The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘What would you have us do?’ asked The Unknown.

  ‘State your business.’

  ‘Rooming and food for the night. Stabling for our horses and supplies for the journey in the morning. We have coin for all we need.’

  The man in front looked them over slowly, appraising. He lingered over the elves. Hirad took the opportunity to weigh up the mercenaries. They appeared capable enough. Confident, at ease. Hirad raised his eyebrows. One of the mages was an elf. Echoes of the past.

  ‘Food is short, costs are high,’ said the mercenary leader. He was a large man, carrying a two-handed sword across his back.

  The Unknown shrugged. ‘We can cover your costs.’

  The leader nodded. ‘We’ll see. Enter. Find rooms where you can though I would suggest Ferran’s barns and house over there is your best bet. You’ll pay in advance for everything. We don’t appreciate late-night chases, if you understand me.’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said The Unknown. He relaxed his face. ‘We’re no threat to you. We are just passing.’

  ‘See it stays that way. One more thing. You will not unsheathe swords in this village. We are a peaceful community.’

  ‘But it hasn’t always been that way, I take it?’

  The leader shook his head, indicating his men move aside to let them through before he replied.

  ‘A lot of refugees have passed this way from the mage lands, and before them we had them from as far east as Korina and as far south as Arlen.’ He paused. ‘Not all of them would take “no” for an answer. That’s why we’re here now.’

  The Raven led their horses into the village, angling for the indicated farm on its eastern edge. The elves followed them, their suspicion plain.

  ‘What do you make of it?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Well, they aren’t faces I recognise,’ said The Unknown. ‘And they clearly don’t know us, which is a blessing. I think we shouldn’t get involved.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hirad. ‘I don’t like the set-up. Think about it. Mercenary teams are being paid very good money to fight for the colleges or side with baronial defence. This lot? How can they possibly earn enough from a place this size to make it worthwhile?’

  ‘Ask the farmer, why don’t you?’ said Denser.

  ‘I will. Let’s get sorted out first though.’

  There was precious little space but it served them well enough. Denser and Erienne had the one empty room in the farmhouse. Ferran spread it with straw and blankets. The rest of them were given shelter in the two barns, one for grain storage, the other part stables, part hayloft. It was serviceable though the price was ruinous.

  The Raven plus Rebraal gathered around Ferran’s prodigious kitchen table once the horses were unsaddled and Auum and his Tai had taken their leave. Not all of them had seats but there were enough places to rest and enjoy the thick vegetable stew and tough rye bread served by Ferran’s daughter, a girl barely into her teenage years but with eyes that had already seen a long hard life.

  Ferran was a humourless middle-aged man. His hands were callused and split from many years working hard cold earth. His chest was a barrel and his eyes were deep set in a weathered face.

  ‘Long journey, is it?’ he ventured of his guests.

  ‘Long enough,’ conceded Darrick. The ex-General still managed to look neat despite their time on the road, his young face already clean of grime and his brown curls shaken free of dust.

  Ferran nodded, apparently gleaning everything he needed from the General’s brace of words. ‘Well, it’ll be a comfortable night. No trouble.’ His eyes glinted. ‘We’re protected.’

  ‘So we see,’ said Hirad. He leaned forwards, arms resting on the table, hands clasped together in front of his bowl. ‘Treat you well do they?’

  ‘I’m begging your pardon?’

  ‘You’ve bought their services,’ Hirad explained. ‘Are you getting what you expect?’

  Ferran thought on the question, aware all eyes were upon him.

  ‘They keep us alive,’ he said. ‘We’d been raided. Three times. They offered us protection for a consideration.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked The Unknown.

  ‘Well now that’s a deal between—’

  ‘Which is?’

  Recognise him or not, no one refused The Unknown Warrior.

  ‘They keep us alive,’ he repeated. ‘And safe. We carry on, they take the rest. It’s right.’

  ‘They take all your profit?’ Denser blew out his cheeks. ‘There’s your answer, barbarian.’

  Ferran nodded.

  ‘And no doubt food and lodging is part of the deal,’ said Hirad. ‘This is some easy deal.’

  ‘It goes without saying.’

  ‘But the war is as good as over,’ said Hirad. ‘When were you last threatened or attacked?’

  ‘They say there is still danger,’ said Ferran. ‘They keep us alive.’ That sparkle was in his eyes again. ‘And you don’t question the best.’

  ‘And that’s what they are, is it?’ Hirad couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Well yes,’ said Ferran. He looked at them all, imploring them to understand. ‘Don’t you recognise them?’

  ‘Should we?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stood tall. ‘They are The Raven.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hirad, feeling his skin crawl. ‘Are they indeed?’

  Chapter 5

  ‘Hirad, sit down,’ barked The Unknown Warrior. ‘Let’s decide how to deal with this.’

  ‘I’ll tell you how we deal with it,’ said Hirad. ‘We go outside, call them out and take them down.’

  ‘Calm down, Hirad,’ said Darrick. ‘We can’t just run out, swords waving. It’s an unnecessary risk.’

  ‘It might not mean much to you, General, but these bastards are trading on our name to bleed this village dry. I will not see our reputation ruined by bandits.’

  Hirad’s head was thumping, his body tense with the frustration boiling within him. Outside, people who believed in The Raven were being taken for everything they had when, more than ever, they needed every scrap of fortune they could lay their hands on. Perhaps their fortune was about to change. But what really made Hirad seethe was the bad taste that would be left in the mouths of these people whenever The Raven was mentioned again.

  ‘We can’t just walk out there and kill them,’ said Denser.

  ‘Why not?’ Hirad jabbed a finger at Ferran. The farmer and his daughter had frozen at the exchange, their mouths slack and eyes widening. Their disbelief at what they were witnessing grew with every heartbeat. ‘These people have been made to think that it’s right that The Raven should take from them anything they want because of who they are. That’s never been our way. It’s a betrayal of all that we stand for. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.’

  ‘We were mercenaries too,’ said Denser.

  ‘Yeah, and we were paid a fair price to fight. A good price because we were the best. People who hired us understood the rules. But this . . . this is robbery and I’m not having it.’

  He moved towards the door.

  ‘Hirad, where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I’m going to demonstrate who The Raven really are. Back me up, why don’t you?’

  ‘I know the hurt you feel,’ said The Unknown. ‘I feel it too. We all do. But we do things a certain way. That, as you are so fond of telling us, is why we’re still alive. And now it’s your turn to play by the rules. Sit down and listen. Whatever we do, we do as The Raven.’

  The Unknown didn’t have to raise his voice to command complete authority. Hirad paused, nodded and returned to his seat.

  They did not emerge until dusk. The last vestiges of the day’s light clung to the tops of the valley but the village was cast largely in shadow. The Raven had talked while the afternoon waned, not letting Ferran light lanterns or a fire in his kitchen. They had seen the impostors patrolling the streets, still on horseback. And from the rear windows of the house had watched them trot past regularly. While n
ot exactly prisoners, it was clear The Raven were not to be given licence to roam Cuff at will.

  The leader had visited them once, to check they were settled in and to ask after the whereabouts of the elves. The Unknown had simply shrugged and intimated they had continued on southwards. Without evidence to the contrary, the man had withdrawn.

  Ferran had confirmed that there were indeed seven of them, the number popularly associated with The Raven. Hirad wasn’t sure they had convinced him that they were the genuine article. What he did know was that the moment they left the house, Ferran was running for his neighbours to set the rumour spreading, his daughter heading in the opposite direction. They were fulfilling expectations perfectly.

  The Unknown led them, Hirad to his right, Darrick and Thraun left. Erienne and Denser were behind them. The track through the village was quiet but the four men who had been paying particular attention to the farmhouse now rode in from front and back, intercepting them as they reached the street. Thraun dropped back to cover any threat from the rear.

  Neither pair of riders had any presence. They were uncertain, nervous and looking to each other to make the first move. The Raven made it for them.

  ‘Better call your leader down here,’ said The Unknown. ‘You’ve got a problem.’

  The Raven had weapons sheathed but both Erienne and Denser were ready with shield spells should the need arise. In front of them, a heavy-set man with both hands on the pommel of his saddle spoke.

  ‘He’ll be along presently, I have no doubt. Now, what is this problem we have?’

  ‘You all need to hear what we have to say. All seven,’ said The Unknown.

  Hirad smiled unpleasantly. ‘Yeah, six men and an elf. You’re a little behind the times.’

  ‘Listen, you don’t need to test yourselves against us,’ said the heavy-set man, frowning in Hirad’s direction. ‘It isn’t worth your while and we have no wish to spill your blood.’

  ‘Well, that’s comforting,’ muttered Denser.

  The second pair of riders rode around to the front of the standoff. Hirad could hear more hoof beats coming up the village. To his left, a door opened and a man ran across the street, not pausing to knock on the door of the house opposite before barging in.

  ‘Which one are you, then?’ asked Hirad of the heavy-set man.

  ‘I am Hirad Coldheart,’ he said without hesitation.

  ‘I’d heard he was better-looking,’ replied Hirad, no humour in his voice.

  ‘Stop it, now,’ said The Unknown, turning to him.

  The remaining impostors rode up along the street, doors opening with regularity behind them now. The archer unslung his bow as soon as he reined in, the leader trotting calmly to the front of the group.

  Looking at him again, Hirad could see immediately who he had modelled himself upon. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already noticed, the likeness was that obvious. He supposed he just hadn’t been looking. Shaven-headed, broad-shouldered and strong-faced. The two-handed blade on his back was something else that should have pricked his memories.

  ‘Don’t fancy yours much, either,’ he said.

  The Unknown glared at him.

  ‘What is it I can do for you?’ asked his double in a passable impersonation.

  ‘Several things,’ said The Unknown. He glanced around him, looked past the impostors and along the street. ‘Seems we’ve drawn quite a crowd. Good. Here begins the lesson.’

  ‘Get back to the farmhouse,’ said the leader.

  ‘Be quiet,’ said The Unknown. ‘And listen. It might just save you.’

  The sounds of swords being pulled from scabbards echoed across the instant’s silence. The Raven followed suit instantly, forming up into their trademark chevron.

  ‘Shield up,’ said Denser and Erienne together.

  ‘I suggest you lower those weapons,’ said the bandit leader, the only man among them whose sword was not drawn. ‘You will prove nothing by taking us on.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said The Unknown. ‘We will prove what we must.’

  ‘Which is what? That you can beat The Raven?’

  ‘No, my apparently blind double. That we are The Raven.’

  A ripple ran around the villagers close enough to hear and spread quickly to those who could not. The crowd, now more than forty, bunched and moved forward a pace. But the men, women and children still kept a respectful distance.

  Hirad watched the impostors stare at them, trying to gauge if The Unknown could be telling the truth.

  ‘Look hard,’ growled Hirad. ‘Believe.’

  The leader snorted, straightened in his saddle. ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘Just six. One a woman. No elf. And you,’ he pointed at The Unknown Warrior. ‘A little old aren’t you? And if you had heard the stories, you would have a two-handed blade. A pale imitation. It’s been fun. Now it’s time you left before we run you down.’

  ‘But that’s the trouble with stories, isn’t it?’ said The Unknown, his face a mask, while Hirad felt his own burning with renewed anger. ‘They don’t take account of the passage of time. We have not fought in line for six years and in the troubles that have followed, even we have lost friends.’

  ‘There is no elf because Ilkar is dead,’ said Hirad, staring down the elven mage. ‘No one lives on his name. No one.’

  ‘All right, Hirad,’ said The Unknown. ‘So you see the problem we have. We cannot let you simply walk away. You have taken our name and used it for profit. And that is not the worst of it. You have betrayed what The Raven stand for and believe in. We were mercenaries, not parasites.’

  ‘And you expect these people to believe that you, not we, are The Raven?’

  ‘I don’t much care who they think we are,’ said The Unknown. ‘All they need to know is that you are not The Raven.’

  His voice was pitched to carry to the villagers. Hirad heard the mutterings of conversation. The impostors’ heads all turned, their anxiety rising.

  ‘You surely don’t believe them, do you?’ demanded the leader.

  Unexpectedly, Ferran stepped from the small crowd.

  ‘We pay you to keep our village free of undesirables,’ he said. ‘If they are such, do your jobs. Get rid of them.’

  His words were greeted with assent from those around him.

  Hirad grinned. ‘Yeah, Hirad,’ he said. ‘Take me on. Run me out of the village.’ He spat on the ground in front of him, enjoying the tension that grew in the space between them.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,’ said The Unknown. ‘You’re going to give back every coin you have taken from this village. You’ll also leave them your horses because you are walking away from here. Your return will be to your graves.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said the leader, tone dismissive but fear edging into his expression. He was eyeing The Unknown ever more closely, the doubt eating at him.

  ‘Your alternative,’ said The Unknown, ‘is not to leave here at all. Mind you, since you’re The Raven, that threat won’t impress you much, will it?’

  Hirad saw the band wavering. He knew why. In front of them was unshakeable belief born of fifteen years of winning. The Raven, standing quite still, did not and would not flinch. Their adversaries, even with the advantage of being mounted, were losing the battle of wills. It was what separated The Raven from everybody else. Always had.

  ‘There is only one Raven, and you aren’t it,’ said Hirad.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The Unknown’s blade struck the ground in front of him.

  ‘No time to debate,’ he said. ‘Get off your horses now.’

  ‘Boss?’

  There it was, the first vocal crack in the façade. The impostors’ leader scowled. Then he swallowed and looked back at The Unknown, hesitant.

  ‘You’re out of time,’ said The Unknown. ‘Dismount.’

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  ‘Go,’ snapped the leader.

  He kicked the flanks of his horse. Startled, the animal sprang forward. The
Unknown reacted instantly, diving forward and left. Hirad mirrored him right, both men rolling to their haunches. The Unknown was confronted by a wall of horseflesh on the move. Two others had followed their boss and were right on top of Thraun and Darrick. Hirad surged to his feet and grabbed at the arm of the mounted man in front of him. He pulled hard.

  ‘Mage casting,’ warned Darrick.

  ‘Shield down,’ said Denser. And in the next instant, ‘Got him.’

  Men tugged hard on reins, horses reared and whinnied, dust was kicked into the air. Swords flashed in the dying light. Thraun roared. Metal clashed. A single arrow flew. There was a shout of pain.

  Hirad kept on pulling, unsaddling the man. His horse turned sharply, its head butting Hirad, sending him stumbling. The man scrambled to his feet to face his smiling double.

  ‘So, Hirad,’ he said, beckoning him on. ‘Let’s see if you measure up to the real thing.’

  The man lunged forwards, thrusting to Hirad’s open side. The barbarian switched his blade between his hands, blocked the attack aside and drove an uppercut into his enemy’s exposed chest.

  ‘Didn’t think so.’

  Hirad left him to bleed to death and turned back to The Raven, slapping the riderless horse away. From the back of the group, the elf had detached and was spurring his horse towards the gathered villagers.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ breathed Hirad and set off after him.

  The mage cast, his ForceCone meeting Erienne’s implacable shield. Denser’s focused Orb drove him from his horse to die screaming in flame on the dry earth. Thraun and Darrick had stopped the fledgling charge of two of the group, and, like The Unknown, had hands on reins or bridles, keeping themselves out of strike range in front of their enemies’ horses.

  The last rider broke and galloped away to the north of the village and open ground, abandoning his comrades to their fates. The Unknown beckoned the leader down and waited while he drew his sword. Beside him, Darrick and Thraun killed effortlessly.

  ‘Are you who you say you are?’ asked the leader.

  The Unknown nodded, his sword tapping again. ‘At least you will have faced me.’

  The leader brought his sword to ready. The Unknown ceased his tapping, made nonsense of his double’s ponderous defence and skewered his heart. ‘But not for long.’