The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Let’s keep them back!’ roared Hirad. ‘Help is coming.’

  Hirad’s words were taken up all across the line, giving tired limbs more strength. Rebraal felt invigorated. Hope flowed through his veins. The ache in his arm seemed to diminish. But if they thought the enemy would crumble, they were mistaken. Reavers set up a dreadful cacophony that bounced around the confined space.

  The effect was instant. Strike-strain withdrew and bunched just outside the playhouse. Rebraal frowned, wondering why. The karron backed up a pace, some a little further. It was the first concerted move he had seen them undertake.

  ‘Steady!’ roared The Unknown. ‘Watching.’

  A handful of Al-Arynaar moved up. Rebraal and The Raven barked them back. Three were too late. The karron, under the spell of the reavers’ voices, whirled back into the attack at astonishing speed. Limbs cycled twice, three times as fast blurring in the air in front of the allies. Those too late and cut off were battered dead in moments, unable to raise a defence in isolation.

  Two karron broke through and ran straight at Erienne. Rebraal saw them coming.

  ‘Erienne, your left! Left!’

  But she couldn’t hear him, lost deep in her casting. Denser too was preparing, unaware of his peril. Al-Arynaar detached and chased. Others moved up from the back but all would be too late.

  Rebraal turned left-side-on. The karron in front of him rushed on. Next to him, Ark with his longer reach dismembered the first creature that came into his range and swept his mace at a second. He moved his sword to Rebraal’s defence, deflecting the hammer limb. Rebraal fended away the spike and knew he had to detach.

  ‘Ark, cover me.’

  He danced back a step, turned and raced into the gap to protect Erienne. The karron squawked, their limbs flowed fast. Rebraal gripped his mace in both hands and felt the pain flooding his shoulder and chest. He drove the weapon through hard and low, taking the first creature across its hammer limb and deep into its chest cavity. The karron reared and flashed its spike limb across its body. Rebraal fenced it off but didn’t have the balance to deliver a counter of his own. The speed of the limb beat him. The karron’s hammer limb thudded into his defence, hurling him from his feet even as Al-Arynaar blades tore through its body.

  He felt the sensation of falling. It was a weightlessness combined with a roaring in his ears and deep inside his mind. Somewhere distant, a voice called his name. He felt no pain until he struck the ground. Darkness closed over him.

  ‘I ask you this as an adversary for whom I have developed a certain respect,’ said Ferouc.

  His hands clicked together and his skin flowed from a deep green to a livid blue, his emotions clashing while he spoke. Blackthorne stood alone before him on the steps of his castle keep, far enough away that he could turn and escape should Ferouc attack. But he didn’t think the demon would. Not that he trusted his enemy. Ferouc simply didn’t have to risk himself or any measure of humiliation. Ranged behind him were hundreds of the demon strain he called karron, destructors. Hovering above them a similar number of reavers. The strike-strain were gone. Not needed now.

  ‘Respect is a long time earned, Ferouc,’ he replied, choosing not to irritate the occupying commander with his nickname. ‘But understanding of the spirit of humans would take you a lifetime. We have been so long resisting you that the thought of surrender can never now enter our minds. And even more so knowing what that surrender would mean. This is not mere captivity and subjugation, after all.’

  ‘But you are beaten,’ said Ferouc.

  ‘Not so, my enemy,’ said Blackthorne, enjoying the reaction his words provoked. ‘We accept that we cannot beat you. Your numbers are vastly superior. But we are not beaten. One does not necessarily follow the other.’

  ‘The instruction has changed,’ said Ferouc. ‘I am to bring about the end of your resistance and if that means taking your lives but not your souls, so be it. You may be relatively few but you are dangerous and I am required to the north to aid in our final victory.’

  ‘And hence these . . .’ Blackthorne indicated behind Ferouc. ‘Karron.’

  ‘They are a race not suited to any but the most mana-dense atmosphere,’ said Ferouc, and there was a note of disdain in his voice. ‘It is a measure of our inevitable victory that we are now able to use them in Balaia.’

  ‘We will kill them as we will kill any who come against us.’

  Ferouc’s colour distilled into a bright blue, his anger surfacing strongly. ‘I had wanted to taste your soul, Baron Blackthorne, but now I would laugh over your soulless corpse. The karron will tear down your walls and expose you to us. And while they might fear your ColdRooms, we no longer do. Ask your people. Life even if it is brief under the rule of the demons is preferable to ignominious death beneath the rubble of your own castle.’

  Blackthorne laughed. ‘Oh Fidget, you will never understand. No, it is not. Do you not see that every moment we resist you, our friends in Xetesk close in on the way to beat you and The Raven get ever closer to your beating heart? Before you came we were a divided nation. It took you to bring us together, to give us the will to fight again as one. And for that, we will always be grateful.

  ‘One day, you will be beaten. You do not believe it I know but that is where your weakness lies. Come, attack us if you will. Taste death in your hundreds and frustration over the days we resist you.’

  Blackthorne turned and strode back into his castle, knowing he had to deliver the speech of his life to stop his people being overwhelmed before nightfall.

  Hirad thrashed his mace through waist-high. It tore across the karron’s hammer limb and into its midriff, ripping flesh away. The knife now in his left hand jabbed into its face. Across the line, the karron were slowing dramatically. They hadn’t forced the breakthrough they wanted. The Raven had held firm and the Al-Arynaar had responded with typical courage to the change of pace of the karron attack. But the attack wasn’t fading fast enough and Hirad burned with the frustration.

  ‘Someone get to Rebraal. Now!’ He battered his mace into a karron skull. ‘Get the fuck back.’ Every muscle burned. He felt the sweat pouring from his body. ‘Erienne, see to him.’

  He had glanced around as the Al-Arynaar’s leader had taken the blow from the karron, saving Erienne as he did so. He had landed unmoving. The Unknown had led The Raven on the counter, defending until the whirling limbs began to slow. After that it had turned into carnage. Al-Arynaar forged into the karron lines, driving them back towards the holes in the playhouse walls. Reavers shrieked and strike-strain dived but ForceCones kept them away. FlameOrbs crashed again and again into the back of the demon horde already distracted by what was coming up behind them.

  ‘Pushing,’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Don’t lose your focus, Coldheart. Put these bastards down.’

  Hirad let the rage settle on him like Auum had taught him, using it to give him clarity. He kicked the legs from a karron and broke its neck with his mace when it fell in front of him. He straightened and jabbed out with his knife, feeling it connect with flesh. The karron reared. Hirad butted it in the face and struck it under the chin with his mace. From his right, a laboured spike limb strike curved his way. Thraun had switched to his long sword and took the spike off at the wrist.

  Outside, the sounds of approaching running feet and chanting were filling the air. Panicked calls went up from the demons around the playhouse. Hirad watched reavers darting into the air. He saw karron falter and stop at the back of the line.

  ‘Let’s break them,’ he growled. ‘Raven with me.’

  He moved and knew he wouldn’t stop until they were running or he was dead. His mace crashed again and again into bodies rendered weak through exhaustion and Erienne’s casting. His knife licked out, inflicting pain and frustrating riposte. Next to him, The Unknown wielded sword and mace in tandem as did Ark nearby. The karron had no answer. Their ploy had failed. Their enemies too skilled. And with the new threat almost on them, they were called off, brok
e and ran.

  ‘Holding!’ called The Unknown. ‘No one move after them.’

  Hirad saw the first of the relief pouring into the square. Banners flew, axes and swords glinted in the sunlight and the songs echoed from the louring buildings.

  ‘Gods falling, Wesmen,’ said Hirad. ‘Now there’s something I never thought to see.’

  ‘Let’s hope they’re offering help,’ said Thraun.

  ‘Oh they are,’ said Suarav. The college captain had fought quietly and effectively next to Thraun. He was cut and bleeding but still very much alive. ‘We’ll make the college now.’

  Hirad remembered and his relief turned to fear. He spun on his heel and ran to where Rebraal lay near the stage. Erienne and Denser knelt by him. Denser was casting. Hirad could see Erienne’s hands shaking. He prayed it was with exhaustion and not grief. He joined them, crouching at Rebraal’s feet.

  ‘Oh dear Gods, no,’ he said. ‘Not you too.’

  A trail of blood ran from beneath his head. His face was pale. His mace lay twisted by his side, his left arm underneath his body and his leather torn, buckles broken. At least he was breathing.

  Denser finished his casting. ‘This is one lucky elf. He’s got a cut on his scalp and no doubt a concussion from the impact. But his mace took the force of the blow, deflected it along his leather here. It only glanced him or it would have burst his stomach, surely. But when he wakes he’s going to be in a lot of pain.’

  ‘Dammit, Rebraal, what did I say to you?’ whispered Hirad. ‘Why did you have to stay in the fight?’

  ‘Because he’s Raven at heart,’ said Erienne. ‘Because that’s what he knew you’d do in his place. What any of us would do. He saved me, Hirad. Think how close we came to losing everything.’

  Hirad reached out and smoothed his hair. ‘Well done, Ilkar’s little brother. Well done.’ He looked up to the sky. ‘We won this one, General,’ he said.

  All around him the Wesmen songs filled the air. From the corners of his eyes, he saw warriors pouring into the playhouse and through the gaps he saw them surrounding the building. He heard voices shouting orders and the calls of demons, more distant now.

  He became aware of a presence in front of them, standing a respectful distance away. He raised his head. In front of him stood a man with a middle-aged face but whose furs and leather covered what was plainly a powerful body. That face was criss-crossed with scars and fresh cuts. His greying light hair was braided and long, his eyes fierce. He exuded an aura of authority and power. Yet he waited for them to acknowledge him. The huge axe gripped casually in his hand dripped demon gore. Hirad had never set eyes on him before but there was no doubting who he was.

  ‘Lord Tessaya,’ he said.

  Tessaya inclined his head. ‘The Raven. It has been a meeting long in the making.’ He frowned and looked hard at Hirad. ‘We have all lost brothers. Your loss pierces you. It is written on you as plain as script. Which of you has fallen?’

  ‘A great man,’ said Hirad. ‘General Darrick.’

  ‘Ahh.’ There was genuine regret in Tessaya’s voice. ‘He, I respected above most men though his actions caused the Wesmen such pain. I wish we could have spoken together. I am saddened by his passing. The Spirits will keep him.’

  ‘His body is still on the street. We can’t leave it there,’ said Hirad, turning to The Raven. ‘We need it. We have a ritual to perform.’

  ‘No,’ said Tessaya. ‘You cannot.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Hirad, keeping himself firmly in check. ‘He’s Raven. We owe him respect.’

  Tessaya placed a gentle hand on Hirad’s shoulder. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘It does not matter where he fell, you cannot get to him. The demons are gone but merely to regroup. They will be back and we must make the college grounds before they do. If you stray they will take you.’

  ‘Unknown?’ Hirad looked to the big man. ‘He’s only on The Thread. Just a little way north.’ The Unknown bit his lip and shook his head.

  ‘Then he is behind us and he is lost,’ said Tessaya. ‘The demons have the north of the city, everything beyond this building.’ He glanced around him. Most of the Al-Arynaar were standing still, plainly without the energy to do anything else. ‘Your forces are exhausted. Consign his Spirit through prayer and he will find his way. But you must come now. The storm is building again outside. The Wesmen will guard you all. Run amongst us. And have your mages keep the demons from over our heads.’ He allowed himself a small smile. ‘I may detest magic but I concede it has its uses. Particularly today.’

  ‘Unknown?’ asked Hirad again. ‘Darrick’s so close.’

  ‘Not this time, Hirad,’ he said. ‘We can’t risk losing more of us to find him. Look inside yourself. Remember why we are here and what we have to do. You know I’m right.’

  Hirad rubbed a hand over his chin, determined not to break in front of Tessaya. ‘I know, I know,’ he said, though the words dragged reluctantly from his mouth. He could feel his cheeks burning. His fury, pent up. His frustration at boiling point. ‘Tell you something, Unknown, I’ve had it with these demons. I’ve had it with enemies destroying my country and killing my friends. Think I was angry before? That was nothing. Nothing. Let’s make these bastards regret the day the first of them ever dared breathe our air.’

  Chapter 39

  The attacks had been incessant ever since the Wesmen and their charges had burst through the rubble and broken timbers of the college gates. Tessaya had seen The Raven, the wounded and the exhausted back into the heart of his former nemesis, leaving his tribal commanders to organise and defend.

  He had received unexpected but very welcome help from the elven mages who began by keeping overhead their defensive shields and then delivering the castings they called ColdRooms.

  Tessaya didn’t know how they worked. He didn’t much care. What he did know was that the spell rendered the demons vulnerable to sword and axe and his warriors could kill at last.

  The realisation had fired the tribes and the first battle had been a short, intense slaughter. The quick winged demons were more resilient than the lumbering karron but all fell to the released frustration of a Wesmen army previously impotent to inflict anything more than temporary disability.

  Gallons of demon blood had washed the stone flags of the college courtyard, mixed with mere splashes of their own, before the demons had withdrawn. The Wesmen songs had begun then and had barely let up since. This was not just victory over the demons, this was the knowledge of where they stood as masters. Tessaya slapped his Shaman, Arnoan, on the back and laughed as he listened.

  ‘Hear that? Today, we have met our destiny.’

  ‘You are being a little premature,’ said Arnoan. ‘We have not beaten the demons yet.’

  ‘But when we do, we will be standing as victors in the heart of the Dark College. It is surely a matter of time.’

  Arnoan frowned. ‘The Spirits would have it another way. They are scared and under threat. There is more to this than you or I can see.’

  Tessaya looked above him at the towers of Xetesk where his erstwhile enemies gazed out over the Wesmen in their midst. He turned his eyes to the sky where the borders of the invisible ColdRoom shell were marked by the demons that travelled its outer surface. There were those that waited their moment to attack at speed; and those who sought the location of the casting and directed the attacks on the mages they divined.

  Four incursions were under way that he could see from his part-covered position near the barracks. All from reavers trying to snatch the elven mages. His warriors guarded them. Dragged the enemies from the sky. Split their skulls and tore off their wings. It was the Wesmen way.

  On the ground the karron stood mute. Tessaya could see them through the holes they had torn in the walls and the gates they had destroyed before the ColdRooms had pushed them back outside the college grounds. They were strong in attack but weak in body. They succumbed so quickly to the effects of the ColdRooms. ‘Lesser’ the elf Rebraal
termed them. Tessaya agreed.

  ‘You worry too much,’ said Tessaya. ‘The Spirits are far from us and their minds are confused more than they are clear. Look at the demons now. Futile, isn’t it? Why don’t they use all their force to attack, do you think? They outnumber us by ten to one at the very least. It’s because they know that in here we can beat them. They don’t fight well. They rely on fear and we are not afraid.’

  Arnoan shook his head. ‘Perhaps, my Lord. Perhaps.’

  ‘You disagree?’

  ‘I think we have merely been contained. While they grow stronger. How long will the karron remain so weak they are barely able to enter the mage casting? They have all the time in their hands and we grow weaker.’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘I mean them.’ Arnoan pointed at the towers. ‘When the mages are gone, we have no weapon. Why else do you think they have not tried to attack us until today if not that we can be kept until all meaningful defence is gone?’

  ‘We will prevail,’ said Tessaya.

  Arnoan raised his eyebrows. ‘I need to pray.’

  ‘Try and calm your Spirits, my Shaman.’

  Tessaya watched Arnoan go to the shrine he had created in the barracks’ officer quarters. The attacks had broken off for the moment and Wesmen jeers chased the demons out of the casting. Drenoul was up there too, gazing down on the mistake he had made by leaving the Wesmen unchallenged. A movement in the tallest tower caught his eye and he glanced up. Arnoan’s words returned unbidden to his mind and he frowned.

  The atmosphere inside the tower complex was one of relief, not victory as it was outside, and he found himself doubting his confidence. He wondered what news The Raven had brought to Xetesk and what his part in it would be. He had asked not to be involved in their debate and was beginning to regret that decision though it had seemed the right one at the time. His presence would have been inflammatory both among the tribal lords and high in the towers he detested so much; and for now at least, they had to be a united force against the common enemy.