Ravensoul

Chapter 22

It felt like slipping into the most exquisite tailored clothes. The enemy were on his doorstep, his oldest friends presumably wanted him dead and the fate of Balaia rested squarely on his shoulders. And it felt now as if not a single stitch were out of place. Birthright, Dystran had just called it.

‘Destiny,’ said Brynar, who had been given a chance to redeem himself.

The word didn’t matter too much. The three of them clinked their cut crystal glasses, full of the finest Blackthorne red from the cellars, and drank.

‘You know the most amazing thing of all is the energy I feel. I really can do all that I have promised. I can rule here and make Xetesk a power to rival any other in any dimension, known or not. Birthright? More like reborn.’

‘But to be complete, to truly own Xetesk and by definition now, Balaia, to have the unwavering loyalty of the Circle Seven for long enough, there is one more thing you must do,’ said Dystran.

‘And what is that?’ asked Denser, mind bright with opportunity and hazy with authority. Damn it if he didn’t feel a little drunk.

Dystran indicated the three huge and ancient leather- and brass-bound books he had brought with him from the catacombs.

‘You have always been something of a rebel. Accommodated by such lords as Styliann because of your rather unique aptitude for Dawnthief. But the time has come, my Lord Denser, to write your name indelibly into the lore of this college. You must take the “y” into your name. Let it speak for the power you wield as it has done throughout the generations of our great college. Become a true Lord of Xetesk.’

He patted the book. Denser felt a frisson of discomfort. Ever since he could remember, he’d fought against this. Seen himself more as a fighter against the system. For a moment it was difficult to admit he now was the system.

‘It is not a big change,’ continued Dystran.

‘Wrong. It changes me forever.’

‘Surely that has already happened,’ said Dystran.

Denser considered briefly and then nodded. Dystran opened the book to display a double spread of pages. On the left-hand page, wrapped in ornate decoration, was his own name and beneath it those of the Circle Seven and other named mages and officers of influence or particular bravery or commendation. The page opposite was blank. Brynar had inked a pen and he gave it to Denser. Dystran turned the book to face him and held the page flat.

Denser bent to write then let the pen hover. He closed his eyes and fought his doubt. So many years about to be washed away. So much youthful anger and righteous thought. And it had brought him full circle. He suspected that Styliann, Nyer, Laryon — all of those who had nurtured and schooled him — had known all along. Presumably it was why they had tolerated him at all.

Denser put the pen to the heavy parchment and wrote in careful, Xeteskian lore script:

D-e-n-s-y-r

He leaned back when it was done and looked. Fitting. Entirely fitting.

‘You are so named,’ said Dystran. ‘I, Dystran…’

‘And I, Brynar.’

‘… witness the taking of “y by the mage Denser, who shall now be remembered in perpetuity through the lore of our college.’ Dystran took the book back and blotted Denser’s work expertly.

‘The scribes will do the rest. I think a full ceremony is out of the question until we are safe from the Garonin. Do you agree?’

Densyr nodded. ‘I do.’

‘And what are my Lord’s next wishes?’ asked Brynar.

Densyr looked out on a quiet Xeteskian evening. His people scurried about, doing his bidding, securing his city and seeking out the few dissenters.

‘Where are we with our — ahem — high-profile handful of rebels?’

Densyr had taken the news that the dead had departed en masse inside a dragon’s Klene with some relief. He didn’t much care where they had gone though he presumed it would not be far from the city. But what it did mean was that the blood of the dead, and more importantly The Raven, was no longer on his hands. And it might still deflect a portion of the enemy’s attention from the college.

‘We are yet to find where they are hiding this time,’ said Brynar. ‘General Suarav is confident they are scattered about the city.’

‘That is no basis for confidence and you can tell Suarav from me that I believe he is wrong. Blackthorne, Gresse, our TaiGethen friends

… scattered, no. They are together and plotting something stupid, I have no doubt. I want them caught and incarcerated. Killed if they resist. They are taking precious resource from the city’s defence. Tell me you still have Diera and young Hirad under close observation?’

Brynar paused just a little too long. Densyr sighed.

‘My last report is of her in conversation with Auum of the TaiGethen. They were followed from the college but I have had no reports since.’

‘Terrific,’ said Densyr. ‘And you know why that is? It’s because anyone who followed them is undoubtedly dead. Did no one listen to me when I said the TaiGethen were dangerous? This isn’t steep-stairs dangerous. This is get-slaughtered-in-a-heartbeat-unless-you-are-unbelievably-careful dangerous. Am I clear?

‘And so Auum has Diera too. All I need now is Sol to come riding in on a white charger and my day will be complete.’

‘Um…’ began Brynar.

‘You’re about to tell me that’s already happened?’

‘No, but there were other reports following your speech and the instructions from General Suarav. Guards have reported people saying that there are wolves and panthers in the city.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Wol-’

‘I heard you. Go away. Dystran go with him. He clearly needs an older, wiser head to help him.’

‘Of course, my Lord Densyr,’ said Dystran. ‘Do you have any other requirements?’

‘I trust you, Dystran. Do what you consider needs doing. And send me Septern. I feel in need of good news. At least he won’t let me down.’

Densyr watched the two mages leave. The door closed behind them. He stood up, drained his glass and refilled it. He stood over the Book of Names. It held the name of every Lord of the Mount since the sundering. And now it held his. Living up to this was not going to be easy.

Densyr took his glass and walked out onto his balcony. Panthers. That meant ClawBound were loose. Not good. And wolves. Wolves just had to mean that Thraun was back and had found Diera too. Their bond would certainly be strong enough after all their shared time on Herendeneth. The years when Thraun was lost to himself.

Panthers or wolves. He found himself wondering which would be better and quicker at tearing out his throat. He was still itching at his neck when the door opened to admit Septern.

The Klene was being buffeted again by the void of inter-dimensional space. The dead had been left outside the walls of the city, no more than a mile distant, and asked to trust that The Raven could deliver their loved ones to them soon. The Raven, returning to Xetesk, had no idea how they were to make good on their promise.

Sha-Kaan’s and Jonas’s minds were locked together while the dragon sought Diera through him. All The Raven quartet could do was hang on and hope purchase was found soon. Sha-Kaan would be unable to make absolute connection with Diera so their landing was going to be hit and miss but it was better than nothing.

Sol, hanging on to one of Sha-Kaan’s forelimbs, couldn’t take his eyes off Jonas. His back throbbed and occasionally sent shooting pains throughout his body but Ilkar had done enough to give him some movement and had staunched the bleeding.

Jonas looked so terribly small where he lay in the crook of Sha-Kaan’s other forelimb. He was not conscious though he burbled and cried out from time to time. His face was pale and sweating and his breathing was too shallow and fast.

‘How long can he keep this up?’ asked Sol.

‘I will not let him suffer harm,’ said Sha-Kaan, opening one of his huge blue eyes, its centre a flat black slit. ‘He is strong. In his father’s image.’

‘And how’s it going?’ asked Hirad. ‘This is making me feel seasick.’

He and Sirendor had secured themselves to Sha-Kaan’s left rear claws with belts. Hirad was clutching the claw in both arms too. Sirendor appeared to be asleep, though how he was able to do that was beyond Sol. The Klene thumped again, like a ship on a down swell.

‘Frail human,’ rumbled Sha-Kaan. ‘We can sense Diera. We know she is calm and safe. But the city is not so large that I can open the Klene anywhere and expect to find her. If we are wrong by five per cent, we might find ourselves inside the college. Patience, my old friend. It will not be long.’

Sol smiled to himself. How gentle the great dragon was and how terrifying he had been when first they had encountered him. A lot of years ago now. But he had changed from the haughty king of his brood and user of man into something so rich and deep. Jonas loved him. Hirad did too. Sol could understand why, and a pang of jealousy crept into his heart for that which he could never fully know himself.

The Klene thumped again. Sol imagined it as a tail behind a behemoth, swishing this way and that, searching for a comfortable place to coil. And again. Sha-Kaan’s eye flicked open once more, and this time his pupil was narrow to the point of invisibility. A sound reverberated through the Klene like a distant impact. A second was much closer.

‘We are discovered,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Prepare to-’

To Sha-Kaan’s right a section of the Klene crashed inwards. One of the huge fireplaces disappeared into fragments. A howling wind tore into the chamber, grabbing and sucking.

‘Hold on!’ shouted Sha-Kaan above the din of the gale.

The dragon’s neck twisted and his head darted towards the hole, which was as big as a house. Loose debris was being dragged out of the hole, through which Sol could see nothing but a roiling brown mass shot with pale flecks like snow. Sha-Kaan opened his mouth and discharged a searing tongue of flame into the void. The sound of screams was surely a figment of Sol’s imagination.

What wasn’t his imagination was the increase in the power of the wind in the Klene, nor the voracious nature of the hole in its side. The ragged edge was growing by the heartbeat. Sol saw pieces being torn away and sucked into the void. And Sha-Kaan was beginning to slide himself.

‘How do we stop this?’ yelled Sol, but the noise was far too great to be heard.

Like the scything of a mighty claw, a rent was dragged in the left-hand wall of the Klene. The wind of the void was all-consuming. It roared from side to side. It tore the mantels from the walls, ash from the grates and the Kaan crest from above the Great Kaan.

Down on the ground, Ilkar, Hirad and Sirendor were hanging on desperately to Sha-Kaan’s claws even while the dragon was being dragged slowly across the floor to the larger hole. Sha-Kaan’s head spun and he looked first at Jonas before twisting down to Sol.

‘We must make purchase on Balaia. Then I can fight.’

‘Anywhere,’ said Sol.

The Klene rattled as if some ancient God had picked it up and shaken it. Sol’s grasp was broken. Jonas, poor unconscious Jonas, was thrown like a rag doll into the teeth of the wind and sucked helplessly towards the gaping, expanding opening. Sha-Kaan roared.

‘Jonas!’ Sol cried and tried to steady himself.

Pressed against the floor, he found a little purchase. Above him, Sha-Kaan’s neck writhed and twisted as he fought to keep Jonas from being drawn into the void. But it was as if the wind had fingers and they plucked the boy away from him.

Sha-Kaan moved to place his bulk against the hole. A second rent appeared in the opposite wall. And a third. Sol saw the flash of metal beyond, just for a beat. Jonas had woken and was screaming for help. There was blood on his face. Sol didn’t pause. He sprang from the floor, diving upwards.

The wind caught him and propelled him further up. Jonas flashed by. Sol reached out a hand and grasped his son’s leg. Their combined weight brought them both down to the stone floor, hard. Sol landed back first, Jonas square on top of him, winding him. His wound flared pain.

‘It’s all right, son. It’s all right, I’ve got you.’ The stone floor shuddered. Slabs rippled and bucked. ‘Oh no.’

Sol turned his head where he lay. Sha-Kaan was moving across the floor towards them. Of Hirad, Sirendor and Ilkar, there was no sign. The Great Kaan’s head snaked out, mouth agape. A thundering crash reverberated through the Klene. The wind strengthened yet more. And Sol, with Jonas clinging to him, was sliding feet first along the floor.

‘Hang on!’

About ten yards ahead of them much of the floor had gone. They picked up speed. Sol tried to dig in his feet but there was no grip to be had on the polished stone. A shadow whipped overhead. Sha-Kaan’s head and neck arced past and thrust into the hole. Flame gorged out. He withdrew.

Sol’s slide was unstoppable. His back bumped over broken stone at the edge of the hole. He flailed with one hand and gripped briefly but the gale was too strong.

‘Close your eyes, Jonas. It’ll be over soon.’

Sol felt hot breath firing over his shoulder. His vision filled with scale and fangs and he was airborne once again. He grabbed Jonas even closer to him as they swung wildly in the air. Sha-Kaan’s neck withdrew to the formal ‘s’ shape and he reared high. Sol felt the bone of the dragon’s fangs scrape his shoulders and upper right arm. Sha-Kaan held him as lightly as he could.

Through the smashed floor of the Klene, in the midst of the maelstrom, Sol could make out indistinct shapes.

‘What now?’ he yelled.

‘Now we land,’ said Jonas, and he’d be damned if the boy wasn’t actually smiling.

Abruptly, the Klene stopped its juddering and the wind lost much of its power. Sol could still hear the roar as the chaos passed by the openings the Garonin had torn in the fabric of the Klene but the sucking and grabbing strength had ebbed almost to nothing.

Sha-Kaan moved swiftly, placing Jonas and Sol on the ground.

‘Beware,’ he said. ‘They are outside.’

Sol became acutely aware that he had neither armour nor weapons. He backed away to a safer section of wall, keeping Jonas behind him.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked, imagining them being pulled helplessly into eternal night.

‘They chose a safer place to be,’ said Sha-Kaan, glancing back over his body.

And there they were. All three of them. Unclasping their arms from the very tip of Sha-Kaan’s tail. Hirad stood and brushed himself down; Ilkar was rolling his shoulders and Sirendor flexing his legs. All looked battered and bruised. But still here.

Without warning, Sha-Kaan turned his head and breathed fire into the gaping hole in the floor. Flame boiled around its edges, smoke billowed. This time Sol did hear the screams above the roaring of the wind.

‘You must leave now,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘We need to stay and fight with you,’ said Hirad.

‘No. They cannot hurt me. In a blink I will be back on Beshara.’

The door began to open inwards, revealing a night-time scene.

‘Where are we?’ asked Sirendor.

‘We’re about to find out,’ said Hirad.

Sol walked towards the door, the others following him.

‘Jonas,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Yes, Sha.’

‘Your mother is quite close. Go. I will be here when you need me again.’

Jonas smiled. Sol put an arm about his shoulder, as much for support for himself as comfort for his son. His back, shoulder, arm and legs were all protesting.

‘I must warn you of one thing,’ said Sha-Kaan. Sol turned. The dragon was not looking at them but tracking something beyond the Klene. ‘They are closer than you think. And they move faster than you know. Good luck, my friends.’

The Raven and Jonas walked out into a mercifully quiet night in Xetesk.