The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  He had heard the crack of the failing walkway above him and scrambled to safety in a doorway while chaos descended. Mute, he had seen it collapse with the deaths of so many. He had seen the tower shiver and slide to the ground. He knew he shouldn’t smile as the smoke and dust cleared in front of him. Indeed Riasu was surely among those dead. But in their attempts to break the Wesmen spirit, they had sealed their own dooms.

  The walls of Xetesk were breached.

  Chapter 4

  His head fuzzy with the after-effects of too much red wine, Hirad led The Raven from the college and city of Julatsa with the sun climbing high into a beautiful, clear spring sky.

  He had made his peace with Ilkar. His anger at his friend’s death was much diminished. It was time to move on and, despite the knowledge of their immediate destination, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to move on to.

  One thing he felt well able to do, though, was put as much distance between himself and the war as was physically possible. The Raven felt the same way, a feeling shared by many in Julatsa. But not all had their choice. Almost all of the elves were staying on for the time being. The threat from outside, though not as potent, was still present. And with the mage strength that much greater and the Heart beating strong once more, there was much restorative work that could now be done.

  Some, though, had to return to Calaius. It was as he had surmised sitting on the steps of the college refectory the night before. Rebraal to gather together the remnants of the Al-Arynaar; and Auum to tackle the enormous task of rebuilding the TaiGethen order. With him went Duele and Evunn, ever his shadows. To complete the odd assortment came the one ClawBound pair to survive Balaia. They yearned for the touch of the rainforest and the calls of their kind. No one invited them to travel south. No one questioned them either. Hirad was just glad to have them nearby.

  Their route to Blackthorne and thence to the Bay of Gyernath to await the Calaian Sun was of necessity going to be, initially at least, circuitous. They had decided to travel due east for a day and a half before turning south. Even then, they would have to travel carefully through the forests, what was left of them, and low hills that made up the eastern border of the mage lands. Darrick considered that even though the focus of aggression would once again fall on Xetesk, Dordovan patrols would be looking for The Raven, and Erienne in particular. And they might well be backed by Lysternan forces. Once beyond the mage lands south, they would be able to breathe more easily but that was days away.

  Hirad shook his head. The Raven, hunted by those they had fought so long to save. At least ordinary Balaians would still hold them in high regard, those that even knew who they were. He let a smile cross his face. Their fame was countrywide and no doubt embellished in story and verse in places they had never even been. But he wondered how many actually knew what they looked like.

  It was a question that would be put to the test later in the day. Darrick knew of a hamlet that they should reach by late afternoon or early evening. A comfortable place to sleep and the chance to buy supplies before ten days in the open was an attractive prospect. They had taken very little from Julatsa. The Gods knew the city was struggling even to feed its own people let alone groups of ex-mercenaries.

  With the ClawBound pair of tall, black-and-white-painted elf and sleek black panther ranging ahead and south-east, The Raven felt able to ride in the open, making good time over easy ground. Beside them ran the elven quartet, their regular long strides conserving energy and making the pace for the horses.

  The first hours of their journey were peculiar for the almost complete silence in which they were conducted. There was none of the banter Hirad associated with The Raven riding to their next job, running from enemies or returning home from a fight. In every face he saw reflection, and felt a sense of loss himself.

  Erienne was deep within herself as she had been for much of the time after the battle to lift the Heart. The fact of Cleress’s continued survival had been a source of great comfort but scared her more than she would admit. The elven Al-Drechar mage was instructing her even now in points of the One magic. It would mean exposing herself to more danger and Denser wasn’t sure his wife was ready for it.

  Erienne’s introspection led Denser to the same state. He barely left her side when she was awake. And Thraun, who could sense so much more than he could say, also rode close. Hirad had joked that he’d have shared Erienne and Denser’s bed if he’d been allowed. No one had laughed.

  Darrick, when left alone, descended to an anger he refused to let loose in word or action. But Hirad could see it in his eyes. He felt betrayed by those he had served so faithfully. He had placed the security of his college, city and country above his own for years and they had expressed their gratitude by giving him a death sentence. Hirad knew how he felt.

  Only The Unknown carried anything approaching a good mood and the big man was riding by Hirad with a half-smile on his face.

  ‘Not long now, eh, Unknown?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said The Unknown. ‘You know when we left Herendeneth and I waved them goodbye, I didn’t think I’d see them again. It seems so long ago but so little time has passed.’

  ‘Cleress has told them we’re coming?’

  The Unknown shook his head. ‘No. And not because I want it to be a surprise. It’s just that until we’re on board ship, I won’t let them believe we’ll actually make it.’ He turned to face Hirad. ‘How hard it would be to know something was so close but then have it snatched from you.’

  Hirad nodded. ‘It’s your choice.’

  ‘And what about you, Coldheart? You’re quiet. We’ve learned to worry about that. And this group could do with some more of your ill-chosen comments, I think. Not a great mood, is it?’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know why, Unknown. You’re heading for something. You have a target.’ Hirad paused. ‘You know how it was when we had retired at Taranspike Castle before Denser and Dawnthief buggered things up? Well, for me it’s like that except I have no desire to fight. It’s odd. I’ve got no clear idea what I want to do bar travel with you to Herendeneth but I know it’s the right thing to do this time.’

  ‘So it isn’t like Taranspike at all, then, is it?’

  Hirad chuckled. ‘I don’t think I said it right. I mean it’s the end of The Raven, isn’t it?’

  ‘And you never thought you’d live to see the day.’

  ‘No, Unknown, I always thought I’d live to see the day, I just didn’t ever know when the day would be. Funny thing, even when we were apart for those five years after we closed the noonshade rip, I somehow didn’t think that was the end.’

  The Unknown smiled. ‘And now there’s no prospect of anyone wanting us, is there?’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ said Hirad. ‘I’m just not sure how I should feel.’

  ‘Let me ask you something. Was it the prospect of fame and fortune that kept you fighting?’

  ‘At the start, of course it was. But not lately. Now it’s all about being with The Raven and fighting for the people I love, dead or alive.’

  ‘And had you wanted to fade into gentle retirement or did you want to be fêted everywhere you went?’

  Hirad shrugged. ‘A bit of both, if I’m honest. Not much chance of being fêted now though, is there?’

  ‘Not here,’ agreed The Unknown. ‘But on Calaius they respect us for what we did. And elves have longer and better memories than Balaians, it seems.’

  ‘Think I should go and live there?’

  ‘It’s a thought. Put it this way. Our time, The Raven’s time, is over. We have to face the fact that we’re a little creaky, not as fast as we were. More than that, we’re unpopular with Balaia’s power brokers. But we’ve never reneged on a contract and we’ve never been beaten. We’ve preserved all that we can both here and on Calaius. We’ve made a difference. No one can take that from us. So I’m saying go and live somewhere you can have peace but keep in touch with your memories. The elves will provide that for you. Besides, I th
ink Herendeneth would bore you rigid. You and Darrick both.’

  Hirad laughed. ‘Yeah, can’t see us tending the gardens till we die.’

  ‘Exactly. You aren’t cut out for a quiet life. Something will find you, mark my words.’

  ‘So long as it isn’t sharp.’

  Dystran’s head ached with lack of sleep. That and the sound of EarthHammers destroying every building surrounding the college for forty yards beyond the cobblestones. His familiars, those that were left, were harrying the Wesmen who had no defence against them. But they were so few and could do little more than irritate. They seemed to have lost their capacity to terrify and Tessaya - he had seen the Wesmen Lord prowling the shadows at dawn - had quickly worked out that what could not be killed could at least be caught and trapped. Already the stones and timbers of Xeteskian houses were pinning two of the thralled demons to the ground.

  With the sun halfway to noon, Dystran stood on the walls of the college above the gatehouse, having just completed another circuit. Wesmen surrounded his college. Unbelievable. The spells and arrows kept them at a safe distance for now; and the CobaltFury had made them wary, but Tessaya would wait until he deemed them weak enough and attack again.

  When the tower had collapsed, tearing holes in the walls, the city defence had quickly folded and terror had gripped the streets. Every soldier and mage had fled back to the college, Wesmen chasing them down. The south gates stood open, under the control of the enemy. The other gates to the city were also in Wesmen hands though they remained closed.

  The city populace had nowhere to run. The Wesmen had herded them away from the gates, the spell barrage had kept them from the college and so they cowered in their homes, not knowing whether they would live or die. Dystran knew the answer. The attitude of the Wesmen had changed. The only people Tessaya wanted dead were inside the college.

  Dystran turned to the duty officer standing by him.

  ‘Marshal your spell reserves well. When he attacks, I don’t want to find all my mages having to rest.’

  ‘My Lord.’

  The Lord of the Mount hurried down the steps from the gate tower and across the courtyard to the tower complex. Those he had ordered to provide him with their current situation awaited him in the cavernous banqueting hall. Three men, two exhausted, one in old age, awaiting his pleasure in the chill room. They sat at one end of the high table near a fire hours dead. Light streamed through the dark stained windows but provided precious little in the way of warmth. Dystran’s footsteps echoed hollow as he approached them. They stood on seeing him but he waved them down impatiently, taking the steps to the platform two at a time.

  ‘I seem to be holding such meetings with monotonous regularity, ’ he said. He sat in his chair and laid a hand on the arm of the one adjacent, squeezing its upholstery. Ranyl’s absence made the room truly cavernous.

  ‘May I add my condolences to those of the mage community for the passing of Ranyl. He was a great man,’ said Chandyr, his head bandaged, an oozing cut on his left cheek.

  ‘And I would consign him to the next life in peace!’ Dystran thumped the arm of his chair.

  ‘We will prevail,’ assured Chandyr.

  ‘Will we?’ Dystran snapped. ‘And what leads you to that happy conclusion? Our astonishing defence of our city walls or our ability to demolish our own warehouses and civic offices? Commander Chandyr, we have exchanged one siege for another and I must say that I found the former far more agreeable. More spacious. I fear that our chances for victory lie not in arms but in spells. Prexys, what of our casting strength?’

  The old Circle Seven mage scratched his head and allowed a small smile to cross his face. ‘As Ranyl would undoubtedly have said, we have had easier times for our stamina reserves and for the security of our dimensional gateway for their replenishment.’

  Dystran nodded. ‘But he is not here, though your thoughts are welcome. How long do we have before Tessaya knows we are spent enough for him to attack?’

  Prexys sighed. ‘He is a clever man. He probes close enough to force casting almost continually but he is not losing men at the rate we need. You know how depleted our mage strength is. We can cast at our current expenditure for another day at the most before it becomes apparent we are struggling. And with the dimensional team out of the picture temporarily, we have nothing else to throw at them except our few remaining soldiers.’

  ‘I see.’ Dystran sucked his lip and turned to face Sharyr. He and fifteen of the team had made it back to the college. All were resting bar him and he was fit to drop, his face not washed clean of the dust of the walls. ‘And why are you out of the picture, Sharyr? I would have thought a day plenty enough to ready yourselves for a decisive casting.’

  Sharyr’s eyes widened. He shivered. ‘You can’t ask us to do that again. You saw what happened. The alignment isn’t there. We cannot contain the energy.’

  ‘They are already through the walls, Sharyr,’ said Dystran. ‘Scatter the power wherever you choose. Destruction of buildings is a small price to pay for all of our lives, surely?’

  ‘With respect, my Lord, you don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand that alignment closes with every passing heartbeat. I understand that fifteen rested men can and will cast on my command if it becomes necessary. I understand that there is no price I am not willing to pay for the survival of this college.’

  ‘Even its destruction?’ Sharyr raised his voice.

  ‘Well now, Sharyr, if it were destroyed, it would hardly survive, now would it?’

  ‘Damn you, don’t patronise me!’ shouted Sharyr, shooting to his feet. ‘We were not enough before and we are not enough now.’

  ‘You will not—’

  ‘There is residue where the connection with inter-dimensional space was made. Something of the tear remains, I’m sure of it.’

  Dystran paused and frowned. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

  ‘That we may have caused permanent damage, my Lord,’ said Sharyr, calming a little and sinking back into his chair. ‘And that casting again might cause us serious problems. You see, my Lord, if there is still the residue of a tear, I have no idea how to close it.’

  ‘We had a tear in our skies once before, as you will recall. It could have led to an invasion of dragons. Please tell me this is different.’

  ‘Oh, quite different, my Lord,’ said Sharyr. ‘There is no hint of a link to any other dimension at this stage. I’m just currently at a loss how to deal with it.’

  ‘Then I suggest that you rest now, Sharyr. And when you are rested, see that you investigate what you have left in my sky. I will have my spell ready, with you or without you. Because when I pay my last respects to my dear friend Ranyl tomorrow night, I will have peace and not a horde of Wesmen vermin battering at my door.’ Dystran smiled thinly and saw the fear in Sharyr’s eyes. ‘I trust I make myself clear.’

  The village of Cuff was a settlement of probably fifty houses and farms nestled in a shallow and sheltered, tree-lined valley. Grazing animals ranged free up and down its length, crops were sprouting through fertile earth. To look at Cuff, it was clear the Nightchild storms had hardly touched it. The scene before them was at odds with much of the rest of Balaia given war and so many displaced people.

  While farmers worked their land and the odd fisherman netted the free-flowing river on which the village stood, others on horseback patrolled its borders and guarded the crests of the valley east and west. Two rough watchtowers had been built, visible at either end of the village, looking out north and south along its single track.

  The Raven approached at an easy trot, the elves running beside them in the late afternoon sun. The ClawBound had disappeared. Hirad’s guess was they were already downwind of all the livestock and horses. In the trees to the south, hunting.

  ‘Times are hard and people are desperate,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’d be the same. Let’s tread carefully, Raven.’

  ‘What do you think about the guards? Mercenary o
r local?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Soldiers,’ said Rebraal. ‘Well armed. Used to armour.’

  ‘We probably know them,’ said Hirad.

  ‘That’s not necessarily a good thing,’ said The Unknown. ‘Let’s be prepared. Just don’t look like you are.’

  There was a price on The Raven’s capture and return to Lystern or Dordover. Probably a very high price at that.

  ‘I’ll keep my hand just far enough from my sword to be of no use if there’s trouble,’ said Hirad.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Hirad smiled. He glanced meaningfully at the TaiGethen moving fluidly by him. Even without their faces painted, he found it hard to imagine them anything less than fully prepared. Readiness oozed from every pore.

  They watched the mercenaries gather at the head of the village to meet them. It wasn’t an overtly threatening gesture but a statement of intent nonetheless.

  ‘There are seven. Four swordsmen split two and two on horses. Three behind. Two mages, one archer,’ said Rebraal.

  ‘Hirad, watch the right-hand side. Rebraal, Auum, look for others joining. I’ll watch left. Thraun, back me up, Darrick to Hirad. Denser, prepare HardShield, Erienne, SpellShield.’

  The Unknown’s words calmed them to focus. No one moved a muscle in response. No hand strayed towards a weapon yet they all had their targets. It was enough.

  At twenty yards distance, a strong voice sounded out at them. In the fields and on the river, all action had ceased.

  ‘Dismount and walk, strangers.’

  A moment’s hesitation.

  ‘As he says,’ said The Unknown. The Raven dismounted. His voice lowered to a mutter. ‘Mark the far left, hand to his sword. Archer is loaded and tensed. No reaction, Raven. These are not our enemies. Yet.’

  They slowed, the elves falling naturally into narrow order with them, sensing the threat they might otherwise pose. The Unknown brought them to a halt five yards from the first mercenary, who they took to be the leader.