Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “First, find your balance,” she told him.

  Cole nodded. Cautiously, he took his arms from the trunk and held them out to either side. His toes gripped the rough bark beneath his feet. He gently shifted his weight minutely to one side, and then the other, his arms beginning to wobble. Gradually, he found his equilibrium and grinned at Raven.

  “Good,” she said. “Now, try to knock me off.”

  Cole’s grin trickled from his face. Tentatively, he shuffled towards her, trying to keep from falling off. He could feel the branch bouncing slightly under his weight, and hoped it would be able to support them both. It felt solid enough.

  When he was within a foot of Raven, he swung an arm timidly towards her shoulder. She leaned away from it easily. He tried again, towards her midriff this time, fighting to keep his balance as he did so. She dodged nimbly backwards.

  He watched her easy movements with admiration. While his own clumsy motions made the branch feel as thin as a twig, Raven may as well have been standing on the ground for all the discomfort she displayed.

  The next few minutes continued in much the same vein. As he grew more confident in his own balance, his swipes and pushes became stronger and more frequent, but it made no difference. Wherever he aimed, Raven ably danced aside. Once, he had even struck out with a foot, which very nearly sent him plummeting to the ground, and she jumped over it, landing back on the branch with perfect poise. It was like fighting mist.

  “Not bad,” she said at last, motioning for him to stop. “I thought you’d land on your skull the moment you stopped clinging to the trunk like a frightened baby squirrel, but you kept your feet well.”

  “It’s not as hard as it looks,” Cole replied with a smile.

  “Oh?” With a mischievous look, Raven reached up into the foliage above her head. She broke off a couple of sticks, and handed one to him. “See if this is any easier.”

  They sparred. Cole almost felt that he was once more at the Crag, facing off against Eirik or one of the other novices on the training square. Raven seemed little interested in getting in hits of her own, instead being content to block his strikes as easily as she had evaded them moments before.

  “I thought you said you had not fought before,” she said, effortlessly turning aside a backhand.

  “I said I had not fought with a sword,” he replied, attempting a thrust that she jumped back out of the range of. “I have trained with a staff.”

  Raven snorted dismissively. “Little call for that in the wilds,” she said, suddenly jabbing him in the ribs and catching him completely off-guard.

  He fought to regain his balance, twirling his arms in circles as Raven looked on bemusedly. “True enough,” he said with a grin, as he straightened. “Although I seem to remember I used a stick to knock down that bandit when I saved you.”

  “I was in control of the situation.” Raven smiled. “Anyway,” she continued. “If you have trained with staves then you are used to blocking blows?” Cole nodded. “If you try that with a sword, you’re like to end up holding a broken hilt with your opponent’s steel through your belly the first time you fight.”

  Cole frowned. “Then how do I defend myself?”

  “Avoid his blows. Watch. Observe. Anticipate his attacks, and evade them. If you have a shield, use it. Not just to block, but to bash, knock him off-balance. Then, when he is overwhelmed, strike. A fight isn’t an exercise, the aim isn’t to learn technique, but to win. In the quickest, easiest way possible. Aim for the neck and groin; an accurate cut there will end the fight instantly. Fight dirty. A clever fighter uses not just their blade, but their feet, knees, fists and teeth. Whatever gives them an edge.”

  Cole wavered, uncertain. “That doesn’t sound very honourable.”

  “Better an ignoble survivor than an honourable corpse,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Now, this time, try to avoid my strikes. I’ll start slowly.”

  True to her word, Raven aimed a series of sluggish strikes toward him, and he tried his best to weave aside. Even though each one was clearly telegraphed, it was remarkably difficult to dodge and remain standing on the branch.

  After one strike that grazed his shoulder as he turned to one side, he caught a glint of gold from the corner of his eye. As Raven twisted, the object fell from her armour. The locket. Instinctively, Cole lunged forward and caught it before it dropped into the undergrowth below. As he did so, his nose exploded in pain, and he felt himself falling. He had just enough time to see Raven’s shocked expression, her fist still clenched from the blow, before he landed on his back in a billow of dead leaves.

  It had been an inelegant end to the training. Sitting on the ground back at the camp, the sharp pain had already receded, to be replaced by a dull throb.

  “I don’t think it’s broken,” said Raven, casting a critical eye over his nose. “It will hurt for a time, though.”

  He cut such a miserable figure, huddled on the ground, head tipped back and clutching a handful of grey rags to his face, that Raven couldn’t help but laugh. “What?” he asked, adopting an injured tone.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, still smiling. “I just thought back to my first lessons. The rags were red, but otherwise it was more or less the same.”

  “How old were you?” Cole asked.

  “Six or seven.” Her smile faded. “It was a long time ago.”

  She readied their mounts while Cole nursed his bruised face, and then with no further ceremony they were back on their way.

  “Thank you,” Raven said, as they once more steered the horses through the forest.

  “For what?”

  “For catching it before it could fall. It is a small thing, and easily lost.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” replied Cole gingerly touching his swollen nose. “I must admit I didn’t expect it to be quite that painful.”

  Raven eyes were downcast and solemn. On anyone else he would have taken it for embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise what was happening. When you moved, I just... reacted.”

  “Apology accepted,” Cole said, as gallantly as it was possible to be with a rolled up rag plugging one nostril. “The least you can do is tell me what it is, finally.”

  Raven didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring off into the distance. “We should reach Hunter’s Watch by morning,” she said quietly. “Our detour is not a great one.” And that ended the matter.

  The sun was directly above them when they finally emerged from the forest. Cole was relieved. The five days he had spent traipsing through the trees had seemed like an eternity. Beyond the forest, wide open scrubland stretched out in front of them, climbing steadily towards the northern coastline over a day’s ride away. A strong wind blew across them, and Cole shivered. It would still be autumn a little while longer, but already the air held the promise of the frost and snows to come.

  “How much farther?” he asked, as Raven pulled her horse up to survey the landscape.

  Raven shrugged. “Half a day, if the weather holds. We won’t be delayed for long, and then we will journey straight on to Hunter’s Watch.”

  The thought of reaching the end of their journey together made him a little sad, much to his surprise. “What will you do then?”

  She looked at him curiously. “I’ll move on, in time. East, perhaps, or to the Imperial heartlands.”

  “So, is that what you do, travel the Empire, cutting down bandits and dancing around in trees?”

  She smiled. “Sometimes. But that isn’t why I travel.”

  “Why then?”

  “I’m looking for someone. Two people, actually.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t like to be in their boots,” said Cole, grinning. “I’ve seen what happens to the people you go looking for. What did they do, steal more ugly jewellery?”

  Raven’s face flushed with anger, and for a moment he thought she would strike him. His smile died on his lips as those cold eyes burned into his own like ice. Then, the rage passed. “Y
ou have no idea of what you speak,” she said, her voice cold. With that, she dug her heels into her horse’s flanks and they took off north across the heath. Cole spurred on his own mount, dismayed by her reaction to a foolish jape.

  For much of the rest of the afternoon, Raven and her mount were little more than specks in the distance. She had slowed down enough for him to follow, but no matter how much he quickened his own pace, he never seemed to get any closer. Clearly, she did not desire his company.

  Not that Cole could ride particularly fast. Away from the forest, the ground beneath his mare’s hooves had quickly turned rugged. The higher they climbed, the rockier the ground became, and more than once he felt the horse stumble. It was a bleak place. The terrain was sparsely populated with clumps of gorse and bracken, with nothing to shield them from the chill wind.

  As evening began to approach, the sun far to his left, Raven disappeared from sight altogether over the top of a ridge. Alarmed, Cole spurred his mare on, and crossed it at nearly a canter a minute later.

  Raven sat on top of her black mount near the crest of the ridge. Cole reined his horse in beside her. Away to the east, the ground fell away sharply, the lands there laid out below them like a green quilt. In the distance, he could see a collection of small buildings clustered together. Wisps of smoke rose from chimneys too small to see. Beyond the town, a grey mass of trees dominated the landscape.

  “Perfect, another forest,” he observed, bitterly.

  “The Spiritwood,” said Raven. While not friendly, her voice had lost its edge of frostiness. “What we have just passed through is barely a fraction of its size, and there is a lot more to be afraid of there than turning your ankle in a rabbit hole.”

  “Like what?”

  “If half the stories about the forest are true, then its name is justly earned,” she replied. “Pray your guide knows another way into the mountains.”

  Cole pointed towards the town far below. “That’s Hunter’s Watch, I take it?”

  Raven nodded. “We won’t reach it before nightfall. But you’ll be able to have a hot breakfast at the tavern tomorrow morning, if you have the coin.”

  Despite their feud earlier that day, Cole felt the same sadness at the thought of parting. “We should be off then,” he said brusquely. “Is it far, this place you’re taking us to first?”

  “No. Not far now.” Raven turned her horse and started off again over the ridge.

  Cole followed, his mind racing as he tried to guess where she could be leading them. He didn’t believe it was a trap; she had already saved him once and, having seen her fight, he knew he would be no match for her. If she had meant to harm him, she could have done so a thousand times over already.

  Less than an hour later he saw the sea. There was a wide inlet that stabbed into the northern coast like a knife wound. It was bounded on each side by high, sheer cliffs. As they rode closer, Cole noticed a small house, built almost exactly at the apex of the inlet. There were small, cultivated fields dotted around it, and a large, solitary tree standing a short distance away.

  At their approach, Cole thought he noticed a change in Raven’s demeanour. Her back and shoulders were stiff, her jaw clenched. She seemed reluctant; nervous, even. He wisely decided against commenting.

  When they were a hundred yards away from the house, she suddenly turned to him. “Stop,” she said softly. “Wait here.”

  Before he could respond, she swung down from the saddle, and walked towards one of the fields, where a man was raking at the ground. He stopped and looked up when she drew near. As Cole looked on, Raven spoke briefly to the man, then reached into her cloak. He saw a glint of gold as she placed a small object in his hands. For a few moments they both stood still, then the man suddenly embraced her.

  Cole shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Whatever was happening, it was clear it did not involve him. He glanced over to the tree, fifty feet away. Something on the ground caught his eye and he jumped down off the horse for closer inspection. By the time he landed he realised it was actually two objects, and before he was even halfway there he knew what he was looking at.

  Four short branches had been lashed together with twine, forming two crosses. These had been planted side by side at the foot of the tree. He stood staring at them for a while, his face blank.

  “Four men came to the house one morning,” said a quiet voice behind him. Cole must have been there for longer than he’d realised. “Dariel had climbed down the cliff to catch some fish. His wife was at home, while their daughter played in the fields. She was seven.”

  Cole turned around. Raven stood there, the hood of her cloak pulled down. She was looking at the wooden crosses. He said nothing, and she continued, “He ran as soon as he heard the screams, but it took a long time to climb back up the cliff. Too long. When he reached the top, they were riding away, and there was nobody left to save. He never found out what they wanted; food, or money or anything else. Perhaps all they wanted was to rape and kill. All that was taken was a simple gold locket, torn from his wife’s neck.”

  Cole remembered his earlier comments, and felt wretched. “How did you know?”

  For a long time, Raven stood silently. “I have travelled here before,” she said at last. “I knew Dariel a little, and Abigail and Pia. They always welcomed me in, keen to hear news from the south. They seemed happy. When I rode past the last time, instead of open arms I found Dariel making these crosses. I promised him I would find the four men.”

  Cole grimaced. “Dirk and his sons.”

  Raven nodded. “I tracked them, always a day or two behind, as they roamed the Weald, preying on the unwary. I finally caught up with them the night you walked into the tavern. I followed you, and when I saw all four of them together I kept my promise.”

  “You did all that for a stranger?”

  “I told you, that day in the clearing,” replied Raven grimly, “I hunt monsters.”

  She turned and began to walk back towards the horses, which were grazing happily where they had left them. After a moment, Cole followed.

  As they mounted, he saw no sign of the man, Dariel. Doubtless, he had gone back into the house. His conversation with Raven had been short, but what else was there to say?

  A thought occurred to him. “Raven,” he asked. “What’s inside the locket?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, steering her mount back towards the ridge and the long trek to the town they had looked down upon earlier. “I didn’t ask.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Up close, the town of Hunter’s Watch was a great deal larger than it had seemed from atop the ridge. What had appeared to be a collection of tiny, squat cottages were in fact thatched, hardwood houses, built on stone and mortar foundations. These were spread out across several streets that converged on a central square.

  It was true that Westcove was bigger still, but its ramshackle buildings looked hastily thrown together from whatever materials had washed up on its shore. Here, the houses looked solid; it was obvious that no little skill had gone into their construction.

  Pride, too. As they walked through the streets, Cole noticed that on many of the houses, the wooden eaves of the roofs had been intricately carved. Each was unique; on some the patterns were floral, others carried the likenesses of different animals. Cole spotted deer, wolves, bears – and a few he did not recognise. The overall effect was pleasing to the eye, and Cole spent so much time gazing upwards that it was some while before he noticed how busy the town was.

  Stalls of all kinds had been set up around the town square, between which throngs of people milled about, browsing the wares. The air was filled with the sound of voices; talking, laughing, shouting, bartering. So many different goods had come together in one place it was dizzying. Cole’s nose became a battleground where a plethora of clashing aromas fought for dominance. The stall of a flower-seller, an eye-catching splash of vibrant primary colours, sat next to that of a fishmonger. The wares of the latter were dried and salted but
no less odorous for that, and in combination with the heady, floral smell the result was overpowering. Other stalls sold herbs both medicinal and for cooking, while every which way he turned Cole caught the scent of fresh vegetables, fruit and the raw, metallic tang of fresh meat.

  It was a shock to see so many people packed into so small a place and, constantly jostled by passers-by, Cole began to feel overwhelmed by it all. There had been around fifty Brothers and novices living on the Crag, but the size of the castle had made it seem somehow less populated. In Westcove, meanwhile, he had only walked its streets at dawn and at night and never experienced its busiest hours.

  Raven must have noticed his startled expression. She stopped pushing through the crowd, and turned to smile at him. “Your first time in the Watch, I take it?”

  Cole nodded, and was nearly sent flying as someone pushed past him from behind. “How many people live here?” he asked, after they vanished into the crowd.

  “Three hundred, perhaps, maybe less.”

  “And they’re all here?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Some, not all,” she laughed. It seemed to Cole as if her spirits had risen almost from the moment they entered the town. “Many of the trading caravans that pass between Westcove and Whitecliff stop off here. They buy game, furs and trinkets they can sell for a profit on the coast, and there are always eager buyers for the goods they bring with them. There are a number of outlying homesteads as well. When word of a caravan reaches them, half of the Weald descends upon Hunter’s Watch.”

  Cole looked all around them. When you knew what you were looking for, it was not difficult to pick out the visiting traders from the inhabitants. Many of those in the square were dressed opulently in colourful silks, their fingers adorned with gold rings thick with precious stones. Their finery could not be in starker contrast to the drab woollen garb of the stall-holders and a number of the shoppers. Cole could see leather patches sewn on to their clothes, no doubt where the cloth had torn or grown thin. It was as if a handful of common hedge-sparrows had landed in the midst of a flock of magnificent, preening peacocks. The well-kept buildings of the town spoke of a prosperous past, while the attire of the current residents indicated leaner times in more recent memory.