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

by Alan Ratcliffe

  Cole blanched. “You think there are others out there, like the Baron?”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t think so.” Raven rubbed her temples. “I think I would have heard if there were others out there like him. The rakh have never been seen in the west, I’m surprised even one made it to our land. The Baron has stayed hidden this long because he found the Spiritwood, but thankfully there are few places like this in the Empire, where the darkness holds sway. But there could be other... things, that are even worse.”

  Cole looked around their cell. “We probably ought to worry about ourselves for now. If we can get out of here, then we can think about what to do.” He sighed. “If there even is anything we can do.”

  “There’s always something that can be done.” Raven climbed to her feet and began to pace the stone floor of the cell, examining the walls. “As long as a single candle burns, then the darkness can never prevail. No matter how small the flame, hope remains.”

  “I think that’s the most optimistic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” said Cole as he rose to join her.

  “I’ve kept my hope alive for twenty years, Cole,” she replied. “Without it I would not have been able to keep going.”

  “Hope for what?”

  Raven stared at him searchingly, her ice-blue eyes boring into his own. Then the intensity went out of them and she sagged slightly. Plainly she had not found whatever she had been looking for in him. “My father, Cole. Twenty years ago a Brother with bright green eyes came to my village and took him. Took everyone, right from in front of me. I tried to help but there was nothing I could do. All this time, I have been searching for him. The hope I hold on to is that he is still out there, alive.”

  The description of the cleric was not lost on Cole. “You think this man was the Archon?” The look in her eyes was enough confirmation. “I’m beginning to understand why you came with me,” he said slowly. “A month ago I would have said that you were mad, to think that the head of the Order should do something like that. But after what happened at the Crag... a man who would do that is capable of anything. But why would he kidnap people from your village?”

  “I never found out.” Raven folded her arms and stared at the floor. “One memory of that night always confused me, until now. I saw people from the village, our friends, helping the Brothers. I couldn’t understand how people I had known my entire life could do something so evil.” Her voice wavered, as though she was fighting to keep strong emotions in check. She looked up and met his gaze, a fury in her eyes. “After seeing what the Baron has done to the people of Faerloren, I think I understand it better now.”

  Cole was aghast. “You think the Archon is a rakh?”

  “No,” Raven replied after a brief pause. “At least, I don’t believe so. I think he is just a man, who wields a power not unlike your own. He and the other Brothers at my village were handing out green crystals to those that would come and listen to them preach. Nobody had seen their like before, and after a few weeks it was rarer to see someone not wearing one of the Order’s stones than it was to see one who was.” She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “He even gave one to me, told me to stare deep within it. I don’t know what he expected to happen, but he seemed disappointed when nothing did.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I kept it for a time, mostly because I forgot about it. When I eventually found it in the pocket of a dress I had not worn for a long time, I threw it away. After that night, I didn’t want it anywhere near me.”

  “Twenty years is a long time, Raven.” As he spoke, Cole’s eyes were fixed upon the floor, unable or unwilling to meet Raven’s gaze.

  “He’s still out there,” she replied defiantly. “He’s alive. I know it.”

  Cole shifted uncomfortably. Nevertheless, he replied, “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Yes, well, there is nothing we can do while we’re still locked up in the Baron’s dungeon. Or pantry, even.” Raven’s face twisted with distaste. “Fortunately, there is a way I think we can escape before we find out whether he sees us as prisoners or his next meal. I’m not sure if it will work, but... why are you smiling?”

  “I have a plan of my own,” Cole replied smugly. “I thought of it as soon as the guards locked the door. Well,” he admitted. “Not quite as quick as that, but as soon as I saw that window.”

  Raven glanced doubtfully up at a small grille near the ceiling on one wall. It was less than a shoulder-width across and barely a hand tall. “I doubt our stay here will be long enough for either of us to slim down enough to fit through there, Cole. Even if we could remove the bars.”

  Cole grinned. “One of us can, and we won’t even have to so much as bend a single bar.”

  Realisation dawned on Raven’s face. “Cole, no...”

  But he was already approaching the pile of straw in the corner. He rummaged within the stalks, and dragged a bleary boggit from within its depths. “Oi, gerroff!” cried Grume.

  “Listen a moment,” Cole told him. “We’re in trouble and we need your help.”

  “’Elp, is it?” The boggit eyed them darkly. “A bit rich to ask The Impending Grume for ‘elp after man’andlin’ me all the way across this bladdy forest.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Cole kneeled down as low as he could, to look the little creature in the eye. “Harri’s in mortal danger. We all are. We need to find him and get out of this place before the Baron’s men come back. Will you help us?”

  A pair of yellow eyes squinted at him suspiciously. “Wot’s in it for me?”

  “Our eternal gratitude,” Cole replied, trying to ignore the sound of Raven’s boots tapping impatiently on the flagstones behind him. “You’ll be a hero, Grume. You’ll earn any reward you like, just name it.”

  The boggit appeared to consider the proposal. “Wot would I ‘ave to do? I ain’t promisin’ nuffin,” he added hastily, prodding Cole’s nose with a sharp claw.

  “Excellent.” Cole picked up the boggit, carefully this time, and raised him up to the grille. “We can’t fit through these bars, but you can. I need you to go out there and run into the village without anyone seeing you. Go to the healer’s house, see if he can be convinced to help us. If he can’t, or won’t, then run to the road. Find a caravan, or a hunter, and tell them where to find us.”

  For a long time, the boggit made no reply. He stared through the bars, a thoughtful expression on his squat, hairy face. “Lemme get this right,” he said at last. “You want me to go out there,” he pointed through the tiny window, “and go scamperin’ frew an ‘ooman village, lookin’ for the one ‘ooman who might not want to eat yers. Then, I’m to go runnin’ frew the bladdy forest, frew all the slinky-wotsits and soul-doodads, lookin’ for groups of armed ‘oomans, an’ bring ‘em back ‘ere. That right?” Cole beamed, and nodded.

  “Cole...” Raven sighed behind him.

  “Right then,” the boggit sniffed. “I’ll do it.”

  Cole looked up at Raven, triumphantly. “Wonderful,” he said to the little creature. “Thank you Grume. I promise, we won’t forget this.”

  “Yer, wotever,” the boggit muttered as Cole lifted him to the bars. With a small grunt of effort, his hairy frame squeezed through the narrow window. He cast an unreadable glance behind him, towards Cole’s expectant, upturned face, and then scuttled towards a cluster of trees.

  “That’s it,” Cole hissed. “Just go through there... and...” He trailed off as he watched the boggit scamper up a tree and vanish into a hole in the trunk. A few moments later, the sound of snoring carried through the air towards them. Cole’s shoulders slumped despondently.

  “If you’ve quite finished fooling around,” said Raven behind him. “Then I think we ought to discuss my plan.”

  CHAPTER 20

  There was something uniquely refreshing about the sea air, Caspian reflected. He felt revitalised. The sapping fog that had clouded his mind after hours spent poring over dusty books had been blown awa
y by the fresh, salty sting of the breeze.

  He had emerged from Captain Brandt’s cabin an hour earlier, blinking in the sunlight and wanting to clear his head. The captain was stood at the helm, while Sten sat amidships making repairs to a white canvas sail.

  Captain Brandt nodded a greeting as he appeared, but otherwise kept his attention on the sea before them. The Havørn continued its journey along the coast, which they kept within sight on their port side. Everywhere else, nothing but endless waves stretched all the way to the horizon.

  Caspian was slightly surprised to find that the evening was already closing in fast upon them. Yet again he had whiled away an entire day working his way through the Elder’s correspondence and several other tomes he had liberated from the Crag. He made his way to the bow, where he settled himself down next to a coil of rope.

  He had stayed there, watching the sun sink towards the horizon before finally disappearing from view. He felt strangely at peace, gazing out into a sunset that painted the sky in a variety pinks and oranges. Even the ocean had taken on a warm glow, reflecting the breathtaking palette of the evening. The weather was calm, and he no longer noticed the gentle swell of the ship as it cut through waves no higher than his knee. On a day like this, it almost seemed as if they were flying.

  As the sun disappeared, so too the sky gradually darkened until one by one the stars came out. With the coming of night, the temperature dropped. Caspian blew in cupped hands to warm them. He could return to the cabin, but he wished to stay outside for longer. From below decks, the smell of cooking wafted up to him on the breeze. Soon enough he would be called down to supper, and the thought of hot food was pleasing. Dorric was about as far from a skilled chef as it was possible to get, yet that did not bother him as much as it did the others. As Cole would doubtless point out if he were there, they had suffered far worse in the Crag’s dining hall.

  “You’ve come a long way, lad.” Caspian turned at the sound of the voice, and saw Captain Brandt clumping up the deck towards him. The watch had changed, and Nikolaj, the first mate, had relieved him at the ship’s helm.

  “Yes, almost three hundred leagues.”

  The captain chuckled softly, and sat down upon the coiled rope beside him. “That as well,” he said. “It’s a long voyage, no doubt. Almost the entire length of the Empire. But you’ve come along just as far in that time. Three weeks ago, you would have been hanging over the side of that rail, and it wouldn’t be the stars you were watching.”

  “Ah, I see.” Caspian smiled. The captain was right. In less than a month he had gone from a callow youth whose insides would turn to water the moment he set foot on a boat, to one who could happily while away his evening watching the waves roll past and daydream about supper. Perhaps he had even lost some of that callowness along the way. He thought of the place beneath the mountain, what they had found there. He was perhaps one of only four people living to have seen such sights. “I suppose events can shape a person as much as the other way round.”

  “True enough.” There was a sudden flare of light as the captain struck his tinderbox. He held the orange flame to the bowl of his pipe, and puffed its stem until the tobacco began to smoulder. “A while ago you told me that when all this is done, you wanted to return to the Crag, to pick up your old life again if you could. Is that still your wish?”

  Caspian looked out towards the ocean. All was dark now. He could only see the outline of the land because its shadow blocked out the shining of the stars. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I thought I would. Want to go back, I mean. But since we went into the mountain, I feel... different, I suppose. There’s a lot more to the world than I thought. Before, when I was at the Crag, when I looked out across the sea I’d be afraid. I didn’t know what was out there, and it scared me. I still don’t know what’s out there, but I find myself staring at the horizon, wondering.” He breathed in a lungful of sea air. “I think I want to find out what else is out there.”

  Captain Brandt smiled. “Some people think of their lives as a straight road, one that sees them born at one end and dead at the other and a simple path between the two. But they’re wrong, lad. Life is like the sea: vast and full of possibilities. Hidden depths and strange currents. Dangers. You plot your own course, but at any time a storm can blow up. It can send you off course, or destroy you. You have to decide whether to change direction or ride it out, and often you don’t know if your choice was the right one until the storm has passed. The important part is being free to choose. Being able to adapt to every new situation, having the courage to choose a different path for yourself and taking opportunities as they come... those are the secrets to a happy life.”

  Caspian nodded, mulling over the captain’s words. Upon first leaving the Crag, he had perhaps been too focused on what he had lost, but no longer. His old life was gone. He’d known that, deep down, for a long time. It had just taken a while for him to accept it. But, that life... was it something he ever wanted for himself, or a future that had been thrust upon him? He had yielded to his parents’ wishes. For the first time, he could sense a vast world of possibilities stretching out in front of him in every direction. The thought of it was dizzying.

  Just then, there was a call from below-decks. Dorric had evidently completed whatever culinary delights he had in store for them tonight. Caspian and Captain Brandt made their way down to the hold together, the latter nodding to the first-mate as they passed the quarterdeck.

  The Havørn was not a large ship, and the hold beneath the deck was cramped. Hammocks the crew used for sleeping jostled for space with crates and barrels of supplies; salt pork, smoked fish, fruit and vegetables that grew less appealing the longer their voyage lasted, fresh water and other assorted items. Many had been looted from the Crag’s larders, but Caspian viewed them without guilt. The dead had no need of such provisions.

  Towards the stern, space had been given over to a small living area for the crew; a table that was used for eating, playing cards or whatever else they found to amuse themselves during their free time. Lanterns hung from hooks on either side of the room, swaying in time to the movement of the ship, casting lively, dancing shadows on each wall. Racks of weapons were also kept here: harpoons, cutlasses, hatchets and a couple of enormous, heavy bows. Not for the first time, Caspian reflected that Sten was likely the only member of the crew who would be able to fire one of these powerful weapons with any degree of control or accuracy.

  Beyond the small dining area was an even smaller galley, where the pots, pans, utensils, crockery and all else Dorric required to keep the crew fed were kept. He emerged from the doorway now as Caspian came down the steps. He carried a large, steaming pot with two hands, and deposited it on the table. Jan and Sten had already taken their seats, and Captain Brandt settled himself at the head of the table.

  Caspian observed the crew of the Havørn as they waited to be served. They had been strangers to him a month ago and, despite time spent in their company, they still were to varying degrees. Jan was the youngest of them, bar himself. Tall and skinny, with a matted, unkempt thatch of greasy dark-blonde hair. As far as Caspian could tell, the crew were not adverse to his company, but Jan was probably the one he had warmed to the least. He was fairly certain the feeling was mutual. The youngest crewman was quick-witted, as he had shown with countless barbs and taunts thrown in his direction, and wore an almost ever-present sneer upon his face.

  Dorric could not be more different. He would never again see his twenties, Caspian judged, and an amiable smile was never far from his portly features. In contrast to Jan, Dorric was entirely guileless and, while not dim-witted, neither would he ever challenge the greatest thinkers of the Empire.

  Sten, on the other hand, was an enigma. The burly crewman was a clear head taller even than Jan, but whereas the younger man was gangly, Sten’s frame was a solid block of muscle. Yet, for all that, he was perhaps the most quiet and unassuming of the men aboard the Havørn. Most questions directed his way would rec
eive only a word or two in reply, if that, and he would never himself volunteer opinions or information. His skin was slightly darker in tone than any of his shipmates, indicating that he came originally from a warmer climate than the northerners. Whatever went on inside his shaven head was a mystery to Caspian... and also the captain, he believed. He wasn’t even sure if his ship-mates knew Sten’s real name – he had only ever heard him called by the nickname they themselves had given him.

  Captain Brandt watched the others silently, as Dorric retreated back to the galley. It was the captain with which Caspian was most familiar. Aside from Nikolaj, he was the eldest, approaching his middle years. He managed to partner a friendly disposition with an air of authority that Caspian had never seen challenged by any of the crew. While other captains might need to retain command through discipline and brutality, Captain Brandt seemed to inspire the loyalty of his men through force of personality alone. He had seen him rebuke a crewman for sloppy handiwork or inattention, but that was as far as it ever went. That always seemed to be enough. Of all of them, he also probably took the most care of his appearance; his red-brown hair and beard, tinged with grey, were never ungroomed and the captain’s topcoat and tricorn hat he was never seen without were never besmirched. His only vice appeared to be the clay pipe that rarely went unlit whenever the captain had a moment to himself.

  The only crew-member not at the table was Nikolaj. The oldest of the Havørn’s sailors, with grey hair and skin made leathery through decades spent at sea, he played his cards nearly as close to his chest as Sten. All Caspian knew was that he had fought in the northern rebellion and finished on the losing side. For whatever reason, the Bloody Prince had spared him and his compatriots, yet Caspian had never heard the first-mate say a kind word about the emperor’s eldest son.