The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Shields!’ he roared. ‘Shields above. Orsyn’s Cocoons now. They’ve broken the mountain!’

  The thumps had become a thundering rattle and rumble. Rebraal stared up into the dust. Boulders tumbled down the steep slopes, bouncing high and crashing through shrub and tree. They splintered on rock. Thousands of tons swept down the mountainside.

  Simultaneously, the Garonin ahead began to fire. White tears washed across the front of the shield, heaping pressure on already weak mages. There was no time to split and run. Nowhere to go but into the arms of the Garonin. Al-Arynaar began to run into the lee of the valley side but the rock slewed down so quickly.

  Rebraal could not take his eyes from the avalanche that rushed towards them. And when it struck, he had no idea how many mages had the strength or the skill to cast the Orsyn’s Cocoons that might just save them. Not enough. Rock slammed into warrior and mage alike. Some were swept away. Others crushed, smeared into the ground by boulders the size of wagons. Screams and panic were lost beneath the tumult. Rebraal reflexively tried to shield his head with his arms. Stone slapped down towards him.

  And bounced. He heard a sigh. Dila sank to her knees, holding her arms outstretched above her. The Cocoon covered at least forty elves. Some were mages keeping shields steady against the Garonin. Others were warriors praying to Shorth for swift transport of their souls. And Shorth would have to wait.

  Rebraal crouched by Dila’heth, trying to peer through the dust cloud that temporarily enveloped them while he lent her the support of his damaged body. The torrent of rock had lessened dramatically but merely allowed Rebraal to hear the cries of the injured and dying.

  As the dust began to clear a little, he could see three groups of elves standing beneath Cocoon castings. Down on the valley floor, the fight still raged on. TaiGethen and ClawBound fought like never before. Claws, jaws, blades and fists ripping into the enemy. But they were outnumbered by more than ten to one. It was a brave action but it could not go on forever.

  The Garonin in front had ceased firing for the moment, no doubt assessing the damage their soldiers had done in causing the avalanche. A vydosphere thrummed overhead, sucking the mana from the dead and dying. Dila’heth let her spell disperse. She swept her gaze over the survivors.

  ‘We cannot win this way,’ said Rebraal. ‘We are trapped.’

  ‘But not helpless,’ said Dila’heth and, bless her, she smiled. ‘It’s our turn now.’

  Rebraal frowned. Dila’heth called a few mages to her.

  ‘What are you—?’

  ‘Just keep them off us. Just for a little while. And run when I say. We don’t have much but what we have we’re going to use right now. All of it.’

  Rebraal kissed her forehead and stood. ‘Warriors! Fight with me.’

  He charged ahead towards the waiting lines of Garonin, caring not if the white tears tore his body to pieces. He felt his brothers and sisters with him. The enemy readied, some choosing blades above weapons as they sought to harvest mana rather than simply kill. So much the better.

  The leader of the Al-Arynaar roared the name of his brother to clear his mind for the fight. Looking left and right, he guessed fifty were with him. The elves sprinted into the attack. Weapons fired. Energy seared across the diminishing space, ripping into bodies, hurling smoking corpses to the ground and blasting limbs from bodies.

  Rebraal ducked, dived headlong and rolled over his left shoulder. White tears fled over his body. He came up to a crouch, jumped and smashed his sword into the face of his target. The Garonin’s helmet split. Gore spilled out. The body disappeared. Rebraal gripped his blade with both hands, ignoring the pain from his damaged wrist. He stabbed straight out. A weapon blocked the thrust. Rebraal carved out and down, slicing through thigh and knee.

  Al-Arynaar waded in next to him. Others hurdled him, driving feet first into the ranks of the enemy. Blood misted the air. The stench of innards rose. Rebraal surged to his feet. Directly in front of him, two Garonin. He blocked the blade of one and hacked down into the weapon of the other. Both enemies stepped back. They loomed over him, tall and powerful.

  Rebraal moved into the space. He feinted to the right and brought his sword through from the left, clattering it into the shoulder of the blade carrier. Armour flared white. The other turned his weapon on Rebraal. The hand of an Al-Arynaar clamped on it, forcing the weapon down. A short blade whipped through and severed the enemy wrist.

  Rebraal nodded thanks. He punched out into the midriff of the blade carrier. He dropped to his haunches and swept out his left leg. The Garonin saw the move and jumped but he landed off balance, stumbling forward. The thrust of an Al-Arynaar sword took him under the chin.

  Rebraal rose again. Garonin were thick about him and his warriors. White tear weapons were useless now. He fielded a blade on the hilt of his sword and shoved the Garonin back. To his right an Al-Arynaar took a blade through his throat. Blood spurted from the wound. The elf fell yet even in the act of dying held out his sword. Rebraal took it and swept it through his killer’s gut.

  Blade in each hand, Rebraal moved into the space.

  ‘Disengage!’ Dila’heth’s voice carried into the heart of the fight. ‘Al-Arynaar. Scatter free!’

  The speed of their withdrawal was as exhilarating for Rebraal as it was confusing for the enemy. Thirty warriors, maybe a few more, ran hard into open space. Rebraal headed straight for Dila’s team of six mages.

  ‘Down in front,’ she said.

  Rebraal hit the deck. Yellow heat flooded the air above him. The Jalyr’s Sun, which normally traced an arc, barrelled straight ahead only a few feet from the ground. The Garonin had seen these before and adapted to them. But the loss of Julatsa’s Heart made every casting a compromise. It made them different. Different enough.

  The Sun, perhaps three wagons in diameter, exploded across the Garonin, covering dozens of them in superheated mana fire. Armour flared but could not withstand the force of the barely controlled spell. The withering flames consumed flesh and bone. Burning Garonin screamed. They fell, some trying to crawl away from the fire that ate at everything it touched.

  The Garonin line holding the valley wall collapsed. Soldiers scattered before the conflagration that rolled across the ground. Some even turned and ran. Rebraal climbed to his feet and caught Dila’s eye. She smiled.

  ‘Spell Shield up,’ she said.

  ‘Our turn now,’ said Rebraal.

  And, calling his warriors to him, he charged across the fires and down to the unguarded flank of the fight for the valley mouth.

  Chapter 43

  The fighting washed around Sol, leaving him feeling detached. It all seemed sped-up to his mind and he experienced confusion and a slew of nausea. Hirad’s blade crashed through the top of a Garonin helmet, beating the man to the ground and spreading his brains across the ivory floor.

  The Raven, along with Evunn and Duele, had fought to form a rough circle in which stood Erienne and Ilkar. The former was causing devastation with One magic castings against which the Garonin armour had no defence. The latter seemed unable to grasp the concept of where they were. Ilkar relied on actual feelings, not memories and beliefs. Right now he was a passenger.

  Outside the circle, the remaining TaiGethen weaved their unique form of death with astonishing accuracy and speed. But even they were coming under increasing pressure. The Garonin had ceased their attack on the mass of souls in an attempt to destroy the aggressive defence provided by Raven and elf.

  ‘We need to get to the TaiGethen. Bring them into the circle,’ said Sol.

  Sirendor blocked a strike to his waist and stabbed out, landing a glancing blow on his opponent’s hip.

  ‘That’s the third time you’ve said that.’

  Sirendor feinted to move in and instead swept his blade low, carving deep into the thigh of his target. The Garonin staggered back. Another took his place. Sol scowled and lashed out with his blade. The Garonin in front of him blocked the strike, grunting with th
e effort.

  ‘Fight me,’ growled Sol.

  But they would not. The Raven circle was moving steadily towards Auum. Erienne cast again. Reinforcing Garonin were hurled aside like a child discards a toy. A path opened up to the TaiGethen leader. Sol saw him surrounded. Six Garonin converging on him. Auum turned full circle, taking them all in. His movements impossibly quick and sure.

  Auum crouched. Blade in one hand, jaqrui in his left. He powered to his feet, taking off and twisting his body. His left arm came round. The jaqrui howled away, slamming into the helmet of a Garonin soldier. His blade came next, spinning on the horizontal as it left his hand. It hacked deep into the arm of a second soldier. Both men fell back.

  Auum landed and was running at his next target. Sol couldn’t focus on him. He shook his head to clear his vision but there were clouds before his eyes. He gasped, pain gripping his soul.

  ‘Unknown!’

  Hirad’s voice came from a long way off though the touch of his hand was immediate. Hands dragged Sol backwards. The circle closed. Sol could hear fighting. The clash and spark of weapons. He felt a huge pull on his body, like someone was trying to suck his heart clean out of his chest.

  ‘I have him.’ Ilkar’s voice. ‘Unknown, lean into me. We’re still moving.’

  Sol had no idea if was standing or seated. Warmth was growing around him. The light of the mass of souls burned incredibly bright in his mind, like staring into the sun. Pinpoints closer were those of The Raven and TaiGethen. He heard voices. Distant echoes of those he loved. And those of the lost seeking sanctuary.

  Sol’s entire body was juddering. In a brief moment’s vision, he saw Ilkar’s arm and clung to it. The elf’s face was confused and bright, so bright.

  ‘Keep it inside you.’ The voice came from everywhere. It was Auum. ‘Do not let it take you. Not yet.’

  But Sol did not know how to achieve any of that. He felt as if his body were being flushed by the force of the void. A chasm had opened up between the body that had drawn around his soul and the soul itself. He reached out, trying to grip himself. He saw a spectral hand clutching at the centre of his spiritual body. He found purchase. And he found a tiny degree of calm.

  The fight was raging on around him. Sol shook off Ilkar’s hand and straightened his shoulders. Garonin had closed in on Miirt. Ghaal was fighting his way towards her but he wasn’t going to make it. Hirad was moving The Raven’s circle in the same direction. The barbarian’s blade licked out, cracking against the armoured shoulder of a Garonin shoulder. Next to him, Sirendor ducked a wayward thrash and jabbed his blade up and into the gut of his opponent.

  The pull on Sol’s body declined. He looked about him. The soul mass was pulsating, lanterns to banish the darkest of nights. They could feel the pull.

  ‘Enough,’ he said.

  ‘Unknown, are you . . . ?’ said Ilkar.

  ‘Let me go,’ said Sol.

  He walked between Hirad and Sirendor, moving them both aside. His blade was held in one hand, leaving his right hand free.

  ‘Follow on. Keep your guard up,’ he said to Hirad.

  Sol strode up to the Garonin, who fell back a pace ahead.

  ‘Fight me!’ he barked at them. ‘What, no guts for it? Then cease your attack. Now.’

  The Garonin ahead of him stopped. Sol moved up and drove his blade straight through the soldier’s chest. The man was hurled backwards, skidding across the ivory floor, blood pulsing from a deep gash.

  ‘I can take you one at a time,’ growled Sol. ‘I know what you want from me. Cease your attack.’

  Sol was wavering. He fought to keep his body steady while his mind was ablaze with light and a yearning that he would soon not be able to deny. The Garonin paused. All of them.

  ‘Miirt, hold.’

  Auum’s voice came as if from a long distance. Sol felt The Raven move up around him again. He heard Hirad calling Miirt and Ghaal into the circle.

  ‘What are you doing, Unknown?’ asked Darrick from by his right shoulder.

  ‘Buying time,’ said Sol.

  The Garonin began to move away from The Raven. Sol could hear the susurration of their conversation or laughter or whatever the hell it was. Hirad was standing close to him, as was Darrick. Close enough that he couldn’t fall sideways. Thraun padded up and down in front of the Garonin lines. There was blood about his muzzle and on the fur of his shoulders.

  ‘You accept your fate,’ came the voice of the Garonin.

  ‘We accept nothing,’ said Sol. ‘But that the price you have paid is far too high for the mana you have managed to harvest. We may not have beaten you but what price your failure in your own world, I wonder.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Darrick. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘They know what Sol represents,’ said Auum. ‘What he is here to do. They wanted to take as many of us from him as they could to weaken us. To make it easier for them to gain entry to our new home through him. And in that they have failed.’

  ‘And what do we do now?’ asked Sirendor.

  ‘Prepare,’ said Auum.

  Someone took Sol’s arm and helped him move towards the edifice. There was comfort there amongst the thousands of souls that had survived the Garonin attack. The Raven gathered in front of him, Ilkar and Hirad helping him to a seated position with his back to the wall, directly under the finger of rock.

  ‘Who built this?’ he asked, though the answer was obvious.

  ‘They did,’ said Auum. ‘The souls. To focus themselves. To give them a place to congregate and a place where you would find them.’

  Outside, the Garonin mustered. More and more were appearing. They stood still for a few moments as if orienting themselves before moving forward. Darrick was standing and looking out.

  ‘This is not a good situation,’ he said. ‘We may have a wall at our backs but we have an overwhelming number in front. How long will this all take?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sol, brightness again growing within and without him, his soul reaching out. ‘But we have to hold them off until we can bring our people to us.’

  ‘And what then?’ Sirendor spread his arms. ‘How can we stop them following us? How can we stop them doing exactly what they did on Balaia and following the dead to their rest and then back to the land of the living, wherever that is?’

  ‘Have faith,’ said Sol.

  ‘Faith isn’t going to be enough,’ said Sirendor.

  Sol climbed to his feet and grabbed Sirendor’s shoulders before The Raven man began to fade.

  ‘No, Sirendor, it is everything. Believe. You must believe. Anything less and we are lost. We will find a way to prevail.’

  There were tears on Sirendor’s face. ‘I cannot see it. A thousand against a handful.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Sol. ‘Trust the Ravensoul. Just a little longer.’

  Hirad put his arm around Sirendor’s shoulders, nodding to Sol to sit back down.

  ‘Stand by me,’ said the barbarian. ‘They can’t touch me and I will not let them touch you. More will come.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because we always find a way,’ said Hirad.

  The ivory sky darkened. Garonin voices blared out across Ulandeneth.

  ‘Do not delay us. Open the door, Sol of Balaia. Your people are dying. Their suffering is on your hands. Let us into your new home. End the pain of your people.’

  Sol sat down hard against the wall of the edifice, thrust there by unseen hands. The clamour of the mass of souls was renewed inside him. Fear swept them. The sky became black again. Thraun howled. He saw The Raven and the TaiGethen putting their hands to their ears, shutting out the sounds of a gale of suffering voices.

  ‘Now, Sol of Balaia. Now. End the agony. Bring us what we desire.’

  The sky flickered. Flashes of light ran across it from horizon to horizon. Images appeared. Images to take the heart from any of them. Images to crush hope. Erienne was screaming. Ilkar was on his knees, hugging
himself, his chin on his chest, body shaking. Hirad stood tall, thrusting out his chest and bawling some unintelligible cry at the waiting Garonin. Sirendor and Darrick were transfixed, gazing up at the sky and the horrors it displayed. Auum and the TaiGethen appeared locked in prayer.

  Thraun howled again and Sol let the yearning in his body take him.

  The east walls of the college blew apart for a stretch of over three hundred yards. Garonin soldiers poured in. Guards and mages who had been standing on the walls were lost in the cataclysmic failure of binding. At the ruins of the tower complex dome the binding work continued though the effort had become desperate.

  Suarav stood with Brynar. The young mage’s shield, in concert with four others, held firm against the withering fire from the six vydospheres circling above. But they could no longer defend the entire tower complex. Bindings were weakening on the remaining towers while feverish attempts to shore up the walls of the catacombs were ongoing.

  The noise was extraordinary. White tears flooding over the shields set up a resonating whine while the clattering of the vydospheres’ heavy weapons added a juddering roar that could be felt through the feet.

  ‘We’re surrounded,’ shouted Suarav. ‘Chandyr, we need swords to the east. Brynar, shields ahead and left.’

  How many hundreds of Garonin advanced on them was impossible to guess. They did not close for hand-to-hand fighting, not yet at any rate. They were content to bombard the shields that Xetesk’s tiring mages held against them. Not one offensive spell was being cast. There were no longer the numbers to do it. Suarav bit his lip.

  ‘We can’t hold out here,’ yelled Brynar. ‘We’re just waiting for the end. I can feel others weakening.’

  ‘Just a little while longer. Keep them away from the catacombs. Let Densyr complete if he can.’

  Below them, the Circle Seven were placing defence around the Heart. Not enough mages remained to bury it out of the reach of the Garonin so their only chance was to booby-trap it to keep them away for as long as they could. Densyr had one last card up his sleeve, and if he meant to play it, it would be when he could inflict maximum damage on the enemy.