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

by Alan Ratcliffe

“Why’d you think he agreed to come along for this little campaign of yours in the first place?” Trayner hawked and spat, the gobbet of phlegm flying past Adelmar’s face and down the cliffside below. “Seems to me your family makes a habit of this sort of thing,” he added, conversationally. “I wonder what was going through your little girl’s mind when she went for her tumble. It’s a proper shame there’s nobody here to catch you, though.”

  With a mighty roar, Adelmar redoubled his efforts to pull himself up, but it was no use. “Traitorous cur,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I won’t rest until I see you dead.”

  “Oh, I’m quaking in my boots,” Trayner said, smiling. “I wouldn’t worry, though, commander. It’s only a twenty foot drop to the ground from here.” He sniffed. “If you land right, leastways. I would try not roll too far, if I was you. You might break a leg, but it won’t kill you.”

  Through the blood pounding through his ears, Adelmar heard the sound of boots stamping on stone and the clatter of armour. He glanced down. The soldiers had reached the base of the tower; a group of them stood below, shouting and gesticulating at him furiously. A couple began to load crossbows.

  “Of course,” Trayner added, “these lads might have other ideas. Well, it’s been fun, commander, I’ll give you that. But I think it’s about time I made myself scarce. Ta-ta.”

  With that, his betrayer lifted his boot and stamped it down upon Adelmar’s other hand. His fingers slipped at last, plunging him down towards the enemy soldiers below.

  As was only natural for a man who had spent so much of his adult life in battle, Adelmar had thought often about his own death; when it would come and the manner of it. He’d always thought that the last face that came to his mind when his end finally arrived would be his wife’s. But the features that floated before his eyes then, as he fell from the tower, were those of his eldest daughter.

  Amelie...

  CHAPTER 31

  Although it was many years since Raven had last visited the imperial capital, she was not having any difficulty navigating its streets. If she needed to get her bearings, all she needed to do was look up. The Spire dominated the city’s skyline; a silent sentinel keeping watch on the people and houses clustered around its foot.

  Frowning, she glanced upwards at the tempest gathered above its peak. Close to, she found it even more disturbing than she had during their ride across the snow-covered plains to the north. The dark clouds seemed to swirl around a central point, directly above the top of the tower. Every so often, the clouds flickered with green light as sheets of lightning flashed across their underbelly accompanied by a deep rumble of thunder. As she watched, a crackling bolt erupted from the maelstrom and struck the pale stone.

  It wouldn’t be long now. The certainty sat bunched in her stomach like a fist of ice. They still did not know what the Archon’s plans were, but in a way it didn’t matter. They were here to put a stop to whatever it was, while Raven would have the answers she had been searching for, from the man she had hunted for twenty long years. If he offered the information up freely, all well and good. But if not, then she was more than willing to use whatever means of persuasion were required to prise it from him.

  And yet... she felt in her heart that it was a puzzle of which they already had many of the pieces. All they lacked was the knowledge of how they fitted together. As she made her way through the darkened, empty streets, past rows of stone and wooden buildings lit from within by candlelight, her mind ran through everything they had been able to learn.

  That the Order was seeking to gain power was obvious enough, but the question was to what end? They already had the favour of the emperor and half the peoples of the land subscribed to their faith. Then there was everything they had seen on their travels. The fate of the villagers of Faerloren. The studies conducted by the Brothers of Frosthold. The unnatural green crystal columns that seemingly sprouted straight from the ground. Despite travelling across the Empire, they had not seen their like anywhere but Strathearn, while the positions of the columns of green fire they had seen suggested they were present in the other major towns and cities of the realm. It seemed unlikely that was coincidental. But if they had appeared in specific locations, then by whose hand were they guided?

  It is all connected, she thought. As she attempted to piece it together, she kept coming back to the green crystals worn by the Order’s followers. That they changed people somehow was clear; they had seen that for themselves in the Spiritwood and just that afternoon inside the tavern. The Baron had been able to exert his malign influence over those who had carried the stones. But there had been no sign that he was able to extend that beyond the forest. In any case, the monster that had ruled over that cursed village for decades lay dead by her hand.

  She thought then about what Cole was able to do using the crystals. As far as they had seen or heard, he alone was capable of visiting the dreams of others. Even in the short time she had known him, his powers had grown. How much further could they go? It was a question that troubled her greatly. The Order certainly knew of his unique ability, so by extension the Archon himself must have been aware. Doubtless, then, it had been the reason for his attack upon the peaceful Brothers of Stelys. His giant manservant, they knew, hunted him still. But where did Cole fit in? She thought of the Aevir prophecy. She still doubted the truth of it, while Cole himself seemed bemused by what the leader of the bird people had told them. But was the Archon acting from fear that Cole had the means to thwart his plans... or was he a tool that could ensure their success?

  Raven scowled. If the latter was true, then by taking Cole to the tower she risked delivering him straight into the Archon’s hands and allowing him to complete whatever dark business he had planned. But if it’s the former, then leaving him behind might mean failing to stop him, she thought. If only she could puzzle her way through the confused knot of seemingly disparate strands, she would discover the right course of action. She knew instinctively that choosing incorrectly would be catastrophic. But I’m running out of time.

  Such thoughts raced through Raven’s mind as she wended her way through the cobbled streets. Yet there was a small voice in the back of her head that told her that she was merely distracting herself from the other reason she had left the sanctuary of the inn this night. If she was to be honest with herself, it was the main reason she had come, alone and in darkness. Six people! If she had not been wearing her hood to disguise her face as they came through the main gate, she might have felt the nervous glances upon her earlier. But she had noticed soon enough after removing it in the tavern, and had demanded an explanation from the overly jovial landlord. His response had chilled her.

  As she approached a turning at the end of the street, Raven heard the clatter of steel boots. Instinctively, she slipped into a patch of shadow against one wall. A blade was in her hand in the same instant, her heart pounding in her chest. Carefully, she peered around the corner and saw a platoon of armoured guardsmen marching towards her. Before they could reach the corner, she retraced her steps back to the mouth of an alley she had passed a few moments earlier and ducked inside it.

  Not before time. Seconds later, the patrol tromped past the alley without pausing to investigate it, as Raven had hoped they would. The guardsmen, she suspected, had little desire to confront whatever danger roamed the streets of the city; they were happy enough to enforce the curfew so as to satisfy their superiors without risking their necks in the process. Even so, she crouched down low behind the half-rotted carcass of an old barrel as they passed, her nose wrinkling at the dank odour.

  When the sound of their footsteps receded into the distance, Raven emerged from her hiding place. As she did so, a tiny sound made her spin around, blade raised protectively. There was a sharp intake of breath. Standing in the shadows of the alley was a small figure, cowering behind a mound of detritus. Despite the darkness, she saw the whites of eyes opened wide, watching her. A child. She took a step closer, and noticed the grimy, lank, d
ark-blonde hair and moth-eaten clothes. She had obviously disturbed them when she appeared suddenly. She took another step, and with another small cry the urchin fled, scurrying deeper into the murky alley and the maze of narrow streets beyond. Raven briefly considered giving chase, but quickly abandoned the notion. The street-child knew the hidden paths of the city far better than she did. And tonight it is probably more dangerous to be in my company than not, she thought.

  Perhaps it was merely paranoia, but when Raven finally stepped back onto the street, it felt as though she was being observed. She glanced along the rows of buildings, and across the eaves and roofs, but could see no sign of another soul in this part of the city.

  Warily, she moved off and continued her journey towards the giant tower. She stayed alert as she made her way through the silent streets. Occasionally she came across other patrols, but it was a simple enough task to avoid them. The clattering of their armour and footsteps could be heard over a street away, their progress slow. They acted more as a deterrent than a concerted way of catching the killer that had terrorised the city for a month, or those that chose to break the curfew.

  It did not take long to reach the plaza upon which the tower had been constructed; it was only five or six streets from the inn where she had left Cole. As she neared it, the salt tang on the breeze grew stronger. They were not far from the harbour, she knew. In fact, the city wall was visible just beyond the tower, on the other side of which was the deep, wide bay beside which the city had flourished.

  Raven didn’t venture out into the plaza itself. Instead, she pressed herself close up against the brickwork of the house on the corner of the street. The reason for her caution patrolled around the tower’s base. Two squads of guardsmen roamed the plaza, numbering twenty between them at least. Even a cursory glance told her they were different to those she had seen elsewhere on the streets, larger and more heavily armoured. At the head of each marched an officer, marked by his steel plate and red plume springing from the top of his helm. They aren’t here because of the curfew, she decided. They had the look of soldiers stationed to protect the tower, and not the city or its inhabitants.

  Raven bit her lip as she pondered her next move. Perhaps naively, she had thought she would be able to investigate the tower up close and discover a means of entering it. Yet, even that would have likely proven fruitless. Even from this distance she could tell that climbing it was near-impossible. It was simply too high, constructed in such a way that its outer face was almost wholly smooth with few handholds. There were no outer defences that she could see, but the guards presented a sizeable obstacle.

  All the same, she had one or two ideas about how they might proceed. Perhaps it was worth talking to Cole about their options... and her concerns about his role in the Archon’s schemes. Despite her initial misgivings about his history with the Order, through their travels she had grown fond of the... boy. You were going to say man, don’t try to deny it, piped up a traitorous thought. She paused. A vision of Cole’s face floated up in her mind. Viewed critically, he was more a man than a child, so why then was she always at such great pains to deny his growing maturity? The thought bothered her. Then, the fact that it bothered her so much annoyed her further. “Man or boy he can be maddening,” she muttered.

  Raven shook her head to dispel the increasingly disturbing thoughts taking form, and looked once more at the tower. She sighed inwardly. There seemed little more to be learned, so before she was discovered Raven tore herself away from the building and began to retrace her steps.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, she stepped lightly into an alley, and the decaying barrel near its mouth told her it was the same one she had taken shelter in previously. Once again, the patrol trooped past, in the opposite direction this time, without so much as glancing in her direction. The guardsmen’s lack of interest in the alley struck her suddenly. They weren’t avoiding searching it as such, it was more they didn’t notice it at all. It simply didn’t belong to them, did not fall within their jurisdiction. It was as though there were two cities occupying the same space; one that consisted of wide, stone-flagged streets, belonging to well-fed citizens and guardsmen, and another that was made of alleys and grime, home to the lost and forgotten shadow-people of Ehrenburg. Each obeyed its own laws.

  There was another small sound behind her, and this time Raven did not twirl to face it, not wanting to scare the urchin as she had done before. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered soothingly. She turned slowly. A smile that had been forming on her lips spluttered and died.

  The dark figure stood watching her, its face hidden deep within the hood it wore. It was so still it might almost have been a part of the alley itself; if not for the fact Raven had been in the same place minutes earlier she might not even have noticed it. It’s strange, her inner voice whispered, I thought I would be afraid. Instead, anger flared within her, a rage tempered with guilt for the six lives that had been lost. Not killed by her hand, perhaps, but in her heart she knew she was no less responsible.

  “It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the one you’ve been searching for.” The cold certainty had hit her like a slap to the face the moment the tavern landlord had spoken of the killer stalking the streets of the capital, and the one characteristic that linked its victims. It knew, she thought. Somehow it knew that one day I would return to the city.

  The figure still did not move, nor indicate that they had heard. Raven drew one of her blades from its scabbard and eyed up their surroundings. The alley was narrow, dark and slippery underfoot with slush and puddles. Not ideal. Far better to fight in one of the wide open streets... were it not for the patrolling guardsmen.

  “Why kill those others?” she went on. Her body was a coiled spring. “Unless... you don’t know me, not really. All you had was a vague description.” Her anger flared anew. “They did nothing to you, did nothing wrong except be born looking different to the rest.” Her mind drifted back to the taunts of her childhood. “Well, it ends here.” From the figure came the sound of whispering steel. A sword appeared in its hand, but still it made no move toward her.

  All at once, striking with unnatural speed, the figure sprang at her. One moment it had been standing still as before, the next its blade was slashing at her face. Though Raven was expecting the strike, it came so fast that she barely had time to raise her own sword in defence. The clang as their weapons met echoed around the close walls of the alley.

  When she saw her assailant was caught off-balance, Raven didn’t hesitate. With her free hand she grasped the wrist of his sword arm, holding it firm. She knocked the heels of her boots together to press the tiny button concealed there. When she heard the click, she kicked out savagely at the cloaked figure’s torso. With dismay, she felt the hidden blade snap and fly away into some unseen corner of the alley, while the force of the blow sent painful tremors shooting up her leg. What armour is that? It makes no sound as he moves, yet is harder than steel.

  She was not able to ponder the question for long. Following the kick, which did not so much as make her foe stagger, he struck out with his left hand. The punch hammered into her ribs with the force of a horse’s kick. Raven felt the crunch of bone deep inside. She staggered back and let go of her attacker’s arm. That half-step saved her life in that moment. As he was released, the figure’s upper body twisted with uncanny dexterity, slashing again with the sword but meeting only empty air.

  When Raven straightened, she came face to face with her attacker. By the light of the moon she was able to glimpse inside the hood, but saw only her own pain-filled eyes staring back at her. A mask, she thought, but there are no holes. How does he see?

  To stay in the alley meant death, she realised. The cloaked figure was far stronger than she. Her only chance lay in being faster, though from what she had already seen they were closely matched in that regard as well. In desperation, she turned and ran. In the same instant, cold, hard fingers clawed at her scalp. But with little hair to grasp,
they fell uselessly away as she sprinted towards the cobbled street.

  Behind her Raven heard the splash of puddles as the cloaked figure chased after her. Her own breath came in ragged gasps, but as far as she could tell her pursuer was not even winded. When she reached the wide open space beyond the alley, she turned, swinging her sword around behind as she span. It bounced harmlessly off the cloaked figure’s shoulder with a dull metallic clang.

  Undeterred, Raven settled into her familiar mode of fighting. Holding both short swords now, she dodged and pirouetted. Her heart raced, the excitement of battle heightening her senses and helping to numb the pain of whatever injury the punch had inflicted. However, she knew that she was still slower because of it. She hoped she was still quick enough. The cloaked figure was an agile fighter, but wherever his sword went, Raven had already ducked aside. Her own blades were a blur, glinting as they danced in the ghostly moonlight.

  As they fought, Raven came to two realisations, the second following hard upon the heels of the first. While the masked assailant was undeniably stronger, she was quicker. He was able to swing his sword hard and fast with next to no backswing, generating all the force required within his own shoulders and torso. Such strength was impressive, but there was little guile to his mode of fighting. He simply hacked artlessly with his blade, and may as well have wielded a meat cleaver for all the finesse he displayed.

  The second realisation was that, despite the fact she was by far the better fighter, she would still lose. While his heavy swings repeatedly failed to connect, her own cut and slashed across her assailant’s body. The tips of her blades struck all the vulnerable points. She was trained to target the arteries, nerves and muscles that if found could topple even the strongest fighter almost instantly. But where a normal foe would have collapsed by now, bleeding from numerous wounds, the cloaked figure did not even appear to be harmed. Again and again her swords ricocheted uselessly with a metallic clang. For the moment they were locked in a stalemate, each unable to fell the other... but she feared she would tire long before she was able to penetrate her assailant’s armour.