The Raven Collection

‘I may not agree with them, but I will never deem them liars. You are talking about the most loyal people ever to have walked Balaian soil,’ said Denser. He pushed himself from his chair, unable to sit. He could feel his cheeks reddening. ‘You are talking about the woman I love and over whom I still weep ten years on. You who sit here in your cave, too frightened to face the world a decade after we, The Raven, freed it from the shackles of the demons. You are not fit to empty their piss from a bucket.’

‘And you will do your duty by your college!’ Dystran’s voice still held a surprising amount of power when he needed it. ‘The Raven is gone. You are Lord of the Mount. Start thinking like him.’

A servant came in bearing a tray of tea and coffee and no doubt heard enough of the conversation to keep him in free ale for ten days.

Denser had to restrain himself from spitting on the tray on his way out.

‘I only drink with friends.’

Chapter 11

Blackthorne had been chased by murderous enemies before but there was a bizarre quality to this one that was in danger of causing fatal complacency.

In the days since the Garonin had responded to Gresse’s attack with such appalling violence, the survivors had moved ahead of them. But such was the slow pace of the enemy advance that Blackthorne and the partially recovered Gresse had been able to undertake considerable pla

It was early morning on a misty but warming day. The thud of the Garonin machines was distant and they had become accustomed to it winding up with the morning songbirds. Blackthorne walked his horse alongside the open wagon in which Gresse sat a little reluctantly. Mages had healed the bone breaks but his distrust of magic was such that he refused the administration of Mother’s Warmth to complete the healing process.

‘It leaves me vulnerable. Out of control,’ he grumbled.

‘It leaves you asleep in your wagon for a day and fit to ride the next. Stubborn old goat.’

‘The body recuperates at a given pace for a reason. No one has ever looked into the lasting effects of hurrying healing along with spells.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you, Gresse,’ said Blackthorne, rubbing at his mouth and beard to hide the smile. ‘But you’re grumpy because you ca

Gresse looked up at him and grimaced. ‘That bad, is it?’

‘We’ve riders on the ground and we all have ears. We’ve counted five of these machines. All of them travelling in straight lines, all of them driving people in front of them, leaving devastation in their wake. The devastation continues to expand as you feared, eating up the ground, killing everything. There’s no escape. And all of their destinations are depressingly clear.’

‘Let me guess. Korina, Xetesk, Julatsa, Lystern and Dordover. Key population centres.’

‘Almost right,’ said Blackthorne. ‘But you have made one small error in your assumptions. It isn’t populations and people they are after, necessarily. There is no machine headed for Dordover. It’s going to Triverne Lake, to the site of the original college of magic.’

‘Of course, silly me. No Heart in Dordover and not so many people either these days. You think they’re after mana just like I do.’

‘They are harvesting something, aren’t they? And we’ve seen what the detonation clouds are run with. And the aftermath is very much like a mana fire. Stands to reason.’

‘So it does. And as it happens, I agree with you completely. So presumably you have riders on their way to the target cities?’

‘Of course.’

‘Mages would be faster.’

‘If they make it. Few will take the risk of flying such long distances. Hit a mana dropout and that’s your lot. Too risky.’

Gresse was quiet for a moment. Blackthorne watched his old friend weighing up what he’d heard. He looked very old and sick this morning. His eyes had dulled since the run from the vineyards. Blackthorne wondered how long he could count on his wisdom and his enquiring mind.

‘Stop looking at me like I’m about to die, Blackthorne. It’s very off-putting.’

‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .’

‘Well as a matter of fact I don’t feel great but I am not yet on my last legs. Not on any legs right now as it happens. But it has given me time to think. Here’s a question for you. Why didn’t these machines appear right by what we assume are their targets? They seem to be able to appear anywhere they like so why this slow procession?’

‘I don’t know.’ Blackthorne shook his head. ‘I’ll put it to the masses. See if anyone has anything bright to say.’

‘No need.’ There was a gleam in Gresse’s eyes. ‘I have a theory. Perhaps they need to attain a critical mass before attacking a college where the mana density is so great.’

Blackthorne felt genuine surprise. He took a sidelong look at Gresse before facing forward again.

‘I see the cancer hasn’t addled your brain just yet, then.’

‘Improved it if anything,’ said Gresse. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Plausible. Would you care to expand on your thoughts?’

Gresse sat up a little straighter. Blackthorne stepped closer to the wagon and rested a hand on its side.

‘It’s just observation, really. When we first saw the machine at the vineyards, it was big, yes, but looked, I don’t know . . . deflated, if you see what I mean. And when the detonation clouds built up, the whole thing was rattling and wheezing fit to burst. Look at it now. That outer skin seems tighter, and when the clouds build, it all looks depressingly smooth and well-oiled, for want of a better expression. Still noisy as hell, but the noise of health not the rattle of death. The only thing I can liken it to is a horse. It needs breaking-in and ru

‘What do you think?’

Blackthorne raised his eyebrows. ‘I think I wish I’d been able to tell my riders that. It makes perfect sense to me. I’ll talk to my mages and have them observe what they can both inside and outside the mana spectrum. The more we understand these things, the more we can report to Denser and Sol in Xetesk.’

‘Bet you never thought you’d end up on a survey and research team, did you?’ said Gresse.

Blackthorne chuckled. ‘Not with a grumpy old sod like you, that’s for sure. Is there room on that wagon for me? I feel like I deserve a rest. Feeling my age, you know.’

‘You should try feeling mine.’

‘All in good time, old friend. All in good time.’

Heryst, Lord Elder Mage of Lystern, had seen enemies come and go. Cheating death was a habit, so they said, and he thought it a good habit to adopt. But that was before the lost souls began lining up demanding access to the college, the city and their loved ones. All of them in other people’s bodies. But what he had thought to be a distasteful charade had turned out to be the truth and a deep disquiet had settled on him.

Lystern was a poor city now. Perhaps in a dozen generations she would attain her former glory. Now, ruins and relics were all that remained alongside a fierce spirit among the people who had survived imprisonment by the demons and a feeling of close family among the handful who had kept the college from finally falling into demon hands.