The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘I know all that,’ said Darrick rather testily.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hirad. ‘And you’re carrying a wound more serious than you are admitting.’

  ‘I’ll live,’ said the general.

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ said Hirad.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning you’re no good to us crippled. You could help yourself by sitting down for a start. Then turn that mind of yours to where we can rest relatively safely.’

  Darrick glared at Hirad but sat next to him anyway. ‘A lot depends on Denser,’ he said.

  ‘Doesn’t it always?’ replied Hirad.

  ‘And on Sian,’ added Darrick. The elven mage looked up. ‘Are you able to cast?’

  ‘It is difficult,’ she said, feeling for the words. ‘The mana is dark. Weak.’

  ‘That does not sound encouraging,’ said The Unknown. ‘Denser, what’s your situation?’

  Denser pushed himself to his feet, giving Auum’s shoulder a consoling squeeze as he did so.

  ‘I have nothing left,’ he said, walking across to stand by The Unknown. ‘Evunn is not as bad as I feared but he needs a mage soon who understands MindMelt to undo the damage. It’s a senior spell. And my spell around Erienne’s mind is bleeding away. I have to rest and I have to seek the demon gateway to get my stamina back quickly. But there doesn’t seem much prospect of that. There’s more. I did have some time to look at a few of the theories back there in the Laryon hub. It’s dimensional connectivity and power they’re looking at and I didn’t like the look of the way the research was headed.

  ‘We should warn the allies, because if you remember the DimensionConnect spell Xetesk used at Understone a few years back, they’ll need to be prepared. So, all in all, I’d say the situation is somewhere between dismal and desperate. The only bright spot is that the familiars won’t be able to fly in this. There’s too much power in this storm, it’ll upset their senses.’

  ‘So where do we go right now?’ asked Hirad. ‘None of us is fit to fight, we don’t have a mage that can cast and we’re carrying Erienne.’

  ‘Like I said . . .’ Denser glanced across at Erienne. Thraun was hunched over her, keeping the rain from her face. ‘Erienne is the real worry. She’s battling the One on her own until Cleress wakes. This storm will seem like nothing if Cleress can’t help her and I dread to think what damage is being caused to her mind.’

  ‘She is strong,’ said Thraun, looking up for a moment. ‘She fights.’

  ‘I know Thraun but I can’t be there with her. It’s not . . .’ Denser trailed off and the desperation he’d been trying to hide burst on to his face. He stood helplessly, the rain pounding down harder now, and gestured uselessly. ‘She’s alone in there. What if I’ve lost her?’

  Hirad scrambled to his feet and stood in front of Denser, grabbing his shoulders.

  ‘No one’s losing anyone,’ he said. ‘Not this time. We can beat this, all of it. We’re—’

  ‘I know,’ said Denser, his smile weak but genuine. ‘The Raven.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it. She’s not alone and neither are you.’

  Rebraal had returned during the exchange and was checking on Evunn.

  ‘Here’s what we do,’ said The Unknown. ‘The elves go back to their lines. Evunn needs help and maybe he’ll get it there. We have to get ourselves away from here and hidden. Darrick, how far can you walk? Hirad, Thraun, you too. No exaggeration.’

  ‘It’s a question of where, not how far,’ said Darrick. ‘We’re the opposite side of the city to where we need to be. And we’re too close to the walls. I’d say the walk back for us under normal conditions would be about three hours. It’s four ’til dawn. There’s nothing I’d call good cover without taking a massive detour. We either head for the Al-Arynaar, or burrow in here. Getting halfway and being captured in the daylight won’t help us.’

  He was right and they all knew it. Hirad felt his chest. The bleeding had stopped but he’d lost a fair bit of blood. He couldn’t fight again until the cut was at least partially healed. Darrick’s limp was pronounced and Thraun’s trouser leg was stained dark with blood. Four hours wouldn’t be enough.

  ‘Then we have to stay here.’

  ‘No,’ said Rebraal, joining them. ‘It’s too dangerous here. Supplies come here every night.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’

  ‘We will run back with Evunn. Sian will stay with you and you walk as far as you can. The ClawBound will find you. We will send help. Elven help.’

  ‘We can’t afford to be caught in the open,’ said The Unknown.

  ‘The ClawBound will find you first.’

  Hirad shrugged. ‘What choice do we have?’

  Dystran had changed his blood-soaked shoes and washed the sweat and grime from his face and hands before joining the survivors of his top team. None of them looked any better than Ranyl who had also made the early-hours meeting in the minor banqueting hall.

  He surveyed the tired, drawn pale faces in front of him. The Circle Seven was broken. Two had died, one in the corridors under attack from the TaiGethen, one by The Raven. Kestys was dead too, so was Gylac, removing his most senior dimensional and elven archive expertise. The mages who had been researching the connectivity spells were gone too, slaughtered in Laryon’s hub. The Gods knew how many others had fallen. Suarav and Chandyr had yet to confirm the number of dead college guard and reservists but it had to run close to three figures.

  The shock around the table was understandable. All this damage, and caused by so few. Dystran took them all in one by one. Suarav and Chandyr sat together, backs to the door, which was flanked outside by guards. The oval table was only half full. Ranyl, with his cat in his lap, was the only one exhibiting calm. For the remainder of the Circle, Dessyn, Prexys and Hyloch, the night in the catacombs had shattered their belief in their own security. Each of them knew that they were alive only because they had not run into The Raven or the TaiGethen.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ began Dystran, once a servant had poured him a mug of sweet herb tea and withdrawn. ‘I am aware of how you must all be feeling. I am aware that it is tempting to cast about for blame. We will not fall to that temptation. The purpose of this gathering is to assess the damage to our operation quickly, agree what actions will follow and so allow us, those that can, a few hours’ rest before dawn.’

  ‘We must examine the failings of our security,’ said Dessyn, the Soul Tank Master. He was a middle-aged man of massive magical ability but no real strength of will.

  ‘I think I have already made myself clear,’ said Dystran. ‘The time for such an assessment is in the future. May I remind you that outside our city, there are a considerable number of enemies determined to win the war. It is our duty to stop them and examining our security lapses will not do that. Besides, we know how they got in and where they got out.’

  Dessyn opened his mouth and had half-raised a finger to point at Suarav when Dystran cut him off.

  ‘Enough. Dessyn, if any of us had foreseen that Denser and The Raven were not only at Xetesk but with the elves in the raid, we would not be having this meeting. Do not point at others except in so much as to blame yourself. After all, Suarav knew nothing of the passage from the warehouse. No non-mage did until tonight. Instead, tell me this. Where are the Protectors?’

  ‘Not all are accounted for,’ replied Dessyn, his face reddening from the rebuke. ‘Some have disappeared into the city, others tried to leave Xetesk altogether. Thirty-seven are currently inside the college. We are holding them in the barracks.’

  ‘Leaving how many loose?’

  Dessyn looked at Chandyr. ‘Commander?’

  ‘Given I don’t know if any, other than Myx, were killed in the catacombs, though I doubt it, that would leave sixty-eight at large. I am assuming they are not necessarily loyal but not necessarily a threat, either.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Dystran. ‘Chandyr, you need to assess those we hold. I suspect like you that they will not figh
t with us. Make sure they are treated well. They are a problem of our own making and they will be respected. None will be hurt or forced to do anything against their wills. Ensure they understand that and see that word gets out into the city. Don’t waste resources searching for the lost; let’s hope they choose to come to us.

  ‘Next, research.’

  Faces around the table became, if anything, longer than before. Dystran tried to ignore them.

  ‘Elven translations?’

  ‘Unfinished,’ said Ranyl. ‘And with Gylac and his assistant dead, we would struggle to confirm any theory, or indeed complete our researches even if the Aryn Hiil and associated writings hadn’t been taken.’

  ‘Right, so that’s a disaster,’ said Dystran. ‘Let’s scrub it for now, there’s nothing we can do about it in the short term. Dimensional connectivity and inter-dimensional focus?’

  ‘Well, Kestys demonstrated the Soul Tank linkage was divisible without risk,’ said Prexys, dryly. ‘At least it suggests our calculations of dimensional alignment are correct.’

  Dystran rather liked Prexys. He was ancient, older than Ranyl, and trustworthy because he had no desire to rule. Not any more. His age had refined his acerbic wit, though this time, Dystran was the only one who smiled.

  ‘That’s something, I suppose. Did anyone check the research rooms in Laryon’s hub?’

  ‘Nothing has been damaged there, my Lord,’ said Prexys. ‘Unlike your own base. Much of the information there has been destroyed or taken.’

  ‘And what has gone?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Prexys, eyebrows rising. ‘The latest map, the seeker-spell routines and the gateway structure research.’

  ‘Nothing much,’ muttered Hyloch. ‘The damage they have done.’

  ‘It is not terminal,’ said Dystran. ‘It is a setback, nothing more. It changes nothing except the speed of our actions.’

  ‘They have taken the basis for everything,’ said Hyloch.

  ‘But not the method for that which we need most urgently.’ Dystran could see that they didn’t understand. He leaned back. ‘Let’s go back a little way. The vents. Suarav, tell me your plan.’

  Suarav looked surprised. ‘Well—’

  ‘For the benefit of us all,’ added Dystran.

  ‘Oh, of course, my Lord.’ He composed himself. ‘They are being blocked as we speak. We must assume the supply chain is compromised and the vents do, or did, represent a potential point of enemy entry.’

  ‘So, you see the extent of our problems. However, we can strike back but it must be sure. I believe we have one option only. Stop me if you disagree.’ He spread his hands. ‘You’re tired so I’ll try and be brief. To swing the war back in our favour and ensure our plans for the rulership of Balaia and Calaius are not irreparably damaged, we must reclaim the elven writings. We must also, given the likely and immediate destination of both The Raven and the remaining elven mages, break the siege quickly.

  ‘I would remind you all that though Julatsan magic is weak it is far from dead. To irrevocably shift the balance our way, it must be suffocated. That means thwarting any attempt to raise the Heart. Am I clear so far?’

  He saw nods, lips moving and the gesture of a hand.

  ‘Good. My friends, it has come to this. Our adapted magics are not fully tested, nor fully theorised. But we do not have the time to wait. We have to confess to being outthought by the elves and outfought by The Raven. This means that occupying the siege forces for a moment longer while we research is rendered pointless. We will also begin to suffer quickly with vital supplies now being denied us.

  ‘So, Commander Chandyr, you will put into operation the advance plans we have been working on so diligently. Please report to me as soon as you can about the state of the familiars, magedefenders and assassins. When this blasted storm dies down, we can send the familiars out; I feel they may be a potent weapon. Captain Suarav, you will assist, in addition to activating the backward college defence plans. You know how long you might have to defend us. The numbers against you will only become clear when the siege is broken. Commander, you haven’t as long as I wanted to give you. One day and one night, to be precise.

  ‘I will personally oversee the final hours of work on the dimensional spells and will make a decision which spell to employ nearer the time. You, my Lord mages, will rest. Gather your wills and your strengths. Advise those trained of what is to come and relieve them of their duties in order to rest. I will not look kindly on failure.

  ‘At dawn the day after tomorrow, we will show those bastards what a big fucking mess is really all about. Any questions?’

  Chapter 28

  In the end, the One-inspired storm did more than keep familiars from the air. It kept the sky dark until well after dawn. The Raven, exhausted, wounded and carrying Erienne, who showed no signs of regaining consciousness, had made tortuously slow progress through the gorse and then across open land, first west, then south and finally east and back towards the Al-Arynaar camp.

  Though they kept to deep shadow, shallow valley and tree or scrub where they could find it, they ran a constant risk of encountering Lysternan or Dordovan patrols. It made the walk mentally as well as physically draining, the wild weather conditions merely compounding the problems they faced.

  The first ClawBound found them after perhaps an hour. It might have been more, Hirad couldn’t be certain. The rain was driving head-on into them, the wind forcing their movement back to little more than a shuffle. He was leading, the blood loss from his chest making him light-headed, with pain spearing his lungs every time he breathed. The Unknown was at his side, one arm around Darrick’s waist. The general was in trouble, his hip having stiffened, sending an ache up the entire side of his body and into his neck and face, his blood loss from beneath makeshift bandages a cause for real concern.

  Behind them, Thraun’s huge arms enveloped Erienne, keeping the worst from her, while beside her, Denser shivered with the cold and mental fatigue, his cloak wrapped around his wife. Sian’erei walked with them too, cutting a lone hunched figure, lost in dread thoughts about the death of Julatsan magic.

  The panther had approached from downwind, appearing from the dark and wiping a wet flank along Thraun’s undamaged leg. Another had immediately run out of low cover to their right and not long after, came their unmistakable elven partners. Tall, long-fingered, impossibly graceful, their white-and-black painted faces unspoiled by the rain.

  Hirad had felt a relief that surprised him, while The Raven were happy to have their direction changed, edging them south-east. One of the pairs walked with them, the other well ahead, scouting the terrain for cover and any sign of allied patrols. The pair with them didn’t stray from Erienne. The panther walked easily by Thraun, the elf on his other side. Normally impassive, the elf’s face wore a frown and he rarely took his eyes from her. As if he could sense the turmoil within her.

  Hirad relaxed. Not just because the ClawBound would give early warning of any attack, but because he had to. He couldn’t fight his weariness any longer. His chest was freezing and a riot of pain, his whole upper body felt like he’d taken a beating with iron bars and his legs were leaden and sluggish. The only way to keep himself going was to retreat inside himself and concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other.

  Even so, by the time they had walked for over two hours, he was forcing himself to continue by sheer effort of will. He could sense The Unknown struggling too, though he had the considerable burden of Darrick to weigh him down. The general could hardly walk at all, but they would not stop, and nothing would stop them. Not the wind throwing dirt and leaves in their faces, nor the rain tearing at their clothes and chilling their skin.

  ‘Can you ride a horse?’ asked The Unknown suddenly, his words just carrying over the gale.

  ‘I would kiss anyone who presented me with one, kiss the horse and leap on its back in a single bound,’ said Hirad.

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  Hir
ad raised his head. Incredibly, The Unknown was smiling. The big man nodded forward, Hirad followed the gesture. There in the path ahead, hidden from plain view by a bank of trees on the down-slope of a shallow valley, was a group of elves. Each one had a horse by its reins, the animals grazing quietly or looking about them vacantly. Actually, they weren’t all elves. One was bigger and broader; he was standing next to Rebraal.

  ‘Blackthorne,’ said Hirad.

  ‘I’ve heard that beards rub the skin of the face,’ said The Unknown. ‘Pucker up.’

  Hirad laughed. It was brief, the pain flared across his chest. The elves and Blackthorne were walking the horses towards them. The barbarian stopped and looked behind him. He felt like sagging to the ground but knew he’d never get up again. Relief was stamped across Thraun’s face and Denser’s had softened just a little.

  ‘You boys need a ride?’ asked Blackthorne as he reached them.

  ‘Now you mention it,’ said Hirad.

  Blackthorne’s dark eyes sparkled but his expression was grim when he took them all in.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s not waste time. You need help, all of you.’

  Hirad nodded. ‘I’ll kiss you later.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Never mind,’ said The Unknown. He clasped Blackthorne’s arm. ‘We won’t forget this.’

  It was a long time before Erienne even recognised that the world she knew was gone. It was a long time before she recognised anything at all. Awareness was not something she could take for granted, she thought. Or did she? This could be a dream, in which case, she was not necessarily aware. She had no sensation of breathing, movement or life. None of her external senses revealed anything to her. She might well even be dead.

  In fact, the more she thought about it, the more likely that outcome became. Her memories were fragmented. Not those of her past; they were as clear as they had always been. But there had been a transition. And somewhere between Myriell’s shattering cry and the restart of her thought processes, the memories had been broken, scattered.