He had only half expected The Raven to be at their campsite but was still disappointed to find it empty. But as he rode in, it was clear something was badly wrong. The fire hadn’t been doused and cleared. A small pile of dry branches still sat near it. Surely they should have been taken for the next blaze. He dismounted and looked around.
There were no signs of any struggle but The Raven had left in a big hurry, the mud churned by hoofprints as if horses had been galloped out. Hirad squatted down, his frown deepening. He dragged gloved fingers through the mud and looked over at Thraun. The wolf was standing with the pack, watching him.
‘What happened here, Thraun?’ he asked.
He walked along the route the horses had taken out of the small clearing. Then he saw it. The churning wasn’t down to galloping. It was because more than three horses had been in the camp when The Raven had left. Many more. Hirad could see the widening column of prints as it drove away, back to the edge of the woodland.
They had been taken, surely. Ignoring the growls of Thraun, he remounted and rode along the trail carved into the sodden ground. Wherever they had gone, he would follow them and free them. He couldn’t leave them as prisoners. They were Raven.
And so was he.
Chapter 18
After the heavy seas of the past seven days, the River Arl was placid by comparison. Coming across the estuary on the rising tide, the Ocean Elm sliced calmly through the water, all sails full on a run with the wind blowing dead north, funnelling along the tree-lined shores. Further north, the trees would give way to rolling hills westwards, and spectacular escarpments eastwards, before open lowlands came to dominate the miles until the Arl opened into the beauty of Lake Arlen.
Ringed from its southernmost point to its north-western arc by trees that climbed part way up stark, snow-capped mountains, it seemed idyllic to anyone sailing towards it, bettered only by the body of water at Triverne. The port town of Arlen occupied the west bank, its deepwater berths home to ocean going vessels, its fishing fleet sheltered in a shallow harbour, and its offshore anchorages served by craft fitted with rope-and-pulley assemblies.
Incoming sailors could see the whole town sweeping up a low rise, culminating in the castle whose white scrubbed stone shone in the morning light, flags from its four turrets snapping in the prevailing breeze. Today, though, the white would be muted. None in Balaia had seen the sun consistently for what seemed like an age, with lowering, rain-bearing cloud washing almost ceaselessly across the sky. The land had cooled dramatically and many species of bird had flown prematurely south, insects had died early or never hatched at all and farming communities were counting the cost of poor crops this harvest and the certainty of hunger next year.
Erienne stood near the prow of the Elm, her mind still a fog from the mana attack, her stamina yet to recover fully and her feelings mixed as they had been ever since she left Lyanna behind on Herendeneth.
At least she felt she was doing something to try and maintain the safety of her daughter; and she felt an undeniable thrill at the thought of seeing Denser very soon. But ever-increasing had been her longing to hold Lyanna again, to sit in the orchard watching her beautiful child play, or to read her a story from her favourite book. She had found tears on her cheeks every morning, sleep having breached her defences. And, for the last three days, with her mana abilities damaged, she had known another emotion. Fear.
Fear that she would never be able to cast properly again, a threatened isolation that would soon become terrifying and unbearable. And fear of what she would find in Arlen. If Ren’erei was right, the Black Wings were strong again and Selik was still alive. He had been the right-hand man of Travers, and had the same zealous insanity in his eyes. She had only encountered them once but it had been an encounter that had cost the lives of her firstborn twin sons.
She knew now that the ache for them would never pass. Some days it was less, others more, but always there. And it was another reason she had to do what she was doing now. No one was going to take a child from her again.
Erienne let the wind whip at her hair as she stood in heavy cloak and trousers, looking back along the Ocean Elm’s length. She felt a little better this morning. Better enough that when Ren’erei walked along the deck towards her, she didn’t wish the elf gone.
As she approached, she looked hard at Erienne, trying to gauge her mood. She was wearing her brown and green cloak, laced leather trousers and brown shirt.
‘How are you feeling?’ Ren’erei asked, coming to lean with her back on the rail, arms folded, half turned to see Erienne’s face.
She shrugged. ‘Not bad. Less foggy.’ She made a scrunching gesture at the sides of her head.
‘Is that good?’ Ren’erei smiled.
‘Yes, it’s good. Mostly, I’m just glad we’re nearly there. This voyage has seemed very long.’
Ren’erei nodded, her expression becoming sober. ‘I can understand your impatience. But we have to be careful in Arlen. Denser’s right, you should stay aboard. We’ll find him.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What is it?’
Erienne sighed. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless and it was something that did not aid her shortening temper.
‘I’m irritated because I can’t contact him and he, presumably can’t contact me either. Gods in the sky, Ren’erei, we don’t even know if he’s there. And now you’re having to search the streets and all that’ll do is alert them.’
‘The Black Wings?’
Erienne nodded, finding herself unable to speak the name. A sudden knot of anxiety twisted her stomach.
‘They’ll be nowhere near here.’
‘No?’ snapped Erienne, her anger flaring. ‘How can you be so sure? Just ask Tryuun about them. When I was with The Raven we thought we’d destroyed them back before Dawnthief was cast. Gods burning, I swear I saw Selik die by my own hand. Yet you tell me he survived, and Tryuun’s face is evidence enough.’ She wiped a hand across her face, moving the stray hairs that blew about it. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped forward and covered Ren’s hands with her own.
‘These men are dangerous. They have mages working for them. I’m just imploring you to be careful. You’re a good friend, Ren. Don’t go getting careless. My daughter’s at stake here.’
Ren’erei nodded. ‘I’ll never forget that. And I’ll mind what you say. We’ll find Denser, don’t worry.’
Erienne’s next words were cut off by a shout from the wheel deck. They turned to see the Captain pointing away to the east bank where the trees were slowly thinning to lowland plains on the approach to the lake’s mouth. Ren’erei followed the lookout’s arm, staring intently into the trees. Erienne could see nothing. They were over one hundred yards off the bank, right in the centre of the Arl’s flow. To Erienne, the shadow under the canopy obscured whatever it was the lookout had seen.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Riders.’ Ren’erei continued to stare, unmoving. ‘Four of them. Scouts.’
Despite herself and her knowledge of these elves, she had to say it.
‘I can’t see a thing.’
Ren’erei turned to her, her eyes alive, her face brimming with patience.
‘Erienne, they are scouts because they ride horses with both short-sprint speed and long-ride stamina. They wear little armour and carry light weapons. But mostly, they’re elves and they know we’ve seen them.’
‘They’re looking for us?’
‘Who else?’ Ren’erei’s smile was forced.
‘How?’ Erienne felt suddenly exasperated, her fleeting good humour gone, her heart rate racing. ‘And who? Who knows we’re coming?’
‘I expect we’ll find out in Arlen,’ replied Ren’erei. The elf looked back across the shore, tracking the riders Erienne couldn’t even see.