The Raven Collection

His first thought was that he recognised this place, yet that was plainly ridiculous. It had no memorable features whatever bar the fact, he supposed, that it was completely featureless. The ground, if such it was, ran away endlessly. He could see no walls. Everything about him was the same pale ivory in colour. Even the chair on which he sat, though that at least had solidity. He’d have clung to it had he not been secured to it.

Dark motes wandered across Sol’s vision. He blinked but they remained. It was a while before he realised that they were not dust in the air close to his eyes but figures moving in front of him. Distance was impossible to gauge and the figures were all faint, shimmering as if only partially there. Some were tiny and he assumed them far from him but it could be a trick of the even, gentle light.

Sol felt no fear. He was beyond that particular emotion. The enemy had not killed him and so they wanted him alive, temporarily at least. Curiosity, then, that was what drove him. And frustration. He wondered how long he would be made to wait.

Not long.

Figures resolved from the emptiness. Three of them, walking slowly towards him. They wore no armour and appeared the epitome of three friends out for a stroll. Long robes covered their huge, powerful bodies. Hands the size of Sol’s head hung from thick wrists. Their heads were large and covered in bone ridges. Their eyes were bulging and black. They had no noses, but slits in the centre of their faces opened and closed in what he assumed to be a breathing action. And when they opened their mouths, he could see no teeth. They reminded Sol of a lesser strain of demon but it was plain enough that they had infinitely more power than those dangerous creatures.

The three came to within a few feet and towered above him where he sat. They fell silent, the melodious tones of their voices echoing away into the vast space, bouncing from whatever it was that formed this place. They studied Sol, their gazes so intent he turned his head away until a force he could not resist turned it back.

‘You have achieved that of which few are capable.’

The words flowed like music about Sol’s head. He fancied he could see symbols flashing to brief life in the air in front of his eyes. Sol did not answer. In truth he took a while to realise he was being addressed.

‘Speak. You are worthy.’

How words sounding so beautiful could issue from mouths so ugly was a mystery. Sol stared up at each one of them.

‘I will stand as an equal,’ he said, his own voice sounded harsh in comparison, like fingernails scraped on metal.

He heard a ripple as of water over pebbles.

‘But you are not equal. We are Garonin.’

‘Then I will say nothing. You want my information, I presume. I demand your respect.’

‘If you did not have that, you would not be here.’

Sol felt as if they were talking in concert. Their voices flowed over one another.

‘I will stand,’ he said.

And he stood, the chair no longer able to bind him. It faded away and now the four of them were truly alone in a barren land.

‘You learn quickly. That is . . . advantageous.’

‘To who?’

Sol was only half talking to them. He was trying to hide his amazement at what had just happened. The simple act of standing. Impossible moments ago. Achieved through what? Belief? Will-power?

‘To all of us.’

Sol focused back on the Garonin. He gazed up at their faces. Ugly they might have been but there was no malice in them. There was nothing in the dark orbs of their eyes. Nothing in the set of their jaws that Sol could read.

‘Why have you brought me here? Where is here?’

What probably passed for a smile appeared fleetingly on all three faces.

‘People are drawn to you,’ said one. ‘Why is that?’

‘I—’ Sol paused. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’

‘We want you to bring all the people to you. To make it an easier passing for them. We have no wish to inflict u

‘You could have bloody fooled me. Last thing I remember seeing was one of my dearest friends dying in a wreath of flame.’

‘We will take what we need. The mode we employ is the only variable.’

‘And what is it you’re taking? Mana, we presume.’

There was a shrug. A very human gesture.

‘If that is what you call it. The element your world possesses in such abundance is useful when combusted. We have need of considerable quantities.’

Sol scratched his neck under his chin. He hadn’t shaved in days and the stubble was begi

‘Let me tell you what I understand,’ said Sol. ‘I understand we’ve caused you a problem you didn’t anticipate. That’ll be the achievement you talk about. The destruction of your machine, perhaps. And while I accept you are far more powerful than we are, no one has infinite men and resources to fight. Eventually you reach breaking point. And I think we are delaying you, and you ca

‘How am I doing so far?’ Sol smiled up at their hesitation. ‘Pretty well, eh?’

The three Garonin turned their heads to one another, conversing without words.

‘You must see that you ca

It was Sol’s turn to shrug. ‘I see that we have not yet perfected a way to defeat you.’ A thought occurred. ‘And in any event opinion is split as to whether we should be attacking you at all. There are those recently returned to us who believe we should run.’

‘There is nowhere to run. Nowhere you have the means to go.’

The reply was just a little too quickly spoken.

‘You fear us, don’t you?’ said Sol

‘Preposterous.’

‘You fear what we might become, where we might end up. You even fear that what we do now is enough to cause you serious damage. You say you need some element that is created from burning mana. Why?’

‘We all have those we fear. Be assured that you are not among them.’

Yet they paused and spoke again, came to another agreement though it was clearly not unanimous.

‘Verrian. That is what we call the element you term . . . mana. Its combustion yields vydos, an element central to the construction of our weapons, armour and projectiles. Without it, our enemies would roll over us as simply as we roll over you. That is our situation. We fight a war that claims the lives of countless millions. We must be victorious. You will not stand in our way.’

Sol raised his eyebrows. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

‘So you need something we possess. So there is a negotiation to be had here.’

‘No!’ It was the first hard sound any of their voices had made. Sol flinched. ‘We take from the weak; we do not negotiate.’

‘We lie down for no one,’ said Sol.

‘We appeal to your sensitivity as a ruler of men. To die in fear is needless. Die in sleep. Die painlessly. This we can guarantee. But die you must, to provide us with what we need.’

‘I ca

The merest hints of light appeared in the eyes of the Garonin. A transitory tightening of their faces.

‘People come to you. Trust you,’ said one. ‘Your living . . . and your dead.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘We see all that passes through this place.’

‘What?’

But they would not elucidate.

‘You will tell your people to lay down their arms and die with dignity.’

The tone was more strident now.

‘I will do no such thing. I don’t even understand why you want us dead. If it is the mana you want, take it. But leave us alive. We know where you are headed. The Hearts of our colleges are thick with mana. Why must we die for you to take them?’