The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  Hirad kicked out straight, forcing his man back. He slithered on blood and fell but another took his place, sizing up Hirad before coming in two-handed, using the door frame to shield his open side. The barbarian beckoned him on.

  ‘Like your friends,’ he said. ‘You’re going down.’

  The soldier didn’t take the bait, preferring to defend the space. Hirad stepped in and slashed upwards. The soldier swayed backwards, fenced out with his blade, missing comfortably. Hirad stepped up on the downswing, his opponent off guard. His man stepped back further, blade cutting air again. Hirad smiled and rocked away himself.

  ‘Nice try.’

  Another spell crunched into Darrick’s door timbers. The centre of the door splintered, shards of wood flew into the drawing room. The table heaved and Darrick was pushed well back.

  ‘Next time!’ he warned. ‘They’re winding up the ForceCones.’

  ‘We need an angle,’ said Rebraal.

  ‘Then let’s make one,’ said The Unknown, voice loud and close in Hirad’s ears. ‘If we’re going to go down, it might as well be with their blood on our faces.’

  Hirad grinned at his opponent, who beckoned him on.

  ‘Soon enough, sonny. Soon enough.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey Thraun, you all right?’

  The scream of a Xeteskian soldier was all the information he really needed. Thraun spared him a glance, his feral eyes wild, his hair matted with sweat, and then another enemy took his fallen colleague’s position and it began again.

  Auum could hear the crash of another spell close by. He turned them all right and headed up a sharply inclined passage, sure of himself once more. Evunn’s bow was over his shoulder, Evunn’s arrows had been ripped from corpses and placed back in his quiver and Evunn himself hung between Auum and Duele. The elf was senseless. Not unconscious but talking nonsense, unaware of his surroundings. He was almost walking but lost his step so often it was easier to drag him. His eyes were unfocused and his arms twitched where Auum and Duele held them around their necks.

  ‘Yniss tests us further,’ said Auum.

  ‘I am not sure that this isn’t Ix demonstrating his power tonight,’ replied Duele.

  And it might have been so. The capricious God of the mana element was known for disrupting the works of Yniss, laughing in delight at the distress of his servants. Auum determined to have the last laugh. His anger had faded as the last Xeteskian fell in front of him, eyes wide with terror, drowning on his own blood. What had replaced it was perhaps more dangerous still.

  He could hear the clamour of voices now. He heard a cry of pain, an order being given and the sound of running feet mixed with it. There was the echoing clash of steel; and on the air, he could smell fire and yet more death. He hurried them along a gloomy passageway where the light spells were weaker and the shadows a little more pronounced.

  The construction of the corridors changed. They reached a junction where the walls were planked with wood. He edged his head around to the right. Two guards stood at an open door, looking in. Fools. Beyond them, the sounds of fighting were unmistakable.

  ‘Found them,’ said Auum.

  They laid Evunn down. He had no strength to resist but smiled faintly and closed his eyes.

  ‘Two targets,’ said Auum. ‘I’ll take the left.’

  The TaiGethen elves stepped smartly around the corner, their bowstrings tensed. Sensing danger, the soldiers spun together. Their crossbows began coming to ready but death for them was already far too close for it to make any difference at all.

  Chapter 25

  ‘Let this one take the door, and be ready to act,’ said The Unknown Warrior.

  Darrick stood facing his own death. The Unknown trotted quickly back to where Hirad kept the same soldier occupied, ensuring the frame of the door was too full of the Xeteskian for anyone to risk a crossbow bolt. Rebraal was next to Darrick, his last arrow ready in his bow.

  It was a desperate measure but they really had no choice. The one closed door was going to go and when it did, the way would be opened for them to be overwhelmed by spell attack. Their only chance now was to get at the mages and be in the thick of the enemy to stop any chance of more casting from up the stairs. That and crossbow fire. And that meant fighting with knives and daggers. It had been a long time since Darrick had practised. Time would tell whether he, or any of them for that matter, remembered the balance and moves to survive.

  Myx was standing again and Sian had gathered herself even if she hadn’t got her magic back. They had to break. Thraun was being slowly worn down and there was no way Hirad was going to let any of The Raven die without the others standing next to them, or at least fighting to get through.

  He took a deep breath. There was a moment’s calm out in the hallway, broken only by Hirad’s taunting and the heavy blows of Thraun’s sword. It really was now or never.

  ‘Ready, Raven,’ said The Unknown, his voice so reassuring that for a heartbeat, Darrick actually considered they’d survive this. Seeing the expression on his and Hirad’s faces, he realised that was precisely what they believed.

  They had faced death down so many times, thought Darrick, and he hadn’t. Not really. Not even at the Understone garrison or the fields at Septern Manse had he really thought he’d die.

  In here it had been different from the moment the familiar had flown from Ranyl’s window.

  He saw the flash of the castings moments before the door disintegrated. Shielded either side of the doorway, Darrick and Rebraal suffered no injury, waiting a count of three for the Cone to disperse.

  ‘Go!’ shouted The Unknown.

  Rebraal stepped around the door and fired his arrow, Darrick seeing it lodge high in the chest of the mage before he could scramble clear and let his soldiers cover him. Darrick breathed deep and rushed out of the door, sensing The Unknown and Hirad wading into the battle next to each other.

  His heart lurched in his chest. Xeteskians were everywhere. The hallway could take three in a line with room to swing long swords but for now he faced only two. Behind him, the space to the door back into the catacombs was blocked by the hideous smouldering corpses of the TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar mages. Ahead, the enemy. Guardsmen lined the hallway, more were waiting on the stairs, many armed with crossbows which were swung to bear. Mages stood well back. He saw one on either side of the stairway and others on the stairs themselves.

  He threw himself into the front rank of the Xeteskians. A bolt flashed past him, thudding into the door. Rebraal was by him, the elf’s speed remarkable, his bow discarded and dagger and short sword now in hand.

  ‘Keep close, watch the peripheries,’ called Darrick as the shouts began to rattle around the enclosed space. He blocked two blows in quick succession and shoved his man back, looking for the angle to close. ‘Don’t give the mages line of sight.’

  Darrick’s man made his first mistake, attempting a round-arm strike. The general stepped inside, blocked the arm at the height of its arc and punched forward with his right-hand dagger, piercing the man’s heart. He shuddered and the strength left him. Ready for it, Darrick leaned into the body shoving him back hard into those behind him.

  With no time to admire his handiwork, Darrick leaped the body, hunching low to keep his frame out of sight. His new opponents were off balance but Rebraal hadn’t been as quick dispensing with his first man and Darrick was exposed on his right. A blade flashed in. He blocked it, just, catching the blade on the hilt of his dagger and twisting down. Looking left, he jabbed half forwards, drawing a false stroke from his other direct opponent. A third man joined the line but couldn’t strike from his far right position. For that he was grateful.

  He planted a foot carefully behind and rocked backwards as a second strike came in from the right, feeling it swish past his face. His momentum brought him forwards again and he let it carry him, again getting inside his man but finding the way blocked by a chop to the top of his left arm. He whipped in his right arm, dagger blade planting into the man’s
side beneath his ribs, driving deep into flesh.

  A heartbeat later, the second Xeteskian stabbed forwards. Darrick, not quite quick enough to adjust his body shape, felt the blade slice through his armour and cut across the top of his hip. The wound burned and the blood started to flow. He grunted in pain and dropped back.

  ‘Rebraal, I need you.’

  ‘Right here.’ Rebraal’s short sword took the right hand from Darrick’s tormentor. The elf’s dagger slashed across his face, removing an eye. Finally, he stepped up and kicked forwards, knocking the screaming man onto his back. ‘Darrick?’

  ‘I’ll live,’ said Darrick.

  And with his right leg soaking in his blood, he drove forwards again.

  Auum and Duele shouldered their bows and picked up Evunn again, their beloved Tai unresisting, drifting in and out of consciousness, his head slumped forwards. Auum feared for him but could not let that fear dominate him. He cleared his mind while they moved past the two guards. Duele paused to rip the arrows clear of the bodies and they ran on into what had to be a catacomb hub.

  In front of them the noise level had increased. The spells no longer sounded but instead the sounds of close fighting filled the air, coming from an area ahead and below them. They were in what looked like the inside of a house. Wood-panelled and hung with pictures, the narrow corridor was lined with doors, all closed. Auum chose to ignore them, moving his Tai quickly towards the sounds ahead.

  At an empty alcove, he motioned Duele to take Evunn while he slipped forwards. The corridor ended in a blank wall and to the right, turned into a similar door-lined landing. He crouched low and peered around the corner. At its end were stairs and crowded on the landing were Xeteskians, he couldn’t be bothered to count them. Doors on either side were open. The sounds of fighting and dying were loud in his ears and above it all he could hear the voices of those he knew, one louder than all the rest. Hirad Coldheart.

  He was back with Duele moments later.

  ‘We must leave him. We have work.’

  ‘Here?’

  Auum looked down at Evunn, his mind darkening anew. The Tai was unconscious now. ‘He can come to little more harm than he has suffered already.’

  He knelt down and kissed Evunn’s lips, taking the stricken elf’s head from Duele’s lap and lowering it gently to the floor. Evunn’s legs protruded into the corridor but that was a further risk he had to take.

  ‘We will not leave you, brother. Stay with us. Yniss will protect you.’ He stood, drew a short sword and unclasped his half-empty jaqrui pouch. ‘I will not waste arrows on these men. They are less than animals and deserve no respect. We move.’

  The two TaiGethen padded away, Evunn lying in their wake, their prayers with him but their thoughts ahead. Their only chance for him was to get a mage to examine him. Whatever spell the Xeteskian had used, it had attacked Evunn’s brain.

  Auum motioned Duele to run side by side with him. Without pause, he rounded the corner, jaqrui in his right hand, his sword held in defence as he passed doorways should he need it. After two sets of closed doors, the next pair were open. Ten yards ahead, soldiers craned their necks to see the action below them.

  Left-hand open door, a figure appeared. Auum didn’t even break stride, reversing his blade in his hand and stabbing into the enemy’s neck. He choked and fell back, a strangled cry emerging from his ruined throat. Above the clamour of fighting, the soldiers ahead heard it, turning to see their doom approaching at a speed they could never hope to counter.

  Auum’s jaqrui howled away. Now was not the time for quiet, now was the time to instil fear. The crescent blade scythed into his target’s stomach at the waistband. Duele’s found the arm of his man. Both yelled the alarm, demanding help, that would not arrive in time. The TaiGethen hit them like a whirlwind.

  Duele dragged out his second blade and swept it into his enemy’s face. Auum planted a foot, turned a high roundhouse kick and sent his man spinning backwards. Landing, he snapped in a punch to the back of the neck and stepped over the falling man. He jabbed his sword into the thigh of the next as the enemy fought to bring up a defence.

  Auum let his limbs work without conscious thought, reaching that plane where he sat almost as an outsider, seeing everything, Tual directing his every move. They were so slow, the Xeteskians, their long blades cumbersome in these close quarters. They paid, every one that fell, for the crimes committed against the elven nation and, more immediately, Evunn and every TaiGethen who had fallen as a result of their masters’ actions.

  The calm settled on Auum. His blade worked inside the guard of another enemy, spearing into his eye. His free hand worked in double time, balled as a fist to smash nose or mouth, open and upright for the base of his palm to slam into forehead, nose and chest or straight-fingered to crush windpipe.

  They couldn’t get near him. His legs kept him dancing beyond their attempts to strike back, his feet swift, dealing out blows to knee and ankle if not balancing him to strike again or dodge blow after blow.

  He could hear the whispering in his mind, his mantra to the Gods that he served, repeated again and again, over and over. I will serve beyond death, I will preserve all you have wrought.

  Auum’s blade blocked another attack, he sidestepped a second, ducked a crossbow bolt and killed another.

  He moved forward again.

  Thraun howled and thrashed his sword into the side of a Xeteskian head, where it lodged. He left it where it quivered, the man collapsing in front of him. The shapechanger plucked a dagger from his belt sheath and launched himself out of the doorway, enveloping another hapless guardsman.

  It had to be this way. Ahead of him, in the fighting that had become a deadly brawl, The Unknown and Hirad were in danger of being overwhelmed. Blood ran from the cut in the barbarian’s forehead, he had suffered wounds to both arms earlier and as Thraun watched, a quick slash opened up his chest leather. The material begin to darken further. But far from worrying him, the damage served to galvanise Hirad further and he surged forwards, both weapons burying in his victim’s chest.

  Behind Thraun, Denser stood sentinel over Erienne. His mana stamina was all but spent so he stood with his sword, waiting for Thraun to fail. He would not fail.

  He bit down on to the nose of his victim, pushed his dagger hard into the flesh of his upper thighs and kept him close with an arm locked around his neck. Struggle as he might, the guard couldn’t break free. Not until Thraun was ready and that was when he drove his dagger into the unprotected shoulder, driving down behind his ribcage.

  Thraun growled again, dropped the corpse and sought another to kill. He could smell the blood and the death, he could taste it. In his mind the memories of the forest and the hunt crowded in again. The pain of what he had lost drove him on. He would not lose the pack he ran with now. Not while he still lived.

  Those closest to him tried to back away but the press from the other side of the hallway kept them close enough. Thraun barked, saw the fear in their eyes, bared his bloodied teeth and waded in once more.

  ‘Come on!’ yelled Hirad. ‘Any of you bastards think you can take me?’

  Every inch of his body was covered in sweat and blood. His breath was acid in his lungs, his arms and legs burned and his head was thumping. Bodies littered the ground making footing difficult and he had slipped almost fatally when taking the slice across his chest. He could feel the wound every time he lashed out and he could see that despite the men he had downed, there were so many more.

  He caught the eye of a frightened youth and snarled. The boy took a pace sideways and the next instant collapsed under The Unknown’s massive punch to his temple. The more alert had discarded their swords now and fought for that modicum of space to allow two and more to attack each Raven target.

  Just as hard, he and The Unknown battled to keep it tight, using their targets as shields against crossbows and mages, who stood ready but unable to cast or fire lest they strike their own. But he feared a senior mage or Circle Seve
n master joining the fray. They had the ability to deal with individual targets wherever they were.

  But he couldn’t let it worry him. He struck out, catching a guardsman on his arm, feeling the knife bite deep, ruining tendon and muscle. The man gasped and dropped his blade. Hirad pounced, balling one fist around a dagger hilt and punching into his enemy’s mouth. Teeth broke and blood flew from split lip and torn gum. His left hand came round directly after, knife sliding deep into groin. He turned and twisted it before dragging it clear. The guard dropped to the floor, clutching himself and lost to the fight.

  His vision clouded again and he wiped the blood from his face. A fist clattered into his cheek sending him staggering back a pace. He saw a sword arrowing towards him and no way to defend himself. But the blow never landed; instead its owner jerked violently and fell forwards, a curved metal blade jutting from the back of his head.

  Hirad looked up the stairs. There was panic above and for good reason. Their limbs a blur, every strike finding its mark, the TaiGethen were back in the fight.

  ‘Yes!’ shouted Hirad. ‘Yes!’

  Energy flooded through him. He glanced right. The Unknown’s fist connected with the chin of his opponent, knocking him from his feet to land on top of two men behind. He could hear Darrick encouraging Rebraal all the way and knew that the balance of the fight was shifting.

  A mage was backing away beyond the stairs. Hirad snarled. He was next but there were enemies in front of him. He stepped inside the guard of another soldier, ducked a haymaking punch and stabbed upwards through his stomach. Still moving he pushed the dying man aside, lashed a fist into the face of a soldier targeting The Unknown and moved on again.