The Raven Tower

by Emma Miles

  ‘Jorrun?’

  Azrael brought him back to the room, and he picked up a small bowl off the table.

  ‘Your head isss not here,’ the drake scolded. ‘Don’t roll your eyesss!’

  ‘I wasn’t going to!’ He made his way down the steps to his supply room and carefully measured out what he needed for his dream trance. He checked that the drake hadn’t followed and then both rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. He knew it was childish, but he felt better. When he returned to his tower room, he checked everything over and set down the bowl. He was ready. He looked up at the still bright sky, his eyebrows drawn in tight over his eyes. He tapped his fingers on a book that balanced on the edge of a table and let out a heavy sigh. There was no point trying until he thought his enemy might be asleep.

  ‘You should eat sssomething.’

  ‘You should mind your own business.’

  ‘You are my busssiness.’

  ‘You’re my pain in th—’

  ‘Eat!’ Azrael flared up to three times his size.

  ‘Okay!’ Jorrun raised his hands. He went down the tower steps, stomping as loudly as he could for dramatic effect. His tray of food was waiting. Catya always arranged it so neatly, the care she took shouted loudly of how much he meant to her. He ran one finger along the side of the tray, swallowing and then clenching his jaw. The girl deserved better than he could give her. She needed a real father not someone who neglected her and pretended coldness. At least perhaps … he swallowed again as pressure built behind his eyes and stung his nostrils. She had Kesta now, and he knew that she would protect and even love his little Catya.

  He cleared his throat and taking in a deep breath stomped his way back up to his room.

  He could tell that Azrael was unamused by the spirit’s stillness and dark, almost blue, colour. The drake was the only being with whom he could truly be himself and the spirit knew when he was putting on an act. He could fool himself, but never Azrael. He looked down at the food and his stomach tightened further. It somehow didn’t look real, like it was carved from wood and not actually something to eat. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was fear he was feeling. All he wanted to do was go to the Ivy Tower and drown himself in those mismatched green eyes and that oh so fiery soft skin.

  ‘Jorrun Dunham, if you don’t ssstop daydreaming I will burn you!’

  He started. He dropped the plate on the table and sat down, throwing a glare in Azrael’s direction.

  ‘What hasss got in to you?’ Azrael asked more gently. ‘You don’t have to do thiss you know? Bractius would not want you to risk yoursel—’

  ‘Yes, he would!’ He grabbed up a fork and stabbed it into a crooked carrot. ‘He may be my friend, but he is ruthless when it comes to his throne and protecting it, you know that.’

  Azrael didn’t disagree. ‘I am worried for you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You are sstrong, but you have not had the training of a Dunham; only your books.’

  ‘Books bring us the world.’

  ‘In theory, in your head, not out in real life.’

  Jorrun put his fork down. ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Take Kesta home to the Fulmers and be her Silene.’

  ‘What?’ He sat back in his chair, holding his breath, his wide blue eyes turned unblinkingly toward the drake.

  ‘It is not an impossssible choice.’

  Jorrun shook his head, pushing the painful hope down deep to crush it. He pushed his plate away. ‘I owe Elden, I owe Bractius.’

  ‘You owe yoursself; you owe me and your mother.’

  He stood up, knocking his chair over. ‘I’m doing this. It’s the right thing to do. Anyway … anyway she hates me.’

  ‘Idiot.’ Azrael stole a piece of coal and shot off up the chimney.

  Jorrun glared after him. When he didn’t come back he made himself some tea and gnawed at a carrot to try to stop the churning in his belly. I have to do this.

  He growled at himself as his eyes strayed towards the window to the Ivy Tower.

  ***

  Azrael came back shortly after the sun set and twilight sank into darkness. They politely ignored each other for a while, neither one of them wanting to back down.

  With a sigh Jorrun got up, picked up his bowl of herbs and walked over to the fireplace. Azrael moved closer, his flame turning to a gentler yellow; his way of apologising and pleading.

  ‘I have to,’ Jorrun whispered, glancing at the fire-spirit and casting the herbs onto the small blaze in the fireplace. At once a blue-black smoke rose and the herbs popped with sparks of different colours. Jorrun closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the sharp and sweet scents. He lit the candles, following the direction of the sun and then sat himself in the centre of his star. He looked up at Azrael.

  ‘Be careful!’ The spirit bobbed, changing colour to red and blue.

  ‘I will.’

  He lay down, folding his hands over his chest and taking in long, deep breaths. The smoky air tickled his throat, but the powerful perfume of the herbs soon overcame him, and he drifted toward sleep. Slowly he began to chant, reaching out with his mind for dreams. He glanced across the familiar feel of those in the hold and cast further out.

  Blood to blood, soul to soul, dream to dream.

  Blood to blood, soul to soul, dream to dream.

  Blood to Blood, soul to soul, dream to dream.

  He found himself in an icy land, the wind hitting him so hard it was difficult to catch his breath. The colours were subdued; grey and blue with the whites as sharp as glass. He could feel the undertones of the dream, anger edged with fear. There were fine crystals of snow in the air and they built up in mounds against his legs with unnatural speed. He tried not to react, to not feel the fear, but instead to quest toward the mind of the dreamer.

  Where are we?

  A city seemed to form before his eyes. The walls were black and jagged like rotten teeth forced up through bleeding gums. He could hear distant music throbbing, enticing, repulsive. The dreamer felt both physically excited and terrified; Jorrun struggled to remain calm and impassive and not react. Gently, subtly, he turned the hiss of the icy wind in to the shush of a gentle sea.

  They were rocking. The waves were incessant but not rough. Jorrun suggested stars and let the dreamer fill them in. They were random; whoever the dreamer was, he was not a navigator.

  The ship creaked, and the dreamer’s fear returned. Images of dead men in crates came to mind. The fear was not of the dead, but that the dreamer could not wake enough of them.

  They are awake, you can control them all. Where will we send them?

  Greed for victory, greed for power and recognition flowed through the dreamer. Jorrun fed it. There was jealousy, sneaking, bitter jealousy; he was better than his son.

  Yes. You are better than …

  Adelphy. Posturing brat. He was strong but not half as clever as he thought he was; and to think he would step over his own father who gave him everything! Dryn would see; they needed no second wave. He, Karinna, could take the whole of Elden with ease.

  What of the Dark Man, what if he is at …

  Mantu. So what? Some weak Elden conjurer? They had all heard the tales that it was some brat washed up from Chem or from the Gods. Elden magic was dead and even if it was some get of Chem, the Dunhams were too strong to beat; himself among the best.

  What of the Fulmers?

  Breeding stock; spirit worshipping whores with no purpose but to strengthen the magic of Chem …

  Jorrun’s anger flared. He couldn’t help it. The colours of the dream changed toward brown and red like dried blood.

  Got you!

  Too late, Jorrun realised that the dreamer was cognitive. He tried to pull back, tried to flee back to his own body, but he was held fast. He fought back his panic, he had to stay in control.

  Who are you, little nosey noser? Karinna demanded. Dryn told us to watch out for dream spies. Did you think we wouldn’
t feel you poking about these past months or know how to deal with you? Well?

  Jorrun froze. The feel of Karinna Dunham trying to rifle through his thoughts, pawing at the edges of his mind, made him nauseous. Years of playing the ‘Dark Man’ had given him mastery over his own thoughts and emotions and he forced his mind to blankness. He was stronger; just.

  No matter. I set a dreamer’s trap every time I close my eyes. We all do now. Enjoy your eternity in hell!

  Jorrun felt the presence withdraw, but he didn’t believe it was gone. He carefully tried to feel for the edges of the trap, fear creeping in like heat when he could find no weakness. He tried to struggle against the trap, subtly at first and then with growing desperation. If he’d been within his body, he would have been breathing hard. It was getting more difficult not to think, not to give in to his dread at what would happen if he failed, if he didn’t get back to … He tried to suppress it, not wanting to give anything away that could be used against him. Not thinking was too hard, so he thought of something neutral. Clouds. Birds flying in the clouds above.

  Who is Kesta?

  Anger and panic rose to engulf him, and he fought and clawed his way through it to draw on safe images and lead Karinna away from her. He thought of fire, he thought of the sea, he thought of ravens. He thought of her hair, of her eyes, of her mouth.

  A Fulmer whore? We’ll take her with the rest and breed an undefeatable coven. I’ll have that one mysel—

  Fury blinded him and snatching for Karinna’s mind he tried force his way in, but the Chemman fought back, keeping control where he did not. The Chemman ripped through his bleeding mind, worming into his heart, and fouling his soul. Pain tore through Jorrun as the Chemman drew forth image after image, gloating, feeding off his fear like a bloated tick. Karinna found his mother.

  I know this woman. This was Dryn’s Walker. She bore Dinari and …

  Jorrun.

  Joryn. Joryn? Karinna laughed. The sound shattered Jorrun into a thousand pieces. Are you my cousin’s boy? Your mother’s lover bled to death in my bed and I sent her worthless carcass back to her. Matyla never could produce a child worth spit.

  Red light exploded in his mind and he fought against his anger and fear with every atom of his being. He recalled his mother’s strength and nobility. He recalled the love that flowed between her and Matyla. He thought of Azrael’s faith, of Bractius’s courage and devotion to his people. He thought of …

  Kesta.

  Kesta.

  Raven hair, eyes green as the forest, skin golden as the earth, heart of fire.

  Jorrun seized control of the dream and threw them back into the snow, dragged them toward the black city of pain and desire. He called down the music that pulsed with the rhythms of the heart and the blood to try to drown Karinna in his own fears. He threw up images of his father, Dryn Dunham, his face angry and vengeful. He showed Karinna Adelphy, his perfect son; favourite of the Overlord of the Covens.

  For a moment Jorrun thought he’d won. Karinna’s grip loosened, and he tried to flee back; back toward his body and the Raven Tower. Back toward Kesta.

  But blackness snapped down tightly around him.

  He could feel the ice wind cutting at his skin although he was blind.

  Nice try, Joryn Dunham. You are better than we thought. I’ll tell you what; I’ll come visit you when I have your whore in my bed!

  Black anger pulsed in bright flashes and Jorrun flew at the bounds of the trap that held him. He reached out for Azrael, he reached within for his own power, he battered at the cage within which he was trapped.

  Karinna!

  Karinna!

  The necromancer didn’t reply. Ice prickled at his lungs and the snow mounted up against his body.

  Kesta, he breathed. They won’t touch a hair on your head! I’ll kill them all!

  I’ll kill them all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kesta: Kingdom of Elden

  Kesta threw open the window so Azrael could fly straight out and grabbed her trousers and tunic. She didn’t even pause for shoes before racing down the stairs and banging on Catya’s door. She pushed it open.

  ‘Catya! Wake Rosa and tell her to go to the Raven Tower and wait just inside the door, and then go to Tantony and tell him to meet me there urgently. Catya!’

  ‘Coming!’ she groaned, throwing off her blanket.

  Kesta turned back to the stairs and took the remainder as swiftly as she dared. She checked the great hall was empty and sprinted across to the doors. She had to throw her shoulder against the heavy wood to get it moving. The grass was cold and wet with dew, but she barely noticed it or registered the bruising stones as she raced to the tower. She turned the metal ring and Azrael was at her shoulder as she entered.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked the spirit, breathing hard as they ascended the stairs.

  ‘Whoever’s dream Jorrun entered detected him and trapped him!’ The spirit’s flight was erratic. ‘We need to ssave him, Kessta!’

  Kesta’s heart palpitated rapidly, she had no idea how to save him; she could only hope that the drake did. She reached his room and saw Jorrun lying on the floor. In the flickering candlelight his skin seemed to hold colour still, but his chest barely rose.

  ‘Can I enter the circle?’

  ‘Star,’ Azrael corrected. ‘Yes, you are ssafe.’ He darted across himself to hover above Jorrun’s head.

  She got onto her hands and knees and, holding her breath, reached out tentatively to check the pulse at his throat.

  ‘So cold, already.’ She grabbed a blanket off the bed and threw a log onto the fire on her way past. Tantony came rushing into the room as she tucked the blanket around Jorrun.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he demanded.

  Kesta rocked back onto her heals. She swallowed, and her voice caught in her throat as she replied. ‘Someone caught him spying on their dream. Azrael says he is trapped.’

  ‘Can we get him out?’

  Kesta turned to the fire-spirit who seemed to shrink and turned red and blue. ‘To rescue him the trap musst be broken or the one that casst the trap must be killed.’

  ‘How do we break the trap?’ She got to her feet and moved around the table.

  Azrael buzzed and spat. ‘Smassh it, Kessta!’

  ‘So, it’s a physical thing?’

  ‘A box enchanted.’ Azrael bobbed with agitation.

  ‘And we would find it where?’

  ‘With the dreamer.’

  Kesta and Tantony looked at each other.

  ‘There is no other way? Nothing we can do here? Anything we can do to help Jorrun save himself?’ She waited, watching the fire-spirit with wide eyes.

  Azrael shot up and back and made himself small again. ‘Nothing but try to keep his body alive.’

  Kesta sat heavily on the chair, feeling sick. ‘His body will die?’

  ‘He cannot eat. His organss will sshut down.’

  She turned back to Tantony whose Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘Is there any way to know where the trap is or the person who cast the trap?’

  ‘Ssomeone close, ssomeone strong.’

  ‘Could it be the necromancer on the Fulmers?’

  ‘Possibly. I will have Doroquael contacted at once.’ Without warning he darted into the fireplace.

  ‘We should tell the king,’ Tantony suggested. He turned to the table where Jorrun’s ink and quill stood. He almost fell backward as Azrael came bursting back out.

  ‘Mantu iss under attack. Ssiverael iss calling all the drakes!’

  ‘Mantu.’ Kesta stood and grabbed Tantony’s arm. ‘Send a raven at once.’ She ran out to the top of the stairs and bellowed down for Rosa.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Tantony glanced at her as he wrote as carefully and swiftly as he could.

  ‘That the dreamer was at or near Mantu. I’ll have to ride out as soon as dawn break—’

  ‘Wait, what?’ Tantony almost dropped his quill.

  ‘The at
tack on Mantu might fail, but it might not. If we win the dreamer might be killed; great for Jorrun. If he flees we may never see him again or, if the Chemmen win …’

  ‘His body dies.’ Tantony looked down at his Thane.

  ‘I have to find that trap or make sure the dreamer dies.’

  ‘You’ll go to Mantu? With a whole army of necromancers there?’

  Kesta took in a breath, lifting her chin to hold his gaze.

  ‘What’s happening? Oh!’ Rosa halted in the doorway, Catya tried to push past her into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw Azrael, but the Elden lady-in-waiting didn’t turn and run.

  ‘Okay, you all need to listen.’ Kesta looked around at them all. ‘Jorrun is caught in a magical trap; we don’t have many days in which to get him out. To do so I have to go to Mantu. Rosa, I need you to take care of Jorrun as best you can. Keep him warm, see if he can swallow and take water.’ Catya was crying, but she remained quiet, holding tight to Rosa’s hand. ‘Azrael, I’ll need you to come with me. Tantony, you’ll have to deal with the kin—’

  ‘No!’ The warrior crossed his arms, his face reddening. ‘No. This is stupid but if it’s the only way then I’ll be going to Mantu with you. I know the island.’

  Kesta bit her lip, she regarded the Merkis, taking a moment to slow and steady her breathing. ‘All right.’

  ‘And me!’ Catya cried out. ‘I’m your bodyguard!’

  She crossed the room to the young girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘No, I need you to guard Jorrun and help Rosa. With me and Tantony gone Rosa will be in charge of the hold.’

  ‘What? Me?’ Rosa turned pale.

  ‘Yes,’ Kesta replied firmly. ‘With whichever chieftain Tantony chooses to command the warriors. You know my plans, you know how to defend the hold.’

  Rosa straightened her shoulders and nodded.

  ‘We should prepare for our journey straight away,’ she continued, turning back to Tantony. ‘I want to be gone before Bractius tries to stop us.’