The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘And our prisoners?’

  The Lord Tessaya sighed and passed a hand over his face. ‘We are warriors, not warders. And they must not be allowed to rejoin the battle.’

  ‘My Lord?’ Arnoan’s face had paled.

  ‘They have no value to us and they have become an encumbrance. I wish to be unencumbered.’ Tessaya rose and walked away down the street towards Understone Pass, his heart not matching the chill of his voice. This was not how he wanted it to be. But too much was happening and conquest by any means was now the only way. He stopped and turned, his eyes coming to rest on the billets where the prisoners were held. He breathed out heavily and marched to give the orders.

  Perhaps sensing their urgency, or feeling pressure of his own, Jatha hurried The Raven plus unwelcome guests from the rip, moving quickly through several turns of the man-made cave before coming to a blank wall. Pausing only to glance over his shoulder and beckon them on, he disappeared into it. The Raven pulled up short.

  ‘Ilkar?’ asked The Unknown.

  The elf stepped forward. ‘Illusion, I should think.’ He placed his hand on the wall. It was solid. ‘And an exceptional one at that. I’m not sure . . .’ His voice trailed off. He pushed again, this time his hand sank into its surface. ‘Extraordinary.’ Denser came to his shoulder.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a mana construct.’ Erienne and Styliann crowded the end of the passageway, probing at the rock illusion.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Denser.

  ‘Well, it’s actually rock, isn’t it?’ said Styliann. ‘But modified.’

  ‘Perhaps it recognises certain people or something,’ ventured Denser. He sank a hand through up to the elbow, feeling his fingers reach open space beyond it. ‘There’s only token resistance here.’

  ‘How would it know to recognise me?’ said Styliann. ‘There was no word of my coming.’ He too probed the rock.

  ‘Good point,’ said Erienne. ‘To me, it feels fluid, though I agree with you that it’s rock. The question is, how does it maintain solid appearance and form?’

  ‘I suspect it’s a bounded magic, a little like the rip,’ said Ilkar. ‘It has clearly been placed here deliberately to hide the rip.’

  ‘So has the whole cave system, come to that,’ said Denser. ‘Though the rest of it is solid enough.’

  Hirad, who had been leaning against a wall, idly scratching his chin, blew out his cheeks, winked at The Unknown and stepped forward, a smile on his lips.

  ‘All this wisdom and none of you have a bloody clue, have you?’

  The quartet of senior mages turned as one, their supercilious expressions mirrors for each other.

  ‘Hirad, do you mind?’ said Ilkar. ‘We’re trying to solve this before we walk blindly through it. That is our way, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Hirad. He placed a hand on the construct and leant hard. ‘But you’re missing the point.’ He pushed himself away then leant in again, more gently this time, his hand moving easily through the rock.

  ‘Oh no.’ Ilkar’s face betrayed a brief comical alarm. ‘You know exactly what this is, don’t you?’ Hirad nodded. Ilkar sighed and addressed the mages. ‘You’ll just have to live with the fact that he knows something we don’t. It doesn’t happen often but you’ll never be allowed to forget it.’

  ‘Well?’ demanded Denser.

  ‘It’s not magic. Not like you know,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s a piece of interdimensional material carrying the signatures of the Kaan and Balaia. No one outside of those groups can go through it. To them, it’s solid rock. Clever, these dragons, aren’t they?’ He walked through the wall.

  Outside, the accuracy of Denser’s memories of the landscape was confirmed. They emerged into a vast valley of blackened earth and scorched trees, dead trunks reaching for the sky, fingers searching in vain for rescue. Only the most tenacious of undergrowth grew on the blasted ground and an acrid burnt smell permeated the air.

  Behind them, the rock appeared like an area of tumbledown crag, indistinguishable from a dozen like it scattered along the valley slopes. Above, the sky was a deep and beautiful blue, blown through by wisps of high cloud. Nothing stirred. No animals nosed under the trees, no birds twittered in the boughs or swooped through foliage. The atmosphere was heavier here, thick and moist, every smell alien in their nostrils; and the air settled uncomfortably in their lungs, though there was no ill in it.

  ‘It’s so quiet,’ breathed Erienne. The Raven stood together a few paces distant from Styliann and his half dozen Protectors, the latter seeming just a little distracted; a fact not missed by The Unknown. To the left, Jatha stood with two dozen of his people, all small men by Balaian standards, similar in height to poor Will but stockier, powerful in the shoulders and legs, their bodies used to hard physical labour. All were men and all wore beards of varying lengths tied with braiding, Jatha’s being the most complex.

  While The Raven studied the devastation, Jatha’s people scoured the sky or held their ears to the ground, listening for attack, never letting their hands stray too far from their weapons; flat-bladed stubby broadswords and short maces, weapons designed to deliver uncultured power in battle.

  ‘What now?’ asked Ilkar.

  ‘Now we travel to Wingspread. To the Kaan homeland,’ said Hirad.

  Jatha came to Hirad’s side and turned an anxious face in his direction.

  ‘Come,’ he said, uncomfortable with the speech. ‘Bad place.’ He gestured away along the valley floor with his left arm. In the distance, hills shimmered in the sun’s haze. ‘Home,’ he said.

  ‘It’s time to go,’ said Hirad. ‘Looks like we’re walking it.’

  ‘No dragons to give us a lift?’ asked Denser.

  ‘Never,’ said Hirad, his face stony.

  They set off after Jatha and his people, the Kaan’s servant race setting a brisk pace, their eyes always tracking the sky above. Underfoot, the ground was baked hard by sun and fire and, here and there, as they crossed the valley floor, the white of bone showed bright against the earth.

  ‘How far is it?’ asked Erienne, her hand on her belly, eyes troubled. Hirad shrugged.

  ‘We’re very short of time,’ said Ilkar. ‘We have a great deal to learn if we are to cast an effective spell.’

  ‘Or anything at all,’ agreed Denser. He placed an arm around Erienne’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Tired, I think.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  The party continued along the valley floor for over an hour before Jatha turned left and scrambled up a dried-up watercourse that wound up the slope, alternately steep and shallow in the climb. He and his men halted at the top where the line of blackened trunks thinned out. The sight that greeted The Raven was breathtaking.

  In front of them, and sweeping away for mile after unbroken mile, lay a softly undulating plain of tall grass that whispered in the breeze. Gusts of wind played across its red- and blue-flecked straw yellow surface, driving dark colour in swirling patterns that ebbed and flowed like eddies on the sea. Here and there, unmoving dark scars spoiled the totality of the plain and the land rose and fell in gentle rolls until it butted against the foothills of a cloud-shrouded mountain range that ran across the horizon, its ends lost in mist.

  But it was the scene above and ahead of them that caused hearts to flutter. Staining the cloud-flecked blue of the sky like a monumental smear of dirt on fine cloth, was the rip. Around its edges, cloud bubbled and roiled; across its surface, red lightning flared and coursed and the whole rippled, its periphery agitating ceaselessly at the blue.

  And then there were the dragons. Hirad counted forty flying in complex but ordered patterns in front of the rip while two dozen more circled in groups of three at wider distances, plunging through the thin cloud, wheeling left and right, their cries echoing faintly to the ground.

  Jatha pointed. ‘Kaan,’ he said.

  ‘Can it be done?’ asked The Unknown with another glance at the P
rotectors, none of whom stood ready to defend Styliann, their eyes also fixed on the rip and its guardians.

  Styliann let out a long hissing breath. ‘Magic has an answer to everything.’

  ‘Eventually,’ added Ilkar. ‘But time is something we don’t have. I suggest we get moving and work every break. Just look at the size of that thing.’

  Hirad looked, and the short time they had pressed on him like never before. He almost believed he could see it growing as he watched. Perhaps he could.

  ‘Hirad?’ It was The Unknown.

  ‘Hmm?’ He tore his eyes from the rip and its attendant Kaan to focus on the big warrior. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s time to go.’ He gestured at Jatha who was staring at Hirad reverently. Hirad nodded.

  ‘Jatha. Wingspread?’ The Great Kaan’s attendant frowned then beamed.

  ‘Wingspread,’ he said and pointed away across the plain to the distant mountains. His smile faltered a little. ‘Careful.’ He indicated the sky and made swooping motions with his arms. ‘Careful.’ He indicated his eyes then pointed in all directions around him.

  ‘Got that, Raven?’ Hirad asked. Their silence told him they had. The party set off down the slope towards the seductively swaying plains grass.

  The grass was taller even than Cil and The Unknown but its dense growth made travel tortuously slow. It smelled of fresh fields but also contained a beguiling sweetness, like ripe fruit on a hot day. And while it gave them good protection from ground threat, none of them were under any illusion about how the path they left appeared from above.

  Jatha had been more optimistic, gesturing to them how the strands sprang back. But even his expression turned to worry as he saw the damage the heavier Balaians were causing.

  He kept them moving at as fast a pace as was possible for the entire afternoon, stopping only briefly for food. As the evening drew on, Jatha and his men began to look for something, though to Hirad there was no break from the monotony of the grass.

  At a signal from one of his men, Jatha brought the line to a halt. He turned to Hirad and made exaggerated tiptoe. The barbarian nodded and turned to The Raven.

  ‘Try not to break too much grass, eh?’

  Jatha led them from their path, moving very slowly, watching his every step as he handed the grass aside. His men mimicked his careful movement, Hirad shrugging and doing likewise, knowing The Raven would follow his lead. The deliberate movement continued for a good half hour but again the result was obvious - it would take a tracker of Thraun’s skill to find them.

  As it had been for much of the day, their destination was unclear until they were on it. Hirad, following the last of Jatha’s men, almost walked into the back of him as he stopped abruptly. In front of him, four of them crouched in a loose half-circle. Each man grasped at the earth, lifted and moved back a soil- and grass-covered wood and sacking lattice some three feet on each side. Without pause, Jatha led his men down into the gloom.

  ‘Neat,’ said Ilkar, standing by Hirad.

  ‘I’m amazed they could find it,’ said Hirad.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Thraun, his voice flat and emotionless. ‘The trail is well marked.’ The Unknown patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Come on, let’s get inside and set up that stove. I could murder a coffee.’

  With the ground covering pulled over and lanterns lighting their way, The Raven descended a steep set of rough-hewn mud and stone steps into a natural cave. The space rose thirty feet from the floor to the ground above and the main body was perhaps forty feet each side. Opposite the stairs, the roof tapered down sharply to a narrow alcove through which a steady draft blew, indicating a passage.

  The floor of the cave was covered in dried leaves. Stacks of wood, metal bowls and plates and four big water butts stood to the left. Woven dried-grass matting was pulled from its position to the right and spread across the floor to provide comfort from the cold stone. Jatha’s men set their lanterns in carved hollows in the rock walls, illuminating ragged edges and shelves which jutted into the cave above their heads, and gently swaying strands of liana which grew from above. It was damp and chill, the smells of mould and rot mixing into an unpleasant cocktail for the nose, but at least it was safe.

  The centre of the cave was dominated by a shallow pit in which Jatha’s men expertly laid and lit a fire, the smoke disappearing through the porous ceiling. Heat spread quickly outwards and soon the party began to relax, stretching tired limbs and leaning back on the matting, forming it into surprisingly comfortable bedding.

  ‘Choul,’ said Jatha, opening his arms wide to indicate the cave. Hirad nodded.

  ‘Choul,’ he repeated. Jatha and his men had taken the area opposite the stairs and were readying food. Dried meats and root vegetables appeared from backpacks and sacks, and metal stands held pots of water over the fire.

  In the space in front of the stairs, Thraun bolted the stove together. Nothing would get in the way of The Raven’s coffee and The Raven themselves gathered around it, a familiar sight in unfamiliar surroundings.

  That left Styliann and his six Protectors to sit against the wall to the right of the fire, quiet, contemplative but changed somehow. The former Lord of the Mount, with a brief word to Cil, walked to The Raven, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  ‘We have much to do,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hirad. ‘There’s coffee to be drunk, food to be eaten and The Raven to talk. Alone. Then you four can start your work.’

  Styliann stared down at Hirad, his lips thinning. ‘Have we not moved beyond our petty parochialities?’

  Hirad’s expression was blank. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he returned. ‘All I know is you’re holding us up. During a job, we talk each night, review and plan. It is The Raven’s way.’

  ‘Yes and I would hate to get in the way of your precious rules,’ spat Styliann. ‘After all, all we have to do is save two dimensions.’

  Hirad regarded him coolly, shaking his head. But before he could speak, Denser’s weary voice filled the cave.

  ‘Styliann, for the Gods’ sake, please sit down before he trots out his “that’s the reason we’re still alive” speech.’

  Ilkar laughed aloud, the sound echoing from the walls. Hirad glared at him. Styliann shrugged and returned to his Protectors.

  ‘Thanks for backing me up,’ muttered the barbarian.

  Ilkar smiled. ‘Some day, Hirad, I’ll follow up our chat about sensitivity with one about tact.’

  The glorious smell of rich stew slowly replaced those of the mould and rot, and quiet dominated the travellers. Jatha’s men communicated in gesture and what appeared to be a highly developed telepathy, leaving the clanking of plates and spoons, the crackling of the fire and the shifting of tired limbs as the only sounds.

  After their short meeting, The Raven drank coffee in silence. There hadn’t been much to say though all of them had been comforted by the feeling of normality it brought them.

  Later, with the fires stoked for warmth and the bowls, plates and spits stowed back next to the water butts, the quartet of mages examined the texts and papers brought from Xetesk and Julatsa.

  For hours, all that could be heard was the turning of pages and the odd sigh or heavily indrawn breath. Occasionally, though little of the text was in lore script, one or other would need help translating certain terms or phrases, and hurried whispering would fill the chamber.

  Initially intrigued, Jatha and his men had stared intently at the Balaians but the interest soon waned and, as the time drew on, most slept but for the two guards who sat just under the ground covering, at the top of the stairs.

  Hirad leant against a wall, The Unknown next to him, legs stretched out in front of them. Idle talk had fallen to nothing and Thraun, who hadn’t said a word since they descended into the Choul, remained lost in his own thoughts.

  Eventually, the mages had read everything and, resupplied with coffee, placed the texts in a pile between them and began to talk.

  ‘Styliann,
how long have you known this information was in Xetesk?’ asked Erienne.

  ‘From the start. The only reason for my silence was the trouble I discovered I was going to have liberating them from the College.’

  ‘But have you studied them before?’ she pressed.

  ‘Not like this, I am ashamed to say. They’ve been in the locked vaults.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘Hold on,’ interrupted Ilkar. ‘We’ll get nowhere voicing random opinion. Let’s identify the task and try to solve it piece by piece. All right?’ The others nodded, a smile playing across Styliann’s lips.

  ‘Ever the diplomat, Ilkar,’ he said.

  Ilkar shrugged. ‘We just don’t have the time to waste. Now, who wants to outline the problem?’

  ‘All right,’ said Erienne. ‘We have an unbounded rip linking two dimensions and drawing power from interdimensional space to grow at an exponential rate. We believe that because it was formed through conventional magic, it can be closed by the same method. However, there is no lore-defined spell for dismantling such a rip and we are left with having to piece together what will effectively be an untested best-guess from the fragments of Septern’s writings we have here and our own small knowledge. The risks are unbelievable, success is uncertain and the power needed is unknown. How does that sound?’

  ‘You’ve been framing that for some time, haven’t you, my love?’ said Denser, drawing a hand through her hair. Ilkar chuckled, more at the sparkle in Denser’s eye than at his words. This was the old Denser and he was very glad to have him back. He wondered on the change in the Xeteskian and knew Erienne had much to do with it though he suspected much of the strength had lain trapped within the man all the time. All it had needed was freeing.

  ‘I think it’s a very accurate summation,’ said Styliann. ‘Now if you will allow, Raven mages, I believe the first part of the puzzle to be determining whether we can construct a mana shape capable of forming a linkage with interdimensional space. Because if we can’t affect it in the region of the rip, we can’t hope to sew the sky back together, to use slightly emotive language.’