The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  Denser was just ahead of Thraun now. Ark covered the shapechanger still, his axe cleaving into enemies right, but the karron were pressing hard now, filling the gaps, narrowing the path.

  ‘Thraun. Down!’

  The shapechanger dropped to his haunches. Reavers whipped overhead. The last of three flicked out its tail, catching him on the temple. He sprawled, clutching Erienne to his chest. A karron hammer came down on his legs, dashing his right knee. He roared in agony and tried to get up. The spike followed up and raked up his back. He fell again, Erienne spilling from his grasp; reavers pounced, claws poised to slash into her helpless body.

  ‘No!’ shouted Hirad. ‘Denser, clear the karron left. Unknown, get inside. Ark, let’s get them.’

  Ark barrelled into the reavers threatening Erienne and stood astride her. Hirad forced a path to protect Thraun and his charge. Ahead, Rebraal and Auum were at the doorway, keeping it clear. Denser’s ForceCone scattered demons from their left in a wide spread. He backed away, The Unknown shadowing him.

  Hirad glanced down at Thraun. The shapechanger was still alive, clutching at the hem of Erienne’s cloak. He was trying to drag himself nearer to her. Blood puddled on the floor beneath him. His face was grey.

  ‘All right, Thraun,’ he said. ‘We’ve got you.’

  ‘Go,’ said Thraun, blood dribbling from his mouth. ‘Can’t move, Hirad.’

  ‘We’ll take you.’

  But he looked around and it was clear that he could not hope to fulfil that promise. Denser was trying his best to keep the demons away left and right but he could do nothing about the mass that packed in behind, out of the compass of the ForceCone.

  ‘Hirad!’ bellowed The Unknown. ‘Come on. It’s your only chance.’

  ‘Hang on, Thraun,’ he said. ‘Ark, get Erienne away.’

  ‘It is done.’

  Hirad turned to face the enemy. Karron and reaver pressed in. ‘Go,’ said Thraun. ‘Please.’ Hirad felt the tears running down his face. ‘Go.’

  He turned and started to run. Reavers flocked down on Thraun. He died without a sound.

  Hirad felt the demons closing in on his back. Ark and Erienne were just a few yards from the doorway. He could see The Unknown and Denser beckoning them all on. Rebraal and Auum kept the edges of the doorway clear.

  ‘Run!’ yelled The Unknown. ‘Don’t make me come out there. Run!’

  But there was such despair in his voice. He made to move but Auum shoved him back hard. Hirad frowned. The claw of a reaver ripped up his back and into the base of his skull. He was pitched from his feet, tumbling head over heels. He scampered to his feet, a wave of nausea sweeping across him. He staggered, ran on a couple of paces. He heard the beating of wings close, so close. They were all around him. He felt the lash of a tail into his legs, claws grabbed at his back and shoulders and the hot breath of a reaver fired right in his face.

  ‘Hirad!’ cried The Unknown. ‘Hirad. Get up. Get up.’

  He tried to push past Auum but again the elf knocked him back. Hirad dragged himself to his hands and knees. They were all over him.

  ‘Do something!’

  Ark was moments from the doorway. A reaver exalted and buried its hand into Hirad’s ribs. The barbarian gasped. He locked eyes with The Unknown briefly, favoured him with that damned smile and collapsed to the ground.

  The doorway snapped shut.

  Ark slithered to a halt as the doorway disappeared, clicking out of existence as if it had never been there. All that was left was a memory of it in the air. In his arms, Erienne’s breath was ragged and faint. He closed a hand over her nose and mouth until it ceased altogether. He laid her on the ground and stood astride her, snapping his sword from its back mount. He turned, saw the faces of reavers look up from Hirad’s body and the whole room of demons focus on him and move in.

  He lifted one hand towards them and beckoned them on.

  ‘No,’ said Denser, panic spearing his voice. ‘No. Open the door, open the door.’

  He scrabbled at the blank wall. The Unknown fell back a pace, swaying. Rebraal and Auum were next to him. Supporting him.

  ‘Open this fucking door!’ screamed Denser. ‘She’s still out there. Sha-Kaan. Please open the door.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said The Unknown. ‘Not him. Not him. If one of us deserved to live it was him. Oh, Hirad, not you.’

  ‘Please open the door,’ mumbled Denser.

  But it would not open. Hirad was dead and the link was gone. Denser slumped to the ground by the wall and was leaning against it, desolate, his body wracked with sobs.

  The Unknown, his tears flowing free, shook off the elves and knelt by Denser, enveloping him in his powerful embrace. Behind them, the elves joined in prayer. And from the chamber behind them, they all heard the wailing of a dragon lost in grief for his Dragonene.

  ‘Please make him go back.’

  ‘They’ve gone, Denser. Dear Gods burning, they’ve all gone.’

  The Unknown had no idea how long he sat with Denser. How long until he stopped crying and he could take control of his shuddering body. But when he did release the mage, when the poor man had sobbed himself out, he looked up into Rebraal’s eyes and saw the light of relief there.

  ‘You can feel them, can’t you?’ he said ‘Sense them.’

  Rebraal nodded. ‘The fabric between worlds is thin here, I can feel so much of those I love who are dead. And he is with my brother even now. The spirits rejoice. They are only lost until we travel to be with them again. And he will be there, sensing you, with you. All the time.’

  The Unknown managed a smile though it tore at his heart.

  ‘You know, Rebraal, that is a truly scary thought.’

  He pushed himself to his feet, Auum stepping in to help him up. He was covered in blood and his body felt like he was still being attacked.

  ‘Thanks. I think it’s time we went and saw Sha-Kaan. Shared some memories and found out where it is this Klene is taking us. His world for now, I expect, until he can find himself a new Dragonene.’

  He reached down a hand which Denser took and hauled himself upright. The Unknown threw an arm around his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

  ‘Raven,’ he whispered. ‘Raven with me.’

  Epilogue

  Sol unlocked the door of The Raven’s Rest in response to the insistent knocking. He cleared his throat irritably.

  ‘We aren’t op—Oh, if it isn’t the Lord of the Mount elect.’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Denser. ‘Mind if I come in?’

  ‘Be my guest.’ Sol stepped aside and let him in out of the chill rain. ‘Fancy a glass of wine? Just had some excellent young Blackthorne red come in.’

  ‘Sounds ideal.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘I could eat a scabby horse.’

  ‘Sold out of that at midday. Still, I’m sure I can find something. Sit yourself down if you can find a seat.’ He gestured around the big empty room, clean for the evening traffic. He limped around the end of the bar and took a bottle from the racking beneath it. ‘Jonas, you in the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes, father.’

  ‘Bring in some bread and ham for two, there’s a good lad. Denser’s here.’

  ‘Oh, great.’

  Sol fished in his pocket for a corkscrew. He watched Denser walking around the walls of the tavern, looking fondly at the paintings of The Raven hanging there. And like always, he lingered at the portrait of Erienne, reaching out to touch it, brush away an imaginary hair.

  The cork pulled with a satisfying pop. He sniffed the bottle then set it on a tray with a couple of glasses.

  ‘You know,’ said Denser. ‘I’ve wanted to ask this for a while but don’t you think we should think about taking these down? You know. Let them fade naturally in memory?’

  ‘You cannot expect me to answer that question when you ask it wearing an expression like that. Besides, they bring in the punters.’

  ‘I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say. I don
’t mean don’t display them at all. It’s just that The Raven isn’t for everyone. They’re ours.’

  ‘There are plenty who would dispute that,’ said The Unknown. ‘Are you saying that I shouldn’t profit from them?’

  ‘It’s not even that. Gods drowning, but everyone alive still owes us . . .’

  Sol set the tray down and sat beside Denser. The dark mage had chosen a high-backed leather chair; one of four grouped around a low table and large open hearth. Same as always. It reminded him of their back room at The Rookery. Long demolished now of course. Gone along with Tomas, Maris and Rhob. Like the loss of so many friends on that cataclysmic day in the demon dimension, the fact still haunted Sol sometimes. At least with Tomas and family he didn’t have the nightmare memories too. The unwelcome recollection brought a shake to his hand as he poured the wine.

  ‘See what you make of that,’ he said, sitting in the next chair.

  ‘The nerves never really recover, do they?’

  Sol shook his head. ‘Some days it’s worse than others. Yesterday, I couldn’t have poured the wine for you.’ He felt the familiar sickness twist his stomach. ‘That’s really why I keep them up here, you know. How their souls escaped the demons I don’t know or care but we need to . . . I need to remind myself every day about their sacrifice. I actually find talking to one or other of them a comfort. Keeps me sane.’

  Denser chuckled, a laugh born of intimate understanding. ‘You talk to pictures to keep yourself sane.’

  Sol smiled and the two men chinked glasses.

  ‘Good health.’

  ‘Oh, now that’s very good,’ said Denser, savouring the taste. ‘And tell you what, when that slight sharpness softens in a year or two, it’ll be phenomenal.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘Have you seen him recently?’ asked Denser.

  ‘The Baron? No, not for a couple of seasons,’ said Sol. ‘Funny the effect all this has had on people long-term. Blackthorne doesn’t often leave his town these days and you know what he used to be like.’

  Jonas walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of bread and meat. He set it down on the table. The Unknown ruffled his blond hair.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Hello, Denser,’ said Jonas.

  ‘Good to see you, young man. How are you?’

  The tall and very solid lad shrugged. ‘All right. The Julatsans ask too many questions. I’d rather be riding my horse.’

  ‘Good points. Pheone is up at the college now. I think she was planning on dropping in to speak to the young man here,’ said Denser.

  Jonas sighed dramatically. ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘It won’t last for ever,’ said Sol. He patted Jonas’s backside. ‘Go on now, see if your mother wants anything then you can go and take the horse out if you want. But don’t be out after dark.’

  ‘All right.’

  Jonas trudged wearily away. The two friends watched him go.

  ‘How old is he?’ asked Denser.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Five years . . .’ Denser shook his head and looked again around the bar at the pictures. ‘Is he finding it difficult?’

  ‘Some days,’ conceded Sol. ‘He’s reached a stage where he understands how important he is but he doesn’t really understand why. After all, he’s only ever seen Sha-Kaan as a friend and protector, never as a key inter-dimensional link.’

  ‘He is only eight.’

  ‘Exactly. He’s a quarter the age of the next-youngest Dragonene and like Hirad he’s not a mage. It confuses him. It’s bound to.’ Sol took another sip and then reached for a hunk of bread. ‘When you see Pheone, tell her to go easy, will you? Sometimes she forgets herself, I think.’

  ‘I’ll certainly mention it.’

  Jonas clattered down the stairs and ran out of the back door towards the stables.

  ‘I take it she didn’t want anything then?’ called Sol after him. He didn’t get a reply. ‘Children.’ He shook his head.

  ‘How’s Lady Unknown, then?’ Denser cut a thin slice of bread and loaded it with ham.

  ‘Bearing up, thanks. She’s due in ten days so she doesn’t get around too much but her health is good. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She’s pleased it’s going to be another son, by the way. We both are.’

  Sol refilled their glasses.

  ‘Have you decided which name, yet?’

  ‘I could only really call him Hirad, couldn’t I?’

  ‘It’ll be good to hear that name echoing round again.’

  ‘He’ll have plenty to live up to.’

  Sol leaned back in his chair. He looked over at his friend, who scratched his grey-flecked beard then reached into his pouch for his pipe and weed. He’d been a tower of strength in the intervening years when Sol had found it very difficult to come to terms with what he’d lost. He’d managed his own grief so much better and been able to sit with Sol night after night until the horror and pain began to fade.

  ‘So, Denser. What really brings you down The Thread from the Mount this wet afternoon? I seriously doubt it was merely social.’

  ‘Ah, glad you asked,’ said Denser. He tamped down his pipe, brought a flame to the end of his thumb and lit up. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

  Sol tensed. ‘See this fist? Do I have to point out again that I own and run a bar?’

  ‘Hear me out,’ urged Denser.

  ‘I’m not leading any more demon-hunter teams into the Blackthornes. I’ve told you.’

  ‘Sol, no one is asking you to. Suarav and that Wesman with the long and involved name are doing what’s necessary. We’ve not had a raid in Xetesk for, what . . . a season and a half? Like I said, hear me out.’

  Sol shrugged. ‘All right. Sorry.’

  ‘I’ve just come from the Balaia reconstruction council meeting and we’re starting to run into some problems. With Dystran being forced to step down, there’s a vacuum building. Whether or not I take over is neither here nor there. The trouble is that some of the Barons are talking about reinstituting the Korina Trade Alliance. While that’s not a bad thing in itself, it starts to divide eastern Balaia.

  ‘Tessaya doesn’t like it and neither does Rebraal. I can see their point. After all, Tessaya speaks for the whole of the Wesmen, Rebraal for the elven nation. But here, we’re all of a sudden going to have mage and non-mage power blocks. It smacks of the past.’

  ‘So find yourselves someone to unite you. Everyone respects Blackthorne. He’s perfect.’ Sol drank more wine, washing down his bread.

  ‘But like you say, he doesn’t really like to leave Blackthorne and we have to be honest, he’s not quite the man he once was.’

  There was a long pause. Sol didn’t like the way this was heading at all. He stared at Denser, daring him to speak.

  ‘Sol, don’t make me say it.’ Denser had read his expression.

  ‘You want me to speak for Balaia? Come on, Denser, I’m no diplomat.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re thinking too small. I know you see yourself as the quiet man running his bar with his family in Xetesk. But to everyone of influence in Balaia, and for that matter, the Weslands and Calaius, you’re the voice and presence of the East. You survived the demon dimension; you’ve led the hunt into the Blackthornes; you’ve been at the centre of so much of the reconstruction planning; you aren’t a mage. And you were the centre of The Raven. There’s not a man or woman that wouldn’t accept you.’

  ‘All right, all right, enough massaging of my ego. You’re making me blush. Accept me as what?’

  Denser leaned forward and placed his glass down on the table.

  ‘I’ve been asked to come down here after a unanimous vote of the council meeting. Sol, this country doesn’t need a diplomat or a representative. It needs to follow Calaius and the Wesmen. For the first time in our history, we need a leader. You.’

  Sol almost dropped his glass. He felt his face flush and his heart race.

  ‘That’s quite a step up from bar owner,’ he
managed.

  Denser didn’t smile. ‘I’m not joking, Sol. Balaia needs stability. We’re in danger of reverting back to the old schisms. We have to be united or what we’ve been building will be wasted. What The Raven achieved will be wasted.’

  ‘Don’t you bring The Raven into this,’ snapped Sol.

  ‘Doesn’t stop it being true. You are the man who can keep it all together. You know you can. Come to the Mount. Talk to us. Please.’

  ‘I’ve got a bar to run and a wife to look after. I have a new child on the way and a son who needs me by him right now, I don’t have the time and I don’t have the energy.’

  ‘And they all need to have a secure future.’ Denser poured more wine into Sol’s glass. ‘Talk to us. See what we have in mind. Think about it.’

  Sol looked at Denser and allowed a smile across his face. Anyone else and he would have dismissed the notion out of hand. To this man, though, he owed more than to anyone alive.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he growled. ‘Now drink up and get lost. I’ve got to open up in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Thank you, Sol. You won’t regret it, I promise you.’

  ‘Denser, I already am. What the hell do you think I’m going to say to Diera?’

  ‘You’ll think of something suitably pithy and persuasive, I feel sure.’

  ‘Go.’

  Denser drained his glass and walked back to the door, opening it on the rain sheeting down, pounding on the street. Sol wondered if Jonas had actually gone out. The two men shook hands and Sol pulled Denser into a brief embrace.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ said Denser.

  ‘After lunch, when I’ve closed.’

  Sol watched Denser walk away up The Thread and back to the Mount of Xetesk, pulling his cloak close about him. He shut and bolted the door and walked back through the bar towards the stairs. He paused by Hirad’s picture. The barbarian gazed back at him, eyes intense and full of belief, that damned smile on his face.

  ‘What on earth would you think, Coldheart?’ he said. ‘Probably nothing. Too busy laughing I expect. How does it sound . . . Sol, The Unknown Warrior, Ruler of Balaia. Daft, eh?’