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

by Alan Ratcliffe

“That when you die it is just like falling into a sleep that lasts forever?” Her eyes closed, and she stepped backwards.

  “Amelie!” Adelmar screamed, leaping towards his eldest child.

  She fell.

  CHAPTER 29

  For three days and nights, they rode. They kept an uneven pace, which at first surprised Cole, but he soon came to see the sense of it. While the blanket of snow that covered the ground gave it the impression of being smooth underfoot, the truth was the terrain of the lowlands was in many places rocky and loose, or covered in grassy tuffets that threatened to unseat an unwary rider.

  He quickly realised that galloping from Strathearn to Ehrenburg, trying to reach their destination as quickly as they could as he had originally envisaged, would have only served to kill the animals they rode long before they saw the gates of the imperial city; either through exhaustion or by breaking their legs on perilous terrain. Instead, where the ground became difficult they walked and, on the few occasions the land was flat, Raven allowed their mounts into a bracing canter, though never for very long. Most often, they rode at a brisk trot, a pace the eager young colts that the duke had gifted them seemed able to maintain almost indefinitely.

  Their progress was agonisingly slow to begin with, but by the time the sun came up the morning after they left Strathearn, the city walls were already out of sight. Yet, a pall of smoke hung in the air to the north, a reminder of the chaotic scenes they had left behind. Later that morning, they rode alongside a great lake. Light glinted off gentle waves that lapped at its banks, and a light mist clung to the surface.

  “Loch Daigeir,” Raven said by way of explanation when Cole asked where they were. “The Lannair divides not long after passing through Strathearn; the Lannmor flows east to the sea, and the Lannbeg south, where it feeds into this lake.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Cole said with sincerity.

  Raven gazed out across the water. For some reason Cole couldn’t discern, there was a sadness about her. “There is much beauty to be found in the land,” she said after a long pause. “We have seen precious little of it on this journey, but it’s there. It can be easy to forget that, sometimes.”

  Whatever the lake was called, it was peaceful, Cole knew that much. Other than themselves and their mounts, the only other signs of life they encountered that morning was a stag and its doe, who looked up in alarm from the gorse bush they had been nibbling upon as their horses thundered past.

  Not long after the sun eased its way above the horizon, they stopped to break their fast beside the lake. They tied their mounts to the branch of a fallen tree and sat near the bank as they ate some of the provisions the duke had ordered be placed in their saddlebags. Bread rolls that were still fresh, a soft, pale cheese inside a waxy skin that proved to be creamy in taste and texture and a stoppered bottle that contained a thin but refreshing ale. It was not the most luxurious fare, but Cole wolfed it all down contentedly.

  Even Grume allowed himself to be coaxed out into the open. As they ate, he sat upon a wide, flat rock, shivering slightly in the cool winter air. He gnawed sullenly upon a hunk of dried, salted pork but, underneath his usual curmudgeonly demeanour, Cole could tell that the little creature was pleased to feel the sun on his skin after days of concealment among the Aevir and the people of Strathearn.

  Cole gazed out across the lake. There was a plop nearby and a ring of rapidly disappearing ripples as a fish snatched an insect from the surface. Sitting here, you could almost believe that all was right with the world. But, perhaps inspired by Raven’s words earlier that day, his thoughts turned to all he had seen during the past weeks; bandits upon the road, the fell beasts of the Spiritwood, the terrible fate that had befallen the lost villagers of Faerloren and the riots upon the streets of Strathearn. “Has it always been like this,” he wondered aloud. “Have I just never seen it for myself?”

  Raven’s mind had evidently been running along similar lines. Having already finished her meal, his companion had turned her face towards the sun and was basking in the faint warmth it provided. “I’ve journeyed across the realm for the past twenty years, and in all that time it has never truly been at peace,” she said, raising herself onto her elbows and squinting in the sunlight. “It has never been as bad as this, though. Everywhere you go, there is something. Tensions, strife... dark creatures abroad.” She shook her head sadly and looked out over the water. “It sometimes feels as if there is a sickness upon the land.”

  “Not sickness. Poison.” They both turned towards the stone and the boggit that sat upon it. He picked a fragment of meat from his teeth with a tiny claw.

  “What do you mean?” asked Cole.

  “Weren’t always like this,” answered Grume. “Biggers have their problems, nuffin new there, but this... diff’rent.” The little creature shrugged. “We’s could feel it in the swamp, sumfin growin’, spreadin’ deep down below. Sumfin that shouldn’t be there. Sumfin bad.”

  “Grume,” said Raven quietly. “What happened to the others, your people?”

  The boggit’s yellow eyes fixed on hers. “Gone,” he replied, simply. “Too many died or got sick, too few kits bein’ born. All gone now.”

  They did not press him further. Instead they rested, taking turns to snatch a few hours of sleep, before setting off once more. That day set the pattern for the rest of the journey; they would ride four or five hours, break for food and to rest their mounts, and then start off again. They slept only when they could ride no further. It was exhausting but effective, and before the day was out the tranquil Loch Daigeir disappeared behind them.

  Even while riding at night, it was impossible to become lost. When the sun was down, their destination was always marked by a canopy of thick black clouds that swirled with an unearthly green light. Faint columns of green fire were also visible in different directions. The exception was the way from which they had come.

  “Do you think the duke brought down the crystal, like you asked?” Cole wondered on the second night, when the night sky behind them had remained dark.

  “Yes, I believe so.” Raven sounded relieved. “It seems as if the lords of Caer Lys and Creag an Tuirc followed his example, as well. I haven’t seen any signs of green fires in the night sky to the north.”

  Cole relaxed. “They are safe, then?”

  “I doubt the north will ever truly be safe, not while Maximilien lives,” she said ruefully. “However, it seems that whatever threat these stones present has been alleviated in their cities for now.”

  Cole thought about the unrest they had seen on the streets of Strathearn. “Do you think those other cities suffered riots as well?”

  Raven shrugged and climbed back into the saddle, as they prepared to resume their journey. “I hope not, but it’s possible. The Order hasn’t been able to gain a foothold north of the mountains. Leaders like Yaegar have stood firm against them, and are too distant from Ehrenburg to really worry about the emperor’s reaction. But you saw just two nights past what is happening in places where people have been forced to accept them. Hopefully Lords Hyland and Carlyle took down the stones before the situation could get out of hand.”

  By the morning of the fourth day, they could see their destination even in daylight. The Spire, the almost inconceivably tall tower built by the Order, dominated the horizon. It stood proudly, as pale as a skeletal finger, and with about as much warmth and charm as well. At its peak, it seemed almost to tickle the underbelly of the thick clouds that gathered above it. As Cole watched, green lightning struck the top of the tower and seemed to shimmer momentarily across its surface. Whatever is going to happen, it will be soon, he thought.

  Not long afterwards they reached the Spine, the wide, paved road that served as the main thoroughfare connecting the north and south. They had kept away from the road from Strathearn, wishing to avoid any undue attention they might attract. For the same reason, they had taken care to give a wide berth to the many farms and smallholdings that dotted the landscape. But i
t appeared that was no longer an option. Unless you arrived by ship, the only way to enter the imperial city was by road, and the Spine was the most widely used of them all.

  Cole watched the steady stream of wagons and carriages warily. “What now?” he asked. “I hope that our plan is not simply to march up to the guards at the city gates and say ‘hullo, we’re here to thwart the emperor’s chief and most trusted advisor. Now if you’d be so good as to let us pass’.” He grimaced. “It seems a shame to have come all this way just to lose my head and have it mounted on a pike outside the palace.”

  Raven pondered the question for a moment. “It’s possible that we wouldn’t have to say anything. Even if they have been asked to watch for you, what could they have been asked to look for? A young man with brown hair? If they arrested everyone that fit that description, the city’s dungeons would be full and its streets empty.”

  “Are you saying I look ordinary?” Cole feigned offence. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.” Raven smiled. “It might be the perfect disguise. They may have been told to watch for a young Brother of the Order, but as you told me before, you haven’t worn your robes since leaving Westcove.”

  Cole glanced down at his attire. It was true. He was wearing clothes borrowed from Captain Brandt, the ring-mail shirt Bear had given him and a grimy, worn travelling cloak. There was nothing left that would mark him out as belonging to the Crag. “They may be on the lookout for a pair of wanderers, a man and a woman,” he pointed out. “The Archon’s giant has seen both of us together, and may by now have reached a place from where he could send a message.”

  “He may not even be far behind us,” Raven said with a grim expression. “I doubt he would care about riding horses to death. If he reached Strathearn and took ship there, he may even be back at the Archon’s side already.”

  “Now there’s a cheery thought.” Cole stared off towards the city, as if expecting to see a hulking figure standing atop its walls, waiting for them. “I presume you have a plan of some kind, then? I’d really like to put off meeting that brute again for as long as is possible.”

  For over an hour they remained there, Raven’s eyes scanning the road. Cole was beginning to grow restless when, at last, Raven found what she was looking for. She pointed towards a carriage heading in their direction. It had perhaps once been grand to look upon, but whatever glory it had once possessed was long gone. Its sides were scratched and chipped, its wheels mismatched where one had broken but no effort had been made to find an exact replacement. The faded crest upon its door showed a clenched fist holding a blacksmith’s hammer. The overall picture of dilapidation was completed by the pair of horses that pulled it, whose mangy coats did little to conceal their ribs and thin, sallow flesh. The coachman who sat hunched over behind them was as threadbare as his charges.

  Raven nodded to herself as it neared, then spurred on her horse to meet it. With a shrug, Cole followed.

  The carriage rolled to a halt as Raven reached it, whereupon the snout of a loaded crossbow was thrust unceremoniously through the open window. Raven stopped, but did not seem unduly concerned. The end of the weapon seemed to quiver, as if the hand holding it was racked with nerves or uncertainty. Beyond it, Cole could see unkempt grey hair and tatty clothes.

  “Lady Talgarth?” Raven called out.

  There was an indistinct command from within the carriage, and the crossbow withdrew. In its place appeared a middle-aged woman whose dress, like the vehicle in which she rode, spoke of a noble past but reduced circumstances. She eyed Raven with suspicion. “Yes? Do I know you, young lady?”

  “Not personally, my lady. Your husband the viscount once commissioned a piece of work from my father, many years ago.”

  “He did?” The woman blinked in surprise. “What is he, your father? An artist, perhaps, or a bard? It’s been a long time since we had a need for either of those.”

  “He was a blacksmith, my lady,” Raven answered, allowing the past tense to hang in the air for a moment. “It was a fine breastplate that he made, for your son William on his coming of age. Blacksteel, bearing your family’s sigil worked in gold.”

  “Yes... I think I remember,” Lady Talgarth said vaguely. “You are from Blackridge, then?”

  “No my lady. But a small village not far from it. I was but a girl then, but I remember your husband saying that he did not trust his own smiths with such a work. ‘They can bash out a pick that won’t fall apart in a miner’s hand, but ask them for anything finer and they’ll stand around scratching their backsides before handing you another pick’. Those were his words, I believe.”

  Lady Talgarth smiled faintly at the coarse language. “That does sound like Hugh,” she admitted. “Well, it was a pleasure to see you again, my girl.”

  She was about to signal the coachman, when Raven nudged her mount forward another pace. “If you can spare a further moment, my lady, I thought I might be able to render you some assistance,” she said. “I could not help but notice that you ride towards Ehrenburg without an escort.”

  There was a low growl from inside the carriage. “What am I, chopped fucking liver?” Cole looked past the noblewoman, and saw another seated beside her; a dishevelled older man with a greying beard in general appearance much like the gorse bush he had seen the deer grazing on two days before. The crossbow lay across his lap, but was held in such a way that indicated its owner could wield it again at a moment’s notice. The man leered, revealing black holes where a number of teeth were missing.

  Raven’s eyes flicked momentarily towards him, before returning to his mistress. “Your guard is skilled, I’m sure, but one man could not be expected to protect such a noble lady if a pack of bandits attacked.”

  Lady Talgarth reddened. “Well, it’s such a short journey, it hardly seemed worth going to the trouble of bringing anybody but Hastings here,” she began in a flustered tone.

  Raven nodded thoughtfully. “Even so, my lady, the roads are more dangerous than ever. I feel I would be doing you a great disservice if I allowed you to travel further without adequate protection.”

  Hastings, the guard, murmured in his mistress’ ear. A steely look came into her eyes. “I could not afford to pay you, my dear, if that is what you are looking for,” said the viscountess, a trifle coldly. “I travel without funds.”

  “Such a thought never occurred to me, my lady, I assure you,” Raven replied, affecting a wounded expression. “It is merely that myself and my companion are travelling in the same direction, and I thought that our presence alongside your carriage may be enough to discourage any bandits along the road that might otherwise wish you harm.”

  “Well, in that case I would be delighted to accept your offer, my dear.” Lady Talgarth beamed, unable to believe her good fortune. It seemed that her desire for a bargain overrode any misgivings she still harboured.

  Raven nodded, then added: “All I ask, my lady, is for some token bearing your proud crest, that myself and my companion can wear, which will let any who see us know that we are in the employ of your house.”

  It was not a request that Lady Talgarth could readily refuse, when such a generous offer had already been agreed. She found a tabard with the smith’s hammer emblem that fit Raven well enough, while Cole was handed a painted wooden shield, which until that moment had hung upon the rear of the carriage.

  As they resumed their journey, this time acting as the official escort for the Viscountess of Blackridge, Cole could only applaud Raven’s ingenuity. They had split up, Raven leading their small procession and Cole bringing up the rear, and anyone that looked upon them would have no reason to believe they weren’t guardsmen in the Lady’s employ. Even their travel-worn clothes were fully in keeping with the rather shabby appearance of the carriage. For her part, Lady Talgarth was so grateful for their assistance she would not think to mention the deception to the imperial soldiers at the gates of Ehrenburg, and having not paid to receive their aid would have no
objections when they left her side once they entered the city.

  So it proved. For the rest of that morning, the city walls grew before his eyes, obscured though his view was by the plodding carriage in front of him. If the Spire seemed large from a distance, then closer to it was obviously on an immense scale. Usually, he would have found such a sight quite awe-inspiring, but there was something about the tower that disquieted him. Perhaps his opinion of it was coloured by the knowledge of who resided within. He could not say for sure. But it seemed unnatural, in the city but not of it. The closer they got, the more it reminded him of the entomology displays he had seen at the Crag’s library; it was as if it pinned the city to the ground like a dead insect.

  Just as he had during the approach to Strathearn, Cole felt himself grow tense as the gates of Ehrenburg drew nearer. In scale, the outer walls of the city were not dissimilar. But where Strathearn was almost starkly functional, no little effort had been made to make the walls of the imperial capital pleasing on the eye. A brighter stone had been used in their construction, which was kept so clean it practically gleamed in the sunlight. Huge banners bearing the imperial standard adorned the stonework. The various guard towers that lined the top of the wall were rounded, with pointed archways and topped by conical roofs, protected by slates that were almost as blue as the sky. Flags that also bore the imperial crest fluttered proudly from poles at the top of these turrets. None who approached could be left in any doubt that this city was the crown jewel of the Empire.

  To his surprise and relief, it proved as simple to gain entry as it had in Strathearn. The guards they passed seemed more alert, and Cole held his breath when they laid eyes upon him. But when they saw the Blackridge crest their attention moved on to the wagon behind, and then their small procession was rolling over the cobblestones that ran beneath the city’s enormous gatehouse. They only paused for the city toll-collector, who approached the carriage and was handed a small, clinking pouch. Having seen the state of her conveyance, manservants and their livery, Cole would not have been surprised to learn that had indeed been all the coin Lady Talgarth carried. That transaction over, they resumed their progress through the passage.