The Raven Collection Part 108

Lyanna examined her new surroundings for the first time, the flicker of a smile on her anxious face.

'This is a nice room,' she said.

'It's yours if you want it.'

'Where's your room?'

'I'll make sure it's next door, so I can hear you. Is that all right?'

Lyanna nodded. There was a knock on the door and Ren'erei poked her head round.

'How are we doing?' she asked.

'Come in,' said Erienne. 'Much better, thanks.'

Ren'erei had changed into loose cloth trousers and a woollen s.h.i.+rt, reminding Erienne that she still carried around the dirt and sweat of the day, as did Lyanna.

'Good,' she said, not approaching too close. 'They are anxious to meet you. They didn't understand your reaction.'

Erienne stared at Ren'erei, a frown on her face. 'Then I take it they haven't spent much time around children recently. You have explained, I presume.'

'As far as I could,' affirmed Ren'erei. She smiled. 'They have changed into more formal clothing.' She turned to go. 'When you're ready, just come out. I'll be waiting.'

'Thank them for not intruding into our minds. That was thoughtful, ' said Erienne.

'They may not understand children but they aren't without conscience. Don't let the way they look affect your ideas of who they are.' She closed the door quietly behind her.

'If there had been any other way, I would have taken it,' said The Unknown. He was at the doorway to his house. It was mid-afternoon. Out in the street, Denser was astride his horse, agitated, his mood communicating to the light brown mare who s.h.i.+fted her hooves, unable to remain still.

'You've made your position quite clear,' said Diera, her face red from tears, her hair rough-tied in a tail that trailed over one shoulder. Jonas was inside. She hadn't wanted him to see the parting.

'Diera, it's not like that. Think how I'd feel if it were you and Jonas. I'd expect the same of them.'

'Oh, I understand your d.a.m.ned honour and your d.a.m.ned code. What about the promises you made to me?' She hissed her words, not wanting Denser to hear.

There was no answer to that. He was breaking his word and the knowledge of it tormented him. Yet it had seemed at first that she understood and their love-making had been tender and pa.s.sionate. He had lost himself within her, never wanting the feeling to end and yet, lying next to her, basking in the afterglow, his head above her, his hand caressing her breast, her tears had warned him it would be no gentle goodbye. Their shouts had wakened Jonas and it was only his cries that broke the argument and brought them ultimately to this cold exchange.

'I cannot excuse what I do but I cannot apologise for it either,' said The Unknown, reaching out a hand. Diera pulled away. 'I couldn't refuse him just as he couldn't refuse me if you had disappeared. '

'But you never really considered saying no, did you?' The Unknown shook his head. 'You haven't stopped to think about what you leave behind and you ride off to reform The Raven.' She spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

'Because they . . . we are the best. Together, we have the best chance of finding Erienne and Lyanna and all coming back unharmed. This isn't for money, Diera. I owe Denser my life, you know that.'

'And what do you think you owe me and Jonas? Nothing?' Her expression softened a little. 'Look, I know why you're leaving. It's why I love you.

'But you didn't ask me, Sol. It feels like my opinion isn't important. You made promises to me and Jonas, and though you don't want to walk away from them, you are. And the thought that you might not come back at all is breaking my heart.' She gazed deep into his eyes. 'We are your life now.'

'What would you have me do?' he asked.

'Whatever I may feel, I do understand you. I would have you go and I will take comfort that should I ever encounter trouble, The Raven will help me. But I would also have you think about me and Jonas before everything you do. We love you, Sol. We just want you back.'

She moved forward and held him tightly and he was surprised to find tears on his cheeks. He clutched at her back, his hands rubbing up and down it.

'I will come back,' he said. 'And believe me, I never do anything without thinking of you. And your opinion is important. It's just that I never had any choice that you could influence.'

Diera put a finger to his lips, then kissed him. 'Don't spoil it now. Just go.'

He broke away and mounted his horse, turning it towards the north and Julatsa. And as he spurred the animal on, Denser following close behind, he prayed to the G.o.ds that he would see her again.

Vuldaroq sat at the centre of a long table. Flanking him, four to either side, were the humans and elves who made up the Dordovan Quorum.

In front of them stood one man, tall and proud, a semi-circle of fifteen College guards behind him. The small auditorium was chill, but not because of the icy wind that howled outside. It was the aura that bled from the man and the repugnance in which he was held that cooled the room. He was the most hated of men among mages and he was standing on the hallowed ground of Dordover, his wrecked face displayed now his hood was thrown back, the black tattoo on his neck a symbol of his reviled beliefs.

His arrival at the College gates had triggered a flurry of activity, culminating in the hastily arranged meeting; abhorrence of the individual was outweighed, at least temporarily, by incredulity and a desire to learn what had brought the man to a place from which he could never hope to leave.

'The risk you take is unbelievable, Selik,' said Vuldaroq. 'Indeed, I'm amazed you aren't dead already.'

'Lucky for you that I'm not,' said Selik to snorts of derision from the Quorum, his speech slow, thick and incomplete, the result of his horrific facial injuries.

Vuldaroq studied Selik's features and could barely suppress a smile of satisfaction. The left-hand side of his face appeared as if it had been smeared by the careless swipe of a brush on wet paint. The bald eyebrow angled sharply down, the sightless eye beneath it milky white and unmoving. The cheek was scored as if by the drag of heavy claws and it pulled the mouth with it, forcing Selik to speak through a perpetual sneer. It was a fitting expression, completed by left side upper and lower jaws slack and devoid of teeth.

And all caused by the spell of a Dordovan mage. It had been believed that Erienne's IceWind had killed the Black Wing and number two to Captain Travers but somehow he survived it and the fire that The Raven had laid in the Black Wings' castle. And with him the Witch Hunter order. Less numerous now but no less zealous.

'I can never envisage a time when your not being dead would be lucky for any Dordovan mage,' said High Secretary Berian, his face curling into an unpleasant smile.

'Then envisage it now,' said Selik. 'Because, like it or not, we are after the same thing.'

'Really?' Vuldaroq raised his eyebrows. 'I would be fascinated to know how you reached that conclusion.' A smattering of laughter ran along the table. Selik shook his head.

'Look at you, sitting there so smug it nauseates me. You think no one is aware of what you do yet I know you have lost a great prize and you want it, her, back. And I am the only one who can really help you. And help you I will, because in this quest we are in accord. This magic cannot be allowed to prosper or it will destroy us all. I know the direction of their travel and I know at least one of those who helped them.' He stopped, studying their faces. Vuldaroq could taste the silence his words engendered.

'Got your attention now, haven't I? The Black Wings see all and always will. Remember that, O mighty Quorum of Dordover. As you are well aware by now, the Al-Drechar are no myth; we just don't know where to find them. But if we work together, we will, believe me.'

'Your front is extraordinary as is your blindness, if you think for one moment that we would suffer to join forces with Black Wings!' Berian's face was contorted and red with rage. 'Have you taken leave of what remains of your senses?'

Selik shrugged and smiled, a grotesque leer on his ruined face. 'Then kill me and never learn what we know. The trouble is, you haven't the time to risk me being right after killing me, have you? Late at night in Dordovan taverns, your mages are not always as discreet as you might wish. Much has reached our ears and it is very interesting. Very interesting indeed.'

'But you haven't come here to exercise your altruistic streak, have you Selik?' asked Vuldaroq. 'You want something. What is it?'

'Ah, Vuldaroq. Not always as fat in the head as you might look. It's quite simple. You want the girl back, to educate, control or dispose of as you see fit. You can have her and I will help you get her. But in return, I want the witch that did this to my face.' He poked a finger at his hideous scarring. 'Give me Erienne Malanvai.'

And in the storm of protest that followed, Vuldaroq allowed himself a small chuckle.

Chapter 4.

Ren'erei took Erienne and Lyanna along a wide, picture-hung, timbered and panelled corridor. It stretched fully seventy yards to a pair of plain double doors flanked by Guild guards. Other doors ran down its left-hand side and windows to the right overlooked a lantern-lit orchard.

On seeing the outside, Lyanna had forgotten her fear temporarily and run over to the window, mesmerised by the lanterns which swayed in the breeze, sending light flas.h.i.+ng under the branches and broad leaves of the trees in the early evening gloom.

It was still very warm and Erienne had chosen a light, ankle-length green dress and had tied her hair up in a loose bun to let the air get to her neck. Lyanna wore a bright red dress with white cuffs, her hair in her favoured ponytail, the doll clutched, as ever, in her right hand.

'Just how big is this place?' asked Erienne, standing behind Lyanna and looking at another wing of the house over a hundred yards away, across the orchard.

'That's not an easy question to answer,' said Ren'erei. 'It has been standing since the Sundering and building has hardly stopped, even now when there are so few living here. It must cover much of the hillside. You should take a flight; you can see it all if you stay beneath the illusion. Suffice to say that though it is now only home to four, it was home to over eighty.'

'So what happened?' Erienne turned Lyanna away from the window and they walked on, pa.s.sing ancient, faded pictures depicting burning cities, great feasts and running deer. It was an odd collection.

'I think they were complacent about ensuring the line continued, until it was almost too late. As you're aware yourself, producing a true adept is very difficult. Numbers soon dwindled and it was made worse by those that just didn't want to stay their whole lives here. Despite the importance of the order, the will ebbed away. Who can explain that?'

They reached the doors, which were opened for them. Inside, a huge ballroom, decorated in red and white, decked with chandeliers and mirrors, took the breath away, though the covering dust told of its redundancy.

'I'll let them tell you the rest,' said Ren'erei, taking them right across the ballroom to an innocuous-looking door. She knocked and opened it, ushering them into a small dining room. Oak-panelled and hung with elven portraits, it contained a long table around the far half of which sat four elderly women. They were talking amongst themselves until Lyanna and Erienne entered, the little girl clutching her mother's leg.

'It's all right, Lyanna, I'm here and they're friends,' whispered Erienne, taking in for the first time, the majesty of the Al-Drechar.

Erienne had no doubt that she was in the presence of Balaia's most powerful mages. Their faces told of people tired of life yet determined to survive, yearning for fulfilment to their long lives. It was the way she would always remember them.

Superficially, they were ancient elves, friendly enough but with the fierce expressions taut flesh dictated. Erienne saw shocks of white hair, bony fingers, long necks and piercing eyes. And then one spoke, her voice like balm on an open wound, quelling anxiety.

'Sit, sit. We must all eat. You, my child, must be tired and scared after your long journey. We won't detain you long. Your mother we might keep a little longer, if it's all right with you.'

Lyanna managed a little smile as Erienne pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and ushered her to sit before taking the place next to her. Ren'erei took up a neutral position between the two groups.

'You won't hurt my mummy,' said Lyanna, her eyes fixed on the blue cloth that covered the table.

'Oh, my child, quite the reverse,' said another. 'We have been waiting too long to do anyone harm.' She clapped her hands. 'Introductions in a moment. First some food.'

Through a door to the left, a slim middle-aged woman came, carrying a large steaming tureen by ornate wooden handles. Behind her, a boy of no more than twelve carried a tray with a stack of bowls and plates piled with cut bread. Swiftly, beginning with Lyanna, they served a thick soup that smelled rich and wholesome and set Erienne's stomach growling. She could see lumps of vegetable floating under the surface and the fresh aroma filled her nostrils.

'Eat, dear child,' said one of the Al-Drechar. Lyanna dipped a corner of her bread into the soup, blew on it and put it gingerly into her mouth. Her eyebrows raised.

'It's nice,' she said.

'Don't sound so surprised, Lyanna,' laughed Erienne. 'I'm sure they have good cooks here too.'

'I hope so.' Slightly clumsily, she scooped liquid on to her spoon. For a time, they were quiet, all eating the soup, which tasted as delicious as it looked and smelled, before Ren'erei cleared her throat.

'I think we've gone long enough without those introductions,' she said. 'Erienne, Lyanna, it is my great honour and pleasure to name for you the Al-Drechar.' Erienne smiled at the light of reverence in her eyes.

'To my right and moving around the table, Ephemere-Al-Ereama, Aviana-Al-Ysandi, Cleress-Al-Heth and Myriell-Al-Anathack. ' She bowed her head to each in turn.

'Oh Ren'erei, you're so formal!' Cleress-Al-Heth laughed. 'You make us sound completely unapproachable.' The other Al-Drechar joined the mirth and Ren'erei blushed, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. 'Please, Erienne, Lyanna,' she continued. 'We are Ephemere, Aviana, Cleress and Myriell, though you may hear us address ourselves with various other names which you are of course welcome to use.'

Erienne felt more at ease than she had done for days. The aura of the Al-Drechar dissipated a little though she remained mindful of their power and the clear magical vitality that they possessed. They were, on one level at least, just old elves and that was a comforting thought.

She studied them as the soup was drained, and her immediate impression was that they looked very much alike. It was inevitable, she supposed, after so many years living so close to one another, that they would share mannerisms, dress and even broad physical attributes. And though they were different enough through shape of nose and mouth, and through eye colour, she expected Lyanna to have trouble telling them apart for a few days.

'You've lived together a long time, haven't you?' she asked.

Cleress smiled. 'A very long time,' she agreed. 'Three hundred years and more.'

'What?' Erienne was taken aback. She knew elves had a potentially very long life span but three hundred years was extraordinary. Impossible.

'We have waited here, scanning the mana spectra, conserving ourselves and planning for the next coming of someone who can take on the Way,' said Aviana. She smiled ruefully. 'We were getting a little desperate.'

'How long have you been waiting?'

'Three hundred and eleven years. Ever since the births of the babies: Myriell and Septern,' replied Aviana.

Erienne gaped. Septern having been an Al-Drechar wasn't really a surprise but the scarcity of the adepts certainly was. 'And there have been none since then?'

'Oh, there have been whisperings and our hopes have been raised and dashed more times than you have years in your body,' said Cleress. 'But let's leave that for later. I see your beautiful daughter is wilting and we do need to talk to her before she sleeps. It's been a long day.'

Erienne looked down. Lyanna was playing with the remains of her soup, trailing a piece of bread across its surface.

'Lyanna, the ladies want to talk to you. All right?'

Lyanna nodded.

'Are you still feeling shy, darling?' asked Erienne.

'A little,' admitted Lyanna. 'I'm tired.'

'I know, darling. We'll have you in bed soon.' Erienne nodded for the Al-Drechar to speak.

'Lyanna?' Ephemere's soft voice reached across the table and Lyanna raised her head to look at the friendly face of the Al-Drechar. 'Lyanna, welcome to our home. We hope you want to make it your home too, for a little while. Do you want that?'

Lyanna nodded. 'If Mummy stays here, I do.'

'Of course she will, my dear child, won't you, Erienne?'

'Of course I'll stay,' said Erienne.

'Now Lyanna.' Ephemere's voice took on a slightly harder edge. 'You know there is magic inside you, don't you?' Lyanna nodded. 'And you know that in your old home, it was starting to hurt you and your teachers couldn't help you any more, and that's why we came into your head and your dreams. To help you. Do you understand that?' Another nod. Lyanna glanced up at Erienne who smiled down and stroked her hair.

'Good,' said Ephemere. 'That's very good. And how do you think we will help you?'

Lyanna thought for a moment. 'You'll make the bad dreams go away.'

'That's right!' said Myriell, clapping her hands. 'And we'll do more. I know that the hurt inside you makes you angry sometimes. We'll teach you how to stop the hurt and make the magic do the things you want it to do.'

'You have a great gift, Lyanna,' said Cleress. 'Will you let us help make it safe for you?'