The Raven Collection

‘—about magic stop your eyes from seeing the truth. My men here are nearly one hundred in number and if I thought I had to fight you, I would not fear the outcome. They are magical. If you saw them fight, you would see.’

‘We would cut you down.’

‘You are skilled but you are not strong with magic. I do not wish to fight. Let me talk with Tessaya.’

Riasu raised a forefinger. ‘Very well. A test. One of your masked men against two of my warriors.’

‘It will be an uneven fight,’ said Stylia

‘State the odds, then,’ said Riasu.

‘One of my men will take four of yours, armed or unarmed. But this is not what I want to see.’

Riasu raised his eyebrows. ‘Four? This I must see. And armed, I think. Let us see a real fight.’ He leaned to his left and spoke to one of his guard. The man nodded and ran back towards the stockade. ‘Choose who you will.’

‘Do you want this? It is wasted death.’ Stylia

‘For you, maybe.’

‘As you wish.’ Stylia

‘Choose one who is willing to fight. It isn’t to protect me but to prove a point so I want it to be quick and bloody, do you understand?’ he asked of the masked warrior.

‘I understand.’

‘Excellent. Who shall it be?’ The Protector was silent for a moment, communing with his brothers.

‘Cil.’

‘Give him your strength and your sight. Let him fight fast and true. There must be no error,’ said Stylia

‘It shall be done.’ The Protector turned. Cil came from the group gathered away from the fire. He walked into the light, polished ebony mask reflecting the yellow flame. Behind the mask, the eyes were impassive, fixed on the four Wesmen who gathered to the left, leaning on their weapons.

Stylia

The Protector, in heavy leather and chain, stood well over six feet tall, towering over his thickset, powerful opponents. He stood in an open stance, weapons down and to either side, waiting.

‘You can save your men,’ said Stylia

‘They will save themselves,’ he said. ‘Fight!’

The Wesmen moved to encircle Cil, who stood motionless, not even acknowledging the two who flanked him. His head was straight, taking in the axemen who came at him from the front, weapons in two hands, wary, slightly crouched. At a signal from an axeman, one of those behind sprang forward, aiming a blow at Cil’s broad back. The Protector lashed out with his axe, blocking the sweep, blade ending close to the ground. He hadn’t turned or moved his feet. The man fell back and the circling began.

Stylia

Cil had returned to his open stance, body absolutely still. He was, Stylia

Deciding numbers would win the day, the Wesmen attacked together, angling in from all four corners. Like two men, Cil blocked the first axe with his longsword while sweeping out and behind with his axe, catching one swordsman high in the head. The Wesman’s intended blow never came and he clattered to the earth, blood and brain oozing from his skull.

Bringing his axe back sharply, he caught his next enemy’s overhead on his blade and, while twisting to disarm him, placed his longsword parallel to his back to block the fourth man. Cil pulled on his axe shaft, dragging the helpless Wesman off balance. Now he moved his feet for the first time, quarter-turning left, throwing the caught axeman hard into his companion. Both men fell to the ground.

He turned again, this time to fend a stab to his side and bring his axe through, waist high, chopping through the Wesman’s stomach and angling out and up through his rib cage, carrying gore in a wide arc as he rounded on the remaining two. They scrabbled to their feet but he was on them so fast, batting right with the flat of his axe into one’s face while piercing the other’s heart. Before Stylia

Finished, he returned to his open stance, blood streaming from his weapons into the dust, carnage surrounding him and a shocked silence falling on the arena of sudden slaughter.

Stylia

‘Now, think if all of my men were fighting and I backed it with my magic,’ he said. ‘It was you who wanted this, not me.’

Riasu faced him, fear in his eyes, fury in his body and humiliation burning from every pore.

‘You will die for this.’ Riasu chopped his hand down and arrows flew from the top of the stockade, arcing over the fire to where the Protectors stood in tight formation, their eyes on Cil. The shafts flashed in the late afternoon light, every one bouncing harmlessly from Stylia

‘You are testing me,’ said Stylia

‘Do not think to give me orders,’ said Riasu, his face an angry snarl.

‘Pick your next words with care,’ warned Stylia

Riasu’s eyes betrayed his anxiety, flicking over the situation in which he found himself, too close to a dozen Protectors for comfort and knowing his like number of guards would be no match whatever. ‘I will send word to Tessaya that you wish to talk.’

‘Good. I have no wish to see more blood spilled.’

Riasu nodded curtly and turned to go. Stylia

‘I will give you until this time tomorrow to bring me an answer,’ he said. ‘Or I will have to walk the pass anyway, whether you are with me or against me.’

‘I will not forget what you have done, Stylia

‘Take their bodies,’ said Stylia

Chapter 12

The Raven trotted north along the gully in which they had made their temporary camp. Will’s stove, cooled sufficiently by earth and boot, was packed in its leather coverings and was once more on Thraun’s back. The shapechanger led the group, The Unknown at his shoulder. Hirad brought up the rear, sandwiching Denser, Ilkar, Erie

They had discussed a variety of options to liberate a boat but the simplest, to send in the mages under a CloakedWalk to steal a boat and bring it upstream was dismissed for the simplest of reasons; neither knew one end of a boat from the other. Further, it was the cause of passing mirth when Ilkar admitted that not only had he never learned to swim but that he was actively scared of water. Besides, The Raven wanted to cause some damage.