The World Raven

by A. J. Smith

  ‘Be gone!’ screamed the woman, her voice cracking at the edges. It was still hateful, but now it was full of fear as well. ‘You have lost, Ryuthula.’

  The building shook and he heard the smashing of glass from above. Then running and shouting. All at once, footsteps echoed down the stairs. Not the clump of boots, but the soft patter of bare feet. Three or four, or maybe five. He held his sword high and ready, taking a wide stance.

  Young girls, not one older than eighteen, all wearing bloodied rags, ran down the spiral staircase. There were ten of them. They held each other protectively and froze in place when they saw him. Their faces were dirty and drawn, with bags under their wild, violet eyes. They appeared malnourished and tortured, barely filling the patchwork trousers and tunics they wore. And they all looked the same – they all looked like the Seven Sisters.

  ‘Ruth!’ he shouted, having no earthly clue how he should react.

  She didn’t respond and he slowly lowered his sword. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, consciously softening his expression. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  The girls’ faces were wild and unfocused, as if they couldn’t hear the words. Then, with a high-pitched shriek in unison, they ran at him. Randall had killed men, he had fought, been wounded, and even gained a modicum of skill with his longsword, but he panicked as the young enchantresses assaulted him. They were just young girls, not like anyone he’d had to kill before, and his sword arm simply wouldn’t move.

  They scratched and kicked him, forcing him to use his free arm to cover his face. One of them dug her teeth into his hand and made him drop the blade. Then he fell and they were all over him, biting, kicking, scratching and slapping. One girl, one of the eldest, he thought, stood next to him and kicked her bony feet into his head. A tinge of embarrassment must have crossed his face as Randall was beaten unconscious by six young girls.

  ***

  His body was unconscious, but his mind remained active. It was a strange experience, as if his physical form had not yet caught up with the new power Ruth had given him. He experienced the pain, but as a distant echo, like a past version of himself, squealing for aid. He saw the girls and the Kirin through closed eyes as faded ghosts, shimmering across a black canvas. Then three more figures plunged into view. A bent old woman and two men.

  He was lying on the floor and would have felt exposed if his thoughts were not so clear. Utha and Voon were guarding the old woman and that made him angry. He began to focus and the figures came into view, though he could see more than flesh and bone. Within both of the men was a squirming insect, though Utha’s appeared to have melted into the albino’s flesh. Voon’s had consumed his mind and was now in control of the empty shell previously occupied by the exemplar of Jaa. But the old woman was the most confusing. There was no insect in her, but she wasn’t human and her power was barely contained within the shrivelled body she wore.

  Suddenly a deathly scream made the ground shake and the glass windows shatter. From the sky, Randall felt a new presence, one not of form or substance but of divinity and rage. It strode downward, through glass and metal, as if descending imaginary steps, and came into view clearer and more solid than anyone else in his field of vision. The figure looked at him, sensing that, unlike the matron mother and her guards, the unconscious young man could see him. It was Dalian Thief Taker, a wind claw Randall had met in the Fell. And he was far angrier than the young squire.

  Dalian, visible only in Randall’s mind, approached the figure of Voon and stared at him. The exemplar of Jaa looked straight through the wind claw, awaiting instructions from the old woman. He gathered the young girls together, before a downward staircase that led away from the minaret. They were preparing to flee from Ruth, with Utha standing guard over the matron mother. Randall wanted to call out, but knew his body wouldn’t respond if he tried. He wondered what would happen if he were to die. Would his newly awakened mind drift around Oron Kaa like Dalian, searching for a new body to inhabit? Or would he slowly drift away, following his mortal form into oblivion?

  He felt his body twitch as he began to regain consciousness, but not before he saw Dalian Thief Taker ball his divine energy in a small globe within his fists and lunge at Voon. He emitted a powerful roar that made the earth shake again, causing all those who couldn’t see him to reach for the stability of the outer wall, confused by what was causing the sound. Dalian struck Voon with a thunderous clash, causing the Builder within to hiss and writhe in pain. The creature died almost instantly, smashed to pulpy pieces by the divine might of Jaa and beginning to ooze out of Voon’s mouth.

  Utha, the old woman and the clustered girls backed away, confused by what they were seeing. Voon doubled over on the floor, coughing out pieces of the insect on to the mottled glass, as Dalian took control of the body.

  As he felt his eyelids flicker open, Randall heard a violent roar. He couldn’t be sure whether the sound had reached his mind or if he’d regained his hearing just in time, such was the power of the voice.

  ‘I am Dalian Thief Taker... and I am the exemplar of Jaa.’

  ***

  Randall awoke with his face pressed against a sharp, glass floor. Splodges of pain hit him in the arms, hands, legs, chest and face. He’d been bitten, kicked and scratched, but it was the sound of steel on steel that had shaken him awake.

  He groggily turned over and tried to cry out to his master, but his voice was lost somewhere in a badly bruised chest. Utha was squaring off against Voon, wielding two scimitars against the Karesian’s spear.

  ‘Don’t fight,’ he croaked. ‘Fight her.’ He pointed to the old woman, fleeing with the young girls down the passageway.

  If they heard him, they didn’t show it. Voon’s eyes were clearer now and a strange glow shone from his extremities, as if Dalian was infusing every inch of his new body. Utha looked no different, except for the hateful sneer on his bone-white face.

  ‘Ruth!’ he shouted again. ‘Utha and Voon are fighting.’

  They clashed in front of him, a blur of steel and arms as the scimitars searched for a way past the spear. Utha was as ferocious as ever, eschewing defence for frenzied attack, forcing his opponent on to the back foot. But Dalian didn’t back away. Randall had seen Voon fight before, in Claryon Soong’s mansion, but now... everything was different. He hardly moved his feet as he twirled Zarzenfang in tight circles with a serenity of motion that was barely human. A fire burned in his eyes as he met each of Utha’s attacks with parries of dizzying speed.

  ‘I do not wish to kill you,’ said Dalian, through Voon’s mouth.

  ‘Jaa owns these lands no longer. You will bow to Shub-Nillurath,’ spat Utha, confirming Randall’s worst fears.

  ‘You are the last Old Blood!’ shouted Dalian, true anger sounding in every syllable. ‘How dare you stand against me!’

  ‘Utha, please!’ said Randall, making them notice him for the first time.

  His master still sneered, ignoring pleas for him to stand down, and attacked again. Dalian effortlessly blocked the scimitars, appearing to flicker from point to point with a tiny flash of fire announcing each movement. Utha’s face was a twisted contortion of devotional mania, wide-eyed and drooling. Whatever had happened to him was beyond Randall’s power to reverse.

  ‘Fuck you!’ shouted the young squire. ‘Fuck you and fuck Shub-Nillurath! You drag me to the edge of the world and fall to a fucking insect.’ He began to cry. ‘You’re Utha the Ghost. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known... you’re stronger than Torian, stronger than Vekerian, stronger than Rham Jas, stronger than Ruth even – please!’

  Dalian kicked one of the scimitars from Utha’s hand, sending it to clatter against the glass wall, near where the old woman had disappeared. He then smashed the albino in the face with the haft of Zarzenfang, making him crumble downwards. For an instant Randall hoped that Utha would stay down, but he surged upwards with insane eyes fixed on the Karesian, swinging his remaining blade.

  ‘So be it,’ said Dalian with re
signation. ‘Your Shadow Giant will finally get to die – but I serve only Jaa, and his land doesn’t need you any more. Not now I am here.’ He twirled the spear under his arm and levelled the serrated steel point at Utha.

  ‘Don’t kill him,’ pleaded Randall. ‘This can’t be the end.’

  ‘He’s gone,’ was all Dalian said, before lunging forward and impaling Utha on Zarzenfang. Blood erupted from the albino’s mouth as the spear emerged from his back. Before his eyes closed, he screamed insanely – he screamed with pain and he screamed with pleasure.

  Randall just stared at his dying master, unable to think or cry out. The strongest man he’d ever known stretched his arms wide, craning his head backwards, then fell like a rag-doll to the floor as Dalian removed the spear from his chest. Utha was dead.

  ‘Boy, look at me,’ said the Karesian. ‘You know who I am. I know you grieve, but answer me this – is the Gorlan friend or foe? Do I need to deal with it?’

  The remaining glass at the base of the minaret suddenly blew outwards, exposing a thin steel frame, skeletal and rusted. Shards of coloured glass showered the interior, forcing Randall to curl up and protect his head. Dalian winced as needles of glass struck him, but he didn’t cower or take cover. With the outside now visible, Randall saw web and destruction. Buildings were crushed, hundreds of insects were dead, dozens of Kirin were lying motionless, and an eerie calm had descended on Oron Kaa. From the devastation, walking on two human legs as if everything were normal, came Ruth, entering the minaret and walking directly at Dalian.

  ‘Where is the Queen in Red?’ she demanded.

  Randall wiped tears, blood and glass from his face. ‘Utha’s dead!’ he wailed.

  The Gorlan mother glanced at the motionless albino, then at Randall. Her face softened as she locked eyes with the young squire, but re-hardened as she turned back to the spear-wielding Karesian.

  ‘Don’t test me, great mother,’ said Dalian.

  ‘Test you?’ responded Ruth. ‘You have killed the last Old Blood.’

  She flickered forward and grabbed Dalian round the throat, lifting him like a small child and forcing him to drop his spear.

  ‘Test you?’ she screamed, tightening her grip and turning the Karesian’s face a bright red. ‘I will not test you. I will merely tell you what to do. Now pick up Utha and follow me.’

  Dalian was losing consciousness, but was powerful enough to send two sharp punches at Ruth’s face. ‘I am a servant of Jaa,’ he wheezed.

  ‘And I am a servant of Atlach-Nacha. Your Fire Giant should remember his place if he is to survive.’

  She spun round and rammed Dalian into the floor, causing the ground to shake with their collective strength.

  Randall tried to stand, but all his body would do was sprawl on the floor, looking at Utha’s corpse. He crawled, groaning in pain, to reach his master, trying to shut out the one-sided wrestling match playing out between the two mighty creatures. Tears still ran down his cheeks and it was only the pain of movement that tempered the wellspring of loss bubbling up from his stomach.

  ‘I will fear nothing but Jaa,’ roared Dalian, somehow managing to get to his feet under Ruth’s vice-like grip.

  The Gorlan mother was no longer serene. She exhibited rage in a way he had not yet seen. Her eyes were black and in every movement of her slim body was revealed raw power.

  Randall’s hands reached Utha and he crawled up his master’s body, his hands balling into fists against the thin black fabric of his robe. He felt blood and sweat, but no movement. Utha’s chest was still, with a jagged line where Zarzenfang had struck.

  Ruth flung Dalian through the outer frame of the minaret and strode across to Utha and Randall. The Karesian got to his feet, but didn’t immediately attack. Something in his burning red eyes showed that he was reassessing the situation.

  ‘You will do as I say or I will kill you,’ said Ruth. ‘I care not for your Fire Giant or his Long War – I care for this young man and his master. And I care that the Queen in Red is utterly destroyed. Now pick up the Old Blood and follow me.’

  Dalian hesitated but, taking note of his numerous wounds and the mighty creature before him, he lowered Zarzenfang and approached.

  ‘You are stronger than the exemplar,’ said Dalian. ‘But do not trifle with Jaa or his shade. We will do as you ask, but your insolence will be remembered.’

  She smiled. ‘Do not test me, Dalian Thief Taker.’

  A moment of tense mutual respect passed between them, but all Randall could do was cling to Utha’s body and cry. Ruth knelt down next to him, her soft hands stroking his face.

  ‘You are good-hearted, Randall of Darkwald. Perhaps meeting you was as important as meeting the Old Blood. I find I have learned more from you than from him.’

  ‘You didn’t need us,’ he replied. ‘Were you just playing a game?’

  She kissed him. It was slow and gentle, but strangely reassuring. She waved Dalian forwards and the glowing Karesian wrapped his muscular arms round Utha’s body and hefted him upwards. Randall pulled himself into a seated position and tried to stand. Ruth stopped him from falling and allowed him to lean on her shoulder.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he muttered. ‘And what’s he doing with Utha’s body?’

  ‘The power that resides here is pungent, but still it ultimately flows from the divine. Utha the Shadow is the divine. His mortal flesh is less important than you think – if we move quickly.’

  Randall glared at Dalian, fighting anger, sorrow and confusion. He wanted someone to blame, but realized that he didn’t know enough to be fair. He couldn’t hate the... thing that looked like Voon, but acted like Dalian.

  ‘Who’s the old woman?’ he asked, tearing his eyes from the glowing Karesian and Utha’s corpse.

  ‘The Queen in Red,’ she replied. ‘Here, she is called the matron mother. When I birthed her, I named her Nephila.’

  ‘What?’ was all he could think to say. ‘She’s a Gorlan?’

  ‘One of the oldest still alive,’ she replied.

  The implications of this were too vast for Randall to wrap his mind around, let alone come up with any particularly intelligent questions. ‘What?’ he repeated.

  She kissed him again, smoothing back her hair. ‘Answers will take too much time.’

  Dalian, effortlessly carrying Utha’s body, moved to the downward staircase through which the matron mother and her girls had fled. He didn’t ask where he was going or what Ruth intended. He moved with purpose, keeping his eyes still, just as Randall remembered from when he had met him in the Fell.

  ‘Wait,’ snapped the squire. ‘I don’t care who you are, don’t take his body out of my sight.’

  Dalian stopped, but he didn’t turn. He waited as Ruth assisted Randall in joining him at the top of the stairs, then continued down, slowing his pace so that they could keep up.

  ‘The tear is this way,’ said the Karesian. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘The tear?’ queried Randall as they moved down a narrow, rocky tunnel, plunging into the earth of Oron Kaa.

  ‘The Footstep of the heretical Forest Giant,’ clarified Dalian. ‘A doorway to the beyond.’

  Randall was in pain, but, with Ruth’s strength and his own adrenaline, he began to walk unaided, following his master in death as he had in life.

  CHAPTER 18

  FALLON THE GREY ON THE KING’S HIGHWAY

  HE’D FALLEN ASLEEP on a thin bedroll, among trees, but he’d woken on a dusty training ground, standing ready and holding a pristine longsword. He wore plate armour with a grey tabard displaying his future heraldry: a broken longsword on a grey field, signifying that a Knight of the Grey would sooner break his blade than use it without honour. He was clean and washed, his short black hair closely cut and his face freshly shaved. He hadn’t been this clean since he left Tor Funweir.

  Looking around, he saw a ring of stone buildings and a statue, dominating the training ground. He’d seen it before. It stood outside the Red cathedra
l in Ro Arnon and showed a Purple cleric in a warrior’s handshake with a Knight of the Red. Under the figures were the words, ‘Where nobility and war meet, honour must be found.’ It was the original motto of the Red and would be remade as the motto of the Grey.

  ‘You have ridden far,’ said Torian’s shade, appearing as a fully armoured Purple cleric at the foot of the statue.

  ‘Not as far as you,’ replied Fallon. ‘I feel strong; does that mean the World Raven was true to his word?’

  Torian tensed his shining steel gauntlets and unsheathed a fine longsword. ‘Defend yourself, exemplar.’

  The shade launched a powerful series of attacks against Fallon’s head. He parried, keeping his arm close to his body but taking a defensive stance. Torian was shorter, but his shoulders were huge and his balance excellent. In life, he had been a cleric of the quest and would have been a formidable swordsman. As a shade, his movements were too fast for Fallon to predict. The Grey Knight took a wide base and retreated from the rampant Purple cleric. He felt outmatched for the first time in his life. He received a glancing thrust to his chest.

  ‘Stand,’ said Torian, giving Fallon room to compose himself. ‘There is much power to be had, but you must earn it. Perhaps another opponent would be more appropriate.’

  The shade took a large side-step and revealed another figure, approaching from the statue. It was a Kirin man, slender with lank black hair. He held a katana in two hands and moved like a predatory cat.

  ‘And this is?’ asked Fallon, unimpressed by the new apparition’s form.