“While Cole was at Westcove, the Archon was seen to wield a strange power, channelled through one of these,” Raven pointed to the pendant around Cole’s neck. “Only larger. He held a man in a trance, exerted some kind of influence over his mind. Cole can use such a stone to enter a person’s dreams.”
Harri snorted sceptically, but a shadow passed across Yaegar’s face. “This reeks of sorcery,” he said, fixing his steely gaze on Cole. “Is this some foul magic the Order has spawned?”
“I don’t believe so,” Cole replied. “As far as I knew, nobody else on the Crag could do what I could. The other novices... even the Brothers... seemed slightly afraid of it. I don’t think they really understood what it means. Nor do I, not fully. It doesn’t feel like magic, though. It’s just... something I can do.”
The chieftain’s eyes lingered on Cole. “This is worrying news,” he said finally. “It seems I was right to be suspicious of the Order. Sending brown-robed Brothers here, to our doorstep, telling us the old ways are dead and theirs is the new faith for the whole Empire...” His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “After a week in the stocks they were more than happy to leave and never return. Ha! They were just about ready to start singing Valdyr’s praises when I let them out. But you’re starting to test my patience again, Raven. How is this relevant?”
“It isn’t,” spat Harri. “They waste our time with pointless babble, while we risk losing this golden chance the longer we delay.”
“Think about it, Yaegar,” said Raven, ignoring the young hunter. “The emperor and the Order are as one. If one is involved in something, the other is part of it as well. The Archon has not set foot outside the walls of Ehrenburg in twenty years, building his Spire, yet chooses now, with war raging in the south, to travel all the way here. He displays powers that no man living has seen before. He slaughters dozens of his own Brothers to try and capture one boy with strange abilities none have ever seen before. Meanwhile, talk of a new weapon spreads across the land.”
“Rumours,” said Harri scornfully.
“Perhaps,” Raven continued. “But it isn’t just here. With my own ears I’ve heard talk of it all the way from Whitecliff to Westcove, and as far south as the Lowlands. Legion soldiers are talking about it. I don’t believe what happened at the Crag was a random act. Was it to silence those who knew about Cole’s ability? Is Cole a threat to the Archon’s plans, or part of them even? The timing is too close for it to be coincidence, they must be connected.”
“How?” asked Yaegar, his face stern.
“I don’t know,” Raven admitted. “Not yet. But I intend to find out.”
The old chieftain lapsed into a brooding silence. His hard stare moved from Raven to Cole and back again. “There may be truth in what you say,” he said at last. “Talk of some new weapon to be used in the war was enough to give me pause before your arrival here tonight. I know not whether the Order is involved or the attack on the Crag is related in any way, but I have no wish to bring some new horror down upon the north.”
“Father-” cried Harri.
“Enough. We will decide on such matters in a fortnight’s time. But this news does nothing to allay my fears.” He glanced back to Raven. “What will you do now?”
“Cole believes there are answers to be found in the mountains. I will go with him.”
Cole’s expression of surprise was matched by that of Harri’s. “The great Raven, acting as a guide to an Order whelp,” sneered the young hunter. “What interest do you have in this?”
“They say the Archon has eyes of an uncommon hue,” she said quietly. “As green as the crystal around his neck.”
Yaegar scowled, and leaned forward across the table. “Is he the one?” he asked Raven.
Her face hardened. “He could be. I will know when I see him. For now, I may find answers of my own in the mountains. If not, no matter; it is still the most direct route to the imperial city.”
Harri had fallen silent and squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Cole glanced questioningly at Raven, but she ignored him. Whatever trust had been built there had suffered a heavy blow. He hoped it was not a fatal one.
After a moment, Yaegar nodded. “Then it’s decided. Which path will you take?”
“I was hoping for your advice.” She turned to the young hunter. “Harri’s too. He has travelled the land around the Watch much more recently than I.”
“If I am to advise you, I must know exactly where you are travelling to,” the chieftain said, directing a meaningful look towards Cole.
Cole decided that the time had come for honesty. “There is a bastion belonging to the Order in the mountains. Frosthold.”
“I know of it,” said Yaegar thoughtfully. “It sits on the tallest peak of the Dragon’s Back, Aer-Claidheamh, south-east of here.” He pulled out a map, and spread it across the tabletop. “If what my son says is true, the road is being watched,” Yaegar continued. He pointed to a thin line that ran through the centre of the large forest depicted on the map. “That would be the safest, most direct path, but impossible to reach without alerting the Legion.”
Cole leaned towards the table. “Could we travel south, and enter the mountains here?” He pointed at the place where the edge of the Spiritwood met the Dragon’s Back range.
Yaegar shook his head. “The Moon Tower is built upon a tall hill,” he said. “The site was well-chosen; any sentries standing watch atop the tower can see for a hundred leagues across the plains. You would be seen.”
“Even if you travelled by night and remained undetected, the land where the wood meets the mountains is treacherous, full of hidden gorges and drops,” Harri added. “I would counsel against taking that path.”
Father and son bent low over the map, discussing possible entry points on the nearest edge of the forest. One by one secret entranceways were discounted.
“The problem is Dusk,” growled Yaegar, swiping a hand across the parchment. “Getting to the bridge is simple enough, but that damned tower keeps watch over it night and day. There is no other way to cross the river.”
Raven got up and stared down at the map. “It might be safer to skirt around the northern edge of the forest.”
Yaegar rubbed his chin. “The Ice Fens can be difficult to pass through, but not impossible,” he said. “But it would take weeks to skirt around the whole of the Spiritwood, and you would still need to take the southern road past Dawn.”
“No,” said Raven, pointing at an area to the north of the great forest. “Not if we enter the wood here, where the Ymbral flows down into the fens.” She traced a vertical line down with her fingertip. “We could follow the river all the way through to the Dragon’s Back. One of its tributaries has its source near Aer-Claidheamh, if I remember correctly.”
“Aye, you do,” replied Yaegar. “It is further than the direct path, but not greatly so. The falls there are steep, but scaleable on the eastern bank.” He stared at the map, and let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Yes, it can be done. If you cross the Ymbral before entering the forest, you’ll pass by the Dusk Tower on the far bank. They keep watch, but with their current number I doubt there will be patrols across the river. It may be possible to pass by unseen.”
Raven looked up at the young hunter. “Harri?”
“It is a good plan. There will be dangers, but that is true of any path that passes through the Spiritwood. By following the river, you will not get lost, at least.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” said Raven, straightening. “Thank you, Yaegar, Harri, for hearing us out. We had best start making preparations. We’ll leave at first light.”
“Spirit of the Hunt guide you,” said the old chieftain gravely. “May you both find what you seek.”
* * *
Cole awoke to the sound of a male voice humming enthusiastically but tunelessly amidst the clattering of pans, and the smell of frying bacon. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
With a yawn, he pulled himself upright and stretched. Oddly, de
spite having only snatched a few hours’ sleep after returning from the langhus, he felt somewhat refreshed. As they had walked back to the smithy, Raven suggested he return and get some rest, before disappearing on some errand of her own. His mind still reeling from the discussions with the chieftain and his son, he willingly accepted.
Cole pushed open the door from the forge, and found Bjorn busying himself in the kitchen. On the table, bacon and fried bread had already been piled up. The red-haired smith turned as he entered.
“Ah, the sleeper awakes at last,” he said with a grin. “Sit yourself down and fill your belly, from what I hear it might be a while before you again eat anything as good as this.”
Cole did so eagerly, and helped himself to several rashers of steaming, crisp bacon and a slice of bread. “You’re in a good mood,” he observed. “What time is it?” He shovelled some of the food into his mouth. It was deliciously greasy and he could already tell it would settle on his stomach like a sandbag.
“An hour past dawn, or thereabouts,” Bjorn replied, as he tipped two fried eggs, their yolks soft and as yellow as butter, onto Cole’s plate. He then sat down opposite and heaped his own plate high. “Raven was here a while past, and told me to let you rest. She’s making preparations for your departure.” He gulped down a mouthful. “As for my mood, well, I woke up this morning a rich man.”
“How so?”
“I bet Jakob the sentry twenty sølv that Raven would not be able to stay away from the moot. I knew she would find some excuse to pester Yaegar.” His laughter boomed across the kitchen.
Cole raised an eyebrow, but the smith merely chuckled and continued to demolish the cooked breakfast in front of him.
As they ate, Cole found himself thinking about the events of the previous evening. He was still shocked that Raven had volunteered to guide him to Frosthold, as he had assumed they were to part this very morning. He wondered what it was that she was hoping to find in the mountains.
The thought of remaining in her company pleased him. Before their clash that night, he had felt as though they were becoming close, and he hoped that it would be possible to regain her trust. It seemed as though it was the Order she distrusted most of all, and he decided to try and find out the reason why.
On a more practical level, he knew Raven and believed that he could trust her. She was also a skilled fighter, and seemed experienced in travelling the wilds. There were no guarantees that any of those would be the case with a new guide, especially one who was only doing so in return for payment.
All in all, his spirits were high. He had a guide and a plan for getting to the Order’s mountain bastion, neither of which he’d had when going to bed the night before.
“You seem in a good mood yourself, lad,” Bjorn observed, through a mouthful of bacon. “You’ve got a smile on your face like a hund with two piks.”
“It just feels like things are starting to come together,” Cole agreed.
“Is that so?” Bjorn looked doubtful. “I can’t say I’d be feeling as chipper if I was about to go into the Spiritwood.”
Cole swallowed. “Is it as bad as that?”
“Aye lad,” replied Bjorn gravely. “It is a dark place. The hunters do what they can to keep it in check, but it is not a place to tread lightly. Stick close to Raven, and she’ll see you through it.”
When all that remained of their breakfast was a few spots of grease and a smear of yellow yolk on two empty plates, Bjorn pushed his chair back and patted his middle happily. “Ah, there’s nothing finer than starting the day with a proper lining in your belly,” he said.
Cole went to gather his belongings, while the red-haired smith stacked the dishes and tidied away the remains of their breakfast. He was just preparing to leave, when Bjorn reappeared behind him in the forge.
“Before you go, lad, I’ve got something for you.,” he announced. He crossed over to a barrel of weapons, and pulled out a long, straight sword. “This one I think.” He tossed it to Cole, who caught it by the hilt. “Give it a try, see how it feels.”
Cole slashed the air a few times. The sword was a good fit for his hand, and looked well-forged. “I’m not sure I can afford this,” he said doubtfully.
Bjorn waved away his protests. “Raven asked me for a couple of favours while she was here, I said I was more than happy to oblige. Take it.”
“Thank you,” said Cole, genuinely touched by the gift. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’ll protect you a bit better than that tiny butter-knife of yours at least,” Bjorn laughed. “Raven favours a shorter blade, but a man’s arm needs a weapon with some weight to it. Some of the hunters prefer a greatsword, near as tall as a man, but they take much practice to wield.”
“It’s perfect, thank you again, Bjorn.”
“Wait, there’s something else,” said the smith, as Cole turned to leave. “I said that Raven asked for a couple of favours, remember? One was the sword, and the other,” he continued, rummaging through a crate beneath his workbench, “is this.”
He rose holding a leather jerkin, into which had been stitched rows of small metal loops. “Ringmail,” said Bjorn proudly. “Light enough for travelling in, but in a fight it will provide some protection. Easy to move in as well.”
Cole removed his cloak and eagerly pulled the armour over the top of his tunic. “It fits,” he said, grinning.
“Aye, it does. For a scrap of a lad you’ve a decent frame,” the smith replied. “How does it feel?”
“It fits like a glove,” said Cole. “I’m more grateful than I can say, you’ve done more for me than I had any right to expect.” He offered his hand, and Bjorn clasped it with a powerful grip.
“Think nothing of it,” the smith said. “If you’re to make it safely through that blasted forest to get where you’re going, strong armour and a good blade are the least of what you’ll need. Now,” he continued, releasing Cole’s crushed hand, “you’d better go and meet Raven before she gets sick of waiting. She has a temper on her, that one.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Cole with a wide grin.
* * *
He found Raven at the stables on the outskirts of town, saddling the chestnut mare. The black stallion stood to one side, its saddle heavy beneath her assortment of weaponry and saddlebags that bulged with provisions. The mare had got off relatively lightly in comparison, but Cole spotted a large pack leaning against one wall, and he had an inkling who it was intended for.
“Just in time,” said Raven as he entered, tightening the girth with a small grunt of effort. “I see that Bear fitted you out as I asked.”
Cole twirled on the spot to show off his new armour. “What do you think?”
Raven ran a critical eye over him. “It will serve,” she said at length. “Hopefully it will keep you from falling to the first foes we meet.” She pointed towards the scabbard at his hip. “We’ll train as often as we can, to make sure you can swing that without taking off an ear.”
Cole pulled an apple from his pocket, which Bjorn had given him as he left the smithy, and offered it up to his horse. The mare nibbled at it appreciatively. “I’ve thanked Bjorn for his gifts, but I wanted to thank you as well, Raven. I needed a guide into the mountains, and I’m glad that it’s you.”
“Save your gratitude,” she said sharply, pulling herself up onto the stallion. “I have my own reasons for making this journey. For now our purposes align, but after that... we shall see.”
“All the same, thank you,” said Cole. He heaved the pack onto his shoulders, and nearly toppled over as he clambered into his own saddle. “I know you don’t trust me, but that’s fine. I trust you. You could have abandoned me in the wilds, or killed me last night, and no-one would have raised an eyebrow. But you didn’t. I don’t know what it is you think I am, but all I can do is assure you that I’m not.”
Raven said nothing. She stared at him for a moment with ice-cold eyes, then dug her heels into the stallion’s flanks and left the
stable.
The southern gate of Hunter’s Watch was less than fifty yards away from the paddock. Beyond, the path continued to the south, where it met the main road that joined Westcove and Whitecliff and passed through the centre of the Spiritwood.
They were headed in a different direction however, so immediately after passing through the gate, with a nod to the sentry on duty, they turned north and followed the outer wall. Cole wondered idly whether the guard in the tower was Jakob, his purse now considerably lighter than the day before.
As she had been for much of their journey from the clearing where he had encountered Dirk and his sons, Raven once more became a taciturn companion. Cole was content to let her brood for now. He was convinced that she would thaw towards him in time, but there was little to gain from pestering her when the events of the night were still fresh in their minds.
They had reached the northern edge of the wall, and were just turning eastwards, towards the edge of the wood far in the distance, when there was a pounding of hooves behind them.
They turned in their saddles, and saw a lone rider on a pale grey horse cantering towards them, his long blonde hair blown back by the wind.
The rider closed the distance between them quickly, and reined his horse in beside Raven’s mount. “It is good that I caught you,” said Harri.
Cole saw that he had come as well-equipped as Raven; a sword and longbow were strapped to his saddle, along with a leather quiver full of dark-feathered arrows. He was once again wearing the earth-coloured cloak Cole had seen the day before, beneath which was well-polished leather armour.
“What brings you here, Harri? Is there word from your father?” Raven asked.
“No word,” Harri replied, “unless you count his order that I should accompany you into the Spiritwood.”
“You’re coming with us?” Cole tried, and failed, to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Aye.” Harri turned his slate grey eyes onto Cole. “There are matters I must attend to in the forest. As it happens your path will take you close to where I am headed.”
Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) Page 18