The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  Ilkar whistled. ‘Now that is something I’d like to see.’

  Hirad began walking. ‘Well, if the Garonin get here before we’re done, you’re going to get your wish. Come on, Raven, and sons of Raven, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Hirad, be careful.’

  ‘How?’ asked Hirad over his shoulder. ‘If I can’t see it, how can I avoid it?’

  Jonas fell into step with him, and at an indication from the boy the two of them turned left. Sol spread his hands and began to follow. They’d turned into a wide residential street that led towards the eastern grain store. Ten yards along it, Ilkar gasped.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said, dropping to his haunches and blowing hard. ‘That is not good.’

  ‘Jonas, Hirad. Stop moving. Ilkar? Talk to me.’

  Sol’s eyes darted left, right and up. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  ‘Something . . .’ Ilkar closed his eyes and reached out with his hands. ‘Something.’

  ‘What?’ Sol thought he heard a whisper on the wind. A sound from his distant past.

  ‘There’s—’ began Ilkar.

  ‘How interesting,’ said a voice from above their heads. ‘Even without a college Heart, a Julatsan may still feel a construct should it contain enough power, I see.’

  Two figures descended slowly into view, hovering thirty-odd feet away. Denser and Septern.

  ‘I wondered how long it would be before you came back here to get your wife and completely bugger things up, Sol. Did you really think a dragon opening a second Klene corridor in one day could go unnoticed in my city?’

  ‘I will do what I came here to do, Denser, and that includes beating you to a bloody pulp. One punch for every time I considered you my trusted friend. That’s a lot of punches.’

  ‘A couple of points, if I may. First of all, no, you won’t lay a finger on me, and I’ll tell you why in a moment. Secondly, and it’s a small thing, but I have, um, adjusted my name. Just to aid the record keeping of the college, you know.’

  Sol felt a rush of sadness, the end of possibility. A closing-down on the potential for redemption.

  ‘You’ve taken the “y”, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. So it’s Densyr, not Denser.’

  ‘Makes no difference to me,’ growled Hirad. ‘You’re still a traitor to The Raven and Balaia and you will die for it.’

  Densyr chuckled. ‘How I have missed your idle threats, Hirad. Now, as Ilkar will be able to tell you when he gets his breath back, you have walked into the middle of a cell of explosive fire-based ward constructs which, as luck would have it, Septern was able to make active when we spotted you. These wards, like all of them across the city, have been tuned to include moving shapes of your size, but I’ll leave it to you to decide whether to believe that or not. I don’t really have the time to care.

  ‘Should you stay exactly in the positions you are, you will come to no harm. Not until the Garonin blunder into them in a day or so, anyway. I’m sorry it has come to this and I truly don’t want to kill any of you. So the choice remains yours. To try and get out of your current predicament or to come voluntarily into custody and let me decide your fates when the battle is won.

  ‘I’ll leave you for a few hours to make up your minds. I trust I don’t need to demonstrate what happens when a ward is triggered?’

  ‘Not for my benefit,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘Good. Until later then.’

  Septern and Densyr rose quickly into the night and were lost, missing much of Hirad’s colourful volley of abuse.

  ‘Do you mind?’ said Sol. ‘My son is standing next to you.’

  ‘It isn’t like I haven’t heard all those words before,’ said Jonas.

  ‘But perhaps not strung together with such alacrity and with the multiple repetition of certain choice terms, eh?’

  ‘So do we believe that bastard?’ asked Sirendor, who was standing next to Ilkar.

  ‘Ilkar?’ asked Sol.

  Ilkar, who had recovered from the shock of the surge of mana all about them, scratched at his chin.

  ‘I think testing if he’s bluffing would be incredibly stupid.’

  ‘Can’t we just throw something at one of them?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Must I repeat myself? You haven’t studied Septern. There are very interesting passages and witness testimonies discussing his death, and more than one talks about wards triggering other wards in chain reactions. Big chain reactions. Throw one stone, bring down the whole street, that sort of thing. What I need is a little quiet and I’ll see if I can divine any wards, triggers or linkage lines.’

  ‘I thought you said you couldn’t do that any more,’ said Hirad.

  ‘Got a better idea?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then shut up.’

  Diera came to, lying on her back with her head cushioned by a cloak. The images she’d seen, so real and so terrifying, began to fade, and the relief of waking from a dream washed over her.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said a voice.

  She turned her head. Baron Blackthorne was kneeling by her. His kindly face wore lines of worry.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Where’s Hirad?’

  ‘He’s safe. Thraun is showing him not to be scared of wolves. As for you, well you were complaining of a headache, and the next we knew, you’d collapsed. You muttered some strange things about dragons and your son. You said they were coming. You said that over and over. Who did you mean?’

  Diera shook her head. ‘Can you help me up?’

  Blackthorne supported her to a sitting position and waited while her blood settled and the faintness passed.

  ‘I don’t remember too much. It was just a dream. Jonas and Sha-Kaan being attacked somehow. There was wind and darkness. It’s nothing. Just a mother worrying about her son.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Neither does Auum. He is out there now, looking for Jonas and Sol. You said they’d come for you. We believe they have.’

  ‘Based on a dream?’

  ‘And elves know the perspicacity of dreams.’

  Diera hugged her knees. ‘I hope they’re right.’

  ‘And let’s hope they get to them before the guards do. Altogether too many roaming the city right now.’

  ‘Will they find us here? The guard that is?’

  ‘Eventually,’ said Blackthorne. ‘But we’ll be ready for them.’

  ‘I don’t really understand what we’re doing here. Shouldn’t we be going west?’

  ‘Auum has high ideals and I share them until my courage falters.’ Blackthorne chuckled at his own joke. ‘He aims to break the college hold and get people away from here before it’s too late.’

  ‘He doesn’t have much time and very few here to help him. What can he do?’

  ‘He is waiting for an opportunity to present itself.’

  ‘And will it?’

  ‘When the battle starts.’ Blackthorne raised his eyebrows.

  ‘But surely that will cut things too fine.’ Diera searched her memory. ‘Sol wanted everyone away days ago. You know what he’s planning to do, don’t you?’

  ‘Rumour has it that there is some thought we can escape to a new home. Seems a distant prospect to me. But I know that staying here is folly. I’ve seen this enemy, and a few spells set about the city will not stop them.’

  There was a brief commotion at the gates to the garden. Auum barked an order and ran in. Diera had never seen worry on his face before. Blackthorne stood.

  ‘Auum?’

  ‘We have a problem.’

  Away to the south and east of the city, a ClawBound panther called out. It was a disquieting sound. Auum listened to it and his frown deepened.

  ‘Two problems.’

  Chapter 24

  The awful truth about the fate of Julatsa had dampened hope three days before. The fleet had been sailing out of sight of the north Balaian coast and there had been no encounters nor indeed any sightings whatever of the Garonin. The ships were scattered over a wide area, a
ttempting to diminish the density of souls for the enemy to sense. There had been an uneasy quiet across the whole fleet. It felt like the absence of belief.

  And now, approaching Wesman territory at North Bay, with the hard grey peaks of Sunara’s Teeth dominating the near horizon, trepidation reigned. Mage reconnaissance had revealed no evidence of Garonin activity but neither had it revealed any sign of the Wesmen.

  Rebraal was not unduly concerned by that. This desolate, dangerous coast had been largely abandoned since the storms of the Night Child had swept away the bay’s lonely fishing village over fifteen years ago. They were a superstitious race, the Wesmen, and Sunara’s Teeth were cursed.

  ‘I’ll drop anchor half a mile from the shore,’ said Jevin. ‘Well before we get snagged in the currents close in.’

  He and Rebraal were standing in the prow of the Calaian Sun, staring at the coastline and searching for any sign, good or bad.

  ‘Let’s hope your plan works. I feel nervous at the thought of three hundred ships crowding in here, even in rotation.’

  ‘We’ve had plenty of time to plan,’ said Jevin. ‘Weather conditions and tides are both in our favour to begin right now. Have faith.’

  ‘It’s still going to take three days to disembark. We’re exposed the whole of that time.’

  ‘I do not rule the tides. It’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Forgive me. I’m not being critical. I’m just . . . well.’

  Jevin nodded and slapped Rebraal on his back.

  ‘So are we all, Rebraal.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Rebraal looked back to the beach and wished it four miles long rather than the four hundred yards afforded them. North Bay was a funnel trap for the unwary sailor, an invitingly broad shelter that narrowed quickly into rock-strewn shallows around which the water eddied and surged, denying escape for ocean-going vessels that strayed too close to the shore. Multiple wrecks beneath the waves only added to the risks.

  Three TaiGethen cells had already landed to scout the immediate area and secure the path away from the beach. One cell waited on the beach. The other two would be looking for shelter and cover. They would not find a great deal of either outside the lee of the mountains.

  The Calaian Sun was leading the first twenty ships into the landing area. The decks were crowded with evacuees, who had now been joined by all of the TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar warriors. Half their mages too. It had been a risky transfer. Jevin kept a tight grip on the ship’s progress from his forward position. Topsails hung from two masts, giving a speed of little more than one knot. Periodically, Jevin would hold out his right or left arm to direct the helm to starboard or port. He would also display a number of fingers to indicate the degree of turn he desired.

  The flagship of the elven exodus slipped into the wind shadow of Sunara’s Teeth, which ringed the entire bay and glowered down on all who sailed within their compass. Immediately, the topsails flapped. Here the eddies in the water and the currents that drove them played havoc with the handling of the vessel.

  Jevin held up two fists to signal steady as she goes. Any desultory conversation died in throats. People lined the rails, staring down, looking for disaster to loom up at them. Plumb lines in the water spoke their depth. The beach crawled closer.

  ‘That’ll do, I think.’ Jevin began striding back towards the wheel deck. ‘Helm, bring her up into the wind. Bosun, make our masts naked. Stand by, anchor. On my order. Signals, fly the all stop. This is as far in as we dare go. Oars, ready the boats. Rebraal, get your people organised. I want out of this bay in two hours or I’ll not get another squadron in before the tide moves against us.’

  Rebraal nodded. The ship had exploded into activity. Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen assembled by their boats. Refugees were herded this way and that as crew set about their tasks. Blocks and tackles were set up to winch out cargo. Nets were filled with crates and barrels.

  In the hold of the Calaian Sun was the statue of Yniss that bound the elves to life on Balaia. He would not be coming ashore. When Jevin’s work with the refugees was done the captain was to perform one last task. To scuttle his ship and send the statue to the bottom of the ocean, far from the destructive hands of the Garonin. Jevin had expressed his intent to see Yniss all the way down.

  ‘Anchor away,’ called Jevin to an accompanying rattle of chain.

  Rebraal checked his armour and weapons. He stood before his warriors and the TaiGethen. To their left another ship had dropped anchor about fifty yards away. ClawBound crowded the deck. Panthers growled. Bound elves sniffed the air.

  ‘They, like us, desire the ground beneath their feet,’ he said. ‘My brothers and sisters, now we reach the most dangerous part of our flight. The lands of the Wesmen are open. Our souls are a beacon for the Garonin, bound as they are with the mana that suffuses each one of us.

  ‘Yet we must not rush. Our people depend upon us. They must be supported at every point. Our camps must be sound and our direction clear. We must neither pause nor falter. You all have your tasks. Contact with the Wesmen at the earliest opportunity is vital. Warning of attack equally so.

  ‘My friends, we hold in our hands the fate of the elven race. Yniss cannot help us. We must help ourselves. To your boats.’

  Four longboats were lowered to the sea. Elves swarmed down rope and net. Cargo followed for forward and aft stowage. Oars were readied. Rebraal felt Jevin come to his side.

  ‘Good luck out there,’ said the captain.

  ‘Yniss blesses you, Master Jevin,’ said Rebraal. ‘Your path to the ancients is assured.’

  ‘Only if you succeed.’

  Rebraal turned to find Jevin smiling at him.

  ‘And we will.’

  ‘See that you do,’ said Jevin. ‘I might have had the wander in me as a sailor but I like to think my soul will find eternal rest. No pressure.’

  Rebraal and Jevin clasped arms. ‘You should wander the northern oceans a little. How many are coming with you?’

  ‘Twenty assuming no others change their minds. And we intend to. Who knows what sights there are to see?’

  Rebraal climbed down into his longboat, and when he looked back to the ship’s rail Jevin had already turned away. He could hear the captain barking orders. The longboat pulled smoothly from the ship and sped into the shore at North Bay. Up in the sky, the cloud was heavy and grey. Rain was coming, perhaps a storm. Rebraal, his heart a little heavy, looked forward. There was no sense in looking anywhere else.

  ‘You cannot let them kill my son,’ said Diera. ‘Please. You have to do something.’

  ‘He is no immediate danger. None of them are,’ said Auum. He turned to Miirt. ‘Get our prisoner back here now. I don’t care how bad he smells.’

  ‘No danger? You’ve just told me your panther has seen them and that they are plainly trapped. You told me that Densyr knows exactly where they are. How does this represent no danger?’

  ‘I think it is a relative term,’ said Baron Gresse. He was lying flat out on the grass, his leg surely agony yet he retained a morbid cheer.

  ‘In any event it appears action is imminent, and if that means damage to the wielders of magic, I count myself satisfied.’

  ‘Bloody right it’s a relative term,’ said Diera. ‘We’re talking about my family.’

  Auum stared at her for a moment. He was unsure what he saw and felt a frisson of nerves.

  ‘Were you joking?’ he asked.

  ‘Kind of,’ she said. ‘It’s what I’d call executioner’s humour. At least it got your attention. What are you going to do about my husband and son?’

  ‘We have another problem,’ said Auum.

  ‘That isn’t an answer. What of it?’

  Auum paused again, gauging her mood and likely responses to what he wanted to tell her.

  ‘The two are connected,’ said Auum carefully.

  Down on the ground Gresse was chuckling away to himself. And patting the ankle of Blackthorne, who was standing by him and failing to ge
t him to be quiet.

  ‘Are you drunk or something?’ asked Blackthorne. ‘We are in serious trouble here, Gresse. Laughter isn’t the answer. Not this time.’

  ‘Oh but it is, my dear Baron Blackthorne. Besides, whichever way this goes, I am soon to die. And is not the confusion of a male over a female always the most magnificent thing to watch. Even the great Auum squirms.’

  ‘I am not trying to confuse him, Baron Gresse,’ said Diera.

  ‘You never do, my dear, you never do.’

  ‘Patronising bastard,’ she said. ‘Go on, Auum, unless you’re too nervous to speak to me. What are we going to do? My family are in trouble and I will not stand by and wait for them to die. Do you understand me?’

  ‘We are all in similar trouble,’ said Auum.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘We have information that makes staying here impossible. It also makes leaving here extremely difficult.’

  Auum felt the pressure of a dozen pairs of eyes on him. The two barons and their small retinues, Diera of course, and also Thraun, who had remained in earshot. Of his eight wolves, four were by him. Of the others, there was no sign. Auum feared for them.

  ‘Difficult how, exactly?’ asked Gresse.

  Auum respected the old baron though their paths had barely crossed. Anyone who had survived the demon invasion, remaining free the whole time, was clearly worthy.

  ‘The ward grid, when it is activated, will not exclude human or elf. Neither will it exclude wolves and panthers.’

  ‘But we’re right in the middle of it, aren’t we?’ said Diera.

  Auum nodded. ‘There are spells covering much of this area.’

  ‘We’re camping in a trap,’ said Blackthorne.

  ‘Well, there’s one way out of it,’ said Gresse, and he gestured at the rooftops. ‘Those who can’t fly will just have to climb and jump, won’t they?’

  Auum nodded again and Gresse smiled at him, understanding very clearly what it meant.

  ‘There is one other possibility,’ said Auum.

  ‘Well there needs to be. Certain among our party of young rebels are not merely old and riddled with cancer, they also can’t walk.’ Blackthorne was glaring at Gresse. ‘I told you to stay behind.’