The World Raven

by A. J. Smith

  ‘You can’t fight it,’ whispered Gwen.

  Fallon, Verellian and Ohms exchanged glances, then peered into the darkness, trying to get a good look at the cat-like Dark Young. It was well ahead of the Karesian army, who had slowed their advance, and was describing a tight circle of movement that got closer and closer as the knights looked.

  ‘Stay back,’ ordered Fallon, advancing a few huge strides towards the creature. His men drew their weapons, but remained between him and the slowly retreating army of Ro.

  Fallon drew his tarnished greatsword. The moonlight danced across his face as he advanced, but his expression was incomprehensible to Gwen. There was no fear, or even concern. His breathing was not heavy, his hands did not shake – and a subtle mantle of warm, golden light began to emanate from his body.

  ‘The fucker’s glowing again,’ remarked Verellian, sharing the apparent confidence of his friend.

  ‘You can’t fight it,’ repeated Gwen, the image of Xander’s dismembered corpse flashing before her eyes.

  Verellian looked at her with a combination of concern and confusion. She knew he hadn’t seen what it could do. He hadn’t even seen its face, the mocking caricature of Rham Jas Rami. She wanted to shake him and force them to flee, but she was rooted to the spot; and the corners of her vision were assaulted by the pouncing, black distortion that approached Fallon of Leith.

  The tall swordsman stopped moving and narrowed his eyes. A moment later, creating no more sound than a whistle of wind, the creature leapt at him. The writhing feelers on the end of each of its legs tickled at the air, and its sharp head angled downwards, aiming its gummy mouth at Fallon. Everything happened so quickly. She could barely follow the creature’s movements, let alone the dizzying parry raised by the knight of Ro. His sword swung as his feet moved, side-stepping the attack with supreme balance and speed. The creature snapped at thin air and received a deep cut to the side of its shimmering black head.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ shouted Sergeant Ohms, taking an involuntary step away.

  Fallon pulled back his blade and looked at the feline monstrosity, assessing its sinewy curves and stretched, human face. The creature was still for the first time since it had appeared before Ro Weir. It shook its head, as if the wound was a minor irritation; it pawed at the ground, its feelers digging small furrows in the earth. But it was bleeding. The wound had caused a steady slick of black ichor to drip from the thing’s head. If it could bleed, she thought, it could die.

  ‘So you’re the Twisted Tree,’ said Fallon. ‘Look more like the twisted fucking pussycat to me.’

  He attacked, drawing stunned gasps from everyone within sight. Defence was one thing, but attack... it was unthinkable. But still he attacked. His greatsword was an extension of his glowing body, arcing forwards with a light unlike any other she’d seen – a blinding spark of gold and silver, covering the huge swordsman, the grass, the creature, even the air. He hacked at it, the creature appearing utterly bewildered and unable to do anything but howl and flinch backwards.

  ‘This is the One God’s land,’ roared Fallon, ‘and I am his exemplar.’

  The creature’s howl became deafening and she had to cover her ears. Its body was now criss-crossed with deep cuts from Fallon’s sword, and its feelers vibrated against the grass. The glowing knight raised his sword in both hands and drove it downwards with a rush of strength that could cleave a mountain in two. The aberrant Dark Young flailed forward in a last-ditch effort to deflect the attacks, and the blade sheared through one of its rear legs. It was severed halfway up and sent a dense spray of blood across the glowing grass.

  The creature gurgled, almost a cry of pain, and pulled itself backwards. Fallon’s sword was embedded in the earth, which allowed the beast to flee, manically flailing its remaining limbs and flickering away in ungainly surges of movement. With nowhere to go but through the Hounds, it crashed into the waiting army, flinging dozens of men out of its way as it fled south.

  Then silence returned. Men gawped; others swore under their breath. To her left, Gwen noticed that Daganay was standing there, watching the glowing man with a look of awe on his face.

  ‘Knights of the Grey!’ commanded Fallon. ‘To arms.’

  His company, less astonished than the others, moved quickly to flank him, forming a thin line of blades in front of the waiting Hounds. A section of the Karesian army was clumsily regrouping to cover the large gap made by the fleeing creature, but the rest remained still, forming an unbroken line of black steel.

  ‘Lots of men to kill, lads,’ shouted Ohms. ‘Plenty for all. Stand on Sir Fallon and keep those fuckin’ eyes open.’

  Their leader, still glowing, raised his sword. Gwen was suddenly aware that many Hawks of Ro, previously crippled by fear, were now poking their heads above the gully and watching the huge swordsman. She shook her head rapidly, feeling like she was waking from a dream. Suddenly she felt the cold night air and flexed her hands. They were stiff, as if she’d not used them for days. Her vision seemed to change from muddy glass to clear water, showing her the reality of their situation. Thousands of Hounds, arrayed in a horseshoe, stood ready, able to annihilate the broken army when and however they wanted. There was little fight left in the army of Ro. But still there was the glowing knight, standing taller than any other man, his light making the Hounds flinch backwards.

  ‘I will kill any pig-fucking Hound that comes near me,’ boomed Fallon, his voice echoing across the low plains of Narland. ‘I know you’re all on drugs, a few of the most important might even be enchanted, but I know you bastards feel fear – and you should fear me!’ He took a step towards them and the closest Hounds took a step back. ‘Go back to Ro Weir and tell your enchantress to send more men. This mob is a fucking insult to the One God.’

  If the force of Karesians had been smaller, they would have screamed and run away. As it was, their drugged oblivion was enough to push them onwards. Hesitantly, starting with the ranks furthest away from Fallon, the Hounds advanced. Their movements showed no confidence and their advance was more of a saunter than a charge. There were maybe ten thousand of them, an insultingly small number, intended to mop up a demoralized army. But the Grey Knights were not demoralized.

  ‘He’s exemplar,’ said Daganay. ‘I wish I had something to write with. This needs recording.’

  ‘The Hawks would follow him,’ she whispered.

  ‘And his Grey Knights,’ replied Daganay, seeming to have an idea what the term meant.

  There were only two hundred of them, but their formation – a single line, allowing each warrior room to fight – said much about their prowess. Not only did they show no fear, but they laughed and beckoned the Hounds forward with insults and challenges. Fallon was not part of the line but stood alone, dominating a large circle of muddy grass. His glow announced a killing zone in which his greatsword had complete control, and the Hounds appeared reluctant to approach him.

  ‘You can still run away,’ shouted William of Verellian, flexing a heavy shortsword, strapped to his crippled hand.

  The Hounds were silent. Gwen guessed that they had been given their orders before they left Ro Weir and were continuing in an obedient haze. The knights were hugely outnumbered and Gwen’s hands began to twitch. She was no longer comfortable being an observer. The image of her dead husband was no longer crippling, and she’d seen Fallon defeat the worst of the Dark Young. Her mind cleared and she saw hundreds of Hawks who felt the same.

  She found her voice. ‘Hawks of Ro,’ she commanded. ‘I am your queen. To arms!’

  As if waking from a terrible nightmare, those warriors of Ro who had not already fled into the trees clambered out of the gully to stand on the muddy grass. They were a grim bunch, wielding an array of well-used blades, spears and maces, but they answered her command as if they were glad of it.

  The Hounds had been expecting to mop up after the creature that had been Rham Jas. After a second assault from the maddened beast, the Hawks would have been
a quivering mass of crying men, an easy victory for the Hounds. But the creature was gone and the army of Ro was strengthened by the Knights of the Grey.

  Daganay tightened his fists round his mace, and Major Brennan, appearing along the gully at the point of the massed Hawks, grunted orders to those behind him. With the addition of the new warriors, the dark fields of Narland were now dominated by soldiers of Ro.

  ‘Not looking good for you lot,’ roared Fallon, grinning at the Hounds. ‘Last chance to run – or every one of you dies.’

  The Karesians were close now; the uniform texture of their black armour shone clearly in the moonlight. When they stopped barely ten paces from the line of Grey Knights, Gwen – and every warrior of Tor Funweir – was ready to tear them apart.

  ‘Boo!’ shouted Sergeant Ohms, loud enough to make a huge cluster of Karesians jump backwards in surprise.

  In a spectacle that would have been funny at any other time, ten thousand Hounds turned and fled, their plate armour clanking through the night air the loudest sound she’d heard since waking from her stupor. The Hawks strode forward to join the line of Grey Knights, jeering at the retreating Hounds. It was a strange kind of victory, fuelled by anger, grief and desperation, but seeing the Hounds flee gave a jewel of hope back to the defenders of Tor Funweir.

  ***

  They called themselves Knights of the Grey, but Gwen thought Protectors of Tor Funweir was more appropriate, for that is how they were seen. When the maddening delirium of the Dark Young had passed, the army of Ro looked to the knights as shimmering beacons of the One’s favour. Their word was obeyed without question, and their stated intention to protect the surviving people of Ro had galvanized the army.

  Unfortunately for Gwen, the death of her husband had doubled her already considerable cynicism and she struggled not to find reasons to argue with Fallon the Grey.

  ‘I don’t understand why we can’t march south and assault Weir a second time,’ she said. She hoped that the knights would be enough to turn the tide.

  ‘Because we would all die,’ replied Fallon.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ spat Gwen.

  He leant in, his head entering the globe of light under their thin canvas roof. The pavilion was modest, but kept off the rain as she argued with Fallon and his knights.

  ‘I know that the queen lives,’ said the exemplar. ‘I know that her army lives – and I know that countless people of Ro still live free. Victories and defeats are fluid both. You win here, you lose there. All that matters is who lives when the battlefield is quiet. But the One God will pick no more fights until those who live are cared for.’

  ‘The Walls of Ro,’ said William Verellian. ‘We hold north of Cozz and use the Walls as they were intended. General Frith will fortify Tiris and—’

  ‘And Tor Funweir will stand a little longer,’ offered Fallon.

  They were right and she hated them for it. Surely there was a last-ditch plan, a desperate gambit that would ensure victory. Even without Xander, she struggled to accept defeat. They were giving up the south to the Lands of the Twisted Tree. Perhaps, in time, they’d be forced to give up the north as well. Her mind leapt forward, thinking of the men yet to take the field of battle. Malaki Frith and his Red Knights. Could ten thousand more make a difference? She couldn’t imagine so, not when the Dark Young could annihilate five thousand Knights of the Dawn with no apparent effort. And the other great cities of Ro? Leith was already firmly under heel, but Arnon could be defended, for a time at least. Eventually, they’d have to choose between the church city and the capital at Ro Tiris.

  There was nowhere for her mind to go but back to the peaceful sitting room in Ro Haran, perched next to Xander on a comfortable sofa. With no battles to fight and no struggles to endure, they were alone and at peace.

  CHAPTER 24

  TYR NANON IN THE CITY OF RO WEIR

  HE DROPPED SILENTLY into the water and pulled himself along wooden pillars, under the small jetty. Keisha followed and they swam through shadows towards the eastern harbour of Weir. The guards above were watchmen of Ro, given the easy job of patrolling the coast while the Hounds secured the muster fields and pursued the fleeing army of Ro. Hundreds of troop transports were at anchor in the bay, forming a constantly moving supply of reinforcements from Karesia. The clank of steel armour and the crack of whips filled the air and he imagined Weir was now little more than a waypoint from which to subjugate Tor Funweir. Or perhaps it would be the new capital of the Twisted Tree, with its Mistress of Pain as Tyrant.

  He stopped at the edge of the jetty, looking along the low stone walls for a way into the city.

  ‘I don’t like the banner,’ said Keisha, treading water next him. ‘Can we pull it down?’

  ‘That’s not why we’re here,’ he replied. ‘And we need to get into the city first. There’s a Tyrant in there somewhere and we’re going to kill her.’

  ‘You mean I’m going to kill her?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Yes, I do mean that.’

  ‘Let’s get moving then,’ said the Kirin girl, swimming past him to the rocky coast, beyond which the southern walls rose.

  It was dark, and the ripples they made in the water were too gentle to be seen by any patrol or lookout. They were distant from the arriving Hounds and approaching the port side of Weir. He was searching for the enchantress, but his mind didn’t show him an easy path. The Mistress of Pain was stronger than when he had last felt her, though she was not yet the invincible force she wanted to be.

  ‘Do you think the king got away?’ asked Keisha, gliding along next to him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I wish I’d known there were that many. Not that I could have persuaded the king to turn back. For now, just be glad there are no more Dark Young in the city.’

  Sloping walls of interlocking rocks rose above them, with water lapping at the base. Algae and seaweed made the lower rocks slippery, but it was a short climb to the docks above. They waited, treading water until the coast was clear. It was a strange thing to be infiltrating Weir again. Nanon had done it only recently, under less restrictive circumstances, just before Rham Jas died. On that occasion, an old water pipe had provided an ideal point of entry. That water pipe was now deep within a military camp and was inaccessible.

  ‘How many men are we going to have to kill to get in there?’ asked Keisha nervously.

  ‘As few as possible. Killing people makes noise.’

  He saw a gap in the patrolling men and pulled himself out of the water, sprawling as close as possible against the lowest rocks. Silently, he crawled upwards on his stomach, his limbs spread wide like a lizard leaving the ocean. His hands and feet found small gaps in the rocky incline, allowing him to scuttle to the wooden docks above. He gradually raised his head and scanned the eastern harbour of Weir. There were swaying lanterns, positioned along the huge docks, but many were broken, and there were dozens of gaps between globes of light.

  He heard moaning from Keisha as she struggled to follow him. Though inhumanly dextrous, the dark-blood was not yet comfortable with her abilities. She worked too hard, using too much effort and not trusting her body.

  ‘Just relax,’ he whispered. ‘Your blood will look after you.’

  ‘Like it looked after my father?’ she replied, crawling level with him.

  He looked at her, her dusky skin barely visible in the darkness, but her face was locked in an intense stare. She was nervous. ‘Your mind needs to relax more than your body, Kirin girl.’

  ‘Just let me relax in my own time,’ she replied, clasping the wooden platform with both hands and springing upwards. She landed in a silent crouch on the wood and darted across to disappear into shadow behind a line of barrels.

  Nanon chuckled. Keisha wasn’t the best at climbing, but skulking in darkness appeared to be second nature. He followed, jumping behind the barrels just as three guardsmen walked across their field of vision. Keisha was lying on her stomach, scanning the nearby gates and the port s
ide of Weir. The city looked smaller from the south, with the sloped highways of the Old Town obscured behind high walls. But still the banner was visible. He imagined he’d be able to see the Twisted Tree no matter where he stood in the city of Weir. He liked it no more than did his companion, but while it still flew it was good motivation to carry on.

  ‘Gates are guarded,’ whispered Keisha. ‘Where does that door go?’ She pointed to a smaller entrance, further along the walls. It was unguarded and sat beneath a stone balcony. Though dozens of men patrolled the area, their route was haphazard and they paid little attention to the smaller door.

  He pushed out his mind, trying again to find a route to the enchantress. He saw beyond the walls and the lattice of streets and alleys that snaked within, but the Mistress of Pain was somehow guarded. He winced as a point of pain flashed across his eyes. ‘Damn,’ he exclaimed, rubbing his face. ‘She’s strong. Stronger than she should be. Something has changed.’

  ‘You said you could find her,’ said Keisha, still looking at the small door.

  ‘Maybe if we get closer,’ he replied. ‘That door leads to silos, above the catacombs. It’s where they store their grain.’

  ‘I don’t think their grain is worth guarding.’

  He nodded and they edged forward, crawling flat across the wooden planking. They were distant from the main gate and the multitudes of arriving Hounds, but still they crawled between scattered patrols of Ro guardsmen. From one sliver of darkness to the next, their short journey took time and patience. Nanon didn’t need to instruct Keisha on how to stay hidden, but she needed reminding to stay patient. She tried to cover the ground too quickly and he had to stop her several times, reiterating that waiting was often the best policy. The guards were not looking for two people trying to sneak into the grain silos. They weren’t really looking for anything. They were just a fingernail of an enormous hand, given a random assignment to keep them busy while the Mistress of Pain planned her next move.