The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Pace back, Raven,’ called Hirad into the booming noise. ‘We won’t see them until they step inside. Ilkar, is there nothing you can do?’

  Ilkar felt the question like a slap in the face.

  ‘There’s no mana here,’ he said.

  ‘There’s nothing here. No swords, no armour. Nothing,’ said Hirad. ‘This isn’t about reality. It is about belief. You believe you see me, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes but . . .’

  ‘It’s the same for your mana,’ said Hirad. ‘Believe you can cast. Expect to cast.’

  Ilkar shook his head. His mind remained a blank for constructing spells but there was something he could do. He hurried over to Erienne, dropped to his haunches and leaned his weight against her. Ilkar felt her move into his body. He put his arms about her stomach and held her close.

  ‘Tell me how you’re feeling,’ he said into her ear.

  ‘You ssshould, ttry, tthhis,’ she said.

  ‘I wish I could. You’re doing brilliantly. Keep talking to me.’

  ‘Ignore the emptiness,’ gasped Erienne. ‘Use your memories. You already are for everything you see of us. It works, I promise.’

  The fire density increased steadily. Either more Garonin were attacking or . . .

  ‘They are closing,’ said Sol, his voice sounding deep in Ilkar’s head.

  ‘How are you doing that?’

  ‘Things are a little different from where I’m sitting. You have squads of Garonin coming in at the far left and right of the shield where it touches the edifice. The main bulk are standing off and there is another force behind them. They will look to get to me. Be wary.’

  Ilkar saw the TaiGethen split and move to the flanks. Within the bubble of Erienne’s shield the open ground was quite limited. Perhaps only forty feet square. But the defenders were very thinly spaced.

  ‘It will only take one to touch me,’ said Sol as if reading his thoughts. ‘And we are lost.’

  ‘Where’s that help you promised?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Just around the corner,’ said Sol. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Ilkar.’ It was Erienne, and her voice sounded as if she were about to break.

  ‘Not long now,’ he said. ‘Be strong.’

  ‘I need you to be able to help me,’ she said. ‘They are speaking to me.’

  ‘They’re what? Who?’

  The sky over Ulandeneth turned black.

  Chapter 46

  Ark’s last living memory was of the moments before the demons took his soul. Beyond that, the awful pain of their torment and, later still, the dread knowledge that even when the demons were destroyed, his soul’s fate was eternity in the vast screaming purgatory of the void. Over and over, he had lived the last beats of his heart. The ice of the demons’ touch. The dragging of their claws through his body and the freezing agony of a reaver’s grip on his soul.

  Unlooked-for and beyond his capacity to hope, the touch of Sol had found him. Somewhere a door had been opened and he had been pulled towards it, helpless to avoid its embrace whether it be fair or foul. Then had come the strength of Sol, imbuing his soul with light and hope. And with it had come the rush of voices in what he began to think of again as his mind. Comforting, supporting, powerful. As one. Their souls mingled but this time not in the thrall of the Soul Tank. No demons forced them to their work. This time they did so as free men under the banner of the first to have escaped the order of the Protectors. The first to stand in battle without a mask.

  For Sol they gathered, and for Sol they would fight.

  Images played out across the sky above them while the Garonin weapons blinded them head on. Erienne was groaning with effort and slowly losing her own personal battle. Ilkar prayed that she didn’t look up but he could see her head moving as if someone were forcing it back.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ he said. ‘Face front or close your eyes.’

  ‘I . . . No. NO!’

  Erienne’s arms trembled. Her whole body shook and her fingers, splayed out to keep the shield taut, began to draw into fists. Above her Xetesk destroyed. Barely recognisable. Yet in the middle of the ruined college figures ran while white tears bit at their feet and spat at the ground right behind them. Wolves flanked them, blood running from their blackened flanks.

  ‘Please no,’ said Erienne. ‘Don’t let it be true.’

  Denser. Running for his life. And with him all that was precious to Sol and to Thraun.

  ‘Don’t believe it. Don’t trust it.’ Sol’s voice sounded loud but even his tones carried a tremble to them. ‘Be strong and we will save them all.’

  Garonin burst through the opaque shield to the left, running along the wall of the edifice, firing as they came. Thraun howled and leapt to the attack. Auum and Duele closed in. Hirad made to move.

  ‘Stop, Hirad,’ boomed Sol. ‘More coming at you. Hold the line, Raven.’

  Ilkar stood up behind Erienne. He drew his short blade from its scabbard. The weapon felt heavy and unbalanced in his hand. Four Garonin had punched through the shield. White tears fled across the enclosed space, missing their targets. Thraun’s leap took him onto the shoulders of the lead Garonin, bringing him down. Auum hurdled the pair of them. He landed, spun and kicked up and out. The sole of his right foot slammed into the chest of his target, rocking him back. Auum continued his spin. His blade snaked out, slicing into neck and faceplate. The Garonin staggered.

  Duele whispered past Auum. He ducked a stream of energy fire, bounced back up and hammered his blade into the ribcage of his enemy. The man fell against the last of the four invaders. Weapons were triggered reflexively. White tears ripped into the walls of the edifice. Cracks ran away along its surface.

  Auum jabbed his blade into the gut of his victim. Without pause, he grabbed a jaqrui and threw. The keening wail was brief. The razor edge sliced through the arm of the last attacker. His weapon fell from his hand. Duele leapt to carve his blade into the Garonin’s faceplate. Auum followed up his jaqrui and buried his blade two-handed into the gut of the wounded man. Ilkar heard the blade shriek as it exited his back and scraped the edifice behind.

  Another howl from Thraun. The wolf sprang up and ran right. Ilkar followed him. Garonin had pushed through the barrier. White light filled the space. Ghaal ducked but not quickly enough. He took the full force of two streams of fire in his face. His head was engulfed in flame. His body juddered and was thrown back to slide across the floor. Ilkar had to turn away. Ghaal’s neck smoked, his skull was blasted to shards.

  In front, Hirad called a warning. Ilkar heard the clash of weapons. But to the right was the greater threat. Thraun had his jaws clamped around the leg of a Garonin soldier who was beating the wolf’s skull with the butt of his weapon. Evunn and Miirt surged into the attack. But one Garonin was free. He could see Sol, sitting helpless, light streaming into him and away from him. The door open to invasion. Auum, running headlong, was not going to make it in time. Ilkar hefted his blade. He was standing no more than ten yards from Sol.

  ‘Get this wrong and it ends here,’ he said to himself.

  Ilkar hurled his blade. It caught the Garonin in the right thigh. The soldier stumbled, slowed and regained his feet. He ran on, a shout of victory ripping from his alien lips. He reached out to Sol, to touch him and render everything the great man had died for a waste.

  The Garonin did not make contact. An axe materialised in the air before him, swinging across with frightening power. Behind it the body of a huge man in jet-black armour washed into being. The blade savaged straight through the Garonin’s neck, taking his head clean off to bounce across the floor towards Ilkar.

  The elf blinked to dispel the illusion but it didn’t shift. There stood Ark. Protector and Raven. He was carrying the sword and axe of Xetesk’s dread calling. He wore their colours but without the mask that bound them to the demons. Ark roared. His arms shook and his fists ground against his weapons. His face cleared and he stared square at Ilkar. Blood dripped from his axe. />
  ‘We are come.’

  Hirad pushed the Garonin’s weapon to the left and swung his sword high. The edge slid from the man’s shoulder and clattered up into the side of his helmet. The Garonin stumbled. Darrick’s reverse sweep carved a gash deep into his chest. The Garonin gasped. Hirad thrust up under his chin strap.

  Hirad was aware of shouting from behind him and resisted the urge to turn. More Garonin came through the barrier in front of him. To his right Sirendor ducked a stream of white tears, swayed left as he came back up and jabbed up into the armpit of his attacker. Hirad paced forward. He switched his sword to his left hand, dropped to his haunches and swung the blade low across him, feeling a satisfying connection. Blood spurted from the Garonin’s right shin. The soldier stumbled forward. Hirad darted right, reversed his blade and cracked it into the back of his opponent’s knees.

  The sound of running filled the air around him. It came from behind, to the left and the right. Sol managed a chuckle that reverberated through his head. Protectors swarmed by Hirad, forming a solid line around him and the rest of The Raven. At the centre of the masked army was a man whose face felt the air.

  Garonin surged through the barrier again. Hirad smiled as they faltered in their charge.

  ‘Good to see you, Ark,’ said the barbarian. He beckoned towards the enemy. ‘Come and get it, boys.’

  Ark and the entire Protector line stepped forward. Axes came through left to right, low to high. Swords came the other way, chest-high. Garonin screams filled the air. The weight of fire on the shield intensified still further. Hirad felt the pressure of souls crammed into the small space. At last he turned. The shield was full of Protectors. Hundreds of them materialising in front of Sol and spreading across the space.

  ‘Bloody hell. Brought a few friends with you too, did you?’ Hirad’s voice rose to a shout. ‘We have to spread the shield. Ilkar!’

  Abruptly, the sky darkened once more. The sound of white tears splatting against the cobbles of ruined Xetesk was replaced by silence. Simultaneously, the deluge against the shield ceased. Protectors moved out of its compass, forming a line four deep, stretching across the face of the edifice.

  Hirad heard Erienne cry out. In front of him the shield flickered. He turned and ran back to her, glancing up at the images played out above them in huge hideous detail. Black Wings castle. Two boys lay on a filthy bed. It was covered with blood. The boys were unmoving, throats carved open. Hirad slithered to his knees.

  ‘That’s not the future; it’s the past,’ he said. ‘And we all still grieve for your boys. Don’t let them beat you. Don’t let our new world become another graveyard for us.’

  ‘I couldn’t save them,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t save Lyanna. I can’t save anyone.’

  ‘Erienne, you’re saving us right now. Hang on to that. You’re saving the future for everyone still alive and the souls of your boys.’ Hirad turned. ‘Raven! Get here now. Lend Erienne your strength.’

  But Hirad could see she was crumbling. Above their heads images played of storms lashing the coast of Balaia and of a little girl in the centre of them, calling out for her mother. Erienne was shaking horribly. Her shoulders were hunched as if against a cold wind and her hands were closing again.

  Thraun padded up behind her and sat, leaning his body into hers and nuzzling her neck. Darrick stood in front of her, looking down. He stripped off a glove and placed his hand on the top of her head. Sirendor did not come so close. Sirendor, who had never met her, stood to watch the Garonin. They were unsure for the present as they gauged the Protector force. Hirad looked for Ilkar. The elven mage was moving towards them one moment and gone the next.

  For an instant Ilkar thought he had lost faith entirely and simply ceased to be in Ulandeneth. But a warming feeling washed over him, familiar and strong. A metaphorical arm around the shoulders from a huge presence.

  ‘You need to get your brother to safety now because we haven’t got much time,’ said Sol.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Ilkar. ‘Where am I?’

  Ilkar could see nothing but a brown and gold blur.

  ‘Travelling,’ said Sol. ‘And I am where you left me. I hold the door. You and your brother must bring the elves through now. And then you have to return and play your part.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Erienne cannot shield us on her own. Hirad cannot fight them on his own. Belief is only so great in any one of us. Find it in yourself. And think on this. Hirad was right. Absolutely none of what we have seen in Ulandeneth can possibly be happening. So why is it? Find the answer within you and turn this fight around.’

  Ilkar wanted to ask more but the blur in front of his eyes coalesced into a scene of devastation. He was standing on the beach of North Bay. Around him the bodies of thousands of elves were scattered in the nauseating attitudes of their deaths. Ilkar tried to move but found he could do nothing but turn on the spot.

  Coming towards him across the beach was a small knot of elves pursued by three Garonin firing their weapons. White tears wiped across a flaring, sputtering spell shield. The elves ran on. Not five yards from him they stopped and turned. Four of them, mages, bent to a casting. Rebraal faced the onrushing Garonin with five Al-Arynaar. Ilkar could see his brother was wounded. He held his blade in the wrong hand.

  Rebraal was speaking but Ilkar could not hear the words. The Garonin stopped ten yards from them and continued firing. Other enemies were approaching. This was a fight only going one way. But not quietly. From the hands of one of the crouching mages IceBlades tore out. Garonin armour flared white. One of the enemy clutched at his helmet, blood spurting from his eye slit. But, even as he fell, a finger of white lashed out along the path of the spell and buried in the caster’s chest. The mage blew apart. The spell shield flickered but steadied.

  ‘Rebraal,’ said Ilkar.

  Rebraal, with his back to Ilkar, stiffened. His head turned this way and that.

  ‘I’m behind you. Turn round and look.’

  Rebraal shook his head.

  ‘Bloody hell, little brother, do I have to draw you a map?’

  Rebraal spun round, clearly surprising the Al-Arynaar warriors standing by him. His face was angry, his mouth ready to deliver a threat. But his jaw dropped and he pointed directly at Ilkar before beginning to walk towards him. His people were asking him why.

  ‘Can you not see him? He’s standing right there.’

  Ilkar could not hear their responses. But he could see their expressions. Disbelief. And why not.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rebraal. They can’t see or hear me yet.’

  ‘Ilkar?’

  Ilkar nodded. ‘Well, sort of. I’m still dead but at least I can get you out of here. You don’t need the Wesmen. Come to me, all of you, and I’ll take you home.’

  ‘We’re scattered, Ilkar,’ said Rebraal. ‘Our people are trapped aboard ship and back along the valley behind me. I cannot leave them.’

  ‘You won’t be,’ said Ilkar. ‘Reach out to me. Touch me. And we will appear to each and every one of them. End their torment. Bring them home.’

  Rebraal shook his head. ‘I’ve seen too much to believe this. It cannot be you.’

  ‘I cannot prove it but that you look at me and see me,’ said Ilkar. ‘You’re my brother.’

  ‘Then tell me what you always feared the most,’ said Rebraal.

  Ilkar still felt a twinge of pain at the memory. ‘I feared walking this earth long after my friends, The Raven, had gone to their graves. Hundreds of years of bleak grief. Lucky for me that I died in screaming agony before the lot of them, wasn’t it?’

  Rebraal’s face cracked into a huge smile and he walked towards Ilkar.

  ‘You came back for me,’ he said. ‘After all this time.’

  Ilkar shrugged. ‘Someone has to look after you.’

  ‘Where will we end up?’

  ‘Ah, now that I can’t tell you. After all, I’ll end up elsewhere, being dead and all that.’

&nb
sp; Rebraal’s smile faltered. ‘So this is only to be a brief meeting.’

  ‘The briefest. But worth the moment.’

  ‘So it is, my brother, so it is.’

  Rebraal reached out and touched Ilkar’s hands. Ilkar felt the faintest of physical contact but it was enough to last him eternity. With that touch the doorway opened for every surviving elf on Balaia and on Calaius. And in that same moment Ilkar was thrust back to the desperate now of Ulandeneth but this time with an answer shrieking for attention.

  Brothers fall. Grieve for their souls. Run hard. Strike back. Protect The Raven. Protect Sol.

  The pulses of thought ran around Ark’s head. The Protector line forged towards the Garonin forward position. They covered the short space quickly but the Garonin weapons were tearing his brothers apart. Behind Ark, the shield of the One mage was guttering. Garonin were waiting for it to fail. His brothers would die to keep them from her. From all who sheltered within it.

  They still ran four deep. The white tears smashed into them. To Ark’s immediate left his brother Kol took the full force of a weapon in his chest. His body was lifted and hurled backwards, scattering those in his wake. Multiple tracers of energy moving right to left, burning, gouging and blistering. Protectors fell soundlessly. Others stumbled, limbs shorn away. Wounds to torso and head brought down more. But the Protectors would not fold.

  Reform. Run on. Close the line. Strike.

  The Protectors broke across the Garonin. Ark exulted. He smashed his axe through the chest of the first enemy. He kicked the body aside. He thrust his sword deep into the gut of the next. Orn’s axe whipped across to block a weapon coming back up to fire. The voices were loud in his head.

  Duck low, jab up. Strike left, sword. Axe defence chest, Orn. Spin blade. Upper cut sword. Brother down. Body away. Fill. Drive axe forward, Pel. Pace up. Lower left flank block.