The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  Ilkar was glad of the traditional opening speech required of any visiting an elven rainforest village, which included reasons for the visit and a request for lodging should it be desired. Kild’aar stepped forward, her face severe.

  ‘As a child of this village, you are welcome, as is the child of Drech with you,’ she said, cocking her head at Ren behind him. ‘But these strangers must go. Now.’

  Ilkar started at Kild’aar’s vehemence.

  ‘What I ask affects us all,’ said Ilkar. ‘Calaians and Balaians alike. Julatsa stands on the verge of extinction. The Heart is buried and not enough mages remain on Balaia to raise it to beat life through the college again. What consequences for the elves of Calaius if it should fail? Please, let us all get out of the rain and talk.’

  ‘Julatsan magic has nothing to do with those who stand near you,’ said Kild’aar.

  ‘Until you hear me, you will not know how wrong you are,’ said Ilkar. ‘Kild’aar, have things changed so much in my absence that you cannot even begin to extend the hand of friendship?’

  ‘Perhaps they have,’ said Kild’aar. ‘A great crime has been committed here. Strangers are to blame. And now illness is sweeping the village. You saw the fishing boats tied up; it’s because there are too few fit to crew them. Who’s to say the strangers didn’t bring the sickness with them? Who’s to say those you stand with don’t support the desecrators?’

  Ilkar held up a hand. ‘Wait, wait. You’re losing me.’ He looked at Kild’aar and then past her into the scared and angry faces of those behind her. ‘We saw evidence of illness in Ysundeneth when we landed there three days ago, but what’s been desecrated?’

  ‘Ysundeneth has sickness?’ Kild’aar ignored his question and looked around at her village folk. ‘Strangers visit there.’ She shrugged.

  ‘But not here,’ said Ilkar. ‘And it may not be the same sickness. Why don’t you let our mages see? We helped elves in Ysundeneth.’

  Kild’aar sighed. ‘In truth, we’re stretched,’ she said. ‘We can’t find a reason or a cure and it strikes at random. Tomorrow the victim could be me, any of us. Our people have started to die.’

  ‘Then let us try and help you,’ implored Ilkar. ‘These people behind me, they’re much more than just friends. I love them like family. They are good people and I swear on every creature in the forest that they have nothing to do with any desecration.’ He paused. ‘Kild’aar, what has been desecrated?’

  The elven woman looked older and more exhausted as she looked at him then, biting her lip. ‘Aryndeneth,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Ilkar’s mouth was suddenly dry, the drumming rain on his head forgotten. ‘How?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Kild’aar. ‘But we know Al-Arynaar have been killed.’ She stopped. ‘One moment.’

  Ilkar nodded and watched as she turned and spoke in low tones to a group of young and old elves. He saw nods and shakes of heads, he saw fingers being pointed and he heard sharp tones. In the end though, it was clear Kild’aar had got her way.

  ‘Take your friends, if such they are, to your father’s house. They can take drinks from the firepot if they are so inclined. I’ll wait for you. There’s something you have to see.’

  ‘And what of my parents?’ asked Ilkar, knowing it was the question she had been waiting for and he had been avoiding.

  ‘What do you think, Ilkar? You’ve been away too long.’ She shook her head. ‘We needed people like you here and you didn’t even send word that you were alive.’

  She turned and walked away, taking the crowd with her, a murmur growing as they dispersed into smaller groups. Ilkar turned back to The Raven, catching Ren’s eye as he did.

  ‘Did you hear all that?’ he asked her.

  She nodded and put a hand on his arm. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘We didn’t get on,’ he said. ‘Or else I might have come back when I was supposed to.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, but in truth he wasn’t sure how he felt. He hadn’t worked out whether he expected his parents to be alive or not; and finding out they weren’t had left him immediately saddened but hardly gripped with grief.

  ‘Hey!’

  Ilkar looked over at Hirad. The barbarian was standing with his arms outstretched and palms up, his long dark hair dripping with the rain that still fell with no sign of letting up.

  ‘Sorry, Hirad.’

  ‘When you’ve quite finished nattering in elvish, I wondered if there was any danger of you letting us in on the big secret. Are they going to run us through or let us dry out a little?’

  ‘Well, I had to haggle,’ said Ilkar, wandering back up to Hirad and patting his soaking wet cheek. ‘They were concerned that you were too ugly to be allowed into such a beautiful setting. There are children here after all.’

  Denser laughed aloud, hugging Erienne to him. She too could not suppress a smile. The comment had been worth it just for that. Hirad swung round to the Xeteskian.

  ‘You haven’t heard what they said about you and that miserable mould you call a beard,’ he said to Denser.

  ‘At least it doesn’t frighten children.’

  ‘Only because they don’t understand,’ said Hirad. ‘Scares the shit out of me that you think it’s attractive.’

  ‘Let’s get in out of the rain, shall we?’ said The Unknown. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m getting a little tired of this particular shower.’

  Ilkar nodded. Once again, a couple of sentences from the big man and they all fell into line.

  ‘Follow me. And don’t make a mess. This is my house you’re about to see.’

  He took Ren’s hand and led the way into the village, uncertain of what they were about to face and with the sceptical eyes of the people upon them. There was so much more to be done than he’d hoped. He sighed. It had seemed so simple. Just show up, get trained mages and gather a friendly support network. He should have known. When The Raven were involved, somehow things were never simple.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Why won’t you let Denser and Erienne help you?’ Ilkar was fast losing his patience.

  He’d seen The Raven to his house - it had been almost exactly the same as when he’d last seen it - and had sought out Kild’aar very soon after, suddenly anxious to be anywhere else than in his past. But his enquiries into how many villagers were actually sick were met with vague estimates and his offers of help with a blank refusal. The house they were headed for was no more than fifty yards across the village but this was the third time he’d asked.

  ‘Because you must understand first,’ said Kild’aar.

  ‘I understand already,’ he replied. ‘People in my village are dying and you won’t let two brilliant mages try and save them because of your intractable distrust of every non-elf. I don’t remember it being this way when I left.’

  ‘Ilkar, you have been away a very long time. And you’ve been with strangers for all that time. You are the one who has changed, not us. Even your skin is light. And now we’re seeing good reasons why we’ve been ever suspicious.’

  ‘But you need help.’

  ‘It can wait,’ snapped Kild’aar. ‘Gyal’s tears, Ilkar, you come wandering back into our village a hundred years after you left it and you expect us to accept you with open arms? And your Balaian friends? Maybe over there people are quick to trust. Here, as you well know, trusting the wrong people has led to so much harm.’

  Ilkar had to concede the point though he would never admit it to her. They had never seen eye to eye. Truth was, Ilkar hadn’t seen eye to eye with anyone. Except his brother. And even that bond was gone now. Buried under a hundred years of separation.

  ‘What happened to my parents?’ he asked.

  Kild’aar stopped briefly. ‘They died of old age, not knowing whether their son was alive or dead. Whether he had made a success of his talent or whether he had perished in the Mana Bowl or in some petty conflict of the Balaians. Perhaps the question
should be, what happened to you?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘And one we don’t have time for at the moment,’ said Kild’aar, setting off again across the soaking village. The rain was beginning to ease at last, blue cracks in the heavy grey sky.

  ‘What is it you want me to see?’ Ilkar struggled to keep up with the sudden pace, slipping on the muddy ground, unused to the texture underfoot, his reactions dulled by his absence. Kild’aar, of course, looked as if she were walking on flat dry rock.

  She led him to a house on the southern periphery of the village. On the porch sat an elf dressed in jet black with a face painted in black and white halves. At his feet a panther lay, licking its paws.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ demanded Ilkar. ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘Waiting for answers,’ replied Kild’aar.

  ‘Fine,’ said Ilkar. ‘So what’s inside?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Gods, but you’re frustrating, Kild’aar.’

  ‘Any particular God? Or just that amorphous deity Balaians always invoke?’

  ‘Now I’m remembering why I didn’t come back sooner.’

  Kild’aar pushed open the door. ‘I’d hate to disappoint your memories, Ilkar. Room to the left.’

  She waited while he went in. The room was lit by heavily scented candles set on the floor and on low tables. Otherwise it was bare but for a high-legged bed in its centre on which lay a shrouded figure. Ilkar turned, frowning, but was ushered on. He walked to the head of the bed, the sweet scents filling his head, and pulled back the shroud.

  On the bed lay an elf of about his age, though it was hard to tell in truth. His face was wrinkled as if the moisture had been leached from it, a trail of blood ran from his nose and another from the corner of his mouth. There was no relaxation in death, as if the pain that had gripped him as he lost his fight for life had endured beyond. Ilkar knew him.

  ‘There was nothing we could do,’ said Kild’aar as Ilkar replaced the shroud. ‘He was all but dead when he was brought in. Nothing we did, magical or herbal, did anything at all bar relieving his pain a little. Everyone here knows the agony in which he died and they know our helplessness. All that lie sick know their fate unless we can find a way to save them. That’s why we’re so scared. Who’s next?’

  ‘Then let Erienne help,’ urged Ilkar. ‘She is the best healer mage I’ve ever met. She’s saved my life before now. Let her examine him, find out what she can. Please, Kild’aar, trust me on this.’

  Kild’aar shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Come.’ She led Ilkar to the room next door. It was similarly bare though the shutters had been opened to let in natural light. On a table under the window sat a bowl of water draped with cloths. A single bed was pushed against a wall and on it an elf lay on his stomach, head to one side. A sheet covered him to his waist and his back was largely swathed in bandages, heaviest on his left shoulder.

  ‘Oh dear Gods,’ said Ilkar, rushing to the bedside and kneeling down to stroke the hair away from his face. It felt hot. ‘Not him too.’

  ‘No,’ said Kild’aar. ‘His fever was caused by an infected wound and it’s broken now. He’ll live. For now at least.’

  Relief flooded Ilkar and he exhaled heavily, his breath playing over the prone elf’s face.

  ‘Rebraal,’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

  The elf’s eyes flickered open, narrowed against the light and steadied. He frowned.

  ‘Are you real?’ he asked, voice no more than a croak.

  ‘Yes, I am. What happened to you?’

  ‘You’re not real. I’m still fevered. You’re a shade.’ He seemed to be talking to himself, his words barely distinct.

  ‘No. The fever’s broken. Kild’aar says you’re recovering. It really is me, kneeling in front of you.’ Ilkar smiled.

  Rebraal’s face darkened. ‘Shade or real, let me tell you this. You’re too late. A century too late. Where were you when the strangers came and took Aryndeneth? Where were you when I was shot? We needed you. You promised to return. It was your destiny as it is mine. Get out of here. I don’t know you.’

  ‘Rebraal, I understand your anger. But my destiny changed. There was other work I had to do. But it doesn’t stop me being your brother.’

  ‘You betrayed me. You betrayed the Al-Arynaar. You are not my brother.’ He turned his head away. ‘Go back to your other destiny.’

  Ilkar put a hand on Rebraal’s back.

  ‘Please, Rebraal. I can help you. I’ve brought people with me. We’ll take the temple back.’

  ‘I want nothing that you can give. We don’t need your help. Go.’ Ilkar felt Kild’aar’s touch on his shoulder. He looked up, his brief joy at seeing his brother extinguished. There was a lump in his throat and he shook his head to clear his mind, a cascade of emotions surging through him. His parents were dead, as he had expected, and he felt little grief at their passing. But Rebraal. Rebraal was only a little older than him and Ilkar’s love for his hero had never dimmed though his brother had often been far from his thoughts. And now he had been dismissed. Disconnected. He stood and strode from the house.

  ‘What did you expect?’ asked Kild’aar after him. ‘He thought you’d abandoned him. You were supposed to join the Al-Arynaar. It’s why you went to train in Julatsa.’

  Ilkar rounded on her. ‘No, it isn’t!’ he shouted, then checked his voice. ‘It’s what you all assumed. You, him, my parents. You never let me speak my mind, you never considered what I actually wanted. I never, ever wanted to follow Rebraal and my father into the Al-Arynaar. I admired them for their sacrifice but I didn’t want to do the same.’

  Kild’aar frowned. ‘So why did you go to train?’

  Ilkar almost laughed. ‘Because I wanted to be a mage. Because I felt the calling so strongly I could never deny it. You have no idea the release I felt when I left here and the elation I felt every day I was training. I knew what you would all feel when I didn’t return but I couldn’t come back to explain because you’d never have let me leave.’

  ‘Didn’t you believe in what the Al-Arynaar represented?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ said Ilkar. He pushed a hand through his hair, searching for the words that would help her understand. ‘But I was never driven enough to spend my life defending something I thought would never be attacked. I know how hollow that sounds now but I wanted more.’

  Kild’aar shook her head. ‘How can there be anything more than the honour of defending your faith?’

  ‘It wasn’t what I wanted. Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t Rebraal?’

  Ilkar felt like telling her his life story, or at least the last decade of it. But she wouldn’t want to hear about how his and The Raven’s search for Dawnthief halted the Wytch Lords, or how their sealing of the Noonshade rip stopped Balaia being overwhelmed by dragons. Both actions had done more to protect the elven faith than guarding Aryndeneth. The trouble was, they were too isolated here. To Kild’aar, and to so many rainforest villagers, events on Balaia were of no importance.

  All they knew or cared about the Northern Continent was Julatsa and the training it could give elves who felt the mage calling. And even then, most village elders would shrug at the demise of the college, blaming the elves who had stayed there for their stupidity in doing so. It was a paradox, but one the elven elders would face comfortably.

  ‘Your head was turned from true sight on Balaia,’ she said. ‘And Rebraal will blame you in part for the loss of the temple.’

  ‘Then persuade him to let me help put it right,’ said Ilkar. He pointed at his father’s house. ‘You don’t know it, but in that house you’ve got the most talented warriors and mages on Balaia. They are The Raven and they can make a difference.’

  ‘We have heard the name,’ said Kild’aar, unimpressed. ‘Our mages who did return as they promised brought word of you. We don’t need the help of mercenaries. We need believers. Rebraal is right, you should go.’
/>   Ilkar felt his cheeks colouring, very aware that his paler skin tone from decades on Balaia now set him apart from his own roots. It was useless talking to Kild’aar. And while to a certain extent he could understand their sense of betrayal, he couldn’t fathom their obduracy in the face of a genuine offer of help.

  ‘Let me tell you exactly how it’s going to be,’ said Ilkar, his frustration getting the better of him at last. ‘We’re here to take mages back to Julatsa, because if we don’t there will be no college for you to send your precious defenders to train at. Then where will your Al-Arynaar be, eh? And we will find mages with or without your help. Secondly, we are going to help the sick in this village and we are going to help return the temple to the hands of the Al-Arynaar. We are The Raven and this is what we do. Now you can try and stop us, but consider who is betraying the elven race and faith then.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some organisation to attend to.’

  He turned and strode back to his father’s house, his desire to prove Kild’aar wrong, to prove that those he loved were not mere strangers to be despised, burning hot within him.

  Heryst rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair in the great hall in the tower of Lystern. He seemed to have spent most of his time here in the last few days, meeting senior mages, desperately seeking a solution.

  He felt the weight of responsibility bearing him down. In the many clear and frightening moments he experienced when he was alone, he saw himself as the only man truly capable of halting the appalling spiral of the war. But the chances for peace were slipping through his fingers and there was seemingly nothing he could do. His delegation in Xetesk was making no progress and all he heard from Dordover were demands to ally to save Balaia. And they were demands he was finding it increasingly hard to refuse.