skinned face, saw the brow above the angled oval eyes furrowed and his leaf-shaped, gently pointed ears pricking as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened.

  ‘Get Skiriin and take them away from the path they made, over to the clearing north. Keep anything useful, shred their clothes and leave the bodies. The forest will take care of them.’

  ‘Rebraal?’ There was an edge to Mercuun’s voice.

  ‘Yes, Meru?’

  ‘Who were they and how did they know where to find us?’ Rebraal ran a hand through his long black hair. ‘Two very good questions,’ he said. ‘They’re from Balaia certainly, but beyond that who can tell? I’m going to track back along their route in the morning, see if I can find anything. Meantime we have to keep vigilant.’

  ‘They won’t be the last, will they?’ said Mercuun.

  ‘No,’ said Rebraal. ‘If I had my guess I’d say they were picking the path here. They were travelling too light for anything else. There will be more to come, and they might not be far away. We may not have much time.’

  Rebraal looked deep into Mercuun’s face and saw the worry that he felt himself. It was bad enough that these men from the northern continent had managed to gain information no man should. But they had also evaded those that fed disinformation and the TaiGethen who killed those who persisted. It was an immense rainforest but the outer circle and town dwellers of his kind had kept the uninvited from Aryndeneth for more than four hundred years.