The Raven Collection

Auum had time to acknowledge his Tai’s skill before he approached a wide avenue. Thirty feet wide at a guess. He needed speed. The wind was already behind him. Garonin weapons tracked him. In his wake the tiles of a pitched roof shattered and melted. He leaned forward, gathering pace, stepped onto the building’s edge and launched himself head first, arms tight by his sides, body axle-straight. The white tears flooded his vision. He felt heat as they ripped by underneath him and he angled his body to allow a stream to pass by his left-hand side.

Auum brought his arms in front of him, took the impact of landing on his right shoulder and turned into the direction of motion, coming to a stop on his haunches. The Garonin were just over the next roof apex. He could hear their footsteps as they advanced on his position. Beads of fire still swept into the sky, chasing Ghaal and Miirt. Auum unclipped his pouch of jaqrui throwing crescents, plucking one out and taking a short blade in his right hand. He moved diagonally up the slate-covered roof, heading for a cluster of chimneys at the centre of the building.

The Garonin felt no need for the same stealth, their tramping feet giving away the position of each of six soldiers. Auum put a mental picture of them in the forefront of his mind. He switched his blade and jaqrui around.

‘Yniss, spare my soul to do your work as dawn lightens tomorrow. Tual, guide my hand to smite my enemies. Shorth, hear my prayer; I commend my soul to you should I fall. Seek for me a path to my resting place. This I ask in the names of the great Gods of the Ynissul. Hear me, my masters. I am Auum, your servant.’

Auum reached the cluster of chimneys, stepped to the right and threw the jaqrui round-armed. The blade whipped across the rooftop, taking a Garonin under the chin guard and burying itself in his neck. He jerked backwards and fell, his weapon firing wildly into the sky. Auum dived back behind the chimney stack. He grabbed another jaqrui. Masonry and tile blew apart above his head under the wilting fire of the Garonin.

Auum ran left. He threw again. The holes in the body of the jaqrui caused it to make a keening, unearthly sound as it travelled straight and true. The target Garonin raised his weapon reflexively in defence. The blade sheared deep into the weapon, which exploded in the Garonin’s hands, taking off his arms at the elbows, ripping deep holes in his chest and forcing upwards to shatter his jaw.

Metal shards whistled as they flew. Auum flattened himself against the roof. The four remaining Garonin had turned their backs against any impact. Armour flared white. Auum was up and ru

He leapt and spun in the air, his blades flashing left to right in quick succession buoyed by the power of his turn and the pace of his body. The first slashed deep into the helmet of his target, the second, adjusted lower, whipped through his throat, ripping free and carrying blood and gore with it.

Auum landed facing right. The remaining three were moving towards him. They could not see Miirt sprinting up behind them and the fire from their fellows nearer the vydosphere was tracking Ghaal.

He heard the howl of a jaqrui. The blade flickered past his left shoulder and embedded in the arm of the leftmost enemy. The soldier jerked back, but steadied and fired. Auum glanced back to see Ghaal duck and roll under the stream of white tears.

Auum rose and ran. He came under fire from the other two. He dived left, rolling and rising, the roof at his feet obliterated. He dropped a blade, reached for a jaqrui and threw. The Garonin ducked it, his head moving to track it just for a moment. More than enough. Auum picked up his blade, ran four paces and launched himself two-footed at the Garonin’s midriff. He caught the soldier square on. The enemy doubled over, and as he fell, Auum’s blades jabbed up under both his arms.

Auum shovelled the body aside and came to a crouch. Miirt had leapt up and backhanded her blade through the back of a Garonin neck. Ghaal had jumped and struck the other in the eye slit. Blood was ru

‘Yniss saves us for greater deeds,’ said Auum.

He turned to the vydosphere. More Garonin were advancing. Fifty-plus breaking from the main force. Above them, the sky darkened by degrees and the pace of the cloud spin increased.

‘Breathe the air, my warriors. And let us run like the jaguars are on our scent.’

The Tai cell touched hands briefly, stowed weapons and ran south, exhorting Tual to guard their every move. Behind them not every Garonin turned to follow. Auum watched eight carrying on forward.

‘The Ravensoul worries them,’ he muttered. ‘I hope it is strong enough to turn them aside.’

Baron Gresse settled into his chair on the rooftop garden of one of Xetesk’s premier mages, it didn’t matter which, to watch his last, glorious Balaian dawn. The house was well stocked and he had one of his servants find him some fresh leaf tea, a plate of bread and cold meat and some fresh fruit. The table was laid properly, with white cloth, napkins and crystal glasses. Wine would follow the tea. A little early perhaps, but when one was short of time, early was not in the lexicon.

Blackthorne reappeared from the house.

‘It’s mine,’ he said. ‘One of my finest vintages too. A pity to let it go to waste.’

Gresse had dismissed his servant but his and Blackthorne’s retinues were still loitering at the far end of the garden, unwilling to desert their lords.

‘Then join me, old friend. And take a look at this spectacular, if unfortunately unique, sunrise.’

‘There’s still time to get away from here,’ said Blackthorne. ‘We can enjoy this under a new sun.’

Gresse indicated over his left shoulder. Eight Garonin soldiers were making their languid way across the rooftops.

‘No, there isn’t, Blackthorne. And I’m tired of ru

‘What are we ru

Blackthorne looked away towards the Garonin heading directly towards them and then to those making their steady way towards the college.

‘Go!’ he shouted to the servants still waiting at the end of the garden. ‘We’ll be along presently.’

Not one of their men moved. Instead, a show of hands resulted in them returning to the barons and forming a ring around them at a deferential distance. Blackthorne nodded his respect and thanks, pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘You know, you are absolutely right.’

‘It’s a common complaint.’

‘Can I pour you some more tea?’

‘I think wine more appropriate now.’

‘Good man.’

Blackthorne produced a corkscrew from his pocket and set to work. He drew the cork expertly and sniffed the end, nodding approvingly. He handed the cork to Gresse while he poured each of them a mouthful to taste. The two barons sniffed, sipped, rolled and swallowed.

‘A red to satisfy the desire for a full body, a head of blackcurrant and an aftertaste of dark plum,’ said Gresse. ‘Outstanding. We should have ordered the steak.’

A servant stepped in, took the bottle from Blackthorne and poured each of them a full glass with a remarkably steady hand. The sounds of the enemy approaching were growing louder.

‘A little late for steak. Even for something blue.’

Gresse shifted his legs on their footstool. ‘Do you remember that time when we brokered that agreement with the Wesmen for a supply of each vintage?’