Dawnthief

by James Barclay

  “What's up?” Hirad turned to the Xeteskian.

  “I didn't really believe he'd go. I was trusting you to change his mind.”

  Hirad felt a chill through the warmth of the morning.

  “This is Raven business. It's his choice,” he said. “It's his right.”

  “No, it is not,” said Denser, his voice calm and cold. “We cannot take the risk of his capture. He cannot be allowed to leave.”

  “Don't do this, Denser,” urged Ilkar.

  Denser ignored Ilkar. “Reconsider.”

  Talon shook his head. “No.”

  At a signal from his Given, Sol snapped the axe from his back to the ready.

  “Reconsider,” Denser repeated.

  Another shake of the head.

  “You'd kill him?” Hirad's face darkened.

  Denser shrugged. “It's what Sol does best.”

  Hirad didn't even think about it. He covered the ground to Denser, locked an arm around his neck and pushed a dagger under his chin.

  “Reconsider,” he grated.

  Sol broke toward them, his movement measured, implacable.

  “Not another step, maskman, or this whole thing ends right now.”

  The point of Hirad's dagger drew blood. Sol stopped dead. “And don't even think about a spell. You aren't quick enough to beat me,” said Hirad into Denser's ear. He looked over at Talan. “Get out of here.” Talan nodded his thanks, spurred his horse and galloped away. “Like I said, it's Raven business.” He released Denser and sheathed his dagger. “Now you can either kill me or we can get on with our job.”

  “No purpose would be served by killing you,” said Denser, rubbing his neck.

  “I thought not. Let's go then.”

  Ilkar let out his breath, paused long enough to glare at Hirad and walked back toward the stables. Thraun and Will disappeared into the house. Erienne was still at the grave of her sons.

  Sol moved to stand at Denser's side, the cat now on the Protector's shoulder. All three stared at him.

  “What is it? Surprised I care that much?” Hirad's anger had not entirely left him. “You still don't understand us, do you, Denser? The few of us that are still alive. And though you are sworn to the Code, until you do, you will never be truly Raven.”

  “No,” said Denser. “I don't and I'm not, although I'm getting a better picture every day.” He paused. “You would really have killed me?”

  “It's what I do best.” Hirad smiled.

  “And handed Balaia and Dawnthief to the Wytch Lords.”

  “I will not let you use that as a weapon to dominate us. You had no right to stop Talan—”

  “I had every r—”

  “It was Raven business!” snapped Hirad. “I won't repeat myself again. Now I know you're important and I know we need to keep you alive. But if you pull another trick like that, I will stop you any way I can. And if that means we both die and Balaia with us, so be it.”

  Eventually, Denser nodded. “But you understand my fears.”

  “Of course. Ilkar shares them. But you should have spoken to us about them. Did you really think we were going to stand by and let your shadow chop down a member of The Raven?”

  Denser was silent for a time. He breathed in deeply.

  “In hindsight, no. Look, I wasn't thinking straight. We're in a lot of trouble—”

  “Ilkar's told me.”

  “—and I just saw it as one risk too many.” He paused. “I panicked. I'm sorry.”

  “Then it's forgotten.” Hirad accepted Denser's hand. “As long as he realises it was nothing personal.” He switched his gaze to Sol. Behind the mask, the eyes stared back, betraying no reaction.

  “He will not attempt to harm you unless you threaten my life,” said Denser.

  “I think we both know how to avoid that, don't we?” Hirad turned at a sound from the castle. Will and Thraun trotted out.

  “Fuses are lit,” said Will. “They'll burn for around four hours. I hope we can find a convenient hill to watch from.”

  “We'll see what we can do.” Hirad drew breath. “Raven! Mount up, let's go. The sun won't stop moving!” He paused to grab Denser's arm. “You'll see to Erienne?” Then he ran to his horse. Minutes later, the hiss and crackle of fuses was the only sound echoing around the stone walls of the Black Wings’ castle.

  The Raven rode along the trail from the castle for ten minutes before cutting away up a gentle incline into woodland. The ground was easy but rocks here and there dictated a measure of caution. It was three days’ ride to Dordover; an injury to a horse would add delay and time was something The Raven simply didn't have to waste.

  The first stop, earlier than Denser would have preferred, saw them on the slope of a hillside over three hours from the castle. Though not an ideal viewing point—the castle was partially obscured by both trees and distance—it was the best they could hope for and Will for one was not moving.

  “Something wrong, old friend?” asked Ilkar.

  Hirad looked away from the castle. “I was just working out how long it was since I had a drink and I'm not happy with the answer.”

  “It was in the ruins of Septern's house, wasn't it?”

  Hirad nodded.

  “Travers had a stock,” said Ilkar.

  “I'd rather drink the contents of my own bladder,” replied Hirad.

  “Very wise. It made a good antiseptic, though, so Talan said.”

  Hirad raised his eyebrows. “He'd better be all right,” he said. “I'm going to miss him, I think.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ilkar.

  “Are you surprised he's gone?”

  “Surprised and very disappointed. I really thought…you know, after four years…”

  “Yes, I know. And talking of being disappointed, I'm beginning to lose faith in this great firework display of Will's.” He turned to where Will was standing, hands on hips, a few yards away. “Hey, Will, any danger of this event of yours actually happening?”

  Will tensed and shot him a sharp glance. “Patience,” he said.

  “Smoke!” said Jandyr immediately, pointing and standing up.

  “Where?” asked Ilkar.

  “Front door, all around the cracks.”

  “Got it,” said Ilkar.

  “Where?” And as Hirad strained to see what was visible only to elven eyes, the front door and surrounding walls blew out. A huge tongue of flame lashed into the courtyard, bringing with it a cloud of debris and smoke, causing him to shudder at the unwelcome reminder of his escape from Sha-Kaan.

  The muffled thump of the first detonation reached them seconds later, moments before the two towers exploded in perfect synchronisation. One tore itself apart, collapsing inward. The other's force was concentrated upward, its ornately pointed top section spinning lazily into the air atop a plume of powdered masonry. Will shouted, delighted. Erienne burst into tears. Denser moved to her, held her and wiped dry her damp cheeks. She looked up at him and smiled.

  And then, with the castle wreathed in flames and smoke, Hirad patted Will on the back and hurried them on their way under Denser's anxious gaze.

  Understone.

  Once the focal point of trade and travel both east and west of the pass, the town had fallen first to disuse, then to disrepair, following the surrender of the pass to the Wesmen. All that remained was a poorly provisioned garrison of first-tour career soldiers paid for by the Korina Trade Alliance, though the parlous state of that organisation scarcely warranted the name, such was its fading reputation.

  Seventy-five men made up the total defence against incursion from the west, an incursion that none in the KTA believed would happen after the first five years of quiet.

  How times change. In the aftermath of Travers’ extraordinarily brave but ultimately doomed defence of the pass, Understone was fortified and garrisoned with three thousand men. With the entire eastern part of Balaia deemed under threat, no cost was too much in ensuring the Wesmen got no further than daylight the other side of the
pass. Temporary accommodation was built, and traders, prostitutes, entertainers and innkeepers saw their bestever years. But it didn't last. The Wesmen never attacked again. It seemed, after five years, that control of the pass and the tolls Tessaya could exact was the limit of their ambition.

  Why they took the pass was a question left unanswered at the time. In the years before the series of battles that led to Travers’ defeat, an uneasy peace had been maintained, allowing trade from the richer east to flow west, opening up new markets and developing new industries. But now nine years after the fall of the pass, the situation was unfortunately clear. The Wesmen had taken the pass as a precursor to the eventual return of the Wytch Lords.

  The town of Understone stood no more than four hundred yards from the thirty-feet-high by twenty-five-feet-wide open black arch that was the entrance to Understone Pass. To either side, the mountains spread up and away, rolling into hills and scrubland which stretched as far as the eye could see, north, east and south. It was a bleak but beautiful sight, the town standing squarely in the middle of a carved wagon trail, its tumbledown houses littering neighbouring hills or jostling for position on the inadequate flatter spaces away from the main street.

  It was bleaker still when the rains came, as they often did, clouds sweeping over the mountains on the prevailing wind to disgorge their contents on the hapless inhabitants below.

  Flooding, mudslides, subsidence, all had left their scars on the town, whose solution to the rains was a lattice of drainage trenches probing in all downhill directions. They had worked well but disrepair now limited their effectiveness and the floods had returned. The main street was ankle deep in a thick, clogging mud, its stench rising with the sun.

  The unannounced arrival of more than five hundred men and elves from the four Colleges caused panic in the small garrison. While a few stood in the way of the mounted force, most disappeared into buildings or ran shouting for their commanding officer. By the time he had dragged his way from an old inn, buttoning his tunic over his ample belly as he came thrashing through the mud, only twelve conscripts remained. It was pitiable.

  The garrison commander looked past General Ry Darrick at the long line of horsemen who filled his town's main street almost end to end. He looked at those of his men who had chosen to stand their ground and nodded his thanks before facing Darrick, who leaned forward in his saddle, not even honouring the man by dismounting.

  “And this is how you would face those who would take our lands,” said Darrick.

  The commander smiled. “No,” he replied. “Because those who would take our lands would hardly draw breath while slaughtering so small a garrison. Whom do I address?”

  “I am Darrick, General, Lystern cavalry. And you are Kerus, commander of the garrison standing at the gates of hell.”

  For a second time, Kerus frowned, gauging the meaning both of Darrick's words and of the weight of numbers behind him. Choosing to keep the rest of the conversation private, he walked through the mud to stand by Darrick's chestnut-brown mare.

  “General Darrick. What I have here are seventy-five men, none of whom is above nineteen. They have been sent here to patrol the area outside the pass and to deal with any raiders who might come through. They were never expected to repel an invading army because no army will ever come through the pass. And now, I must ask you, what is your business in Understone?”

  “Preparing to repel the invading army that you say doesn't exist. I have five thousand foot two days behind me.”

  “Perhaps we had better talk in my quarters,” said Kerus.

  “Perhaps we had.”

  It was late afternoon. Will had the wood burner firing and a pot of water bubbled on top of it. No light could be seen.

  “I'm astonished, frankly,” said Denser. “We didn't meet another soul. How likely is that?” He, Ilkar and Hirad had walked away a few yards to talk. Jandyr and Thraun were seeing to the horses and Erienne had already put her head down to sleep.

  “He's a good tracker, I'll give him that,” said Hirad.

  “Good! It's hardly desolate out here. We didn't even hear anyone. It's extraordinary.”

  “Not only that, half the time we didn't hear him ourselves,” agreed Ilkar.

  “All right. Meeting of the Thraun appreciation society closed,” said Hirad. “What about Dordover?”

  Denser gestured for Ilkar to speak.

  “It's the largest of the College Cities. It is more closely linked to Xetesk than Julatsa and has a history of allegiance with Denser's lot, although they now barely talk. It wouldn't make our job any easier if they did. One thing you have to understand is that the colleges guard their lore more jealously than any other possession. What we are about to steal is part of Dordover's lore.”

  “So it'll be protected.”

  “Yes, but not by people. Spells,” said Ilkar. “That's our problem. Wards, alarms, traps, all coded. If the wrong person moves in their sphere, they'll be triggered.”

  “So how?” asked Hirad.

  “Our only choice, unfortunately, is Erienne,” said Denser.

  “Why unfortunately?”

  “Because we shouldn't be asking her to take such a direct part in this theft. She's already torn apart by losing her sons. I wonder whether this might not be one thing too many for her to take.”

  “I know,” said Hirad. “But if she's only telling us what to do…”

  “You misunderstand,” said Denser. “She'll have to go in.”

  “So we're talking of sending Will and Thraun into this place in the company of a woman who's out of her mind with grief and was schooled just around the corner, to steal a ring which is central to her beliefs.”

  “That is a very accurate summary,” said Denser.

  “Do they know she's coming?” asked Hirad.

  “Yes, of course,” said Denser. “Just one more thing. There's to be no killing, Erienne will not stand for it.”

  “Want me to lop their hands off too?”

  “Sorry, Hirad.”

  “Let's hope we're not all sorry before tomorrow.” He moved away and called to Thraun before turning back. “So before we met Erienne, what was the plan?”

  Ilkar and Denser exchanged a glance and the cat raised its head.

  “It is possible to subvert weaker minds remotely, given time,” replied Denser.

  “Believe me, you don't want to know the details,” said Ilkar.

  Hirad nodded and walked over to the stove.

  Styliann rattled his glass back on to the table, his eyes blazing, his face colouring red in the lantern light of his study.

  “The Protectors are under my direct control. No one assigns a Protector without my prior authorisation. Not even you.”

  “But the situation, my Lord…” began Nyer.

  “Should have been discussed with me,” said Styliann. “I do not like the flouting of my authority. And I particularly do not like your choice of Protector.”

  “Sol is extremely capable.”

  “You know precisely what I am talking about,” snapped Styliann. “You will recall him at once.”

  Nyer dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded his head. “Naturally, my Lord. If that is your wish.”

  “Damn you, Nyer, I don't know!” said Styliann. He poured the older man a drink. “What has got into you? You always discuss such matters with me. Always.”

  “You were in conference at Triverne Lake. I felt a decision had to be made.”

  Styliann considered and nodded. “Very well. Let the Protector stay. At least until after Dordover. But keep me closely informed of progress. I want a full account of all communions and I would hate to have to employ TruthTell to be sure you were telling me everything.”

  Nyer recoiled as if slapped, but recovered to smile. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said. “Selyn is well?”

  “Considering the invading armies of the Wesmen trampled her toes on the way to Understone, yes.” Styliann sucked his lip nervously.

  “Sh
e'll make it, you know.”

  “Thank you for your thoughts.” The Lord of the Mount rang the bell by the fire. “I need to rest. Please don't work behind my back again.” His expression was bleak. Nyer left in response to the opening of the door. Styliann sighed. He wouldn't have believed it of Nyer, he really wouldn't.

  Erienne, with a few brief words to Denser and a squeeze of his hand, left the camp well before sundown alongside Thraun and Will. Unlike Xetesk, Dordover was not a closed city and the trio rode through the gates under the disinterested gaze of the west gate guards two hours later.

  “I couldn't bear to go back to the house,” said Erienne when they were seated at a table downstairs from the rooms they had taken for the night at a quiet inn near the College.

  “I understand,” said Thraun. “When this is over, we'll sort the place out for you.”

  Erienne nodded her thanks, tears again threatening behind the sunken, dark-ringed eyes in her pale face. “So many memories, so much happiness. And now…” She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the table, pushing her hair back over her ears.

  “We'll help you through this,” said Will. “We'll always be here for you.”

  Erienne reached out a hand and squeezed Will's arm. She breathed in and composed herself. “Now listen,” she said. “Although Dordover is far more open than somewhere like Xetesk, the College has strict rules concerning visitors. You're not allowed in the College grounds after full dark, so please, take my lead and try not to say too much.”

  “Will you be recognised?” asked Thraun.

  “I expect so, near the College anyway. I spent a lot of years here, after all.”

  Food and drink arrived at the table.

  “Let's eat,” said Erienne. “Then we need to get out to the College. We won't gain entry after dark.”

  The College itself consisted of a group of ten or so buildings arranged in a rough circle around the “Tower.” That the Tower looked nothing like its name suggested it should was something Will was quick to point out.

  The trio were walking up to the single gate of the walled-in college, and the Tower, in actuality a twin-winged four-storey mansion house, lay directly ahead of them.

  “There used to be a tower before the College was formalised as a centre of excellence in magic,” explained Erienne. “It was the done thing about four hundred years ago, I think, but completely impractical. When the College developed around it, the Tower was eventually demolished to make way for the house. Only Xetesk retains towers. They've got seven, and that's a reflection of the College hierarchy's thinking.” She couldn't quite keep the sneer from her voice. “Everyone else has moved with the times.”