Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (5 page)

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “You attack one of your brothers, without provocation, on an occasion such as this?” The slap echoed across the courtyard. Cole’s head rocked to one side with the force of it. His cheek throbbed where the elder’s palm had struck.

“Elder.” A voice Cole didn’t recognise called out. “It is unbecoming for those of higher station to meet violence with violence.”

His cheek still stinging and feeling shamed by the public scolding, Cole looked towards the speaker. A figure dressed in a robe of purest white crossed the courtyard towards them. A pair of eyes as green as the sea on a hot summer’s day looked upon him with the merest hint of amusement.

“Is this the boy you spoke of?” the green-eyed man asked, addressing the elder but continuing to hold Cole’s gaze.

“Indeed, it is, Archon. Cole. A talented if infuriating initiate.”

“He fights well?”

“Well enough. He lacks not for enthusiasm, but his instructors say he continues to fight too much with his heart and not enough with his head. It is control that he lacks.”

The Archon nodded thoughtfully. “My servant has been known to wield a stave on occasion.” He smiled at Cole. “What say you to one more bout, initiate?”

Cole sensed that a refusal would not be looked upon kindly. “If my lord pleases,” he replied, at a loss what else to say.

Without a further word, the Archon turned and snapped his fingers towards a group of unfamiliar Brothers that lingered at the edge of the courtyard.
His attendants, no doubt
, thought Cole. He eyed them with interest, wondering which he was to fight.

But instead, the brown-robed figures parted. From behind them strode another – taller by a clear head than any of his fellows. He wasn’t simply tall, Cole realised as he neared them. Everything about him was on a larger scale than anyone else he had ever laid eyes on. Powerful shoulders and a chest like the tuns of mead kept in the elder’s cellar were covered with a roughspun wool tunic, which ill-concealed the muscles beneath. One huge arm, its bicep as large as Cole’s head, was bare, the other oddly covered by a grey cloak that hung only on one side. The giant’s face was hidden behind a steel mask, fashioned with ghoulish, inhuman features. This was held to his face by a number of tight leather straps that encircled his skull – itself as large as a bull’s.

A pair of fierce eyes stared out from the depths of this unpleasant visage. While holes had also been cut into the metal to allow its wearer to breathe, no such provision had been made for the giant’s mouth.

As the huge figure approached, it almost seemed as if the ground trembled with each heavy footfall. Around the courtyard, the Brothers and novices gawped.

The giant reached them within moments, his long strides carrying him across the ground deceptively quickly. He stopped before the Archon and loomed silently above the three of them.

“Your servant... I, ah, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the like,” stammered the elder.

The Archon smiled. “Impressive, is he not? I found him many years ago, the last captive in a forgotten dungeon in the Shadowlands. The wretch was half starved and near death. He was a slave, I presume, and tortured. Unfortunately, the exact nature of his confinement remains a mystery, as he is not too communicative. Isn’t that right, Dantes?” The giant growled, and fell silent again.

“Why does he wear that mask?” The elder asked the question all in the courtyard were wondering.

“For modesty’s sake, elder,” the Archon replied. “I regret to say that his former captors were not kind, and quick to apply hot irons and pincers. They took his tongue and also, perhaps to control such a man,” the Archon swept the cloak aside, “his arm.”

There were gasps and a few shocked cries from those assembled. Even the elder looked momentarily taken aback. In place of his right arm, to the giant’s shoulder was attached an array of metal bands and leather straps, held together in such a fashion so as to resemble the limb they replaced. These were interwoven with metal circles and discs, where a normal man’s elbow and wrist would sit. At the end of the bizarre contraption was a metal hand, made of similar constituent parts but on a smaller scale. This close, Cole could see the workmanship was exquisite. Impossibly so, even. It was hard to believe there was a smith in the Empire who could fashion such a contrivance.

“A prosthetic? My my, how ingenious.” The elder peered more closely at the workings of the metal arm. “A terrible thing to lose an arm, of course, but this is very impressive work. Does it function?”

“A little.” The Archon turned back to Cole and raised an eyebrow. “So, is the initiate prepared for a training bout with my servant, one with such an unfortunate disability?”

Cole was still horrified at the thought of facing off against a man of such stature, but the sight of the metal arm had put him more at ease. “He will be able to fight one-handed?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of the Archon’s mouth. “His remaining arm will bear the weight of a staff, I believe. Dantes is a most capable servant.”

Cole lifted another quarterstaff from the rack and tossed it to his opponent. The giant plucked it out of the air with his left hand as though it was no more substantial than a reed blown in the wind.

Nervously, Cole began to circle, just as he had before, trying to block out the jeers of his fellows around the training square. More than a few of them were hoping to see his brains dashed upon the floor, he suspected.

As he moved, the giant merely turned to follow, twirling his stave in one hand. The air hummed as it span.

With a mental shrug, Cole struck with snake-like speed, hoping to knock the stave out of his opponent’s hand and put a quick end to the farce. Instead, the giant met the strike with such force it took all his strength to keep hold of his own weapon.

As if taking that as his signal, the giant began a furious barrage. He rained heavy blows down on Cole from seemingly every angle. He was able to deflect a few, more by blind luck than design, but many more landed. One blow to the side of his head left him seeing double.

After a successful parry, he glanced up, and saw Ulf’s mocking face above him, hanging from an upstairs window. The stocky novice seemed to be enjoying the spectacle enormously.

Cole roared and charged forward two steps, hammering away another strike with all the strength he could muster. He used the second of respite it bought him to slide onto his back, his momentum carrying him through the giant’s legs. With cat-like agility he jumped to his feet, and before the giant could turn he swung his stave around and smashed it against his foe’s broad back. With an exultant cry, he raised his arms above his head and turned to the watching crowd.

His triumph was short-lived. The giant swivelled to face him, his smouldering glare burning through the mask’s eye slits. Cole may as well have tried to halt a raging bull with a fly swat.

“Bravo, young man, bravo,” the Archon called across the training square. Cole risked a glance across, to where the white-robed man was clapping appreciatively. “It has been a long time since I have seen any man land a strike on formidable Dantes.” He smiled. “But the fight is not yet over, I fear.”

Cole turned back and readied himself for another assault. To his confusion, however, the giant threw his stave high into the air.

The assembled crowd could only look on in astonishment as the prosthetic arm whirred into life, the metal circles in the joints spinning at dizzying speed. The countless workings of the arm clicked and whirred and hummed, their movements a hypnotic dance that left Cole mesmerised. The arm raised gracefully into the air, and caught the stave effortlessly mid-fall. Mechanical fingers closed deftly around it. The giant met Cole’s gaze. Although his mouth was hidden behind the steel mask, Cole could tell that beneath it he wore a smile.

It suddenly occurred to Cole that perhaps only having one arm was not such a disadvantage, after all.

If the giant’s attacks had been swift before, what followed was nothing short of an onslaught. The staff was a blur as it swung and spun, his metal prosthetic moving at impossible angles of which no human arm was capable. As the mechanical arm came to life, so too did its owner. The giant no longer faced him with feet planted firmly on the ground. He danced around Cole, more agile than a man his size had any right to be.

Cole blocked as best he could, but for every successful contact, half a dozen blows struck him. Every inch of his body ached, and soon he could barely lift his own weapon, let alone defend himself with it.

He jumped back, and dropped his weapon to the ground. “I yield,” he rasped. He toppled forward to his knees, utterly spent.

A guttural hacking sound made him look up. At first, he thought perhaps the giant was choking, but eventually he recognised the sound as laughter.

The metal arm raised towards him, still holding the staff. As Cole watched, it began to twirl, the mechanical hand rotating a full circle on its wrist. Faster and faster it span, becoming a blur. Cole could feel the wind it generated blowing his sweat-dampened hair from his face.

With a grunt, the giant twisted his enormous torso and hurled the staff high into the air. It arced over the keep’s ramparts and curtain wall, and was soon lost from sight.

In the stunned silence that followed, the Archon leaned towards the elder and confided: “You should see him with a sword.”

CHAPTER 3

A
fter the drama of the morning and the furore that followed, calm settled over the Crag once more by the afternoon. Brother Merryl was one of those relieved by its return.

Once his young charge had been carried back to his sleeping cell near-insensible after his bruising encounter with the giant manservant, the Archon and his party were escorted around the keep by Elder Tobias. Brother Merryl followed a short distance behind the group, more out of a sense of duty than any real need for his presence. As he trailed behind them, the drone of the elder’s voice washing over him, his thoughts drifted to Cole. He hoped that the wounds he had sustained were not too grievous.

The Archon listened politely as they walked through the novices’ wing, study halls and the Long Gallery that housed portraits of each of Elder Tobias’ predecessors, each of whom received a long-winded history.

They had reached the Crag’s library, an immense, domed room, lined on all sides by bookshelves the height of eight men, stuffed full of dusty tomes and tightly bound rolls of parchment. The elder reeled off dry statistics demonstrating the depth and breadth of knowledge stored therein.

“...seventeen distinct varieties of sea kelp,” he was saying. “Brother Leif has spent the last two years classifying these and documenting his findings in three volumes. It is his belief that...”

“Fascinating,” the Archon interjected, in a tone that suggested it was anything but. “It is pleasing to see that these halls are now given over to more scholarly pursuits since I was here last. However, the hour grows late and I am keen to turn to the real purpose of my visit.”

The elder’s face drooped. He blinked several times, giving him the appearance of a maudlin owl. “But we haven’t even begun to touch on the exciting research Brother Samson has been conducting on the genealogies of the great Westcove Fisher Houses, for example...” He caught the Archon’s expression and tailed off. “Yes, well, perhaps that is something we can revisit on the morrow. Brother Merryl?”

He stepped forward. “Yes, elder?”

“Could you look in on our brave warrior,” Elder Tobias allowed himself a thin smile, “and prepare him. The Archon is keen to see a demonstration of the research you have both been conducting.”

Brother Merryl nodded and turned to leave, almost stumbling into the Archon’s giant in his haste. Several of the visiting Brothers had disappeared around the keep shortly after arrival, but the largest servant had not left his master’s side for even a moment.

“My p-pardon,” he stammered. The giant growled from the recesses of his steel mask in response, and Merryl hurried from the library.

*      *      *

Cole lay groaning on his cot when he heard a rap at his door. “If that’s you, Cas, you can bugger off,” he called.

The heavy oak door creaked loudly as it was pushed tentatively open. When he saw that the head that emerged from around its frame belonged to the Crag’s eldest Brother, and not the scraggly novice, Cole sat hurriedly up on his cot.

“I suspect young Caspian has decided your recovery would be swifter without his presence,” Brother Merryl observed. “He has already confessed whose idea it was to venture onto the training field earlier.”

“He’s not wrong.” Cole tested a shoulder, and winced. “Divine’s teeth, I feel like I’ve fallen off a cliff.”

“It would be wise to curtail any references to our former deity around the Archon,” said Merryl, smiling. “Even blasphemous ones. Are you able to walk, my son? The elder has requested that we show the Archon the fruits of your studies.”

Cole nodded wearily. He struggled to his feet, and together they made the short journey along the passages of the novices’ wing to the training rooms.

Elder Tobias, the Archon and his party were already gathered in one of the small, plain rooms when they arrived. The giant, Dantes, filled one corner on his own, the top of his head mere inches from the ceiling. Cole eyed him warily, the bruises he’d received in their earlier encounter still fresh in the memory, but if the hulking, mute servant harboured any lingering malice it was not immediately apparent.

None of those gathered in the poky study room said a word as Cole and Brother Merryl entered, though Elder Tobias shot him a glare that made it clear any further mischief would be ill-received.

Brother Merryl seated himself at the table and began to carefully assemble the apparatus. The steel frame clinked softly against the tabletop as the old man’s hands trembled ever so slightly. Cole took the seat opposite and waited patiently as the crystal was placed onto its stand. “Are you ready, lad?” Merryl whispered. Cole murmured assent.

He felt no nerves himself. It was a ritual he was by now very familiar with. He placed his hands on the crystal, and just as he did so he looked up and saw the elder again. The head of the college glared, radiating disapproval. The sight of him made something inside Cole rebel.
So, he wants a show, does he?
He winked. The elder could not have looked more appalled if Cole had clambered onto the table and dropped his breeches.

As Merryl closed his eyes, Cole felt the familiar tug at his consciousness. He allowed the feeling to take him, sweeping his mind away from that room and the people within it. The first few times, the dizziness had been almost too much to bear, but over time he had learned to ride the sensation like the crest of a wave.

Then he was flying through an impenetrable darkness, a blackness that seemed to have actual weight to it, such that could smother a candle flame, or a host of them even. It was a primeval void, a yawning oblivion beyond the edges of anything experienced by men. It was the darkness that existed before life, at the beginning of time.
Or the end
.

The notion was fleeting and left his mind as quickly as it had entered it. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from. He travelled on towards his destination. He felt, rather than saw, vast presences, leviathans of darkness, but paid them no heed. They were no more aware of him than a whale is of a minnow.

After an eternity, Cole felt the sand beneath his feet. He had made it at last, to the place of dreams. He walked forward, confidently now, feeling the scrunch of the grey desert beneath his feet. Gradually, the enveloping darkness began to recede and shapes began to form.

There were a half-dozen of them, gathered close together. Floating orbs that gave off a pale green light. They bobbed gently up and down, as though caught in a light breeze, though Cole had never known the air in this place to move. Up close, they were large, the size of a watermelon, and from each one protruded a thin cord of light: a tether of some kind, that disappeared away into the darkness and out of sight.

They were all there, Cole knew, in a manner of speaking. He knew that the orb closest to him was Brother Merryl. He brushed his hand across the surface. It rippled like liquid, and when it grew still again he saw a sun-kissed garden within. He watched for a moment, tempted to give the old man another taste of his favourite memories. It would not be the same as when he was asleep, Cole knew, but at a touch he could ensure Merryl’s waking mind recalled a happier past. Besides, that was what he was here to do, the point of this demonstration.

Instead, he approached the other orbs that floated nearby. One was the elder, he knew. With his fingertips, he gave it a cursory examination and found it filled with grey days within the walls of the Crag, dusty books and resentments. Much as expected.
A truly dour man
, Cole thought.

Clustered nearby were several others he didn’t recognise. Cole ignored these, presuming them to belong to the Brothers that accompanied the Archon. The last two stopped him in his tracks.

Where the giant, Dantes, would have stood floated a tiny red orb, smaller than his fist. Unlike the others, it was untethered. His curiosity piqued, Cole peered at it, but was unable to make out any images within. He reached for it, and cried out, drawing his hand back immediately. The orb burned like fire.

When the pain had subsided somewhat, Cole turned to the final orb. This, too, was different to the others. It was cloaked in a black mist, which obscured everything within. A sick feeling of dread came over him at the sight of it. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to return to Merryl’s orb and continue with the exercise as planned. But rather than turn away from the smoke-shrouded sphere, he instead reached out a shaking hand towards it. He tried to pull away, but it was as if an invisible force grasped his hand firmly, pulling it towards the black fog.

For a moment he held himself still, his open palm hovering a hair’s breadth above the dark, writhing tendrils. His arm shook with the effort required to hold it back.

Finally, unable to stop himself any longer, Cole plunged his hand into the mist.

*      *      *

Brother Merryl’s eyes flicked open. Straight away, he sensed that something had gone awry. Yet, at first glance, all seemed as it should. Cole was utterly focused on the crystal in front of him, grasping it in both hands.

Merryl turned around in his seat. The Archon’s party stood behind him, watching the experiment with polite interest. Elder Tobias, meanwhile, was simmering with poorly concealed impatience.

“I’m sorry, elder,” Brother Merryl began. “I’m afraid I don’t know what-”

He was interrupted by a loud snort. Startled, he turned to face the Archon, and gaped. “Oh my,” he murmured.

The Archon’s face was a grey mask of horror. All colour had drained from his skin, and his mouth hung open, limp. His eyes bulged from their sockets. As Merryl watched, the head of the Order began to shake, first his hands, then his entire body. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a landed fish gasping for breath.

The others had noticed it too, and his attendants hurriedly caught hold of him. Merryl rose from his seat and signalled for the Archon to be lowered into it.

The elder simply stood dumbfounded, paralysed in shock at the scene unfolding around him. “Should I send for Brother Burdock?” Merryl asked. “His healing herbs may...”

Wordlessly, the elder raised his hand and pointed. Merryl turned to see Cole, gaping and shaking like the Archon, still clutching the crystal. A line of blood trickled from one of the young man’s nostrils.

Merryl felt his panic rising.
What do I do?

Just then, Cole started to scream.

*      *      *

Run.

Cole’s lungs burned, but still he willed his aching legs to keep moving. A stitch in his side made it painful to draw breath. But still he dared not stop.

He ran blindly, once more in total blackness, the cloying, stale air telling him he was somewhere far underground.

What
were
those things?

The passage he found himself in was cut roughly into the rock, barely tall enough for him to stand upright. More than once he stumbled over some unseen obstruction.
Am I running in the right direction?
he wondered.
Am I leaving that madness behind, or headed for something even worse?
Desperately, he stopped and tried in vain to find his bearings.

In the darkness of the passage behind him, something skittered against the stone. With a moan Cole broke again into a weary lope.

Is this a memory or a dream?
Surely the creatures he had seen inside the cavern were the product of nightmare, not reality...

At the sound of alien chittering in the tunnel behind, Cole urged his legs to move faster, terrified shrieks still ringing in his ears.

It had all started off so promisingly. After joining with the mist-wreathed orb, Cole had opened his eyes in darkness. The only light came from a torch burning a short distance away, held aloft by a young man. The orange glow illuminated rock walls all around.
A cave,
he’d realised.

As the halo of light moved away from him, Cole had followed at a discreet distance, wishing to remain undetected. Every so often, the young man would pause and sweep his torch along the tunnel walls. Once or twice, Cole had caught sight of markings of some kind. The young man seemed deeply intrigued by these, running his hands along them.

Now, as he ran, Cole found himself missing that light. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the torch. No doubt it had been snuffed out when the young man dropped it upon the floor of the cavern when he was taken. Cole’s mind recoiled from the memory of that place, and what had happened there.
They came from the walls!

Just then, his toe snagged on another rocky protuberance and he fell hard. His chin slammed into the jagged floor, sending shooting stars of pain across his vision.

He was about to rise, when something cold brushed against his leg. His heart hammering against his ribcage, Cole jerked onto his back, scrambling away on his elbows. From the tunnel behind, green eyes floated in the blackness, luminescent and inhuman. Cole held his breath, too afraid to move. With mounting horror, he watched as they were joined by a second pair, then another.