The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

‘I’m speaking loudly because the evacuation alarm is, as you are aware, intrusive. Exactly as it is designed to be. Now, as you also are aware, evacuation is a term meaning leave, run, go away, don’t look back and any number of colloquialisms that put together lead to the conclusion that the city should be cleared of its entire population.

  ‘This leads me to my question, which is: what the hell are you all still doing here?’

  Densyr found it difficult to keep the smile from his face such was the pride he felt at the efforts still being made on behalf of himself and Xetesk. There was a moment when every man and woman inside the devastated complex thought his verbose utterance was in all seriousness. One by one, however, he saw them begin to relax. One spoke up.

  ‘General Suarav asked if we would stay and help the fight. This is our college. So here we stand.’

  ‘And I am more proud of you than I can say. Thank you for your courage and your strength. With people like you standing firm, this college and city will survive, rebuild and be great once more. But right now my advice to you is to rest. Mages, your stamina reserves must be low. Guards, your arms must be tired, your every muscle crying out for pause. There will be plenty of time to clean up this mess when our victory is complete. For now we have to assume the Garonin will return. Rest. For there is still much work to be done.’

  They cheered him on his way out through the doors of the complex, and he had never felt more like a fraud in his life. Suarav was waiting for him.

  ‘My Lord Densyr, it is joy to see you alive and well.’

  ‘And it is joy to be so.’ Densyr walked forward and clasped arms with his trusted friend. ‘I always knew you to be a great man. But even I had no idea about the depths of your courage and your powers of persuasion. How is the college still standing?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, if there’s time,’ said Suarav. ‘For now I need to give you a situation report.’

  ‘Do I want to hear it?’

  Suarav shook his head. ‘You can learn most of it just by looking around you.’

  There were not enough survivors to clear away the dead and the scattered body parts strewn across the courtyard. Smears of blood stained every surface that wasn’t touched by the scorch-marks of Garonin weapons. Brave Xeteskians were abandoned in the grotesque poses of their deaths. Survivors were moving through them, searching for any who might still be breathing.

  It would have been impossible to drive a wagon across the courtyard to the east gates of the college, which themselves stood open revealing the destruction of the city beyond. Rubble and debris covered the ground. Two out of three long rooms were flattened. The mana bowl existed only as a crater and the living quarters, refectory and medical buildings were all holed and partly collapsed.

  Densyr turned a slow circle and drew in a sharp breath at the parlous state of the tower complex. Its symmetry was destroyed by the wrecking of Prexys and Laryon. His own tower was leaning to the north and Nyer was in even worse shape.

  ‘Only binding magic holds any of it together now,’ said Suarav. ‘The structure of the complex and its foundations are essentially unsound. When this is over, it will all have to come down.’

  ‘I’m sure the Garonin will be only too happy to help in that regard, ’ said Densyr, feeling a bitterness that surprised him. ‘So what do we have besides rubble and ruins?’

  ‘I have twenty-seven mages able to cast. I have fifty or so fit sword guards and another thirty injured but prepared to fight.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘And that represents a good survival rate given where we started. Don’t forget, you can add to that the entire catacomb defence. What’s that: fifty personal guard, the Circle Seven and the research teams plus people like the Communion Globe team. Thirty mages in all working down there?’

  Densyr nodded. ‘Yes. Not as many as we’d have liked but clearly the weight of numbers had to be up here. We’re going to need to be clever with spells. We can bind the catacomb ceilings and walls as far as possible and take them on down there unless you have a better plan.’

  ‘Not on the face of it but my concern is that they will not try and walk through the front door. Looked to me as if they were trying to come straight through the top. Means that binding is all very well, but should they breach it, we have nothing because they can just reach in and grab the Heart.’

  Densyr glanced up at his tower, wondering how far Dystran had got down the stairs.

  ‘There is one thing we can keep up our sleeve. It’ll stop the Garonin getting the Heart for sure.’

  ‘There’s a but, isn’t there.’

  ‘We won’t have it either.’

  ‘Still preferable.’

  ‘Agreed. All right. Look, you’ve done an extraordinary job thus far, General, and I would not presume to alter your plans. Have who you need from the catacomb defence. Strengthen where you see fit and just tell us all what we need to do. Fair enough?’

  ‘The best I could hope for.’

  Densyr clasped arms with him again. ‘We can do this. If The Raven are successful, we can be sure the Garonin will be weakened and it gives us a chance.’

  Densyr heard his name being called. Brynar was picking his way out of the complex, waving as he came. He tripped, fell flat on his face, got to his feet and ignored the scrapes evident on his hands as he ran on.

  ‘Good to see you looking better,’ said Densyr. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘Brynar, take a deep breath,’ said Suarav.

  ‘Communion Globe. They’re Korina, it’s there them.’

  ‘Brynar,’ said Suarav, his tone commanding this time. ‘I am unused to repeating myself.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry.’ Brynar stared at Suarav and took a deliberate deep breath. And then another three. ‘The Communion Globe is active, my Lord Densyr, General Suarav. Korina is still there and still fighting. They are surrounded but the enemy is not moving. They say the Garonin are waiting.’

  ‘For what? I wonder.’ said Densyr. ‘Brynar, tell Sharyr I want communications open as long as is humanly possible. In fact longer. Suarav, the floor is yours. I’ll be in Dystran’s chambers until the Garonin return.’

  ‘If,’ suggested Brynar.

  ‘Until,’ repeated Densyr. ‘Just accept it.’

  Chapter 38

  Sol stared at their silhouettes and felt a keen sadness. ‘Why are you here?’ he said. ‘You didn’t have to be here.’

  ‘It is ever the way,’ said Auum. ‘The TaiGethen serve Yniss in whatever realm we are most needed.’

  ‘But your sacrifice—’

  ‘Is no greater than your own in any event. And we do not consider it so.’

  ‘But you can never go back,’ said Sol. ‘You are dead, like me. Like all of us here.’

  ‘But our work does not cease. We are Ynissul, servants of God. I have been alive for thousands of years. Now is my greatest challenge. ’ Auum chuckled. ‘You are feeling guilt.’

  Sol nodded. ‘Because I am glad that you are here. And that means I am glad that you are dead.’

  ‘Then do not think of it in those terms. Consider that together we have a greater chance of saving both our peoples.’

  ‘That I can do.’

  The dead crowded the corridor, which was no wider or higher than fifteen feet at any point thus far. All of Balaia’s returned dead were thronging along it, most in a desperate hurry to reach Ulandeneth. The Raven and Auum’s Tai were behind the mass by some distance now and moving with growing unease.

  Sol was finding the physical laws that bound the corridor very disconcerting. The corridor itself was like walking over a huge sponge. The floor had little tension to it. It was the same if you pressed a wall. But there was no imperative to walk as such; with an effort of will it was entirely possible to float above the floor and in whatever attitude you chose, and move with no apparent motive force.

  Hirad had been keen to demonstrate his skills in the area until Sol had worked out that he could also, with another effort
of will, give him a thump in what had once been his gut. And it still hurt, which was completely bizarre.

  ‘You know what really rankles with me?’ Sol said. ‘It’s that even though I’m dead, I’ve still got things to learn. Worse than that, things Hirad already knows, which is a first.’

  He didn’t look at any of the others because to do so made him feel intensely sad. He had come to terms with the fact that each of them was represented by what was in effect a silhouette picked out in varying shades of bright grey. But what he couldn’t get over was that, though outlines were recognisable, when any of them turned to him, all he could see was a blank canvas where a face ought to be.

  ‘But this is not true death,’ said Auum.

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Until all physical manifestations are cast aside and the soul rests in eternal bliss, death cannot have truly occurred.’

  ‘Yet we cannot go back.’

  ‘No, Sol, we cannot, but there is a place between life and death, and this is it,’ said Ilkar. ‘We all came back down something not dissimilar when the Garonin ripped open our resting place.’

  ‘You’re telling me you were genuinely alive back on Balaia in those alternative bodies.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ilkar. ‘How else would you describe it?’

  ‘Possession,’ said Sol. ‘To us, you were you all right but walking dead nonetheless.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Sirendor.

  They moved in silence for a while. Sol watched the mass of the dead moving further and further ahead of them. They had become an amorphous bright blob. Sol wished he had some reference to work out how far they were ahead. All he could come up with was: out of easy reach to feel in his soul comfortably.

  ‘There’s so many things I’m not getting about all this,’ said Sol.

  ‘And that surprises you, does it?’ asked Sirendor. ‘I mean, you are dead. Lots to take in and all that.’

  ‘Just ignore him and tell me what’s bothering you,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘Well, for starters, why is there distance here? I thought all travel was instantaneous between dimensions and that being dead was a seamless transition.’

  ‘Can’t believe everything you read.’

  ‘Shut up, Hirad. I’ve thought about this one, and it’s easy really. We aren’t travelling between dimensions. We’re outside anything we know, both when we were cast out of our rest and right now. Ulandeneth is a place that exists beyond our sphere of comprehension. Sorry, that sounds lame, doesn’t it, but it’s all I can come up with.’

  ‘It’ll do, Ilkar, thanks. But given I accept that, then what are all the other dead doing here? We’re here because we’re hoping to find new lands beyond Ulandeneth, though God knows how that’ll manifest itself. Where do they think they’re going?’

  ‘You forget that the reason any of us came back was ultimately to get all the living to leave, admittedly knowing that at least one of you had to lay down his life to open the first door,’ said Ilkar. ‘And now it is open and the path to salvation is ahead. I know there is no end at the moment but you must understand that the pull of this corridor is incredibly strong for a returned dead soul. Far too strong to resist if you are clinging on to a possessed body. It is what we want. The relief from pain alone makes it worth the risk.’

  ‘What risk?’ asked Sol.

  ‘That this goes nowhere but oblivion,’ said Thraun.

  ‘Right. Well, leaving that aside for now, can someone tell me why we aren’t travelling at greater speed? Presumably, we can go as fast as we can will ourselves. This is a snail’s pace, is it not? And we are anticipating trouble. How in all the hells do we repel it?’

  Ilkar didn’t get the chance to respond. Hirad’s silhouette flashed a deep gold rimmed with warm red.

  ‘Company,’ said Hirad.

  Sol tensed.

  ‘Who?’ asked Sirendor.

  ‘Take a look.’

  Hirad’s silhouette arm gestured at the translucent walls of the passageway. Sol stared into the maelstrom without. Grey-, white-and gold-flecked brown. A chaos of light and dark, swirling and racing. He shuddered to think of the forces at play out there, beyond the flimsy barrier.

  For a while he saw nothing but the void. A ghostly wing, there and gone. The merest glimpse of a long, sinuous neck. A trailing tail, lost in the roiling space. And then there, flying by their sides, beneath them and above them, Kaan dragons. Dozens, a hundred maybe, cruising the walls of the passage, spiralling around it, enclosing it in a solid wall of dragon scale.

  ‘We are come,’ rumbled Sha-Kaan, his voice reverberating along the corridor.

  Ahead Sol heard screams and saw the mass of the dead pack even more tightly together and increase their speed. He tasted their fear as if it were his own.

  ‘We will not harm you. We have come to protect you.’

  Sha-Kaan’s voice stilled the panic as surely as day follows night. Now, Sol heard chatter and cheers and he felt a surge of relief that suffused his entire being. It felt wonderful, and reminiscent of a life long past.

  ‘Oh yes, forgot to mention that. Emotionally, you’ll find we are all very close indeed,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘Thanks for the warning, but this one I think I can handle. The Soul Tank gave the same sense of togetherness to the Protectors.’

  ‘The Garonin are close,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Already, we have fought them out here. They are attracted to the mass of mana within, just as I am attracted by the touch of your mind, Hirad.’

  ‘Good to feel you too, Great Kaan.’

  ‘Let us make sure this ends well. The Garonin will try to breach the corridor. We will do what we can. But you must also be ready.’

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Sol.

  ‘You will know.’

  Multiple flares of light erupted outside a little way further along the corridor. Sol heard dragons roaring. Sha-Kaan beat his wings and was gone. The walls wobbled under a collision. Above their heads Sol saw a Garonin soldier bounce and roll, his body a mass of flame. A dragon’s jaws came down on him, ending his pain.

  ‘It begins,’ pulsed Sha-Kaan. ‘Fight hard.’

  Hirad was already pulling at Sol’s arm.

  ‘We need to catch up with the rest,’ he said.

  ‘What will we do?’

  ‘Come on, it’s where the fight will play out.’

  The Raven quintet and Auum’s Tai soared away down the corridor. Sol forced himself to believe it could be done, and with every passing moment he found it easier to follow them. He shook off Hirad’s arm.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said.

  He was certain Hirad was smiling. Seeing his face would have brought great comfort. The thousands of dead were moving as fast as their combined mass would allow. The corridor bulged as they pressed on. Outside, there were flashes like a cloud shot through with lightning. He heard solid thuds and saw the crowd swaying right, a shoal of fish trying to dodge a predator.

  ‘They’ve landed!’ called Hirad. ‘We have to stop them. Sol, it’s you we need.’

  ‘Why? I don’t understand?’

  ‘You are the free soul,’ said Auum, close by. ‘You bind us all just as you bind this place.’

  Sol tried to stay calm and he forged ahead. Flame splayed across the corridor. There was a scrabble of claws and the shape of a dragon’s tail stabbed down almost to the heads of the dead. Sol looked right. A limp body, huge and lifeless, its wings shredded, spiralled away and was lost to sight.

  ‘Dear Gods burning.’

  Lines of harsh white light appeared on the wall of the corridor. They spread quickly, looking like a lattice of ice across a window. The wall hardened around them. Flame beat down in the same place. Garonin soldiers cried out. The light flickered briefly but was not extinguished.

  ‘Move!’ shouted Hirad from somewhere ahead. ‘Move, keep going.’

  The wall exploded inwards and Garonin soldiers entered the corridor on the wings of a hurricane. The noise was
incredible. A harrowing whistle and a roaring gale in one. Dead near the breach were sucked out into the void. Garonin waded though the masses, striking out with the instruments they held in both hands. And where they struck, bright grey silhouettes faded quickly to black and then were gone.

  Everything was being dragged towards the breach. The void was inhaling and it meant to capture them all. Flame lashed across the tear. Sol saw Auum, Ghaal and Miirt’s silhouettes flash by him and slap into a Garonin soldier. Auum’s hand came back across the enemy’s neck and his head parted company from his body.

  The shocking sight brought Sol hope and understanding. He let the gale take him and he threw himself forward, arms outstretched. They plunged into the chest of his target and he felt his hands squeeze the enemy’s heart. Hirad and Sirendor were flying together. Sol saw them crash into the midst of the dead and he saw a Garonin flattened against the far wall, rebound from it and be sucked from the corridor.

  The gale intensified. Garonin still came through. Braced against something Sol couldn’t sense, Auum, his Tai and Thraun waited to pounce. The dead were racing away up the corridor with Hirad and Sirendor in pursuit of the enemy amongst them. Silhouettes faded with hideous regularity.

  ‘The breach!’ called Auum from across the other side of it. ‘Sol, close it.’

  Auum thrust his hand deep into the skull of a Garonin soldier and flung his lifeless body back into the path of others coming through. Ghaal, clutching one side of the tear, evaded a flailing weapon and smashed his free hand into the gut of another, tearing out entrails as he pulled it clear.

  Sol dived for the breach. Here, the howl of the wind was extraordinary. Its pull was immensely powerful. Sol was dragged towards it off balance. He collided with a flapping section of wall and grabbed hold. A Garonin weapon swung towards him. Miirt’s hand clamped on the enemy’s wrist, squeezing and crushing the bone inside to dust. The Garonin screamed. Thraun completed the kill.

  Sol looked at the breach. He could taste the chaos. He could feel his soul drawn to it. He reached out a shadow hand and touched the wall at the top of the breach. The two sides flowed together beneath his hand. Sha-Kaan had been right. This felt as natural as waking in the morning. A Garonin soldier thrust his upper body through the breach. Sol drew his hand quickly down. The wall knitted seamlessly together, snipping the enemy neatly in half.