Ravensoul

by James Barclay

  Densyr disengaged himself from the point between Heart and grid, feeling Septern take the strain. Densyr sagged back into his chair. The roar of unsuppressed mana faded but there was no peace. He became immediately aware of a low unsettling noise from behind him, to the west. And of angry shouts coming from below, inside the college.

  ‘Sing if you need me, Septern,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  Densyr had to cling on to the arms of his chair just for a moment while the blood rushed away from his head, threatening to black him out. When it cleared, he walked to his balcony doors, took a deep breath and threw them open.

  Ten years of rebuilding and pride, wiped out in the time it took to boil a cauldron of water. Densyr felt physically sick. In his mind’s eye he had seen rubble and dust but nothing could have prepared him for this. A few half walls were standing beyond the college gates but aside from that nothing remained of the entire eastern section of the city. On an arc that stretched for four miles left to right and three miles in depth, everything was gone.

  ‘Who needs the Garonin when we have such means at our disposal? ’ he whispered.

  Fires still raged in hundreds of places. The yellow flame of burning wood mixed with the harsh dark blue flame of mana gorging itself on any material with which it came into contact. Those flailing strands of the grid, easily identifiable now, spewing out their energy, adding final insult to the crime that had been committed on Xetesk. The Wesmen had come and been beaten off. The demons had done such awful damage. Yet no enemy had managed quite the complete desolation that Densyr and Septern had been forced to perpetrate to save . . .

  Beneath him the Heart was still intact and the college walls had not been breached. But what of the body of Xetesk? He didn’t even need to look west to know what the rumbling hum was. People were leaving. They were scared and they were running and they didn’t even know where. The security of their college had proved not to be enough.

  ‘Despair is the province of the weak,’ said a voice behind him.

  Densyr straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and turned.

  ‘What am I saving, Dystran?’ he asked. ‘How am I benefiting Xetesk and Balaia?’

  ‘Don’t let what you see fool your mind,’ said Dystran gently. ‘When the battle is won, and it may be that it is already, there is but one beacon for the leaderless and it is here. Only one place capable of rebuilding all that we have lost. Only one place with the strength and the desire to make Balaia a power again. And only one place that can rule.

  ‘The Heart of Xetesk still beats and it must beat on, my Lord of the Mount. It is our destiny to lead and yours to rule. And it is surely all within your grasp.’

  Densyr felt almost too tired to argue. ‘You know they are not beaten, don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps, but now they have seen the extent of our power and the sacrifices they will have to make to take our Heart. Surely a negotiation is the least we can expect and a withdrawal is something for which we can now hope.’

  ‘I wish I shared your optimism.’

  ‘Take a look outside.’ Dystran moved past him and out onto the balcony. Densyr followed a little reluctantly. ‘What do you see? What do you hear?’

  ‘I see the mess I’ve created in the most beautiful city on Balaia and I hear the sounds of my people panicking and running to the west.’

  Densyr glanced below him and then away again, unsure whether to believe what he was seeing.

  ‘You are being too literal. Perhaps I should have asked what you don’t see and hear. No Garonin foot soldiers. No machine. I—Are you listening to me at all?’

  ‘Now I really do believe I have seen it all,’ said Densyr by way of a reply.

  Coming across the courtyard, with guards and mages closing in, were a man being helped along by a woman and a second man. Two boys walked just in front of them. A third man walked head bowed and arms outstretched and could only be a mage. A fourth man was carrying a fifth and was surrounded by wolves. In front of them all came Brynar, his loyal apprentice, waving people aside as best he could.

  ‘Erstwhile apprentice,’ muttered Densyr. ‘Little bastard.’

  ‘Have them killed,’ said Dystran, waving a hand.

  ‘Without finding out how they survived that inferno? I think not.’

  Densyr pulled the bell to summon a servant and didn’t have to question the relief he felt and the smile that was fighting its way onto his lips.

  ‘The bloody, bastard Raven,’ said Dystran.

  ‘Yes,’ said Densyr. ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’

  ‘They aren’t just going to wave us into the tower complex,’ said Sol.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Get as close as possible,’ said Brynar. ‘Ilkar has us shielded. I don’t think any guards will be drawing weapons with me here.’

  ‘Don’t count on it.’

  ‘Move!’ shouted Brynar. ‘Wounded coming through.’

  The courtyard was packed with the anxious, the scared and a few with the desire to organise. Thraun’s wolves were keeping all but the most persistent at a safe distance. But mages were gathering at the entrance to the tower complex fifty yards ahead and guardsmen were with them in good numbers. Left and right they were being shadowed by more.

  Ilkar’s Mage Shelter gave them the protection they needed from targeted magical attack and no one was going to fire arrows in such a crowded space. But all it would take was a guard captain with a little courage and they would be arrested immediately. Brynar was not going to let anyone fight and for their part The Raven had neither the desire nor the capacity to do so.

  It was a question of whose nerve would hold the longest.

  College guards were creating a path in front of them, pushing people back on either side. The clear view it gave of the doors to the tower complex was not encouraging.

  ‘Keep moving,’ said Brynar.

  Thraun came to Sol’s left. ‘I can scatter them.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Sol. ‘Let’s see their intent.’

  ‘That’s close enough!’

  An old soldier moved out in front of those guarding the doors. Suarav, captain at the time of the demon invasion. General now. A much-decorated hero.

  ‘We must see the Lord of the Mount,’ said Brynar, not pausing in his stride. ‘We must speak with him and with Septern.’

  ‘Not here and not now, Brynar,’ said Suarav. ‘Stop. You will yield to me.’

  ‘Can’t do that, General,’ said Brynar. ‘There is no time left.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Suarav.

  He nodded. Two mages stepped forward, knelt and cast. Ilkar gasped, stumbled and refound his footing.

  ‘Ilkar’s Defence,’ he said. ‘How apt.’

  ‘Can you hold?’ asked Sol.

  ‘They aren’t pushing. But there’s no way I can move forward.’

  To their left and right, soldiers were lining the path. Behind the wolves more came but stayed at a careful distance. Ahead and left of the complex and out towards the south walls there was a flurry of movement. Sol looked first at Diera and then Jonas. Finally, he winked at young Hirad.

  ‘Ready to run?’

  ‘Where?’ asked Jonas. ‘Trapped, aren’t we?’

  ‘Trust your old father, all right? Opportunity approaches.’ Sol raised his voice a little. ‘Thraun. Be ready. Allies to our left. Sirendor, don’t let me fall and don’t go too fast for Diera.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Sirendor.

  ‘Eyes front for answers,’ said Sol.

  Sol never tired of watching them in action. Auum appeared from the crowds to the left. He was at head height, his left leg and arm outstretched ahead of him, right leg tucked beneath him and right arm cocked to punch. He slammed into the first of the crouching mages, cannoning him into the second.

  ‘Defence down,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘Run, Raven,’ said Sol.

  Thraun’s wolves split one left and two right as the motley assortment of wounde
d, women and children began to run towards the tower complex. The animals patrolled the flanks, snapping in the direction of any man who thought to move in.

  Brynar was running hard, Ilkar behind him. Ahead, Auum landed, spun and sprinted towards the tower guards. Ghaal and Miirt powered in from the left. Ghaal dropped low, sweeping the legs from a soldier and smacking the heel of his palm into the fallen man’s forehead, bouncing it from the stone steps.

  Miirt ducked under a clumsily drawn sword, blocked the sword arm to the right and butted her victim in the head, sending him down in a shower of blood from his nose. Auum planted a roundhouse kick into the side of Suarav’s head. The old general fell like a sack of potatoes. Auum stepped over him, spread his arms and beckoned the next men on. There were no takers.

  Screams to the right took the attention of one who didn’t even see the ClawBound pair striding to the tower complex doors. A fist doubled him up and a knee to the chin put him on the ground. The mages had dispersed back into the entrance hallway of the complex. The doors began to close. The ClawBound pair ran inside, quickly followed by Ghaal. The doors stopped moving and shrieks echoed out.

  Sol moved as fast as his aching body would let him. He leaned on Sirendor and used Diera for balance. In front of him, Jonas was holding young Hirad’s hand and the little lad was laughing with the excitement of it all.

  He was too small to see Auum leap and dive over the last rank of guardsmen, landing behind them and striking out at two before any had the chance to turn. The gap he made was enough for Brynar, who darted inside. Moments later, a deep blue Ilkar’s Defence thrust out, beating back any defenders from the left.

  Miirt and Auum faced right. In front of them, swords had been drawn by six guards. Auum took a single pace forward, dropped to his hands and spun round, legs whipping out and in. Three men fell. Miirt moved forward.

  ‘Time to run,’ she said.

  And so they did.

  ‘Clear inside!’ called Brynar.

  Sol nodded to Jonas to go in. Auum and Miirt shadowed him and his brother. Sol limped in with Diera, young Hirad and Jonas, and last came Thraun and the wolves. Brynar shifted the Defence spell, placing it in front of the doors.

  ‘Well-timed, Auum,’ said Sol. ‘Lucky you got here.’

  ‘We were waiting for you. Luck was not involved. Yniss keeps all of us for sterner tests.’

  Sol took a quick look round. The ClawBound pair had pinned eight mages against a wall. The panther was padding up and down in front of them, the elf studying their every twitch, looking for a reason to attack. From within the complex Sol could hear running feet and the clash of metal.

  ‘Best you go,’ said Brynar. ‘I’ll hold the passage up to Densyr’s tower as long as I can.’

  Sol unhitched himself from Diera and Sirendor and limped over to the mage.

  ‘You have done greater service than you know, Brynar. Your masters should be proud but they are blind instead. The Garonin will be back. Get out of here. Head west with your people. If what we’re attempting works, we’ll find you. Don’t let them get you. The world, whichever world it is, will need mages like you.’

  ‘But what if I am merely a man?’ said Brynar.

  Sol tapped his chest. ‘In here is where you are strongest.’

  Brynar blushed. Sol turned.

  ‘Raven,’ he said. ‘Raven with me.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘Get me some strong spirit.’ Densyr snapped his fingers at Dystran.

  ‘Quickly. Same cabinet where you kept it.’

  Dystran huffed and walked across the room. Densyr squatted back down by Septern. He had long ago turned from the sounds of combat emanating up from below.

  ‘Hey. Snap out if it. Don’t lose yourself in there.’

  ‘Safe inn . . . side,’ mumbled Septern. ‘Nottt harm we.’

  ‘What the hell is he muttering about?’ Dystran poured a clear oily liquid into a goblet and handed it to Densyr. ‘Just don’t let him lose the grid.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Densyr.

  He tuned into the mana spectrum. The shapes that signified the Heart and Septern were no longer distinct. Like the Heart had reached out and grabbed him, part-consumed him. Or that he had decided to become one with it. The Heart itself appeared normal in terms of flow and density but Septern’s mind map was confused and flickering.

  ‘Septern. Septern, can you hear me?’ Densyr laid a hand on Septern’s arm. ‘Dystran, I think you might want to join us. Is Vuldaroq anywhere nearby?’

  ‘In the catacomb chambers, working on resonance theory with Sharyr,’ said Dystran. Densyr heard him kneel down. ‘Are you going to use that spirit or . . . ? Oh dear Gods drowning.’

  ‘Septern, what are you doing?’ demanded Densyr.

  ‘I didn’t even think this was possible,’ said Dystran.

  Densyr shook his head. At least the remnants of the ward grid appeared to be calm. He’d done something to stop the loose ends flailing. A gentle blue pulse was running along the existing lines. A circuit had been closed, temporarily at least.

  ‘Nor me. Septern?’

  ‘Mmmm . . . ore control. Beauty. Form fails.’

  Septern’s breathing was shallow and rapid.

  ‘He’s pouring himself into the Heart,’ said Dystran.

  ‘He can’t,’ hissed Densyr. ‘It’s like making yourself the wind or fire or something. Can’t be done.’

  ‘Can we be sure?’ asked Dystran. ‘On the point of death, when our soul is about to leave our body, who’s to say what is possible?’

  Densyr heard wonder in Dystran’s voice. ‘I think you’re missing the point, rather. He’s supposed to be buffering the failing grid from feeding back into the Heart and blowing it to smithereens.’

  ‘And who’s to say he isn’t doing just that? Presumably you want to know whether we should try to bounce him out using the spirit.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Smashing,’ said Densyr. ‘Septern. How long can you survive like this?’

  ‘Approaching . . . near. Survival no. Change. Have seee nn . . . Nottt harm we.’

  ‘Septern, you are making no sense. Can you keep the grid secure any more?’

  ‘Always always. Housssseess safe.’

  ‘He’s delusional, Dystran. If he loses his mind, he loses any hold on anything.’

  ‘Can you be so sure? Really sure, I mean.’

  ‘I hardly think this is the time for research and experimentation concerning the soul’s ability to fuse with mana on death. We have to know if he’s secure. Xetesk depends upon it.’

  Dystran remained calm. ‘Look at the Heart. Look at the ward grid. Steadier than you or I could achieve, no?’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Densyr through gritted teeth. ‘But he is surely close to death. When that happens, we might lose the college.’

  ‘You can step in, Densyr. I can help you. What other duties must you be free for?’

  ‘Nothing much. Organising my guard, directing my mages, securing my college and defending what remains of my city and hence Balaia. Trivial, really.’

  ‘But nowhere are your talents more useful than in saving the Heart. Is there really anything more important than that?’

  Densyr dropped out of the mana spectrum and looked at Dystran hard, searching for signs of duplicity. Any senior mage had to be considered a threat, even one who had willingly stepped aside from his post.

  ‘It is one of a number of key areas,’ fenced Densyr.

  ‘Let me command the defence. I do have certain experience in that area.’

  ‘Following my orders?’

  ‘Naturally, my Lord Densyr.’

  ‘Knowing I could pull the plug on any opportunist ambition by simply disconnecting myself?’

  ‘That is a comment unworthy,’ said Dystran.

  Densyr shrugged. ‘I’m Lord of the Mount. I can suspect who I damn well choose.’

  Dystran chuckled. ‘And a fine one
you are too. And thinking clearly at last.’

  Densyr was interrupted by a commotion a little way down the wide spiral stairway leading up to the chambers that had become his centre of operations.

  ‘Ah, excellent. At least someone is capable of following my orders. I do believe the reluctant Raven are about to be presented to us.’

  There was no knock on the door. Rather it flew back against its hinges so violently that a cracked decanter was upset on a nearby table, crashing to the ground and spilling fine wine over a priceless rug. Glasses rattled on the tray and a bookend fell over, disgorging some rather ancient texts onto the floor, mercifully clear of the pool of vintage red.

  Auum, Ghaal and Miirt issued across the floor to stand far too close to both Densyr and Dystran. Following them came the bizarre menagerie that was The Raven, Sol’s family, a trio of wolves and a ClawBound pair. Thraun pushed his way to the front and laid Hirad on the table, taking a cushion from a chair for his head.

  Densyr’s mouth dropped open, and when he closed it, he had to suppress what would have been an ill-timed smile.

  ‘How did you . . . ? Oh, need I really ask; I know already. Three elves and a few dead people are plenty enough to breach Xetesk’s inner sanctum these days.’

  ‘And we should not have been forced to try,’ said Sol, unhitching himself from Diera and Sirendor and moving painfully to a free armchair. His sons sat one on each of the leather arms and Sol put an arm around each one’s shoulders. ‘Ilkar, can you help me with a little pain relief? My back’s the worst. Followed by my hip and then everything else.’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Densyr. ‘I haven’t time to chat right now. We are unsure if the enemy are defeated.’

  ‘You can be assured they are not,’ said Auum, standing less than a pace away from Densyr and piercing his skull with those cold, hard eyes.

  ‘All the more reason to let me get on with defending what little we have left,’ said Densyr.

  ‘You can do what you like. We only want Septern.’ While Sol was speaking, he was looking at the master mage, his frown deepening. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘That depends on your—’ began Dystran.