Dawnthief

by James Barclay

  Above the rushing sound, hoofbeats, and Denser broke cover.

  “Go, go,” he yelled, and plunged off after the wolf. Erienne galloped through, holding an arm in front of her face to ward off branches, and behind her came Jandyr and a riderless horse, followed by Sol with the body of Will across his saddle. None of them paused in their flight.

  Hirad fought his horse in desperate circles as it champed and kicked, too scared to run in any direction. And then as it slowed to a stop, quivering before bolting, Hirad looked into the light and saw what the rushing sound was. Fire. Moving toward him, engulfing tree, bush and grass faster than a man could run.

  “Oh, dear God!” He hauled on the reins and jabbed his heels in hard. The horse responded. Into the fire was certain death. At least following the wolf gave them a chance.

  And as he began to gallop into the forest, Hirad couldn't shake the vision of the wolf from his mind. If they weren't chasing it, there was only one reason why they should be following it, and that reason made Hirad's stomach lurch.

  Ilkar drew to Erienne's side as they exited the forest a few hundred yards from the clearing. He'd lost sight of Hirad and could barely hear the other horses he knew were around him, the roar of the FlameOrb was so loud. That it was a type of FlameOrb he had no doubt. How they'd managed to create one so big and powerful was another matter.

  “When will it burn out?” he yelled at Erienne.

  “The forest is fuelling it, it won't reach far past the borders.”

  “How did they do it?”

  “ManaStack. It's a cooperative spell casting. I knew they were working on it but I had no idea they'd applied it to the FlameOrb. It's very draining, they'll all be spent who cast it.”

  “Then why are we still running?” asked Ilkar.

  Erienne began to rein in and, further ahead, could see that Denser had reached the same conclusion. In fifty yards, the dash was over and, horses wheeled, they lined up to see the FlameOrb spend itself at the edge of the forest.

  “Where is he?” whispered Ilkar. “Where is he?” The yellow bloom of the FlameOrb grew as it thrashed toward them. Above it, a thick cloud of woodsmoke cluttered the night sky, obscuring the stars. On the grassland in front of the tree line, the shadows lengthened at a frightening pace as the flames demolished an area of woodland easily seventy yards across. With a great whoosh it broke clear of the confines of the trees and expired in the open air, and as the last flame faded to orange and disappeared, Ilkar saw a single silhouetted figure on horseback, riding hard toward them.

  The elf let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and his face cracked into a grin. He looked across the line of horses, caught Denser's eye and nodded. Denser raised his eyebrows.

  “Not easy to lose, is he?” he said.

  “No,” agreed Ilkar. His face hardened. “Right, Erienne, what can we expect now?”

  “The casting mages will be spent but there may be others. There were certainly some soldiers in the pack. No doubt they'll be behind the flame.”

  “And not far behind it,” said Jandyr. “Look.” Ilkar followed his hand and saw seven or eight people running out of the forest. And, skimming the trees, a pair of mages.

  “Damn,” said Ilkar. “Can we outrun them?” Erienne shrugged her shoulders. Hirad pulled up, his face red with exertion, his horse shaking all over.

  “Too close,” he said. “Too bloody close.”

  “It's not over yet. We've got ten to deal with,” said Ilkar.

  Hirad turned his body and stared behind him, squinting slightly into the half-light from the stars and the fires still burning in the forest. He slid off his horse. “We'll take them here.”

  “We've got two mages in the sky,” said Ilkar.

  Hirad shrugged. “So shield us. You're the best there is.” He looked right and left. All but Sol were still on their horses. Gods, he'd have to drill them. The Raven would have been in skirmish formation by now. If they weren't all dead. Sol was already striding forward, unhitching his sword as he went. At least someone knew what was going on.

  “Jandyr, to Sol's left. I'll take the right. Where's Thraun?”

  “No time to explain, but—”

  “He's a shapechanger. Gods alive!” said Hirad. He pushed the knowledge from his mind. “We can do it with three swords. How many of them are there?”

  “Eight swords, two spells.” Ilkar began readying the shield. “Either of you two know HardShield?”

  “I can't cast,” said Denser, drawing his sword.

  “Yes,” said Erienne.

  “Good. Get it over our heads, I can sort the magical attacks. Denser, put your sword up and go away with the horses. Send Thraun back if you see him.” Ilkar locked eyes with the Xeteskian for a moment. The latter put up his blade, whistled to his horse and trotted away behind them.

  Thirty yards and closing Hirad felt a double surge as the magical and hard shields went up around them. Jandyr loosed off an arrow, taking down one man. He thought to try another, but they were closing too fast. The enemy mages landed to cast; a spell clattered against the shield, flashing orange as it died.

  Hirad breathed deep and roared to clear his head. Just like the old days except they weren't so old. The enemy were splitting, trying to flank them. He glanced over at Sol. The masked man stared straight ahead, taking in the scene, concentration so complete it could almost be felt. Just like…Hirad became aware of a sound and looked to the ground in front of Sol. The Protector was tapping the tip of his blade rhythmically against the ground. Hirad almost dropped his, clutching it as the nerves returned to his muscles. Just like the old days.

  “Unknown!” he shouted. Sol turned to him, and there, in his eyes, was the unmistakable flicker of recognition.

  “Fight,” he said, his voice laden with sorrow.

  “But…” began Hirad.

  “Fight,” said Sol again. From nowhere, Thraun smashed into the enemy's left flank and battle was joined.

  Nothing could stop Hirad. No one could stand in his way and he almost felt sorrow for the hapless Dordovan soldiers as they were systematically destroyed. His heart was full of joy, the back of his mind full of confusion, but his fighting brain was irresistible.

  As the first man went down under Thraun's jaws, the enemy strategy fell to pieces. Hirad battered the nearest skull, while beside him the big man slaughtered two without even moving his feet. Sensing Jandyr holding his own, Hirad strode forward, slitting the stomach of one, parrying a blow from a second then slicing his sword through the attacker's hamstrings as he was forced around. The two remaining men turned and fled, their mages close behind them.

  “Shield down,” said Ilkar, staring at Sol. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Hirad, his face alight. He wiped his bloodied blade on one of his victims and resheathed it. “Ilkar, it's him! I don't know how, I don't care, but it's him!”

  “Please, Hirad,” implored Ilkar. “This isn't the time.”

  “What do you mean?” The smile was fading from Hirad's lips.

  “Just bear with me. We have to get away from here first, then we can talk.” Ilkar started walking in the direction of Denser. The elf could see the Xeteskian's face and knew at once that he had no idea of Sol's former identity.

  “Hang on.” Hirad tugged at Ilkar's shoulder. “Has this got something to do with him being a Protector?”

  Ilkar stopped and faced him. “Everything.” He held up a hand against Hirad's next utterance. “And Denser knew nothing. He has no say over the choice. Please, let's go.” He was moving again, leaving Hirad to throw his arms up. Thraun loped by.

  “And what about him?” demanded Hirad. “How are we supposed to deal with him?”

  “He won't harm you,” said Jandyr. “Please let him be.”

  “You can't just…” began Hirad. Sol strode past him. “Unknown, please!” Sol didn't falter. “Will someone tell me what is going on!” Hirad shouted.

  “Later,” s
aid Ilkar.

  “Now.”

  “No, Hirad, we can't stay here. The Dordovans will be back. We've got to find a place to hide.” Ilkar jabbed a finger at Denser. “This may not be your doing but have you any idea what Xetesk has just uncorked? I cannot believe that even they could be so stupid!” He shook his head.

  “Neither can I,” said Denser. Hirad saw him look at Sol, close his eyes and rub a hand over his face. “Neither can I.”

  Hirad stood it for half an hour as they rode hard away from Dordover, heading for the Blackthorne Mountains. And when he could take it no more, he drove them off the trail and into some low hills, stopping in the lee of a crag, completely hidden by the road.

  He watched in silence as Sol helped the now conscious Will off his horse. The thief sat down, looking at no one, taking in nothing, staring inside of himself. Jandyr walked across and sat next to him, trying to get through, but there was no reaction. Sol walked away a few paces and sat down himself, stroking the Familiar, while Erienne moved to Denser. Thraun trotted away into the gloom and disappeared.

  “First things first,” said Hirad. “The Unknown.”

  “Is it him?” asked Denser. He was filling his pipe, standing in between Ilkar and Hirad.

  “Shouldn't I be asking you that question?” asked Ilkar.

  “I don't know.”

  “It's him. Tell me how it's him, how he's not dead and tell me why there's a problem, because you two obviously think there is.” Hirad looked across at Sol again. “Gods, I don't know why there should be. The Unknown coming back could make all the difference.” He smiled briefly. “Well?”

  Denser breathed deep. “I may as well tell you. I knew The Unknown was a Protector. That night after we'd buried him, I was on watch. I heard the demons taking his soul.”

  “And you didn't see fit to let us know?” Ilkar was stunned.

  “What would have been the point?” snapped Denser. “You were in bad enough shape as it was. All I'd have done was ruin your memory of him by claiming him as a native Xeteskian who'd denied his lineage. I mean, do you think you would have believed me?”

  “No, probably not,” said Hirad after a time. “But if you knew…”

  “Never in my wildest dreams did I think he'd be assigned to me. If I'd thought so for one moment I'd never have accepted him.”

  “Not good enough, eh?”

  “Hirad!” warned Ilkar.

  “What does it matter anyway?” asked Hirad, moving away a little and gesturing at Sol. “Let's get that ridiculous mask off and get on with it.” Silence. “What?”

  “Hirad, I can't take the mask off him,” said Denser.

  “Well, I'll do it then.”

  “No!” Denser voice rose to a shout. He quietened it instantly. “No. You don't understand. If the mask comes off, he'll be destroyed. Eternally.” He chewed nervously at his unlit pipe and took it back out of his mouth. “If you say that The Unknown's mind is in Sol's body, then I believe you. But you must realise that he is no longer The Unknown Warrior. He's changed. He's a Protector, he's Sol. There's nothing I can do.”

  “You can change him back, that's what you can do.” Hirad's face was stone.

  “He can't, Hirad,” said Ilkar. “That's not The Unknown, not any more.”

  “No? He recognised me, Ilkar. Didn't you see?”

  “He what?” Ilkar leaned forward.

  “He knew me. I called him and he knew me.” Hirad shook his head. “He tapped his blade before he fought. No one else does that.” Hirad's voice was edged with desperation. “It's him. It can't be anyone else.”

  Ilkar turned on Denser. “Got an explanation for that? I understood that all life memories were blanked.” Denser stared at the ground. “Tell me that's true,” demanded the elf. “Tell me.” Denser looked up and held his gaze, his eyes moist. He shook his head. “Oh, no,” breathed Ilkar. He fell back a pace and turned to where Sol—The Unknown Warrior—sat, his mask facing them. He could all but taste the big man's desolation. “Gods, Unknown. I am so sorry.”

  “Ilkar, please?” Hirad put a hand on his shoulder.

  “He remembers everything,” said Ilkar. “Don't you see? He remembers The Raven, The Rookery, all our fights, all those years. His whole life! And he can't ever speak of it or acknowledge it. Ever.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He's in thrall, Hirad. His soul is held by the Mount of Xetesk. If he steps out of line, they will make what he's going through now seem like a Raven party. He'll be dying for eternity.”

  Hirad let what Ilkar had said sink in. He walked slowly over to The Unknown and squatted in front of him, gazing deep into his eyes. And there he could see the lifetime of pain and loneliness that lay ahead. Mapped out in those orbs was all that had gone before. Everything. But it was locked away. Lost behind a mask of Xeteskian domination.

  “I'm going to get you out of there, Unknown.” Hirad stood up and stalked back to Denser, not seeing the single shake of the masked head behind him.

  “Never mind that it's The Unknown,” spat Ilkar. “You knew what he was going through by the mere fact that he was a Protector.”

  “I know! I can't reverse three thousand years of calling. Do you think I want this?” Denser gestured at The Unknown and searched the faces of Hirad and Ilkar. “I can't begin to make you understand how sorry I am. Please understand that I never wanted this.”

  “You know, I'm tired of your apologies, Denser.” Hirad moved in, menacing. “Everything bad that's happened to The Raven has happened because of you. And not just all my friends who have died on your behalf. All those times when you—” he prodded Denser in the chest—“you could have killed the rest of us. It's all down to you, this mess, and I've had it. Until you help The Unknown, I'm no longer with you, can you understand that?”

  Denser removed his pipe from his mouth “I realise this is difficult, but I really…”

  “But nothing, Denser!” Hirad pushed Denser away, the mage stumbling backward but keeping his footing. “Through the rip, you risked everything because you were curious. You were going to kill Talan because he couldn't handle it—make The Unknown kill him. With Sha-Kaan, you risked my life without even blinking, and just now you chanced the lives of four people because your precious cat was in trouble, not to mention mine and Ilkar's in your haste to get away.”

  “I don't think you're being quite fair.”

  “Quite fair? It's all down to your mistakes, your haste and your pig headed arrogance that we're this deep in trouble. I told you to leave it to The Raven but you always had to do it your own way. I told you we survived by being a team but you wouldn't listen. And now,” Hirad moved in again, his nose right at Denser's, “now the final insult. Him.” He pointed behind him at The Unknown. “You're telling us you have to leave him in hell and yet you still expect us to ride with you?”

  “There's nothing I can do.” Denser shrugged.

  Hirad snapped, grabbed him by the collar and hauled him almost off his feet. “I'll tell you what you can do, Xetesk man. You can commune with your masters and you can tell them that until they release my friend from thrall it's all over. No Dawnthief, no victory. Reckon you can tell them that?”

  “Let me go, Hirad.”

  “Reckon you can tell them that?” Hirad repeated, barking his words, spittle flying into Denser's face.

  “It'll make no difference. They won't release him.”

  Hirad looked over at Sol, sorrow swamping his anger in an instant. “Try. Please?” His voice, suddenly quiet and imploring, was backed by his eyes, searching Denser's, desperate and pleading. He let the Dark Mage go. “This is my friend. You have to do something.”

  Denser wanted to tell him that this wasn't his friend. That he was a Xeteskian fighting machine, a man with natural magical defence and strength augmented by the weight of all the Protectors whose souls resided in the catacombs of Xetesk. A being with no mind but to defend his master. A man quite without emotion or fear. A man whose abi
lity in a fight was increased the more Protectors were around him. That he was no longer The Unknown Warrior.

  Instead, he nodded. He couldn't do anything else. And he needed to find out for himself just why Nyer had sent him this Protector amongst the hundreds in the College. And why Styliann had approved the assignment. Something wasn't quite right, and Nyer needed to understand the strength of feeling that bound The Raven together.

  “I will commune in the morning, the moment I have recovered my strength,” he said.

  Hirad nodded his thanks. “I mean it,” said the barbarian. “I can't go on with him still a Protector. I know Balaia is in danger but it would be a betrayal of everything I have lived for.”

  It was truly astonishing. But at the same time, it was terrifying.

  Selyn had visited Parve once before, perhaps ten years ago. It was part pilgrimage, part orientation, part initiation for a mage spy. That time the City had been deserted and devastated, the dust of centuries blowing over scattered ruins, the wind howling across open spaces where great buildings once stood. Then, her march across the Torn Wastes had been simple. A stroll through cracked earth, harsh bramble and shivered stone to an empty ruined City.

  Xetesk's mages and Protectors of three hundred years earlier had certainly been thorough. Within Parve itself, every building had been taken apart in a systematic destruction. Anything of any religious or magical significance had been buried. Roads were dug from their foundations, small dwellings obliterated and marketplaces turned inside out. All because Xetesk felt the desire to warn anyone who stood against the Colleges that their magic was no match.

  And in an area roughly seven miles in every direction from the centre of Parve, nothing of any worth would ever grow again. The sheer concentration of mana and, myth had it, anger poured into Parve and its surrounds had poisoned the air and the earth, snuffing out vegetation and driving all animal life into the surrounding hills and woodland.