The Raven Collection

The space before the pyramid was a carpet of dark-cowled followers who simply stared into the lantern-flanked blackness. They were waiting. Just waiting. The atmosphere lay heavy on her like a weight between her shoulderblades, the air thick and crackling with anticipation. But overwhelming it all was a feeling of onrushing evil she could all but taste. Above the pyramid, clouds gathered, circling in black impenetrability, adding humidity to the menace. Selyn shuddered. The only sound she could hear above her own thumping heart was the breathing of the acolytes, slow and deliberate, as if it too were an integral part of the ceremony that was surely close.

She didn’t need to see any more. Re-awakening was mere days, perhaps only hours away. She returned to her rooftop and called her communion with Stylia

‘Fascinating,’ said Stylia

The Unknown and Denser stood in the Marquee, now shorn of its trappings of conference. The tables and chairs had gone, packed for transit with the delegations pla

Behind them, sitting at the trestle and just arrived, were Ilkar and Erie

The Unknown stared down at Stylia

‘I am not a Protector,’ he said. ‘Neither am I an experimental result for examination by you or any mage. If you want to talk to me, stand in front of me.’

Stylia

‘I am a dead man alive,’ countered The Unknown. ‘I would have preferred death, but Xetesk thought otherwise. That’s the last time you decide my destiny.’

‘You sound a little ungracious. After all, we gave you back your life.’

The Unknown’s right hand shot out, gloved fingers gripping Stylia

‘No. You stole my death.’ Stylia

‘You are alive,’ gasped Stylia

‘I could go and visit my own corpse.’

‘Denser, please.’ Stylia

Denser appeared to notice the scene for the first time. He took in the other College delegates, the Xeteskian swordsmen standing ready, and Ilkar, whose eyes were fixed on Stylia

‘Unknown, please let him go.’

Unknown released him and turned to Denser. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

Denser shrugged. Stylia

‘I will not be your exhibit. I am Raven,’ said The Unknown.

‘Denser, let’s talk. Outside.’ Stylia

Denser sighed and followed, squeezing The Unknown’s arm as he turned. Leaving the Marquee, he caught sight of the wide smile on Vuldaroq’s face.

Stylia

‘Tell me of your condition.’

Denser rubbed at the eyes he knew must be sunken, red and ringed in black.

‘I ca

His sense of loss penetrated right into his bones and chilled his body. His mind was at once crowded with images and empty of feeling. That part of his mind which the Familiar had for so long shared was missing and Denser imagined a hole in his head above his right eye and it itched. Only when he put his hand there, the itch was on the inside and he couldn’t quiet it.

But the loss of the voice and the pulse, that was what hurt more than the pain he still felt at its death. The voice had given him calm and comfort but the pulse he had taken as a right, something that was of him. Now that pulse was gone, part of him had died.

‘Your faculties will soon return. You merely need rest. As for the grief you feel, that will remain, I am afraid.’ Stylia

‘He felt he had to distract Nyer. He thought they were too close.’ Denser shrugged. ‘They might have taken The Raven before they reached here.’ He shook his head. ‘Might. I didn’t think he had to. I think he felt he had to prove his worth.’

‘Worth?’ Stylia

‘Did you ever take a Familiar?’ asked Denser. Stylia

Stylia

‘I don’t have them.’

‘Then where—’

‘The Raven hold them. I couldn’t take them into Xetesk.’

Stylia

A brief commotion in another part of the camp interrupted further conversation. The sound of hoofs approaching was followed by the sight of The Raven and Evanson rounding a stand of bushes.

They pulled up close to the Marquee and dismounted. Hirad strode over to Denser, expectation on his face. But the question he was about to ask was lost as he read Denser’s eyes. Instead, he inclined his head in respect and grasped the Dark Mage’s right arm just below the shoulder.

‘I understand your pain,’ he said.

‘And I your anger,’ said Denser. He paused, managing a weak smile. ‘He’s inside.’

The Unknown was sitting on a bench behind a trestle table, talking to Ilkar and Erie

The animation in the face, the definite movements when he used his hands, and the way he stroked the top of his head and on down the back of his skull to his neck, as if smoothing out a crease. It was all there. Where Sol had been now sat The Unknown. No mask, no emotionless eyes, no double-bladed axe.

‘By all the Gods, it is you.’ His voice cracked and a tear was in his eye. He wiped it away as he strode forwards. The Unknown walked around the table and the two men met and hugged, Hirad clapping the big man’s back. ‘How do you feel?’

The Unknown stepped back. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I know it’s me.’ He shrugged. ‘I knew it before . . . you recognised me. When I was Sol. But I couldn’t speak to you. Something inside me forbade me recognise you in return, though my eyes gave me away. Hirad, I should be dead.’

‘But you’re not and I don’t care how. It’s you. Gods, it’s you!’