Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (51 page)

Suddenly there was a huge crash from the Baron’s chamber behind them. Her consciousness came flooding back as she ran from the room of horrors. The window above the bed was shattered, and a flurry of snowflakes blew in from the world outside. The Baron’s body had gone.

With a primeval roar, Raven ran towards it, ignoring the cries behind her. A savage fury was upon her. She was no longer a woman who had dedicated her life to a single goal. Even the darker half of her, the part of herself that kept her awake at night, the part that took over when she was fighting, that had cut down dozens of foes without shedding a single tear, was gone. All that was left was the blood pounding in her head, the rage. She was vengeance made flesh.

There was no feeling beyond the howling emptiness at the core of herself. She flew through the morning air, feeling neither the icy chill of the snowflakes on her skin nor the impact as she landed. Part of the wall on this side of the manor house had tumbled down, revealing the forest beyond. Red droplets spotted the crisp white blanket that covered the ground, leading towards this gap.

Raven sprinted after the trail. There was no thought behind her movements. She was acting on instinct, guided only by rage. As she went, it almost felt as though she were running through the snow on four legs, not two. She was the predator now, her mind filled only with the hunt.

The trail of blood led into the trees and she raced between the grey trunks without slowing. Sharp, dry twigs whipped at her face, but they hardly registered. She was getting close now, she could feel it.

Then, she spotted her prey. The Baron was staggering through the snow, his bloodied nightshirt flapping loosely behind him. With a triumphant bellow she charged towards him, wanting nothing more than to rend him to pieces, to sate herself on his destruction. At the sound, the Baron glanced back and groaned. He took two more unsteady steps, but then Raven was upon him.

She leapt at the Baron’s retreating back, and the pair of them rolled over and over, throwing up clods of snow. When they stopped tumbling, Raven was kneeling astride him. The Baron’s luminous green eyes, that had seemed so confident before, so mocking, were now filled with fear. She raised her sword high, but with a hiss the Baron lashed out a desperate arm and slashed her face with his claws.

Raven fell back, and that was enough for her foe to clamber to his feet. He didn’t run, though, not this time. Raven sprang up, her blade already swinging, and their battle began.

Raven had never been conceited, but at the same time there were aspects of herself that she found pleasing. Her method of fighting was one. Long ago realising that she could never match the reach or strength of the men she faced, she instead focused on being faster, more athletic than they – for how could they hurt what they couldn’t hit? After long years of practice, she fought with the grace and litheness of a dancer, until she thought of it more as a form of art than combat.

There was nothing artistic about her fight against the Baron of Faerloren. They swung wildly at each other, not feeling the other’s strikes. They were both wounded beasts; the only difference was that for one the injuries were physical, the other’s deep within her soul. Fury wielded her sword this time, her arm merely the vehicle for the bloodlust that consumed her. The Baron was strong, even now. He bore no weapon, but his arm was iron, his claws razors. Ragged tears appeared in Raven’s clothes as the Baron slashed at her again and again.

Gradually, as they fought, Raven began to reassert control over herself. The fires of vengeance still burned within, but the icy calm of her conscious mind began to hold them in check. She started to anticipate his swings, moving aside to let his claws slash uselessly down her shoulder rather than along her chest. As his arm moved past, she swung down with her sword, striking his wrist. The Baron’s hand flew into the snow in a gush of blood. He fell back howling, clutching the wound.

The Baron lay there, blood staining the white blanket that had settled upon the Spiritwood, his breath coming in heavy gasps. He regarded her coolly. Behind the pain, there was a look of vulpine cunning in his eyes.

“You have bested me,” he hissed. “Let me live and I’ll leave here forever. You’ll never hear of me again.”

Raven stood above him, holding her blade steady. This time, she was ready for any sudden movement on his part. She would not be caught unawares a second time. “It ends here,” she said.

Through the pain, the Baron grinned, baring teeth that once again looked human. “Think of what you’d be throwing away. I have power, greater than you can comprehend. I could grant you riches, or titles. Whatever you desire. Let me live, and you could be a queen.”

“There is nothing I want that you could give me.”

“Are you so sure?” The features of the Baron’s face shifted subtly, and suddenly she was staring into a pair of familiar steel-grey eyes. “We can still be together,” said Harri. He held an imploring hand out towards her.

For a moment, Raven held his gaze, saying nothing. Her face gave away nothing of the turmoil that raged within her. Then she took a step forward. “Do you remember the promise I made you, Baron?”

The illusion faded and the Baron lay before her once again. He growled as she approached, scrabbling in the snow with his shoulders in an attempt to crawl away. “Pathetic monkey,” he spat venomously. “You can’t kill me. I am eternal! I will feast on your flesh and gnaw your bones. I...”

His last words ended with a grunt as Raven’s sword pierced his heart. She held it there until the snow all around them stained red as his life drained away. The arrogant light in his eyes died at last and he slumped lifelessly.

Raven left the sword where it was, pinning the vile creature’s body to the ground. It seemed fitting somehow. It belonged to him, after all. Or to his guards, at least. As she turned away, she felt the chill wind pinch at her skin, and she crossed her arms to protect what little warmth remained to her.

Whatever fire had driven her here died with the Baron. The icy cold snowflakes actually provided some relief, numbing the skin of her face where the Baron’s claws had gouged deep scratches. She began to walk back the way she had come, following her own deep footprints, and noticed the pain in one ankle. It did not feel broken; most likely she had sprained it in her jump from the window.

When she climbed back through the gap in the wall she had chased the Baron through, Cole was coming towards her. Behind him, standing uncertainly in the snow, was a crowd of villagers. Several armoured guards stood among them, and Raven began to regret leaving her only weapon behind in the forest.

“Did you find him?” Cole asked. “Is he...”

“He’s dead,” Raven answered simply. It seemed unnecessary to say more.

“I thought so.” Cole shuffled his feet uncertainly, churning up the fresh snow. “Raven, something happened to the villagers. After you left, a group of them came to the manor. They burst in on me and Emmett, the guards too, and I thought that was going to be it for us.” He glanced at the people standing behind. “Then, they just stopped. They threw their weapons down, and some of them started crying. It was as if they suddenly woke up.”

Raven nodded wearily. “Whatever control the Baron had over them died with him. It’s over.”

“There’s something else. Raven, it’s Harri...”

“Cole, I-”

“... he’s alive.” Cole finished.

Hope is a strange feeling, Raven later reflected. When we have it, we can live our lives and only rarely become aware of its presence. But when it is either lost or gained, it consumes our entire being.

Raven ran again, limping this time. She pushed her way through the crowd of villagers without a word, and flew up the stairs towards the Baron’s chamber. Somebody, Cole or Emmett most likely, had carried the young hunter from the room of death and laid him on the Baron’s bed. The healer was bent over his body. In the light of day, Harri’s wounds looked even more grievous, but now his eyes were open.

She went to him. Harri smiled when he saw her, though it was obvious he was in great pain. “Harri,” she said, taking his hand. Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t know what else to say.

“It is good to see you,” he managed. “There were times, when they were... cutting me... that I did not think I ever would again.”

“He should sleep,” the healer said, addressing them both. “The wounds are severe, but I believe he can be saved. He should be brought to my house.”

Cole arrived, Emmett in tow, and the three of them carried Harri out of the manor house. Their feet scrunched in the snow as they walked through the quiet village, until Harri was once more laying in the treatment room.

While the healer busied himself among the assortment of herbs and potions on his workbench, Raven waited with Harri. “At least father will be pleased,” he said, with grim humour. “I found out where the travellers were disappearing to after all. My mission was a complete success.”

Raven smiled sadly, her eyes downcast. The young hunter was putting a brave face on his suffering, but they were both aware of the truth they left unsaid. He would live, so said the healer, but he was a hunter now in name only. He could never again ride a horse, or fight. He would never lead his people.

The healer joined them, and pressed a bottle of clear liquid into Harri’s hands. “This will let you sleep,” he told him. “I have to tend to your wounds properly. The pain will be great. This will help.”

Once Harri had fallen asleep, Raven left the healer’s house, allowing him to work in peace. There was nothing further she could do.

More than a dozen people stood in the street outside, milling around as if unsure what they should be doing. Cole and Emmett were among them. “What is going on?” she asked them.

“Not much,” Cole replied. “The villagers seem to be a bit lost, now that the Baron’s spell over them is broken.”

“They are going through the same emotions as I did when I woke up,” Emmett said. “It is not a pleasant process. There is a lot of guilt, and sadness. Several people I have known my entire life up and walked off into the forest. I do not know if they will return.”

Raven was unsympathetic. “There are those who would say you should all face the headsman’s axe for what you’ve done.”

“No doubt you’re right.” Emmett looked miserable. “My only defence is that our minds were not our own. It is hard to describe, but for my whole life I have felt the hand of another on my shoulder, guiding my actions.”

“You could not fight it?”

“It wasn’t simply that we couldn’t fight, but there was a... a fog over my mind, which made it so that I didn’t want to resist.”

“Raven, I believe he’s telling the truth,” Cole said. “I’ve spoken to Emmett about his dreams, or lack of them, and saw some of it for myself. Whatever the Baron did to these people, it... it robbed them of any will to stand against him.”

Raven looked at them, at the collection of people huddled against the winter air. They watched her warily. Expectantly.
Why is it up to me?
she wondered.

“What would you do now?” she asked Emmett.

“First of all, when the healer has finished with your friend, we’ll need him to cut the stones out of everybody else. Even with the Baron is gone, we don’t trust them.” He shivered, whether from the cold or the thought of their former master, Raven was unsure. “It won’t be easy... even now I find my thoughts straying towards the one I lost. They take hold of you in some way, I think. Luckily I threw it away into the forest. I... I’m not sure I would have the strength to do so now. After that, I think most will go their own ways. Try to deal with things as best they can. Find ways they can live with themselves.” He stared out towards the forest. “If they are able.”

“And you?”

“I’ve spoken with some of the others,” he told her. “We’ve decided to stay here, until your friend has recovered sufficiently to travel. Then we will take him back to Hunter’s Watch, back to his home. I feel I owe him that, at least.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what Yaegar will do?” Cole asked him.

“His father?” Emmett shrugged. “We will let your friend tell his tale, as he chooses. We will accept our fate, whatever that shall be.”

She tried to imagine how Yaegar would react when his son and heir was returned to him in his current state. He was as likely to be merciful as vengeful, she decided. Much depended on how Harri would portray the events of the last few days.

“Raven, if you want to stay, to return with Harri, then you have my blessing,” Cole said quietly. “I have to continue on to Frosthold, but I can do so on my own if I must. But I daren’t tarry longer.”

Another crossroad.
Raven thought about the different paths facing her. It would be easy to return with Harri, to help him back to health however she could. That path in time might even lead to, if not happiness, then peace of a sort. But there would be no answers for her at the Watch. Everything that had driven her up until now would be drowned beneath that new life, like the falling snow even now covered up the village. But it would always be there, below the surface.
The easy path is not always the right one
.

She turned to Emmett. “You must look after him as if he were your own son,” she told him. “If I ever hear that he was mistreated, or did not reach the Watch safely, then I will hunt each of you down. And I will not be merciful.”