The Raven Collection

‘We’d best get ourselves outside then,’ said Sharyr. ‘See what’s left.’

Densyr nodded. ‘Vuldaroq, if you would be so good as to see Diera and company to more comfortable quarters and organise the moving of our departed to the Master’s Morgue, I’d really appreciate it.’

Vuldaroq inclined his head. ‘Of course, my Lord Densyr. And anything else I can do . . . Um, one favour though?’

‘Yes?’

‘Dystran’s condition is a concern.’

‘He’s top of my list,’ said Densyr. He moved to go but brought himself up short before Diera. ‘My Lady Unknown.’

‘Only Hirad calls me that.’

‘I know but . . . well, you know. Sol’s sacrifice. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever known anyone do. And I have seen some truly stu

Diera nodded but could not raise a smile. She had a son under each arm and the wolves flanked them.

‘It doesn’t stop him being dead though, does it?’

‘No, of course not. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.’

‘Thank you, Densyr. Really. It is bearable, just, to know the reasons why he has done what he has done. What would be truly unbearable, would be for it to be a waste. That means you and your college have to try and save as many souls as you can.’

‘That’s exactly where I’m going now.’

‘And one more thing. We haven’t got along well in the last few days but I won’t forget what you’ve done for my family in the last ten years. Dismal shame though it is, you’re pretty much all I’ve got of the old life barring my two wonderful boys. So when you go out there, be sure not to die.

‘We need you. The old you. Denser.’

Chapter 37

Densyr picked his way over the rubble having already scared himself a dozen times on the way up the remains of the spiral stair to his formal di

He looked up to the open sky, mercifully clear of Garonin machines, and wondered at the sheer level of the destruction and whether they could possibly rebuild. A matter for the future, should they have one. Meanwhile, he and Brynar moved aside beams, shelves, burned portraits and tapestries on their way to where Dystran still sat in the chair next to Septern’s abandoned borrowed body. A body that looked very suddenly about ten days dead.

‘Doesn’t smell too good, does he?’ said Brynar.

‘Strange. Presumably, the returned soul holds off decay but only to the extent of hiding it. I wish I knew how that worked.’

Dystran was partly covered by a beam that had fallen across his chair. Coming closer, Densyr could see that the beam had lodged between the back and side panels of the chair, which had broken its fall and stopped it from crushing the old Lord of the Mount’s skull.

‘How close we came to ultimate defeat,’ breathed Densyr.

‘Then you think he’s still alive?’ asked Brynar.

‘Of course he’s still alive, idiot. If he wasn’t, the Heart would have been destroyed by mana feedback.’

‘Oh right, yes.’

‘Gods drowning, Brynar, you really ought to meet Hirad Coldheart again. You’d get on like a house on fire with your similar-sized intellects.’

Densyr helped the young mage shift the beam and blow the dust from Dystran’s face. He looked very peaceful. His breathing was deep and sure and his body was uninjured so far as they could see. Densyr knelt by him and took his hand, dropping into the mana spectrum right by him.

Dystran’s aura pulsed strongly where it rested as a perfect buffer to the loose mana charging around the ruined grid. Densyr could see that Dystran had done good work in allowing some peripheral areas of the grid to feed back into the Heart under control. But still enough remained to do severe damage and most likely destroy it.

‘My mother would have said it is like unpicking a woollen knit,’ said Dystran, making Densyr jump. ‘You have to retain the integrity of the pattern, you see, or else the whole lot just falls in a knotted heap. Something like that, anyway.’

‘It’s good to hear your voice,’ said Densyr.

‘Told you they’d not see me here.’

‘Well, I’m not sure that’s entirely true. Have you seen this place? It isn’t how I left it.’

‘A little more untidy, is it?’

‘You could say.’ Densyr waved in Brynar’s direction. ‘Have a look round, see if by some miracle any water has survived in a container.’

‘Bless you, Densyr. Tell me, how are we doing?’

‘Average to awful,’ said Densyr.

Dystran managed a dry chuckle. ‘You really must go back to your propaganda classes.’

‘Only when I can issue blindfolds to all the sceptics too. The college is in ruins. Two towers are gone. This one and Nyer are on the verge of collapse. The other three are relatively sound but only because binding work went on all through the attacks. The dome is rubble, most of our outbuildings are destroyed and the population are scattered and, we presume, chased by Garonin.

‘Sol is dead and, again we presume, travelling with The Raven and with Auum’s TaiGethen cell, who also took their own lives down in the catacombs.’

‘Oh. Ynissul deciding that enough is enough, I suppose.’

Densyr shook his head. ‘You and Vuldaroq really had too little to do down in your rathole of a suite, didn’t you? Too much time to study ancient elven lore and history.’

‘No, no, no. We did all this during the Elfsorrow crisis, trying to work out how they manage to live so long. Not my fault if you never bothered to consult the popular texts on the matter.’

‘I was otherwise engaged, if you recall,’ said Densyr. ‘The question I need you to answer for me now is, can we move you? We are assuming the Garonin are chasing The Raven but we don’t really know why since the mana in our Heart is enormous compared to anything they have around their souls. But in any event the Garonin will surely return to complete the job. And you have to be somewhere safer.’

‘Very thoughtful of you.’ Dystran’s aura pulsed as he tested his mind. ‘All I will say is, be gentle. And I’d like to go back to my chambers if you consider them safe enough. Rathole or not, they smell good.’

‘Consider it done.’ Densyr turned to Brynar. ‘You heard the man. Bring up a stretcher party, though they might want to just pick up the chair with Lord Dystran in it. Less mucking about, I’d say. And ask them not to drop him. There would be . . . repercussions.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘And Brynar.’

‘My Lord.’

‘Your antics out in the city earlier. With The Raven.’ Densyr paused and let Brynar sweat. ‘Good work.’

Brynar’s smile was broad. ‘Thank you, Lord Densyr.’

‘Sentimental nonsense,’ muttered Dystran.

‘I remain lord of this pile of redesigned stone and wood,’ said Densyr. ‘And hence I shall be as sentimental as I like to whomsoever I choose. Thank you very much for your input. Time to relax. Help is at hand.’

‘Did the young pup find any water?’

‘Apparently not.’

Densyr made his careful way down the stair, already feeling nervous about Dystran’s journey to the catacombs. He passed Brynar’s team on the way up and favoured them with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. At the base of the tower, guards and mages were at work trying to make a path to the shattered complex doors and to clear the rubble-strewn mess that cluttered the entrance to the catacombs.

The evacuation alarm still sounded across the city, and while it had merged into the background for a while, Densyr heard it loud and clear again now. He clapped his hands for attention.