The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Captain; it will be returned to you. But it needs to be researched and studied.’ He looked up and smiled again. ‘Rest assured, it remains your property. Now, please, both of you, wash, rest and dress. We are hosting a dinner in your honour in the rooms adjacent to this one. There we can discuss what is to be done to appease the elves while we have to. Thank you, Captain Yron, Erys. You have done Xetesk a service greater than you know.’

  But as Yron left the chamber, he wasn’t so sure he had. Not so sure at all.

  It had been a long and, if Yron was absolutely honest with himself, very pleasurable evening when the war outside the gates seemed distant. He’d spent the day relaxing in sumptuous chambers, he’d taken two baths and he’d slept in a bed for the first time in so long he’d forgotten what a luxury a mattress and sheets were.

  And dressing in the fine dark silk shirt and stitched leather trousers Dystran’s tailors had so expertly made from the template of old clothes taken from his barracks room, he began to feel that perhaps his earlier misgivings were, well, misplaced. His only regret was that Ben was not here to enjoy the fruits of their success.

  He’d left the gold- and silver-veined holster, in which his old axe sat like a pig’s trotter in a velvet glove, on his bed, feeling the need to be free of the accoutrements of battle for the evening, and had gone to join the dinner. It had been everything Dystran had intimated. He and Erys had been toasted repeatedly, fêted by the most powerful men in Xetesk and urged to describe ever more freely their exploits on Calaius.

  Yron, cautious and close at first, had found his lips eased by the vintage red wine in his seemingly ever-full goblet and had relaxed into the celebration with growing enthusiasm. For once in his life, he was truly ahead.

  As the evening wore on, and feeling more light-headed from the wine than he was used to, Yron had gone to relieve himself and then wandered back along the lantern-lit picture-hung corridor to the huge vaulted dining chamber. Bright light spilled from the open doors and the sound of laughter and the chink of glasses and cutlery echoed out to him in welcome.

  He paused just to the side of the doors to let a servant laden with dishes hurry out and became aware of Dystran’s voice inside but very close. It never hurt to hear the unguarded thoughts of the mighty so he checked the corridor was empty. Barring the Protectors flanking the doors, it was, so he listened.

  ‘The Aryn Hiil will provide great insight, I am sure,’ Dystran was saying.

  ‘My scholars are working on the translation even now,’ said Ranyl’s cracked voice.

  ‘Well, you must keep me apprised.’ The disinterest in his tone was obvious. ‘But now we have this outwardly insignificant item, we have a far less troublesome solution to our problem.’

  ‘It is a severe course of action, my Lord.’

  ‘Innocents die in every conflict, Ranyl,’ said Dystran. ‘But with this small piece of admittedly very well carved marble, we don’t have to lose a single man or mage in fulfilling this part of our plan. Julatsa will cease to exist as a magical power. All we have to do is hang on to it and watch the elves die. As many as we want. What a treasure.’

  ‘Assuming we can keep the allied colleges from our gates,’ said Ranyl.

  ‘That I entrust to our commanders and they assure me we will prevail.’

  Yron’s head swayed and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. His mouth was dry and nausea galloped through his stomach. All the glory was gone, and in its place the betrayal and murder of an entire race. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

  Straightening his clothing and forcing a smile back onto his face, Yron walked back into the banqueting chamber and straight over to Dystran.

  ‘Ah, one of our heroes. How does it feel to be going down in history, Captain?’ asked Dystran.

  ‘Difficult to put into words, my Lord,’ said Yron, wishing to God he had his axe, though murdering Dystran wouldn’t right any wrongs. ‘I wondered if I might be excused for the night. The wine and my exhaustion have conspired against me.’

  ‘Of course, Captain. You have graced us for longer than we should have allowed. Erys has already retired, feeling a little sick, I think.’

  ‘I know how he feels,’ said Yron.

  ‘I trust you have a quiet and restful night,’ said Dystran.

  ‘Well done, Captain,’ said Ranyl. ‘I knew you would repay my faith.’

  ‘I’ve certainly done that,’ said Yron. He bowed stiffly. ‘Good night, my Lords.’

  He spun on his heel and left the banqueting hall, walking quickly to his chambers. He listened at the doors of Erys’s room and could hear nothing, At least the boy was not being sick. Good, because he had a great deal of work to do. He turned and almost walked straight into the Protector standing directly behind him. His heart fell. Dystran must have known he’d been overheard. His hand fell to his waist but his axe was behind a closed door. He waited for the end.

  ‘We will not stand in your way,’ said the Protector. ‘We understand. ’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You will do what you must.’ And the Protector moved away silently.

  Yron put a shaking hand on his door handle and pushed down. He would have to do it tonight or it would be too late. He might never get another chance like this. What was going on? Protectors turning against their masters? It could only be down to one group of people. People who rode with an ex-Protector.

  He closed the door behind him, walked over to his wash bowl and made himself sick.

  It was the early hours of the morning. Darrick was on watch and sat by the cook fire, letting it die slowly. It wasn’t a cold night. The Raven were in a sheltered hollow surrounded by undulating plains, the lowering presence of the Blackthorne Mountains on the western horizon. Cloud had come across the sky towards the end of their ride, locking in the warmth of the day.

  They were deep in Xeteskian mage lands, to the north-west of the city and within a day’s ride of both it and Triverne Lake. Darrick was worried. The plan, though well laid, smacked of desperation. The Raven were famous for pulling off the seemingly impossible but this had to be beyond even them. A raid on the Dark College. It revolved around Denser and Ilkar carrying people over the walls to drop them in the college, snatching Yron from the rooms they knew him to be in and flying out again.

  One bonus was that Aeb, being a Protector, was capable of maintaining ShadowWings and could fetch and carry too. But for Darrick there were going to be too many times when The Raven were split and when warriors were marooned inside the college with no magical support nor realistic means of escape.

  Trouble was, he couldn’t think of another way. The coming battle at the walls of Xetesk would take too long. With the mortality rate from Elfsorrow, the elven army, such as it was, would literally die on its feet before the war was won. And back on Calaius the consequences were already almost too awful to comprehend. Dystran was not going to give up the thumb so it would have to be stolen, and only The Raven were capable of taking such enormous risks and living to tell the tale.

  His eye was caught by movement high up in the sky. Outlined against the moonlit cloud, three birds were circling. They were big, about the size of vultures, but with stubby wings, narrow bodies and extended tail feathers. Actually, looking at them, they resembled winged lizards more than birds. Darrick frowned. It was hard to make out anything more at this distance but he’d not seen the like before.

  He watched them making lazy turns and playing in the air, diving and climbing. He saw them come together in a line, hover for a second and then power down. Darrick shifted where he sat on a heavy log they’d dragged to the fire, his frown deepening. They were heading directly for the camp.

  ‘Dear Gods falling,’ he whispered, and stormed to his feet, sword already coming from its scabbard where it rested against the log. ‘Raven! We’re attacked!’

  Those weren’t birds, they were Xeteskian Familiars, demons melded to and controlled by mage minds, and as the camp came to abru
pt wakefulness around him, Darrick could hear them chittering and laughing as they drove in, promising death.

  ‘Ilkar, we need a shield; they won’t be alone,’ called Darrick, not looking round, knowing The Raven would be forming to defend. ‘Erienne, Denser, offensive spells at the Familiars, and let’s defend behind the fire.’

  Aeb was at his shoulder first. ‘I sensed them,’ he said. ‘There are just three.’

  They were hideous even to those like Denser who were well used to them. Completely hairless, their small bodies had long powerful limbs ending in vicious talons. Mouths were crammed with long fangs and their skulls pulsed, veins throbbing, eyes wild and black in the firelight. Darrick shuddered, had to breathe deep to drag his courage to him and squared up.

  The Familiars attacked, taloned hands and feet outstretched, wings braking their descents, dripping mouths gaping, fangs catching the firelight. Aeb, axe in one hand, snapped out his free hand and grabbed one around the throat as it came at him, ignoring the raking of the talons on his forearm. He bore it to the ground in front of him, dropped his axe, picked up one end of the log and dropped it on the creature’s chest, pinning its arms and leaving it helpless; spitting, cursing and promising death. A second landed on the back of his neck.

  Beside him, Darrick traced a defensive pattern with his blade, the third Familiar snapping at his sword but driven back into the air to circle behind, not able to find a way through. Darrick knew he couldn’t damage the demon with his blade but he could keep it at bay until spells were ready.

  The Unknown ran into the firelight, grabbing at the Familiar on Aeb’s back, ripping it away and throwing it down into the embers of the fire. It skidded through the red-hot ashes squealing as it landed and thrashing its wings to take off, vitriol spilling from its mouth. The sky lit up as FlameOrbs soared from left, right and behind in concert, targeting the camp.

  ‘Ilkar, we need that shield now,’ said Darrick.

  ‘It’s there,’ said Ilkar, voice quiet. ‘Shield up.’

  ‘Raven, we’re surrounded,’ said Hirad. ‘Unknown numbers. Let’s circle, keep your spacing. Ren and the mages inside. Just as we practised.’

  They formed up fast as the two free Familiars flew in again, darting close, lashing out claw or tail and rising again. Aeb, The Unknown and Thraun faced away from the fire, Darrick and Hirad into and beyond it, covering the angles. Ren, bow tensed, looked for targets among the shapes racing in, Ilkar stood behind Hirad like he always did and Erienne and Denser occupied the rest of the defended space, spells forming in their minds.

  ‘Keep eyes to the sky,’ warned Hirad. ‘We can’t let those bastards too close.’

  As if to make his point, the demons streaked in again. Hirad slashed over his head, sword connecting with a leathery body. The demon yelped and fled back skywards. The other raked a cut into Darrick’s face and chittered in triumph as it corkscrewed back into the night, preparing to dive once more.

  ‘If we can take the Familiars, we can cripple their mages,’ muttered Denser. ‘Two birds, one stone, so to speak.’

  ‘Sure?’ asked Darrick.

  ‘Trust me on this. Focussed Orbs, Erienne. It’s the best way.’

  ‘With you,’ said Erienne.

  Hirad watched the enemy come in, remembering he’d seen the advance pattern before. Two ahead of a third, six of the trios, well spaced and running.

  ‘Mage-defenders,’ he said. ‘But not with Protectors. Just swordsmen. ’

  ‘Ren, look for the mages. We can handle the blades,’ said The Unknown.

  The FlameOrbs splashed down, fizzing over the shield and scorching into the ground around them. Simultaneously, DeathHail pattered against its edge, the razor-sharp mana ice shards bouncing and shattering as they struck.

  ‘Holding,’ said Ilkar. ‘No problem.’

  And, thought Hirad, their own spells were keeping their Familiars away. He could see them wheeling above, looking for the next opening.

  The Xeteskian swordsmen attacked, running in from all angles, spread well, shouting orders and confident. The Unknown tapped the ground at his feet and Hirad cleared his head with a roar. He raised his blade and swept down to knock aside the first blow, kicking the man back. Another came in, Hirad blocking him away too, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He squared up, waiting. They came again, both at the same time, standard formation. Beat-able.

  The first thrust came in low, Hirad sweeping his sword left to right to knock it away. He ducked as the second whipped by above his head but he was ready, thrashing his blade up as he stood, catching the man on the hinge of his jaws and shearing into his face. He screamed and fell, Hirad swinging quickly to face his second attacker. He was quick, his blade already cocked to strike. But as he stepped in to deliver, Aeb’s axe split his skull wide open.

  ‘Talking, Raven!’ shouted Hirad, looking out.

  ‘Orbs away.’

  Balls of mana flame the size of apples shot out in lines from the centre of the Raven group. They fired into the sky and Hirad heard a screech as at least one found its target. The screech was accompanied by a howl from ahead of him and a mage crumpled to the ground, holding his head.

  ‘One surviving,’ shouted Denser over the clash of steel and the grunts of the fight.

  Next to Hirad, Aeb had pulled his axe out of the Xeteskian he’d killed and used it to bat away a tentative strike. His sword came through straight afterwards, a massive strike taking the head clean off the same man. The body crumpled.

  Around the other side, Darrick was trading blows with a pair of good swordsmen, blade and dagger in his hands. He had a cut on one arm but was holding his own. An arrow whipped out and took one of them from the game. Darrick muttered his thanks, pressed his attack, caught a blow on the hilt of his dagger and stabbed forward into the throat of his opponent.

  ‘Go Raven, we’re taking them!’

  And then the third Familiar came in from nowhere. Dropping straight onto Denser’s head, it jammed its claws through his skullcap and bit down on his shoulder. Denser cried out, tripped and fell into Ilkar who, taken completely by surprise, stumbled into Hirad’s back.

  ‘Shield down! Shield down!’

  And more spells were coming in. FlameOrbs.

  ‘Scatter Raven!’ roared Hirad, picking Ilkar up and moving dead ahead at speed, heaving his sword into the legs of an attacker.

  Order dissolved into chaos. Aeb turned and dived for Denser and Erienne, scooping them and the Familiar up and diving headlong away from the fire as the FlameOrbs seared in. The Unknown rolled left, coming up quickly and slicing his dagger into the arm of a Xeteskian swordsman who hadn’t been quick enough to adapt. Thraun and Darrick simply charged into the enemy, looking to confuse and spread mayhem. Ren loosed off another shaft and ran into the night.

  The Orbs splashed down just beyond the fire. Denser, the Familiar shouting curses into his ear and dragging its talons down his face, was covered by the body of Aeb. Erienne was crushed beneath them both but safe from the flame that spattered across the campsite. It smeared over Aeb’s back, eating into his leather, burning the skin where it touched. He rolled away, grunting in pain, tearing at his jerkin straps while the fire ate through to sear the flesh beneath.

  Denser grabbed at the Familiar, rolling aside to let Erienne free, punching upwards blind and feeling his fist meet the demon’s head again and again. It yowled but didn’t stop, its tail raking down his arm, a fury of thrashing limbs and scything talons and teeth as the pair rolled on the scorched earth.

  And then, incredibly, Aeb was there. Bare-chested, his axe in one burned hand, his other reached down to grab the Familiar at the back of the head and wrench it clear. Denser felt the talons gouging at him as it was torn free and heard Erienne’s voice close to him.

  ‘Aeb, hold it still, keep it still.’

  Denser looked round, wiped a film of blood from his eyes and saw Aeb holding the Familiar at arm’s length while it boiled and heaved in its desperation, calling fo
r its master.

  ‘Too late, you little shit,’ said Erienne, and she clamped both hands over its skull. FlamePalms erupted from them and blazed through its head, killing it instantly.

  Aeb threw the body away, helped Denser to his feet and ran back into the battle, the Raven mages right behind him.

  The Unknown saw a mage crumple ahead of him in the act of casting another spell and breathed a sigh of relief. He charged into the swordsmen defending him, delivering his sword overhead and through the shoulder of an unprepared man, rotating on his weaker left leg and kicking into the stomach of the other.

  Pain from the old injury flared briefly and he landed unbalanced, barely getting his sword up to block. The Xeteskian was good and quick, moving to The Unknown’s left, seeing it was his weaker side and forcing the attack. The Unknown fielded blows on dagger and sword, looking for an opportunity, but didn’t need it. An arrow took the man clean through the neck as he backed off to compose himself and Ren ran past, nocking another.

  The Unknown turned, searching through the dark for The Raven. Hirad and Darrick were together, Ilkar behind them, casting again. They were facing three swordsmen and a mage. The Unknown watched as Darrick disarmed one of them, disembowelling him with the return strike. Hirad leaned in and headbutted his nearest opponent, following up with a punch to the nose and his sword across the man’s chest. He turned far more quickly than the third man was expecting, switched his sword to his left hand and jabbed it forward, slicing through his neck. The two Raven men advanced on the doomed mage.

  The Unknown ran back towards the fire and Aeb. The Protector, with Denser and Erienne in his wake, his axe in both arms and his back covered in burns, savaged into the two men attacking Thraun. The shapechanger was only just keeping them at bay but Aeb changed all that, unleashing a blow of shocking power that divided one of the enemy in two from left shoulder down to right hip. He hung together a split second, eyes wide, and fell in a mass of gore. The other disengaged and ran. He didn’t get far. Thraun was far quicker, clattering his blade through the enemy’s lower back.