The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘And exhausting,’ said Denser. ‘I’m not even sure I can walk.’

  ‘Try,’ said Ilkar. ‘Try now.’ He could feel them all looking at him as he stared into the middle distance. ‘The dogs are coming back.’

  ‘Richmond, get the horses,’ ordered The Unknown. ‘Ilkar, see to Denser. Hirad, with me.’

  Ilkar pulled Denser to his feet, the Dark Mage having to cling on to the elf’s cloak. With mounts spurred to a gallop, they began the race to the barn.

  For Hirad, the ride was a blur of pain. He could feel the blood pouring from the wound in his back, soaking into his shirt and leather. With each stride, his energy ebbed as he thumped in his saddle, unable to maintain a riding rhythm. His eyes misted, his vision was ragged and he couldn’t properly see the way ahead. He was dimly aware of The Unknown moving close to him to hold him in his saddle. He didn’t even have the energy to indicate his thanks; it was all he could do to cling on to the reins.

  Urgent orders were barked by The Unknown: the Destranas were catching them fast. They might just reach the barn before the animals overhauled them but it would be close. Richmond and Talan urged their mounts to greater effort towards the long low building. Hirad could feel his grip on consciousness slipping away. He dragged his head to one side to see Denser hunched over his horse with Ilkar shepherding him all the way. The Dark Mage looked for all the world as if he was dead.

  Mustering the last of his strength, Hirad dug his heels into his mare’s flanks. The horse responded. The barn was only a hundred yards away. Richmond and Talan, having just reached it, pushed open a large door and slapped their horses inside. Moments later, The Unknown and Hirad thundered in and reined to a halt. The Unknown leapt from his saddle and Hirad slumped from his, legs folding, body sliding down the heaving flank of his horse.

  ‘Richmond, Talan, look after him,’ barked The Unknown.

  He ran to the door and looked out. Denser and Ilkar were just yards away, the dogs almost on their heels, and rode past him into the barn. The Unknown moved a pace outside, pushed the barn door closed and slid the heavy wooden bolt home to lock it.

  ‘Unknown, what the hell are you doing?’ shouted Ilkar from inside the barn, pulling on the door, which gave only slightly.

  ‘Korina was the last time I fail to help my friends.’ The Destranas would be on him in a few heartbeats.

  ‘There’s no need, Unknown. They won’t hang around here for ever,’ said Talan. The banging on the door increased.

  ‘They will.’ Denser’s voice came laced with fatigue. ‘You don’t understand what they are. The door won’t hold them.’

  ‘He’ll die, you stupid bastard!’

  The Unknown could hear the shouts of the barbarian as he squared up to the dogs. ‘We’ll see, Hirad. We’ll see.’

  The huge dogs ate up the distance. One, a pale silver-grey, was slightly ahead of the other two, one of which was jet black, the other another shimmering shade of grey. The Unknown tapped the tip of his blade on the ground and breathed deep knowing his first strike was vital. With the front animal two paces away, he side-stepped and brought his sword through waist-high and rising, straight into the Destrana’s mouth.

  Its neck snapped and its jaws splintered but its momentum brought it crashing into The Unknown’s shoulder. Man and beast fell against the door, the timbers groaned and The Unknown could hear someone kicking at the inside, then angry words.

  Winded, the big warrior shovelled the dead animal from his legs and started to rise, but the others were on him so quickly. The grey one locked its jaws on to a shoulder plate, the other plucked at his helmet with a massive paw.

  With a roar, The Unknown jabbed forwards one-handed and sliced into the grey’s right hind leg. The limb collapsed but the mouth hung on, teeth crushing the metal plate ever further as hot breath fired into his face.

  The unharmed dog clouted The Unknown’s head again and he could feel himself weakening. His helmet was dashed from his skull, strap biting deep as it snapped. He choked and swung his blade in desperation, feeling only hilt and glove contact flesh. Snatching it back again, he felt the metal plate on his shoulder give a little more as the crippled beast shook its head from side to side. Waves of pain washed over The Unknown and the black Destrana howled, sensing victory. The noise cleared his head for a moment and he drove his blade deep into the beast’s throat, its exultation drowning in a fountain of blood.

  As the sound died away, the plate gave out and huge jaws closed on flesh and bone. The Unknown screamed in agony and his eyes dimmed. His blade was wrenched from his hand as the dog pulled him on to his back. He whipped his fist into its face time and again but the fangs held firm as his blood flowed into the dirt.

  The dog pulled its head back and lashed in a claw. The Unknown’s throat was torn out, and as his strength drained away, his head fell back. With a crack of breaking wood, the barn door opened inwards and a blade flashed across his fading vision. There was the thud of a body beside him.

  It was enough.

  ‘How dare you!’ Erienne flew at the Captain as he entered her room. ‘How dare you!’ He caught her easily by the arms and pushed her back towards the desk chair.

  ‘Calm yourself, Erienne. Everything is as it was,’ he said.

  ‘Three days,’ she grated, her eyes ablaze beneath her tangled dirty hair. ‘Three days you’ve denied me. How can you do it to them, never mind me?’

  Since their last conversation, the Captain had been true to his word. She had spoken to no one but the guard who brought her food and water. At first it had been easy, her anger at his assumption that she would crumble burning in the pit of her stomach. She had occupied herself quoting lore, revising little-used spells - some of which she would dearly like to cast in the castle - and searching for weaknesses she could exploit to get free of the Captain. But he had her children, he’d threatened quick death for any magic use and she had no doubt he would do exactly as he said.

  Unless she could be in a position while she was with them to cast effectively, she couldn’t take the risk. But then there was the future, after he had no further need of her. Would he let them all go? Part of her wanted to believe that he wasn’t a murderer of innocents, that his intellect had a compassionate side, but that part was small. Erienne knew in her heart that he had no intention of letting them leave the castle. He surely knew her sons had great potential power, and that power would scare him. And that left her having to prolong their lives in any way she knew how and hope that he would drop his guard even for a moment to give her the chance she wanted. Until he let the boys out of their room, that chance would never materialise.

  As the hours went by, her anger faded, to be replaced by the dread feeling of longing over which she had no control. She stopped being able to concentrate and the lore lessons were forgotten. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast and the tears were regular and prolonged as her happy memories of the boys gave way to nightmare visions of them cold and alone in a dusty room without anyone to protect them.

  She knew the answer was simple. To see them was to call the guard and agree to help the Captain. But to help him was abhorrent to her every belief. And not only that. She believed him to be deeply misguided, and to lend assistance would place Balaia in greater danger than it appeared to be in already.

  After two days, she couldn’t sleep, eat or wash, the longing was that great. All she could do was shuffle, head down, around the room, calling out their names and praying for their safe return to her. Her mind was full of them, her body racked with the need of them.

  She called the Captain on the third day, when she feared she was losing her mind and when she was sure her boys would wither without her. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she wept tears through the dirt on her face. Her hair was lank and greasy, knotted and straggling over her scalp. Great dark circles under her eyes told their own story about the state of her fatigue, and her nightdress was torn at one shoulder where she’d caught it on a loose nail.
r />   ‘You have denied yourself,’ said the Captain. ‘The answer was forever in your grasp.’

  She was too tired to defend herself, slumping instead into the chair. ‘Let me see them,’ she said.

  The Captain ignored her plea. ‘I assume you have some news for me.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she said, her voice thick with exhaustion.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. I knew you’d see sense. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. First, I want you to get some proper rest, and I’m going to make it easy for you by promising that you will see your sons very soon. And I never go back on my promises, as you are aware. Then we will talk about your role in saving Balaia from this appalling creation of Dawnthief.’

  ‘I have to see them now,’ said Erienne.

  The Captain knelt beside her and held up her face. She looked at him, his smile softening his features into fatherly concern.

  ‘Erienne, look at yourself. They will be frightened if they see you like this. You must sleep, then you must wash. Now come.’ He rose and helped her out of the chair and across to the bed, moving the blankets over her as she lay down, unprotesting. ‘I’ll stay with you until you sleep. And dream happy, because when you awaken, you will see Thom and Aron and realise they are well.’ He stroked her hair back from her face, and though she fought it, sleep took her in an iron grip and she slipped into a deep slumber.

  The Captain turned to Isman and smiled broadly. ‘You see, Isman? Deprivation can get the results that violence does not.’ He stood. ‘Now, one more piece to the puzzle. Let’s go and talk about how we might catch our most valuable prize.’

  Ilkar just stared while he tried to compose himself. The quiet hurt his ears. Talan had kneeled and closed The Unknown’s eyes, and now he, Richmond and Ilkar stood around the big man’s body as the wind ruffled his bloodied hair and blew in through the open door of the barn. Hirad, having decapitated the last dog, had walked back two steps and collapsed. Denser was tending him.

  Thoughts crashed through Ilkar’s head in a confused barrage but one kept rising to the surface of his mind. It was the view in front of him. The Unknown lying dead was a sight he had never believed he would see. And the idea that he would no longer be there to say the right words or make the correct decision to save them all was one that Ilkar was unable to take.

  ‘Why the hell did he do it?’ he asked.

  Richmond shook his head; tears stood in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We could have helped him. If he hadn’t locked the door, we . . . Why did he lock it?’

  It was not a question Ilkar could answer. He dragged his attention to Hirad and caught Denser’s eye. The Dark Mage was worried.

  ‘Bad?’

  Denser nodded. ‘Do you know WarmHeal?’

  ‘That bad, is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘He’s lost a great deal of blood. Well?’

  ‘I’ve never used it,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘I’m not asking you to use it. All I need you to do is to shape the mana flow for me - I don’t have the energy.’

  ‘You want me to channel mana for you,’ said Ilkar slowly. ‘How can you ask that of me?’

  Denser scratched his head beneath his skull cap. ‘This isn’t the time to discuss morals and College co-operation.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’ snapped Denser, standing and pointing down at the prostrate Hirad. ‘I don’t think you quite understand. If we don’t do something now, he will die. Now you can either try it yourself, use your energy and probably screw up, or you can shape the mana for me and I’ll make it work. I’m good at it.’ He was standing very close to Ilkar, and the elf could feel the cat squirming in Denser’s cloak. ‘So which is it to be?’

  Ilkar looked away, straight into the stern gazes of Talan and Richmond. He held out his hands.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘We understand that if you don’t do something, Hirad will die,’ said Richmond. ‘And we’ve just lost one, so stop talking ethics and get on with it.’

  Ilkar looked back to Denser and inclined his head. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

  Denser removed Hirad’s leather armour and shirt. The tear in his lower back was ugly, full of blood and over twelve inches long. Denser probed the area around the gash and Hirad moaned his pain through his unconsciousness.

  ‘It’ll be infected,’ said Denser. ‘Destranas are never clean. Are you ready?’

  Ilkar nodded. Kneeling, he placed his hands on Denser’s shoulders, index fingers on the base of his neck. He opened his mind to the mana, feeling a surge through his body before he began shaping the WarmHeal and channelling the energy through his hands. There was a jolt as Denser accepted the flow and something akin to pain as the two Colleges, Julatsa and Xetesk, met and melded. Focusing on the Dark Mage’s hands, Ilkar blotted out the barn around him and the ache growing in his head, seeing Denser’s gentle finger movements, hearing his quiet incantation and feeling the mana being dragged through him with greater force as the preparation climaxed.

  He could feel himself beginning to weaken. Denser was hauling the stamina from him as he drew on the magical force with ever greater urgency. And then it was done, the flow shut off, the channel closed, and Denser’s hands were encased in a red-tinged golden glow. For Ilkar, the colour would have been a pure green, soft and pulsating but he couldn’t say that the feeling was any different than if the mage under his hands had been another Julatsan. Unable to move from his position, Ilkar watched as Denser moved his hands over the wound, his fingers kneading the skin and probing the torn flesh. Blood flowed briefly on to the floor of the barn, Denser breathed in slowly and, with his exhalation, the light dimmed and died.

  Slowly, the rest of the world encroached once more on Ilkar’s mind. His heart was hammering in his chest and his arms trembled as he took them from Denser’s shoulders. The Dark Mage examined his work, then sat back on his haunches, turning to Ilkar and smiling.

  ‘That was a very interesting experience. We should research it further,’ he said.

  Ilkar wiped his sweat-slick forehead. ‘Don’t get carried away, Denser. I only did it to save Hirad.’

  ‘And save him we have,’ said Denser. ‘I’m sorry you feel the way you do. We should be learning from each other, not squabbling.’

  Ilkar gave a short laugh. ‘And there speaks a man who would have Dawnthief for himself and his College.’

  Both stood up, brushing dust from their clothing.

  ‘And you wouldn’t?’ Denser felt in a pocket for his pipe. ‘Julatsa sets itself on a pedestal and asks to be knocked down. For one thing, you know you cannot cast Dawnthief with any hope of success, and for another, you refuse our constant hand of friendship and reason.’

  Ilkar felt as if all the breath had been knocked from him. He could feel his ears redden and the blood flowed into his face with equal force.

  ‘Reason? Xetesk? Denser, the last time I saw a Xetesk mage, she was fighting for Erskan’s Merchant Lords and killing people using MindMelt. That’s not reason.’

  Denser merely tamped tobacco into his pipe bowl and lit the weed with a flame from his thumb.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You have never killed anyone in your work with The Raven.’

  ‘That is completely different.’

  ‘Is it? Your killing spells stink of righteousness and that makes them all right, I suppose.’ There was a sneer on Denser’s face. ‘You are a mercenary mage, Ilkar. Your moral is money and your code is that of The Raven. Forget my allegiance; my deeds are no worse than yours. In Julatsa you see yourselves as the white knights of magic, and yet, individually at least, you are no higher than any College’s mage. We should have stayed talking to Lystern and Dordover.’

  ‘You say that and yet you thrive on blood and the chaos in dimensional space. Your College has consistently ignored pleas to moderate and that’s why Black Wings hunt you. And me. I—’

  ‘For God’s sake, will you
two shut up? I’m trying to rest.’ That voice drained the anger from Ilkar and he smiled. So did Denser.

  ‘Ah, Hirad, you’ll never know the angst that brought about your salvation,’ said the Dark Mage.

  Ilkar found it hard to suppress a chuckle. He looked down and the humour died on his face. Hirad’s eyes were black-rimmed and sunken, and his expression spoke everything of recent events.

  ‘I heard you,’ said the barbarian. ‘We’d better bury The Unknown. I understand that a WarmHeal surge doesn’t last for long.’ He scrambled to his feet.

  Denser nodded. ‘You’ll be asleep in less than an hour.’

  Talan retrieved a shovel from his pack. ‘I’ll dig. Richmond can dress the body. We’ll observe the Vigil in the morning.’

  Ilkar nodded his thanks. He was more tired than he cared to admit. The exertion of the WarmHeal was weighing on his mind as much as on his body. In saving Hirad, he’d committed a crime against the Julatsan way that would see him shunned by his brothers. He shuddered. At least none of them was ever likely to find out.

  Hirad squatted outside the barn by the mound of earth that covered The Unknown. His sword was drawn and held in his hands, point driven into the ground and hilt by his face. His sorrow wasn’t as keen as that he had felt for the loss of Sirendor, but something lurked in the back of his mind that his exhausted body couldn’t register. He felt empty and useless. Again. It was a feeling he was becoming too familiar with. His eyes smarted and he turned them to the darkening heavens, as the mist that had bothered their journey all day deepened and stole the stars from the sky.

  They were all asleep. Richmond and Talan had taken the early watches and snored in unison, lying on their backs on either side of the barn. Ilkar, his energy gone, was stretched on a patch of loose earth, his hands thrust deep in the soil, replenishing his mana stamina slowly as he slept. Denser smiled. If only he knew how easy it was. All you needed was peace and a victim or a prayer and an opening.