The Ravens of Death (Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Book 4)

by Mike Truk

  Contents

  The Ravens of Death

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Glossary - The Sanskaras

  Glossary - The Tree of Life/Death

  Book 5 Mailing List

  THE RAVENS OF DEATH

  Book 4

  of the

  Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Series

  By Mike Truk

  Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel

  Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;

  The heavy white limbs, and the cruel

  Red mouth like a venomous flower;

  When these are gone by with their glories,

  What shall rest of thee then, what remain,

  O mystic and sombre Dolores,

  Our Lady of Pain?

  ~ Algernon Swinburne, Dolores

  Chapter 1

  Dissolution. The white light of the portal flooded my being, pouring into the interstices of my soul in what felt like an attempt to erase my very sense of self. I opened my mouth to scream, but had no voice; there was only the void, a great rushing as if I fell an incalculable distance. Then, just when I thought I could no longer bear it, I coalesced, becoming myself once more.

  The view was breathtaking. I stood on a street of slate; brutal buildings of similar black stone rose around me, but between them, I could espy a stunning vista. A city had been built atop a shattered mountain peak, erected upon great islands of stone. They emerged from slowly churning rivers of cloud that poured like ancient rivers between them.

  The street in which I’d appeared overlooked the bulk of the city, so that at a glance I saw ramparts, arching bridges that crossed the cloud chasms, towers of both stone and scaffolding, perilous walkways, cramped squares, and clustered buildings.

  The morning sun had but risen, clearing the mountain ranges that cupped the city in their center like the ragged lip of a broken stone bowl; the light was aureate, setting the clouds aflame, and bathing the cruel, impossible city in a tender light. The air was frigid and rarefied, so thin that I couldn’t smell much despite the plumes of black smoke that arose from scores of workshops and smithies below.

  Valeria appeared beside me, blinking away the pain of her crossing even as she raised Lizbeth’s magic crossbow and swung it from side to side, seeking an enemy.

  We weren’t alone. A dozen cloaked figures stood, talking to each other in disparate groups, or walked alone along the street. They had turned to regard my arrival with marked surprise; I saw pale faces, jet black hair, and piercing eyes beneath their heavy cowls. All were dressed in elegant if understated finery, and bore themselves with severe confidence that hinted at their power and wealth.

  Brielle appeared beside Valeria, manifesting from a flare of white light as if being born from a star.

  “By the Source, I loathe traveling by portal,” she hissed, bringing her blade up in readiness.

  A knot of three strangers stood closest to us, and one of their number stepped forward, arms slightly extended from his sides as if emphasizing that he bore no weapons. His face was patrician, skin pale as milk, his eyes heavy-lidded with irises of a blue so pale they were nearly white themselves. Beneath his thick cloak I glimpsed black scale mail, so beautifully wrought it hung as naturally as a tunic.

  “Greetings,” he said, voice a cultured baritone that was undercut by a hint of hesitancy. “Welcome to Ur-Gharab. Who -”

  Neveah appeared utterly untroubled when she appeared, her hand on her dread blade’s hilt, to immediately step out wide and sweep both lengths of the street with her gaze.

  The man’s bloodless gaze narrowed.

  Not everyone was dressed in similar finery, I realized; several individuals farther down the street wore tunics belted at the waist that hung to mid-thigh, collars of slender metal about their necks. Two of these bowed to a robed individual that stood before them, then turned to sprint off down the street.

  Messengers? Sent to call for help?

  The patrician’s gaze turned pensive. “You appear by means of a major portal. From where do you come? What is your business in Ur-Gharab?”

  Imogen appeared next, and she immediately dropped to one knee, placing her hand on the ground. Geomancy.

  Emma stepped through immediately after, Victor’s blade in her hand, a grimace on her face as she mastered the disorientation.

  “A veritable invasion,” said one of the two companions with whom he’d been speaking, her voice light with amusement. “Beware, Emelias.”

  The slightest flicker of annoyance crossed the patrician’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

  “Greetings,” I said, fighting to keep my tone from being overly wary, and failing. What to say next? Who were these people? Friend or foe?

  Who was I kidding? Foes, of course.

  “We’re just passing through,” I said. “Not looking for any trouble. We’ll be on our way.”

  The man smiled, the expression completely devoid of warmth. “And leave us without satisfying our curiosity? That would be the height of cruelty, good sir. Come. I am Emelias el-Elenduil, humble citizen of this glorious city. And yourselves? Tell me your names and place of origin. What harm in being civil?”

  Imogen rose to her feet, dusting her hand on her thigh. “There are people in the buildings,” said Imogen, rising to her feet as Little Meow appeared, the last and newest member of our party. “Not many, but none of the buildings around us are outright abandoned. No tunnels below us. Street runs along a ridge, nothing to either side. It's either forward or backward.”

  “We’re running short on time,” said Valeria. “They’ve sent for reinforcements. Do we retreat?”

  “Retreat?” asked Emelias. “You speak with the language of war. Why presume violence? Be at ease, my friends. If you are new to the city, I would be pleased to answer your questions.” His smile grew predatory. “But first, who are you?”

  I glanced behind us. A half-dozen pale strangers had formed a loose cordon a score of yards behind us. None stood in a threatening posture, but they’d moved to block the street. Others with collars about their necks had moved back to stand against the buildings, removing themselves from possible danger.

  “Please excuse our caution,” I said, aware of how little time we had left. “Experience has taught us mistrust. We’re going to walk away now. Please don’t try to stop us.”

  Emelias’s female companion drew back her hood, revealing a hauntingly beautiful visage; her lustrous black hair was held in a high topknot by a bronze tube, her features were elfin, her lips a coral pink. Her cloak was adorned by a cluster of raven feathers at each shoulder which, combined with her bronze scale armor, gave her a martial, menacing air; this was only emphasized by the quality of her gaze, which was at once knowing and mocking, utterly without fear.

  “I’ve never seen you fail so quickly as a host,” she said, moving forward to join Emelias. “Your sweet words are driving them away. If they reject the hand of fellowship, then perhaps it's time for the lash.”

  “Now, now, Isossa,” said Emelias with a touch of asperity.

  “I’ll le
t you guys figure that out,” I said. “Good day.”

  Turning, I led my companions toward the cordon of cloaked strangers, hands resting on Shard’s pommel.

  Valeria raised her crossbow to her shoulder once more, while Brielle and Emma held their blades down by their sides.

  “This is going to get messy,” said Imogen, voice low and intense. “We begin fighting, there’s no telling how much of the city we’ll have to kill. And I can sense strong magic in these people. Very strong. Be careful.”

  I forced a genial smile to my lips as I approached the man who held the center of the line. I didn’t rush but made my intention clear; his was as striking and pale a face as the others, and a memory, a familiarity, tickled at the corners of my mind. Where had I met their like before?

  But there was no time to tease out the memory. For a tense second, I thought he would hold his ground, but then with a mocking bow, he stepped aside.

  I led my companions through and down the street, striding swiftly, but didn’t need Imogen’s geomancy to know the strangers had fallen in behind us and were following from a safe distance.

  “Break and run?” asked Valeria. “Find somewhere to hide?”

  “Or turn and start wiping the smirks from their faces?” asked Brielle.

  Emma tried to sound as collected and calm, and almost managed. “We could also try talking to them. Revolutionary, I know, but it’s an option.”

  The street rose and curved out of sight as it followed the ridge, buildings on one side embedded in the raw rockface, the others built right on the edge beyond which the vista of the city lay. Entering a building would only trap us.

  “What lies up ahead?” I asked Imogen.

  “I sensed a fork, one side rising steeply, the other descending and growing narrow. We’re on the outskirts of the city, there’s not much here.”

  “Hiding won’t work,” said Valeria. “We either try to leave the city altogether or turn and face them.”

  My mind was racing. “I hate how the portals dump us into these situations. Fuck. All right. Time to salvage some dignity.”

  I turned to face the mass of strangers. Emelias and his beautiful companion, Isossa, led the crowd, who had swelled to a score strong. They were of uniform height, and moved with an unnerving silence, as if one and all were trained in the art of assassination. No surprise flickered across their pallid features, but perhaps hints of amusement as we stopped - maybe even smugness.

  “All right. You have the upper hand, Master ur-Elenduil. My name’s Noah, and we’re but passing through.” To admit we’d come from Tagimron? How much would he induce from that particular? He knew we’d used a major portal. That limited the places we’d come from, didn’t it?

  “Master Noah,” said Emelias, inclining his head. “As I said before, be welcomed to Ur-Gharab, the crown of this sphere, seat of Queen Iphigenia’s power, and glorious herald of Lilith’s inevitable dominion of the Tree of Death. All praise?”

  “All praise,” murmured the others, their voices without fervor.

  Emelias raised an eyebrow at me in mild rebuke at my silence.

  Shit.

  “Great,” I said. “I think we’re going to love it. Can you recommend an inn? We could all use a bath and a bottle of wine.”

  “Incoming,” whispered Neveah from somewhere behind me. A moment later I heard the tromp of boots, followed by the appearance of a regiment of a dozen or so guards.

  Shit, I thought again.

  These guys meant business. They were clad in streamlined black plate armor, so even sheathed in gleaming metal they seemed agile and light on their feet. Their helms swept up into mohawks of black horsehair. They bore kite shields, fronts emblazoned with solemn metal faces whose lips and eyes were sewn shut. Long spears arose like a forest above them. They moved with easy order, following their captain, whose shield was emblazoned with a lead bird skull and from whose shoulders fell a sumptuous crimson cloak.

  I could sense how dangerous she was, how perilous her soldiers were. Even with my muted abilities, I could pick up on their lethal potential, the crackling of power filling the air like the scent of ozone before a storm.

  “Ah, the Death Watch,” said Emelias, half-turning to regard them with the air of a host welcoming the appearance of dessert. “Experience has taught us caution, you see. But there’s no need to be alarmed. We are all friends here, or could be, if you comport yourself accordingly.”

  The corner of Isossa’s coral-pink lips curled into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “You failed to praise Lilith. Remedy that oversight.”

  The crowd parted for the Death Watch, who formed up behind Emelias and Isossa, the captain moving forward to stand beside them and study me with her head canted to one side.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Not sure,” replied Emelias. “Regardless, it's good to see you, Vasanna. Have you lost weight?”

  “Come by my place after,” replied the captain distractedly, “and I’ll let you find out.”

  Emelias chuckled. “It has been too long since last you racked me. Regardless. Master Noah here and his charming friends arrived by means of a greater portal. Shockingly improbable, I know. But he was about to praise Lilith and set us all at ease. Well?”

  There were a dozen guards, and no way of discerning how many of the crowd would pitch in. The street was narrow but without carts or cover of any kind. The Death Watch was arranged in two rows of six. The double rank of spears would be hard to charge. And Imogen had sensed strong magic.

  All creation in a drop of water, I thought. All creation before me.

  The Vam mantra. Immediately my pulse began to slow, my body to relax, the tension bleeding away. My breath deepened, and I automatically adjusted my stance until I felt more balanced.

  All creation in a drop of water.

  The guards were a wall of fluted helms and molded breastplates, in whose center a black gem was mounted. I couldn’t make out much of the captain’s face behind the cheek guards of her helm, but her eyes glittered with cool calculation.

  “Stranger? Either you praise Lilith, or we’ll take you into custody. Your call but make it now.”

  A deep breath. A cutting wind blew down the slate street, stirring cloaks and robes.

  Silence as everyone awaited my answer.

  There was a subtle shift from Vasanna as she adjusted her stance. A lowering of her chin, flexion of the knees.

  I’d learned back on Ghogiel the price of listening to Lilith’s overtures, of playing along, no matter how reasonable they might seem.

  “My apologies,” I said, and activated the First Prism technique. Tapping my power and cycling it back into Muladhara, I began the process of refining it, intensifying its potency, and in doing so extending how long it would be available to me.

  Vasanna stepped back as if I’d drawn Shard. “Wards!”

  Events unfolded very quickly after that.

  Emelias and Isossa darted away to the sides of the street.

  My companions stepped out wide behind me, several magical effects blossoming along the length of blades or crackling across fingers.

  A dozen perfectly spherical wards popped into being around the guards, each the same pale purple hue, overlapping with admirable precision so we faced a wall of bulging radiance. Their line opened so the captain could step back and join them, spears dropping to form a prickly phalanx.

  With the First Prism technique in place, endlessly recycling, I engaged the Second Prism, taking my stream of magic and splitting it. Braiding it into multiple power sources, I fed them into my various sanskaras, activating all at once.

  Then hell broke loose upon that dark street.

  I flew straight up, surging into the air. The black sun of Manipura drank deep of my reserves, gifting me with flight even as it girded my body with layer upon layer of strength and speed.

  To distract our enemies, I unleashed a spray of levenbolts over their wards, not seeking to pierce but rather draw the
ir attention; white lightning danced and leaped from one purple sphere to the next.

  A bolt from Lizbeth’s magical crossbow pierced a ward and punched into a guard’s helm, snapping their head back and knocking them off their feet.

  A gout of flame rushed out from Brielle’s blade to engulf a couple of wards, spreading out thinly over their radiant surfaces.

  A levenbolt as thick as my arm shot at the guard captain, hitting her ward with complete control; it didn’t leap about or crawl around like mine, but remained fixed in place, drilling into her defenses.

  It all happened in the blink of an eye, as if we’d spent weeks rehearsing this very move.

  Perhaps on some level, we had.

  I could sense them all, intuit their locations. Brielle directly below me, Emma to her side, Valeria to another. Imogen slightly to the rear - but one was missing, had been missing all this while -

  “Phalanx, advance!” barked the captain, her voice barely audible over the roar of magics being unleashed - then she spasmed.

  The tip of a curved black blade pushed out through the metal of her breastplate, glistening darkly with blood, emerging a good foot before whispering back to disappear.

  Neveah stood there, wielding Morghothilim with that unnatural grace of hers, all six feet of her demon blade like an extension of her arm.

  Confusion struck the ranks of guards as their center crumpled. Imogen dragged her levenbolt off to the side, raking the wards with her might much as a man might drag a high-pressure water hose across a sand dune.

  “Close ranks!” someone yelled. “Unleash spears!”

  Their weapons flared with eerie darkness that dimmed the air, and bolts of energy flew forth.

  I must have been a tempting target. Three of the bolts flashed up at me. Each seemed to have been carved from the darkest night, and it was all I could do to desperately spin away.

  It wasn’t enough.

  A bolt caught me in the side, slipping right through me, cauterizing its passage through my flesh.

  I bit back a cry, the pain all-consuming. The agony summoned a host of ghosts from my flesh - memories of other wounds, other traumas. But I screamed and dove through them down toward the phalanx, only to see to the damage their barrage had done to my companions.