The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘No idea,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s not something we can really worry about right now, is it?’

  He shrugged and walked on, trying to appear unconcerned, but Hirad could see that underneath anxiety was building. Not for himself, but for the ramifications of his mage-gathering mission. Hirad hoped dawn would bring some cheer but somehow he doubted it.

  Mercuun’s fall was as shocking as it was predictable. A terribly slow climb up the banyan to the rope bridge had preceded a clumsy, nerve-shredding drag across the River Ix, Mercuun’s weakness and lack of balance a constant threat to them both.

  Five times Rebraal had had to clutch the ropes of the yawing bridge as his friend slipped or stumbled, ignoring the fire that was his left shoulder to help Mercuun, or stand by him as he recovered his breath.

  It was awful to watch. Mercuun had been the most sure-footed of them all, moving with the stealth of a panther and the agility of a monkey. He could have been a TaiGethen. And now something they couldn’t fathom had reduced him to a juddering height-shy oaf in less than three days.

  Rebraal had breathed a premature sigh of relief when they’d reached the opposite bank and Mercuun, sweating and shaking, had wrapped his arms gratefully around a bough. Feeling dizzy with fever and the effort himself, Rebraal had begun to descend almost immediately, telling Mercuun to rest until he was sure enough to move, however long that took. It could have been days and he would have waited for his friend, but something about Mercuun told Rebraal that he didn’t have days. Meru felt it too. That’s why he moved too soon.

  Rebraal had been twenty feet from the ground when a heavy branch had snapped above him. A dark shape had come hurtling towards him, leaves and wood flying everywhere. Soundless, Mercuun had fallen past him, arms and legs splayed to break his fall on every bough. It was an action, combined with the limpness with which he hit the ground, that undoubtedly saved his life.

  And so Rebraal had found him broken but alive.

  ‘Meru, talk to me.’

  ‘Hurts, Rebraal. It hurts.’

  ‘Of course it hurts. You’ve come down eighty feet.’

  Rebraal looked at him, not quite believing what he saw. Mercuun was moving and obviously aware but his left leg was turned behind him at an impossible angle and he lay stretched, his left arm beneath him and a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

  ‘Lie still. I’ve got to get some casimir and get rid of the pain.’

  ‘Hurry.’

  Rebraal sprinted away, looking for the tell-tale bright broad green leaves and yellow-green ball-like fruit. He was heedless of his own condition, adrenaline banishing hurt and fever. He had to be quick. Not just because Mercuun was in agony but because the forest was full of predators and scavengers. And right now his friend was easy prey.

  Mercuun had lapsed into merciful unconsciousness by the time he returned. Flies crawled on his face and a lizard sniffed at the blood from his mouth. In the trees above, birds were settling.

  ‘Tual, spare him,’ whispered Rebraal to the God of the denizens, fishing in Mercuun’s leather sack for his metal cup and small medicine skin.

  He hurried to the river bank and scooped up some water, collected small twigs for kindling on the way back and built a tiny fire, using Mercuun’s tinderbox to light the wet wood. He heated the water above the guttering flame, using a cloth to protect his hands from the hot metal.

  When the water steamed and bubbled, he dropped some leaves into the mug, their rich fresh scent blooming in his nostrils.

  ‘Almost ready, Meru,’ he said, though his friend couldn’t hear him. He was moving though, and close to consciousness again, a low moan escaping his lips.

  When the infusion was ready, Rebraal decanted the murky green liquid into the skin, added some seeds from the casimir fruit and kept back the leaf sludge. While the drink cooled, he tipped the sludge into a palm leaf, blew on it until he could just touch it and spread it on Mercuun’s fractures, having cut his clothes where he had to. The remainder he smeared on his own shoulder.

  Mercuun’s eyes flickered open. ‘I’m dying, Rebraal.’

  ‘No, you’re not. Now let me support your head while you drink this.’

  He knelt down and lifted Mercuun’s head into his lap. The broken elf gulped down the infusion, knowing the powerful sedative would numb his pain.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked when the skin was empty.

  ‘Carry you home, Meru. You need healing.’

  ‘But your shoulder.’ Mercuun lifted an arm weakly.

  ‘It’ll be all right. Trust me.’

  ‘Yniss keep you, Rebraal.’

  ‘And you, Meru. How do you feel?’

  ‘The pain is fading.’

  ‘Good, then let’s get going.’

  Rebraal packed Mercuun’s sack and slung it over his right shoulder before stooping to pick him up. He felt his own wound give and the blood start to flow but the leaf sludge masked him from all but a dull ache.

  Mercuun hung in his arms like a dead weight, his head cradled against Rebraal’s shoulder and chest.

  ‘Not far now,’ said Rebraal. ‘Try to rest.’

  A chuckle trickled from Mercuun’s mouth. ‘Don’t lie. I may be sick but I haven’t completely lost my senses. You’re the one who should be resting.’

  Rebraal gritted his teeth and set off. It was almost ten miles to the village through dense rainforest, up steep hillsides, down muddy valleys and along a treacherous stream course. Offering a prayer to Yniss to give him the strength to survive, Rebraal left the River Ix behind him.

  Chapter 13

  Dusk had fallen and the cacophony that greeted the night invaded the rainforest as it always had and always would. A persistent heavy rain was falling from low, deep grey cloud cover but the thunder and lightning had moved north, heading for the coast.

  Not needing the sounds of the elements and nature to mask his movements, Auum walked forward, footsteps less than whispers on the forest floor, barely a leaf rippling as he passed. Five yards to either side, his Tai mirrored him. He had no need to look to know exactly where they stood. They were Duele and Evunn and, with Auum, formed one cell of the TaiGethen, the elite warrior hunters of the Al-Arynaar. There were fifty cells in all, spread through the rainforest. No single elf knew them all but every elf knew their purpose.

  When called, they killed strangers.

  And for Auum’s Tai, their quarry was close. They had no orders but the word had reached them and they, like every cell, would comb their zone of the forest, exterminating any threat they found.

  For Auum it was his first call, but he didn’t think in terms of nerves, or reality versus training. This was what the TaiGethen were bred for.

  The scents of the enemy camp had been in their nostrils for hours now as they had closed in. Like poison on the wind, woodsmoke, waxed canvas and cooked meat drifted where they had no right to. It was an affront to the Gods of the rainforest. To Cefu, God of the canopy; to Beeth, the lord of root and branch; and to Tual, who ruled the forest denizens.

  The TaiGethen were willing slaves to the Gods and would do their bidding. The forest had to be cleansed and the balance restored.

  The cell came together scant yards from the strangers’ encampment to paint themselves and pray. The destruction of the forest to make the camp clearing offended and Auum could see the contempt in the eyes of his Tai. Not anger. Anger was a distraction and a waste.

  Opening his pouches of black and deep green pastes, he traced broken stripes over Duele’s deep brown face, his prayers sharpening their focus still further. And when the three were ready they rose to their feet, tan moccasins making no sound, green mottled jerkins and trousers blending with the tones of the undergrowth, faces now marked and hidden.

  ‘Work for the Tai. Faith will keep us. Now string your bows and we will do the Gods’ bidding.’

  There was a commotion outside the tent, but during his fever Sorys had heard so much that was strange he’d stopped trusting his
senses. He’d been hallucinating giant spiders and plagues of snakes at the height of his four-day fever but at least now his mind was capable, or seemed to be, of rational thought. His tending mage, Claryse, said the fever had broken but that he was to rest another two days before joining Yron at the temple. She’d said very little but Sorys had the distinct impression they’d encountered serious trouble there.

  So he lay in a platoon tent on a makeshift hammock, alone but for an oil lamp on the ground nearby. His night terrors were still too real and the pale yellow light was such a comfort.

  He listened hard. There was something not right about what he could hear outside but he couldn’t be sure if the fever had truly left him and he felt confused. So he just lay where he was, straining to pick up the sounds in among the raised voices.

  The commotion died down. He thought he heard footsteps outside his tent but they were very quiet. And then, clear as the call of one of those damned howling monkeys, came a shrill wailing, passing left to right. It was the sound of loss, and it shuddered through his tired body. It scared him but he didn’t cry out. Best to lie very still.

  The wail came again and again. A man shouted but was cut off abruptly. Sorys could feel his heart beating very hard in his chest. Nausea rose. He reached for his water bottle just as the tent flap flew open. Claryse stood there, the lantern light illuminating a face drawn by some awful fear.

  ‘Ghosts,’ she stammered, voice choked and broken. ‘Ghosts. We’ve got—’

  The head of an arrow appeared through the front of her throat and her body jolted forwards. She stumbled, blood pouring from the wound. She reached out, tried to speak and crumpled.

  Sorys was too terrified even to scream.

  He heard a whispering on the breeze and the tent flap moved again.

  With the tent canvas shredded, all ropes frayed and cut, bodies laid out, fires extinguished and all metal buried, Auum led the Tai in prayer. They’d killed seventeen strangers and he felt at peace though the scything of the forest around him was a stain that only the gods could remove.

  ‘Cefu, hear us. Beeth, hear us. Tual, hear us. We, your loyal servants who work according to your will, offer all that is around us to you and your denizens. May the flesh feed your creatures, may the cloth line burrows and nests and may the bones forever remind all who seek to destroy you that there is only eternal failure and damnation. Hear us and move us. Direct us to your will and so it shall be.

  ‘To the greater glory of Yniss, who presides above all who walk this land. Hear us.’

  ‘And so it shall be,’ intoned Duele and Evunn.

  Each of the Tai bowed his head in silent contemplation for a moment.

  Auum stood.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We have more work to do.’

  Yron and Ben-Foran were crouched by a small clutch of plants at the base of a balsa tree. Wide triangular green leaves sprawled out, seeming almost part of the tree but attached to a thick woody stem.

  ‘Now,’ said Yron. ‘This is a young pareira vine. Notice the leaf shape. When it gets older, it’ll flower and produce a red oblong fruit. Got that?’

  Ben-Foran nodded.

  ‘It’s an important plant because a poultice of these leaves makes a good snake bite antidote and you can take a root infusion for the same purpose.’

  ‘Does it work?’

  Yron gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘How do you suppose the forest elves survive day to day? So many of these plants have medicinal qualities. Learn. Because when you’re without mage support, you might need to know. Now. One more thing. See that?’

  He pointed at a flash of yellow under the leaves. It was a frog, barely bigger than his thumb.

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  Ben-Foran reached out reflexively but Yron slapped his hand away.

  ‘Don’t touch it. Don’t let it touch you on exposed skin. This is the yellow frog. Remember my talk on the ship?’

  Yes, but—’ began Ben.

  ‘Small, isn’t it?’ said Yron. ‘But there’s enough poison on its back to kill us all ten times over. You recall all of those who died from light puncture wounds? The elven arrows were all tipped with this poison.’ Yron grimaced. ‘Now, I know it’s getting dark but I want as many of the men as possible to see this frog. It’ll give them some sense of perspective.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The two men stood.

  ‘Captain Yron.’ It was Erys, running from the temple. He was clutching some papers and beaming all over his freckled face. Yron felt a warm glow, comforting despite the stifling heat.

  ‘Good news, I take it?’ He signalled Ben-Foran to stay with him.

  ‘The best,’ said Erys as he stopped in front of them, handing over two leather-bound books and a scroll of parchment.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Yron. ‘I’ll acquire their accumulated wisdom the moment I’ve grasped ancient elvish. A decade of your close tutelage should do the trick.’

  Erys stared at him a moment before he got the joke. ‘Sorry, I just . . . Well, never mind. The point is, I could understand enough of that to know it’s what we’re looking for. It’s the key to the longevity argument.’

  Yron raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? And how many doors are there left to open?’

  ‘Seven, I think. The Gods know when they’ll open.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Yron clacked his tongue while he thought. ‘Never mind the frog, Ben; we’ll find another tomorrow. Bring me the fittest sixteen men we have, barring yourself.’

  ‘Yes, Captain. Might I ask why?’

  ‘You might, but it would be a waste of your breath.’

  Ben-Foran saluted and strode off, calling out names as he went. ‘It’s time we got some of this stuff away from here,’ he said to Erys.

  ‘You think we’re in some danger?’

  ‘This is the centre of their faith, or so you told me. How long before it gets visited by more Al-Arynaar, do you think?’ Yron hefted the papers. ‘These go tonight, and not via the camp. There’s something not quite right about the atmosphere round here.’

  ‘I can’t feel anything different.’

  ‘No indeed. But then you haven’t been here before, have you? It’s just a feeling. Trust me.’ He ushered Erys back towards the temple. ‘Show me everything you’ve got so far. We need an evacuation plan.’

  Thunder cracked across the darkening sky. The rains came again.

  The next morning, Hirad was woken by The Unknown Warrior to a surprisingly cool dawn. A sea mist had rolled in and was suffocating the docks and large areas of the city, hemmed in as it was by hills. Over a meal of bread and herb tea, Ren assured them the mist wouldn’t last.

  Hirad didn’t care if it stayed all day. He was anxious to get on and could feel the energy building within him. He knew where it came from and he looked around the table and drank in the sight. The Raven. Together and united in a single purpose. To watch them and hear the desultory conversation it was easy to imagine they were as they had always been but that was far from the truth.

  Thraun still hadn’t uttered a word and had the look of a man lost to the real world for much of the time. At the moment he was concentrating on food and was the most human he ever seemed. He followed The Unknown around like a faithful hound. Hirad was beginning to wonder if he’d prove a liability.

  The dark patches under Erienne’s eyes told of another night of precious little sleep. Hirad had heard her quiet crying through the thin walls of the inn and Denser’s voice trying to comfort her. Neither had said much this morning but they had brought no good news back with them the previous evening. Though they’d not seen or heard of anyone dying, more and more were afflicted and to starkly varying degrees.

  Some who had shown violent symptoms days before were now no more than tired, while others who had only just developed the disease were already too weak or unbalanced to walk, or else were struggling against sudden and severe internal bleeding. The Raven had done what they could, but without experience of the ways of elves had fou
nd themselves treated with coolness though not hostility.

  Still, at least Darrick was with them now. Hirad remembered trying to get him to ride with The Raven during the final stages of their quest for Dawnthief. He’d refused then but Hirad had always known deep down that things would change. It was just a shame the circumstances of that change had been so bloody and tragic.

  He looked forward to fighting with Darrick, if it came to that, back on Balaia. Aeb, of course, was a hugely powerful addition and The Unknown’s left-hand defence now he couldn’t use his double-handed sword. Ren worried him though. There had been neither the will nor the need to train her to fight in line and he worried about what that might do. He knew she enjoyed swordplay but perhaps they could persuade her to stick to her bow.

  Time would undoubtedly tell. But on the trip to Balaia they’d have to get themselves back into fighting form. The Raven had survived for so many years because of their trust and unshakeable discipline as much as their skill. Hirad reminded himself to talk to The Unknown about it. He wasn’t sure how much fighting the big man anticipated back on Balaia but one thing was certain. Right now, they didn’t have their edge. They’d be fighting from memory, with two people who had only fought with them once, one who hadn’t hefted a sword in The Raven ever and one complete enigma.

  Hirad drained his tea and stood up from the table in the inn where they’d gathered for breakfast. All that was for later.

  ‘Come on then, Raven. Let’s get moving before the sun clears this mist.’

  There was a concerted move stalled only by Thraun, who was determined to finish every last crumb of bread.

  ‘What’s he planning to do, hibernate?’ said Ilkar. ‘Don’t bring too much. We’re in one boat. It’s got oars, a sail and forward decking for stowing gear. I’ll introduce you to the guide when we’re on our way. Until then, keep quiet. He’s already nervous about taking strangers upriver.’