Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (21 page)

Cole slashed the air a few times. The sword was a good fit for his hand, and looked well-forged. “I’m not sure I can afford this,” he said doubtfully.

Bjorn waved away his protests. “Raven asked me for a couple of favours while she was here, I said I was more than happy to oblige. Take it.”

“Thank you,” said Cole, genuinely touched by the gift. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’ll protect you a bit better than that tiny butter-knife of yours at least,” Bjorn laughed. “Raven favours a shorter blade, but a man’s arm needs a weapon with some weight to it. Some of the hunters prefer a greatsword, near as tall as a man, but they take much practice to wield.”

“It’s perfect, thank you again, Bjorn.”

“Wait, there’s something else,” said the smith, as Cole turned to leave. “I said that Raven asked for a couple of favours, remember? One was the sword, and the other,” he continued, rummaging through a crate beneath his workbench, “is this.”

He rose holding a leather jerkin, into which had been stitched rows of small metal loops. “Ringmail,” said Bjorn proudly. “Light enough for travelling in, but in a fight it will provide some protection. Easy to move in as well.”

Cole removed his cloak and eagerly pulled the armour over the top of his tunic. “It fits,” he said, grinning.

“Aye, it does. For a scrap of a lad you’ve a decent frame,” the smith replied. “How does it feel?”

“It fits like a glove,” said Cole. “I’m more grateful than I can say, you’ve done more for me than I had any right to expect.” He offered his hand, and Bjorn clasped it with a powerful grip.

“Think nothing of it,” the smith said. “If you’re to make it safely through that blasted forest to get where you’re going, strong armour and a good blade are the least of what you’ll need. Now,” he continued, releasing Cole’s crushed hand, “you’d better go and meet Raven before she gets sick of waiting. She has a temper on her, that one.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Cole with a wide grin.

*      *      *

He found Raven at the stables on the outskirts of town, saddling the chestnut mare. The black stallion stood to one side, its saddle heavy beneath her assortment of weaponry and saddlebags that bulged with provisions. The mare had got off relatively lightly in comparison, but Cole spotted a large pack leaning against one wall, and he had an inkling who it was intended for.

“Just in time,” said Raven as he entered, tightening the girth with a small grunt of effort. “I see that Bear fitted you out as I asked.”

Cole twirled on the spot to show off his new armour. “What do you think?”

Raven ran a critical eye over him. “It will serve,” she said at length. “Hopefully it will keep you from falling to the first foes we meet.” She pointed towards the scabbard at his hip. “We’ll train as often as we can, to make sure you can swing that without taking off an ear.”

Cole pulled an apple from his pocket, which Bjorn had given him as he left the smithy, and offered it up to his horse. The mare nibbled at it appreciatively. “I’ve thanked Bjorn for his gifts, but I wanted to thank you as well, Raven. I needed a guide into the mountains, and I’m glad that it’s you.”

“Save your gratitude,” she said sharply, pulling herself up onto the stallion. “I have my own reasons for making this journey. For now our purposes align, but after that... we shall see.”

“All the same, thank you,” said Cole. He heaved the pack onto his shoulders, and nearly toppled over as he clambered into his own saddle. “I know you don’t trust me, but that’s fine. I trust you. You could have abandoned me in the wilds, or killed me last night, and no-one would have raised an eyebrow. But you didn’t. I don’t know what it is you think I am, but all I can do is assure you that I’m not.”

Raven said nothing. She stared at him for a moment with ice-cold eyes, then dug her heels into the stallion’s flanks and left the stable.

The southern gate of Hunter’s Watch was less than fifty yards away from the paddock. Beyond, the path continued to the south, where it met the main road that joined Westcove and Whitecliff and passed through the centre of the Spiritwood.

They were headed in a different direction however, so immediately after passing through the gate, with a nod to the sentry on duty, they turned north and followed the outer wall. Cole wondered idly whether the guard in the tower was Jakob, his purse now considerably lighter than the day before.

As she had been for much of their journey from the clearing where he had encountered Dirk and his sons, Raven once more became a taciturn companion. Cole was content to let her brood for now. He was convinced that she would thaw towards him in time, but there was little to gain from pestering her when the events of the night were still fresh in their minds.

They had reached the northern edge of the wall, and were just turning eastwards, towards the edge of the wood far in the distance, when there was a pounding of hooves behind them.

They turned in their saddles, and saw a lone rider on a pale grey horse cantering towards them, his long blonde hair blown back by the wind.

The rider closed the distance between them quickly, and reined his horse in beside Raven’s mount. “It is good that I caught you,” said Harri.

Cole saw that he had come as well-equipped as Raven; a sword and longbow were strapped to his saddle, along with a leather quiver full of dark-feathered arrows. He was once again wearing the earth-coloured cloak Cole had seen the day before, beneath which was well-polished leather armour.

“What brings you here, Harri? Is there word from your father?” Raven asked.

“No word,” Harri replied, “unless you count his order that I should accompany you into the Spiritwood.”

“You’re coming with us?” Cole tried, and failed, to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Aye.” Harri turned his slate grey eyes onto Cole. “There are matters I must attend to in the forest. As it happens your path will take you close to where I am headed.”

“What matters?” From Raven’s tone, Cole guessed she was not overjoyed at the prospect of travelling with the chieftain’s son.

Harri’s jaw clenched. He stared out in the direction of the forest’s edge. “Before our party met with the last trade caravan at Dawn, we met some strangers on the road. They told us there have been disappearances in the forest. Before we reached the Moon Tower, I left the group to scout the area, but I found no trace of anything unusual.”

“From what they say, the Spiritwood is a dangerous place,” said Cole. “Is it so strange for people to go missing?”

“The forest has claimed many lives. There are numerous dangers within that threaten unwary travellers, but in most cases we find some trace, a sign of what befell them.” The hunter’s disquiet was clear in his voice. “From what we were told, people are vanishing, in some cases from their camps, silently in the night. When their party awakes, they are simply gone. The soldiers at the tower gave me a location where one such disappearance occurred, across the Ymbral. I mean to investigate.”

Raven smiled thinly. “It is always an honour to travel with a hunter of the Watch,” she said. “We would welcome your company.”

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Harri spurred on his horse. “It was not a request,” he called back over his shoulder.

CHAPTER 10

F
or three hours they raced ahead of the storm, but as he stood on the
Havørn’s
quarterdeck watching the gathering mountains of black cloud looming less than a league off their stern, Captain Brandt finally conceded defeat.

“She’s coming up too fast to out-run,” he called to Nikolaj, raising his voice above the growing wind.

The first-mate was standing at the ship’s wheel, holding their course steady with firm hands. “You can’t win them all, cap’n,” he replied with a grin.

Captain Brandt stared towards the shore far away on the port side, gaining his bearings. “Make for land,” he said at last. “There is a small cove half a league south, sheltered on all sides. It will protect us from the worst of the storm.”

“Aye cap’n.” Obediently, the grizzled first mate turned the wheel, altering the ship’s course a few degrees until it was headed for the coast.

Captain Brandt waited a few moments, until he was happy with their new bearing, and then he climbed down to the deck. Jan and Sten busied themselves nearby as he approached. “How fares our passenger?” he asked the former, knowing from long experience that any attempt at conversation with the stoic Southron would fall on deaf ears.

“Fine and dandy, cap’n,” said Jan sardonically, “nat’ral sailor, that one.” There was a low rumble that Captain Brandt initially thought to be thunder but which, after a moment, he recognised as laughter. Sten caught his eye and chuckled once more, before turning back to his work.

Caspian, the young man they had taken on a week earlier after their visit to the Crag, was having difficulty adjusting to a life at sea. Most often, he was to be found below decks, groaning fretfully to himself. If not there, he was generally leaning out over a rail, green-faced, throwing whatever meal he had been desperate enough to consume back up into the waves.

That was in spite of their journey so far being relatively smooth. They had left Westcove a week before beneath clear, sunny skies, albeit with heavy hearts. He didn’t know what his crewmen had told their spouses, but he had told Freyja the truth. She was saddened by his decision to sail south to bring word of the atrocity at the Crag, accompanied by a survivor no less, but understood. She made only one request of him: “Come home to me.”

I’ll do my best, lass
. It was a dangerous voyage, they had both known that, as did his crew. He’d offered them the chance to stay in Westcove and sign on to another ship, but one by one they had confirmed their determination to accompany him. To his surprise, Sten had been the first to do so. After Captain Brandt had finished explaining his plans in full, silence had fallen over the crew. Then Sten had simply shrugged muscular shoulders and walked back out onto the deck to prepare for departure. A few moments later, Nikolaj and Dorric had nodded their heads grimly and followed suit. Jan was the last. “Pirates along the coast, war in the south... it’s going to be risky, cap’n,” he’d said, in a low voice.

“No-one is forcing you to come. The lads won’t think any less of you for staying.”

“And you, cap’n?”

“Nor me,” he replied after a pause.

Jan spat into the water and gazed across the bay to the silhouette of the Crag, barely visible in the pre-dawn gloom. He was the youngest of the
Havørn
’s crew, not yet in his mid-twenties. In his younger days he had ridden with one of the bandit gangs that plagued travellers along the Empire’s roads, before growing tired of that life. He’d signed on with Captain Brandt’s crew, reasoning that a life at sea was least likely to bring him face to face with any of his old cronies. Captain Brandt had never had any cause to doubt his loyalty, but the younger man still wore the hard edge and wary look that were relics of his past.

“What we saw, it’s import’nt, ain’t it cap’n?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I’m not sure how yet, but I think it will change things. People need to know what happened here. At the very least we need to bring word to Bloodstone, so that it reaches the emperor’s ear.”

A sly look stole over the young crewman’s face. “Seems to me that an emperor might reward those who bring news of a plot to his ears.”

Captain Brandt frowned. “We don’t do this for coin, we do it because it is right.”

“That might be why you risk your neck for a keep full o’ dead monks, but not me, cap’n,” Jan replied firmly. “They wouldn’t of spit on me if’n I was on fire when they was alive, nor me them. But if you can promise us riches, then I’ll sail with you.”

Captain Brandt ground his jaw and stared across the waves. Having a full complement on board would raise their chances of reaching their destination. But he was not prepared to lie to his men. “I will not stand before the Golden Throne of Ehrenburg and demand coin,” he said carefully. “But it is possible that Maximilien would not let those who bring his word of his most trusted advisor’s misdeeds go unrewarded.”

The young sailor weighed up his words. It was not the cast-iron guarantee Jan had hoped for, but he knew that it was as much as he would receive. But there was one last nagging question, one that Captain Brandt had spent long mulling over himself. “What if he already knows?” Jan asked quietly, so the others would not overhear. “What if old Max the Great is a part of it?”

Captain Brandt shook his head slowly. He kept his face carefully still, expressionless. “I don’t think so. What happened up there on that rock, it has the feel of something secret. ‘Sides,” he added, “there were no Legion there, not even an escort. I don’t think the Archon wanted any witnesses.” Despite his own doubts, he believed that what he was saying was true.

Jan nodded thoughtfully, then with no further word he swaggered onto the deck to join his crewmates.

Captain Brandt recalled that moment now as he stood watching his crew work. The ship was pitching more severely now as the storm approached, buffeted by six-foot high waves capped with white foam. Sea spray flew up above the rails as they crashed into the
Havørn
’
s
sides. Dorric, high up in the rigging, was often left hanging above the waves as the ship rolled drunkenly from side to side. Yet he may as well have been propping up the ‘Maid’s bar for all the concern he showed.
They’re a good crew,
he thought. What would he have done if they had refused to accompany him south? He’d been confident, but a flicker of doubt had wormed its way into his heart before Sten stepped forward.
Would I still be here, now?
It seemed unlikely.

He looked back across to the approaching coastline and barked a minor course adjustment at Nikolaj, who did as he was bid. Satisfied, he steeled himself with a deep breath and pushed open the door to the cabin.

Inside, it was dark. The
Havørn
’
s
small cabin had no windows, with what little light there was provided by a candle on the captain’s desk. His eyes took a moment to adjust, and soon he could make out the robed figure huddled in the candle’s feeble glow, papers strewn all around him. Captain Brandt could also see stacks of papers piled on the floor next to the room’s occupant.

“Catching up on a little reading, eh lad?”

The robed figure swivelled and he saw the scraggly youth’s features in the candlelight. Caspian smiled. “I started to get a bit bored of staring at my breakfast as it flew into the sea. I think I’ve found my sea legs.”

“It had to happen eventually.” Captain Brandt crossed to the cabin’s bunk and sat down on the hard mattress. He pointed towards the papers. “Anything interesting?”

“Hm? Oh, the letters.” Caspian shook his head. “Sorry, captain, you were probably hoping for me to make more progress with these by now, but I haven’t really been in a fit state to-”

Captain Brandt waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it, lad, you’ve had a hard time of it, harder’n most in fact. We’ve plenty of time left on this voyage, yet.”

“How far have we come?”

“A few hundred miles, give or take. We might have come farther, had the wind been better, but at this time of year you’re always more grateful for the miles you’ve travelled safely than regretful of the ones you haven’t.”

“Oh, believe me, I am,” replied Caspian with nervous laugh. “We’ll be at sea for a couple of weeks yet, then.”

Captain Brandt fished his clay pipe from his pocket, and stuffed a wad of tobacco into the bowl. “Could be so,” he said, as he struck his flint to light it, and grunted with satisfaction as he took a couple of puffs. “It’s hard to say. We’ll be making land in an hour or so for a day, perhaps two. Hopefully it will be the only time, but at this time of year you can never know for sure.”

Caspian sat up, alarmed. “Making land, here? Is there a problem?”

Captain Brandt chuckled, sending a cloud of grey smoke across the small cabin. “Problem? Nay lad, not unless you count the storm nipping at our heels like a pack of hellhounds still warm from the pit.” Even in the dim light, he saw the colour drain from the young man’s face. “Did ye not notice the floor moving around more than usual?”

“I... I got caught up in reading, I didn’t...”

Captain Brandt laughed out loud, sending hot ashes onto his topcoat. “You’re a queer one, lad, I’ll give you that,” he said as he patted them out. “Face as green as a jealous fishwife while the sea is as still as a pond, and barely notice when a gale is threatening to drown us.”

The chair scraped across the floor as Caspian suddenly lurched to his feet. “Sorry, captain, I think I’m going to be-”

“Sit down, lad,” he commanded. “You’ve been fine this long, just take a hold of yeself. There’s a small cove not far from here that I know. We’ll be sheltered there while we wait for the storm to pass.”

Caspian nodded miserably, and sat down again. For a while they sat in silence, the young man staring off into space as the captain puffed contentedly on his pipe.

Eventually, Caspian stirred. “I’m from Westcove, you know,” he muttered in a quiet voice, barely perceptible above the creaking of the ship and the muffled crash of the waves.

“Aye?”

“Westerman, born and bred,” the young man continued. “I was born within spitting distance of the dock, in a room above a weaver’s shop. I had two brothers and a sister. I was the youngest.” He paused, still staring into the middle-distance. This time, Captain Brandt sat quietly, not interrupting. With a sigh, Caspian carried on. “Da was a labourer at the docks and my mam took in washing, but they could barely feed us all. So, when I was five, I was sent off to the Order, to study. Make something of myself, my da said. The journey to the Crag was the last time I set foot on a ship for twelve years. When there weren’t no chores, the novices would stand at the top of the keep. Some of them would look out west, or north, or south, trying to make out what was out there beyond the edges of the world. Not me. I always looked across the bay. On a good day, from where I stood, I could see my house. A gull could fly further in an hour than I’d come in my whole life.”

“Everyone has to spread their wings, sooner or later,” Captain Brandt said softly.

Caspian glanced across. “That’s the point,” he said. “I never wanted to. I was happy where I was. I’d have stayed in Westcove if my da had let me. I knew that one day I’d probably be sent out to set up a mission somewhere else, but I didn’t like to think about it. Cole hated it.” He chuckled ruefully. “He was desperate to get out there, to see the world, though I think the idea scared him a little. Now he is, somewhere out there. And so am I. He’d laugh himself hoarse if he could see me.”

Caspian lapsed into a morose silence. Captain Brandt watched him for a few moments, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. “It’s good you came with us,” he said after a time.

The young man let out a bitter laugh. “I had a choice? Left in a castle full of dead men and being ambushed by pirates at the point of a sword. I was just grateful to still be breathing.”

“We’re fishermen,” said Captain Brandt carefully after a long pause, “not pirates.”

Caspian shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Look, captain. I wasn’t lying about being grateful. Who knows how I’d have got off that rock if you hadn’t come along. But I’m only here ‘cause Cole’s in some kind of trouble. I want to figure out what it is, do what I can to help, and then go back to what’s left of my life.”

It may not be that simple,
the captain thought.
I hope for your sake that it is
. Out loud, he said, “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice. Despite what you think, there was one to make.” He stood, and crossed to the cabin door. “We’ll be making land soon. I’ll come back when it’s time.”

With no further word from the young man, he went back out onto the deck and closed the door behind him.

*      *      *

When Captain Brandt had said the cove was sheltered on all sides, he hadn’t been lying. As they sailed along the cliffs that marked this part of the coast beneath darkening skies, they didn’t see the narrow crack in the rock that marked its entrance until they were nearly on top of it.