Dawnthief

by James Barclay

  “All right then. Why didn't you kill me?”

  “Because your reaction in putting up your sword set you as different from other men I have encountered. It made you interesting, and very few humans are interesting.”

  “If you say so. So what are you doing here?”

  “Resting. Recovering. I am safe here.”

  Hirad frowned. “Safe from what?” The Dragon shifted. Moving its hind feet slightly further apart, it placed its head on the floor once more and stared deep into Hirad's eyes, blinking slowly.

  “My world is at war. We are devastating our lands and there is no end in sight. When we need to recover our strength we use safe havens like this.”

  “And where exactly is this?” Hirad's gaze took in the high roof and the scale of the chamber.

  “At least you have the sense to know you are not in your own dimension.”

  “I've no idea what you're talking about with dimensions. I'm sorry. All I know is that Taranspike Castle does not have a room this size.”

  The Dragon chuckled again. “So simple. If only you knew the effort it took for you to stand here.” It lifted its head slightly and shook it from side to side, closing its eyes. It spoke again without opening them. “The moment you left Seran's chambers, you entered a robing room. That room is not placed in any one dimension, neither is this chamber nor the prayer chamber you also must have seen. If you like, this is a corridor between dimensions, yours and mine. Its existence is reliant on the fabric of your dimension remaining intact.” Now the head raced in again, the Dragon's wings bracing slightly to compensate for the sudden movement. “My Brood serve as protectors for your world, keeping you from the attentions of enemy Broods and withholding from you that which should never have been created.”

  “Why do you bother?”

  “Do not think it is for any liking of your insignificant peoples. Very few of you are worthy of our respect. It is simply that if we allowed you the means to destroy yourselves and you succeeded in so doing, we would lose our haven forever. That is also why the door to your world is kept closed. Other Broods might otherwise choose to travel here to rule.”

  Hirad thought on that for a moment. “So what you're saying is that you hold the future for all of us.”

  The Dragon raised the bone ridges that served as its eyebrows. “That is certainly one conclusion you could reach. Now—what is your name?”

  “Hirad Coldheart.”

  “And I am Sha-Kaan. You are strong, Hirad Coldheart. I was right to spare you and speak to you and I will know you again. But now I must have rest. Take your companions and go. The entrance will be sealed behind you. You will never find me again, though I may find you. As for Seran, I will have to find another to serve me. I have no time for a Dragonene who cannot secure my sanctuary.”

  It took the barbarian several heartbeats to take in what he had just heard and he still didn't believe it. “You're letting me go?”

  “Why not?”

  “Run. Hirad. Run now.”

  The Dragon's head swept from the floor at speed, eyes ablaze, searching for the source of the new sound. But Denser remained invisible. Hirad hesitated.

  “Run!” Denser shouted, the voice some way to Hirad's left.

  The barbarian looked up at Sha-Kaan and their eyes met for an instant. He saw raw fury. “Oh, no,” he breathed. The Dragon broke eye contact to look down at its right hind foot. Hirad turned and ran.

  “NO!” Now Sha-Kaan's voice was there for all to hear, and it echoed from the walls. “Give back what you have taken from me!”

  “Over here!” shouted Denser, and as Hirad glanced right, the mage appeared briefly some thirty paces right along the wall from the double doors. The Dragon cocked its head and breathed in his direction, fire scorching a wall, rolling up to the ceiling and incinerating wood and tapestry, but Denser had already disappeared. An oppressive wave of heat washed over Hirad. He stumbled, crying out, gasping momentarily for breath, the roar of the flame and its detonation in the air shaking him to his core. The entire hall seemed to be ablaze; the sweat beaded on his face. Through the smoke and burning threads of tapestry he saw The Unknown appear at the door, holding it open for him. A shadow passed through it and then he heard the Dragon rise to its feet. The Unknown paled visibly.

  “Run, Hirad. Run!” he screamed. The Dragon took a pace forward, and then another, Hirad feeling the ground shudder beneath its feet.

  “Bring back what you have stolen!” it boomed. Hirad made the door.

  “Close it!” shouted The Unknown. He and Sirendor leant their weights against it. “Go, go!” They scrambled for the doors into the central chamber. Ilkar and Denser sprinted away with Sirendor in close pursuit. Sha-Kaan breathed again and the huge double doors exploded inward, fragmenting, sending wood and metal against the walls to splinter, twist and smoulder. The shock sent Hirad sprawling and he crashed into the wall that backed the unlit fireplace, burning shards of wood covering the floor and his boots, the intense heat suffocating him. He lay confused for a second, seeing nothing but flame, then looked straight at Sha-Kaan as the Dragon drew more air into its lungs, its head thrust through the wreckage of the crested doors.

  The barbarian closed his eyes, waiting for the end, but a hand reached round and grabbed his collar, hauling him to his feet and through the right-hand of the two doors into the central chamber. The Unknown dragged him under the overhang of the fire grate as twin lances of flame seared through the openings, one to either side of them, disintegrating wood and howling away toward the opposite wall, melting the metal of the Dragonene crest above the fire to the right.

  “Come on, Hirad. It's time to leave,” said the big warrior, and he pushed Hirad toward the exit passage after the rest of the retreating party.

  “Bring back the amulet!” roared Sha-Kaan. “Hirad Coldheart, bring back the amulet!” Hirad hesitated again, but The Unknown shoved him into the passage as another burst of flame lashed the large chamber, its pulse of heat stealing breath and singeing hair.

  “Quickly!” shouted Sirendor from up ahead. “The exit is closing. We can't hold it.”

  The two men upped their pace, tearing down the passageway and into the robing room. Another roll of flame boiled into the prayer chamber, its tendrils lashing down the passage, licking at Hirad's back, the heat crinkling leather. Down the short entry tunnel Hirad could see Ilkar, arms outstretched, sweating in the light of a lantern as whatever spell he had cast kept the door at bay. But as he ran, he could see it inching closed. Ilkar sighed and closed his eyes.

  “He's losing it!” yelled Denser. “He's losing it. Run faster!” The door was sliding closed, the mage's bedroom disappearing with every step. Sha-Kaan's howls were loud in their ears. The Unknown and Hirad made it through, bowling Ilkar on to the floor as they did so. The door closed with a dull thud and the Dragon's voice was silenced.

  Ilkar, Hirad and The Unknown picked themselves up and dusted themselves off. The barbarian nodded his thanks to the big man, who in turn nodded at the now closed entrance. There was nothing, no mark in the wall at all to suggest that there had ever been a door there.

  “We were in another dimension. I knew the proportions were all wrong in there.”

  “Not exactly another dimension,” corrected Ilkar. “Between dimensions is more accurate, I think.” He kneeled by the prone mage. “Well, well, well. Seran a Dragonene.” He felt for a pulse. “Dead, I'm afraid.”

  “And he won't be the only one.” Hirad turned on Denser. “You should have run while you had the chance.” He advanced, sword in hand, but Denser merely shrugged and continued to stroke the cat in his arms.

  “Hirad.” The Unknown's voice was quiet but commanding. The barbarian stopped, eyes still locked on Denser. “The fight is over. If you kill him now, it's murder.”

  “His little adventure killed Ras. It might have killed me, too. He—”

  “Remember who you are, Hirad. We have a code.” The Unknown was standing at his shoulder now
. “We are The Raven.”

  Eventually, Hirad nodded and put up his sword.

  “Besides,” said Ilkar. “He's got a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I saved your life,” said Denser, frowning. Hirad was on him in a moment, pinning his head to the wall with a forearm under the chin. The cat hissed and scrambled to safety.

  “Saved my life?” The barbarian's face was inches from Denser's. “That's your phrase for having me all but burned to a crisp, is it? The Unknown saved my life after you risked it. You ought to die for that alone.”

  “How—” protested the mage. “I got its attention to let you run!”

  “But there was no need, was there?” Hirad grunted as he saw confusion in Denser's eyes. “It was letting me go, Xetesk man.” Hirad stepped back a pace, releasing the mage, who felt his neck gingerly. “You risked my life just to steal. I hope it was worth it.” He turned to the rest of The Raven.

  “I don't know why I'm wasting my breath on this bastard. We have a Vigil to observe.”

  Alun shoved the note across the table, his hands shaking. More hands covered his, they were strong and comforting.

  “Try to be calm, Alun, at least we know they are alive, so we have a chance.”

  Alun looked into the face of his friend, Thraun, whose powerful body was squeezed in on the other side of the table. Thraun was huge, better than six feet in height, with massively powerful shoulders and upper body. His heavy features sprang from a young face and his shining-clean blond hair was gathered in a ponytail which reached halfway to his waist. He was regarding Alun with his yellow-ringed deep green eyes, earnest and concerned.

  He flicked his head, the ponytail swishing briefly into view, and looked around the inn. It was busy with lunchtime traffic and the noise of the patrons ebbed and flowed around them. Tables were scattered around the timbered floor, and here and there, booths like the one in which they sat gave an element of privacy.

  “What does it say, Will?” Thraun's voice, as deep and gravelled as his barrel chest might suggest, cut through Alun's misery. He removed his hands from Alun's. Will sat next to him, a small man, wiry, bright-eyed and black-bearded, thinning on top. Will pulled at his nose with thumb and forefinger, his brows arrowing together as he read.

  “Not a lot. ‘Your mage wife has been taken for questioning concerning the activities of the Dordovan College. She will be released unharmed assuming she cooperates. As will your sons. There will be no further communication.’”

  “So we know where she is, then,” said the third member of the trio whom Alun had enlisted. An elf, Jandyr was young, with a long and slender face, clear blue oval eyes and a short tidy blond beard that matched the colour of his cropped hair.

  “Yes, we do,” agreed Thraun. “And we know how far we can trust the words on that note.” He licked his lips and shovelled another forkful of meat into his mouth.

  “You've got to help me!” Alun's eyes flicked desperately over them all, never coming to rest. Thraun looked right and across. Both Will and Jandyr inclined their heads.

  “We'll do it,” said Thraun, through his chewing. “And we'll have to be quick. The chances of him releasing them are very slim.” Alun nodded.

  “You really think so?” asked Will.

  “The boys are mage twins,” said Thraun. “They will be powerful and they are Dordovan. Alun will tell you himself, when they've finished with Erienne, they will probably kill them. We have to get them out.” He looked back at Alun. “It won't be cheap.”

  “Whatever it costs, I don't care.”

  “Of course, I'll work for nothing,” said Thraun.

  “No, my friend, you won't.” A half smile cracked Alun's face. Tears glinted in his eyes. “I just want them home.”

  “And home they will be. Now,” Thraun rose, “I'm taking you home. You rest, we'll plan, and I'll be back later in the day.”

  Thraun helped Alun from the bench and the two men walked slowly from the inn.

  Richmond and Talan had moved Ras's body to a quiet chamber carved out of the mountain into which the castle was built. Candles burned next to him, one for each point of the compass. His face was clean and shaven, his armour sewn and washed, his arms lay by his sides and his sword in its scabbard was laid along his body from his chin to his thighs.

  Richmond did not look up from his kneeling position as Hirad, Sirendor, The Unknown and Ilkar entered. Talan, standing by the door, inclined his head to each of them as they passed him.

  Ranged around the central table on which Ras lay, The Raven, heads bowed, paid their respects to their fallen friend. Each man remembered. Each man grieved. But only two spoke.

  As the candles burned low, Richmond stood and resheathed his sword.

  “My soul I pledge to your memory. I am yours to command from beyond the veil of death. When you call I shall answer. While I breathe, these are my promises.” His last was a bitter whisper. “I wasn't there. I am sorry.” He looked to The Unknown, who nodded and moved to the table, walking around it. Beginning at Ras's head, he snuffed the candles as he reached them.

  “By north, by east, by south, by west. Though you are gone, you will always be Raven and we shall always remember. The Gods will smile on your soul. Fare well in whatever faces you now and ever.”

  Again silence, but now in darkness.

  Denser remained in Seran's chambers. The dead mage was lying on his bed under a sheet. For his part, Denser couldn't work out why he was still alive, but he was grateful. The whole of Balaia would be grateful, but no City would be breathing easier than Xetesk that the barbarian had been stopped.

  The cat nuzzled his legs. Denser sagged down the wall and sat.

  “I wonder if this really is it,” said Denser, turning the amulet over and over in his hands. “I think it is but I have to know.” The cat gazed into his eyes. No clue there. “The question is, do we have the strength to do it?” The cat jumped into his cloak, nestling into the warmth of Denser's body.

  It fed.

  “Yes,” said Denser. “Yes, we do.” He closed his eyes and felt the mana form around him. This would be difficult but he had to know. A communion over such a distance was a strain on mind and body. Knowledge and glory would come at a price if they came at all.

  They buried Ras outside the castle walls, branding the ground with The Raven mark; a simple profile of the bird's head, single eye enlarged and wing curved above the head.

  All but Richmond left the graveside, tired and hungry. For the lone warrior, kneeling in the cool damp of a windy, moonless night, the Vigil would last until dawn.

  Sitting at a table in the huge kitchens, Ilkar described the events through the dimension door to Talan. It was only then that Hirad started to shake.

  Picking up his mug of coffee from the table, he stared at it wobbling in his hands, liquid slopping out over his fingers.

  “You all right?” asked Sirendor.

  “I'm not sure,” said Hirad. “I don't think so.” He raised the mug to his lips but couldn't close his mouth on it. The coffee dribbled down his chin. His heart slammed in his chest and his pulse thumped in his neck. Sweat began to prickle his forehead and dampen his armpits. Images of Sha-Kaan's head flooded his mind. That and the fire all around him, hemming him in. He could feel the heat again and it made his palms itch. He dropped the mug.

  “Gods in the ground, Hirad, what's wrong?” Sirendor's voice betrayed alarm. The barbarian half smiled. He must look as terrified as he felt. “You need to lie down.”

  “Give me a moment,” said Hirad. “I don't think my legs'll carry me anyway.” He glanced around the table. They were all staring at him, their food forgotten. He shrugged. “I didn't even believe they existed,” he said in explanation. “So big. So…so huge. And right here!” He put a quivering palm in front of his face. “Too powerful. I can't—” He broke off, shuddering the length of his body. Plates and cutlery on the table rattled. Tears fogged his vision and he felt his heart trip-hammering. He swallowed hard.
r />   “What did it talk about?” asked Ilkar.

  “Loud. He thundered in my head,” said Hirad. “He talked about dimensions and portals and he wanted to know what I was doing. Huh. Funny…that huge and he cared what I was doing. Me. I'm so small but he called me strong.” He shivered again. “He said he'd know me. He had my life. He could have crushed me just like that. Snuffed me out. Why didn't he? I wish I could remember everything.”

  “Hirad, you're mumbling,” said Sirendor. “I think we should leave this for another time.”

  “Sorry, I think I'll lie down now, if you'll help me.”

  “Sure thing, old friend.” Sirendor smiled. He pushed back the bench and helped Hirad to shaky feet.

  “Gods. I feel like I've been sick for a week.”

  “You've been sick all your life.”

  “Sod off, Larn.”

  “I would, but you'd fall over.”

  “Make sure he drinks plenty of hot, sweet liquid,” said The Unknown as the friends shambled past. “Nothing alcoholic.”

  “Is the Xetesk mage still here?” asked Hirad. The Unknown nodded.

  “In Seran's chambers,” said Ilkar. “Asleep. Hardly surprising after the casting he's done today. He won't be leaving until I've spoken to him.”

  “You should have let me kill him.”

  The Unknown smiled. “You know I couldn't.”

  “Yes. Come on, Larn, or I'll collapse where I'm standing.”

  The two men sat in low chairs either side of a fire long dead. Night hurried to engulf the College City of Xetesk and, in response, lanterns glowed, keeping the dark at bay and lighting up the massed shelves of books that stood at every wall in the small study. On a desk kept meticulously tidy, a single candle burned above the ribboned and titled sheaves of papers.

  Far below the study, the College quietened. Late lectures took place behind closed doors, spells were honed and adjusted in the armoured chambers of the catacombs, but the air outside was still.

  Beyond the walls of the College, Xetesk still moved, but as full night fell, that movement would cease. The City existed to serve the College, and the College had in the past exacted a heavy price for its own existence. Inns would lock their doors, patrons staying until first light; shops and businesses feeding off those who fed off the College would shutter their windows. Houses would show no light or welcome.