Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Hirad glanced at the other man, Thraun. He was huge, a man who could have given even The Unknown cause for thought. His long sword was at his side and he absently scratched at his brown-flecked blond beard as he stared into the night.

A rustling behind him caught Hirad’s attention and he looked over his shoulder to see the cat entering the camp site. All was clearly far from well. It stumbled and swayed as if intoxicated as it moved towards the barbarian; and in the dim light from the coals, he could see its coat, as dull now as its eyes, ragged and unkempt.

‘Gods, Hirad, look at it,’ said Richmond.

Hirad nodded, scooped the stricken animal up and placed it inside his jerkin, against his skin, wincing as the cold of the cat touched the warmth of his flesh.

‘Yours, is it?’ asked Will.

‘It belongs to Denser. It’s dying.’

‘Obviously,’ said Will.

Hirad shot him a sharp glance. ‘It can’t be allowed to happen. We need Denser right now.’ He glanced over to Richmond and Talan. ‘It’s time we sorted ourselves out.’

‘So what was your plan?’ asked Richmond of the others.

‘Stealth,’ said Jandyr. ‘We’ve identified a way in through the back and were waiting for dead of night to go in when your friends were taken past. We’d just decided to wait further when you came along.’

‘Hmm.’ Hirad sucked his lip. ‘I’m not sure that’ll work now. They’re going to be expecting some form of attack from us.’

‘But not from seven people,’ said Thraun. ‘Only three.’

‘Interesting,’ murmured Talan. Then, louder, ‘Your wife, what’s her schooling?’

‘Dordovan, I told you . . .’ began Alun.

‘No, no, sorry. I mean is she principally offensive or defensive?’

Alun looked blank for a moment. ‘Well, neither, really. She’s a research mage – a Lore Scribe. Or she will be.’

‘But does she cast?’ pushed Talan.

‘Never to hurt others.’ Alun was definite.

‘Excellent,’ said Talan. ‘Even if Travers is controlling her, it makes a Rage all that much more likely to succeed.’

‘A what?’ Will frowned.

Hirad smiled. ‘Perhaps we could interest you in The Raven’s chaos tactic.’

They had broken three ribs and one, at the base of his rib cage, had cracked back to threaten his lungs. The blows had become more and more brutal, moving from his stomach to his chest and, finally, to his legs.

Then they had left him, hanging and bleeding from a dozen places outside and, when he went within, two inside. One of these, on his liver, felt serious. He ached. His battered legs shot pain into his back if he tried to stand; and his arm and broken ribs flared if he hung from his wrists.

Through the ill-fitting drapes in the hall, Ilkar thought he could see the first hint of dawn. His heart sank and he wondered if there was any point in keeping himself going. It was taking the last of his strength. Better to shut off and let himself die.

He tried to hate Denser then. Hate him for trapping The Raven into their futile and doomed action. Hate him for causing the deaths of his friends. Hate him for being Xeteskian and sleeping on, unaware of the agony Ilkar was enduring.

But he found he couldn’t. Denser, for all his arrogance, had been telling the truth – the evidence was overwhelming. The discovery of the Dawnthief parchment, the fight with the Destranas, Gresse’s word about the Wesman build-up. It all fitted with a return of the Wytch Lords and a Xeteskian drive to recover the only spell capable of beating them.

He shuddered. At least in dying he’d be out of the battle for Balaia. A battle where there probably wouldn’t be any winners. He breathed in hard and coughed up blood, gasping in pain as his lung pushed against broken bone. He straightened his legs slowly, relieving pressure on his numb arms, wincing as the bruising in his hips pulsed agony right across his back.

They’d been away a few minutes now. Ilkar frowned. Would they bother to ask him any more questions? Gods, he hoped so. At least that would mean they’d put him back in the chair. Where had they gone? Travers had said he’d be back. Ilkar wondered if they were talking to Denser but presumed he would still be drugged asleep. He blew out his lips. More likely they were having breakfast or something.

The double doors at the end of the room opened and Travers walked in, flanked by two men. Bottle in one hand, glass in the other, the Captain had a pronounced stagger now.

‘Fourth bottle!’ he shouted, waving it at Ilkar. ‘Maybe I’ll beat the record today.’

‘Or die trying, if we’re lucky,’ muttered the mage.

‘Sorry, Ilkar, did you say something? You’ll have to speak up.’ Travers shambled towards his chair but another sight behind him caught Ilkar’s attention. Stripped to the waist, head down and carried in between Isman and another was Denser. His feet were dragging across the floor and he looked for all the world as if he was dead.

They hauled him to a chair and set him in it, holding his shoulders to stop him falling to the ground. Travers laughed and Ilkar turned to find the Captain staring at him.

‘That’s the trouble with this drug of ours. A touch too much and you don’t want to wake up. And we had so much we needed to ask Denser, and he needed such persuading to wake up and talk to us.’ Travers’ expression became one of mocking solemnity. ‘I’m afraid he didn’t agree with us for rather a long time.’

Ilkar could imagine the pain Denser was feeling. He could see harsh red marks on his upper body and, here and there, weals brought up by a whip or belt. He only hoped the Xeteskian was still numbed by the drug.

Travers drank directly from the bottle and stood up, swaying. He staggered back a step and would have fallen over his chair had not a soldier removed it smartly from his path. The Captain’s face was bright red, his eyes hooded but wild and his chest heaving.

‘And now we come to the first of two choices.’ His speech, now slurred badly, would soon be unintelligible. He moved to stand between Ilkar and Denser, contriving to look at neither of them.

‘One.’ He held up a finger. ‘Do you answer my questions honestly or do I have to carry on convincing you it is the only way? And you will bend to my will eventually.’

Travers looked from one to the other. Ilkar stared at Denser, who showed no reaction at all. The elf could see his chest moving though it juddered from some very imaginable pain.

‘Nice try, Travers,’ said Ilkar. ‘Seems as though you’ll have to carry on.’

‘Two!’ barked Travers, holding two fingers aloft. He drank from his bottle again, spirit dripping from his slack mouth, which he wiped with the back of a hand. ‘In that case, which of you wants to see the other one die?’

Ilkar almost felt relieved. At least it would mean an end to the agony. He regretted not seeing Hirad again but he was beginning to believe the barbarian was indeed already dead. He would have volunteered to die but it was obvious that Travers had dragged Denser in here for one reason only. Ilkar doubted he could close his mind to Denser’s torment.

He gazed over at the Dark Mage, feeling genuine sympathy for the first time.

‘Goodbye, Denser,’ he whispered.

Denser’s body jerked violently and he clasped under his right arm with his left hand. He lifted his head and the sight made Ilkar flinch. He was all but unrecognisable. Blood matted his features, his nose skewed to the right, his mouth was a swollen bubble of raw red and his eyes mere slits behind the swelling. He coughed and stared straight at Ilkar, and his mouth, incredibly, spread into a grin.

‘They’re here,’ he croaked.

From beyond the hall, there was a shout of warning, then something more bestial, and mayhem moved to reign in the Black Wings’ castle.

Chapter 15

Hirad was already having to concede, to himself, that Will could be useful. Useful enough to stay with The Raven after they’d dealt with the Black Wings, in fact. Fate was a curious thing, he concluded. He had to admit that he had thought of no one he’d want to recruit and yet now he’d literally bumped into three. Assuming they survived, of course. And then assuming he could persuade them to join The Raven. It wouldn’t be as easy as it once was.

He could no longer offer people guaranteed work, well paid, and a reputation they could carry before them. Now the deal was almost certain death in pursuit of a cause of which only half the country seemed convinced and the other half looked to disrupt or destroy. And then maybe some reward. Hardly an enticing prospect.

Alun was not of the right calibre and Hirad doubted he’d care to travel with them anyway. But Thraun, with his solid muscle, and the elven bowman Jandyr would make ideal additions. It made Hirad wonder what The Raven would have been like with them as members in earlier times. Better times.

And then there was Will. Surly, sneering and ungrateful he seemed to be, talented he certainly was. It wasn’t only his swift and accurate scouting of the area around the castle that impressed Hirad, but the way he had just climbed the wall behind the stable block as if it were a ladder. One end of the rope the wiry man had carried with him sailed back over the wall and dropped at the barbarian’s feet. He glanced at it, then at Thraun, who smiled.

‘Good, isn’t he?’ he said. Hirad nodded, hauled the rope taut and began climbing. In less than two minutes they were all in the grounds of the Black Wings’ castle.

‘Right,’ whispered Will. ‘The only guards outside the house are by the main gates. I couldn’t see any signs of a roving watch but that’s no reason to get careless. As you can see, the main building is about thirty paces away. We’re in deep shadow here and safe from the house. I estimate the house to be a good one hundred and fifty feet on the longer side and maybe ninety feet on this side.’ Will pointed behind him, then looked squarely at Hirad. ‘And now it’s up to you.’

‘Nothing to it,’ said the barbarian. ‘I’ll decide directions when we get inside, and the way in is through the nearest window.’ He set off for the corner of the house. Reaching it, he looked left down the short side which led to the front before peering in through the darkened window before him. He shrugged and was about to speak when he felt Jandyr at his shoulder. The elf leaned in close and nodded.

‘Empty,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a study or something like that. Definitely small and definitely empty.’

‘Excellent,’ said Hirad. He drew back a fist.

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Will.

‘Getting inside,’ said Hirad.

‘I’ve got a better way.’ Will fetched a thin strip of metal from his belt and fed it between the windows. He foraged briefly, found the catch, jerked the metal up and popped it. The window swung gently open. ‘After you,’ he said, stepping back.

Hirad glared at him before climbing over the sill and padding towards the room’s only door. He listened as the others made their way inside and could hear nothing. He turned back to the room.

‘Right. When there’s opportunity, Talan, Richmond, take Alun and Will and get upstairs. I’ll stay down with the others.’ He cracked the door a fraction, enough to know it was dark inside. He beckoned Jandyr over. The elf looked in briefly then withdrew and closed the door.

‘It’s small. A drawing room or something. There’s a curtained opening ahead and right and a door at the top of the left wall.’

Hirad nodded and removed his cloak, the cat dropping to the ground and looking around itself, ears and nose gathering further information. ‘Good. We’ll split here. Talan, take the left.’ He opened the door and moved inside. ‘Anyone not sure, take a lead from a Raven man. Ready?’ Murmurs of assent told him they were. He drew his sword from his scabbard and grinned at Richmond and Talan. ‘RAVEN!’ he roared. ‘Raven and Rage!’

He strode to the opening and swept the curtain aside, allowing light to spill in from beyond. He howled, a sound immediately taken up by The Raven, and marched down a short passage, clashing his sword against the stone wall, feeling a high as Will and the others joined the discordant chorus.

The bestial screams and shouts, the sound of metal on stone, heavy boots on timber echoed about him. He could feel the blood surging in his veins, feel his muscles empowered, his ears ringing and his eyes wild. He broke from his walk, moving into the light at a dead run, only dimly aware that the cat had streaked away in front of him.

There were men in there, two of them. He laughed, his teeth bared, and rushed them. The first froze and Hirad barely paused in his stride, hacking the man down on his way to the second, whose token resistance was swept aside like a stray hair from his face. He roared again, deep in his throat, stopping to take stock.

It was a kitchen. He was by a double door. More doors were ahead of him. Jandyr and Thraun stood in front of a third.

‘See how it works? See how it works? Now we split, one each way. Shout loud and keep moving or you’ll die.’ He turned, kicked open the doors by him and charged inside, another scream forming on his lips, the cat hard on his heels.

Talan hammered through the door in front of him and saw a windowed opening right and a door left. He pointed right, not pausing in his stride as he took the left route, yelling Will’s name as he went. They burst into a large room with fireplaces and windows down the far wall. Double doors occupied the bottom right-hand corner and Talan ran at these, howling as he went, kicking over chairs and tables and clashing his sword on the stone-clad wall. Will did his best to keep up, his initial self-consciousness lost in a wave of excitement.

On Talan’s signal, Richmond crashed through the windowed opening, showering glass and wood into an enclosed quadrangle. Richmond exulted, crushing shrubs and plants underfoot and sparing a brief glance at the night sky above as he moved towards doors he could see in the glass-panelled wall to his left. Alun was hard on his heels. Halfway there, the doors opened, and a swordsman stepped into the quad. Richmond bellowed and increased his pace; the swordsman merely smiled and stood his ground. Battle was joined in a clash of sparks and the clamorous ring of metal.

Jandyr and Thraun exchanged a look of near disbelief as Hirad smashed his way through the double doors. The elf shrugged, drew in a huge breath and shuddered a guttural noise from deep within himself, his fists clenched about his bow. Thraun nodded, turned on his heel and ran for the doors in the far wall, his yell, truly animalistic, bouncing from the walls.

Jandyr nocked an arrow, kicked open the single panel next to him and looked on to a flight of stairs heading down. Now his hunter instincts cut in and, bow ready before him, he slipped soundlessly on to the first step, his eyes piercing the gloom easily, his nose twitching at a smell of stale sweat tinged with urine and blood.

There was a dim light below, coming from under a curtained opening. He took the stairs one at a time, absolutely silent as he progressed. There was at least one person behind the curtain, a stifled cough giving him away, and Jandyr moved to the right-hand edge of the curtain as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Satisfied that the man wasn’t close to the opening, the elf swept the curtain aside with his bowstring hand, keeping the arrow primed with the other. The sight before him all but made him laugh.

Thraun slapped the doors aside, moving through with an animal fluidity. A single guard stood outside a set of double doors to the right; and when the man’s bloodied corpse thumped to the floor he took in the rest of his situation. The entrance hall he found himself in was empty. In front of him, main doors. Left, more doors. He swung around, found stairs rising above him and, with a brief glance to the right from where he could hear fighting, climbed the flight three at a time.

The yell died on Hirad’s lips as he saw the scene in front of him. It was a huge room, draped and cold, and halfway down it, Ilkar was chained to the wall by his wrists. His head, hanging on his chest, lifted.

‘Hirad, thank the Gods.’

The barbarian sheathed his sword and ran over to the mage. ‘You’re alive at least,’ he said, slapping aside the catch on Ilkar’s right arm. The elf winced as he was released.

‘Careful,’ he said. ‘My ribs aren’t so good.’

‘Anything else?’ Hirad paused, looking into Ilkar’s eyes. Ilkar managed to turn up the corners of his mouth.

‘Legs, stomach, arms . . .’

Hirad nodded. ‘Lean into me,’ he said. He turned, back towards Ilkar, and felt the mage lean his head on his right shoulder. Reaching over his left, he slipped the catch on the other manacle. Ilkar had to cling on not to fall.

‘All right?’

‘No. But let me get my left arm round you and you can help me to one of those chairs over there.’

Hirad looked and saw Denser. He was lying flat on his back in front of the chairs, the cat burrowed under his right arm. His chest rose and fell, shuddering. The Raven pair edged over to the chairs, Hirad lowering Ilkar as gently as he could into one of them, turning his attention then to the Xeteskian.

Richmond fell back, breathing hard, clutching briefly at a cut in his sword arm just below the shoulder. He flapped behind him, hearing Alun move away.

‘Not so big now, eh, Raven man?’

Richmond said nothing.

‘You should have gone home. Nothing here but death.’

Richmond switched his sword to his other hand and squared up. His enemy raised his eyebrows, impressed in spite of himself. The Raven man edged to the right, hearing the whisper of sword from scabbard behind him.

‘Keep away, Alun, this doesn’t concern you.’

‘Yes it does. It’s my family they’ve got.’

‘The doting father, eh? What are you doing here?’ jibed the Black Wing. ‘Come to collect the bodies?’

‘Bastard,’ grated Alun. ‘Bastard!’ He lunged forwards from Richmond’s left. The Raven man reacted instantly, closing off the Black Wing’s route to Alun, only his enemy wasn’t there. Anticipating what Richmond would do, he moved the other way and plunged his sword into Richmond’s chest.

Richmond breathed his pain and fell to his knees, the metal hot between his ribs. It was yanked clear and he collapsed on to his front, his blood soaking his clothes and hair. He heard a short laugh of triumph, the sound of running moving into the dim distance, and then the world went silent.

Talan burst into the hallway, Will right behind him. Opposite them, a body lay in front of a set of double doors. To their right, stairs led up. Talan paused to listen and could hear Thraun, who had evidently gained the upper level already. He frowned. There was not enough noise and he couldn’t hear Richmond or Hirad.

‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ he shouted and clattered up the stairs. Will joined his cry and chased after him.

Alun watched Richmond drop to the ground, then turned and fled back the way they had come. His heart quailed in his chest, sweat crawled over his body and he was quivering. He was alone in a castle full of steel and death. He paused back in the corridor, about to run out into the night. Not quite alone. His blood still pumped life somewhere in this place. He chose the route back into the house – he had to find Will.

Isman, a smile on his face, saw Alun run. He would have chased him but there were others more deserving of his attention. And before them, he thought he might attend to the mages.

Travers staggered along the upper level, hammering on doors as he went, yelling for wakefulness. The sounds of The Raven filled his castle, and his solitude and condition hastened his step. He didn’t stop to check that his men had heard his cries, there was no time. Should the enemy reach the boys first and release them a blight would be unleashed on Balaia. Twin sons of a mage – there could be little more dangerous than that. And once they were dead, it would be time to terminate his association with their mother.

Denser lay back as the cat bit into him, feeling it draw power, knowing it regained its strength even as his ebbed still further. But there was a balance. There would always be balance. He was dimly aware of voices around him, one at least was directed at him, but he could not answer. Not yet. His right hand stroked the cat from memory as the animal sucked in his blood. There would be enough and the Badge would be his. Travers was doomed. He smiled.

The cat ceased its feeding and looked at him with eyes newly aflame. Their minds locked and he pushed an image of the Captain into their consciousness. Seek and return, he said. Bring him to me. You know what you have to do.

The cat blinked once, slowly.

I will live in your absence. Go.

The cat seemed satisfied, its purr almost a growl. It moved away from him and sized up the ways out of the room, but all the doors were closed.

‘What is going on?’ demanded Hirad. ‘That thing was eating him. I saw it.’

‘Hirad, please,’ gasped Ilkar. He was collapsed in a chair, trying very hard to remain conscious. The pain in his chest and his legs had grown to a new intensity, the internal bleeding had begun again and he needed peace to heal himself. ‘There are things you don’t know, but they’ll have to wait. I’m not feeling so good.’

‘Tell me what to do, then. I can help.’

‘By guarding us, letting us have peace and saving your questions. Where are the rest?’

Now Hirad drew breath and nodded. ‘We met some others. They’re here to rescue some woman. We’re Raging. The castle will be ours in a few minutes.’

Ilkar pushed himself painfully to the floor and lay beside Denser. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’ He closed his eyes just as the far doors opened once again. Seeing its chance, the cat streaked through them and away. Hirad tensed and moved out of Ilkar’s line of sight.

‘Isman.’

‘Hirad.’

And Jandyr would have laughed had the sight in front of him not been so pitiful. The man lay in the middle of a floor smeared with blood, his mouth open, unmoving. A weapon was clutched in one still hand and the wine he had been drinking dripped from the overturned goblet on to the ground.

‘A man who will not face his own death is no man at all,’ said Jandyr. There was no movement. ‘Dead men do not cough, my friend. You might as well abandon your pathetic charade. At least face me.’ Still no movement. ‘I have no time . . .’ Jandyr stretched his bow.

‘Please!’ The man jerked to a sitting position. ‘I don’t—’

‘Like I said, I have no time.’ He loosed the shaft, nocked another, turned and moved back up the stairs.

Travers rested on one wall of the narrow passage to the tower, frowning. The Raven were still moving through his castle. The shouts still echoed, though they were intermittent now. What worried him was that there were clearly more than three people attacking. He shrugged and moved on to and through the door to the guardroom. His two men stood to attention, swords drawn ready.

‘Good,’ he slurred. ‘We can’t leave this to chance. Those bastard sons cannot be allowed to leave the castle. Kill them.’

‘Sir?’ They exchanged a glance and hesitated.

‘They are not mere boys. If the bitch takes them back they will be powerful beyond all our capacity to control. See to it.’ One of the guards nodded and trotted up a spiral staircase in the corner of the room. There was the sound of young voices and then a door clanked shut.

Thraun sprinted along the top-level corridor. On his right, windows let on to an open quadrangle into which dim light spilled. He could hear the sounds of fighting from across the way. Ignoring a small opening to his left, he charged to a right-angle bend to the right, another roar ripping from his lungs. Double doors were ahead. They looked important. He kicked them open and ran inside.

Talan and Will split as they reached the top of the stairs. To their left, windows on to the quadrangle Richmond had taken. And right, an opening and two doors spaced further along the corridor. Will took the opening, saw a door in front of him and made towards it. Talan crashed through the first of the pair of doors and found himself in a large pillared room full of beds. Most were occupied, but some weren’t. Perhaps enough.

He squared up, cleared his head with a shout and bared his teeth. ‘Come on then, anyone think they can take me?’

Will heard Talan’s shout and tumbled through the door he’d found, drawing his dual short swords as he came up in a crouch position. His eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. The room seemed full of men and the only thing he could say with any certainty was that none of them had seen him. They were all moving in on Talan.

‘A pity,’ said Hirad. ‘You should have joined The Raven.’

Isman snorted. ‘One young blade in a band of old men. Instead I’m the man who’ll be responsible for the end of you all.’

‘Yeah?’ Hirad’s mind cleared as an adrenaline rush hit him. He flexed the muscles of his arms. ‘You died the same moment as Sirendor Larn, and The Raven will see this castle burn.’

He sprang forwards, sword before him, aiming a cut at Isman’s midriff. The Black Wing blocked it, moving sharply right and coming to a ready stance. Hirad searched his eyes for fear and found none. The two men circled each other. Hirad looked for a flaw in Isman’s posture and was impressed to find nothing. Both men used the long sword, both were finely balanced but only one had the enormous combat experience and the knowledge of countless one-to-one victories. It was he who launched a ferocious attack.

Initially stabbing forwards, Hirad used the momentum given him by Isman’s anticipated defence to follow up with a powered swing, bringing his blade through an arc from shoulder to hip. Isman couldn’t hope to be ready in time but his body reaction was pure instinct. He leaped backwards, Hirad’s strike missing him by less than an inch.

Out of position, the barbarian straightened in time to field Isman’s return before slashing horizontally in riposte. This time, Isman evaded with room to spare.

Hirad came back to ready, his muscles suddenly aching. He shook himself and the ache dimmed. Isman smiled and drove forwards, delivering four cross-strikes in fluid succession, driving Hirad up the room beyond where the two mages lay in helpless audience. Hirad heaved a breath and arrowed in a return, beating Isman’s guard and nicking the swordsman’s leather jerkin.

The Black Wing’s eyes narrowed and he squared again, wary now. Hirad switched his sword between his hands twice. His legs were leaden and dragged in his next attack, all but exposing his chest to Isman’s defensive swipe. Something was badly wrong. Hirad could feel his stamina flooding away but knew he couldn’t afford to tire in front of Isman.

The younger man lunged again; his disguised flick left tore a section of padding on Hirad’s left shoulder armour and his follow-up to the neck was blocked, but only just. Hirad was sweating hard and a cramping nausea gripped his stomach.

Isman’s smile widened, leaving his eyes hard. He strode forwards, his overhead strike knocking Hirad from his feet though his sword caught the force of the blow. The barbarian scrabbled backwards into a half-crouch and Isman slashed at his head. He blocked, ducked and even managed to stand but was ill prepared for the uppercut which knocked the sword from his hands. The blade clattered away over the stone-flagged floor and Hirad, his body shaking its pain and its fear, looked into Isman’s face.

‘I told you to go home, but you wouldn’t listen,’ he said, and plunged his sword into Hirad’s defenceless stomach. The Raven man’s legs gave way and he fell, not feeling the blade as Isman pulled it clear. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything. Or see anything. He could sense himself falling. It was a long way down.

Thraun had run into a large, plush room, dimly lit by the embers of a fire and two guttering braziers. It was all the light he needed. Standing in front of a door near the far left-hand corner of the room were two swordsmen. Thraun ran at them, uttering a roar that made one flinch visibly. He leapt a table and sofa in one bound and, two paces later, struck the sword arm from the first man.

Blood was everywhere. The man, too shocked to cry out, stared at the stump, gasping, his eyes wide and filled with tears of purest torment. The other faltered and Thraun took him through the chest, pushing his half-hearted block aside with contemptuous ease. The one-armed man had collapsed, whimpering, barely moving. Thraun pulled a dagger from his belt and opened his throat.

Pulling the bodies aside, he opened the door and ascended the stairs he found. At the top, another door was bolted shut. He slid the bolts back then paused in the act of turning the handle.

‘Erienne?’ he ventured. He heard a movement. ‘Erienne?’ he repeated. Nothing this time. He continued. ‘It’s Thraun. Can you hear me? Don’t prepare or cast. I am here to help.’ He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

For a second time, Talan slithered on the blood-slick floor and took a pace back from the three bodies already at his feet. Another trio were advancing, albeit without much conviction, having seen the short work Talan had made of their comrades.

But The Raven man was damaged. A cut on his right thigh was bleeding well and beginning to ache, and a slash across his chest made him very conscious of his breathing. And worse, he felt a heaviness in his limbs as if he’d been fighting all day. It was growing steadily and he wasn’t entirely sure he could fend off the next attack for too long. Still, there was one more ace up his sleeve. None of them had seen Will. The little man was behind them now and Talan didn’t think he was the kind of man to ask them to face him before he struck.

The three Black Wings closed. Talan breathed deep and squared up. He shook himself to relieve his tiredness, feinted right and struck left. His intended target blocked the blow, forcing his blade downwards as he jumped up and back. He was in no position to defend a second attack but Talan couldn’t risk exposing his right flank. He turned, fielded a clumsy overhead, and drove his blade deep into his assailant’s neck. One down.

He shuddered as he stepped back, ready for the attack he knew would come. The muscles of his back felt as if they were about to lock and his next breath was constricted and shallow. His eyes lost focus for a second and he slipped as he put his foot down. Seeing him off-balance, both men moved in. Talan braced himself, cleared his vision and roared to try to clear his mind.