The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  ‘How about that we are still in massive danger and the king is searching for an escape route should the worst happen.’

  Densyr shook his head. ‘I cannot let you do that. I cannot have my people deserting this city on a fool’s quest for a promised land.’

  Sol straightened. He was taller than Densyr by almost a head.

  ‘Your people? Since when did you own them? The days of college fiefdoms are over and have been for hundreds of years. The people will do what they want.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sol.’

  ‘You know, standing here all alone, with your big ally stuck next to the Heart, you are not in a position to demand or expect anything at all.’

  Densyr shrugged. ‘Go then. We fought well here and there are more fights to come. But if you would rather run, turn your back and flee like a coward, then do so. And take your elves and your dead with you. And the zoo animals. Xetesk needs none of you.’

  Sol glanced briefly over his shoulder and stepped right up to Densyr. He could smell the other man’s sweat and the taint of ash and dust on his clothes. And the acid reek of mana from recently cast magic.

  ‘You are fortunate my family are in this room,’ said Sol quietly. ‘Questioning my courage is very, very dangerous. Jonas, what are you doing?’

  His eye had been drawn by Jonas leading Diera and young Hirad to the door, what little was left of it.

  ‘Mother said you are posturing and it is pathetic. I just know it won’t make any difference who is braver and who stands and fights. They are coming back.’

  ‘Let them come,’ said Densyr. ‘We have beaten them once already and we will do so again.’

  Auum and his Tai fell into place by Sol’s family. Sirendor and Thraun picked up Hirad and began a cautious descent with Ilkar walking in front of them. Auum directed Miirt and a rather shaky Ghaal to follow them down the rubble-strewn stairs. The Lord of the TaiGethen paused.

  ‘The proud do not listen to the wise,’ he said. ‘Their eyes are blind to the path and the only scent in their nostrils is glory. You have done well but you have beaten nobody. Yet here you stand in the ruins of your majesty and claim victory. The proud celebrate alone and fleetingly.’

  Auum spun on his heel and was gone, Sol’s family following him at his nod of consent.

  ‘I’m sorry it had to end this way,’ said Sol.

  ‘We made a fine team,’ said Densyr.

  ‘I thought so. Perhaps I was wrong all along.’

  ‘Don’t think ill of me, Sol. I have done only what I thought was right.’

  Sol sighed and the regret felt heavy enough to slump his shoulders. ‘Oh, Densyr, what else can I think?’

  Pressure beat down. Crushing. Bowing the shoulders and weakening the knees. It funnelled into the ears and dragged at the eyes. It tightened the throat and sent the heart into arrhythmia. Densyr clutched at his chest and fell to his knees. Sol staggered, gripping on to a fallen timber and trying to look up through the ruined ceiling. He heard someone stumble and fall on the stairs not far below. Wolves whined.

  A piercing sound cut through the fog of Sol’s consciousness, quickly falling to a low drone and then fading away altogether. The pressure eased. Sol helped Densyr back to his feet. The two men stared at one another for a moment, Sol seeing virgin doubt in Densyr’s eyes.

  They looked up.

  Five machines descended through the cloud to ring the college. The flat blare of their horns shivered broken glass to splinters. Densyr’s mouth hung open but his lower jaw moved a little as he tried to form the word ‘no’. Sol almost felt sorry for him. But not as sorry as he felt for all those people denied the chance to run west days ago. Before it was too late.

  Densyr snapped quickly out of his shock and hurried to Dystran.

  ‘You can’t stay here,’ he said.

  Dystran, lost in the mana spectrum and embraced by the Heart, smiled. ‘Nor can I leave. It is fitting. One lone soul. They will not seek me here. I will hold on for as long as I can but I will not let them take the Heart.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Densyr. He got back to his feet and turned to Sol. ‘How fast can you run?’

  Every pace down the stairs sent shivers of pain through Sol’s back, hip and scorched scalp. He trailed Densyr by a few steps and was determined not to fall too far behind the Lord of the Mount. The air was full of screams and shouts for order and to arms. Already, the spells were flying and the white tears were crashing to the earth.

  ‘Where are we going?’ called Sol.

  ‘The catacombs. We have to catch up with the others, stop them going outside.’

  Sol imagined his family trying to escape across the college courtyard and his blood chilled in his veins. He ran faster.

  ‘Diera!’ he bellowed. ‘Catacombs. Keep on going down to the catacombs.’

  The tower shuddered under multiple impacts. Loose stone tumbled and bounced down the stairs after them. Round and round, down and down. Dust clogged the stairway below. Sol could smell the aftermath of fires and the sick stench of blood and innards.

  They hurtled down the last few stairs, jumped a body that lay across the bottom step and out into the dome. It was carnage. Much of the roof had collapsed. Corpses were flattened and smeared beneath it. Stone was scorched and scattered, mixed with body parts.

  The main doors had been splintered. Outside, defensive groups were fighting hard but the weight of enemy fire was enormous. Sol silently wished them all luck and searched the wreckage for his family. Instead, he and Densyr saw Brynar, standing by the entrance to the catacombs. He looked terribly pale and blood oozed from where he held his hands to his stomach.

  ‘They’ve gone down before you,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Come with us,’ said Densyr. ‘We can fix you.’

  ‘Why down there? The Heart is there. They are coming there to take it.’

  ‘But not yet; we have a spell to cast. Get healed and help me. We have to find Sharyr quickly.’

  Densyr was pushing Brynar towards the entrance. Sol came to his other side.

  ‘Come on, lad. You can make it. Let me do the saving this time, eh?’

  Brynar smiled and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. ‘If you insist. Which spell, my Lord?’

  Densyr risked a quick glance at Sol.

  ‘The Ritual of Opening.’

  Sol almost tripped on the first flight of stairs. ‘When we get him to some help, you had better keep on running, Densyr. Because if I catch you I am going to flatten your stupid fucking head.’

  ‘Promises, promises. Don’t be naïve, Sol. This is a blood sacrifice. We used to specialise in this sort of thing. Borrowed it from the Wesmen a thousand years ago.’

  ‘But I thought only Septern—’

  ‘Not you too, Brynar. All spells that deal with the travel, transport and destruction of souls derive from the same lore. Sol, I need to tell you it is the same base theory that was behind the capture of souls in the Soul Tank for placing the Protectors in thrall.’

  For the second time Sol almost tripped. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead and a numbness through his body.

  ‘I don’t want to hear this.’

  ‘But it isn’t the same. Trust me; I know how to do this. Theoretically. ’

  ‘Theoretically?’

  ‘It’s been a long time since we asked for volunteers to commit suicide.’

  A chuckle escaped Sol’s lips. He stopped moving, forcing Densyr to do likewise. Brynar groaned.

  ‘And why the change of heart? What happened to selfishness and cowardice?’

  Densyr winced.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘Gods drowning, Densyr, thousands will die because of your stubbornness. ’

  ‘I didn’t think they could continue reinforcing, Sol. I really believed they would retreat from us. But they hate us, don’t they? They hate us more than they need their precious fuel, and it drives them to keep on coming back in greater numbers. I can’t beat five of th
ose things. I got it wrong.’

  ‘Finally you open your eyes.’

  ‘Now all I can do is help others survive. I’ll face my guilt and, Gods falling, it’s everywhere already.’

  Sol moved on.

  ‘My heart bleeds.’ Sol grunted. ‘When you make a mistake it’s always a fucking belter, isn’t it? Which way?’

  They had reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the first of the hub rooms from which multiple passages led. The elves, the Raven and his family were waiting for them.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ said Ilkar. ‘But what’s he doing here?’

  ‘Attempting redemption,’ said Sol.

  ‘Do we have that much time?’ asked Ilkar.

  ‘No, we don’t.’ Densyr nodded his head. ‘Straight on. We need Sharyr, Vuldaroq, a couple of old books and a mage to trip the evacuation alarm ward.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Sirendor.

  ‘To a new world via a very old one,’ said Sol.

  And he dared not look at Diera because he would have seen her tears start to fall.

  Chapter 33

  General Suarav roared with frustration when the alarm sounded. The system had been put in place after the demon wars to ensure the populace was never ensnared again as it had been a decade ago. A line of wards had been set in the city, maintained by the merest trickle of mana. The key ward was in the catacombs and it triggered the energy to release the rest.

  The alarm was simple. Four tones, rising in pitch over an octave and repeating quickly until the Lord of the Mount declared the emergency ended. Suarav crouched in the shelter of one of Xetesk’s long-room doorways and gazed balefully out at the Garonin machines hanging in the air above the college. He thought the alarm might well sound forever.

  Every Xeteskian citizen knew what they had to do. Flee the city by whichever gate and by whichever means. Bring food, water and clothing. Bring weapons if you had them, particularly hunting weapons. Be prepared for a long time in the open and on the run. Head for your allotted rendezvous point. Do not return to the city if you value your life.

  ‘We can still fight,’ said Chandyr. ‘We lost none of our teams after the initial bombardment. The shielding works and the binding on the walls is strong. Let the population run. We are sworn to protect city and college. Let us not shirk that responsibility.’

  Suarav nodded. ‘The Circle Seven are all still in the catacombs. I will not abandon them.’

  He turned to the rest of those gathered with him. He saw fear and he saw determination.

  ‘Are you with me?’ asked Suarav. Five mages and twelve guards nodded. ‘With courage we can hold them long enough.’

  ‘Why do they wait?’ asked Chandyr. ‘Surely they presume their force to be overwhelming.’

  The bombardment of white tears had ceased temporarily. Smoke drifted across the college from multiple fires.

  ‘They are cautious,’ said one of the mages. ‘Nervous even. That we could unleash such destruction without warning.’

  ‘The trouble is, none of us knows what the hell that blue spear was, do we?’ said Suarav.

  ‘But then, neither do they,’ said Chandyr. ‘And, like us, they have no idea if it is repeatable. Presumably that is why they’ve been targeting Densyr’s tower. And it still stands.’

  Suarav faced his squad. ‘Then let’s waste no time. Mages, I need a shield. Let’s find every group we can and set up the defence of the tower complex as far as we can. You are brave people and I am proud to serve with you. Face whatever comes with spirit and we will see the enemy defeated yet or at least bring our masters to safety. And while we may all lose our lives, we must not be careless with them. Every moment we resist allows our citizens time to escape. Your loved ones and mine. For Xetesk, city and college of magic.’

  ‘For Xetesk!’

  Suarav led his team out onto open ground. The five Garonin machines hung in the sky like giant insects waiting the chance to strike. Their drones combined to form a modulating bass over which the Xeteskian evacuation alarm rose in discord. Suarav saw people emerging from every door in the college to make their escape.

  There was no move from the enemy to stop them. After their initial bombardment they were, without question, waiting and assessing their options. The city of Xetesk had been rich with mana but that was now largely collected or spent. The greatest prize on the continent was ensconced deep in the catacombs and any enemy, even one as powerful as the Garonin, should be wary of the task ahead.

  Assuming they could not hack straight down through the-Gods-knew-how-much-rock to expose the Heart, an assault corridor by corridor, chamber by chamber was their only option. It meant a large number of soldiers were likely to descend at any given moment and try to gain access to the catacombs by the single entrance.

  ‘Bottleneck,’ he said.

  ‘Sir?’ asked a mage running along bedside him.

  ‘I’ve had an idea.’

  The barrage had ceased but the tension was unremitting. Having released Brynar to a healer mage, Densyr had led them through numberless twists and turns until they stood as far from the entrance as it was possible to get while still being in habitable chambers. It felt cold and unfriendly so far from the surface.

  The chambers he had brought them to were joyless. Hardly a picture hung. There were no coverings for the uneven floor, and while braziers could be lit to generate plenty of light, there was no heat here. No fireplace and flue. There were three workbenches ranged across the far wall underneath a set of blackboards. Chairs stood where they had been abandoned by mages in a hurry. A dark, heavy-timbered door was set into the right-hand wall.

  ‘You really know how to make your guests feel at home, don’t you?’ said Ilkar. ‘What was this, some sort of torture chamber or something?’

  Densyr didn’t rise to the bait. ‘This was the dimensional research section. You won’t fail to see the scorch marks on the walls nor yet ignore the faint scent of blood that still hangs in here.’

  Sirendor stepped into the centre of the dusty chamber, which measured perhaps thirty feet on a side.

  ‘I’ll take it. When can I move in?’

  Sol led his family in and took Jonas and young Hirad to a couple of high-backed dining chairs that stood on the left-hand side below an artist’s impression of colliding dimensions.

  ‘I’m failing to see anything amusing about our position,’ he growled. ‘Densyr, get yourself sorted as quickly as you can. There is pain here for the living and the dead.’

  Auum and his Tai moved silently across the chamber to the corner opposite the door and knelt to pray. Thraun laid Hirad on one of the workbenches and signalled Ilkar to look at him. Diera did not leave Sol’s side.

  ‘With every breath I dream you’ll return to your senses,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this, Sol. Don’t leave us here alone.’

  ‘If I don’t do this, there is no hope for any on Balaia,’ said Sol. ‘And, believe me, I would not be volunteering unless I felt we truly had no other choice.’

  ‘That’s not true. Any one can be the . . .’ Diera dropped her voice to a whisper with their sons so close. ‘. . . sacrifice. Please, Sol, think of us.’

  ‘I am, Diera.’ Sol closed his eyes. There truly was nothing else in his mind. ‘And there is no one else. This isn’t to be a walk through fallen leaves: it will be challenged by the Garonin every step of the way. A leader must take those steps. I am their king. It has to be me.’

  Diera threw up her hands and turned her attention on Densyr, who was looking anxious and impatient.

  ‘And you. I thought you were on my side. You of all people know how selfish this is. How dare you change your mind and, worse, how dare you be prepared to aid my husband in his stupidity.’

  Densyr let his shoulders sag a little. ‘But is it?’

  The door opened. In walked Vuldaroq and Sharyr, arms laden with texts. Vuldaroq’s eyes blazed with curiosity.

  ‘You know it is,’ said Diera. ‘No guarantee of any
kind of success. In fact the only certainty is that for him there is no turning back.’

  ‘But look outside,’ said Densyr. ‘We cannot defend against such force.’

  ‘So you’re prepared to take any chance to save your own skin even if it means pushing the head of a friend beneath the surface? Why aren’t you putting yourself forward, O Lord of the Mount?’

  ‘The caster cannot enter the opening.’

  ‘How convenient.’

  ‘You have me wrong, Diera,’ said Densyr. ‘I will not attempt to explain my errors of the past few days. It hardly matters now. But you should know that, succeed or fail, I am not leaving Xetesk. While anyone is left to fight the Garonin, I will stand with them. But I can no longer expect my people to do the same. I want them to escape.’

  ‘So noble,’ said Diera. ‘Offering the hand of salvation to strangers and the hand of a murderer to your oldest friend.’

  ‘Diera,’ said Sol. ‘Please.’

  ‘Please what? Shut up and sit primly by my sons and watch you die?’

  A heavy sound struck through the catacombs. Like a giant fist had been slammed against the upper level. Dust was dislodged.

  ‘That doesn’t sound so good,’ said Ilkar.

  ‘We’re as safe as we can be,’ said Sharyr, spreading out texts on a bench and beginning to pull them open.

  ‘There is no comfort in that,’ said Diera.

  Sol took Diera’s arm and turned her away from the awkwardness she was generating.

  ‘I cannot let you disrupt this. I need you to be strong for the boys. Make them understand.’

  ‘How can I make them understand what I do not?’

  Sol smiled. ‘You understand perfectly well. You just don’t like what you’re hearing.’

  ‘Well we agree there.’

  ‘There will be time for us. Before I . . .’ Sol trailed away.

  It wasn’t just for her he could not finish his sentence. He was only just clinging on to his own courage too. Diera sagged and let herself be drawn into his arms. Sol looked over her head and saw the mages getting to work.