The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Hirad.

  Denser chuckled. ‘You never studied.’

  ‘Bloody right,’ said Hirad. ‘Too busy trying to find enough food to live on when I was young. Unlike you pampered mages in your warm colleges.’

  ‘The point is,’ said Erienne, ‘that there’s something I’ve become aware I can do almost without thinking.’

  The Raven shifted uncomfortably. There was something about the entity of the One magic that Erienne harboured so unwillingly that didn’t sit well with any of them. They had all grown up with college-based magic and accepted it even if they didn’t understand it. But the One, a myth made real, that took its power not just from the mana but all the elements, was a force about which so little was known.

  Two ancient elves on the island of Herendeneth, far out in the Southern Ocean, were its last practitioners. For them, Erienne was the last hope of perpetuating the original magical force in the Balaian dimension. But for Erienne, every time she touched the power, savage memories resurfaced. Because her daughter had been allowed to die to effect the transfer of the One entity into her mind.

  And now she was trapped. Needing the Al-Drechar elves to help her control and understand the One lest it overwhelm her untrained mind, but hating them because it was they who had let Lyanna die. The Raven knew it, and they knew it was pain they could do nothing to ease.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘I can sense people. If the mana flow isn’t overpowering I can sense their signatures because magic flows around them differently, not like it does around buildings and the world in general. We are like the elements coalesced, you see, concentrated. It makes us stand out against walls or trees, whatever. This side or the other side, up or down. And if I concentrate, I can tell if they are mages or not.’ She paused, looking at Hirad. ‘You don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘But if you’re telling me you can see through walls and floors, I don’t care.’

  ‘Only if the mana flow isn’t too strong. In the Tower, I couldn’t. At the cells, I probably can,’ said Erienne.

  ‘Probably?’

  ‘Sorry, Unknown, it’s the best I can do. According to the structural drawings of the college, the flows dissipate through the cells because it’s not part of the main geometric structure. Trouble is, if they’ve repointed anything since the original building was done, it could have altered the mana map.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ asked The Unknown.

  ‘Broader focus for something like new lecture theatres or long rooms. Students need all the help they can get and part-focused mana is perfect when you’re learning a new construct,’ said Denser.

  ‘Can’t you tell by tuning into the mana spectrum?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. We’re not trained in monitoring. Put it this way. Dipping into the spectrum in a college is like standing in a rainstorm and trying to see if it’s not as torrential fifty yards away.’ Erienne shrugged.

  ‘Any risk in this for you?’ Hirad leaned forward.

  Erienne raised her eyebrows. ‘With the One, everything’s a risk right now. But I think I can contain it. The Al-Drechar will help.’

  ‘Right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Thank you, Erienne. We’ll use that skill if we can but that leaves just Denser as cover. Once we’re inside, SpellShield, all right?’

  Denser nodded.

  ‘Now, I understand there is to be a protest outside the cells and barracks,’ said The Unknown, leaning across the table conspiratorially. ‘It’s exactly what we need.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Denser.

  ‘Because I think it’s going to give us our way in. Help yourselves to more food and drink, then Hirad and I will tell you all about it.’

  Nyam had always been suspicious of the old women. Outwardly compliant they might have been; very willing to help and to explain the finer points of their considerable dimensional knowledge. But whenever he talked to them, he got the feeling that at least one of them was, well, elsewhere. Not physically, he’d explained to the others more than once, but inside her mind.

  But apparently he was making far too much of it. They were old, he was told, borderline senile. Hardly surprising their minds wandered away now and then. He couldn’t make them understand. They might be ancient but the light in their elven eyes was as bright as that in the eyes of the son he had left behind in Xetesk. So he decided to watch them. One day, something would give.

  He smiled to himself as he ambled in the warm sun outside the house of the Al-Drechar. High up in the sky, the surviving Kaan dragon, with whom they maintained an uneasy peace, circled. It had threatened them all with death if they stepped out of line and none of them doubted its capacity to carry out that threat. They had seen all too clearly the results of its anger. That was why the five mages and fifty Protectors left on the island all wished they’d been chosen for the ship home thirty-odd days before.

  Nyam walked a little way up towards the beautifully arranged terraces which housed the long dead of the Al-Drechar. There was Diera with the laughing little boy, Jonas. She was tending the Nightchild, Lyanna’s, grave while he sat, face upwards, pointing at Sha-Kaan’s circling.

  Nyam smiled again and found a conflict of emotions running through him. He yearned for his wife and family; another part reached out and understood Diera’s loneliness and yet he couldn’t escape the fact that he was attracted to her. They all were. She’d been the subject of ribald conversation more than once but none of them would so much as touch her. You didn’t try it on with the wife of The Unknown Warrior, no matter how far away he was.

  That part of him that sympathised so much with the helplessness of her exile was strongest. She cut a forlorn figure at times, standing on the rocks overlooking the channel into which a returning ship would sail, or spending hours wandering the little island with Jonas wrapped in her arms or experimenting with walking beside her.

  Yet she wouldn’t reach out. She shunned the Xeteskians completely, never spoke a word to any Protector and didn’t seem interested in the Al-Drechar, whom she spoke to like old aunts rather than powerful mages. She ate with the few Drech guild elves who tended the dying mages but only really spoke regularly to Sha-Kaan so far as Nyam could tell. Outwardly bizarre but actually eminently reasonable. The dragon had a telepathic link with the barbarian, Hirad Coldheart. All to do with the Dragonene order. He’d have to read up on it.

  Nyam turned at the sound of his name. His turn to sit with the Al-Drechar again and see if he could get clarification on a couple of points, no doubt. Another smile. Perhaps today was the day something would give. He’d be waiting.

  They began to gather at dusk. Heryst and his closest adviser, Kayvel, watched them from a window high up in the Tower. He had always known Darrick was incredibly popular but this, following his desertion, was surely unprecedented. Posts were abandoned, meals went uneaten, families didn’t see their menfolk at the time they expected. With much of the army committed to the north and east of Xetesk, it was never going to be a huge gathering, but its import was not lessened by that fact.

  ‘There will be no one patrolling the streets or our walls,’ said Kayvel.

  Heryst nodded. ‘But it’s a respectful gathering. They all know the law.’

  ‘They all love Darrick,’ observed Kayvel. ‘Don’t expect their respect to extend to you.’

  ‘We must have order,’ said Heryst.

  He glanced behind him. His personal guard, four senior soldiers, stood waiting. Not every member of the military shared the prevailing mood.

  ‘So what action will you take against this?’ Kayvel indicated the crowd which now numbered in excess of one hundred and was growing steadily.

  ‘None,’ said Heryst. ‘They must be allowed to express their feelings. So long as the protest remains peaceful.’

  ‘So you feel they are justified?’

  ‘Of course I bloody do.’ Heryst’s voice was quiet. He turned his attention back on the cava
lry and soldiers outside the barracks. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. This was comfortably the worst day of his tenure. ‘What choice do I have? He isn’t the first to be executed for desertion in this conflict. You know the feeling in the council and out in the city. We’re on the brink here. Our decision to ally again with Dordover is very unpopular.’

  ‘And you think executing our most famous son will help you?’

  ‘We must maintain the rule of law. None can be seen to be above it. That way lies anarchy.’ Heryst sighed, searching for a way to change the subject. ‘Where are The Raven?’

  ‘In their chambers,’ said Kayvel. ‘Eating.’

  ‘Good.’ Heryst turned from the window. ‘Keep them under close scrutiny. I won’t have them whipping up the crowd. We can’t afford that sort of disorder. And tell the watching mages they have to be vigilant.’

  ‘You don’t trust them?’ asked Kayvel, his tone edged with surprise.

  ‘The Raven?’ Heryst smiled. ‘Oh, I trust them all right. Enough to know they’ll try something. Can you see them knocking meekly at the door to collect Darrick’s body?’

  ‘Then why did you not have them escorted from the college?’

  Heryst breathed deep and sucked his lip, regarding Kayvel until understanding creased his features. He stepped in very close to Heryst and leaned so close their faces all but touched.

  ‘You are playing a very dangerous game, my Lord,’ hissed the adviser, voice barely audible.

  ‘On the contrary, there is very little risk,’ whispered Heryst. ‘The Raven are not murderers. They are, however, very resourceful.’

  Kayvel clicked his teeth. Heryst continued.

  ‘I assure you I will do everything in my power to stop them should they attempt a rescue. However, I don’t believe I can spare the men for a pursuit.’

  ‘You must order the gates closed,’ said Kayvel.

  ‘I cannot do that,’ said Heryst. ‘You know our constitution and there is no external threat to the college. We must and will remain open to all who need our help. That is Lystern’s way.’

  Kayvel shook his head and turned away, moving a step towards the window. When he turned, his expression was deliberately neutral.

  ‘You are making a mistake,’ he said.

  Heryst moved to stand beside him again and looked down on the crowd which stood in almost complete silence in the courtyard.

  ‘If it is a mistake to let The Raven pay their respects to one of their own with dignity, then it is one I am happy to make.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ snapped Kayvel.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ whispered Heryst. ‘Darrick is my friend. I owe him this chance.’

  Kayvel’s face softened. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘So do I, my friend,’ said Heryst. ‘So do I.’

  Chapter 5

  The Raven moved out of their chambers to join the silent crowd shortly after the last hour of the day was sounded. Some two hundred and more Lysternan soldiers, many of them Darrick’s men, were gathered from posts in the college and across the city.

  The Raven split up, according to The Unknown’s design, interspersing themselves with those in the front arc by the door to the windowless cell block, which adjoined the barracks, while Hirad disappeared round the side to the stables. Positioned so he could watch the door to the cells and the base of the Tower from which Heryst would soon emerge, The Unknown didn’t see Hirad return but he heard his voice as he passed without stopping.

  ‘Stable’s deserted. Everyone’s out here. We’re saddled and ready.’

  The Unknown said nothing. The time was approaching. Agitation was running through the crowd that had been building ever since Darrick had been moved to the barrack cell block as dusk fell. A murmur of voices stilled with the creaking of a door. Every head turned towards the Tower. Six men emerged from the brazier-bright entrance and out into the lantern-lit, shadowy courtyard. The stride was measured and confident.

  The Unknown could see Heryst and his adviser, Kayvel, walking in the centre of the quartet of swordsmen. Their weapons were sheathed but their eyes roved the crowd. The Unknown knew they were being monitored. It shouldn’t matter.

  Standing just behind the front rank of the loose crowd, The Raven waited. Heryst and his guard walked into the silence, the crowd closing around them as they came, no more than two paces away. Not close enough for The Unknown.

  Standing to the left of the guard-flanked barracks door and looking across at the approaching entourage, he signalled Thraun with a slight nod. The troubled shapechanger made no sign he’d seen The Unknown but his feral eyes glittered in the light of a nearby lantern and the half pace he took was more than enough.

  He nudged into the pair of soldiers in front of him, forcing both to take a balancing step forwards and bringing them very close to Heryst. Denser’s similar nudge ensured the ripple continued and Erienne’s gave the move a momentum of its own.

  ‘Shame on you!’

  The Unknown heard Hirad’s voice, turning the murmur of disquiet into more vocal opposition. Cries of ‘Spare Darrick’ and ‘Crime’ sounded and the crowd pressed in. Immediately, the guards upped their pace. Seeing the concern on Heryst’s face, The Unknown moved.

  He pushed hard into the backs of the two men in front of him, sending them stumbling into Heryst’s guards. The reaction was as automatic as it was predictable. The soldiers were fended off roughly, sent spinning left and right and into the gap came The Unknown. He allowed himself to be helped by the agitated group behind, his shoulder thumping into the first bodyguard who sprawled backwards, arms cartwheeling and striking another man who lashed out instinctively.

  The jostling took on an edge, the atmosphere firing to tension in an instant.

  ‘Get back, clear the path!’ ordered one of the bodyguards.

  The Unknown stepped round to face him, fist slamming into his gut. The guard’s eyes widened. The Unknown’s head connected sharply with the bridge of his nose. He fell.

  Turning, The Unknown saw Hirad and Thraun closing in at the back. Denser had confronted another guard. He couldn’t see Erienne. He forced his way towards the barracks door, meeting Heryst’s eyes on the way. The Lord Elder Mage opened his mouth to shout but a hand clamped around his neck and dragged him back. The Unknown ploughed on, shoving soldiers aside, hearing the anger reach boiling point. The guards at the door had only just seen the danger to their Lord through the confusion of bodies in front of them. One had his sword half out when The Unknown straight-punched him in the face. His head hit the wall behind him. He sagged.

  The other faced up, fists raised.

  ‘Sorry,’ said The Unknown and laid him out with a strike to the point of his jaw.

  He headed for the door, sensing a change in the atmosphere. Behind him, Heryst called out for assistance and he heard Hirad’s gruff voice.

  ‘Bodyguard’s changed, big man.’

  The Unknown opened the door quickly. It bounced against the wall. He ran in, knowing The Raven would be right behind him. The small hall was empty, so far. He swung round. Erienne had followed him in, Thraun and Hirad were forcing a protesting Heryst across the threshold. Denser came in last, already casting.

  The barracks door was slammed shut, the fizzing of a WardLock echoed in the enclosed space and the sounds of the angry crowd were muted. There were a few thumps on the door but to no effect.

  ‘Welcome to your new home,’ said Heryst.

  Hirad put a dagger to his throat. ‘Don’t try casting. You aren’t quick enough to beat me.’

  Heryst’s face was flushed with anger and embarrassment. ‘You won’t get him out.’

  ‘Just watch us,’ said Hirad.

  ‘How long will that lock hold?’ asked The Unknown.

  ‘Hard to say. They’ll need magic. Good magic. But this is a college.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  The Unknown faced forward. Ahead of them, the stone-flagged hall had two doors either side, on
e straight ahead.

  ‘Erienne?’

  She was leaning against a wall as if to stop herself falling. Her eyes were closed and a fist clutched at thin air.

  ‘Difficult,’ she murmured. ‘Men below. Swords and magic. Can’t feel anything up here.’

  ‘There’s too much focused mana,’ said Denser. ‘We need to get down to the cells.’

  ‘What—?’ began Heryst.

  ‘Time for quiet,’ said Hirad. ‘Let us show you what we can do. Stairs?’

  Heryst eyed him briefly before gesturing ahead. They moved off, hurried by a heavy impact on the door behind. The Unknown strode ahead, Thraun hard on his heels. He slapped the door back.

  It was a guard room. The Unknown made instant assessment. A desk stood against the far wall, weapon racks were right and two guards flanked a downward spiral stair left. Both men drew swords immediately. The Unknown raised a hand.

  ‘We have Heryst and we’ve come for Darrick. You can make this easy or difficult. Your choice.’

  The Raven and Heryst came in behind. Sword points dipped.

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Idiots,’ muttered Heryst. ‘Guard the prisoner!’ He shouted. ‘We’re attacked. We—’

  Hirad’s hand covered his mouth and jerked his head sharply back.

  ‘We’ll carry you if we have to,’ he said.

  The Unknown’s eyes did not stray from the guards. ‘Weapons down. Please.’

  They hesitated. Thraun growled. It was a sound from his wolven past, chilling as it echoed from the walls. The Unknown smiled thinly. The two guards dropped their swords, metal clattering against stone.

  ‘Good choice. We aren’t going to hurt you, that isn’t why we’re here. Denser, Erienne.’ The two mages stepped up. ‘But you can’t take any further part in this. Like I say, you can make it easy or difficult.’

  Two short incantations and the guards were cushioned to the floor.

  ‘Right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Hirad, you’re first. Heryst goes in front of you. I’m behind with Erienne so let me do the talking, all right? Denser, Thraun, you get the rear. Let’s go, Raven.’