Ravensoul

by James Barclay

  ‘This is our city. You do not tell us what to do.’

  Auum stepped up to the young man, who immediately brought his axe to the ready in front of him. Auum planted both of his swords in the dirt by him.

  ‘Then mete out your justice. Strike me down if that is your will. I am unarmed.’

  The man swallowed, confused. His lower teeth rubbed on his top lip.

  ‘You are of the living. Our fight is not with you.’

  ‘But I side with the dead. Strike one and you strike at me.’

  Silence had fallen around the group. Somewhere a bell was ringing and there was the sound of running feet approaching from the south, across the gardens.

  ‘You will trick me if I try to strike you,’ said the man.

  ‘No.’ Auum’s head shook fractionally. ‘I will kill you.’

  Hirad cleared his throat. ‘Aren’t you getting this? He’s giving you a chance to back away and leave. I strongly suggest you take it.’

  ‘I—’

  But the youngster did not get a chance to speak further. Auum broke the grip on the man’s axe, moved inside his guard and had placed a finger on his lips before he blinked. Auum’s other hand held a blade to his eye. The axe clattered to the ground.

  ‘Not another word,’ he said quietly. ‘Take her and your fallen friend and go.’

  A tear spilled down the man’s cheek as he nodded.

  Auum stepped back and away, leaving a path to the dead woman. He watched as the two bodies were lifted up by a few of the mob and carried away.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Ilkar. ‘What do you intend to do? What’s down here?’

  ‘Allies. Many of the dead too.’ Auum began walking again, sheathing his blades as he went. ‘We need to get them away from here. Out of the city and to the west. Now. Tonight.’

  ‘But they can’t stray that far from their loved ones. You know that,’ said Hirad.

  ‘Some of them are here too. The rest we must find and persuade to our cause.’

  ‘Denser is not going to like this,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘If I have my way, he won’t even know about it.’ Auum stopped and turned to them. ‘Will you help me?’

  ‘What do you need us to do?’ asked Hirad.

  Auum smiled and walked on. ‘Keep Denser busy. Keep his eyes from the north and south gates. We’ll move them out those two ways a few at a time as often as we can.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Hirad. ‘And who are these allies so we don’t hit the wrong people?’

  Auum chuckled. ‘The two old barons. Seems they don’t much like the way Xetesk leans either. They are very useful. Money still turns heads on Balaia, even now when disaster comes.’

  ‘Good for them,’ said Sirendor.

  Auum stopped once more and the humour had gone from his face.

  ‘I respect Lord Denser more than any other living human mage. But his mind is wrong. You can see it in his eyes. He will not be turned from his action. Look to your friends and see they escape, and look to Denser for he may betray you yet though he means you no harm. Someone has poisoned his thoughts and this will bring only death to any who stand with him. I have seen it before. Only those who run will live.’

  Chapter 19

  Sol did not go home immediately. Sitting there in Denser’s tower, brave words were easy. Out here on The Thread, just a few hundred yards from his family, they sounded so hollow. So he walked while he gathered his thoughts. And he did many of the things that Denser wanted him to do.

  He spoke to his people. He spread calm and confidence though he felt none himself. He answered the questions of the fearful and calmed the anxieties of the desperate. He reminded any who would listen of the help the dead were bringing. Of the strength they added to the defence of Xetesk and the belief they brought to the beleaguered and the weary.

  Words. Easy. And all the while his wife was organising the day in the inn. Almost normal but for the fact that nothing was normal here any more. Trade was stuttering. The prices of food and drink were rising sharply. Only the caravans coming through Understone Pass from the west still arrived every day. It was not only word that was scarce from Korina, Blackthorne, Gyernath and any other place he cared to name.

  How comforting it would be to get lost in the affairs of state. To sit with Denser and organise messengers and scouts. To plan rationing and discuss defensive tactics. He envied Denser. Right now the Lord of the Mount would be heading to a meeting with Septern where the peerless genius was going to impart his knowledge on building a ward grid to protect the city.

  ‘But you have to stop running, old man,’ he said to himself.

  Sol sighed and turned around. He walked back along a couple of side streets and back onto The Thread. The college and its great ornate gates, open to all comers, was just to his right. He paused a moment to look at it. Imposing walls fifty feet high and with the Circle Seven Towers visible as they were from every point of the city, fingers of power thrusting into the sky. Foreboding and awe-inspiring.

  ‘But they won’t save you, Denser. Not this time.’

  Glancing to his left, he could see the sign of The Raven’s Rest swaying gently in the breeze that seemed forever to be blowing up Xetesk’s main street. The Thread ran from the north to the south gates. As colourful a street as any in Balaia. Packed with history, filled with the dark times of the old college, which were only just washing away in the face of the new Xetesk. A place of which they could all be proud.

  ‘And soon to be so much rubble.’

  Sol chided himself. The king muttering to himself as he tried to avoid going home to his wife. No better than the midnight drunks he ejected from his inn every closing time.

  He took a deep breath, calmed himself and strode down The Thread, nodding and smiling at all he passed though there was only anxiety on the streets. There was an ugly undercurrent too and he felt eyes on him, not all of which were friendly.

  Sol walked down the alleyway to the side of the inn and opened the gate to the yard. In the stables to his left Jonas was grooming his horse. The other two mares were turned out into the small paddock at the back of the inn. There were the clattering sounds of work going on in the kitchens and someone was whistling tunelessly to the accompaniment of a sweeping broom.

  ‘Jonas, how are you feeling?’

  Jonas turned a beaming face on Sol and ran over. Sol hugged him and ruffled his hair. He was going to be every bit as big and powerful as his father. Sol hoped he got his hair from his mother’s side.

  ‘I’m fine, Father. Did you tell them what Sha-Kaan said? What are we going to do? He’s in danger, Father, I can feel it. Despite what he says. We have to help him. What’s going to happen?’

  Sol fought the urge to crush his son to him and burst into tears. A wound opened in his heart and the ache was unbearable.

  ‘Everything will be all right, Jonas. I promise.’

  Jonas pulled back and looked up at Sol, his head cocked to one side and his eyebrows raised.

  ‘I’m thirteen, Father, I’m not stupid. That doesn’t mean anything. Only little Hirad would be satisfied with that sort of answer. What are you going to do? It hurts in here.’ Jonas placed his hand on his chest. ‘The Kaan are fading.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sol crouched down and took Jonas’s arms. ‘Fading how?’

  ‘Their link to Balaia, to me and all the Dragonene. The melde. It’s weakening. I can feel it.’

  ‘Then you aren’t fine, are you? Why didn’t you say this before?’

  ‘I didn’t know before, Father. Or I wasn’t sure what I was feeling.’

  ‘And I’m fifty-one and I’m not stupid either. Tell me what happened. ’

  Sol stared into Jonas’s eyes. The young man was frightened beneath the bravado, and to see it in him was a sword to the soul.

  ‘It was the last fleeting thought Sha-Kaan gave me. The melde is attacked directly. Dragons resting in their Klenes have been killed where they lie. Inter-dimensional space is filled wit
h enemies. What happens if they kill Sha-Kaan, Father?’

  ‘They won’t. He’s too smart and too powerful. But this is big information for our fight to come. Why didn’t you tell someone?’

  ‘Because I was waiting for you to come home. Don’t be angry with me.’

  Sol pulled Jonas into another embrace. ‘All right, son. You’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We get you sorted out. I’ll speak to Denser. There will be others in your situation after all.’

  ‘What about the enemy? What about what you told them?’

  Sol stood. ‘That’ll have to wait.’

  Jonas followed Sol into the inn. The kitchens were a-buzz with activity but there was none of the usual humour in the voices he heard. Diera was wiping down tables in the bar, and when she turned to see who it was, her face turned his heart to dust.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Somebody die?’

  Diera threw her cloth into the pail. Water slopped onto the floor.

  ‘You, apparently.’

  ‘Wait outside, Jonas.’

  ‘What does she—?’

  ‘Jonas!’ Sol caught himself. ‘Please, son, just for a moment.’

  ‘All right.’

  Sol waited until Jonas had closed the door behind him.

  ‘Denser’s been here, has he? Doesn’t waste much time, I’ll give him that.’

  Diera turned her back on him. ‘Yes, he has. At least there’s someone in this ridiculous city who still has a steady head on their shoulders.’

  Sol moved towards her. She wrapped her arms around herself and stiffened.

  ‘I need you to understand why there is no choice for me.’

  He reached out a hand.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Sol.’ She rounded on him. ‘And I understand perfectly well, thank you. Your dead friends want you to join their merry band of lost souls, and you’re too stupid and blinded by your wonderful Raven past to see you’re being sold serpents for firewood.’

  ‘I can hear Denser in everything you say, Diera. So let me speak. Do you really think I’d be doing this if I felt there was any other choice? It’s a long shot, granted, but we are truly desperate. Denser has no answers and the Garonin will tear this city down stone by stone. Come with me to the west. I can protect you all the way and you can be first to follow me to our new home.’

  ‘Follow you? You’ll be dead, damn you! What good is that to me?’

  ‘There is no other way to save you and the boys.’

  Sol hadn’t seen her arms tense and he felt the full force of the slap across his face. The sound ricocheted about the bar and Diera was screaming at him.

  ‘How dare you say that to me. Your death does not save us, it damns us. What will I say to the boys when nothing comes of it? That their father threw his life away after people long dead but still more important to him? You can’t do this to me, you can’t. I can’t do this without you. It isn’t life without you.’

  Sol resisted the urge to reach out to her again. She stood tall and resolute despite her words. He chest was heaving and her cheeks were damp but she would not crumble.

  ‘What will you tell them if, by my actions, countless thousands are saved?’ he asked quietly. ‘What then? Would that be throwing my life away?’

  Diera put a hand to his face and stroked the red mark she had made.

  ‘No, of course it wouldn’t, my darling. But you don’t do this any more. It’s all just a memory. You have to listen to Denser, to reason. The place to stand and fight is here. Chasing heroic deeds won’t work. Look at me. At Jonas and at little Hirad. Can you really bear to know you have seen us all for the last time? Can you die knowing you are depriving your children of the father they worship? Can your sacrifice really be worth such loss?’

  ‘What I cannot do is follow a path in which I do not believe and have that cause your deaths. This isn’t about being a hero, Diera. It never has been. It’s about doing the right thing. The only thing.’

  ‘Oh dear me, they really have done a number on you, haven’t they?’

  Sol spun round. Denser had appeared from nowhere and was walking the last couple of paces to the front door.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ demanded Sol.

  ‘Determining the state of mind of my king,’ said Denser. His hand rested on the door bolt. ‘And I don’t like what I hear.’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to anyone who eavesdrops from behind a cloaking spell.’ Sol turned to Diera, sure she had knowledge of Denser’s presence, but the look on her face told him otherwise. ‘I suggest you leave, my Lord of the Mount.’

  Denser nodded. ‘I will, Sol. And I’m sorry, I really am.’

  He opened the door, stood back and began to cast. Six men were running in. Big men.

  ‘What the—’

  Diera screamed Sol’s name. No time to think. Sol picked up a chair and threw it at Denser. It caught him around the waist and knocked him into the wall just below the painting of Hirad, disrupting his casting preparation. Sol strode towards the six, reached above his head and grabbed the cudgel from the beam mounts on his way past.

  ‘Come on then, boys. Let’s see you take an old man, eh?’

  The college heavies fanned out, shoving tables and chairs aside to give themselves clear space. Sol moved into the centre of the room and tapped the end of the cudgel on the timber floor of the inn. To his left, Denser was getting back to his feet.

  ‘Diera, keep on poking that bastard; don’t let him get a spell off.’

  ‘With pleasure.’

  ‘Who’s first? You?’ Sol pointed his cudgel at a squat man with a barrel torso. Pasty skin, flabby arms and a thick powerful neck.

  The man grunted but didn’t move forward. Sol cursed under his breath. He knew what was coming. They rushed him as one. Two dived forward, aiming to grapple his legs. The other four went for his upper body. Sol jumped, bringing his legs up under him. He swung the cudgel, feeling a satisfying thud as it connected with a long-haired skull.

  He landed on top of one of the divers, forcing the air from his lungs. He brought the cudgel round again, meeting the gut of a third man. Below him the diver moved, sending Sol off balance. He fell backwards, already beginning to turn before he hit the floor. He thrashed the cudgel above his head, missing this time.

  Someone was on his legs and he kicked out hard, feeling his boots pummel soft flesh. But the arms clung on. Three others dived on top of him. Sol dropped the cudgel and smashed his left then right fist into the face of the closest heavy. The man’s nose and lips burst, showering blood everywhere. Sol took a punch to the stomach. And another. Someone else was on his legs now and he couldn’t move them.

  He heard the splash of water, plenty of water. Denser swore. Sol managed a smile. He cocked his fists again but this time his shoulders were forced back onto the ground and his arms pinned by his sides. Sol bucked and twisted under the weight of the men on top of him. He glared up at the nearest, who set his fist above Sol’s face.

  ‘Don’t make me, Sol. Relax. Relax.’

  Sol let the tension flow out of his body. The college men did not let up their pressure and they would not. He was beaten. For now.

  ‘Stand him up,’ said Denser. ‘And one of you get Diera off me, please?’

  A slap of hand on face. Another expletive from the Lord of the Mount.

  ‘Don’t any of you so much as lay a hand on her,’ growled Sol. ‘Diera, it’s all right. It’s over.’

  Sol allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. He pushed the college men away and tried to shake off restraining hands. Diera retreated towards the bar. He saw her hand go over the counter but he shook his head and she withdrew it. He let his eyes play over the six in front of him. One had blood pouring from the side of his face where the cudgel had struck him. Another was resting on a table, hands on his belly. A third stared balefully at him while the blood continued to run from his nose and mouth.

  ‘D
on’t worry, you were ugly already,’ said Sol.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, my King,’ slurred the man.

  Sol turned his head to stare at Denser. The Lord of the Mount was soaked through.

  ‘And you.’ Sol spat on the ground. ‘You have betrayed me, Xetesk, Balaia and most of all The Raven. I no longer know you.’

  Denser stalked in to stand a few feet away.

  ‘I am doing what is right for our city and our country. You will not be allowed to fragment our defence by running off on your fool’s errand. No one is leaving Balaia. No one needs to. I know what Auum and those foolish old men are planning even if you don’t, and they will be stopped. We have the power and the strength to beat these Garonin. Xetesk will prevail.’

  ‘You will all die and I will laugh in your faces,’ said Sol.

  ‘Lystern has fallen. Julatsa is under attack. Dordover is long gone. And that leaves Xetesk as the one power on this continent. Do you think I or any mage of my college would pass up the opportunity for us to take up our natural position as rulers of Balaia?’

  Sol felt numb. He stared at Denser and searched his eyes.

  ‘What’s happened to you, Denser? All that we’ve done in the last ten years. Does it really mean that little to you? The deaths of your friends?’

  ‘Until the Garonin came, it meant everything. But it’s all been washed away now and I cannot have dissension. There is a single purpose, and it is the protection of this city and its college. You need to spend some time alone thinking about that and about why you should be protecting the living, not seeing them into the hands of the dead and a fool’s march west.’

  Sol shook his head. ‘I would rather protect the dead than the living like you.’

  ‘Right,’ said Denser. ‘Time for you to rest. We don’t want a scene when we return up The Thread, now do we?’

  Denser began to cast, Sol’s eyes burning into him the whole time. And when the spell was done and the hands laid on him, Sol slipped quickly into unconsciousness, his head falling to one side and his eyes flickering closed. But not so quickly that he didn’t see the door to the yard, which had been open a crack, closing quietly.