Raven's Edge

by Alan Ratcliffe

  These early forays proved to be just the start of his assault. When she next parried the dark blade’s lunge from the vortex, it was followed an instant later by another. Somehow her hand found the right place to turn it aside, only for another to fly at her, then another. Raven span on the spot, her own weapon a blur as it turned aside strike after strike.

  “You will fall.” There was anger now in the green-eyed man’s voice, a callous determination to fulfil his own prophecy.

  The attacks increased in speed and frequency, lashing at her like lightning strikes until they formed a deadly ring all around her. Raven was barely aiming her sword now, just waving it around her like child with a stick pretending to be a soldier. Incredibly, and more by luck than judgement, she was still swatting many of dark blade’s echoes aside.

  But it was all in vain. She knew it was only a matter of time before one of the green-eyed man’s attacks made it through her increasingly desperate guard, and so it proved. After one sweep of her sword that knocked away several of the dark blade’s lunges at once, she watched helplessly as another burst from the spinning vortex in front of her. She was hopelessly off-balance, and though she forced her arm to move in the opposite direction she already knew it would be too late. She staggered back as the dark blade thrust its way into her chest... and abruptly vanished.

  What the...? Raven touched her hand to the place where the blade had pierced her, but there was no wound. And though she’d stepped back as it struck, it was more in anticipation of pain than a reaction to it. There was no force behind it. They’re just shadows, she thought.

  She allowed her arm to drop by her side. The barrage of shadow-blades continued, striking at her from all angles, but as each one touched they too faded instantly into smoke. An illusion conjured by the green-eyed man, nothing more.

  Beyond the desolate, windy howl of the vortex, Raven caught another sound; running feet, drumming into the ground. She turned towards it as the mist parted once more and her adversary ran through, slashing the dark blade around. At first Raven made no move, then some instinct in the recesses of her brain made her twist away at the last moment. Instead of plunging point-first into her chest the blade sliced along her arm, and this time white-hot pain flared immediately. The running figure was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and when Raven glanced at her arm she saw the blood running freely from a long cut. Fortunately her movement had caused the wound to be superficial rather than mortal, but one thing was for sure: that had been no shadow. What’s going on?

  The dark blades continued to fly at her, but Raven ignored them, each one disappearing harmlessly as they struck. Instead she closed her eyes, listening intently. When the sound of running feet returned a few moments later, this time she whirled around to face it. As quick as she was, her adversary was quicker, and again his blade found its mark, this time slicing through the shoulder of her jerkin and drawing a line of pain along the flesh beneath. Raven winced and swung her own sword around to retaliate, but the green-eyed man was already gone.

  If he found his way past her guard many more times then it was as good as over, she knew. She took a deep breath to quell her rising panic and closed her eyes once more and waited. Forcing herself to trust in her senses, to home in on the sounds of footsteps and the heavy breaths of her adversary, Raven was able to anticipate the next attack, bringing her sword around in time to parry. This time, as her opponent’s blade was deflected away he let out an angry hiss before retreating once more.

  Again and again he came at her, but each time Raven was ready. His cries of frustration lent her new strength.

  Then, disaster. Another attack, and this time, her arms growing tired, her parry was a fraction late. A heavy blow jarred her hand and her sword flew from her fingers. Perhaps her adversary had not realised, and he’d already vanished once more. But when she glanced despairingly at the ground, the weapon was nowhere to be seen, lost in the cloying mist wreathing her ankles.

  Raven took a deep breath to calm herself and let her arms drop to her side. She planted her feet a shoulder-width apart, resting on the balls of her feet. With head bowed she listened even more intently. If I fail again, then it’s over. When the next ambush came, this time it was at her back. In her mind, Raven tracked the movement of the feet, trying to judge their path and position with absolute clarity. Three yards, away. Then two.

  When she judged the footsteps to be right behind her, Raven span. As they came face-to-face she threw up an arm, clamping her hand tightly around her adversary’s wrist. The look of surprise on the green-eyed man’s face was still there a heartbeat later when her hand dropped to the dagger at her belt, pulled it free and in the same motion plunged it deep into his stomach.

  His mouth opened, but in place of words a choked gurgle was all that emerged. His weapon fell the ground with a faint thud. Raven held on, tensing her hand around the dagger’s grip as warm, sticky blood gushed over it. “I know this isn’t real,” she snarled, driving the blade deeper. “But I’m coming for you, wherever you are.” He gasped as she gave the weapon a savage twist. “And I will make you pay.”

  At last she released the dagger’s grip and staggered back. Her head pounded, filled with rage and thunder. She clutched at her temples, but it made no difference to the tumult. The green-eyed man stood swaying gently, a look of disbelief still etched on his face. With trembling hands he reached for the bloody hilt jutting from his abdomen, and with a grunt of pain slid it free. Raven eyed the gory weapon in his hand, readying herself to jump aside.

  But her adversary made no move toward her. Instead he dropped the dagger to the ground and turned, stumbling away through the swirling mist without a word.

  Raven’s legs gave way and she sank to her knees. Her head felt as though it was breaking apart from within, as if it was an egg with a monstrous chick hatching its way out. A strangled laugh escaped her at such a bizarre image, but it ended abruptly as a wave of sickness swept over her. Unable to hold it back she leant over and vomited copiously into the ground.

  Around her the dark vortex faded away, the assault of the shadow blades having already come to a halt when she’d struck the green-eyed man. Before her eyes, the charred ruins of her village wavered in and out of vision and through them she caught sight of crumbling stone walls and a tower looming over her.

  Out of nowhere she began to shake and shiver, though the air was not cold. Helpless, Raven slumped onto her side and closed her eyes, in search of respite this time, and waited for the toxin to release her from its grasp.

  * * *

  When Raven’s eyes opened they were greeted by light. She sat upright, then groaned as the sudden movement sent her head spinning. Most of the pain had subsided at least, and rather than feeling like her skull was cracking open it was now merely as if she’d woken after a night of heavy drinking. All the regret and none of the fun, she thought ruefully.

  Except, it slowly dawned on her, she hadn’t slept through the night. The quality of the light was wrong, and beyond the orange glow she could see the faint glimmer of stars in the twilit sky. Fire.

  For one chilling moment she thought she was still trapped in the vision of the past conjured by the Dreamer’s Kiss, which was doubtless the toxin that had coated the dart Zhao had struck her with, and was lying amidst the charred ruins of her childhood home. But as she lifted her head, the source of the flickering light was revealed.

  The beacon!

  It seemed that as she recovered from her battle against the green-eyed man, Zhao had scaled the tower and lit the signal that would draw the waiting Xanshian ship to his position. But why had he not used the time she was unconscious to finish her, to slit her throat as she lay helpless? Was it out of some twisted code of honour, something of which he’d shown little during her dealings with him, or perhaps that he believed she would succumb to the drug?

  She found the real answer moments later, when she climbed unsteadily to her feet. A couple of yards from the spot where she’d fallen was
a telltale dark patch on the grass. It looked almost black in the firelight, but even as she touched her fingers to the wetness she knew it was blood even before raising it to her face and seeing its true colour.

  Not only a vision, then. This was confirmed when, on further examination, she found her dagger lying on the ground nearby, its blade dark to the hilt. Automatically she wiped it clean on the grass and slid it back inside the sheath at her hip. The little blade had proven its usefulness once again.

  A trail of blood led away from the dark patch, weaving slightly from side to side as if the one who had left it had trouble maintaining a straight course, but nevertheless leading away to the beacon tower. Further proof, if any was needed, of the identity of the one she’d maimed while trapped in her fantasy.

  For the second time that day Raven found herself following a blood-trail left by one of those who had perpetrated the crime she’d been charged – after a fashion – with investigating. She hoped it would be the last.

  A few yards further on, not far from the trail of gory splashes and splatters was a body. Raven approached it, already knowing it wasn’t the one she hunted, but rather someone who had even greater cause than she to want him brought to justice. Conall. The boy’s body was still, but as she crouched down beside him she saw that he was still breathing. A dark bruise and smear of blood on his temple, though, revealed the spot where Zhao had struck him. The duke’s son had lain insensible through all that followed.

  “I’m sorry, Conall,” she murmured, squeezing his upper arm. She meant it; though she’d had no part in bringing the boy to her confrontation with Zhao, she’d nonetheless used him knowingly as a distraction, disregarding his youth and inexperience if his involvement meant gaining an edge over her adversary. What am I becoming?

  At her touch, the young noble let out a low groan. He winced and felt at the lump on his head. “Did we win?” he asked with a grimace.

  Raven glanced at the blazing beacon. “Not yet.” She wrestled Conall into a seated position, leaning him against a section of crumbling wall. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I fell off the cliff and landed on my head.”

  Raven chewed her lip. As wounded as he appeared to be, Zhao was a deadly foe and her limbs still felt leaden and her mind clouded by the lingering effects of the toxin. It would be useful to have the duke’s son by her side as she chased her adversary down once more, but it was clear he was in no fit state to even hold a sword let alone fight. “Wait here,” she told him. “I just need to douse the signal fire and we can return to Strathearn.” Conall nodded to show he understood.

  Raven straightened and made straight for the tower. She no longer worried about following the trail of blood, as it was clear enough where Zhao had sought refuge. As she started up the stairs that wound around the interior, she wondered what she would find at the summit. Would Zhao be waiting, sword in hand, for her head to appear above the trapdoor, or might he try to tempt her again first? Had he left already, sailing out to meet the ship summoned by the beacon, or did he already lie dead from his wounds?

  It turned out to be none of these. The hatch at the top of the tower sat open, allowing the flickering orange to illuminate the stairs within as Raven climbed. She made her way through it warily, watching for any sudden movements and poised to leap aside, but none came. It didn’t take long to find out why.

  Zhao lay on the floor, propped against one of the stone columns supporting the tower roof. He didn’t look round as she made her way up through the hatch. “They didn’t come,” he said quietly. Raven eyed his hands but saw no sign of weapons, then came to stand beside him. For a few moments they stared wordlessly out across the moonlit sea. “Perhaps if you wait...” she began.

  Zhao shook his head. “It’s been an hour. I think. Perhaps more. It’s hard to judge time when your eyes keep drooping shut.” He fell silent, and she wondered whether he’d drifted off once more. But a few moments later he continued. “They said the ship would be waiting, that all I had to do was light the beacon and they would sail close enough for me to reach them.” He chuckled, a sound devoid of any mirth. “I think now I was fated to die in this land. Though perhaps not so soon as had I not met you, dark one.”

  He turned towards her for the first time since she’d arrived at the top of the tower. The former harlequin’s face was ashen; already that of a corpse though he still drew breath. There was a deep slash in the front of his jerkin where her blade had cut through. The leather around it was tacky with gore. “Tell me, Raven,” he said, through teeth stained with blood. “What did you see, when you were touched by the Dreamer’s Kiss?”

  She shrugged. “At first it was an echo of the past, nothing more. At the end I think perhaps I saw my future.”

  Zhao nodded. “Our mystics say it can grant prophetic visions to those perceptive enough to see. It only ever made me dizzy.” He doubled over as a fit of coughing racked his body. More blood spattered over his clothes. After seeing how much had been spilled on his way to the beacon she was surprised he had any remaining. “It won’t be long now,” he said after the fit subsided, as if reading her thoughts. He smiled. “I am honoured to have been your first.”

  Raven might have left it there. After all, none would know what had passed between them. But she thought about all he had done and something inside her rebelled. I would know, she thought.

  She knelt down until their faces were level and held his gaze. “You weren’t.”

  With that, she left the tower.

  * * *

  Raven and Conall rode back to Strathearn in near-silence. The young noble still seemed shaken by the blow to his head, while for her part Raven was lost in her thoughts. A strange melancholy hung over her. What should have been victory instead left her feeling hollow.

  But her brooding did not go unremarked upon by her companion forever. Perhaps it might had their ride through the night taken the same form as their first, with Raven spurring Meara on to remain ahead of him. However, she was still feeling guilty for the injury he’d sustained, and as a small gesture of making amends she allowed him to match her speed and ride alongside.

  “You should be happy,” Conall said at last, long after the burning beacon had faded from sight behind them. “Kester will live because of what you’ve done, and father will be forever indebted to you. The gratitude of a duke is worth more than whatever gold you got from old Craddock. You’ve saved the duchy!”

  “Have I?” she replied. “Zhao exploited the rifts he found, but he didn’t create them. There is no less distrust between the northern lords now than a month ago, your father’s subjects no less hungry or dissatisfied. Zhao was nothing more than a...a symptom of a greater sickness infecting the land. And one day there’ll be another like him, who may succeed where he failed.”

  “Things are not so bleak as you believe,” Conall said after thinking on her words. “Father isn’t blind or deaf to his people’s needs. No ruler can solve every problem besetting his lands, but he’s always tried to rule fairly and justly. It will take time, perhaps, but things will return to normal I’m sure.”

  Is that the best we can hope for? Raven thought. Aloud she said, “Perhaps you’re right.” Her agreement was as much to avoid further discussion as genuine feeling that Conall was correct. “How did you end up there anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Luck,” he said matter-of-factly. “Or rather it was an educated guess. If you hadn’t raced away as fast as you did I could have told you about the beacon tower. When I saw which way you left the city it was obvious enough. There’s precious little in this part of the duchy, just hundreds of acres of forest and open ground. If someone had come this way seeking escape, as your heading seemed to suggest, there weren’t many other places they could have gone.”

  He must have carried along the road when I ventured off it to visit the players’ camp, she thought. She began to feel less guilty about his head wound... if anything he’d been lucky she’d arrived when
she did to confront Zhao. Any later and he would surely have fallen to the harlequin’s blade.

  “Why did you leave the signal fire burning?” he asked.

  Raven shrugged, unable or unwilling to explain how she’d needed to just be away from that place. It would have felt strange dousing the fire with Zhao still looking on, and she had lacked the stomach to finish him with her dagger as he lay helpless. He was just as dead as if she had and the flames would burn themselves out eventually, their purpose unfulfilled.

  When they were within sight of the city gates, the faint lights of the watchmen’s torches patrolling back and forth along the top of the wall, Raven brought Meara to a halt. Nearby was a crossroads, one path leading straight towards the city and the other around its northern edge. “Will you not come back with me to the castle?” Conall asked. “I’m sure father will reward you further when he learns the full truth.”

  “No. It’s time I returned to the road,” Raven said. In truth, with the destination she had in mind it would be quicker to travel through the city, but she had no appetite to do so. Something told her it would be a long time before she returned to Strathearn.

  So instead they bade their farewells. Conall couldn’t hide his disappointment, but Raven promised they would see each other again soon. It was an empty promise and both sensed it, but Raven had grown fond of the young noble and didn’t want to hurt his feelings any more than she already had.

  She watched him ride away, the departure of the one friend she’d made during her time in the city doing little to lift her spirits. Soon enough he was swallowed by the darkness, and she steered Meara onto the other road.

  Raven was thoughtful as she rode north and then west, keeping the city walls far to her left. Something Zhao had said had stuck with her, burrowing deep into her mind until it was impossible to ignore.