Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 229 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

And the fate of all would be decided.

Chapter 39

The instrument in the hand of a Garonin grazed Hirad’s silhouette. Weakness flooded him and he dropped. The enemy advanced on him. He scrambled backwards, soul energy deserting him. The dead had scattered in front of the soldier. The instrument was a pale ball held in the palm of the hand. It had a neck like a gourd which ended in a needle-sharp point. The point was thrust at him again. He managed to roll aside. He came up against another silhouette, and this one did not flee.

Legs straddled his body and hands lashed out. The Garonin withered and crumpled.

‘I did it when I was alive and I’m still doing it now I’m dead,’ said Sirendor.

‘What?’

‘Saving your thick hide, that’s what.’

‘And you’re still moaning about it,’ said Hirad. He flowed to an upright position and felt the strength begin to return. ‘Best if you don’t let one of those things touch you.’

‘Valuable safety tip. Thanks, Hirad.’

Up ahead, Sol and Thraun were fighting their way towards a breach in the corridor. Auum’s Tai rushed into the flanks of a group of four Garonin who had dropped through a second breach. More helpless dead were drained of mana. More souls failed as they were pierced.

‘Let’s go,’ said Hirad. ‘It would be nice if some of you others decided to fight.’

‘Same as it ever was,’ said Sirendor. ‘Is it just me, or is this passageway starting to angle upwards.’

The pair of them flashed past the ranks of the dead, now broken into smaller groups. Some of them were trying to fight back but something was missing. Hirad ignored them. Sirendor was right. The passage had an incline to it now. Gentle here but it curved up ever more steeply.

‘Up to the top of the world,’ said Hirad.

A broad flash of light bathed the corridor. Hirad gazed to his left. The afterglow of an explosion lingered for a while in the midst of the void then was snatched away. Sha-Kaan’s mind touched his again.

‘You are close,’ he said. ‘The enemy is weakening.’

‘It doesn’t look much like it,’ said Hirad.

The corridor was full of Garonin. Right behind Sol, another breach had been forged in the base of the path. Garonin surged up. Dead fell in their hundreds under the onslaught. Sirendor raced ahead, planting his feet into the chest of an enemy, swivelling and driving right through the Garonin’s body.

‘That I must try,’ said Hirad.

The shade of the barbarian launched himself head first at his nearest enemy. The Garonin saw him coming, his hands came up, weapons in hand. Hirad was going too fast to avoid him. Sirendor washed past his vision. The Garonin stared at the stumps of his wrists. Hirad plummeted through his chest, feeling the faintest resistance and a glimmer of heat.

On the other side, he turned, feeling cold and a measure of sympathy that surprised him.

‘No souls,’ he breathed. ‘They’ve got no souls.’

‘Down!’ called a voice.

Hirad ducked. He felt something pass over him. He swung round, saw Garonin armour large in his vision and the arm of a dead woman sinking up to her elbow in the soldier’s body. She shouted her triumph.

‘We can fight,’ she said. ‘We can fight them.’

The word spread. Hirad flew about, heading for Sol.

‘They have no defence against you but your own fear,’ he said. ‘Go at them.’

Sol had his hands on a tear and was closing it. Garonin turned to stop him. The dead simply engulfed them. Elsewhere, knots of Garonin soldiers paused and Hirad could see the uncertainty in them. Outside, there was another wide flash of light, another machine destroyed by the Kaan dragons. Fire played over the corridor. Claws dragged along the wall right by Hirad. Garonin were swept away.

Inside, the dead surged. Garonin stabbed out, bleeding the energy from as many as they could. But for every two that fell, an enemy was downed. Unencumbered, Sol flew for the next tear. The tide had turned. Garonin were trying to escape back out to the void.

‘Hold them here,’ shouted Hirad. ‘The Kaan need respite.’

Sol nodded. Thraun moved ahead of him. Auum came to the shapechanger’s side. The shadows of the warriors struck out high and low. Garonin soldiers fell back. Auum crushed the waist of one in a killing embrace. Thraun’s fists punched holes in another’s chest. Ghaal crashed in to take the head from another.

The enemy began to panic.

‘We have them,’ called Hirad. ‘Keep it going.’

The broken groups of dead moved to reform. Garonin were cut off in their midst. Sol landed at the next breach, the last breach. He laid his hand on it, fused it shut in moments. The noise of the gales was gone. The pull of the void shut off. Silence but for the dying cries of the last Garonin. The soulless sent to nowhere.

The dead were crying victory. They packed together and moved on up the incline. Far ahead, a pale glow was evident. Hirad nodded his satisfaction. The Raven and the elves came together.

‘Everyone all right?’ he asked.

‘Never better,’ said Ilkar. ‘Besides being dead, that is.’

‘Hardly a surprise,’ said Hirad. ‘I didn’t see you making holes in the Garonin.’

‘Fighting never was my thing, Coldheart, you know that. And magic doesn’t seem to work in here. Thought I’d be better used keeping the dead moving in the right direction.’

‘Will they be back?’ asked Sol.

‘They will not,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Not here in the void.’

Hirad sensed him very close. He looked about him. There, by the right-hand wall, the Great Kaan was cruising alongside them. He had burns the length of his body and perilously close to one of those huge glorious eyes. His wings looked in tatters.

‘You look a complete mess,’ said Hirad.

‘At least I still live,’ rumbled the dragon, a warmth filling the corridor.

‘Still crap at jokes though, aren’t you?’

‘I had a fine tutor in that regard,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Still good at insulting you, though, isn’t he, Hirad?’ said Ilkar.

‘What’s next?’ asked Sol.

‘The Kaan must go to rest. We will watch Balaia when we can. The enemy still move in Beshara and we must look to defend our lands even now. They are not beaten anywhere. Do not relax.’

‘And will you find us when we reach our new home?’ asked Hirad.

‘When Jonas reaches there, I will find him,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘As I will now. The healing streams are stronger within a Klene than out here.’

‘Tell him how we’re doing, won’t you?’ said Sol.

‘I will. And I will speak with your wife, Sol, if I can. Don’t speak now; I know it is difficult. I know what you would wish to say to her.’

Sol’s sudden grief washed through them all. Hirad felt it as keenly as if it were his own.

‘Thank you, Great Kaan,’ said Sol.

‘This is goodbye,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Where you go now, I cannot follow.’

Hirad nodded and smiled. Though none of them could see his smile, they would be able to feel it.

‘Your touch has been joy, old friend,’ he said.

‘For me also.’

‘Farewell,’ said Hirad.

‘Always believe,’ said Sha-Kaan.

And he was gone.

Sol bowed his head. He hadn’t thought to feel grief. Perhaps there was something in what Ilkar said about the path between life and death. If that was the case, he just wanted it to be done. He gazed back the way they had come and immediately felt comfort from the closeness of The Raven.

‘No way back, big man,’ said Hirad. ‘Only way is on.’

‘I know, it’s just . . .’ Sol sighed. ‘So much time I was away from her. And she never ever failed in her love for me. I never told her how much that meant.’

‘You don’t think so?’ said Hirad. ‘You told her every day you were with her. You didn’t need words to say it, Unknown. You should have seen the way she looked at you even when she was angry.’

‘Not always,’ said Sol.

‘Always,’ said Hirad.

‘I wonder how fa—’

Sol stopped in his tracks. He was standing in a wide, open, featureless place. Around him, below and above, all he could sense was a pale ivory colour. Slowly, distantly, dark specks appeared in his vision. He was here. Ulandeneth. He looked all around him and felt the crushing weight of defeat on his shoulders.

He was alone.

It was never too late to learn. Sharyr had returned to the dimensional research chambers to study what he could about the doorway through which only the dead could travel. The pale light still shone from the doorway and he could see nothing through it. Like staring into sand.

Dropping into the mana spectrum briefly, he studied the mana lattice that framed it. Densyr had created a network of fine lines that anchored in space. None of them did any more than touch the very edges of the doorway yet the frame was utterly rigid. He pushed at it with his mind. The force that returned through the spectrum was enough to sit him on his backside.

‘Wow,’ he said.

He brushed his hands together, stood up and had another look into the light. Garonin soldiers were clustered against the doorway. Sharyr shouted a warning but there was no one else to hear it. He backed away, still staring. Something wasn’t right about this. The Garonin had their hands against the entrance. They brought curious-looking instruments to bear on it. One in particular had a blade that revolved at high speed. It was clear that this piece of equipment was being pushed against the doorway but was having no effect.

Sharyr smiled. ‘Can’t get out, can you?’

His smile was short-lived. They might not be able to get out, but since they had got in somehow, what was the state of any allies within? It didn’t bode well at all. Sharyr moved forward again to stand beneath the opening. He pressed his fingertips against it, just able to reach it if he stood on the tips of his toes.

They could see him. He saw weapons brought to bear. He didn’t move, confident in what he believed. White tears splashed against the entrance, dispersing harmlessly. Sharyr laughed and beckoned them on with both hands. Fists thumped soundlessly and uselessly against the doorway.

The Garonin withdrew a pace. One looked over his shoulder. Three of them threw themselves back against the doorway, clawing and scrabbling. Abruptly, the doorway vibrated and Sharyr feared his goading would be his undoing. He watched helplessly as the frame buckled, held for a moment and folded in on itself. He saw a last desperate Garonin fist hammering on the opening before it winked out of existence leaving nothing but the faint whiff of burnt mana.

‘What was all that about?’ he whispered.

Sharyr hurried back to Dystran’s quarters to report all he had seen to Lord Densyr.

‘How can it end here like this?’ whispered Sol, fear gripping him.

He felt as if he was shaking but his shadow form revealed nothing. Ulandeneth was empty. The black flecks moved in the distance but perhaps they were a trick of his eyes this time.

‘Where do I go? What do I do?’

So much he had yet to learn. So many assumptions he had made. About those who would stand by him to help him. Those who would show him the way. All gone now. He truly was alone.

‘Where are you!’ he shouted. ‘Hirad! Raven! Where are you?’

Where are you?

A door. He needed a door. But there was none. He needed a sign, something to set him off in the right direction. All his life the path had been before him. The solution had always presented itself. He had always known when to talk or to fight or to run.

‘But you’re not alive now, are you? And none of the rules apply.’

Sol stood where he had appeared. He turned another slow circle. For all its vastness, the place bore down on him, closed around him, sought to smother him. He dropped to his haunches to feel the ground beneath his feet but his hands transmitted nothing to him. Neither did they sink in.

‘There is substance here.’

In his mind time passed terribly quickly. Only he could help the living and the dead and he had no idea where to start. He forced his mind back over what he knew. Ulandeneth was a place where he had been. Where he had fought and lived and from where he had escaped. It was the place, so Auum and Sha-Kaan had it, that held the doorways to all other places.

It was a place where will and belief held sway over the rules of the living lands.

‘You have to believe,’ he said to himself, his voice swallowed up by the immensity of the space around him. ‘But in what?’

The capacity to succeed and the victory of the righteous were just too huge, too imprecise. Not beliefs he could hold on his own. Not yet anyway.

‘So, let us start at the beginning.’

Sol stood tall. He held his arms out from his body and in front of him as if he was about to orate. He jutted his chin and spoke loudly and clearly to whoever, whatever, would listen.

‘I am Sol. I am The Unknown Warrior. I am Raven.’

The simplicity of his conviction flowed through him. He felt energy surging through the shadow. He felt warmth. His fingers began to tingle. He stared at them. Flesh burst through the shadow like he was picking his hands out of black oil. Sol saw the swirls on the tips of his fingers, the hard skin of his palms and every nick and scar that had never quite faded.

The skin flowed down over his wrists, across his forearms and round his elbows. He watched it form his shoulders, pick out the lattice of old scars on his chest and his legs. He felt it creep around the back of his shaven head. He felt a breeze on him. A glorious, beautiful, cool breeze.

‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

Sol was aware of other changes in the atmosphere of Ulandeneth. His nose twitched and in that there was joy. His sense of smell had returned and with it he found an acrid, burned odour in his nostrils. His ears picked up distant sound yet though he narrowed his eyes there was nothing to see. Wait. Forms in the mist, if such it was. Unrecognisable but moving all around him.

‘I am Sol,’ he repeated and he smiled, feeling the familiar pull of muscles in his face. ‘And I never walk outside naked.’

Clothing began to form on his body. Shirt, trousers, trail boots. The ring he wore that Diera had given him seven years ago was there on the middle finger of his right hand. A delicate piece, depicting a raven in flight.

‘Almost there.’

Sol tried to remember his thoughts when last he was here. Then as a living being. Some of them eluded him. He remembered he had travelled home but now he could not think how. He supposed that was right and just. He remembered that he had been without a weapon when he arrived then too.

‘That I can do something about. I am The Unknown Warrior. Sword of The Raven.’

Across his back he felt the comforting weight of his scabbard and in it his two-handed blade. Interesting. Not a weapon he would use now. His hip wasn’t . . . But then of course that had been when he was alive. He laughed. Around his waist came his belt and everything that hung from it. Daggers, flint and steel.

‘Now all I need is a place to go.’

Sol took a pace forward and six Garonin stood before him. He backed up and looked behind him. No one there. He turned back. Light flowed around the armour of the Garonin. Their hands rested by their sides. None appeared to be carrying the white tear weapon but something that looked like a blade hung from each waist. Sol snapped his sword from his back and held it before him.

‘I believe,’ he said.

In front of him the blade felt momentarily light and it all but fell from his grasp. He reformed his grip, taking careful note of how it felt, how the steel shone sharp and how even the nicks along its edge were part of its perfection. It rested balanced in his hands.

‘Good. Right. I may go down here and now, but some of you fuckers are coming with me.’

Chapter 40

The dead clustered at the end of the passageway. The Raven and Auum’s Tai were at the head of them. Ilkar still probed the wall. Behind them, the passageway fled off beyond their senses. Outside, the void clashed and raced. But surrounding them was an ivory light that came from beyond the end wall.

Every one of them could feel it. They were drawn to it, pulled along by it. None would so much as consider moving away from it by even a toe. Yet none of them could reach it. None, they assumed, but one.

‘Where is he?’ asked Hirad.

‘Gone,’ said Ilkar.

‘Now if I’d replied that way to you, I’d be on the end of a long, long line of abuse.’

‘Sorry, Hirad. Gone through here. He must have done. Ulandeneth. ’

‘We have to get through,’ said Sirendor. ‘He’s going to need our help.’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t,’ said Ilkar. ‘Perhaps this is part of the whole scheme.’

‘Not if Sha-Kaan is to be believed,’ said Auum.

‘Something must open this wall,’ said Ilkar.

‘Another astounding revelation,’ said Hirad. ‘Is it too stupid of me to ask what that might be?’

The dead surrounding them were restless and anxious. Adrift at the end of their journey. Feeling vulnerable as they stood waiting for answers in a place open to attack. They made a hum of chatter and a swirl of emotions that sometimes made coherent thought difficult.

‘We must stop thinking like the living,’ said Auum. ‘This door will never have an iron latch.’

‘Sol had an advantage over us all,’ said Thraun. ‘He has knowledge of this place. Did that help him travel there?’

‘Well if it did, I wish he’d given us some pointers,’ said Hirad. ‘Unhelpful, just disappearing like that.’

‘I don’t think he had any choice in the matter, do you?’

Ilkar’s ears would have pricked when he said that. Hirad smiled, another invisible gesture.

‘No, probably not. So. Any ideas?’

‘Everything so far has been an act of will,’ said Thraun. ‘Or a use of the soul’s energy. We should start there.’

‘You think we can will ourselves over there, do you?’

‘Got a better idea, Hirad?’ asked Thraun.

‘No, it’s just that it’s difficult to will myself to a place where I’ve never been and which lies somewhere . . . you know . . . else.’

‘I don’t want to rush you but I think you’d better start believing as quickly as you can.’

Sirendor’s shadow was facing back down the passageway. Hirad rose above the mass of the dead and looked in the same direction.

‘This does not look promising.’

Three Garonin were pounding up the corridor but none of them was intent on attacking the dead. All three had eyes only for what was behind them. Panic spread among the dead. There was a concerted move to the wall, which remained steadfastly blank and impenetrable.

All the while the Garonin ran on. And well they might because the passageway was folding up behind them.

‘So many problems.’

The melodious voices flowed over Sol, taking the ire from him. He lowered his blade. The Garonin were standing about five yards from him.

‘We underestimated you.’

‘Damn right,’ said Sol. ‘Lucky for you we weren’t all acting together. We’d have kicked your sorry carcasses right out of Balaia.’

‘We think not.’ There was a susurration that Sol took for laughter. ‘But we warned you that resistance forcing us to expend our resources would ultimately go badly for you.’

‘I do remember that. And since then we’ve seen all sorts of wonderful things and bigger and nastier weapons. And yet, when last I looked, Xetesk still stood and you were denied her Heart. And here I stand once again, ready to take you on. No one who stood before me then is alive to tell you about it.’

‘Ultimately.’ The whispered word was discordant and sent a shiver up Sol’s spine forcing him to hunch his shoulders. ‘So much has been expended. So many of our people gone because of your fruitless resistance.’

‘It is not fruitless.’

‘No? One wrecked city still stands. Another is ready to fall. Your land is no good to you. It was ever going to be thus. And yet still you thought to fight, though to accept defeat would have been the easier option.’

‘For you, perhaps. Your problem is that you have fundamentally misunderstood what drives us. It is the will to survive. The belief that we will survive, whatever the odds and however powerful the enemy. And we will. We will.’

Sol saw them hesitate. One of them even fell back a pace.

‘You have spirit but you do not have the strength to turn us aside.’ The melodious quality was back. ‘You think to find a new home. We will follow you and we will destroy you there. You cannot escape us.’

‘So you say.’

‘It is forever the way. We need new worlds to harvest. We do not allow interference. We demand compliance.’

‘Well, as my friend Hirad Coldheart would say, you can shove your compliance right up—’

‘However. We respect a worthy foe and a worthy ruler of men. You are both of these.’

‘I don’t care for your respect,’ said Sol, and he spat on the ground at his feet.

‘No? When you have the lives of so many in the palm of your hand. Lives we can snuff out on a whim.’

‘I’m aware of my task.’

‘But not perhaps of the risks you take. Watch and . . . believe.’

The Garonin all lowered their heads. Sol felt a rush of energy in the air about him. The space above him turned black. He stumbled, almost fell. Night had fallen. From horizon to horizon it was the most complete blackness. But there was movement within it. Images resolved slowly, coming into focus like the world through a bleary eye after a long night.

Korina. The central marketplace. The Rookery. His old inn, now under new ownership but maintaining the tradition. Sol smiled at the memories. But the picture was not right. The market was empty and rubble-strewn. The inn’s sign hung from one hinge and was split down its middle, ready to drop.

‘What is this?’

Sol could not keep the quiver from his limbs. Dreams he could understand. This was something utterly different. The image drew away, like he was rising into the sky. Korina was slowly revealed before him. The once-beautiful capital city, the place where he had fallen in love, reduced to ruins and populated by gangs of survivors searching for scraps.

He saw whole areas barricaded off and the people within them carrying bows and spears against those without who begged for entry. He saw a man being kicked mercilessly by a gang of other men, some in ragged rich clothes, as still he tried to eat the bread he gripped with both hands.

Higher he went, and the scene or one like it was played out over and over. Shapes came into the image on either side of his view, as if he were passing between two high structures. Quickly they were revealed for what they were. Garonin machines. Vydospheres. Floating in the skies above Korina. And not just two. As the image continued to expand, he counted nine in a circle around the city. Worse, on its borders stood foot soldiers in their hundreds. Just waiting to fall on the helpless and desperate thousands within.

‘We have their fate in our hands. They cannot get out. We can destroy them. We can wait for them to destroy themselves. Or we can set them free. It is the same for these people. Some friends, I think.’

The image switched, and Sol was transported to the wilds of Balaia. He didn’t recognise where but he knew the faces that dominated the image he was shown and that lowered down on him. It took all his strength not to sink to his knees.

Rebraal and Dila’heth.

Their faces were grey with exhaustion and fear. Their eyes were wide and their expressions were of helplessness and despair. He saw their mouths move and knew they were speaking to one another but he could hear nothing.

‘What are they saying?’

Sol tried to read their lips but the image was not quite distinct enough. Again the image pulled away. Not as high this time though it didn’t have to. A few campfires sent smoke spiralling into a grey sky. In an open space stood multiple cells of the TaiGethen and a fair-sized group of Al-Arynaar. Surrounding them, a very large number of Garonin foot soldiers. Two thousand at a quick guess. Too many even for the TaiGethen though the battle would be fierce and bloody until the bitter end.

‘They have come so far to reach this dead end. We were always watching them even if they did not know it. They are tired. They need rest. You will ultimately decide whether they should get it. We are not always unmerciful.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ demanded Sol.

Not a head rose. There was no acknowledgement of his question. He thought about rushing them, seeing if he could take one of them down, but it seemed so futile and his emotions were churning anyway. He wasn’t sure if he could hold his sword steady.

The Garonin showed him one more scene. It was of a huge fleet at anchor. Hundreds of elven vessels in the waters off Sunara’s Teeth. North Bay. Wesman territory. The decks of the vessels were crowded with people. Many of the ships appeared to be riding low. Many others bore the marks of battle. There was flotsam in the water. Above them hung six vydospheres. On the peaks of the mountains stood foot soldiers. On the plains behind, a war camp.

‘You thought we would not realise such a density of verrian could be taken by sea? These elves’ lives are already forfeit. Long have we searched for them and we have delighted in their demise. There are over thirty thousand elves on those vessels. They are dying slowly of course. It is not in our nature to be merciful to such vermin. Yet there may be room. There may be.’

The Garonin’s heads came up. The last image disappeared and the ivory sky returned. Sol sucked his lip, fighting against a rising despair. Again his sword began to feel light in his hand. He concentrated on the victory in the corridor and the familiar weight returned. And there was something else too. It gave him hope but he couldn’t figure out why. Something was missing. Something had been left out.

‘So you see, Sol of Balaia, despite your best efforts there really is no hope left. Even should you reach your mythical new home, there will be no living to take there; and no dead either, we will see to that. All you will have done is open fertile land for us to exploit. You have lost the war.’

‘So why are you wasting your time with me?’ Sol stood tall again and stared at them, each and every one. He raised his blade and pointed it at them. ‘Eh? So destroy them all. Harvest your fuel and go back to where you came from to waste it on an enemy you cannot defeat. What are you waiting for?’

There was more hesitation before the reply. Sol found strength in that too.

‘We are offering you and all these people salvation. It benefits you because no more of your people need die. It benefits us for the same reason. All you must agree to do is let us harvest unhindered now and at any point we choose.’

‘I trust you about as far as I would trust a madman with a rapier. How can you expect me to believe you will honour such an agreement, ludicrous though it is? Effectively to allow you free access to our lands in exchange for . . . what? A few of my people being allowed to survive in a blasted country? You have no need to make such deals if your power is so great. And we all know that should you want more of your fuel you will take it without regard for the lives of my people. Gods drowning, but power comes with no guarantee of intelligence, does it? And our dead, what of them? Their resting place is destroyed.’

There was the slightest pause.

‘The dead are irrelevant. There is nothing meaningful beyond life.’

Sol shook his head sadly. ‘You have no souls. You do not understand. ’

‘Time is precious.’ There was a note of stress in the mellow sound of the Garonin voice. ‘Your decision.’

Sol smiled, the missing piece fitting into place.

‘You’re not sure you can cover your losses, are you?’ He took a pace towards the Garonin. ‘You don’t want us to fight because you know the damage we’ll do even as we are defeated. You want me to help you stop the fighting on Balaia to leave you free to plunder the Heart of Xetesk. And you didn’t show me Xetesk because you damn well couldn’t, could you? You are not in control. They’ve held you off, haven’t they?’

Sol laughed. Again the Garonin displayed anxiety.

‘And what happens if we choose to fight, eh? I’ll tell you. You might be forced to retreat, mightn’t you? To save your forces for the battles on your doorstep. Denied victory on Balaia and denied the chance to follow me to a new realm. The mighty Garonin undone by primitives. But primitives who can harness mana in a way you can never do. Let’s see, shall we?’

Sol raised his blade and advanced further.

‘Do not choose to fight us. You cannot defeat us.’

‘Well you know what? I think I’ll give it a try anyway. After all, I’m dead and I don’t have anything better to do.’

‘You will be responsible for the slaughter of many thousands of your people. Your loved ones, your peers. Your children. You are a man alone.’

‘Don’t believe everything you see,’ said Sol. ‘A Raven is never alone.’

The Garonin susurration irritated again. ‘You are at our mercy. We know what we see.’

Sol backed away. ‘Better start getting your killing sticks ready. Things are going to get bloody.’

‘So be it.’

Sol spread his arms wide, his two-handed sword in his right hand, and began to turn a circle. He felt young, vital, like before the docks at Arlen, where he had seen his hip smashed beyond complete repair. Armour covered his chest, shining in the ivory light. And while the Garonin stood and watched, he raised his voice, gambling with his death and the life of everyone still living on Balaia.

‘Raven! For all the times all we had was our belief, join me. For every moment we stared defeat in the face and returned victorious, join me. To avenge every one of us who has fallen, join me. You, The Raven dead. To believe is to prevail. To stand by those you love and pick up your swords one more time for Balaia and for The Raven.

‘I believe in you. All of you. Hirad Coldheart, you have never run away from a fight in your life. I believe in you. Ilkar, your shield never once failed. I believe in you. And you, Thraun, who stood by us man and wolf. Belief brought you back; it can do so again. Sirendor, the warrior with a blade to mesmerise. You were stolen from us too soon. I believe in you. Auum, your whole being is belief. Your Tai will never desert you. Stand with us.’

Sol continued to turn. The Garonin continued to watch. Briefly, an image played out above. Korina under bombardment.

‘Raven, where are you!’ Sol shouted. ‘Past and present. Believe in me. Believe in you. Believe in our fight. For the dead of Balaia, for the living of Balaia, believe in victory. Hirad, Thraun, Ilkar, Sirendor, Ras, Erienne, Will, Ren, Ark, Aeb, Darrick, Richmond, Jandyr. Whoever you are, you are Raven. Wherever you are, come to me. Stand with me. Stand with me!’