The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  Hunched low in his saddle, Selik looked back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing and anger building. He counted four men ablaze in their saddles, horses shrieking, plunging this way and that, stumbling and falling as they attempted to dislodge their riders. Another three were already on the ground, beating uselessly at the flames that consumed armour and flesh. And streaking across the plain, fire gorging on mane, back and tail, a horse trailed smoke as it galloped to inevitable and agonising death, rider already gone.

  But if the mages expected their attackers to be dismayed by death so easily wrought, they were sadly mistaken. The Black Wings were on them. One more mage cast, her ForceCone punching out, stopping three horses in their tracks and smashing riders from saddles. Selik heard the snap of equine bones, shut the pain from his mind, drew his sword and plunged into the enemy.

  Leaning down from his saddle, he whipped his sword through low, the blade carving into the mage’s face, snapping the head back and cartwheeling her flopping corpse end over end. Not pausing, he rode down the HardShield mage and only then dragged at the reins to turn his horse round to a stop.

  His men had done exactly the job required. A third mage was dead, body twisted unnaturally, a slick of blood already subsiding into the earth under his chest. The other two were being held while they were beaten into a state where they couldn’t have cast if their lives depended on it. Shame, because for one of them, it did.

  Selik trotted back to the wagon, which two of his men were already ransacking. He smiled and swept back his hood, dismounting when he reached his captives, the sound of their gasps and grunts of pain sweet in his ears. He spared a glance at the fires still smouldering a hundred yards away and the smile left his face.

  ‘Enough,’ he ordered.

  The rain of punches, sword pommels and kicks stopped, both men having to be supported to remain upright.

  He nodded. ‘Good work,’ he said, seeing the blood running from noses and mouths, the puffed eyes and torn ears. But no amount of blood on their faces could mask the fear in their eyes.

  ‘More mages running from their responsibilities,’ he said, standing close to them, letting the venom in his mind spit from his mouth. ‘Running from what they have created. Where were you going, eh? Away to join your armies for a new assault on the innocents of Balaia?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’re scum. Worthless, cowardly scum.’

  ‘We’d have stayed to help but your supporters wanted us gone,’ said one of the mages, voice thick through split and swelling lips.

  Selik stepped up and grabbed him by the throat, pushing his head back. ‘The damage was already done, fool. What help could you give now?’

  ‘So what is it that you want from us? To stay or to leave?’ said the mage, desperation clear in his voice.

  ‘I want you to face up to what your kind has done to my world,’ said Selik, not releasing his grip. ‘You know what I saw in Erskan? Three children who would have killed each other for a scrap of bread a rat would turn down. You have sapped the strength and the will from those who trusted you. You have broken their spirit. But I am going to give it back to them and you and your kind will never wield your unholy power so freely again.’

  ‘We could have helped, had we been allowed to stay,’ pleaded the mage. ‘We could have healed the people. Healed the ground.’

  Selik dropped his hand and stepped away. ‘You really don’t understand what you’ve done to Balaia and its people do you? How blind you are to think that after magic has destroyed so much, people would allow you to cast a few more spells to put it right. You have lost their trust but still you think it is as easy as waving your hands.’

  He turned to the second mage, finding the man glaring defiantly back at him.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ he asked.

  ‘To someone who would deny magic to an entire population because of a single rogue, no. It is you who are blind, Selik, you and the monkeys who follow you so slavishly.’

  ‘Some fight still left, at least,’ said Selik to the chuckles of his men within earshot. ‘Trouble is, I don’t really think I want to hear your voice on the road. Because you won’t listen. So you will stay as a warning and your friend here will accompany us.’

  He gestured to the men holding the mages. ‘Get him on that carthorse and away from here.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the mage to his doomed colleague.

  The man shook his head. ‘Don’t be. These bastards can never defeat us.’

  ‘But you won’t live to see whether that’s true, will you?’ said Selik.

  ‘I am proud you think me so dangerous that you have to kill me.’

  ‘Kill you?’ said Selik, a smile creeping over his face. ‘No, no, that would be too easy. All I can promise is that you will die unless you are very, very fortunate.’

  The Black Wings captain saw the mage’s eyes flicker, his bravado punctured, and all he could do, while his colleague was loaded, hands bound, onto the carthorse and away with a guard of six, was watch while his fate unfolded in front of him.

  Quickly, the cart was stood on its end and braced, its wheels facing in the direction of the mage lands to the north-west. The traces and lines from the harness were cut into four pieces and the mage strung upright between the four wheels with his clothes ripped from him to leave only a loincloth. Selik watched it all dispassionately, a slight twinge of disappointment at the bearing of the mage, who didn’t struggle or protest. When he was secured, Selik unsheathed a dagger and walked slowly over to him, the mage’s eyes never leaving his.

  ‘There are people like you all over this land. Left as warnings to others of your kind that the Black Wings are growing. That we will pursue you relentlessly, that you will atone for what you have done and that we will not stop until the evil of magic is scrubbed from Balaia. You, at least, will not join the war.’

  The mage spat at him, the blood-veined saliva catching Selik on the cheek and running down the side of his face. He merely smiled.

  ‘You’ll regret that when your thirst becomes unbearable.’

  ‘Come closer and I’ll do it again. I’m not afraid to die.’

  ‘Lucky for you,’ said Selik, his mouth bent into a grotesque sneer. ‘Our trouble is that there can be no warning without a message. And, since we’ve run right out of parchment, we need to use a somewhat different medium.’ He turned to his men. ‘Hold him still and shut his useless mouth.’

  Black Wings moved in and hands pressed on the mage’s head, shoulders, knees and the top of his legs, rendering him immobile. Selik walked up slowly, staring deep into the mage’s eyes, watching the fear begin to grow and the first cracks appear in his bearing.

  Taking the tip of his dagger between his thumb and first two fingers, he began to carve letters on the mage’s chest, letting the blade bite deep, feeling his human canvas heave and hearing choked cries through his closed mouth.

  ‘Hold him, I’m trying to write,’ he said.

  He bent back to his task, dragging the dagger in letter shapes, keeping the mage’s chest and stomach skin taut with his other hand. Soon it was done. He backed up, wiped and sheathed the dagger and looked at his handiwork, which was a little lost in the streaming blood. With a flick of his hand, he waved his men away. The mage drew in shuddering breaths, his face dripping sweat and pale. He swallowed.

  ‘You’ll die at the hand of a mage, Selik,’ he managed. ‘And when you do, my death will seem painless by comparison.’

  Selik ignored his words. ‘I expect you’re curious to know what I’ve written.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less,’ said the mage, regaining some control over his wracked body. ‘You are worthless vermin, Selik. I’m surprised you can write at all.’

  ‘It says, “Mages: fear the Black Wings.” Succinct, I think. To the point, if you will.’ He laughed. ‘Of course it isn’t easy to read but I expect whoever finds you will fathom it eventually. And if you are very lucky, you’ll be able to tell them yourself.’

  He swun
g away and strode back to his horse. ‘Mount up, Black Wings; we’ve a long way to go and a mage to educate.’

  ‘Burn in hell, Selik!’ roared the mage, straining at his lashings.

  Selik laughed again. ‘No, dear mage, I will not. Because the righteous are blessed, not cursed.’

  He kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and led the Black Wings away, the mage’s shouts growing ever fainter in his ears. It had been a truly uplifting day.

  Chapter 11

  The Calaian Sun sailed slowly into Ysundeneth shortly after midday on the third day after leaving the Ornouth Archipelago. Even Jevin had declared himself surprised at the speed they’d made. A steady southerly wind had driven them through a light swell and the dolphins that had swum with them most of the journey added to the idyll.

  Standing next to Ilkar as they cruised towards their berth at the heart of the docks, Denser could sense the relief in the Julatsan mage, shot through as it was with nerves. It mirrored Denser’s own feelings, though his reasons were very different. The voyage had not been easy. Erienne had barely left her bunk the entire time, her heart re-broken by the ever-increasing distance from Lyanna’s grave. And when she had walked the deck, the set of her body kept everyone away from her.

  Denser could understand her reaction but was frustrated he wasn’t being allowed to help. She had withdrawn into herself completely, ate little and said less. Ilkar had given voice to his concern the day before. Calaius and its climate were not like Balaia in any way. It drained and fatigued the fittest of bodies and sickness was so easy to contract, particularly for those not born there. Erienne, he said, would be seriously risking her health if she refused to keep up her strength for much longer. And if her capacity for casting was impaired, she could be risking the health of The Raven too.

  As he had so often in the last three days, Denser had sighed and hoped she’d come back to herself once they landed. But, with the sun beating down hard from a clear blue sky, Denser found he could forget for a moment by simply looking straight in front of him at his first clear view of a new land. When they had first sighted Calaius and The Raven had run on deck to see, he’d felt vaguely disappointed. All he could make out were cliffs, the outline of the land where it met the sea and the very distant shapes of buildings.

  Now, much closer to, it was stunning in its vibrancy and beauty. In front of them, Ysundeneth, the capital port city of Calaius, filled his eyes. Translating as ‘Ocean Home’, or so Ilkar had said, Ysundeneth was a vast sprawling place whose dock area stretched for four miles along the winding coast; and whose buildings spread half as far back. It was almost the size of Korina but looked so utterly different. Where Korina’s skyline was filled with low, sturdy brick and stone structures built against the gales that swept the city’s estuary, Ysundeneth was a riot of spires and tall buildings, slim and sinuous but with an air of solidity. And every single one of them was made solely of wood.

  Denser was astonished at the wooden buildings but Ilkar had only laughed and pointed beyond the city. Surrounding the port on all sides and covering the land for as far as he could see was a thick mat of green. Trees everywhere, punctuated by sharp rises, great sweeping cliffs and plunging soaking lowlands, but trees all the same.

  Denser had stood and stared at it all for what seemed an age, only emerging from his reverie when Ilkar nudged him. He looked round to see the Julatsan arm in arm with Ren, both smiling at him.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked the elf.

  Denser shrugged. ‘It’s extraordinary. I can’t believe how big this port is. I didn’t think many of you lived in cities. More to the point, what do you think? Been a long time for you, hasn’t it?’

  Ilkar nodded, his smile fading. ‘It’s odd, no doubt about that. But I still feel like I’m coming home. I mean, I hardly recognise this place, it’s grown so much, but I was born here.’

  ‘Ysundeneth?’

  ‘Well, no, not here exactly. About three days upriver by boat, but I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up and it was never this big.’

  ‘So how does it sustain itself?’ The Unknown had come to the rail and was leaning out, his shaven head tanning deep brown.

  ‘Trade with Balaia is important,’ said Ren. ‘But the real money’s made trading around the coast. So much of the inland is impassable to boats of any real size that it’s quicker to go around. But this is the biggest port by far. None of the others are even half this size.’

  ‘There have got to be well over a hundred thousand elves living here, haven’t there?’ said The Unknown.

  ‘More,’ said Ren.

  ‘I’m amazed there are that many on the entire continent,’ said Denser. ‘Given the very few we see, that is.’

  ‘Calaius is a very big continent, Denser, and you’d be surprised how many elves there are here,’ said Ilkar. ‘But as a race, we just like to keep ourselves to ourselves. No one’s going to take you to their bosom when we land, I can tell you. And when I also tell you that the elves you’ll meet in the ports are the most outgoing, well, I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.’

  ‘The place must burn a lot.’ It was Hirad, standing just behind them. ‘All that wood.’

  Ilkar cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Hark,’ he said, a broad grin on his face. ‘The lilting sounds of a barbarian making a daft comment.’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  ‘Does the term “rainforest” not give you any sort of clue?’ asked Ilkar. ‘I mean it doesn’t rain quite so much here on the coast but inland, well, you’ll experience it soon enough.’

  Ren nudged Ilkar hard. ‘Tell him the truth. All of it.’

  Hirad’s face hardened. Denser clapped his hands. ‘Gods, I love listening to you two.’

  ‘You could sell tickets to it,’ muttered The Unknown.

  Ilkar puffed out his cheeks. ‘Fair enough, I was just taking a rise and am guilty as charged, although it does rain a lot.’

  ‘So what is the truth?’ growled Hirad.

  ‘That all the buildings are coated with flame-retardant resin. We just use nature’s own defences out here. Smells a bit if you’re not used to it but it’s good against lightning and fire.’

  ‘Make a simple statement, I don’t know . . .’ Hirad let his voice trail off but Denser could see his heart wasn’t in his anger. As it never was with Ilkar. It was one of the joys of travelling with The Raven. Those two could be pure theatre at times.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Simple, really,’ said Ilkar. ‘We’re landing in about an hour, I think. We’ll find a place to stay tonight and while you lot take a look at the sights, Ren and I’ll hire a boat to take us upriver tomorrow. ’

  ‘And you’re quite sure your village is the place to start looking for these mages of yours?’ The Unknown was frowning.

  ‘It’s as good a place as any. We used to send a lot of adepts to Julatsa at one time and there’ll be people there who are sympathetic and, more important, who will know where to look for more. Just hanging up a sign here won’t get us far. But of course I have personal reasons for wanting to go there, I’m sure you’ll understand. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’

  ‘The Raven never work apart,’ said Hirad.

  Ilkar smiled. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘And flame-resistant,’ said The Unknown.

  The east gates of Xetesk opened and the massed ranks of refugees stood, their movement an expanding ripple across a human sea. Ten thousand and more with hope renewed that this time food and not soldiers would be disgorged.

  From where Avesh stood on a patch of churned mud with everything he loved and everything he owned, he couldn’t see the base of the gates. Couldn’t see what or who came out, but he could rely on the mood of the crowd to give him the information he needed.

  He pulled his wife and young son to him, their bony frames pressed against his, and stepped away from their pile of filthy blankets and scan
t possessions. How they hadn’t died of cold, starvation or disease through the winter, having lost their farm to the storms, he would never know. But they had been spared and that was all he cared about.

  The family all knew the drill. If it was food they would split up and run because if you were slow you got nothing. But if you were lucky, you got three shares. At first Avesh had been against that but he’d been forced to harden his heart as the death toll from illness and hunger rose daily. Rather them than his family.

  And now, with spring coming to ease the chill and the first colours of new life pushing through the thawed earth, it looked like their persistence might actually pay off. Though they were all haggard and thin they were still alive. Today, Avesh was daring to believe they would live to rebuild their lives.

  The noise built around them. Those with the strength made ready to run or swallow their disappointment. But something was different. Avesh caught it in the air just before he heard the shouts. A cry of surprise. Another of indignant outrage.

  He watched for a few moments, feeling the unease whiplash through the throng. His first instinct had been to move forward but he held his ground, his heart querulous. He bit his lip and stood on tiptoe.

  ‘Atyo, hop up on my shoulders. Let’s look see.’ The scrawny lad scrambled up. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Soldiers,’ he said. ‘And riders. Lots.’

  ‘Coming along the path?’

  They’d seen this a dozen times but the mood of the crowd suggested something new.

  ‘No, all over. Everyone’s moving.’

  And now Avesh could see it. The move forward had faltered, was already reversing. The noise of countless scared people was growing to a crescendo shot through with the harsh shouts of soldiers carrying on the breeze.

  The boy climbed down and looked up into his father’s eyes.