Nightchild

by James Barclay

  Fortunately, The Raven were.

  By next morning, with Arlen less than a day's ride away, The Unknown had managed to persuade the Lysternan guard that he posed no threat to Darrick and the two men rode side by side at the head of the column. For once, the wind wasn't blasting across Balaia and there were breaks in the cloud, allowing precious spears of undiluted sunlight to fleetingly caress the ground.

  The mood throughout the cavalry was lighter following another drenching night spent huddled under leather and leaf bivouacs. Around them, the gentle undulating moorland that led inexorably down to Lake Arlen's west bank seemed less bleak and The Unknown felt some small relief, though Denser's scowl had not eased.

  “Some prisoner you are,” said Darrick, picking up another confused gaze from one of his men.

  “I'm sorry you even think of me that way,” replied The Unknown.

  Darrick chewed his lip, unable to meet The Unknown's gaze for a moment.

  “You have to believe me that it's for your own protection,” said Darrick. “And I'm sorry too. For the necessity to take your weapons and for keeping Ilkar and Denser under mage guard. None of us like it.”

  “Just orders, eh?” Try as he might, The Unknown couldn't work up any anger toward the General. He just had to understand what it was all about.

  “I was advised that your reaching Arlen might be precipitate,” said Darrick carefully.

  “Gods falling, really?” The Unknown couldn't help but smile. “What did your adviser think we might do?”

  “Get yourselves killed trying to get to Erienne, what else?”

  “We aren't known for getting ourselves killed,” said The Unknown. “And anyway, we expected you to be behind us. Hardly a threat if you're not in town, are you?”

  Darrick turned in his saddle, frowning under his helmet. “Unknown, I would never have ordered my men to fight The Raven. You misunderstand.”

  “No, I don't. We're aware there may be a few Dordovans scouting Arlen, trying to pick up the mana trails. We just think we can avoid them.” The Unknown shrugged.

  “A few? You've been out of touch too long. There are three hundred-plus there now, and more coming if I understand the Dordovan messaging right.”

  The Unknown's heart skipped a beat. “Three…What are you expecting to happen down there? I mean Erienne's hardly an army, is she?”

  “It's not Erienne we're worried about. Or her elven guardians. You know as well as I do that Dordover and Lystern are not the only parties interested in securing the child.”

  Even as Darrick was speaking, The Unknown was going cold all over.

  “Dear Gods, I should have guessed, shouldn't I?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I felt them a couple of days ago. I knew they were close. I can't believe I didn't make the connection.” He looked into Darrick's blank face. “The Protectors. They're coming to Arlen, aren't they?”

  Darrick nodded.

  “How many of them?”

  “We have to assume all of them,” said Darrick.

  “Then they'll slaughter you. Three hundred plus your two hundred? You'll be throwing your life away, Darrick. Even with more support from wherever. You must see that.” The Unknown's pulse had quickened and he could see in Darrick's eyes that he didn't see at all.

  “I've watched them fight. And we aren't Wesmen, Unknown. We have mage support. We can beat them, I'm sure of it.”

  “Then you'll be killing my brothers. You understand I'll do everything I can to stop you.”

  “I have my orders.”

  “And I have my loyalties.” At last The Unknown could feel some anger. It was just sad it was in response to a threat against the Protectors.

  He found Darrick's confidence both arrogant and ignorant. He had watched the Protectors, maybe, but he didn't understand their minds, their drive and their devotion, the things that made them so utterly different from mere soldiers. Tactics were great, but people feared Protectors and Darrick's men would be no different. And Xetesk would have sent mage support too, and plenty of it.

  This was all getting completely out of hand.

  “Why do you think Dordover are so keen to recapture Lyanna?”

  Darrick chuckled. “Come on, Unknown, you don't have to ask me that. She's out of control. Just look around you. Her powers are destroying Balaia. I'm sure it isn't her fault but it does have to be stopped. I take it we're agreed on that point?”

  “Yes,” said The Unknown.

  “But…”

  “But it was Dordover that awakened her. Erienne took Lyanna because they could no longer control her. She's gone to the Al-Drechar.”

  “And you call this control?” Darrick waved his free hand about him. “I've heard the stories and I've seen Greythorne and Thornewood. Look, Unknown, I'm really sorry. I have such sympathy for you, all of you. And I know that you think you're doing the right thing. So did I at first but I've seen and consulted too much. Erienne has made a mistake. Lyanna has to be under College control. It's the only way.”

  The Unknown was in no doubt about Darrick's belief. The General was not given to frivolity, or to making rash statements.

  “Is that what you believe Dordover will exert? Control? They mean to kill her, Darrick, and you're being used to deliver her to them. They won't murder her in cold blood but they'll see to it she dies. I know you don't want to let that happen.”

  “And it won't. Not while I have a breath in my body,” said Darrick.

  “Then look out for your own back, too.”

  Darrick nodded and looked up at the sky. It was still flecked blue but rain-bearing cloud was again bubbling up from the east. Korina, Balaia's capital, would be suffering another storm already.

  The General turned to his second.

  “Izack, order slow to walk. We'll dismount in a mile.”

  “Yes, sir.” Izack raised a flat palm above his head. “Walking!” he shouted, the order relayed throughout the column. Darrick's well-drilled cavalry responded immediately.

  “You know the Black Wings are in on this too,” said The Unknown as they moved more sedately through the moorland, purple heather blowing in waves across the gentle slopes.

  Darrick gave him a sharp glance but then shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. One sniff of a magical problem and they'll show up to stir trouble and twist the knife. All the more reason to get Erienne secure.”

  “I'm with you there, at least.”

  “You know, I hope that after all this has blown over, if you'll pardon the expression, we can still count each other as friends.”

  The Unknown felt stung by the comment. “Not if you deliver Lyanna to those who would see her die; and kill my brothers to do so. Now, if you'll permit, I'd like to return to the friends I do still have.”

  Thraun's mind was ablaze and he knew the suspicious eyes of the pack were on him. He could sense their confusion, their fear and their anger, but he had no way to communicate what he felt deep within him. It was hard enough to come to terms with it himself. He first had to hope the pack would trust his judgement and neither turn on him or the man-packbrother.

  And so, they travelled quickly across the land, following in the wake of all the men and horses, heading for a broad expanse of water and a settlement where, he assumed, would be the answers to the questions and an end to the wrong in the air.

  He hadn't known whether man-packbrother would follow him but had kept the pack quiet as they had approached his camp. And they had waited downwind until he awoke, with no way to tell him his friends were gone, taken by other men, but anxious to stop him returning to where they had been sleeping because it was the wrong way to travel.

  Man-packbrother had spoken to him then, much as he had done again as they travelled, his horse scared as was right, but under control. The pack would have to wait for their feast.

  Thraun still had no idea what would happen next. His instinct merely drove him to see man-packbrother safely to the end of the journey. His
feelings clashed painfully within him. Men weren't prey, they were threat and he was used to removing threat from the way of the pack. It had always been so. Yet this man-packbrother, like another he knew from a buried sadness, understood like few men did.

  Thraun could see this and that was why he led the pack but why he was alone. Different.

  Memories flashed in his mind again. Distant and shrouded. Two legs upright…a lessening of speed, power and instinct…scent trails denied him. The memories hurt and he growled to clear his mind. But since the time he had seen man-packbrother and his companions, such clarity was denied him.

  Thraun turned his head, checking the pack and the rider behind them. He sniffed the air as he loped on, feeling that time was short.

  Following the wolves down the trail of a hundred and more horses, Hirad had felt the release of a tension he hadn't known he harboured. Ilkar, Denser and The Unknown were alive. Ilkar had dropped one of his gloves, assuming Hirad would find it. They were certainly prisoners but alive, and that meant he could find and free them. And Thraun was still with him.

  In his mind he knew it didn't all add up but he couldn't shake the notion that Thraun knew what he was doing. And it went without saying, Hirad trusted Thraun's instinct, wolf or human.

  After all, Thraun was Raven too.

  The Ocean Elm was signalled into Dock Berth One in the middle of what had become an unusually calm afternoon. The portmaster had long since stopped sending out a pilot to help the elven ship reach safe berth. If any were capable of navigating the shallows—which in all honesty were simple when compared to the approach to Herendeneth—it was the crew of the Elm.

  The ship moved serenely toward the berth, the Captain barking out a stream of orders, bringing the sails into furl until only the foresail drove her forward. It would be another perfect docking.

  “It's busy today,” remarked Ren'erei.

  “Is it?” Erienne was scouring the dockside for evidence of her husband, indeed for any of The Raven.

  “Yes.” Ren'erei shrugged. “The docks are full. We're lucky to find a berth onshore.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Well, if you'll allow, you go below and keep out of sight and try to gain contact with Denser if you are able. I'll go ashore and ask around, see what I can find out. Members of The Raven shouldn't be hard to find.”

  “No,” agreed Erienne and she smiled. Being recognised was usually a boost to the ego but for her, right now, it was a risk. She flipped the hood of her cloak over her red-brown hair.

  “Let's hope that will be enough.” Ren'erei smiled.

  “We'll see.” She began to walk along the deck. Arlen and its people were scant yards away, the elegant elven vessel turning many a head as she understood it always did as it moved to tie up, crew swift and nimble, acting without error. She yearned for the ground beneath her feet—a security she never craved until it was denied her.

  Ren'erei caught her arm. “Erienne. I will find him and bring him to you as soon as I do. Trust me.”

  “I do.” Erienne flung her arms around Ren's neck, crushing the elf to her. “Thank you.” She found tears in her eyes, a welling of emotion she'd held pent up for the whole voyage. “Please be quick.”

  Ren'erei eased her away far enough to look into her eyes then leant forward and kissed her cheek.

  “We'll be away from here on the morning tide and every pitch into a wave will bring you closer to Lyanna, and Denser will be at your side.”

  The image filled Erienne with an elation that rushed through her body and sent those tears streaming down her cheeks even as a broad smile spread over her face. She kissed Ren'erei back and hurried below, hearing the tying-up orders sound across the deck. Just a day and they'd be resupplied and leaving for Herendeneth with The Raven on board, strong and invincible.

  Erienne dropped her cloak over a chair and lay on her bunk, the first inklings of relaxation feeding across her mind.

  Ren'erei walked quickly down the gangplank and on to the bustling dockside. It was just past midday and though the port was as busy as ever, the cranes creaking, the shouts of cratemen and net riders ringing out as they manoeuvred freight onto carts or into holds, there was an edge to the atmosphere.

  Deciding to investigate, Ren'erei moved slowly along the water's edge, nodding at any she recognised but keeping her eyes and ears sharp, searching for the cause. With all four deepwater berths full, crates and boxes crowded the dock as she picked her way through workers hurrying to get goods to market or to onward transport into inland Balaia.

  A net rider called out from above as he swung on a net filled with luggage trunks, looking for clear space before letting the tackleman lower it to the ground. Ren'erei waved acknowledgement and jogged on a few paces.

  The elf moved effortlessly through the bustle, the wind blowing the nose-wrinkling smell of fish from the market behind her. A little further on, the Lakehome Inn caught her eye. At first glance, it just looked unusually quiet and still but there was far more to it than that. The doors were closed and windows shuttered and, outside, a ring of town guardsmen kept passersby well away from the entrance.

  Ren'erei moved closer, coming to the shoulder of a dock labourer who was standing with a knot of men and women looking at the blank face of the Inn.

  “Trouble, was there?” she asked.

  The labourer turned a salt-weathered red face to her. “Just landed, is it?”

  “That obvious?”

  “Only explanation why you don't know, little elf. Town's been ablaze with it since sunup. Earl's throwing the Black Wings out.”

  Ren'erei must have blanched, or her face jumped a little, because next heartbeat, the man's face had hardened, his heavy brow creasing, his body tensed.

  “Bothers you, does it?”

  “That they're leaving, no. That's happy. That they're here at all, that bothers.”

  “Scared, eh?” The hard face softened.

  “Very. They don't like my kind.”

  The man acknowledged the admission. “Your business,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “I'll look for you.” He pointed to his eyes with splayed fingers. “Go carefully.”

  Ren'erei gave a small, respectful bow. “Already in your debt. One thing. How many are there?”

  “Black Wings?” The man shrugged. “Thirty, forty. Long gone by sundown.”

  “I hope so.” She caught the man's eye. “Ren'erei.”

  “Donetsk,” responded the man. “Always on the dock.”

  The ghost of a smile. “Always at sea. We'll know you. One last thing. See The Raven, come to the Ocean Elm.” Ren'erei didn't wait for the response. She knew Donetsk would do exactly that should he see or hear of them. Dockers could be useful allies. There were always deals to be done and whispers to be heard but knowing the clipped patter made it possible. This time, though, Ren'erei wasn't worried about securing supplies at low cost. Security, muscle and discreet eyes were the goods of real value today.

  The elf carried on along the dockside, assessing the readiness and flags of the other three ships at birth. All were ocean-going merchantmen as opposed to coastal vessels. None was less than one hundred feet long and while one was flying the flag of the much diminished Pontois barony, the other two were elven, hailing from Calaius.

  All three were unloading or freighting normally and that was a relief to Ren'erei, who had considered the possibility that she might have been watching Black Wings preparing to board. She smiled. Not now. Arlen was a good man if sometimes a little overprotective toward his town. One thing was sure, the Black Wings wouldn't be granted reentry.

  With Donetsk able to put the word around the docks and Salt Quarter, where tenements and warehouses crowded, Ren'erei headed north to the Centenary Square market. The focal point of trade in all but the finest goods, the Centenary market was where she expected to hear if anyone as renowned as The Raven rode into town.

  Ren'erei could not keep the thrill
from her heart as she scouted the thronging market, ducking into every inn and eating house, not even sure what she expected to find. In her mind's eye, she saw herself walking into an inn, maybe, and seeing The Raven seated quietly round a table.

  She was sure she'd recognise them though she'd never actually set eyes on them. Because, even though she spent most of her time at sea or on Herendeneth, The Raven were a living legend. The massive, shaven-headed warrior they called “The Unknown”; the dark-robed and bearded Xeteskian, Denser; the black-haired, quiet and assured elf, Ilkar, and the thickset, powerful barbarian warrior, Hirad Coldheart. Maybe even Thraun-the-wolf. They surely couldn't be hard to spot.

  But she found no sign of them in the market or its surrounds. They weren't in the Park of the Martyrs’ Souls or riding down Market Approach. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised but she couldn't shut out the disappointment. Erienne's first, and only as it turned out, contact with Denser suggested they wouldn't arrive until later that evening. She'd hoped anyway.

  Ambling more slowly back through the market, she dropped words into the ears of those she knew she could rely upon to be circumspect if they found information, and made her way back to the docks.

  By the Fish Market, she was ordered aside by a mounted town guardsman riding ahead of a knot of Arlen's soldiers and a column of other riders. Melting quickly into the mildly irritated crowds packing to either side of the street, she watched the Black Wings escorted up the hill and, presumably, out to the borders of Arlen. Staring at as many faces as possible, searching for the men who had tortured Tryuun, she bit back a shouted curse, leaving the jeers to the crowd. She felt a welling of hatred for these men, and the black rose-and-wings tattoos on their necks; and an utter contempt for everything they stood for. Tryuun would forever be scarred by their action and, while any of them lived, mages across the world would be at risk from the violent punishment they willingly gave out for the “crime” of having magical ability.

  Wishing death on them all, she watched their backs for a while before turning and immediately noticing a pair of tall, slim men walking a good forty yards behind the riders as the street began to move with normal traffic once again. For all the world, they looked like merchants headed for the silk market; however they were anything but.