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

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “Not so much a boy as a young man, but yes. This is Brother Caspian,” Captain Brandt replied, even though he was aware that Caspian as yet had no right to that title.

  “Perhaps a skinny whelp such as this one can be called a man within the Order, but the Legion is not so lenient.” The blue eyes glanced in his direction again. He felt the crew, the captain in particular, bristle at the knight’s manner, but they made no move. Caspian felt himself shrink beneath the knight’s withering gaze. “You say he has information of importance to the emperor?”

  “That’s right.” Captain Brandt’s tone was guarded.

  The knight grinned broadly. “For a ship’s captain your sense of direction leaves much to be desired. I’m afraid you’ve a long way to go still before you reach Ehrenburg.”

  The captain’s jaw clenched. “If we must sail on, we will,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I had thought to bring the boy’s story to the commander here. Then, perhaps the Legion can escort him the rest of the way. It is half the time over land to the capital than by sea.”

  The knight made no reply. He strolled across the deck, stopping before each crewman and looking searchingly at each one as if memorising their faces. When he reached Caspian, his eyes glittered with bemusement. “We thought you were pirates, you know,” he said, turning away and strolling back towards the captain. “It’s very rare to see a barbarian ship this far south, particularly such a small one as this.” He laughed. “No offence intended captain. It is merely that most would not even think to attempt such a journey into unfamiliar waters.”

  “We would not have done so had our message been less important,” Captain Brandt replied.

  “Indeed.” The knight regarded the captain for a moment. “Tell me your message, and I’ll decide whether it is worth taking further.”

  Captain Brandt shook his head firmly. “We must speak to your commander, or we will sail on to Ehrenburg. But not before we send a bird to the commander telling him about your refusal to let us see him. What is your name again?”

  Anger flashed across the young knight’s face. “General Vitrian is busy in discussions with his war council and cannot be disturbed. Prefect Lugen is available however. He is in charge of this port and has the authority to escalate any issues to the general that he deems worthy. I trust this is acceptable.”

  The captain hesitated. Clearly he was not prepared for such an eventuality. “Very well,” he said at last. “Take us to the prefect.”

  As the crew began to move, the knight held up a hand. “Your men are to remain here, captain. Don’t worry, I will leave my troop behind to make sure they are looked after. You are to come alone.” His gaze flicked towards Caspian again. “Apart from the boy, of course.”

  With that, he turned from them and strode across the Havørn’s gangplank onto the pier. The captain turned to Caspian, and gestured for him to follow. Concern was etched onto his face, and Caspian felt his own worries grow. Obviously, their first meeting with the Legion at Bloodstone had not gone as expected.

  With a last glance towards the crew, Caspian followed the knight and Captain Brandt down the gangplank. Dorric and Jan appeared nervous, while Nikolaj glared at the Legion soldiers on the dock. Sten stood, stoic and immobile as ever, his face impassive.

  They followed the knight through the harbour, his steel boots clattering as he marched across the stone cobbles. Not once did he look behind to make sure they were still with him; doubtless he didn’t care whether they reached the prefect or not.

  Caspian looked around as they hurried behind the crimson-cloaked figure. The port was a hive of activity, with dock workers scurrying back and forth with crates, boxes and other items. Wagons rolled off towards the giant gate when they were filled, and others were unloaded at the piers, their goods loaded onto the frigates by large wooden cranes. These were powered by great treadmills containing yet more oxen. Squads of soldiers patrolled up and down, while a wooden watchtower at the end of their pier was manned by bored-looking archers and arbalesters.

  They eventually found themselves outside one of the square, stone buildings he had noticed earlier upon emerging from the Havørn’s cabin. A metal plaque affixed to the wall beside the door declared it to be the harbourmaster’s office. “Go inside and take the stairs,” the knight said gruffly. “You’ll find the prefect up there.”

  Beyond the door they were confronted with another. From within, Caspian heard the sound of people hard at work, the nature of which he could not guess. But to their right, a flight of stairs led upwards. The captain went first, Caspian following close behind. Yet another door faced them at the top of the stairs. This time, Captain Brandt knocked. After they heard a muffled invitation to enter, he pushed it open and walked through.

  The top floor of the building was taken up by a single room. It appeared to be a combination of office, living area and bedroom. Crumpled clothes and stacks of dirty plates were scattered liberally across the latter two. A quarter of the room was equally messy, yet here it was composed of piles of papers; books stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of one another and other work-related clutter. A man sat at a desk facing them, scribbling feverishly at a sheet of paper in front of him. He looked up as they entered and jumped to his feet.

  “Hello, hello, what have we here?” he cried, scuttling over to them. He shook both their hands and stood waiting, an earnest expression on his face.

  “Are you Prefect Lugen?” the captain asked, uncertainly.

  “I have that honour,” the man replied, with a high-pitched laugh that was curiously at-odds with his bulky frame. In many ways, he was a reflection of the room he inhabited. His tunic was blotched with various stains, both old and new, and the few remaining strands of hair that clung to his scalp stood up in disarray.

  “The officer that met our ship at the dock suggested that we come and speak with you,” the captain went on. “It is a matter of great importance to the emperor.”

  “Really?” The prefect blinked in surprise. “Come, be seated.” They followed him back to his desk, where he indicated a pair of chairs nearby. When they were settled, he turned to them again. “Now, tell me everything. As Lieutenant Sturben no doubt told you, I have the ear of the general, who has a direct line to the Golden Throne and the emperor himself.” He beamed at them. “It’s so nice to have people come through the proper channels, oh yes indeed.”

  “It’s probably best if the lad tells it himself.”

  Captain Brandt smiled at Caspian, and nodded encouragingly. The prefect’s brown eyes fell upon him as well, and Caspian swallowed nervously. Then, haltingly at first, he began to tell the story of what had happened the day of the Archon’s visit to the Crag. Leaving out no detail that he was aware of, he spoke of the Archon’s arrival, of Cole’s bout against the giant manservant, of the feast in the Great Hall and the slaughter that followed. By the time he was telling the prefect of how he hid from the Archon’s guards and concealed himself in the keep’s cellars until the crew of the Havørn arrived and discovered him, he was speaking more confidently.

  The prefect’s eyes grew wider as Caspian’s tale continued. By the end, his expression was alarmed. “I can see why you came to us with this,” he said when Caspian had finished his tale. “Troubling news indeed, oh my yes.” The Prefect’s pudgy fingers fluttered nervously across the surface of his desk. It was then that Caspian noticed the ring he wore. It was a solid gold band, on which was set a large green stone.

  “The Archon should pay for his crimes,” Captain Brandt said. “But there’s more. I believe he’s plotting something, perhaps even preparing to move against the emperor himself.”

  “Really?” The prefect looked startled. “Oh dear, that is unfortunate news. What makes you think this?”

  “Why travel the length of the empire to murder a group of men, fellows of your own Order, unless it was to hide something of great importance, or to find something. Both, even.” He grimaced. “With my own eyes I saw him performing sorcery of
some kind.”

  “Dear oh dear,” the prefect moaned again. “His Excellency will not be pleased to hear this, no not at all. He is of the faith himself, and holds the Archon in very high regard. Still,” he sighed, “if what you say is true then he must know of it. Do you have anything to back up your claims? Any documents, perhaps?”

  The captain coughed. “We have with us letters and journals written by the Elder of the Crag, their contents confirm much of what we have told you.” Caspian glanced at him in surprise. He had not yet spoken to Captain Brandt about the contents of the letters, and indeed those he had seen did nothing to back up his story.

  “You have them here, with you?” An odd tone had entered the prefect’s voice, which made Caspian uncomfortable.

  “No, on our ship.”

  “Ah, that is good.” He stood up. “I think our course then is clear. Caspian should remain here, as the general will most certainly want to hear what he has to say. Let us return to your ship together, captain, and we’ll get you and your crew on your way as soon as possible. Yes, yes, without delay.”

  The three of them left the building together, and made their way back across the harbour. As they emerged from the harbourmaster’s building, the knight fell in step behind them.

  The sun was high overhead by the time they made it back to their dock, the bright light glinting on the armour of the soldiers standing in formation in front of the Havørn. Caspian smiled sadly when he saw the ship. It had been his home for many weeks, and it was an odd feeling that this was probably the last time he would see either it or its crew. They all stood there upon its deck, roughly where he had left them earlier that morning. Relief flooded their faces when they saw the captain.

  They stopped in front of the gangplank. “That is where the papers are, is it?” the prefect asked, pointing towards the cabin door.

  “Aye, the lad has spent the last few weeks organising them and putting them in order, all the better for the emperor to read the truth for himself,” Captain Brandt replied.

  “Wonderful,” the prefect beamed at them again. “A shame to see such hard work wasted, but what else are we to do?”

  “What-”

  Caspian watched on dumbly as the prefect raised a pudgy hand. The ring he had noticed before sparkled in the sunlight.

  The first arrow caught Jan in the throat. The young crewman crumpled to the ground, his eyes bulging from his face as he clawed at the wooden shaft protruding from his neck. Caspian felt his legs give way beneath him and he collapsed onto the wooden deck. He gave a strangled cry as two more arrows were loosed in quick succession from the watchtower behind. Feathers sprouted from the chests of Nikolaj and Dorric. The latter’s open, honest face was locked in a dumbfounded expression as blood bloomed on his shirt around the wound.

  Caspian was dimly aware of angry shouts behind him, the captain, and the loud slap of metal connecting with flesh. Another arrow was loosed, thudding into Sten’s muscular shoulder. The big sailor gave an agonised roar and pitched backwards off the ship, landing with a splash in the water below.

  Caspian looked up from the ground, where he had landed in a heap, and saw the young knight gazing down at him with a sneer on his face. He gave another signal and more shafts were loosed at the Havørn. These arrows burned bright with flame, and soon the fire had spread across the ship’s deck and was licking up the mast. The bodies of the crewmen lay still as the flames reached them. They were gone already.

  He began to sob, unable to hold back a tidal wave of emotion. He felt the tears rolling down his face as the ship burned before his eyes. The knight was shouting instructions, and soldiers were already hacking at the mooring rope with their swords, and heaving the stricken ship out into the bay. His tears did not stop as he and an unconscious Captain Brandt were hauled to their feet, nor as they were roughly dragged towards the enormous stone gate that led to Bloodstone Keep. Dockworkers turned to watch them as they were hauled past, their faces blank. Even through the mist in his eyes, Caspian noticed that many of them wore crystal pendants upon their chests.

  It was only many hours later, when he sat alone in the darkness, that the tears finally dried up. But he would shed many more in the days to come.

  CHAPTER 21

  When Emmett’s eyes eased open in the darkness, all was as it had been before. He was laying in bed at his home. Around him was the familiar clutter of old clothes and crockery that he never seemed to have the time or inclination to tidy away. And yet, in that first moment of wakefulness, he instinctively knew that everything had changed.

  It was the mess that was his first inkling. It irritated him. When had he last felt irritated by anything? He couldn’t recall.

  A dim grey glow peeped through the shutters on his window, indicating that dawn was approaching. Emmett rubbed his eyes. It was unusual for him to rise this early, but something had stirred him. What was it? It was then that he recalled his dream. That was unusual in itself. As far as Emmett could remember, he never dreamed. If he had ever needed to describe the period between going to bed at night and waking in the morning, it would be as floating in a warm grey cloud... empty, yet oddly comforting.

  But last night, he had dreamed of the young man that had come to the village three days before. Not come to the village, no, he told himself. Brung here he was, and by yourself as well, you old fool. There had been nothing, just the familiar grey fog, and then the boy, Cole, was standing before him. He’d spoken to him.

  Emmett slowly sat up, and kneaded his temples. He tried to remember what the boy had told him. It was important, somehow, he was sure of that.

  A wave of pity washed over him when he thought about the young man and his friends. They had seemed like good people. Cole, in particular had been friendly to him. He appreciated that. The people that came to the village weren’t always friendly. Some yelled and cursed, either in the beginning or when they realised what was happening. Emmett found his faith wavering in those moments, but he had never faltered.

  The pity he felt for this latest group was his second inkling that something fundamental had changed. He swung his legs from the bed, his mind racing. But just as a couple of loose stones rolling down a hill can precede a catastrophic landslide, an avalanche of memories and emotions suddenly crashed down at once upon him.

  With a strangled cry, Emmett collapsed to the floor. He clawed at his face as an endless succession of apparitions paraded past his mind’s eye, of nights beyond count dining at the Baron’s table. Of his own indifference at what was taking place. Men. Women. Children. One by one they came before him, staring at him with silent accusations. He wept freely, unable to hold back the tears. It was as though a dam that had been built inside him had burst at last.

  As the ghoulish parade continued, Emmett’s stomach roiled. He crawled back to his bed on all fours, and reached for the chamberpot beneath. Each heave as he emptied his stomach into the ceramic bowl felt as if his body was purging itself. Everything he had eaten the day before left his system, and with it he felt some of the poison that had clouded his mind for so long leave him as well.

  When it was over, he stood and staggered to his kitchen on shaky legs. His mind felt clearer now, like an ice cold stream where before it had been a murky, stagnant pool. Emmett remembered now what Cole had said to him in his dream. About his being free and their needing his help. About it being up to him what happens now.

  Emmett’s head pounded. Whether from vomiting or all the horrors of his life crowding in on him at once, he didn’t know. With the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, he groped blindly for the cutlery drawer. He rattled through the dull everyday knives and forks until he found what he was looking for. With a shaking hand, he lifted a long, sharp carving knife. It glittered cruelly in the dawn light. How can I live with myself? The question raced round and round his mind, until the answer came to him. Emmett knew what he had to do. Something I should have done a long time ago.

  Emmett raised the knife.

&nbs
p; * * *

  Raven paced restlessly around the floor of their cell. It had been a huge gamble to wait an extra day to put her plan into action, she knew, but there hadn’t been any choice. By the time that ungrateful imp had disappeared into his bolthole, the sun had already begun to appear over the horizon and the sounds of the village stirring floated down to them. There simply hadn’t been the time to do what she proposed.

  As she remembered the boggit, Raven turned to cast another glare through the bars of their tiny barred window. It was still lurking in the tree, as far as she could tell. It had spent most of the previous day reclining on a branch, exploring the contents of one nostril with a long claw.

  With interest, she saw that a light snow had begun to fall, dusting the ground and bushes outside. If the weather held, then soon all would be buried beneath a carpet of white. The cold air reached down into the cell and brushed her face with icy fingers. She shivered.

  Close by, Cole still sat motionless on the floor, his eyes closed and fingers of one hand wrapped around the crystal pendant. She watched him for a few moments, feeling horribly conflicted. She was at once praying that he would succeed, and annoyed that he had once more gone to that place. The irony of it being their only means of salvation was not lost on her.

  Just then, Cole opened his eyes. He had been in his strange trance state for more than an hour, she judged. “It’s done,” he informed her.

  “Did it work?”

  Cole clambered unsteadily to his feet and stretched his back. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I think so.”

  Raven folded her arms doubtfully. “So what do we do now?” She didn’t like the lack of certainty in his tone.

  “We wait, I suppose. There’s not a lot more we can do.”

  There was something else about his manner that bothered her, a sense of unease. “What happened in there, anything I should know about?”

  “It was... different,” he said. “Normally, when I go to the dream-place, I’m alone. At least, as far as I can tell. But this time, there was another... presence, I guess you would call it.”