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

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “As a matter of fact, he convinced me,” Caspian replied with a weak smile. “I’ll tell you my tale if you tell me yours, but not here. The walls have ears, and if you’ve spent any time in the city you’ll know that means trouble.”

  Cole looked past his friend’s shoulder. The innkeeper was stood behind his bar polishing glasses with a stained cloth. Though whatever stone it bore was hidden beneath his shirt, a thin silver chain was visible around his neck. “I have a room here,” he said.

  Caspian nodded, and together they rose from the bench and made their way up the bare wooden staircase to the first floor. Four doors led off the corridor, and Cole located the one that his key opened on the second try. Pushing it open, he saw that his room, while small, was at least clean and well-kept. He sat on the bed, the mattress of which was firm but not overly hard, while Caspian lowered himself onto a three-legged stool.

  As he sat, Grume barged his way out of the pouch and plonked himself down moodily beside him. “Oh, perfick,” the boggit muttered, catching sight of Caspian. “Another bigger.” He sniffed. “Got any grub?”

  Cole rummaged in his pack for a few scraps of food, then smiled when he saw Caspian’s dumbfounded expression. “What’s that?” his friend asked incredulously.

  The boggit stuck his tongue out, before starting to demolish a bread roll. “This is Grume,” answered Cole. “The Impending Grume, to give him his full name. We found him a couple of weeks ago. I brought him with us as I felt guilty after accidentally hurting him, and since then he’s just... stuck around, really.” The little creature glared at him and then turned back to his meal.

  Without taking his eyes off the boggit, Caspian said, “I think perhaps you should start from the beginning, Cole.”

  So he did. Cole told Caspian all that had happened to him since they had last seen one another; waking up in his cell to find the Crag under attack, fleeing from the Archon’s giant, being rescued by Captain Brandt, his flight from Westcove... everything leading up the moment he had stepped into the inn that afternoon.

  “That is quite some tale,” Caspian said when he had finished. His face was pale; Cole’s description of his journey through the Spiritwood in particular had shaken him. “Is that ale?” he asked, pointing at the bottles in Cole’s pack.

  “There were times when I didn’t believe we would make it here, not truly.” Cole brought out two bottles and handed one to a grateful Caspian. “I bet a sea voyage was quite dull in comparison.”

  Caspian took a long draught of beer. “No doubt,” he said afterwards, with an enigmatic smile.

  “Where is the captain, anyway? It would be good to say hello if he’s about.”

  “He’s around,” Caspian replied. “We got to the city a few days ago. We’ve been going into the taverns and inns around the tower each afternoon and evening, trying to find out what we can.”

  “That seems like a common strategy currently,” Cole said, smiling. “Have you learned anything useful?”

  “Not much.” Caspian shrugged. “Nobody seems to know what the Archon intends, and I’ve been afraid to speak to many people about it. The Order’s influence is growing.”

  Cole grimaced, recalling the atmosphere in the tavern. “I’ve seen it for myself,” he said, “and not for the first time. It was bad enough in Strathearn, but I’ve felt none of that tension here. That disturbs me even more.”

  Outside the room’s only window lay darkness. Evening had turned to night while they had talked. When he noticed, Caspian stood. “It was good to see you, Cole. I don’t believe it is chance that we met. I’ll bring the captain here in the morning and see if we can all come up with a plan for what to do next.” He pulled up his hood. “But for now, I should go. I’ve already missed curfew, but hopefully I can reach our rooms before the guards start to patrol the streets in force.”

  “My guide, the one I told you about, mentioned the curfew. Do you know what it’s about?” Cole gulped down the last of his ale.

  Caspian shivered, though the room was not cold. “Unfortunately, yes,” he replied. “A killer roams the streets of Ehrenburg at night, and the guards seem powerless to stop them. So far they have claimed six lives, among them a young noblewoman, a thief, a cobbler’s wife and a young serving girl. It was likely the former that resulted in the curfew, as I’m not sure the authorities would be that bothered about the others, not by themselves anyway. No links between any of them, save one: all had hair as black as night, seemingly the only ones in the city with such colouring. Hey! Where are you going?”

  As his friend spoke, Cole sprayed the mouthful of ale over the wall opposite. Then he was running, out of the room, down the stairs and out of the inn. His feet pounded across the flagstones of the street as he raced in the direction of the tower. Raven’s last words to him rang in his ears. He had to find her.

  Before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 30

  Bathed in moonlight, the deck of the ship had an unreal, ethereal glow. On their commander’s orders, the crew had dimmed all lights above-decks well before the dark outline of the enemy coast appeared on the horizon. All noise had ceased as well; the three hundred soldiers on board the galleon sat or stood waiting. Its anchor dropped and its sails raised, the ship bobbed gently upon the waves. Behind the flagship, a dozen others did likewise. All was ready.

  While the crew went quietly about their business, they could be heard muttering in dark tones about the figure who stood motionless at the prow. Just as he had throughout their voyage south, the man stood staring out silently across the waves. A light wind plucked at the scarlet cloak at his back, though he did not shiver. The air here was warmer than in their homeland. Nor did he react to the whispers, though some undoubtedly reached his ears.

  Bergen climbed the steps from the hold and stepped out onto the deck. After leaving the torchlight below, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did so, his gaze fell upon the still figure. He was about to move towards the front of the ship, when a rough hand grasped his shoulder.

  “Bain’t right,” the ship’s captain growled in his ear. Bergen caught the whiff of stale booze on the man’s breath. “Three days and three night’s e’s stood there, barely takin’ the time tae eat or shit, sayin’ nothin’ to nobody. Me lads are callin’ it a bad omen, and I can’t tell ‘em as they’re wrong.”

  “I will speak to him,” Bergen replied, somewhat curtly, pulling his arm free. He did not appreciate having such grievances aired within earshot of the soldiers below deck.

  “Do what ye must,” the captain sniffed. “If’n ye want this venture to be a success, ye’ll snap ‘im out of it right smart. Before ‘e dooms us all. Six hours ‘till sunup, after that we’re naught but kindling tae those blasted towers.”

  Steeling himself, Bergen left the captain to approach the figure. When he came to within a pace of his back, he coughed, hoping to gain the man’s attention. The silent watcher gave no sign that he had heard. “My lord, the fleet stands ready, five miles from the coast, as you ordered. We only await your sign.”

  For a long time, Adelmar said nothing. He continued to gaze across the moonlit sea, his expression stern. Bergen’s brow furrowed with concern. He was about to repeat his words when the brooding figure suddenly stirred. “Am I being punished?” Adelmar asked, without turning.

  “My lord?”

  His commander sighed. “I have always tried to be faithful. In my youth I thought I might even take up Holy Orders. But when my father succeeded to the throne, I took up the sword instead.”

  “The clergy’s loss was the Legion’s gain, my lord,” Bergen said, dutifully.

  “I have no regrets,” Adelmar went on, with a shake of his head. “It was my duty. I was his heir and it was right that I put aside such selfish fancies. But, in my own way, I remained faithful. When I conquered lands for my father, it was the Divine that guided my blade. I carried His word to the heathens by fire and sword, never doubting for a moment that I was d
oing His work. That day I left Caderyn on his knees in the mud, tired and broken, I felt the hand of the Divine on my shoulder. I did everything that was ever asked of me, by my emperor and my god, and I now find myself here.” He turned and stared at Bergen with wild eyes, red-rimmed with fatigue. “So I ask you again, captain, am I being punished?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.”

  “Amelie.” The commander’s voice was hoarse. “My daughter...”

  Bergen stared uncomfortably at the deck. “I’m sure she is well, my lord. I dread to think what might have happened had you not been there to catch her, but-”

  Adelmar’s face was a mask. “I have relived that moment a hundred times... nay, a thousand, over and over again. Always, I am too late. She slips from my fingers and there is nothing I can do but watch her fall.” His jaw clenched. “Has it truly been but three nights?”

  “Mere daydreams,” Bergen replied with forced cheerfulness. In truth, his commander’s melancholy during their voyage concerned him as much as it did the galleon’s crew. At least it had been hidden to an extent from the Legion forces below-decks. “Amelie is well, and awaits your return at The Vigil with your youngest daughter and Lady Ellara.”

  “My return,” Adelmar echoed. He smiled with grim humour. “Perhaps I should remain here, a hundred leagues from my family, for all the good my return will do.”

  “It would upset your wife to hear you talk so, my lord.”

  Adelmar grunted. “Upset or not, it is the truth. You weren’t there, in the tower that night. I saw well enough then the fate that awaits my eldest child. I had a glimpse of it on the road, that first night of our march south. I shied away from it then, hoping that I was mistaken. But I saw it again the night she fell, both in her words and as she fought against my grip, biting my fingers so that I would let her fall. Her mind is lost.” Bergen’s eyes fell to the commander’s bandaged hand. “Do you know what they do to lunatics in Ehrenburg? Are you aware of what life awaits her now?”

  Bergen thought about Briarthorn House, the sanatorium operated by the Order on the outskirts of Copperton. Whereas in other cities across the realm the mad were left to wander the streets like vagrants, in the imperial capital some effort was being made to treat them. It was widely regarded as one of the shining examples of the Empire’s new-found enlightenment. “I’m sure that whatever ails Princess Amelie is only a temporary affliction, my lord. But, even if what you say is true, no doubt that she would get the care due to one of her station.”

  “The finest quacks money can buy.” Adelmar’s mouth twisted with distaste. “Have you seen inside that place of theirs, their home for the mad and the addled? A stinking pit, where the halls are filled with the shrieks and ravings of the damned. But even if it were otherwise, I would not deliver my daughter into their hands.” His right hand clenched into a fist. The bandage creaked. “They’re to blame for this, somehow. I know it in my bones.”

  “Surely not, my lord.” Despite himself, Bergen scoffed at the notion. He knew well his commander’s dislike for the Order, a clash of beliefs, but had personally never taken that much interest in religion. As far as he could see, there was little difference between the current crop of brown-robed monks and the ones that preceded them. “The Order has always seemed a benign presence to me.”

  “They are a plague upon the land.” Adelmar pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his tired eyes. “Yet I, who once wanted to take Orders and devote my life to the Divine, who took up war to spread His word among the heathens, now find myself marching beneath their banners instead. Their green star.” His jaw tightened. “But do you know what I fear most?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “That the Order is right. That there is no Divine.” Adelmar looked back out across the black sea and gripped the rail tightly, his knuckles white. “After all, what god would stand idle while his altars are destroyed? Why would He allow a godless cult to spread among his people? One musty, forgotten chapel in the palace is all that remains of His faith, and there has been no retribution visited upon those that cast Him down.”

  “When you assume your father’s throne...”

  “I can rebuild the churches, but I cannot breathe life into a dead god.” Adelmar grimaced. “I have always thought myself a just man, but what if there never was a Divine? What if, when my sword cut down defenceless women and children at the Granite Pass, there was no heavenly force guiding my hand as I believed?”

  Bergen blanched. “Forgive me, my lord, but what difference would it make? Your charge turned the battle and won the war at a stroke.”

  “Nevertheless, the thought haunts me.” The commander’s shoulders slumped. “That my actions were not those of a righteous man, but a... a butcher. Amelie, Jarrod... I cannot dispel the notion that my family is reaping the cursed seeds I have sown.”

  Bergen was caught off-guard by the depth of his commander’s anguish. He was still trying to decide what to say next when the older man, who had fallen silent, roused again.

  “The Bloody Prince, they call me.” He snorted. “Only rarely do people say it to my face, but it still reaches my ears readily enough. I won’t deny it has been a useful title, one to unman a foe even before meeting them in battle, though I have never revelled in it. But now I wonder.”

  “Wonder what, my lord?”

  “Whether those who gave me that name came closest to my true nature.” He lapsed once more into brooding silence.

  Bergen cleared his throat nervously. Whatever words were needed to comfort his commander would not come, and in any case he doubted whether such an attempt would even be gratefully received. “We stand ready,” he said again, finally. “The captain believes we have a few more hours until the dawn comes. Once the sun rises, we will be in clear view of their towers.”

  “And still the blood must flow,” Adelmar muttered darkly. “I have spilled enough of it in my time. I’ve earned my epithet a hundred times over, and still there is no end to it.” Abruptly, he straightened and turned to face Bergen. “Well, so be it. Whatever doubts I harbour, never let it be said that I was not a loyal soldier of the Empire.” Any relief Bergen felt about his commander’s sudden resolve was dissolved by the words that followed. “I will lead the ascent.”

  “I cannot permit you to do that, my lord,” Bergen said, with genuine shock. “It’s a three hundred foot climb. It would be dangerous enough even with ropes.”

  “Are you worried that I’m too old?” Adelmar raised his eyebrows. “Have I grown so tired and weak that my subordinates feel they can question my orders?”

  “It is not that, my lord,” Bergen replied, appalled. “You lead our forces. If you should fall... the risk is simply too great. I will go, of course, and your brother’s man, Trayner, has already volunteered...”

  “And I will beat you both to the summit,” Adelmar said firmly. “Bring young Carsley as well. I’ve seen him challenge the crew to races along the rigging and win. If he can scale rock as fast as he can climb rope, then he may beat even me.”

  Still radiating disapproval, Bergen saluted. “Your mind is made up, then, my lord?”

  “It is. Ready the boat and signal the other ships to do the same. We leave at once.” The commander began to stride across the deck towards his cabin. “The next man who tries to stand in my way will go for a long swim,” he added. “Four hundred fathoms should suffice.”

  * * *

  Two hours later the Tenebrian coastline loomed large above them. Four burly sailors strained at the rowboat’s oars, pulling them slowly towards the peninsula. To help keep them hidden from their enemy’s eyes and ears, oiled rags had been tied to the rowlocks, muffling their sound. Adelmar’s eyes rose up the tall rocky cliffs, hidden in shadow. Perched at the top was the black outline of their target: a lens tower. Viewed from this distance, it seemed little more than a child’s plaything.

  Adelmar thought back to the day he’d stood in his study in The Vigil’s beacon tower, marking his pl
ans on the map. It had all sounded so simple then. Sitting in a tiny boat, with the cliffs towering above them, it was a far more daunting prospect.

  He looked around at the other men that filled the small vessel. All had dressed similarly in light clothes, dark in colour. Armour of any kind would be too heavy for such an ascent. They might pay for it once they reached the top, but to have worn even a chain shirt was to risk not making it that far. Adelmar had donned the leather vest and thick trousers he wore for riding; the weight was negligible and it would hopefully be tough enough to withstand the hard rocks of the cliff face. And whatever resistance we find at the top, he thought. At his feet lay Duty, the shining blade hidden beneath a cloth covering bound with leather cords.

  Opposite him sat Trayner, Jarrod’s man. The veteran campaigner stared out over the waves, then smiled and nodded when he caught Adelmar’s eye. Whatever reservations Adelmar had initially had about his ability to lead the regiment of the emperor’s household guard following this brother’s departure had long since been dispelled. He had brought the same keen mind to his role in charge of The Vigil’s army camp as he had displayed on their journey from the capital, while Bergen had reported back to him that Trayner had also taken every opportunity on their voyage south to make himself useful. His manner was still a little coarse for Adelmar’s taste, but nonetheless he had been pleased when he volunteered for this duty. His brother’s former second-in-command had shown himself more than capable thus far. If he survived this night, Adelmar was considering rewarding him by making him a part of his inner council for the campaign.

  Sitting beside one another in the stern were Bergen and the young soldier Adelmar had requested be brought along. His adjutant was watching him with a concerned expression. Adelmar frowned. It had been ill-advised to confide the doubts that had clouded his mind these past few days in his subordinate. Some of what he had said could be construed as treason, should it reach the wrong ears. He trusted his aide more than most, but who knew what he was like to let slip while in his cups, or if he developed a grudge against him in the future? Bergen was not fond of Trayner, he had made that much obvious, and who could say how he would react to seeing his rival raised higher? Whatever happened in the next few hours, it was a situation Adelmar would have to deal with sooner or later. The thought saddened him.