Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (63 page)

Mother stopped at the edge of the sheer cliff. “We’re here,” Raven observed. “What now?”

“Sit a while, and watch,” Mother replied. “There is business I must attend to. I will return shortly.”

With a sweep of its great wings, the creature took off and flew back the way they had come. Raven made a face as Cole sat down, his legs hanging over the edge of the steep drop. “You’re just going to sit and watch the sunset, are you?”

“Why not?” Cole looked out over the land as night fell, plunging the patchwork quilt of fields and forests into darkness. “Mother seemed to think we would see something important.”

Cole could sense Raven’s irritation, but nevertheless she eased herself down beside him. “Do you believe her?” she asked after a few moments.

He didn’t need to ask about what. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I can visit people’s dreams, and in all my time at the Crag I’ve never met another who could. The Order’s power grows, and we’ve both seen what the crystals are capable of.” He shivered, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. “But I find the rest very far-fetched. I’m not sure I ever see myself in a position of deciding the fate of the world.”

“Maybe the people who make those kinds of decisions seldom do,” Raven replied. “Perhaps all they’re doing is what seems right at the time, without thinking about what the consequences will be.”

“But it’s kings and emperors who wield that kind of power. They can wave a hand and have an entire country do their bidding. Who am I? I’m nobody.”

Raven looked at him strangely. She shifted closer, then slipped an arm around his shoulder. “You’re not nobody, Cole,” she said gently. “You have an ability that no-one else in the world does. No king, nor emperor. We still don’t know just how much you’re capable of.”

He sighed. “And if it is me, what then? What if, when the times comes, I make the wrong choice? What if I plunge the land into eternal darkness?”

Raven paused, considering. “Just try to not do that,” she said eventually.

Despite his fears, Cole smiled. “No promises.”

For a while they sat watching the shadows of the world laid out far below them lengthen. The sun was disappearing below the horizon to their right when Cole spoke next, asking a question that had been bothering him.

“Raven?”

“Hm?”

“When we were at Frosthold, before the Archon’s servant attacked us, you said that the Order has been giving crystal pendants to its followers for years.”

At the mention of the crystals, he felt her body stiffen. “What of it?”

“Well, what happened to those people in that dungeon... losing their minds... that hasn’t happened anywhere else. Whatever the stones do, it hasn’t affected the Brothers, or those who follow the Order’s teachings. Not that I’ve seen anyway.”

Raven frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Cole felt the point he was trying to make slipping tantalisingly away from his grasp every time he reached out for it. “What I mean is, if the pendants are having the desired effect, then why conduct those experiments at all?”

“They were trying to understand how they work, just like your Brother Merryl was trying to understand your powers.”

Cole shook his head. “No, there’s more to it than that, I feel it. What the crystals do... it wasn’t enough for them, somehow. I think they were trying to get something else from them, and needed to work out how to do it.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know.” Cole shrugged. “But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

Just then there was a flash of light from the land below. Cole saw a column of green fire erupt from the ground and shoot into the sky above. “What’s-” he just had time to say, before other green flares shot up from elsewhere. The first column had originated close by, no more than a few miles, he judged, while others were much farther afield. “What is that?” he asked, finally.

Raven was scowling at the sight. “I have no idea, but I don’t like it.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“It’s difficult to tell now that the sun has set, but that one,” she pointed towards the closest column, “looks like it comes from Creag an Tuirc, in the foothills.” She pointed to one further away, directly ahead of them. “If my bearings are correct that’s Strathearn, and that one,” she indicated a third green column to their right, “where the mountains bear round towards the south, is Caer Lys.”

In the distance, Cole saw faint green light rise up from other places. “Does each one come from a town, do you think?”

Raven nodded. “As far as I can tell, yes. Whatever it is, my guess is that every city and township south of the mountains is sending up one of these flares this night.”

“Your guess would be correct,” said a familiar voice behind them.

Cole turned around and saw Mother standing there, her dark eyes reflecting the green glow that bathed the plains below them. “What is it?” he asked.

“In each of the cities of men, you will find a pillar raised by the servants of the green star,” the creature replied. “A tower of crystal. Just like that which sits around your neck, Dreamwalker.” Cole guiltily clutched the lump of the pendant beneath his clothes. “Each night, the green fire rises into the sky from these towers.”

After lasting for more than a minute, the flares abruptly ceased and darkness fell upon the land once more. Cole glanced up at the sky, where he saw green lightning crackle across the clouds for a moment, before that too disappeared. “Something bad is going to happen, isn’t it?”

“One by one, the signs are coming to pass. I do not believe that it will be long now.”

Cole realised that he was still grasping the pendant. Gently, he pulled it out from his shirt and stared at it. “It all comes down to these, doesn’t it?” He looked up at the creature. “What are they, really?”

The creature stared at him for a few moments before replying. “They are the sign of his coming, child. Men believe they use them for their own ends, but they are his, utterly.” The creature ruffled its wings nervously. “When the time is right, they will open a doorway for him to enter our world. That time is fast approaching, but there is still hope that you will stop it.”

“So, you really believe that I’m the one, this Dreamwalker.” Cole sighed. “Why me?”

The creature cocked its head. “Because alone of all men, you have the power to wield his tools. The enemy cannot be harmed by the weapons of men. It is only by turning his own strength against him that he will be defeated. We have seen this.”

“I still don’t really understand what my power is,” Cole said sulkily.

“You can use the stones, as he does, that is great power in itself,” the creature replied. “For the rest of your kind, they are a curse, a most insidious poison. They grant peace, soothe fears. But they take away far more than they bestow.”

“Take away what?” asked Raven quietly.

The creature turned to face her. “Part of their essence,” it said simply. “You have seen it for yourself, I think. We first became aware of your approach when you entered the forest of the north. You found that which was lost.”

Raven’s face flushed in anger. “You knew what was happening there? You know what that beast was doing to those people, and you did nothing?”

Startled, the creature hopped backwards. It blinked at her. “It was hidden from our eyes, also,” it replied. “We felt the evil over the place where the village once stood, but it was lost, as if a veil was laid across that part of the forest. But, even if it were not so, we do not interfere with the affairs of men.”

“It wasn’t only a man,” Cole said, before going on to explain what had happened in Faerloren, and the Baron’s gruesome history within the Spiritwood.

When he had finished, the Aevir stood silently for a time, deep in thought. “A terrible fate,” it said at last. “But not surprising. We have noticed that creatures of power are drawn to the stones; those with traces of the old magic.”

“We’ve got one here,” said Cole. He lifted up the pouch and opened its flap, revealing the boggit cowering inside. “When we found him, he had some kind of reaction to my pendant.” Grume’s yellow eyes peeped nervously out, eyeing Mother warily. “He’s afraid you might eat him,” Cole added.

The Aevir drew closer and examined the boggit. “We know of these,” it said, thoughtfully. “Their flesh is very tough, bitter. Not pleasant.”

Cole looked down at the boggit’s upturned face. “You hear that, Grume? They won’t eat you.” He grinned. “Apparently you’re bitter and unpleasant. I didn’t even know they’d met you.” The little creature growled at him, and with a chuckle Cole closed the pouch and returned it to his waist.

Mother watched this exchange with something approaching bemusement. “You would be wise to keep that one with you,” it said. “I feel that he yet has a part to play in what is to come.”

“That little rat?” Raven feigned horror. “I have to say, my own role feels a bit cheapened now that he’s part of your prophesy as well.”

“Your tone is mocking, champion.” The creature seemed disappointed. “After all I have told you, all you have seen, do you still not believe?”

Raven climbed to her feet. “As far as this Dreamwalker fairytale goes, I still don’t know what I believe,” she said. “But what is clear to me is that the Order is up to something, and we might be the only ones who have an inkling of it. That means it’s up to us to stop them. Cole and I both have unfinished business with the Archon, and that’s as good a reason as any.”

Mother seemed to smile in response to her words. “For now, that may be enough,” it said.

“Can you help us?” Cole asked. “Your people brought us this far, might you be able to take us all the way to Ehrenburg?”

“Alas, no,” the creature replied sadly. “Men shoot at us with arrows when we appear above their lands. To go so far would be dangerous. We can take you some of the way, however. There is a human town not far from here. We can bring you close to its walls. Hopefully there you will find the means to complete your journey.”

“Then that will have to serve,” Cole said. “Thank you, Mother, for everything you’ve done for us. If your people hadn’t found us when they did, I have no doubt we would both have died in that fortress.”

The creature bowed its head in acknowledgement of his gratitude. “Speaking of which,” it said. “You may find something in your cave to please you. Sleep well, Dreamwalker, we will fly with the dawn.”

Mother flew once more into the sky, and disappeared towards one of the tall rock spires. It wasn’t far to the cave they had woken up in that morning, and when they returned, Cole was delighted to discover his pack and sword waiting for him. Raven’s was there also, with all her belongings.

“Well,” he said, fighting a half-hearted and ultimately unsuccessful battle to keep the smugness from his voice. “I told you they weren’t just mindless animals.”

CHAPTER 26

A
light snow was falling, a sign that even in the warmer southern reaches of the Empire winter was slowly tightening its icy grip upon the land. Adelmar tore his eyes from the rows of men marching past to stare at the slate-grey sky. It was not ideal to be setting off so late in the year, but he was unconcerned. It would be a month at least before the heavy flurries arrived to carpet the streets and surrounds of Ehrenburg, and by then they would be across the sea.

This was a mere dusting. Patches of grass had begun to turn white with the frost. But the tiny, scattered flakes that landed upon the road were quickly stamped into mush by the heavy boots of the soldiers that trooped along it. Adelmar turned his attention back to the road, casting a critical eye over the ranks that filed past.

He sat astride a white destrier, a great animal that stood a clear hand above most other Legion mounts. It had carried him through several campaigns across the realm, though he had not thought to name it. It was a beast of war, not a pet, and he knew that in battle a stray arrow or lucky spear would be enough to strike it down. Better to not become attached.

All the same, he had instructed his squire, Dudley, to pack the armoured plates it wore into battle in the cart that carried the rest of his belongings. Not only that; aside from a redsteel breastplate, he wore only simple riding leathers. He had insisted that reducing the weight the animal had to carry on a long march through friendly territory was merely good sense rather than an act of kindness, but the bemused look in his wife’s eyes revealed that she at least believed otherwise.

Next to him, his adjutant, Captain Bergen, sat upon his own mount, a bay charger. While not quite young enough to have been Adelmar’s own son, he was not far from it. Yet despite his youth, he had a serious, determined demeanour that had seen him quickly rise through the Legion ranks, allied to an eye for detail that had eventually earned him a place in Adelmar’s councils. The pair of them stood upon a grassy hillock set a dozen feet back from the road, which commanded a good view of the road.

Before dawn, work had begun to pack up the army camp that had sprung up outside the city’s walls, itself the size of a large settlement. The troops belonging to the major houses each had a separate district of their own, while it was also populated by a large number of its own smiths, armourers and kitchens.

With nothing left of the camp save a vast patch of bare, churned-up earth, it had still taken hours more for the army to begin its long march south to The Vigil. Adelmar had been unusually irritable since waking, snapping at those around him. He longed to be away from the capital, and any delay in departing gnawed at him. Still, now, watching the ranks pass by below him, he had to admit it was an impressive sight. Over five thousand men in total, organised into different companies. The soldiers belonging to a house marched under their own banners, though at their heads were commanding officers drawn from the ranks of the Legion. Experienced men all, tasked with whipping the levies into something approaching battle-readiness.

One by one the banners marched past before them, the levies from the lowland houses taking the prime position behind the Legion troops and heavy cavalry. Beneath the plated warrior and claymore standard of Strathearn marched a company of swordsmen. Across their breastplates they wore a tartan, or
breacan,
sash of the Maccallam colours, green and blue. Behind them came the arbalesters of Caer Lys, trooping beneath the ruined fort standard of the Hylands, their own sashes a vibrant red and gold. Viscount Carlyle of Creag an Tuirc had sent two hundred burly, bearded axmen, who marched with pride beneath their lord’s charging boar standard, their tartan a sombre black and crimson.

On and on they marched, the armoured column stretching over a mile along the road. Archers from Woodhaven, their standard a flourishing yew tree. The houndmasters of Brackenwood held the leashes of specially trained war-dogs, the snarling muzzles of which matched the emblem upon Duke Trevelyan’s banners. The smell of the hounds already made Adelmar’s nose wrinkle as they passed, and he didn’t envy those that marched in their wake.

These, he was amused to see, were the levies from Bard’s Lea. His officers had managed to instil some semblance of discipline upon the rabble, it seemed. Those that marched beneath Lord Aubrey’s standard, that of a singing troubadour, at least were not disgracing themselves thus far. He had thought long and hard about their role, before assigning them as pikemen. The long spears did not take as much skill to wield as other weapons, and had the added benefit of keeping enemies far away from those holding them. Not that many of them would even get that close to the fighting; he’d already decided that when battle was joined, they would be in the front ranks, to give the enemy archers something to aim for that would keep them away from more valuable targets. As they passed by, Adelmar was pleased to see Domenic Aubrey, heir to Bard’s Lea, riding at their head alongside the Legion officers.

The levies from Blackridge were no more impressive to look at. Marching beneath Viscount Talgarth’s standard, a smith’s hammer held in a clenched fist, was a motley collection of men, who seemed to have grabbed whatever weapon they found to hand when departing for Ehrenburg. Adelmar saw notched short-swords, cleavers, clubs and hammers both short and long. Several farming implements, including a scythe, had also been confiscated, and their owners allowed to pick whatever was left in the imperial armoury to replace them. Unlike the company from Bard’s Lea, however, what they lacked in martial prowess they made up for in ferocity. The Legion officers he had placed at their head had grown exasperated at their inability to follow even simple orders, but whoever they faced during training drills had been terrified by their fervour. Having two hundred screaming, froth-mouthed amateurs charging en masse towards you brandishing an eye-watering array of improvised weaponry was enough to turn any enemy’s bowels to water, Adelmar had decided. He’d counselled his officers to let them do as they wished, and intended to deploy them on the battlefield as shock troops.

Marching in between the levies were further regiments of his own men, experienced Legion knights and soldiers. Units of light cavalry roamed along the column, and would scout the land around them as they left the city walls far behind them.

They weren’t the best troops he had ever led, Adelmar reflected, but given the time available to bring them together he was proud of what had been accomplished. It was the knowledge of what was missing more than what was in front of him that left him scowling. “Damn my father,” he muttered.

“Is everything all right, my lord?” Bergen asked, concerned.

“Where is the north?” Adelmar growled. “Every city south of the mountains fulfilled the requirements of the Treaty, but no others. Where are the fighters of Westcove, of Whitecliff?”

“There was a pigeon from Lord Østergaard, expressing regret that storms had prevented two ships carrying troops from leaving their harbour,” his adjutant replied. “We also had messages from Lords Qvist and Meier stating that our previous birds had not arrived, and that by the time they received our latest summons it was too late to dispatch soldiers from Westcove. There was no reply of any kind from the other Fisher Houses.”

“And the hunters? What of them?”

“Only silence, my lord.”

Adelmar’s jaw clenched. “Excuses and contempt, that’s all we received from the northern lords. I warned my father this would come to pass once we brought our strength south. The barbarians grow bold, believing themselves protected by the mountains. A full-scale revolt will not be far off.”

“What can be done?” Bergen asked.

“For now, nothing.” Adelmar snorted derisively. “Let them have their fun for the time being. There’s still strength enough at War’s End to keep them bottled up. We’ve crushed them before and will do so again after we return triumphant from subjugating the Tenebrian courts. This time I will not be as merciful as I was in my youth.” He turned to face the younger man. “You’re from Whitecliff, are you not, captain? What game do you think Østergaard is playing?”

Bergen hesitated, considering the question. “It is possible that storms have prevented his troops from departing,” he conceded. “Such bad weather is not unknown in those parts at this time of year. But he is a cautious man, who believes himself cunning. More likely he prevaricates, waiting to see the likely outcome of the war before committing himself to supporting either the Crown or the other northern houses.”

Adelmar grunted. “Much as I suspected. Well, let him sit idle in his keep for now, counting his gold. His indecision won’t spare him the sword when we march north.” If the talk of a retaliation against his people bothered the younger soldier, he did not show it.

When the last ranks of soldiers had passed by, followed by over a dozen wagons piled high with food, equipment and other supplies, Adelmar dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and trotted towards the head of the column, Bergen riding close behind.

A short time later, he reached the regiment from his father’s household guard, who marched beneath the imperial standard. These were the soldiers that had been placed under Jarrod’s command, but of his brother there was no sign. Instead, he found his brother’s squire leading a dark-coloured courser rather disconsolately by the reins. The horse was draped with finery of vermillion and gold thread, and was also riderless. “Where is he?” Adelmar asked the boy, gruffly. He caught the eye of Jarrod’s own second-in-command, Trayner, who smirked.

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, but he’s over there.” The nervous squire, pointed towards a large wheelhouse near the front of the column. Adelmar cast dark looks towards the back of the magnificent carriage that spanned nearly the entire width of the road, and spurred his mount on once more.

When he drew level with the wheelhouse, Adelmar rapped sharply upon the side. The blind that had been drawn down covering the window flew up, and Ellara peeped out, eyeing him with surprise. “Is anything the matter, dearest?” she asked.

Adelmar passed his reins to Bergen, and gestured for his wife to open the door to the carriage. When he jumped inside, he found Jarrod reclining among silk cushions, apparently in the middle of regaling his family with some doubtlessly inappropriate account of his misadventures. Amelie and Rosalynd sat opposite him behind an array of sweetcakes, giggling into their hands.

“Addled!” his brother cried as Adelmar entered the carriage. “How wonderful of you to join us. We were just gossiping about which ladies of the court had committed the most egregious sins against fashion this season, but I’m sure we could steer the conversation towards matters more to your liking. A po-faced diatribe on the nature of honour, or somesuch.” Jarrod grinned lopsidedly and took a long quaff from a pewter goblet.

Adelmar scowled down upon his brother. “Are you drunk?” he demanded. “Damn your eyes, it’s barely past noon!”

“That’s only a concern if you start drinking early. I, continuing as I am from our little soiree last night, am merely drinking very late.” Jarrod waved the goblet unsteadily, slopping some of the contents onto the floor of the carriage. “If I must accompany you on this ghastly procession, then I have no intention of doing so sober.”

Jarrod protested as Adelmar stepped forward and grabbed the goblet from his hand. He slammed it pointedly down upon the table. The girls jumped at the sound. “Why are you here, Jarrod?” he asked. “It’s clear that it isn’t your wish and even father seemed less than convinced.”

Infuriating him even further, his brother yawned and stretched out luxuriantly among the cushions. “A prince should see more of his kingdom. It is good for the common folk to see my face. You never know, I may one day be emperor and such things will be expected of me.”

Adelmar offered up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t live to see such a day. “Yet you hide in here, bothering my family,” he replied.

“Oh father, Uncle Jarrod isn’t bothering us,” cried Amelie. “He tells the funniest stories.”

The thought of the sort of stories his brother habitually told reaching the ears of his daughters was the final straw. “And when we reach the coast, and set sail? Will you continue to loaf about uselessly as we charge into battle? Your men march without their commander. As unfit to lead as I personally believe you to be, that is unacceptable. In my army, you will obey my rules.”

“Do you not make concessions to your own family?” Jarrod asked, folding his arms insolently.

“I already have,” Adelmar snarled. “If you weren’t my brother you would have already been stripped, flogged and left by the side of the road for the crows.”

“Fine then,” said Jarrod, stifling another yawn as he rose. “Never let it be said of me that I outstay my welcome. My lady,” he added, stooping to plant a foppish kiss upon Ellara’s hand, “my thanks for your hospitality. It is good that my brother married into manners, for he lacks them himself.”

With that parting shot, Jarrod left the wheelhouse. Through the rear window, Adelmar watched him make his way back to the regiment of imperial guardsmen, and clamber into the saddle of the dark courser. “A shame he didn’t fall off and land upon his head,” he muttered under his breath. “It might have knocked some sense into it.”