The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘I see it,’ said The Unknown. He had dropped his dagger and was hefting his long sword in two hands. Already limping, that style of fighting would add to the pain but for him, as for them all, it was everything or nothing.

  Auum was powering towards the stationary mages, Duele and Evunn with him, bows unslung and loaded. The cavalry had turned and were chasing them, eating up the ground quickly. Hirad changed the point of the attack.

  ‘Let’s give them some help!’

  Nearby, Thraun growled his approval and The Raven closed in, the Al-Arynaar turning to meet the foot soldiers head-on. Hirad felt the time slipping away. The mages would finish casting and the spell, whatever it was, would wash over them. But he couldn’t let it affect him. Only thirty yards from the cavalry, he had to be picking his target.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Duele and Evunn loosed arrows, both shafts finding their targets, punching mages from their feet and disrupting the casting for a few heartbeats. In front of Hirad, his target disappeared under the paws of a panther, her partner leaping to snatch another from his saddle. The ground shuddered again, right under his feet and he fell, sprawling to the earth, The Raven all pitching down around him and rolling.

  Hirad stood up, a little disoriented, and saw dust and smoke disgorging from the pit. Spells were firing into the air around it. It was Denser, with some Lysternan cavalry mage help, taking on familiars. He heard the shout of warning a little too late and spun, sword up reflexively, the hoof catching him in the midriff and sending him flying backwards to connect hard with the courtyard stone. He fought to sit up but his vision clouded and, with so many closing in, he slipped back, clutching for his sword.

  Erienne experienced a unique sensation of pain. She fought hard to gather her concentration, channelling the One force around her body, barely keeping it in check and using her mind to direct it at the blackness that inched inexorably up the Heart. It was blackness that represented a manaless void. Worse, it was the antithesis of mana, an element that none of her learning had told her could exist. Should it cover the Heart, Julatsan magic would be gone forever. She was slowing it, she knew she was, but the effort was draining her so very quickly. She felt the Heart rising and knew she had to cling on.

  It was in her mind, taunting her with visions of her daughter running free through meadows and woods. Just let go, it was saying and you can be anything you desire and have anything you desire. You can be the One above all. You can be the only mage. Let me have Julatsa.

  It tore at her, the temptation undermining her strength, but she carried on, drawing the cold, bleak dark away from the Heart and into herself where the true One power extinguished it. The toll on her body was tremendous. She was aware her legs were shaking and that she should have collapsed by now but for something holding her upright. She searched briefly for what it was and the charge of knowledge revitalised her.

  ‘You will not have me,’ she said to the shadow. ‘You will not use my daughter against me.’

  She drew more power into her mind and began to force the shadow away.

  Denser had left the familiars to the Lysternan mages, who kept them away with careful use of DeathHail and focused Orbs. One of the demons already lay charring, deep in the Heart pit. Denser had seen Erienne swaying, her legs beginning to lose their strength and had run to her, catching her before she had fallen.

  ‘It’s all right, love,’ he said, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. ‘I’ve got you.’

  She was dead weight in his arms but what he saw pushed all thoughts of losing grip from his mind.

  The shuddering deep within the ground intensified, loose stones on the surface bouncing and skipping, but the mages stood rock solid, each completely in tune with the movement below them. And from the pit came the sounds of stone grinding against stone, and the indefinable feeling that whatever the movement was, it was upwards.

  A gout of dust burst from the pit, sparks following it. The ground heaved once more and Denser heard a rumbling, deep and powerful. The edges of the pit fell inwards, cracks forked out across the cobblestones, rippling beneath them, fracturing them, spitting some into the air. And, finally, came the Heart itself. Its casing was a column a hundred feet wide and wreathed in dark smoke. Carvings adorned its outside and they seemed to come to life as the sun touched them.

  Denser stared in simple awe as the stone emerged from its grave, shedding dust as it rose, inch by slow inch.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he breathed. ‘You can do this.’

  He saw the ancient Julatsan runes standing proud on its surface, the intricate friezes of the building of the college, the wars that led to balance and the rise of Julatsan magic. Ilkar had spoken of them many a time. Normally encased in the outer skin of the Tower, they were never seen by mages from other colleges but Denser was privileged.

  It climbed, Denser watching it go to a height of twenty feet, the rasping as it came almost musical. And then it paused. Time stood still for a moment and Erienne slumped in his arms, a low moan escaping her lips.

  ‘Come on, love,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’

  She shifted in his arms, opened her eyes. She saw the Heart and smiled.

  ‘Pheone,’ she muttered. ‘Keep the faith.’

  The Heart edged upwards again. Denser could feel the effort and glanced around at the casting mages. Every one of them wore their effort in their expressions. Arms quivered, teeth ground and tears squeezed from tightly closed eyes.

  They would do it. Unmolested they would succeed. Determination radiated like a physical force. But only a few hundred feet away, the Xeteskians were pressing like never before. And Denser wasn’t sure the Julatsans and elves would be given the time they deserved.

  Chapter 44

  Thraun knew he had to save Hirad. He growled loud to attract The Raven who were already running in the direction of the prone barbarian but he was the closest. There were four enemies nearby, each wanting to make the killing blow and earn the right to say that they had killed the legendary Raven man.

  He could not let that happen.

  So Thraun ran faster than he had ever done before. He felt the smells of the forest in his nostrils, the closeness of the pack and the warm scent of his prey ahead. The sounds of the battle around him dimmed but he heard someone call his name. Or he thought it was his name.

  He wanted to heft his sword, to throw it at them all but there was nothing in his hands. He ignored the thought, snarled, snapped his jaws and leapt.

  The prey screamed beneath him but he would show no mercy. He dashed a claw through its back and plunged his teeth into its neck, the hot blood pouring into his mouth. Leaving the prey to die he turned on the other three, seeing them back away. With one bound, he was on the next, paws thumping into his chest and knocking him flat. A single claw tore out his throat and he moved again, fangs locking into the calf of the third. And while he yelled for help, the last fell dead beside him, a wound dividing its stomach, another across its face. The one he held fell too, cries stilled.

  Thraun let the leg go and swung around. Two stood over him. Not prey. He backed away to the one he had to save, hunched to pounce should any threaten him.

  He howled.

  Izack drove his cavalry on at a gallop through the streets of Julatsa for what he prayed would be the last time. The cavalry met no resistance. Chandyr had committed all his men to the battle at the gates now they were down, and his perimeter guard had deserted their posts to join in.

  Izack gave his horse its head and yelled a battle cry to clear his mind. Forty men were at his back, swordsmen and mages. He could see those still outside the college unable to get in, the spray of bodies that spoke of an attack by the TaiGethen, and he could see the clouds of smoke rising above the walls and the shattered gates.

  The Xeteskians barely saw them until they were attacked. Izack drove in hard, slicing down right-handed, taking the ear off one man, his blade going on to shear through shoulder, ribs and vital organs. He raised his
sword again and lashed out, deeply denting the helmet of another, stunning him senseless. A blade came at him but it was blocked by another of his men. More and more pushed into the left-hand side and inexorably, the Xeteskians began to fall back.

  But as they did, they fought hard. He saw three of his men taken down by a group of soldiers working together out on the left periphery. Crossbows and arrows sliced through the air, one whistling by his ear to bury itself in the shoulder of a cavalryman behind him.

  ‘About wheel!’ he ordered. ‘Reform! Mages, give me shields.’

  He dragged the reins about, all the time chopping down at his enemies and kicking with his stirruped feet. A blade dragged across his right leg and he saw below him a man who surely should be dead, half his lower jaw missing, still trying to fight. He acknowledged the bravery and ran him through the heart.

  He kicked his horse to leap out of the press, his men following him. He galloped away to the edge of the square, turned, gathered and charged again.

  The appearance of the shapechanger had caused confusion and panic in Thraun’s immediate circle. Xeteskians, Julatsans and elves alike had scattered. His howls had chilled the fraught air of the battle and led to a critical uncertainty that The Unknown was not going to allow to pass him by. Thraun himself was pacing up and down before the prone form of Hirad, daring any to try and take the barbarian’s life. There were no takers.

  ‘Leave him,’ ordered The Unknown, catching Darrick’s arm. ‘You can trust him. This way.’

  Xeteskian soldiers were trying to force their way through to the Heart pit. Cavalry were behind, being tackled by a group of Al-Arynaar. Rebraal was still there, he could see, still fighting hard. He should have gone to the elf’s aid but there were more pressing concerns. Auum was in the thick of the battle for control of the passage to the helpless mages behind and being slowly pushed back. Only four TaiGethen stood with him.

  The Unknown flung himself into the attack, trying not to think that Hirad wasn’t by his side. He dared not even contemplate what Thraun had done to himself by assuming his wolven form after so long. The Raven were all over the place in the college and he didn’t like it. Best he got them back together again.

  He tapped his sword once and thrashed it into the back of the nearest Xeteskian, alerting the rest to their peril. There were a good thirty of them, trying to organise themselves and in the confusion, Darrick chopped through the back of another’s legs and pushed him hard into his comrades. The Unknown struck again too, his blow biting deep into the skull of the soldier, the momentum of the swing dragging the man from his feet and flicking him across the line to collapse into the arms of one of his comrades.

  The two Raven men backed off a pace, the Xeteskians forming up. The Unknown gasped a breath, his hip a furnace of pain. They could see Auum and the TaiGethen, blurs in the late morning, blades whispering through the air, feet and hands employed as lethal weapons. The Xeteskians had no choice but to drive on, those in front of the elves reluctant, knowing only luck would keep them alive. And luck played no part in anything the TaiGethen did.

  ‘Keep close, Darrick,’ said The Unknown. ‘Angle away, keep an eye on the flanks. Don’t be pretty. Hit them hard.’

  ‘Got it,’ said the general.

  Three enemy moved in, head-on, others moved to flanking positions. The Unknown tried to keep his eyes on them all. Darrick had switched to a two-handed grip, sacrificing finesse for bludgeoning power. He swung in an upward curve right to left, battering the defence of his first man away, bringing the blade back across his face and connecting with his enemy’s skull, splitting it like a coconut and careering the body across the short line.

  Seeing his chance, The Unknown struck forward smartly, taking an opponent in the stomach. He dragged the blade back quickly and cut across the thighs of another, not quite balanced. Three were down quickly but more came to fill the space. The Unknown found himself fending off blows from two sides, angling his blade up and down, the defence quickly becoming more desperate.

  Darrick too was getting hemmed in, forced to jab and cut, the full swing leaving him open to counterthrust. The Unknown changed his tactics. Feinting to catch the next blow as more closed in, he thrust low instead, ducking and shoving forwards hard with his hands, driving a space. Taking the enemy by surprise, he swept his blade up, striking one Xeteskian in the groin and backed away fast, feeling a sword whistle across his head.

  He straightened too quickly, his hip screaming pain and threatening his balance, and savaged a blow left to right. He roared to clear his head. It was a sound taken up by animal throats as first a panther and then Thraun stormed into the attack. The Unknown, slightly taken aback, half turned away from a man racing in to strike and couldn’t find his position fast enough. The blade was swinging towards his head but it didn’t arrive. Hirad’s sword cracked it away and his return strike severed the man’s head.

  ‘Raven with me!’ yelled Hirad.

  The Unknown couldn’t believe it. He saw the barbarian half running, half stumbling towards the Heart pit, his head covered in blood, his sword held defiantly before him. Thraun was pacing beside him and no enemy chanced getting too close. The Unknown sized up the problem. He and Darrick held the immediate Xeteskian attack on one side and the TaiGethen were whittling them away on the other.

  Beyond him, he could see the Heart grinding into the light of the day, smoke pouring from its sides, its runes glittering in the sunlight. But the reason for Hirad’s urgency was clear. Seeing the tide of the battle beginning to turn, Xeteskian mages had taken to ShadowWings and were bypassing the block to land in amongst the casting Julatsan and elven mages. Denser and Erienne were in there and they were defenceless.

  ‘Damn it,’ he breathed. ‘Darrick, let’s go!’

  He thundered his sword through the guard of the nearest soldier and set off around the attacking group, following Hirad towards the Heart pit. Between them and their friends were enough Xeteskians to delay them too long.

  Hirad could barely focus. He felt pain in his head, his chest and his legs and his sword was so heavy in his hands. Every pace he was blinking away blood but still he ran forward. Beside him Thraun, who knew what had to be done, leaped at the back of one of the Xeteskians blocking his way to the Heart pit. The man screamed and those by him moved reflexively aside, unwilling to be the next victim of the wolf.

  In front of him, Auum with only one sword in hand now, whipped that blade into the face of his opponent and slammed the heel of his palm into his nose, snapping him off his feet.

  ‘Auum!’ yelled Hirad. ‘Got to break through.’

  He shoved an enemy aside, shouldered into a second and lashed out at a third. Auum had heard him and at a command, the TaiGethen concentrated their attack on Hirad’s flank. The enemy folded in front of them. The barbarian roared, struck his blade into the neck of the last man in his way and ran into the courtyard beyond, praying he was in time.

  Barely keeping his balance, Hirad headed forward, wiping blood from his face. Thraun bounded past him and disappeared among the casting mages. Everything was confusion. In the centre, the Heart speared upwards. Seventy feet and more of it was above ground now and still it came. Surrounding it, the mages who breathed life back into Julatsa held their arms aloft, pouring themselves into their own salvation. And they were heedless of the enemy in their midst, landed now and taking them down one by one.

  Outnumbered, the Lysternan cavalry mages were under intense pressure and dying quickly. Hirad stumbled towards Denser, who still held Erienne, and was looking around him at the Xeteskians closing in fast. They weren’t just trying to stop the Heart raise, they wanted to snatch the ultimate prize too.

  No way. Following Thraun into the circles of casting mages, Hirad cracked his sword into the skull of a Xeteskian mage. Three more were heading for Denser. Others killed Julatsans. The Heart shuddered and faltered.

  ‘No!’ he screamed ‘No! Don’t give it up. Push, you bastards, push!’

&nb
sp; He didn’t care if they heard him but the Heart was moving again anyway. He tried to run faster, tripped and sprawled. The pain was extraordinary. His chest wound split wide, his head bouncing off the cobbles. His vision dimmed.

  ‘Not yet,’ he breathed. ‘Not yet.’

  Somehow, he dragged himself back to his feet. He heard footsteps near him. The Unknown and Darrick came past him, the latter sprinting, the former limping heavily. Both took down Xeteskian mages, leaving his path clear once more. He shambled on. Ahead, Denser had drawn a short blade but could not let Erienne go. She was limp in his free arm.

  They were closing on him. Hirad dragged a breath across his chest and pushed himself to a run. The first Xeteskian to threaten Denser felt Thraun’s claws through his back. The second took just one more pace before he stepped into Hirad’s range. One final time, the barbarian overarmed his sword. It bit into the man’s back and sliced out beneath his ribs.

  ‘Denser, there’s another,’ he said.

  But if the Xeteskian attacked, Hirad didn’t see him. He sagged to his knees completely exhausted.

  The Unknown carved his sword through the waist of a Xeteskian mage and looked down on Denser. He didn’t want to move another step. His hip was agony and breath was hard to come by.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  In Denser’s arms, Erienne relaxed and sighed a long breath. Simultaneously, the Heart stopped, turned through ninety degrees and was still, the last wisps of black smoke issuing into the bright morning sky.

  The Unknown looked around the mages who clearly could not quite believe what they had achieved. Lysternans were moving among them as was Darrick, searching out the final Xeteskian intruders.

  Some of the Julatsans had their heads in their hands, some were crying, others just staring in stupefaction. The din of the battle didn’t seem to impinge on them at all.