The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Your confidence in your ability is remarkable,’ said Auum.

  Ilkar leant in very close. ‘That is because we are the best. So watch and learn. This is our land.’

  He stalked away, The Raven getting up and following him. Hirad spared Auum an ingratiating smile and a wink. ‘Told you, eh?’ he said, having not understood a word.

  ‘Feel better for that, did you?’ said Ren.

  ‘Needed saying,’ said Ilkar. He turned and grinned at Hirad. ‘You’d have been proud of me.’

  ‘So what did you say, exactly?’ asked Hirad.

  Ilkar told him as they wandered back into the Dordovan area and kicked a dying and abandoned fire into new life.

  ‘And what exactly is your plan?’ Darrick poked at the new flame.

  ‘None of the Al-Arynaar have learned ShadowWings. It’s a pointless spell in the rainforest. We can all do it and that means we can scout a wide area very quickly. Look, I’m not talking about overflying Xeteskian or Black Wing positions, but there’s a mass of open ground on the route they’d have taken trying to get back here. We’ll find them, I can feel it. And if we leave a few hours before dawn, we can be beyond Izack’s lines before sunrise and practically on top of where Yron and Merke’s Tai came out.’

  ‘Then you’d better sleep,’ said The Unknown. ‘All of you. And if there’s anything you can do to boost your stamina, use it. Because if I’m not mistaken, none of you could cast wings big enough to lift a mouse right now.’

  There was no argument but Darrick wasn’t satisfied.

  ‘Ren, can I borrow you to translate for me?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, whatever we say, the elves are going to disengage and Ilkar is right about how the Xeteskians will react. So Ren and I are going to have a little meeting with Auum, Rebraal and the Dordovan command where I will explain how to conduct a phased withdrawal. Because if they don’t do it right and get enough Dordovans in to fill the hole, Izack will have a new army to fight and I’m not having my people left exposed like that.’

  ‘Ever the general,’ said Hirad.

  Darrick shook his head. ‘No, Hirad. Just feeling guilty.’

  Chapter 45

  While he’d been unconscious, they’d blindfolded him and tied him across his saddle. He came to his senses at some point during the ride that followed, a ride that he thought would never end. They took him off his horse when they stopped for the night but didn’t untie his hands, remove his blindfold or feed him. And they wouldn’t speak to him, just gave him infrequent mouthfuls of stale water.

  The crossbow wound in his thigh was excruciating. Periodically, he could feel the blood flow down his leg but he ignored it, such was his general discomfort and the racking jolts into his stomach which came with every stride of the fast-moving horse. He was certain he was being caused probably fatal internal damage and the blood he coughed into his mouth periodically was all the evidence he needed. It left him glad they’d starved him. He’d only have vomited anything solid up anyway.

  When at last they stopped, after the dull thud of hooves had become an echo off buildings and he’d heard the sound of many voices, of hammering and harsh laughter, and he was pulled from his horse to lie flat on hard mud, he knew he’d travelled his last. Wherever they’d brought him to. Whatever town or village they were in, the Black Wings were in control and he wasn’t going to be leaving.

  All that kept him alive was the elven salvation he had in a pocket. And even that was taken from him when he was marched somewhere quiet that smelled of old ale, with timbered floors and a high ceiling. After the search that revealed so little, he was forced into a chair, his arms were untied and the blindfold pulled roughly over his head.

  He didn’t know what to do first so he tried to do it all. He blinked to get some focus into his gluey eyes, tried to move his arms and massage life back into his hands and fingers and felt at the wound that thudded with every weary beat of his heart. It all became confused so he stopped, took a breath and decided looking at his situation was the best start.

  He forced one arm up to his face despite the protestations of his shoulder and elbow and used the stiffened fingers of the hand to gouge at his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he brought the room into bleary reality. He was sitting on a straight-backed chair across a table from a man. The man was flanked by two others. On the table were tankards, a jug and a plate of bread and dried meat. The look of the food repulsed him, his stomach turning over and sending renewed nausea swimming through his body.

  He was in an inn - the shape, smell and remnants of a bar told him that - but it was an inn that had not seen custom for a long time. Heavy drapes covered window holes and he could now make out sounds from the outside. They were to his left and he got the impression he was as far into the building as he could get.

  Focussing on the man’s face in front of him in the dim light, it seemed distorted. One of his eyes was white and his mouth was downturned but just on one side. He had never met the man before but knew exactly who it was.

  ‘Selik,’ he said through a mouthful of old blood.

  ‘Captain Yron, Xeteskian soldier,’ replied Selik, his voice a little slurred as if he was drunk. ‘Quite a mess you made of my valuable patrol, so I’m led to believe.’

  Yron managed a dry chuckle though he had never felt less like laughing. ‘I tried to warn them.’

  Selik raised a hand. ‘Well, we’ll get on to all that later. First, I’m sure you could do with water. I’d offer you wine but I’m afraid this place ran dry a long time ago.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  Selik poured him a tankard of water and he gulped at it, feeling its chill freshness revitalise his throat. He spat on the ground.

  ‘A place of legends,’ said Selik. ‘Hard to believe I know, but so much that has shaped us happened here in years gone by. And is doing so again. I’m surprised you don’t recognise it even from this small sample. I’d have entertained you in my office but the compound is being used for drilling men and it’s all very noisy at the moment. Much more peace here.’

  Yron had a better look round, took in the empty room scattered with broken wood and the dark of night through the door at the far end. There was only one place he knew as dead as this but still standing. He’d drunk here once.

  ‘Understone.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Selik. ‘I see the ride hasn’t jellied your brain though I see from your colour the same cannot be said of your gut. Shame. The bread is fresh.’

  Yron was tired. He wanted to sleep or die. Either would have done. But he could see that Selik wanted to toy with him. Well, he didn’t want to play.

  ‘What do you want, Selik? I’ve just about lost everything except my life and I’m none too keen on that, so don’t go threatening death to get your answers. Giving me back to Xetesk holds much more fear.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Selik tore off a corner of bread and fed it into the right side of his mouth, chewing carefully. ‘Yes, that was one of the things I wanted you to help me with. That and a few details about the layout of your beloved college. And, more out of curiosity than anything else, why you’re carrying bits of carved marble in your pocket.’ Selik indicated the thumb which lay on the table next to Yron’s empty holster.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘How cooperative.’

  ‘You haven’t heard me answer yet, boy.’

  ‘Just before we get on, I think I should make it clear that the only people who could ever call me “boy” were my parents. You will address me as “Selik”, or “Captain”.’

  Yron scoffed. ‘Selik it is, then. You’re certainly no captain. That’s a term reserved for soldiers of rank, not self-styled peacocks like you.’

  Selik smiled thinly, ignoring the barb. Yron wasn’t sure if he was pleased at that or not. He didn’t want to endure more pain unnecessarily but he had to know how far he could push.


  ‘I should make a couple of other things clear. You are going to die here. And I will get my information. It is merely a question of how easy you want to make your last hours.’

  Selik sipped his water, looking at Yron over the rim for a reaction. Yron made sure he saw nothing but calm acceptance.

  ‘I think your men have already helped me along that path,’ said Yron, feeling his gut. ‘Ask.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ said Selik, ‘why a Xeteskian soldier should be found running from his college in the company of elves and not as their prisoner. I have heard of these elves in the past days. Are they not fighting against Xetesk?’

  ‘Xetesk has committed a great crime - unwittingly at first but now with full knowledge - and it has to be righted. The college would not do it so I took it upon myself. You stopped me. Us.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Selik. ‘Fortunately, I am the right man to talk to about righting college crimes.’

  Yron managed a smile. ‘You have no conception of the scale of what you have done by stopping me.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.’

  Yron shifted, wondering what he should say.

  ‘How much do you want to damage Xetesk’s ambitions?’

  Selik frowned. ‘There is not enough time in a day to explain. Why?’

  ‘And how much do you want to live?’

  ‘There’s much more work to be done,’ evaded Selik. ‘And I do hope there’s a reason for these questions.’

  ‘Well, you have the tools to do both and neither right here,’ said Yron.

  Selik cleared his throat. ‘The ice is thin beneath your feet, Captain. ’

  ‘Oh really? I thought it had already cracked and you were merely holding me above the drop.’

  Selik waved a hand impatiently. ‘What is this?’ He turned the thumb over in his hands.

  ‘I had no idea you were interested in archaeology.’

  Selik sighed. ‘I can make this very painful for you,’ he said without looking up. ‘But I had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.’

  It was Selik’s casual attitude that told Yron the Black Wing would torture the information from him. And if he was going to die, it might as well be on his terms. He was not afraid to die. Nor was he afraid of pain but he’d wanted to resist Selik and had tested his narrow limits. But as he sat there, aware of his own unpleasant smell mixing with the stale sweat and ale of the room and those around him, he asked himself what it was he was so desperate to keep from Selik.

  And he couldn’t think of a single thing. He relaxed.

  ‘I’d talk easier over a hot drink,’ he said.

  Selik shrugged and nodded at one of his men.

  ‘And for me too.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Yron.

  ‘Now, Captain,’ said Selik. ‘Time for you to begin.’

  ‘Well, Selik, the summary is this. What you have in your hand there is part of the thumb from the statue of Yniss that stands in the Aryndeneth temple on Calaius. Its separation from the statue has unleashed a plague which threatens to wipe out the entire elven nation. I was taking it back. You must do the same. If you do you’ll gain a very powerful ally. If you don’t they’ll kill you. All of you.’ He leaned back. ‘I can see you don’t believe me but I assure you it’s true, if a little difficult to grasp that something so small could cause something so awful. So, ask me what you want and I’ll tell you all I can.’

  Selik asked and Yron told him. Everything.

  Barely rested but driven by a desperate need, The Raven rode from their forward camp in the dead of night, allowing their horses to pick careful routes through the tussocks of grass, moss-covered rocks and bracken thickets of their route back to the south-west side of Xetesk. During their rest, another dozen Al-Arynaar had succumbed to the Elfsorrow, as had three TaiGethen, one of them Marack, who had already seen the rest of her Tai cell die. To her it had been a release from grief.

  A Communion between Dordovan and Lysternan mages eased their passage between the two battle fronts and on towards the no-man’s-land to the south and west, which was still nominally controlled by Xetesk but under pressure from the Black Wing force camped a few miles south.

  The Raven, with their quartet of elven guests clinging unhappily to the saddles of their cantering horses, had made good progress through the latter half of the night, and as dawn brightened the sky, the three mages took to the air.

  The decision had been made to cover the ground in a wide arc and track back along the most likely route Merke’s cell would have taken on leaving Xetesk. There was some risk attached to the tactic as Xeteskian mage-defender trios were out looking for the same quarry. Ilkar was the southernmost, Denser nearest to the walls of Xetesk but a good four miles distant, with Erienne in between them, slightly ahead of both and with a brief to look as much into the sky ahead as at the ground below her.

  They flew a mile ahead of The Raven, who split as necessary to check knots of trees, heavy bushes and areas of taller bracken. With the horses going at little more than a trot, Auum and his Tai had taken the chance to dismount and track. But for hour after hour there was no sign.

  From where he flew some fifty feet from the ground, Denser could see the plains south of Xetesk stretched out before him. Several miles ahead - it was difficult to guess exactly how many - he could see the smoke from dozens of fires and the off-white of tent canvas that must be the Black Wing camp.

  It was large and within half a day’s march of the walls of Xetesk but Denser still didn’t feel they presented a threat. With no magic in their ranks they were terribly vulnerable to spell attack, and that was what would pour from the city walls should they approach too close. No doubt the Black Wings had already been scouted from ground and air and Xetesk was happy they could be contained. All that would worry them would be the drain on their mage resources.

  Xetesk itself was wreathed in a heavy mist. It was a still morning and the mist wouldn’t lift too quickly. Behind them the battle had already been renewed, while ahead the Black Wings seemed in no particular hurry. Of the Xeteskian hunters, there was currently no sign.

  He cruised over a dozen hues of green empty but for birds, a rabbit warren and a wandering fox on the trail of prey. Over pockets of mist in dips and shallow valleys. Nothing. Glancing behind, he saw the rest of The Raven trailing them and the specks that had to be the TaiGethen a little further in advance, tracing a cross pattern as they studied the ground.

  A sudden rattle of wings and the harsh calls of birds as they took flight caught Denser’s attention. Away to his right, crows and seagulls rose out of a misty hollow on the plain, spooked by something. Probably that fox. Denser watched as the crows flew back down in ones and twos while the seagulls circled, waiting their chance. Curious, Denser drifted across and closer to the ground, the birds around him paying little heed, their attention focussed on whatever carrion lay hidden by the mist.

  He overflew the area, hearing the irritated bark of a fox or wild dog and a scuffling on the ground as he approached. Just a few feet above the ground and what lay beneath the calf-deep mist revealed itself. A glint of metal, hair waving in the wind, a broken bow standing half proud from the ground, an empty face with dead eyes pecked out.

  Denser landed. This close, the mist was thin enough to see through. He checked the bodies quickly, saw Black Wing tattoos on the necks of every dead man and found the bodies of three elves. Auum was not going to be happy. Of Yron, though, there was no sign, but here is where the hunt would truly start.

  He took off again, signalled The Raven and waited, hovering above the corpses, seeing his friends galloping and flying towards him, the TaiGethen sprinting at remarkable speed. With them all nearing, he landed again and dismissed the wings, anxious to maintain as much stamina as he could. He stepped away from the scene and let the experts come in to assess what had gone on. Thraun, Ren and the TaiGethen examined the bodies and the area around them, occasionally kneeling to check a print in the grass or standing to
talk and point.

  Quickly, with Ren translating, there was consensus.

  ‘The Black Wing riders came in from the south. Twenty, judging by the density of prints and the tracks we’ve found,’ said Ren. ‘Can’t tell why a fight started but the TaiGethen caused mayhem when you consider where the Black Wing bodies have fallen. The survivors rode off back the way they came. We have to presume they took Yron with them. None of these dead have the thumb.’

  ‘Well let’s pray he still has it. How long ago did this happen?’ asked The Unknown.

  ‘A day, day and a half at the most. The Tai can track them.’

  Denser looked at the TaiGethen and Rebraal. They had moved their dead from the mist and laid them out beneath the warming sun. Auum was crouched at their heads, leading his Tai in prayer. The Raven fell silent out of respect, heads bowed as the mist gradually cleared, Auum’s low voice in their ears, his tone reverential.

  When he had finished his prayer, he touched each one of the elves on the forehead and stood up. His face was expressionless but his eyes betrayed his anger. He motioned to his Tai and they trotted away, following the trail left by the Black Wings.

  ‘Well, aren’t they going to bury them or something?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘No,’ replied Rebraal. ‘Nature will consume them.’

  ‘I just want everyone to know now that if I die I don’t want to be consumed,’ said Hirad. ‘Burned or buried, all right?’

  The Unknown clapped his hands together. ‘All right, Raven, let’s get moving, I—’ He broke off. ‘Ilkar, are you all right?’

  Denser beat them to the Julatsan, who was on all fours, coughing violently at the ground and drawing in great heaving agonised breaths.

  ‘Ilkar?’ he said, crouching beside him. ‘Something wrong?’

  Ilkar turned his head. His face was grey with pain, his eyes sunken and dull like he hadn’t slept for days. ‘Yes, something’s wrong.’ His mouth was covered in blood and where he had been coughing the grass was stained red.