The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  He led the charge from the top of Ranyl’s tower. Long sword in his right hand, he took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain in his hip and bracing himself on the outside wall, the spiral unwinding in front of him.

  ‘What about the wards?’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘Straight through,’ said Denser, puffing at the effort. ‘What’s another couple of alarms, eh?’

  ‘What indeed.’ The Unknown ploughed on, hurdling the bodies of Ranyl’s personal guard on the second and first landings. ‘Hirad, you there?’

  ‘Right behind you.’

  ‘Hit anything that comes at you. I think it could be interesting in the dome.’

  ‘No problem.’

  They were a few strides from the base of the tower. The wards would start tripping the moment they moved into the curving corridors that led to the centre of the complex.

  ‘Ready, Raven,’ warned The Unknown. ‘Rebraal, your mages need to deploy shields. Erienne, anything you like; Denser, something like a ForceCone?’

  He heard the answers and focused ahead. His boots, still wrapped by strips of cloth, made muffled slaps on the stone. He spun off the base of the spiral stairs, up a short rise to a sharp left and into a longer, tight curve upwards. At the end of the curve, the way down to the catacombs, now denied them in the chase to escape. The Unknown didn’t spare it a look, running by, triggering an alarm ward which shrilled painfully in his ears.

  He burst through the curtained alcove, the second ward sounding, a flat tone repeating again and again. The Raven surged out into the dome behind him, Hirad taking up station to his right, Darrick and Thraun left, the Al-Arynaar in a loose group behind Denser and Erienne.

  ‘Down!’ snapped Denser.

  Hirad and The Unknown ducked. A ForceCone played over their heads, knocking two Xeteskian swordsmen from their feet. The Raven ran into the gap left, heading for the dome doors. One of the Al-Arynaar split off, aiming for the office entrance they’d come through.

  ‘No,’ shouted Denser. ‘We can’t go back that way! Stop.’

  ‘Rebraal, call him back,’ ordered The Unknown, not taking his eyes from the doors. They were opening. ‘Do we have a SpellShield? ’

  ‘You do,’ Rebraal confirmed before shouting in elvish.

  ‘Keep it tight, Raven.’

  The Unknown tapped his blade on the ground in front of him as he advanced. The first of the Xeteskian guard spilled in, seven forming up with more filling the space behind them, expecting to be confronted by elves. What they saw, for those who recognised The Raven, was worse.

  ‘One pace and duck,’ said Erienne.

  Tried and tested, the warrior line did as instructed, barely pausing while the IceWind howled over their heads, slicing into the oncoming soldiers. A shield flared deep blue, feeding the power of the Dordovan spell over its surface and away into the floor. Even so, the line faltered. Rebraal’s bow thudded, an arrow found its mark and the first guard died.

  ‘Tight form, Raven, let’s go,’ called The Unknown.

  Using the central column as a pivot, The Raven spaced to the outer wall and moved in, Darrick the man on the flank watching for the expected flanking moves. Denser was with him, a second ForceCone poised.

  ‘This needs to be quick!’ Hirad’s voice echoed off the dome ceiling.

  The Unknown brought his blade up and parried a heavy blow from a huge guardsman whose eyes peered from beneath a metal helm, his hands engulfing the hilt of his sword. Beside him, Hirad lunged straight forward, weight to the left, anticipating the block and maintaining his balance.

  But it was the left of the Raven line where the damage was most quickly wrought. Darrick was far too fast for his opponent, feinting left by the tower base and striking right, his blade piercing chest armour and ripping into ribs and heart. And Thraun didn’t bother with subtlety. Clearing his head with a howl from his wolven side he swung overhead, one-handed, crushing the skull of his first attacker and moving on a pace to pile his left fist into the face of the next, flattening nose and driving him back into his comrades.

  ‘Come on!’ yelled Hirad, seeing the carnage to his left. He battered his blade in across his body, seeing it parried away but leaving his attacker open. The barbarian moved into the space and shoved the man back and off balance with a push to his chest, following up with a strike into his left leg, chopping deep into flesh and bone. The man went down screaming.

  ‘HardShield up,’ said Erienne.

  ‘Rebraal, how many more can you see?’ The Unknown was happy to keep the big man in front of him quiet while he marshalled the move. He dropped in a low strike left to right, saw it parried but clumsily. The man might be powerful, but he was slow. ‘Any time,’ he whispered.

  ‘Five in front,’ replied Rebraal. ‘Five behind.’ The sound of another arrow. ‘Four. Mage down.’

  ‘Denser!’ called The Unknown, blocking another massive overhead blow, turning the blade aside and slashing in with his dagger, forcing the enemy back. ‘Round left. Darrick, watch him. Rebraal cover. Pushing Raven.’

  The Raven moved. Denser turned and ran away around the base of Dystran’s tower, Rebraal right with him. Darrick pressured forwards, engaging two opponents with Thraun by him, powering in strokes that drove his targets further and further back. And The Unknown stared the massive guard in the eye.

  ‘Time to die.’

  Before his hip was smashed, The Unknown had been the fastest man in Balaia with a two-handed blade. Now without the core balance to trust himself with the heavier blade, his switch to the long sword and dagger had increased his strike rate even further. He already knew his enemy couldn’t follow him so he waited. Dully, the guard tried to get in first, unwinding a scything blow across his chest. The Unknown simply ducked beneath it, came up moving forward and, with his dagger parrying away left to block any return, stabbed clear through the guard’s throat.

  The Raven stepped up again and now the Xeteskian mages responded, spells clattering into the Al-Arynaar’s shield. The Unknown held his breath. Julatsan magic wasn’t as sure as it had been. FlameOrbs splashed harmlessly away, DeathHail following, again repulsed. From the opposite side of the tower base, Rebraal found another victim and Denser’s ForceCone hit the enemy immediately after.

  Without their mage shield, the Xeteskian guards were helpless. The Cone caught them flank on, tumbling men into each other and driving them across the floor towards the outer wall. Denser kept the pressure on, the shouts of the guards weakening as they fell to unconsciousness, crushing them together against unyielding stone. Some would never rise again.

  In front of The Raven, the path was almost clear, with any Xeteskians left standing in disarray. Hirad drove his blade into the midriff of one attacker, The Unknown thundered his through, waist high, following up with a killing blow with his dagger. Rebraal’s bow let loose again, this time the shaft skittering off the far wall and falling harmlessly.

  ‘Go Raven!’ Hirad’s call sent The Raven running through the broken line towards the doors.

  The Unknown turned to the two mages, beckoning them on. ‘Rebraal. Keep your mages up. We can’t afford them to lag, this is going to be tight as it is.’

  ‘Right at the doors!’ Denser’s voice rose above the turmoil of shouts of pain and warning coming from the Xeteskians and the sound of The Raven charging for the outside. ‘Follow the dome to the Mana Bowl.’

  ‘Raven!’ roared Hirad. ‘Raven with me!’

  Dystran heard the impacts of spells, felt a faint vibration through his tower walls. He increased his pace, Myx stepping in front of him to lead the way.

  ‘What the hell is happening in my bloody college!’

  ‘Protectors are moving from the walls. Suarav has been summoned. The Circle Seven are gathering themselves to be with you in Lord Ranyl’s tower,’ replied Myx smoothly.

  ‘Damn that. Gods burning, Myx, who the hell is tearing up my dome! Right under my bloody feet!’

  ‘It must be the elves
, my Lord.’

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Dystran. ‘Yes. Hurry up.’

  ‘My Lord.’

  They made the base of the tower and Myx led them unerringly through the maze of corridors and passages beneath the dome that led to the other towers, to the banqueting halls and to the catacombs. Since the incident with Captain Yron, Dystran had insisted alarm wards be reinstituted and guards be doubled for all the Circle Seven. Not that they had stopped the raiders reaching Ranyl. He had also closed off the known route to the reception chambers from his tower. Too many people knew about it. Too many chances to be betrayed.

  The two men chased up the stairs, Dystran muttering at the sight of the bodies they passed on the two landings.

  ‘Worse than bloody useless. What have I done to deserve this?’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Never mind. Let me through.’

  Myx paused and Dystran passed him. Ranyl’s bedchamber door was open and he could hear low voices. He strode in without bothering to knock.

  ‘My Lord Ranyl, are you hurt?’

  ‘Only my pride.’ Ranyl was sitting in his favourite chair by his fire. The familiar, much calmer now though veins stilled pulsed anger in its bald head, sat on the back of the chair, stroking the old master’s head.

  ‘No injuries? What did they want?’

  ‘The research of course. They want to send their dragon home, same as ever.’

  Dystran paused, frowning. ‘The what . . . ? What do elves care about Sha-Kaan.’

  Ranyl laughed. ‘Oh no, my Lord. The elves already have what they came for, or so I’m told.’

  ‘So who . . . ?’

  ‘Who else? The Raven.’

  Dystran started violently. ‘What?’ For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing and then the thoughts started to cascade through his head. ‘Gods falling, the bolt hole.’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Denser knows it exists. Think, Ranyl, he was the Dawnthief mage, he had to know.’ He spun to Myx. ‘Drive them away from the Mana Bowl. No wait.’ He swung back to Ranyl. ‘And she is with them?’

  ‘Of course she is,’ replied Ranyl.

  ‘Where’s Suarav?’

  ‘On his way, my Lord,’ said Myx.

  ‘Can’t wait for him. Look, get this word around,’ said Dystran. ‘I want the Mana Bowl sealed up so tight a mouse couldn’t squeeze its arse in. And when you find The Raven, it’s very, very important that Erienne is not harmed. Is that crystal clear?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord. And the others?’

  ‘No one leaves here. Not an elf, not a Raven,’ said Dystran. ‘And since Erienne is the only one I want unharmed, if I’m not mistaken that means every other enemy of Xetesk dies. Got it?’

  Myx shifted uncomfortably. ‘I understand your desire.’

  Dystran passed a hand over his face. ‘And if you and your questionable alliance of Protector brothers don’t feel you can fight against your dear departed colleague, Sol, don’t. There are plenty of elves out there, I am sure.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘One more thing,’ said Dystran. ‘Get me a Protector on Herendeneth. I want to talk to one of my mages. Time to turn the heat up, I think, see if our all-but-caged bird really is the one we think she is.’

  The windows were opaque with age and the shifting lantern and torch light did nothing to help Auum see what was immediately below him. He didn’t have time to worry. One TaiGethen elf stood on the wide and ornate frame surrounding each of the library doors. All weapons were stowed, each elf held a heavy book.

  ‘You know what to do, you know where we are spreading. Al-Arynaar, care. Shield us if you can. Tual will see us from this place.’ He nodded. ‘We move.’

  Auum straight-armed the spine of the book hard into the window. The ancient glass and lead fell outwards in large pieces. Another strike and the window frame was clear. He dropped the book, grabbed the base of the window and turned a tight roll through it, straightening his legs when they cleared and landing in a crouch, hand already unclipping his jaqrui pouch, the other grabbing at a short sword.

  Directly ahead of him, Xeteskians were running towards the library along the side of a long low building. Far enough away for now. He spun on his heel, taking in the Tais, all of whom had landed and moved. There were three guards in front of the library doors, already dragging swords from scabbards and forming up a defensive trio. He ran at them, Duele and Evunn were with him.

  The TaiGethen cell tore in. Auum flicked out a jaqrui. It keened through the air, the ghostly sound echoing from the library walls, and ripped into the sword arm of a guard who grunted and clutched at the wound. Both Duele and Evunn favoured dual short swords. Evunn surged up the steps, ducked a blow, spun a roundhouse kick into the chest of his target and followed through with twin chopping strikes, left to right, biting deep into neck and shoulder. Immediately, he turned and backhanded the next guard, Duele burying his sword deep into the same unfortunate’s chest. Before Auum could finish off his wounded man, his Tai had completed the job.

  ‘Go,’ said Auum.

  The Tai sprinted left around the library walls, across the way of the soldiers closing in. They would be on Marack quickly. Auum increased his pace. The gardens where Porrack and Allyne were hidden were close by.

  ‘Tais, move!’ shouted Auum. ‘We are discovered.’

  The enemy were closing on them from ahead and right. Perhaps twenty swordsmen and crossbowmen appearing from around the sides of more of the long rooms in which their mages’ spells were tested. Ahead, he could see his brothers move fluidly to their feet and begin to run. Like spirits rising from the ground they came and he could hear the whine and whisper of jaqruis and the thrum of bowstrings through the growing clamour bouncing from the walls of every building.

  Auum’s Tai split, creating a wide front and narrow targets. Auum whipped out two more throwing crescents. Left of him, Duele hugged the walls of the library in deep shadow, closing on men who could barely see him approaching through the gloom. Right, Evunn had sheathed a short sword and his jaqrui howled away. The enemy were scant yards distant and the crossbow bolts started to fly.

  Auum zig-zagged into the centre of them, diving forward to turn a roll across the ground, coming to his feet and driving his blade into the groin of an enemy. He leapt away, Duele now in the mêlèe with him, drop-kicking into a face and carving a deep cut across a throat.

  Now, Porrack and Allyne hit the rear of the Xeteskians, taking the crossbowmen apart. Auum ducked a blow, raised his sword to parry another and smashed the base of his left palm up into the face of his attacker, punching him off his feet. He danced backwards, assessing his next target. Three men rushed him. He grabbed out his other short blade, backed off a pace and let them come. To the right, one crumpled and fell, a jaqrui thrown by Evunn buried in his mouth, blood pouring from his ruined face.

  Auum whirled his blades in front of him, feinted to strike, dropped to his haunches and swept the feet from the nearest man. Ignoring him, he drove upright, blocked two quick strikes from the remaining guard and whipped a blade into the man’s chest, sending him stumbling back, leather armour slit and blood welling from the wound.

  The man on the ground was back on his heels. Auum lashed a kick into his head, laying him out cold. In front of him, Porrack was surrounded and took a deep cut in one arm. He responded, kicking high and straight into the head of his attacker. The man’s head snapped back with a sickening crack. Auum stepped in, his blade burying itself to the hilt in the lower back of another.

  It was enough. The Xeteskians ran, disengaging and running back to the south of the college and relative safety.

  ‘Leave them,’ ordered Auum. ‘Tais, with me.’

  The glow of spells bloomed to the north side of the library, deep blue and orange. The TaiGethen and their Al-Arynaar charges turned back to help Marack and her cell. Auum led them right around the library, seeing Marack backed up the steps of the building and against the doors. One of her Tai was
down but moving, the mage was casting and a dozen men were moving in, swords, crossbows and magic.

  Duele and Evunn took up the call of the spider monkey, the guttural sound distracting the attackers, some of whom turned. Orders were barked, warnings called and the line changed formation. The TaiGethen threw jaqrui crescents. The Xeteskians answered with crossbows. A bolt grazed Auum’s left arm. He heard a grunt behind him and someone stumbled. They would be helped, it was the TaiGethen way. He ran on.

  Ahead, the Al-Arynaar mage loosed a spell. Deep yellow Orbs flew out into the enemy line, striking them dead centre. The SpellShield held, dazzling the night sky with sudden bright blue. And beyond the battle, the noise of more fighting.

  The Raven.

  They may have been to blame for their discovery by the Xeteskians but, true to their word, they were covering the agreed escape route. Auum let the smallest of smiles cross his face and stepped in to grace the field of battle once more.

  Chapter 20

  Nyam looked on, his mouth moving soundlessly. Surely, here was the evidence he needed. But whether he should take action was something else entirely. To his left, Cleress slept, so deep that nothing of the past few moments had disturbed her. In front of him, Myriell sat bolt upright in a chair, her head cushioned, tended by a Guild elf. Her eyes were closed but she was not asleep. He could see her eyes moving beneath their lids. Her hands occasionally teased at the air and, like him, her mouth was moving and her brow furrowed deeply but with concentration, not confusion.

  He had misjudged Diera badly. The woman was far stronger than he had thought and that had led to the stand-off in which he now found himself. The moment he had threatened her life, she had snatched up her child and screamed for help, bringing the Guild elves into the bedroom. Almost immediately, Protectors had forced their way past the guards.

  And now, Protectors ringed the entrance to the chambers, keeping the rest of the Guild elves away while Nyam studied the Al-Drechar. But more Protectors guarded the door to Diera’s bedroom too, underlining their split loyalties and the fine line Nyam was treading. His colleagues, he noticed, were either unwilling or unable to join him. Perhaps they were giving thought to the morning and how they would save their own pathetic lives when Sha-Kaan inevitably came to exact his retribution.