The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  In the traces, the horses were as fresh as they could be. Darrick had handed the reins to another human driver, a man named Brynn whom Rebraal recommended as the ideal man to hold the front line. Darrick went with the elf’s decision. Brynn was a man covered in scratches and bandages but clearly unbowed despite the shiver in his body.

  Now Darrick stood with The Raven, minus Erienne and Thraun, and the TaiGethen, just behind the line of mages. Hirad had won his battle as they all knew he would and had taken his place at The Unknown’s right-hand side. He was plainly discomforted but Darrick for one would rather a half-fit Hirad in the line than no Hirad at all. And it was equally plain on The Unknown’s face that, despite his protestations, he felt precisely the same.

  Time was almost upon them. There were still karron moving up to the edge of the shell, sorting themselves into dense lines. And overhead, two masters floated. One with the tentacled underbody, the other a rather plain-looking blue demon, small but clearly important, given its position. Pheone moved in front of her charges, Dila’heth near her. They knew what they had to do. Each one had casting instructions and direction. That they would fail was inconceivable.

  A movement caught Darrick’s eye to the right beyond the shell’s periphery. At first he thought it demons flying in to join the attack but the movement was erratic and had the air of a chase. He brought it to Auum’s attention. There was growing consternation among the demons as they too became aware of it. The level of noise, building steadily, had an angry edge to it. Strike-strain left the shell to intercept.

  ‘It is humans,’ said Auum. ‘Three. Two carrying the other one.’

  ‘Coming this way?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Darrick raised his eyebrows. Something had to trigger the attack. He had expected it to be the demon masters. Perhaps it would be this random event. What he couldn’t afford was for the Al-Arynaar to be distracted.

  ‘Eyes front!’ he ordered. ‘Check your targets.’

  Rebraal translated his words and focus was restored. The same could not be said of the demons and there was just a small chance that this would work in their favour. It was a chance that did not come off. The trio of flyers, skimming the tree line, dipping and rising suddenly to shake off a growing tail of pursuers, closed on the shell. High above, the masters raced to the back of their main force. The noise rose to a deafening volume and the karron came to shambling readiness.

  ‘Ready!’ called Darrick. ‘Remember your roles. Do not deviate, do not falter. Dila’heth, cast when ready.’ He turned to a flagman. ‘Now. Signal the disperse.’

  Up on the roof of the lead wagons, flags were waved. Inside the right-hand one, the casting mages dispersed the ColdRoom structure. Demons howled, sensing victory, and from above they poured down to attack. Immediately the flags were seen, the wagons behind began rolling forwards, bringing the remaining ColdRooms closer.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Darrick.

  The front line of Al-Arynaar was motionless, lost in casting. The General looked anxiously up to the heavens. The sky was full of demon bodies, clamouring for their souls, gibbering their desire. The karron upped their pace, trotting over the packed ground, arms pumping, the weapons that replaced their hands glistening. They were followed by packs of reavers and flanked by clouds of strike-strain. This was going to be close.

  As one, the elven mages raised their heads. Pheone snapped out an order and the spell barrage was unleashed. ForceCones jabbed into the air, scattering the onrushing winged demons which squealed their displeasure. They were the lucky ones for now. Immediately following the Cone deployment, bright yellow light flashed across the early morning sky. FlameOrbs arced out. At least fifty wheel-sized globes fizzed through the damp air. Steam trailed in their wake.

  The karron could see them coming and warning cries echoed out but they could do nothing to protect themselves. Harsh magical fire burst across and through the demon lines. Karron directly beneath the Orbs exploded under their impact. Gobbets of flame splattered far and wide, eating into defenceless flesh. The detonation of spells sent fire hurtling into the sky, trapping three reavers not fast enough to move. Black smoke belched from bodies and trailed behind those falling from the sky.

  On the ground, blinded and agonised karron collided with one another as the ordered advance became a chaotic rout. The air stank of charred hair and flesh, it reverberated to the screams of those caught in the holocaust. And the elves had only just begun.

  Now, Dila’heth’s voice sounded once more and IceWind delivered appalling damage to the still-advancing flanks. Flesh sloughed from bodies, eyes were frozen and voices were stilled in throats. Karron fell shattering to the ground, dark bodies scorched blue and hairless by the cold. Strike-strain fell like fruit from a tree in a gale, cracking on the ground. A terrible wailing was taken up across the battlefield. It was demon rage and it struck at the heart.

  Darrick turned his head. The second wagon pair was moving into range, and would fill the space in between the lead pair, bringing with it the respite of a replacement ColdRoom.

  ‘Advance!’ he roared.

  Dila’heth and Pheone brought their mages back from the mana spectrum and they split left and right, running back along the sides of the train. The Al-Arynaar and Raven moved forwards towards the demon lines and the ColdRoom covered them once more.

  It had been a devastating blow and Darrick was tempted to let the mages strike again. But stamina was finite and the Gods alone knew when they would next be able to replenish. Looking forward through the clearing smoke, he could see the rents they had torn in the demon force. But even now it was beginning to reform and if they were to break through and reach Xetesk, it had to be now.

  Chapter 33

  I can’t do it, Cleress, I can’t.

  Oh my child of course you can. You are a most able student.

  Don’t bloody patronise me. Want me to start calling you ‘old woman’? You weren’t there. You weren’t in my mind. That casting should have worked exactly the way of the first. The fact that it didn’t means I cannot be trusted to do this right every time and if I don’t, my friends will die.

  If you don’t try they will die anyway.

  Erienne had a sensation of movement but nothing more. Her awareness was otherwise limited to the roar of the One magic force surging around her mind and body and the attempted calming of the frail and distant Al-Drechar elf. Erienne was not dead and therefore The Raven must have made it to the Julatsan carriages. She was, she presumed, aboard one of them. And if she concentrated very hard, she felt a comforting strength nearby. She knew who it would be.

  And you think my giving them false hope will make it better?

  Don’t be stupid, Erienne. Yours is not a false hope. The power you oversee can be the difference. All you have to do is understand where you went wrong. Explain what happened.

  Erienne bit back her retort. It would have made her precisely the schoolgirl she had been about to deny.

  I didn’t go wrong, Cleress, I didn’t. I had worked out the gauge of the casting so well and it worked exactly as I had planned. You would have been proud. I mapped the mana trails, plotted the link lines to the demons and removed the linkage that held their blood vessels together. It was perfect. But when I did it again in just the same way, there was some form of surge within me and although the casting began, I had to shut down but I wasn’t ever in complete control of that decision. It was like my body sensed the danger before my mind did. What happened? Why can’t I repeat? I have to be able to repeat, it’s all we have.

  Erienne felt her anxiety rising and the One power bore down on her. As ever she fought the entity, imagining it was a spider whose legs she had to pry from her mind to stop them crushing her. Abruptly, the pressure eased and Cleress’s presence pushed the power aside.

  Calm, Erienne. It knows your fear and it feeds off it. Remember what we showed you.

  It’s so hard, Cleress. I’m so tired.

  I know
. But listen to me. You pose so many questions yet the answers are there before you. I am proud of the casting you made. It shows true understanding of the potential of the One and demonstrated your control over the entity.

  But—

  Please, let me finish. You are the one who always felt the entity had more sentience than it actually possesses in reality. It was we who explained to you that it is your mind that gives it this virtual life. What you imagine, it can become. That is why you need to control your mind so closely when you release the power.

  You’re saying I caused the problem with the second casting?

  We have all of us done the same. You crossed a waypoint in your understanding though I know it feels like failure to you at the moment. What you realise is that it is as we have always said. Casting with the One is essentially very simple but it is the feeding of power that is the complex part of the equation. I would stake my life that all you did the second time around was relax just that iota, as if you couldn’t quite believe how easy it was.

  Erienne thought to reply but Cleress wasn’t finished.

  Think before you respond. Recall what went through your mind as you prepared the second casting and saw how easily it all slotted into place. Examine your process. If at any moment you felt that it was too easy, that would have been enough. That would have relaxed the muscles of your mind to let the wrong gauge of power out. The One became what you imagined, just that little bit slack. And in a One casting, that can spell disaster.

  She was right. She was absolutely dead right.

  So what should I do? Next time there may not be a sanctuary.

  You do nothing but believe in yourself, as I’m sure your friends have been telling you all along. The good part of this is that your body is now so attuned to the power flow within you that if it detects a flaw, it will close off. And it won’t always leave you unconscious, either.

  I’m just so scared of failing.

  Then don’t. You are equipped with all you need to know. You do trust me, don’t you, Erienne?

  Yes.

  Good. Then trust what I say. Believe what I say. You must not doubt yourself. Focus on all the castings you have made that have been perfect. They far outweigh those which were not. Remember the tautness of your concentration.

  It all sounds so straightforward when you say it, Cleress. But when I open my eyes, what will I find, I wonder?

  Remember you are everything you think you can be. You are the One mage.

  I am when you are with me.

  Cleress laughed but it was a tired sound. You don’t need my strength. You have a surfeit of your own.

  If only I knew where to find it.

  You know where it lies, child.

  And you must be tired, old woman.

  I am. So if you will excuse me I will rest. Bring yourself round. Gain from the contact of The Raven. You are each other’s best chance.

  Thank you, Cleress.

  Sharyr knew he was screaming but he had no desire to stop. He thought perhaps Brynel and Suarav were doing the same and if they weren’t, they ought to be. They were moving as one, he leading, shouting commands between his screams and keeping them simple. One thing he couldn’t afford was for he and Brynel to pull in opposite directions. It would leave Suarav a dead man.

  ‘Left!’

  And they flew left, feeling the wind as a pack of strike-strain missed them to the right. They turned back in towards the shell. The sky lit up with a Julatsan barrage. Sharyr exulted. What a sight.

  ‘Straight in. Trim those wings, Brynel.’

  The mages adjusted their wings for raw speed and immediately began to lose height, Suarav’s weight dragging them down. Sharyr heard Suarav shout in shock as the speed struck them. This was a final approach. They wouldn’t get another chance. In front of them, the wagons had started to move but there were those who had detached and were heading towards the edge of the shell where they were aiming to break through.

  Their way was blocked by strike-strain and reavers, floating in the air ahead of them. Sharyr looked briefly below. They were no more than twenty feet in the air now and still sinking. They had nowhere to go.

  ‘Hold course, Brynel. Close your eyes and let’s pray.’

  He felt a strange exhilaration. This was the defining moment of his life. For once he had been in control of his own destiny, and had chosen this path. He recalled being browbeaten by Dystran, he recalled his protestations and how he could never hope to have his voice heard. Not this time. So he didn’t pray. He bellowed his rebellion.

  ‘Hang on, Suarav. Enjoy the ride.’

  They collided with the strike-strain. Sharyr felt the small creatures buffeting him. He put his head down and let it happen. Bodies hurtled into his head, midriff and legs. He felt the drag on his waist when Suarav was struck and just one huge impact that could only be a reaver.

  And then he was falling.

  He opened his eyes. They were inside the shell and the Wings had dispersed on the instant. The ground rushed towards them. They were travelling so fast. Too fast surely. Then they were all bouncing over the ground. Every impact was a new pain. He felt hard earth on his backside and the sharpness of wood or rock in his gut. He tasted dirt in his mouth and cried out when his shoulder jerked uncomfortably under him as he slid to a stop.

  ‘Oh dear Gods, I’m still alive.’ And he began to laugh.

  Hands were about him and he could see faces. Voices questioned him, heavily accented. They were elves of the Al-Arynaar. He had heard about them.

  ‘Are you hurt? Can you stand? We have to move now.’

  He didn’t know the answers. He moved to stand and pain lanced through his back. He winced. The arms helped him slowly to his feet. He looked about him. Suarav was still on the ground but shaking his head, and moving freely. Brynel was smiling and gasping at the same time, a difficult combination.

  Sharyr became aware of the sounds in the shell. The calls of demons and the cries of men and elves. The rattle of wagons, the hoofbeats and the fighting in every quarter.

  ‘The cursyrd attack. We must move.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

  They started to move. Demons flew down on their heads. Tiny strike-strain nipping at their scalps and ears. He flapped his arms ineffectually. The elves hurried them along.

  ‘They cannot really hurt you,’ said the elf running beside him. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I need to speak to the man . . . the elf in charge. You need to know about the streets of Xetesk.’

  ‘I will take you to Rebraal.’

  Sharyr had never heard of him but the reverence in the elf’s voice was enough.

  ‘He sounds perfect.’

  The elf didn’t answer him.

  Behind them the wagons were rolling under attack from the skies above. Auum led his Tai through scorched grass and smouldering flesh. The cursyrd line had broken but it was reforming quickly. They, the Al-Arynaar and The Raven had to keep the cursyrd on the back foot. If the karron should reform in any great numbers, the mages’ work would be undone.

  Working within the compass of the ColdRoom shell, Auum tore into the attack, operating with twin short swords. Duele and Evunn were on either flank.

  ‘Target the karron. Tai, we strike.’

  The karron were identically formed, unlike their reaver brethren. The fine hair he had seen from a distance was in fact a writhing, coarse sensory mat. The eyes were small and dim, perhaps only able to tell the difference between light and dark. The squat creature’s raw power lay in its trunk and arms. And these latter swung with surprising swiftness, defying its lumbering gait.

  Auum ducked a swinging spike limb and lashed his blades into karron legs. He stepped smartly aside, a hammer thumping the ground where he had been standing. He pulled back, reassessing the creature’s speed. It came at him, arms punching and swinging. A bludgeoning tactic but directionless. Auum swayed left, took a pace and lashed in a kick to the side of its head. It grunted and shook it
s head to clear its senses but Auum was already upon it. He stepped inside its arms and buried both blades in its face.

  The karron wailed and collapsed forwards. Auum dropped and rolled backwards, bouncing back onto his feet. Beside him, Duele and Evunn tackled three that worked in unison.

  ‘Feel the dance, my brothers,’ said Auum.

  Behind him The Raven crashed into the fight. Auum dodged another battering attack and struck out, carving his blades into the club arm and seeing grey gore spurt out of the deep wounds. He moved to deal the killing strike but Hirad got there first. The barbarian’s sword sunk deep into the karron’s midriff, driving it backwards.

  ‘Let’s keep these bastards going our way!’ shouted Hirad.

  He dragged his sword clear, grinned at Auum and ran to join The Unknown Warrior. Auum cleared his throat and stepped in to aid his Tai. He breathed deep and achieved the pure state. The karron could not move fast enough to threaten him. He looked into their small eyes, buried deep under heavy brows, and watched the movement of the mat of hair. The limbs followed the sensing of its targets but it could not hope to lay a blow on the TaiGethen.

  Auum needed quick kills. He rolled under the arms of his target and hammered his blades into its chest. He stepped right, jumping high and thudding both feet into the face of the next, landing on its stomach as it crashed onto its back. He tore out its throat with a double slash. A club fist whistled towards him. Still too slow. He jumped over it, turned in the air and straight-kicked the assailant. He dropped low, swept its legs from beneath it and jammed his blades high under its left arm. It spasmed and lay still.

  He rose to his feet. Duele and Evunn were next to him. The Al-Arynaar and The Raven were deep in the fighting, driving a wedge for the wagons that trundled along behind. Auum felt a burning inside him and realised it was pure pleasure. It was not an emotion he associated with consigning his enemies to Shorth but he was prepared to enjoy it.