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

by Alan Ratcliffe

  A beautiful women stood before him. A cascade of chestnut-brown hair tumbled past her shoulders. She wore a loose silver gown that shimmered as she moved. The woman smiled, and warm brown eyes lit up with joy.

  “Who are you?” he asked. In his ears, his voice sounded as though it came from a great distance.

  Her laughter was melodic, like birdsong. Cole didn’t flinch as she reached out a gentle hand and brushed his arm with her fingertips. He felt safe, at peace. “You know who I am, Cole,” she replied. “Though we have not met for a long, long time.”

  He examined her face. He had no recollection of ever seeing her before... and yet, in the shape of the eyes, the line of the jaw, there were familiarities. “Mother?”

  The woman tilted her head back and laughed again. The sound of it made his heart sing. “I knew you would remember me. Blood has a way of calling to blood, does it not?” She half-turned, and gestured into the trees. “Come, walk with me. There is much we have to discuss.”

  She began to walk, and Cole followed. His legs felt odd, as though they were acting by themselves far away below him. There was a fogginess to his thoughts, as if he had drunk too much wine. He had been sleeping, had he not? Perhaps that was it.

  “You left me,” he said, his voice thick, as they strolled side by side through the forest.

  Her sadness was palpable. The sight of it made Cole’s heart ache. “I would never have abandoned you, Cole. You were the most precious thing in the world. You must believe me.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “You were taken from me. You were less than six months old, and taken from my arms, though I did all I could to keep you with me.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and he felt distraught at having been the cause of them.

  “Don’t cry, mother,” he said, reaching for her hand and linking their fingers together. “We’re together now.”

  “Yes,” she said with a beatific smile. It was like gazing upon the face of the Divine. “We will be together forever.”

  Cooooole

  He was dimly aware of his name being called, but brushed it aside. Whatever it was could wait. And yet... it stirred vague memories in his mind. Something he needed to know, to do with the forest.

  “We should go,” he said, pulling his mother to a stop. “It isn’t safe here.”

  Beneath her greying hair, a look of irritation passed fleetingly across her face. She looked older now, her features gaunt. Why had he thought her hair was brown before? “Don’t be foolish, Cole, there is nothing to fear here.” There was a harsh edge to her voice he hadn’t noticed before.

  Fool. Fear.

  “There is something I needed to do,” he said. “I cannot remember...”

  Cole!

  Who could be calling for him? “I have friends,” he said suddenly. How had he forgotten them? “We should go back and find them, they will be looking for me.”

  His mother took a step towards him and stroked her fingers down his face. Her hair smelled of sunshine. But the fingers were as cold as ice. “Forget them, Cole. We can be happy together, you and I. Nothing else matters.”

  “Nothing else matters,” he echoed.

  She grinned. Her eyes flashed with hunger as she raised both hands to his head. There was a soft sound, and her eyes and mouth flew wide in mute shock. Then she screamed, a shrill shriek that tore through his brain.

  Cole glanced down. His hand still clutched the handle of the dagger, the point buried deep in his mother’s stomach. Dark blood gushed from the wound, staining the silver dress dark in moments.

  She staggered back from him, his blade sliding from her belly. He then saw her for what she was. Long, bony fingers clawed at the wound his knife had opened, while a featureless head twitched spasmodically. It reached out a thin, pale arm towards him, when its head was suddenly struck from its shoulders. Without a further sound, it fell lifeless to the ground.

  Raven stood panting above the creature’s body, her face and clothes spattered with gore and viscera. She had lost one sword, but still gripped the one that had struck the fatal blow.

  “R-Raven,” he stammered, “thank you, I-”

  “You bloody fool!” she snarled, “why did you run into the forest? Another minute and that thing would have torn your face from your skull.”

  “I... I didn’t know,” he answered sheepishly. “I turned around and my mother was there, she asked me to follow her. I... I couldn’t resist.” He stared at the grotesque tangle of bloodstained limbs. “What was it?”

  “You saw your mother?” Raven scowled. “It was a soulcreep, I think. I’ve never laid eyes on one before, but it is said they invade your thoughts before preying on your body. No doubt it lured you out here so it could take you alone.”

  Together they made their way back to the camp. It did not take long; the creature had not attempted to take him too far into the forest. As he reached the mound of blankets he had been sleeping under less than half an hour before, Cole realised he still clutched the knife. His hand shook slightly as he reached behind his back and slid it inside its sheath. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to Captain Brandt, wherever he was.

  Harri stood in the middle of the camp. His own sword was still drawn, and Cole counted at least half a dozen pale corpses scattered on the ground around them.

  Raven marched angrily up to the hunter. “Soulcreeps,” she said accusingly. “If Cole hadn’t disturbed them they might have taken us all in our sleep. You were supposed to be keeping watch, Harri. Where were you?”

  “I’m sorry, I truly am.” Harri’s voice was oddly strained. “They were clever. One distracted me by making a commotion in the woods not far from here. I went to investigate, and by the time I slew the beast I heard your call and realised what was happening. I’m sorry,” he said again.

  Raven’s expression was murderous, but Cole stepped forward to pacify her. “He made a mistake, Raven. It happens. He thought he was protecting us. At least nobody was hurt.”

  Harri’s face twisted into a pained smile. “Almost nobody.”

  It was then that Cole noticed Harri’s hand was pressed to his side. Raven pulled it aside and gasped. Blood soaked his tunic.

  “You’re hurt,” she said. “Why are you not wearing mail?”

  “Too noisy, too heavy,” he said with a shame-faced grin. “It looks bad, but it is not deep. I will live.”

  At Raven’s request, Cole built a small fire for them to see by. She peeled off Harri’s tunic and undershirt, and poured water from her flask on his side to wash the wound. Cole’s stomach turned over at the sight of the savage cut, which continued to bleed profusely. Raven caught his eyes and shook her head.

  “I can clean and bandage this,” she told the hunter. “But I have no needle or thread to close the wound. We need to find a healer.”

  Harri grimaced. “I fear it will be a while before we see one of those. Do what you can, I’ll survive.”

  Raven tore strips of fabric from clothes in her pack, packed the wound and then wrapped the strips around his waist to hold it in place. “What about the road?” Cole asked as she worked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if we get him to the road we may find a caravan or patrol, or Dusk cannot be too far.”

  “It’s not a perfect plan,” she said, as she helped Harri get dressed again. “But it’s the only one we have.”

  They packed up the camp quickly, and began marching again through the forest. Harri continued to clutch at his side, and his pace began to slow. After an hour, he slumped against a grey trunk.

  “Leave me,” he told them. “I can make it on my own. I’ll head to Dusk, as Cole suggested. The road is not much farther.”

  With a scowl, Raven put her arm around the hunter, and bade Cole to do the same. Together they carried him between them, ignoring his protests.

  Their progress had slowed to a crawl, and the noise of their passage was so great that Cole began to fear what other beasts they may
alert to their presence.

  Yet, just as the grey dawn light began to seep through the forest, they half-stumbled onto the road at last. A wide track of large flagstones ran in either direction. Other than themselves there was no sign of life.

  “It looks like I’m... crawling to Dusk, then,” said Harri with a bitter laugh, that turned into a fit of coughing.

  “We’ll take you,” Raven replied firmly.

  “No,” Harri replied after the fit had passed. “They’ll be... looking for Cole, that’s why we chose this path to begin with. You have... to stay with him.”

  “He should not be fading so fast,” Raven told Cole. “The wound was not so great. The creature must have used venom of some kind.” She looked desperately up the road in both directions, but it remained empty. For the first time since Cole had met her, she seemed unsure of herself, unable to reach a decision. They were saved by an unexpected source.

  “Halloo!” The voice called out of the trees on the far side of the road, and a moment later Cole saw the orange glow of a lamp. He felt Raven tense, but Harri seemed incapable of doing anything except hang limply between them.

  The glow came closer, and as it reached the road, Cole saw that it was held aloft by a man. He wore a tattered brown cloak to keep out the winter chill, beneath which he was dressed in commoner’s clothes. The man’s face was hidden beneath a deep hood. “Are you in need of help?” The voice seemed to radiate concern.

  “Who’s there?” Raven called back.

  Cole heard a soft chuckle. “Why, a friend of course. All men become friends in the Spiritwood.” He crossed the road, and when he stood before them he drew back his hood, to reveal a man in his middle years. He was balding; the few strands remaining to him were combed across the top of his head. He smiled at them kindly. “Dear oh dear,” he tutted, holding the lamp up to Harri’s face. “I would say your friend is in need of some assistance, even if you are not.”

  “You are a healer, then?” Cole asked doubtfully.

  “Me? Oh dear me no.” The stranger laughed again, seemingly amused by the notion. “No, my expertise lies in other areas I’m afraid. But there is a healer in our village, not far from here.”

  “A village, in the Spiritwood?” Raven did not attempt to disguise her doubt.

  “Yes, we’ve managed to carve out a place of our own, away from the cares of the world. Our own little paradise.” The man beamed at them. “I can take you there, if you wish? As I said, it is not far. As well as a healer, we have food and warm beds. If I’m not mistaken you are in need of those as well.”

  Raven looked up and down the road again, as if searching for an alternative. None seemed to present itself. “Very well,” she said finally. “Take us to your village. We won’t impose on you for long... just enough for our friend to see your healer. Then we will be on our way.”

  “Oh I am pleased.” The little man seemed to bounce with excitement at the news. “Keep close behind me, and we’ll be there in no time at all.” He practically skipped across the road, and gestured for them to follow.

  “What a strange man,” Cole muttered.

  “Keep your wits about you and your weapon close,” Raven advised.

  After they had crossed the road and been swallowed by the trees on the other side. Harri lifted his head groggily, and whispered something in Cole’s ear.

  “What did he say?” Raven asked.

  “I didn’t catch all of it. Something about a fair, I think.”

  “Oh, we’re very fair, I can assure you,” the little man burbled, overhearing them. “The master insists upon it, in fact. Oh my yes.”

  “Perhaps he is delirious,” said Raven. She seemed lost in thought.

  Which one? Cole wondered, as they followed the strange man towards a village that existed in the middle of a forest where even Legion patrols feared to tread.

  CHAPTER 16

  The chapel was small, draughty and also, it appeared, forgotten. A thick layer of dust clung to every surface, while ragged cobwebs hung from every corner. The creatures that had spun these were nowhere to be seen; they had long disappeared, just as the cramped shrine had been abandoned by those who had once gathered to pray for divine favour.

  From the undisturbed grime atop the marble altar it was clear that it had not seen use for some time, while the white linen that adorned it had become ivory with age. The leaf-green trim, which the priests had once taught symbolised the Divine’s love of nature, had faded to a drab olive shade. What it symbolised now was anyone’s guess.

  The statue of that deity was still in place, as it once had been in dozens of churches across the Empire. Most had now been torn down by brown-robed Brothers, as eagerly as they had once raised them up, their shrines reclaimed and repurposed. Likely the only ones to have survived were in forsaken chapels like this one. The carved figure was instantly familiar; a robed man, bowed head half-hidden beneath a hood, hands held out beseechingly, palms upturned. A posture of generosity, power and humility.

  Adelmar stood at the doorway to the chapel, frowning. It saddened him to see it thus. The small room in a far-flung wing of the palace had never been busy. Most of Ehrenburg’s worshippers gathered instead at the city’s grand cathedral. But, even so, in years past you could have walked in at any time on any given day and found one of the palace servants knelt before the altar, entreating the Divine for some boon. No longer.

  Jaw clenched, he stepped inside and marched to the altar. Adelmar always marched, wherever he went. He’d been a soldier since he was large enough to lift a sword, and certain habits died hard. He had marched through a score of campaigns undefeated, and marched to every corner of the land to crush his father’s enemies. He’d even marched down the aisle of Ehrenburg Cathedral the day he wed. Lady Ellara was once heard to declare, at an official reception thrown by the Duke of Strathearn – where she had imbibed a little too freely – that when he had approached their wedding bed that night, it had been with a march in his step.

  Adelmar was not amused and had later remonstrated with his wife, after marching her from the Duchess’ side before she could divulge anything further.

  He dropped to one knee before the altar, and bent his head. “Divine, I ask for the strength to bear the iniquities of this place; the fawning lackwits and deceitful courtiers. I ask that you shield my family, my wife and daughters, from its corruption. I pray for my father’s soul. He is a good man led astray by bad counsel.” He stopped, then sighed. “And I pray for my brother, that he lives in a manner more befitting one of his station.”

  He remained kneeling a few moments more, head reverently bowed. As ever, he waited for some sign that his words had been heeded. As ever, he was disappointed. He stood, and brushed the dust that now clung to his clothes; plain brown woollen hose and breeches, and vermillion doublet. A simple fur-trimmed silk mantle, as red as freshly spilled blood, was draped over his shoulders and fastened at his neck with a golden clasp in the shape of a bull’s head. Without a further word, he turned and left the chapel.

  When he pushed open the door to his chambers a short time later, he was surprised to find one of the people that had figured in his recent thoughts. Jarrod was lounging on the sill of a window that looked out onto a courtyard below. Adelmar eyed his brother warily as he entered, taking in the dark-blonde, slicked back hair, the blue eyes twinkling with amusement at something he’d seen below. A cruel smirk, an expression never very far from his face, twisted his lips. As ever, Jarrod was dressed impeccably; a black velvet doublet slashed in the current fashion, revealing the gold of his shirt beneath. With an inward sigh, Adelmar’s eyes fell to the large green gem sat upon his chest, hanging from a thick gold chain. “Brother!” Jarrod cried as Adelmar closed the door firmly and marched into the room. “What an absolute delight it is to see your smiling face.”

  “Jarrod,” he responded stiffly. The sight of his half-brother brought down upon him the black cloud that had hovered above him since his return to the city. Moodily, h
e crossed to his desk and retrieved Duty; the shining blade sat snugly within its oiled leather scabbard where he had left it that morning. It was Adelmar’s firmly held belief that a man should never go to his prayers while carrying arms. Feeling its comforting weight on his hip once more, a fraction of his dark mood lifted. “What can I do for you?”

  “Such fraternal warmth.” Jarrod placed a heavily jewelled hand on his breast. “It fairly makes the heart sing.” A sly smile insinuated itself onto his face. “Missed you at church this morning.”

  Adelmar snorted at the admonishment, the closest he ever came to laughter. “I could say the same of you.”

  The younger prince looked baffled momentarily. Then, realisation dawned. “Oh, Addled, tell me you didn’t go there,” he chided. “Not to that filthy little pigeon coop?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Adelmar barked. He felt the black cloud descend again. Less than a minute in his brother’s company and already he wanted to punch the wall.

  “Don’t be like that, that’s what I’ve always called my big brother.” Jarrod laughed gaily. “Father still tells the story of when I was first brought to court, barely off the tit, and he introduced us for the first time. Do you remember?”

  “I remember.” Adelmar’s voice was little more than a growl. If Jarrod noticed his tone then he didn’t show it.

  “Only I couldn’t say your name properly,” Jarrod continued, oblivious, “and it came out as Addled. Father laughed so hard he almost shat out a kidney. Believe me, brother, I can’t look at you now without thinking of you as Addled.”

  Adelmar closed his eyes and sighed. He knew from long experience that the only way to stop his half-brother’s prattling was to ignore it. Eventually he would grow bored and leave to find something else to grab his interest. “Very droll,” he said. “Is there a point to you being here, Jarrod? Where is my wife?”

  “What, is the pleasure of my company not enough?” The younger prince affected a wounded expression. Then, as Adelmar had hoped, he suddenly tired of the jape and hopped from the windowsill. “Gone shopping,” he said, in a bored tone. “When I told her that Madame Châtelait recently took delivery of a new shipment of finest Xanshian silks, I was nearly killed in the stampede. She went to speak to the dressmaker personally, I believe. You would have thought that fine clothes were forbidden in your household.” He cast a critical eye over Adelmar’s plain attire. “Never mind.”