The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Ah.’ Tessaya’s frown deepened. Something wasn’t right. ‘No matter.’ He would get to the bottom of it shortly. Darrick was a man whose whereabouts he needed to know. ‘Tell me, I’m curious. Was there an incursion into my lands before we retook Understone Pass?’ He knew there had to have been but an idea of numbers would be useful.

  ‘Why are you asking me, my Lord?’ replied Kerus.

  ‘Because you are the commanding officer. You are also my prisoner. I would advise against the futility of refusing me.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that our people penetrated your Wytch Lords’ citadel. That’s why you lost your magic.’ Kerus did his best to sneer.

  ‘But not this battle, eh Kerus?’ Tessaya’s face dropped to a snarl. ‘That is the second time you have failed to address me correctly. Do not make me count to three.’ He relaxed his stance enough to drink from his bottle, taking in the angry faces in front of him.

  ‘An impressive move. Though I must confess, I had my reservations about the strength of Parve’s defence. I’m afraid too many senior Shamen felt it a waste of good warriors. How many did you send?’

  ‘Not many. My Lord.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Four hundred cavalry, a few Protectors, a handful of mages and The Raven. My Lord.’

  Tessaya took it all in, quietly assimilating the numbers and knowing that they should have been far short of enough to trouble Parve’s defence, let alone the Wytch Lords. He made exaggerated assumptions about the power of the mage contingent and still couldn’t make it add up. A nagging worry edged at his mind. He’d seen the power of the spell that had taken Understone Pass, the water magic that had obliterated so many of his kinsmen. Had they used something equally appalling or even worse to destroy the Wytch Lords?

  He shuddered inside. Rumours of an attempt to recover a spell of legendary power, the spell the Shamen called ‘Tia-fere’, Nightfall, had cast doubt over the sense of the invasion three months before. But surely if the spell had been recovered, he wouldn’t be standing here.

  ‘The Raven.’ Tessaya mulled the name over. Good warriors. Never to be underestimated as it seemed they had been by the Wytch Lords and their council of fawning Shamen.

  ‘Why did The Raven travel to Parve?’ he asked.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Kerus wore his slightly smug expression once more. ‘They carried with them the means to destroy your Masters. It is also obvious that they succeeded. My Lord.’

  Tessaya wasn’t sure the probable destruction of the Wytch Lords bothered him. All he knew was that the Shamen, having lost their fire, were once again in their proper place, occupying the shadows behind the tribal Lords and warriors.

  What did worry him was the fact that a few hundred men and mages had penetrated to the very heart of Wesmen faith. An act that had to take a good deal of tactical skill, power and bravery to succeed. A chill stole across Tessaya’s back as events started to fall into place. The rumours started to make sense - the Shadow Company patrolling the highlands, the dread force marauding south of Parve and the horsemen who never ceased to ride. It all happened after the water attack in the pass. The chill deepened. Only one man would have the audacity to believe he could reach Parve with a few hundred men.

  ‘Who was the Commander who died at the pass?’ he demanded.

  ‘Neneth. My Lord.’

  ‘And the leader of the cavalry was Darrick.’

  ‘Aye, my Lord. And he’ll be back, rely on that.’

  Kerus’ words haunted Tessaya all the way down Understone’s main street.

  Chapter 3

  Barrass was enjoying a moment of happiness, an oasis in the desert of his hopelessness, when the Wesmen made the decisive break through Julatsa’s border defences.

  To his eye, there was nothing more heartwarming than to see the sun rise above the Tower of the College of Julatsa. To see the darkness flee from every corner of every building, to see light sparkling from the pinnacle of each roof and then be able to look west towards Triverne Lake and see the birthplace of Balaian magic cast its shimmering pattern on the dark backdrop of the Blackthorne Mountains.

  He used to believe that nothing in the world could hurt him while he could see that sight. But then the Wesmen breach shattered the Julatsan lines and he realised that unless the ultimate action was taken, he’d never see it again.

  For a short time he watched in horror as the Wesmen spilled into the streets of his city, fighting running battles with the remnants of the city Guard, the spell-casting desultory and ineffective. After the first breach, fractures appeared all along the line until the Wesmen advance was a storm destined to break over the College walls. He could not allow that to happen.

  Barras turned to General Kard and saw tears on the senior soldier’s cheeks. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘General,’ he said gently. ‘Let me at least save the College.’ Kard looked at him, registering his words after some delay, his lips moving and his forehead furrowing deeply.

  ‘It can’t be done.’

  ‘It can. All I need is your authority.’

  ‘It is given,’ said Kard immediately. Barras nodded and summoned an aide.

  ‘Sound the emergency alarm, summon the perimeter guard inside the walls, quadruple the forces at the gates. I am going to the Heart of the Tower and will bring the Council to me. We will begin casting without pause. Don’t delay your actions.’

  The aide looked at Barras for a moment, drinking in the words he had clearly never thought to hear.

  ‘At once, Master Barras.’

  Barras stole another glance out over the Tower ramparts, the College walls and the streets of Julatsa. The wave was rising, the panic spreading; the noise was deafening.

  Wesmen howled in scent of victory, defenders yelled futile rallying cries and ordinary men and women ran for their lives. As the alarms sounded, discordant bells clamouring for attention, the Julatsan population turned and ran for the College gates.

  Barras mouthed a silent apology and prayer to all those who would remain outside to die. ‘Come on, Kard. Best you don’t see this.’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘We’re deploying the DemonShroud.’ He strode to the door of the Tower, which was opened by an attendant, and swept through, taking the stairs down two at a time, displaying an agility that belied his advanced years.

  With Kard puffing along behind him, he reached the Heart of the Tower to join the Council, taking his place in the circle barely even breathing harder. It was something else Kard wouldn’t understand. A mage had to be fit, no matter the age. A strong cardiovascular system was critical for casting and for mana stamina recovery.

  ‘Will you guard the door, General Kard?’ Barras asked.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ said the General, who had stopped at the door, the force of the mana inside the Heart making him uneasy though he could see nothing of it. He bowed to the Council and closed the door. His presence would ensure there were no interruptions.

  The Heart of the Tower of Julatsa was a chamber set at ground level, its eight smoothed greystone segments building to a point twice a man’s height above the exact centre of a helical floor pattern. A single line of stone flags spiralled inward from the door to the Heart, disappearing in its centre. And from that point burned the mana light, a candle flame-sized teardrop which never wavered and cast no glow despite its yellow colour. Because only a mage could see it. To a non-mage, there was no teardrop at all.

  The other seven members of the Council nodded to Barras in turn as he took up his position among them, each one standing flush with one greystone wall segment. When Kard closed the door, the darkness was complete.

  Barras could feel the nervousness of the Council, members young and old. It was hardly surprising. DemonShroud was Julatsa’s most difficult, dangerous and powerful spell. Only twice had it been cast before, both times well before any of the current Council had been born, and both times at moments of extreme danger for the Colle
ge of Julatsa.

  All knew the import of their intended casting. All had prepared themselves for the potential eventuality of its casting when the Wesmen attack began. All were aware that only seven of them would step from the Heart when it was done. None knew who would be chosen.

  ‘Shall we have light for our casting?’ the High Mage asked of the Council. The traditional words came from directly opposite Barras. One by one, the Council replied.

  ‘Aye, light for us to see one another and to gain strength from the seeing.’

  ‘My mage, Barras, who called us to the Heart, bring light to us,’ said the High Mage.

  ‘It will be done,’ replied Barras. He prepared the shape for a LightGlobe, as he knew he would have to. It was a simple shape, a static hemisphere, drawn quickly from the mana channelling into the Heart. The expenditure of effort was minimal and Barras deployed the LightGlobe just above the mana candle, its gentle light banishing shadows and illuminating the Council.

  Barras took them in with a slow sweep of his head, bowing to each member, drinking in their expressions and knowing that he would never see one of them again, and that it might be him taken by the demons.

  To his left, Endorr, the junior. A Council member only fully fledged seven weeks before at the High Chamber. A great talent, Endorr was short, ugly and powerful. It would be a pity to lose him.

  Working around the circle, he took in Vilif, the ancient secretary to the Council, stooped, hairless and close to his time. Seldane, one of two females on the council, late middle-aged, grey-haired and sour. Kerela, the High Mage, a close personal friend and fellow elf. They could ill afford to lose her at a time like this. Tall, dark and proud, Kerela led the Council with a steel determination respected by the entire College. Deale, another elf, ageing and given to rash talk. His was a face full of fear, his long features drawn and pale. Cordolan, middle-aged, portly and jovial. His balding pate showed sweat in the light of the Globe and his jowls held a heaviness. He could do with more exercise; his stamina would otherwise suffer.

  And finally, to Barras’ immediate right, Torvis. Old, impetuous, energetic, wrinkled and very tall. A quite wonderful man.

  ‘Shall we begin?’ The High Mage brought them all around. ‘I thank you, Barras, for your gift of light.’ And there, the normal formalities ended.

  ‘Members of the Julatsan Council,’ said Kerela. ‘We are gathered because a critical threat exists to our College. Unless our proposed action is taken, it is certain that the College will fall. Do any of the Council disagree with that interpretation?’

  Silence.

  ‘Knowing the risks involved in the deployment of the DemonShroud, do any of the Council wish to remain outside the Heart during the casting?’

  From Barras’ right, Torvis chuckled, his irreverence lifting the mana-laden tension temporarily.

  ‘Kerela, really,’ he said, his voice like dried leaves underfoot. ‘By the time we have spoken all our words of caution, the Shamen will be in here with us to assist our casting. No one is leaving, you know it.’

  Kerela frowned but her eyes sparkled with passing humour. Barras nodded his agreement.

  ‘Torvis is anxious to join a new dimension,’ he said. ‘We should begin at once.’

  ‘I had to offer the chance,’ said Kerela.

  ‘I know,’ said Barras. ‘We all know.’ He smiled. ‘Lead us, Kerela.’

  The High Mage breathed deep, taking in the Council once more.

  ‘To you who sacrifices their life to save this College and the magics of Julatsa, may you quickly find peace and the souls of your loved ones.’ She paused. ‘Follow my words closely. Do not deviate from my instructions. Let nothing but my voice deflect you from your concentration. Now.’ And her tone hardened, taking on total authority. ‘Place your palms on the greystone behind you and accept the mana spectrum into your eyes.’

  Barras pressed his hands to the cool stone segment behind him and moved his vision to focus on the mana flowing all around him. The sight was at once breathtaking and frightening.

  The Heart of the Tower of Julatsa was a mana reservoir, the shape and substance of its walls drawing the fuel of magic within its boundaries and keeping it there. The strongest reflectors were the eight stone wall-segments themselves and the mana rolled up their faces to the apex of the Heart. Barras traced the flow, the eight streams of mana coming together before plunging in a single column through the centre of the Heart and the flagged stone floor.

  Below his feet, Barras knew, the exact mirror image of the room in which the Council stood completed the circuit of power. Placing his hands on the stone brought Barras into that circuit.

  Each member of the Council started or gasped as the mana channelled through them, increasing pulses, clearing minds for intense concentration and charging every muscle to the highest state of potential for action.

  ‘Breathe the mana.’ Kerela’s voice, strong and clear, sounded through the Heart. ‘Understand its flow. Enjoy its power. Know its potential. Speak your name when you are ready to begin the summoning.’

  One by one, the Council members spoke their names, Barras’ voice confident and loud, Torvis’ with a touch of impatience, Deale’s quiet and scared.

  ‘Very well,’ said Kerela. ‘We will open the path and summon the Shroud Master. Be prepared for his appearance. Construct the circle.’

  Eight voices intoned quietly, speaking the words that would shape the mana and begin the summoning. Barras’ heart beat faster, his hands pressed harder against the greystone, his words, ancient and powerful, rolled around his mouth like oil in a drum, spilling from his lips in a single unbroken stream.

  The flow of the mana changed. At first, gentle tugging distorted the shape of its course up the wall segments. More urgent pulls followed before, with a suddenness that stole a heartbeat, the mana flow snapped away from the walls and was driven, not by nature and stone but by mages. Residual flow continued to circulate but, at eye-level, a circle of mana was established, maintained by all eight senior mages, a hand’s breadth wide, solid yellow and absolutely still.

  ‘Excellent,’ murmured Kerela, her voice quieter now, her concentration completely on the spell in preparation. ‘We have totality. Now, draw the shape to a column that kisses the stone at our feet.’

  Julatsa’s Mage Council took their hands from the wall behind them and let their fingertips enter the mana circle. To Barras, it was a feeling like touching soft cloth, delicate and beautiful. As he drew his hands down in exact synchronicity with his fellow mages, forming the flawless cylindrical shape with his mind as much as with his hands’ heightened touch sense, Barras rolled one word over in his mind. ‘Gently. Gently.’

  To tear the cylinder would jeopardise not only the spell but the health of the Council. This far into the casting, headaches, bleeding from the ears and temporary blindness were real risks of any mistake or backfire.

  But mages were elected to the Julatsan Council for their skill and, with all mages finishing in a crouched position, the column was complete and perfect in less than a hundred beats of Barras’ heart.

  ‘Excellent,’ breathed Kerela. ‘Is everybody secure?’ No one indicated otherwise. ‘Endorr, Seldane, Deale, Torvis. You will anchor the column. On my signal we others will withdraw. Do not resist the extra burden, keep your minds open.’ She paused. ‘On my count. Withdrawing in three, two, one . . .’ Barras, Vilif, Kerela and Cordolan withdrew their hands and stood up. Barras smiled as he saw Endorr accept the rising mana stamina drain with a puff of his cheeks and nothing more. The old elf had to resist an urge to pat the young mage on his shoulder. He really was very accomplished for his age.

  The four anchoring mages steadied themselves. Until the completion of the summoning, they would focus all their energies on maintaining the mana column in its perfect state. Should it breach before the summoning was complete, the forces unleashed would rip the Heart to pieces.

  Kerela gazed briefly around Julatsa’s central chamber, nodding in adm
iration.

  ‘We are a strong Council,’ she said. ‘Our inevitable weakening is a tragedy for Julatsa.’ She sighed and pressed her hands together. ‘Come. Stand for the summoning. Barras, you will keep the portal open.’ Barras nodded, disappointed but not surprised at the relief he felt. As the portal guard, the demons could not take him nor risk being trapped in the killing air of Balaia.

  The four mages stepped right up to the mana column, their faces scant inches from its still surface. Each mage stared directly ahead into the eyes of the mage opposite, pairing for strength. Kerela opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘Though I say the words, we shall all create the shape. Lend me your strength.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Heilara diun thar.’ The temperature in the room dipped. Kerela’s next words steamed from her lips. ‘Heilera diun thar, mext heiron duin thar.’ The quartet of mages plucked more mana from the air, forming a tight disc of swirling yellow shot through with blue flecks.

  The disc hovered above the cylinder, spinning fast, its edges blurred.

  ‘Slowly,’ said Kerela. ‘Draw it gently inside the cylinder.’ With their noses touching the perfect yellow column, the disc-mages moved the disc inside, feeling its edge stir the calm of the anchored mana shape as it descended.

  ‘Heilera, duin, scorthos erida,’ intoned Kerela. The blue in the disc gained in intensity, deep pulses flaring along the inside of the column, shuddering the anchoring mages. Their grip remained firm.

  The disc descended, Barras and the three controllers struggling to keep it horizontal and maintain its crawling pace against a force that sucked from below and gained in strength: the demons knew they were coming.

  ‘Steady,’ urged Kerela, her voice distant with concentration. ‘Steady. Cordolan, you are ragged.’ The disc, which had wobbled minutely, steadied immediately, the flaring inside the column violent as it dropped still further, crossing the mana candle, caressing the stone floor.

  ‘Barras, be ready,’ said Kerela. ‘Heilera, senduin, scorthonere an estolan.’ A black dot appeared in the centre of the disc, widening quickly. Blue mana light flowed out, expanding as the hole grew. With a snap, the disc became a thin circle of Julatsan mana, containing a flow of ferocious blue light which hammered at the apex of the Heart and spilled down the greystone segments. Whispering filled the air, taunts, demands, gentle offers laced with evil, crowding the mages with their sound. The words picked at their courage, the susurrant tone leaching through their bodies, setting skin crawling, heads spinning and drying mouths. The door to the demon dimension was open.