The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

‘I don’t know,’ said Myx. ‘We aren’t at the lowest level. Over fifty feet. You’ll find a pulley wheel and brace stowed at the top of the shaft that you can lock into position.’

  The Unknown raised his eyebrows. ‘The fact that that is the best news I’ve heard since we got in here says everything.’

  It seemed an eternity before they heard Thraun moving the grille. The Unknown started to climb.

  ‘Be ready, Denser. As soon as we’re set, we’ll pull.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Hirad turned to face the illusion, imagining a Xeteskian horde tramping towards them.

  ‘How far away are they?’ he asked Rebraal.

  ‘By now, all but on us.’

  ‘Right,’ said Darrick. ‘Let’s organise. Myx, move away and sit down. It’s a long climb for you later.’

  Myx was about to raise an objection but a thud on the panel stopped him.

  ‘Move, Myx!’ hissed Hirad. ‘Darrick, I’ll stand up.’

  ‘No Hirad, you’re hurt.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ Hirad growled. ‘I’m not shifting. Rebraal will stand by me.’

  The Al-Arynaar leader nodded and moved forward but he was pushed aside by Auum.

  ‘Right,’ said Darrick tersely. There was another experimental thud on the portal. ‘Rebraal, stand with me the other side of the basket, we can’t afford to be backdoored here.’

  The group rearranged. Hirad looked across at Auum and nodded his gratitude. The TaiGethen spoke a few words he took to be a prayer for their safety and drew a single short sword, the fire undimmed in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t you die down here, Coldheart,’ said Denser.

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Hirad.

  There was another impact. Heavier this time.

  ‘That was a spell,’ said Denser.

  ‘How long before they get through?’

  ‘Not long enough to get us all out, I fear.’

  Hirad waited, his thrill at the prospect of the fight absent. He stood here because of those he protected, nothing more. But even that knowledge couldn’t hide the ache in his limbs, the biting pain from his wounds or the exhaustion in his mind. Unbidden came the thought that if the Xeteskians broke through, all of them would have to be downed for the rest of The Raven to escape. Alternatively, someone would have to make the ultimate sacrifice.

  He gripped his sword tighter and smiled grimly. At least he would be able to reacquaint himself with Ilkar. Sooner than he expected but a prospect he welcomed, not feared.

  A warmth filled Hirad’s mind, Sha-Kaan entering his consciousness gently.

  These are not thoughts I am happy to feel, said the Great Kaan.

  I had not realised you could sense me, said Hirad.

  He was dimly aware of a concerted attack on the panel. Swordsmen were trying to weaken the timber so making Dystran’s job breaking the WardLock easier. Even in his weakened state, it was clear that Denser’s skill was considerable.

  But they are the thoughts I would expect of such a man as you, Hirad Coldheart, continued the dragon.

  Accepting death has always been my way of avoiding it, said Hirad.

  I—Sha-Kaan stopped. That is by way of a joke, is it not?

  Sort of. Sha-Kaan, this contact is fortunate, given where I stand now. I need to ask you to help us.

  Ask.

  We know one of the Al-Drechar was murdered.

  Myriell, confirmed Sha-Kaan.

  Erienne’s mind was damaged by it. She is unconscious now and Denser has been holding back the storms. But he’s spent and he can’t help her where she needs it most. We need Cleress to be with her, in her mind. She’s in trouble.

  I will do what I can. Cleress is asleep under a spell now but she is also free of the Xeteskians. When she wakes, I will be there.

  Thank you. And for you, we have the information we need. When we get out, we can make it happen.

  Renewed warmth and sudden joy flooded Hirad’s mind. Then, frail human, you had better ensure you survive. I will have need of my Dragonene when I return home.

  I’ll do what I can.

  I am sure you will.

  Sha-Kaan’s contact ceased. Hirad came fully to himself, with the battering on the door constant and the pressure beginning to tell. Behind him, the basket carrying Denser and Erienne lifted out of sight, creaking and protesting, the movements deliberately smooth. He focused back on the door from which Auum had never taken his eyes.

  Another impact, and the illusion collapsed.

  ‘Can that happen?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Apparently,’ said Darrick from the other side of the shaft.

  Hirad was looking at a plain panel of oak, dark and heavy. There was a recess to the left into which it would slide. Not that Dystran planned anything so gentle. When the WardLock failed, the door would go with it. Already, the wood was stressed and warped, only Denser’s spell keeping it in place now. Hirad backed up three paces, Auum following suit, understanding they were too close for comfort.

  The hammering of weapons continued while Dystran presumably gathered himself. At Hirad’s back, the basket rattled down, slapping onto the floor. It was wet, the rope above it dripping and dirty. Duele and Evunn were in the basket in moments. Duele tugged the rope hard to indicate he was ready and up they went, quicker this time with Denser clearly on the rope too.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Hirad. The hammering on the door ceased. ‘Here we go.’

  Auum clutched his sword tighter and looked half away, braced against the expected blast. The spell hit the door, driving into the mana lattice of the WardLock. Blue light sparked across its surface, a rush of air hit them and the door began to topple forwards.

  For a heartbeat, Hirad stopped to wonder why the wood hadn’t splintered and Myx was past him, hurling himself against it and ramming it back into place.

  ‘Help me,’ he said.

  Hirad and Auum leaned their weights against the panel. It was warm. On the opposite side, the enemy pushed hard, handicapped by the narrow passage width on their side.

  ‘Rebraal,’ called Hirad. ‘When the basket comes down, you’re next.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Hirad, arms shaking under an impact. ‘You’re the quicker climber. Darrick, you’re after him, the rope will take you both.’

  ‘I hear you.’

  Hirad could hear the reluctance in his voice but unlike Rebraal, he understood who led down here.

  The pressure on the door grew more sustained. They could hear shouts ordering more men to the press. Inexorably, the panel was moving. Myx turned and braced his legs against the stone floor, his broad shoulders flattened across the panel. Either side of him, Auum and Hirad, leaned side-on. Hirad looked up into the face of the Protector, saw the sweat on his brow and knew they didn’t have long before his strength deserted him.

  The basket crashed to the floor, cracking on impact.

  ‘Rebraal, go!’ shouted Hirad.

  He saw the elf leap to the rope and start climbing. Darrick watched him too. The barbarian could see the pallid colour of the general’s face. He had lost too much blood.

  ‘Don’t faint before you get to the top,’ he said.

  Darrick was stone-faced. ‘I’ll make it,’ he said.

  ‘Three to go,’ said Hirad. ‘This should be interesting.’

  Suddenly, the pressure against the panel vanished and it thudded back into place. Hirad would have preferred had it not. Dystran’s voice sounded in the sudden quiet.

  ‘Let me through, idiots. I’ll do it, myself.’

  ‘Not good,’ muttered Hirad.

  ‘We’re out of time,’ said Myx.

  ‘Right,’ said Hirad. ‘Auum, go.’ The TaiGethen looked at him. ‘Spell coming. Go.’

  Auum nodded, understanding and respect in his gesture. He sheathed his sword and jumped onto the rope.

  ‘Go, Hirad,’ said Myx.

  ‘The rope won’t take four.’

  ‘You have no c
hoice.’

  ‘You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here.’

  Myx met his stare. ‘I will not yield. Go. Sol understands. We are one.’

  ‘You’ll be killed.’

  ‘We are one!’

  Hirad hesitated but Myx had turned away. It felt wrong. This wasn’t necessary. He eyed the rope which flexed and jumped, under the strain of those climbing it. He stepped onto the rim of the basket.

  ‘The Raven will help you,’ he said. ‘You should come.’

  ‘No.’

  Hirad sliced the rope below him, sheathed his knife and began climbing hard.

  ‘Pull!’ he yelled. ‘Darrick, make them pull. Myx, come on, you can make it.’

  Below Hirad, the world turned blue, a force of air whipping up the shaft bouncing him from side to side. Myx tumbled beneath him like a doll cast carelessly aside, shards of the oak panel a storm about him. Urgent shouts were followed by soldiers clustering under the vent bringing crossbows to bear.

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Hirad. ‘Pull up, pull up!’

  Bolts clattered and bounced in the shaft, one thumping side-on into his boot. He climbed faster, hand over hand, legs driving him upwards. The wound in his chest, pulled and twisted, fresh blood dripping down his body.

  At the base of the shaft, the reload was complete but the shots never came. From nowhere, Myx barrelled across his vision, head down, arms wide, sweeping into the bowmen, pushing them away. The sounds of the fight followed but Hirad couldn’t see it because at last, the rope began to rise and he was pulled quickly from sight. He could hear though, and all too soon, the sounds ceased.

  Hirad closed his eyes for a moment before turning his head upwards. Fresh air reached his lungs and drops of rain hit his face. He could hear the wind howling across the top of the shaft. It had been calm when they had entered Xetesk and now a storm had begun. It was somehow entirely appropriate.

  Chapter 27

  Dystran stared up the ventilation shaft, dodging backwards when, predictably, the rope dropped down. They had escaped him for now and the thought made him as angry as he had ever felt. But he couldn’t shake the grudging respect he also felt. They’d escaped from two colleges in the past four days, and he recalled they’d done something similar in Dordover when recovering a Dawnthief catalyst from the crypts there a few years back.

  ‘Extraordinary,’ he said quietly. ‘Quite extraordinary.’

  He wanted to shout, lash out, anything to ease his frustration. Uncharacteristically, he chose not to. Turning and looking at the men around him he saw fear, shock and relief. He saw trepidation too. He knew they were anxious about his reaction. They expected him to blame them. He found he could not.

  Down at his feet, Myx lay dead. He’d known the Protector for a decade and had never seen his face until now. A man. How easy it had been to ignore that fact. He looked peaceful in death, his face relaxed, his eyes closed and the red marks fading from his face.

  Part of Dystran feared the passing of the Protectors. Something of Xetesk’s invincibility went with them into history. He knew the political will to reinstitute the order wouldn’t exist and that he was weakened because of it.

  He shook his head and took a last look up the shaft. How often had he heard that you should never underestimate The Raven? He should have listened. He blinked away the dust that was falling, dislodged by foot and rope. They were outside the city but not outside his control. Not completely, and not if he acted quickly and decisively enough.

  There was so much to organise, so much to do. The war had taken a turn against Xetesk. His hand was about to be forced. Fortunately, it was a strong one. He turned back to his men.

  ‘Let’s get out of here. Any of you who feel able to help clean up this mess our friends have created gather in the dome when you’ve had a stiff drink. Suarav will organise you. Any who don’t, stand yourselves down until dawn.’

  ‘My Lord,’ came the response.

  ‘My Lord?’

  Dystran faced the soldier, he didn’t know his name.

  ‘Speak.’

  ‘We will get them, won’t we? We’ve lost so many friends tonight.’

  Dystran smiled sadly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to catch them. They’ve hurt us and I’m sorry for those of you who have lost friends. Tonight, we assumed no one could get in and get out and we were wrong. It’s a hard lesson, isn’t it? We can stand here and say we had no luck in catching them but The Raven would consider there was no luck involved. We have to accept that they may be right. Come on, I’ll show you the way out.’

  Ark stood in the warm air of the early morning. He couldn’t sleep. He thought perhaps he never would again. Herendeneth was quiet once more but everything had changed.

  He felt the air playing over his face and couldn’t resist the temptation to touch his skin. It itched where the mask had rubbed and the soothing balms worked to stop infection. He traced the contours of his features, fascinated. The freedom to stand in the open and let the night see him was so alien and he couldn’t shake the thought that he would be struck down for experiencing it.

  He wished the sensation was something he could enjoy. But the only enjoyment he had ever derived had been in sharing his consciousness with his brothers in the Soul Tank. That had gone forever. His soul was within him now. It had been the prayer answered but the price was a loss that dragged at the heart and left loneliness untamed in the mind.

  Freedom to be as other men. He wondered what he would do with it and, for the thousandth time, sought contact with his brothers, only to find silence. He turned. Four stood behind him, hair blowing in the warm breeze, dark clothes and armour at odds with their unmasked faces. Faces that mirrored his confusion.

  ‘We have work, my brothers,’ he said.

  They nodded. ‘We are one,’ they said.

  They followed him back to the house. It stood stark against the deep of the night. The dragon, Sha-Kaan still sat on the torn roof, his great body still, his head inside, close to the surviving Al-Drechar. None came near her bar her elven servants.

  They walked the corridors to the private rooms where blood had so recently been spilt. The dragon’s eyes bade them approach. He knew their minds and their desires.

  ‘I will accept only peace,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘There will be no more threat to Cleress or the family of Sol.’

  The voice from the cavernous mouth brooked no dissension. He had killed to protect them already. He would not hesitate to do so again.

  ‘We will stand with you,’ said Ark. ‘We are one.’

  ‘I know your loss,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘But your gain is greater. Your brothers in my land enjoyed their freedom.’

  ‘Cil,’ breathed Ark, invoking the name of another who, like Sol, lived beyond the Soul Tank but was thought lost.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘He is one of three.’ He was silent for a moment though his breath like a roaring fire filled the space. ‘There remain on this island those that would threaten me,’ he said. ‘Together, they are powerful.’

  Axes snapped from back clasps.

  ‘We understand,’ said Ark. ‘They are no longer our masters.’

  Removal of threat. It was what Protectors did best.

  The storm across Xetesk had brought strong winds and driving rain but the air smelled fresh and vibrant after the confines of the catacombs. For long glorious moments, Hirad hadn’t cared where they were. He had lain flat on the muddy ground, heaving in air untainted with the stench of death while rain washed over his aching body, pattering on his face and sluicing blood from his armour.

  Eventually, he’d pushed himself up on to his elbows, his body a little calmer, the pain throbbing down to a dull ache. Reality had intruded harshly. They were hidden in a bank of thick gorse, scattered with bracken as Myx had described. The thorny bushes offered a solid barrier around the small clearing in which the vent was situated and provided some break from the wind. Low tunnels ran away through the bank in three
directions.

  In the small space, Thraun cradled Erienne in his arms while Denser, Auum and Duele crowded round the prone Evunn. Paint was smeared and running over their faces, anguish plain beneath the spoiled camouflage.

  Darrick was standing close by, his feet edging into the illusion that so comprehensively hid the vent grille that even close inspection might reveal nothing to the eye. Sian’erei sat under the gorse, trying in vain to keep herself dry. Of Rebraal and The Unknown, there was no sign though he could hear one or both of them approaching through the gorse.

  ‘How far does it extend?’ asked Hirad when The Unknown appeared.

  ‘Well, this vent certainly wasn’t positioned here by accident,’ said The Unknown. ‘Fifty or so yards east towards the city, there’s a short crag. Twenty feet down, no more but no one’s going to ride this way. South it extends probably a mile along a shallow slope, north probably the same and given that Rebraal isn’t back yet, I’d say west, the way the Xeteskians bring in their supplies, the gorse will extend a couple of hundred yards. It’s neat, I’ll give them that.’

  ‘Sounds like an ideal place to rest up,’ said Hirad. Darrick didn’t see his knowing smile.

  ‘I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea,’ said the general. ‘Dystran knows our exit points. He wants to stop us. I can see us suffering familiar attacks any time. Just as soon as he gets organised.’

  ‘So you think we should throw ourselves on the mercy of the Lysternans or Dordovans instead?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘No,’ began Darrick.

  ‘Or perhaps whatever’s left of the Black Wings’ army of the righteous.’

  ‘Hirad you aren’t helping,’ said Darrick.

  Hirad winked at The Unknown. ‘Actually, we’re probably strong enough to take them on. Couple of spent mages, several injured warriors and the seriously ill. No problem.’

  ‘Hirad, stop now,’ said The Unknown. He held up a hand to Darrick. ‘What our barbarian is trying to say in his bludgeoning, tactless way is that we need a place to hole up, at least for a few hours. We’re too sick to travel to the Al-Arynaar camp right now. But we can’t afford to be behind the Xeteskians when they break the siege.’