Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (19 page)

Raven massaged her temples, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. “Cole, what you’re saying isn’t possible. No, it’s insane! You can’t simply go for a stroll in people’s dreams. Nobody can do what you claim.”

Cole shrugged. “As far as I know, nobody else can.” He held her gaze steadily. “You were a little girl, sitting in a smithy. But not this one,” he added, looking at their surroundings. “Who did it belong to?”

Raven scowled. “Never speak of that again,” she warned him, raising her blade.

“I’m sorry.” Cole’s eyes were downcast. “I merely wanted to prove to you that I speak the truth.”

Reluctantly, Raven lowered her sword once more. “Fine,” she said, after a pause. “Say that I believe you, that you somehow entered my dreams tonight. Why would you want to do such a thing? To what end?”

Cole’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. He appeared to be taken aback by the question. “I... I don’t know,” he said at last. “Nobody ever asked me that before. It’s just something I can do.”

“And you were doing this tonight, to me?” The idea of it made Raven’s skin crawl.

“Yes, sorry,” he replied. He sounded embarrassed. “I didn’t really know. On the Crag, I was forbidden from using the crystals unless a Brother, usually Merryl, was with me, so I never really had the chance before to just explore. But the shapes – the people – they were different here.”

“Different how?”

“Well, those I encountered before back on the Crag, I could touch them, like I said. But here, tonight, I couldn’t. It was like they were surrounded with a barrier I couldn’t get past. All except for one.”

There was no need for him to elaborate. “Mine.”

Cole nodded. “I can’t explain it, I don’t know enough about what any of this means. That’s why Merryl said I should go to Frosthold. To find answers.”

Raven sat thoughtfully. “The night of the attack, you said the Archon’s men wanted to capture you. Could it be linked to this, what you can do with the crystals?”

“Maybe.” Cole shrugged again.  “I don’t really know. The Archon himself has some power over them, if the story Captain Brandt told me is true.” At Raven’s questioning look, he went into detail about what the captain had seen when he ventured into the tavern in Westcove.

Raven’s face turned a deathly pale. “The Archon... describe him to me.”

“Quite tall, lean but strong. In his forties, if I had to guess his age,” said Cole. “He seemed pleasant, but his eyes always held a certain look, as if he was mocking you somehow.”

Raven’s jaw clenched. “What colour are his eyes?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Green,” Cole replied confirming her suspicions. “Vividly so, the same shade as the crystals in fact.”

Raven closed her eyes. The sword fell from her fingers and clattered loudly upon the flagstones.
After all these years...

“What’s the matter?”

She opened her eyes again. Her anger had passed, but in its place was a grim determination. “Get dressed,” she told him. Suddenly, she was keenly aware that only thin sheet covered her nakedness.

“Why, where are we going?” Cole asked.

“We have a feast to attend.”

CHAPTER 9

T
he air hung thick and heavy inside the langhus. A great firepit stood in the centre of the room, belching smoke and cinders into the rafters. As Raven pushed open the door she was greeted by a gust of warmth from within. Standing at the open doorway, with a cool night breeze at her back, the sudden contrast made her face tingle.

On either side of the room, rows of benches ran along its length. On these were sat dozens of men, their faces bathed in the orange glow of the flames. A mix of both young and older, all looked hale and strong. Many wore animal skins of various kinds. But none were more impressive than the charcoal-grey wolfskin wrapped around the shoulders of the glowering man on the far side of the hall. Yaegar was seated on a plain wooden throne placed on top of a raised platform.

The carcass of a great stag hung beside the firepit from a large spit, roasted by a bed of hot embers that had been raked underneath. It had been picked nearly clean, a sign that the feast had already concluded. The drinking had continued, however, with most of the men gathered on the benched clasping horns filled with ale, mead or a blood-red wine. These were being sloshed liberally onto the benches, dirt floor and the men themselves, as they gesticulated wildly in response to the matter under discussion.

“My final answer is no. That is the end of it!” roared Yaegar from atop the dais.

Harri stood defiantly in the centre of the hall, facing his father, as other hunters shouted their own counsel. Some looked as outraged as the chieftain. To Raven’s eye, though, it seemed that near as many were in support of the blonde-haired man.

“There will never be a better chance than now!” Harri shouted back, apparently oblivious to the murderous look on his father’s face. “The Legion is waging war far to the south. Less than a dozen remain garrisoned at the Moon Tower, fewer still at Dusk. I counted them with my own eyes. This is our chance to win back the north.”

As an avalanche of ayes and nays rained down upon the young hunter, the two seated closest to the entrance turned and noticed Raven and Cole. She nodded, and they smiled in recognition. She stepped into the shadows and pulled Cole beside her to avoid attracting further attention.

“Enough!” Yaegar bellowed, silencing the room with a savage sweep of his arm. “You would see us throw away our lives, and for what? A solitary fort that we could not hope to hold? We are hunters, not soldiers. Our duty is to the Spiritwood, and keeping its foulness from spreading beyond its borders.”

There were cheers from the benches, and also some catcalls. Harri was undeterred. “One fort? I’m talking about taking them all – Moon, Dawn and Dusk as well. With their fall, the Legion will be cast out of the north, from the ice floes to War’s End.” The chieftain waved a dismissive hand, but the young man continued undaunted. “We could do it too, without losing a single hunter. We may not be soldiers, but we have been fighting a war since our grandfathers’ grandfathers laid the first stones of the Watch. Maximilien has over-reached himself. All the best fighting men have been summoned to Sentry Bay, a thousand miles south. All that remain to garrison their forts are old men with fewer teeth than toes and green boys barely off the teat.”

“The dregs of the Legion they may be, but dozen men can hold one of those towers against a force ten times the size,” Yaegar growled. “To say nothing that as skilled as our warriors may be, they know nothing about laying siege to such defences. And you would have us do this, not once but thrice?”

“Of course, if they believe us to be foes,” replied Harri. “But they welcome us in with open arms. We’ve been under their thumb for so long, they have grown complacent. They’re actually grateful to us for once again escorting the caravans through the forest.” He laughed incredulously. “I could take the Moon Tower with only a small hunting party. They would let us inside, and we could subdue the guards and hold the gates for a secondary force before the old men and children upstairs knew what was happening. A handful of good men is all it will take.”

Raven could feel the mood of the room turning. Many of the loudest supporters of the chieftain, predominantly the older hunters, had grown quiet. They could see the truth of the young man’s words. Yaegar himself sat back on his throne, weighing up his son thoughtfully.

“What you are proposing might be possible,” he conceded in a low voice. “It might even be possible to take all three towers at the same time, so as not to alert the others.” He leant forward. “But what then? We couldn’t hold them, boy, we lack the numbers. Caderyn’s army was smashed. He himself died at the Bloody Prince’s hands, and with him went our right to rule.”

“Maximilien rules the north through right of conquest, why should it be any different for us? With the Legion gone, you could declare yourself High King-”

“And end my days with my head atop a spike at the gates of Ehrenburg,” Yaegar finished. “What do you think will happen when the emperor learns of a rebellion? They’d reach The Scorch within a year and put us down for good a month after that. He’d do the job properly this time, bring settlers to take our towns and breed us out. There wouldn’t be a true Northman left within a generation.”

Harri flushed. “We could win, have you thought of that? If you declare yourself High King, the clansmen across the mountains would flock to your cause. The smaller clans are only waiting for an excuse to spit in Maximilien’s eye as it is. And if they believe there’s a chance we could win, the lords of Strathearn, Caer Lys and Creag an Tuirc would strike their banners. Together we could take War’s End and make the north impregnable.”

A fleeting smile passed across Yaegar’s face. “Imagine the look on Old Bones’ face if he saw our colours flying from the walls of his own fortress,” he mused. “I’d give all the wealth in Whitecliff to see that.”

“The fortress is built on the spot where Caderyn’s blood was spilled,” said Harri. “It is destiny that it should fall into Northmen’s hands.”

Yaegar scowled. “When you live as long as I have, you realise there is no such thing as destiny. What happens, happens.” He fell silent.

By now, the rows of benches had grown quiet as well. Raven could sense the excitement, though. The hunters caught each other’s eyes and, though expressions remained stern, heads began to nod in agreement. All Harri had done was give voice to the dreams they had all held at one time or another. Every Northman yearned to be free of the imperial yoke, but few still believed it could happen. In laying out plain the Legion’s current weakness, with the emperor’s attention occupied far to the south, the chieftain’s son had brought the belief flooding back.

“We can do it, father,” he said quietly.

Yaegar’s fingers drummed the arm of his throne. “Such a risk,” he murmured. “If we were to fail, we would lose all.”

“Or win, and gain everything.”

The grizzled chieftain stood, and paced back and forth across the platform distractedly. “They say the emperor is preparing a new weapon, to aid his war. What if he were then to bring it to our gates, turn it against us instead?”

Harri threw his hands up in exasperation. “And what if he pulls a dozen dragons out of his wrinkled arse and burns us in our beds? You would throw away this chance on the mutterings of fishwives? We don’t even know what kind of weapon it is, or even if it exists at all!”

Raven had heard enough. She strode forward, dragging Cole behind her, and threw the pendant towards the throne. It landed between Yaegar’s feet with an audible clink. “I believe it has to do with this,” she said in the shocked silence that followed.

Furious voices started talking at once all around her, but she stood unperturbed, looking adamantly up at the chieftain.

He gestured for quiet and gradually the cries of protest died down. “Raven, you are a friend to the Watch, but you test our patience.” He glowered down at her. “Not only do you violate the sanctity of the moot, but you bring this,” he stooped, snatched the crystal pendant from the floor and brandished it angrily in her direction, “a trapping of the Order. You know full well the Southron cult is forbidden here, by my order.”

“I have never disagreed with you on this matter, nor do I now,” replied Raven obstinately. “But while the Order may have no presence here, it will affect you all nonetheless if you choose this path.”

Harri glared at her. “You have no place here,
càile
,” he snarled. “This is not your business.”

“I’m smaller than a man, that is undeniable, Harri,” said Raven calmly. “I’m also a girl, correct, although I prefer woman. I can also best any man here, and have. Yourself included.”

“Let her speak,” Yaegar growled, at a smattering of laughter from the benches. “What do you mean by this?”

“Postpone the
krigsmoot
, Yaegar. Let us speak in private. There are matters you are not yet aware of that may influence your decision. All I ask is that you listen to what we have to say.”

Yaegar lowered himself into his throne once more. “Very well,” he said after a time. “I had a mind to do so in any case. There are hunting parties still in the wilds, and it would be wise to hear all counsel first. From wherever it comes.”

“You cannot seriously be considering this, father,” raged Harri in disbelief. “If we tarry too long, the chance will be lost. We must strike!”

“Silence.” Yaegar’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “You have said your piece and given me much to think on. Nobody doubts your bravery, your skill with the bow and blade. But if you are to one day lead our people, you must also learn prudence.”

Harri’s face flushed, but he bowed his head towards the podium. Jaw clenched, he returned to the benches. Yaegar nodded, satisfied. “The moot is concluded, for now,” he called out, his voice carrying across the long hall. “We will meet again in a fortnight’s time, when decisions will be made. I’m sure we’ve all got much to think on in the meantime. Raven,” he said, more softly, “take your friend, and wait in my chambers. Once the homecoming rites have been observed, I will listen to what you have to say.”

*      *      *

Yaegar’s private chambers turned out to be a couple of modest rooms to the rear of the podium. The main space was taken up by a study of sorts, the walls hung with weapons and a menagerie of stuffed animal heads – deer, elk, a brown bear and a great smoke-grey wolf’s head in pride of place above a large table. Across this were scattered numerous maps. A flight of wooden steps led upwards to what appeared to be a small bedroom.

“For a leader, he doesn’t seem to believe in luxury,” observed Cole, glancing around the study.

“Yaegar is a warrior,” Raven replied, seating herself on one of the chairs set around the map-strewn table. “He doesn’t see the point of furnishings or decoration. He believes that comfort leads to weakness.”

Cole wandered over to the table and pored over several of the maps. The one that interested him the most showed a great forest that practically filled the entire parchment; the Spiritwood no doubt. Hunter’s Watch was marked, as were three towers to the east, west and in the centre of the wood. Each was an insignificant speck in comparison. He saw what Bjorn had explained to him earlier that day; it was bigger than could be believed, stretching almost to the fjords in the frozen north to the mountain range to the south. It was then that he realised how much further he had to travel to reach his destination. In over a week he had barely covered half the distance. It was a sobering discovery.

They did not have long to wait. There were cheers and toasts from the hall, after which a hundred voices lifted in song. Cole didn’t understand the language, but the sense of sadness and loss was clear. He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

“What is that?” he asked Raven, who was idly perusing one of the maps.

“The Lament,” she replied, without looking up. “After a successful hunt, they feast to honour those who returned. At the end, they mourn those who have not.”

Cole listened a while longer. “What language are they speaking?”

Raven shrugged. “The folk of the Watch are not natives of the north. When their ancestors journeyed here from their own lands, their brought their own tongue with them. Few speak it now, but every young hunter learns to recite the Lament.”

Shortly after the voices fell silent once more, Yaegar strode briskly into the study. Harri followed behind his father, casting a surly look towards Raven as he entered.

“Let us get straight to it,” the chieftain said gruffly as he seated himself beneath the snarling wolf’s head. Cole could not help noticing that its pelt was the same shade as the fur cloak he wore. “This night has been trying enough already, and I have little patience left for niceties. Speak.”

Raven gave no sign of offence at his bluntness. “It is good of you to meet with us, Yaegar,” she said. “I would not have disturbed you, tonight of all nights, if I did not feel it was urgent. It is best if Cole tells you in his own words.”

The dour chieftain grunted, and motioned for him to speak. So, for the second time that night, Cole found himself telling the story of the attack on the Crag and his subsequent flight. As he spoke, father and son watched impassively, betraying no emotion at his words. However, at the mention of his escape from the Archon’s giant manservant, Dantes, the young hunter started.