The Raven Collection

Both men looked up at him, adopting expressions of patronising sympathy, scrutinising him over their identical half-moon spectacles.

‘Drives me mad,’ muttered Denser. ‘Am I to issue myself with a mild rebuke to save you the bother?’

‘My dear boy, no. Come, sit by us. We have matters to discuss and decisions to make,’ said Dystran, patting the arm of the chair next to him.

‘Boy? Dystran, I am older than you.’

But he didn’t look it. Denser sat and sucked his lip. Poor Dystran. A few wisps of white hair clung to his head. He was painfully thin and his hands trembled violently whenever the calming spell began to wear off. Even so, his bony digits shook a little and his voice was faint as if to speak any louder would be to court disaster.

And Vuldaroq was no better. Admittedly he was significantly older but Denser could still remember the truculent fat man who had hated The Raven as much as he hated Xetesk. Now he was reduced to a skeletal figure, blind in one eye and with a sagging right side to his face following a stroke four years previously.

That the two were the closest of friends was an unlooked-for blessing for them and an occasional pain in the backside for Denser.

‘We have been noting the arrival of many, shall we say, old friends,’ said Vuldaroq, wheezing as he spoke, his words a little slurred but wholly comprehensible.

‘It’s in danger of reaching epidemic proportions,’ said Denser. ‘How—?’

Dystran rang the little bell sitting on the arm of his chair.

‘Tea?’

‘Coffee,’ said Denser.

‘Ah. Still like to remind yourself of the tin pot of coffee on a Raven campfire, eh?’

‘No, I just like it better than tea,’ said Denser.

‘And, speaking of which, we understand many of your former mercenary friends are on the Mount as we speak.’

Denser frowned. ‘You’re very well informed for men who never leave the catacombs for anything barring funerals.’

Dystran managed a shaky smile. ‘Ah well, you know the way the Mount works. We must all have our sources, must we not?’

‘So it seems.’

‘And we understand that the Communion Globe on Calaius is currently not functioning,’ said Vuldaroq.

Denser sucked in his cheeks and said nothing.

‘Now, if you assume as we do that this is linked in some way to the problems afflicting the mana spectrum at present—’

‘Wait,’ said Denser sharply. ‘That is not open research.’

‘Oh Denser, all research is open to the Lord of the Mount,’ said Dystran, patting Denser’s wrist.

Denser moved his hand. ‘Former.’

‘Some will remain forever loyal,’ said Dystran.

‘You do remember it was me who gave explicit instructions that you were not to be killed, don’t you?’ Denser sighed. ‘It has left you in a unique position and I rather hoped you might respect that. There are moments when I regret my leniency.’

Dystran laughed but it was brief and forced. ‘There are times I do too, Denser.’

Denser nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose there are. So tell me, what are your thoughts on all this?’

‘You see?’ said Dystran. ‘Having the old lord about isn’t all bad. If you’re lucky, it’ll become the done thing.’

‘I think we’ve moved beyond assassination as a mode of ascension,’ said Denser.

Dystran raised his eyebrows. ‘Only a fool would truly believe that. And only a fool would see what is happening here and now as a serious threat.’

‘Then I am a fool,’ said Denser. ‘I have dead souls reanimating fresh corpses all over the city, perhaps all over Balaia. I ca

Vuldaroq shook his head and exhaled loudly. Denser looked away and closed his eyes briefly.

‘Something wrong, Denser?’ asked the erstwhile Dordovan Tower Lord.

‘Nothing that not being patronised won’t fix.’

‘Don’t be so touchy. Instead, consider an alternative viewpoint.’ Denser motioned for Vuldaroq to continue. ‘Thank you. If there is one thing we learned from the demon invasion it was that the dead are far from the helpless onlookers we assumed. Not only do the Wesmen have direct access to their elders, the elves have a basic communication mode and was it not Ilkar who guided you to your destination all those years ago despite being dead?’

Denser shrugged. ‘Yes. So what?’

‘Open your eyes,’ snapped Dystran, slapping the arm of his chair and dislodging the bell which fell into his lap. He was interrupted by a brief fit of coughing.

‘You really believe they are here because something ripped open their own dimension? Something that powerful would not just be here by now, it would have destroyed us already. Think, my Lord of the Mount. This is not threat, it is opportunity. Find out what they really want. Find out why the mana spectrum is unstable. Xetesk thrives on harnessing fear, we always have.’

‘You’re saying I should dismiss the statements of my dead friends as lies?’

‘We’re saying treat anything a dead soul says with a little healthy scepticism. Every time one speaks, repeat to yourself, “Would I want to regain life if I were to die?” ’

‘Well of course I would. No one wants to die.’

‘Exactly,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘And expect them therefore to come up with a solution to the problem they have so conveniently appeared to warn you about.’

‘They already have,’ said Denser and a frown crept on to his face. ‘Are you saying . . . ?’

‘Ha! I rest my case,’ said Dystran, folding back into his chair, an expression of smug satisfaction on his pasty, thin face.

‘Wait, wait, young Dystran,’ said Vuldaroq, leaning further forward. ‘What form does this solution take?’

Denser shrugged. ‘Well, to be fair, this is where I have begun to lose it. They are convinced the enemy they say we face is too powerful and that we need to leave.’

Dystran gaped. Vuldaroq’s smile was half knowing.

‘Leave? And go where?’ he asked

‘Anywhere that isn’t Balaia, apparently.’

‘By which I suppose they mean south to Calaius, do they?’

‘Oh no, that would be too easy. They want us to leave the dimension entirely.’ Denser paused, sudden anxiety rippling through his mind. ‘Look, I can see where this is going.’

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Bored dead people reappear in Balaia and a

‘Something like that,’ said Denser. ‘But hang on a moment. These people are my friends, my wife. I trust them. I love them. And they want to leave too. With us, I think.’

‘So they say. And look who has come back so far,’ said Dystran. ‘That we know of. No simpletons. Of those who have a

‘I did know that, and he is a fraud,’ said Denser. ‘He must be.’

‘You are so certain?’ said Dystran.

‘I just don’t see what point you’re making. It isn’t just powerful people. Ordinary Xeteskians are back too.’

‘But they are not shouting, are they? And that’s because they are merely pawns in this game. People of influence have returned. Drawn by something they clearly need. That, given what you have told us, appears to be a new home. Our home. And without us in it.’ Dystran leaned right forward and his voice was a husky whisper. ‘We don’t know what being dead does to people, Denser. Even those we love. Don’t trust any of them.’