Hirad smiled and let the sun play over his face.
‘Home at last, old friend,’ he said. ‘Home at last.’
Acknowledgements
No surprises here, I guess. Tireless Editor and close friend, Simon Spanton was once again always there for debate, discussion and advice. And the odd beer. Arch publicist, Nicola Sinclair snared some great press exposure against the odds, and Robert Kirby, my agent, always looked forwards. Thank you for everything you do on my behalf.
And there’s more. Thanks once again to Dick Whichelow and Dave Mutton for their support and healthy criticism. To David Gemmell and Peter Hamilton for valuable advice on the business side of being an author. To Ariel for sterling work on my website (particularly the gazetteer). To Rob Bedford, Gabe Chouinard and Sammie from sffworld.com for spreading the word. And once more to all those who took the time to email me about The Raven.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Contents
Dedication
Cast List
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
For Simon Spanton, a great friend and great editor,
and without whom there would have been no Raven.
Cast List
Chapter 1
‘Again!’ Tessaya swept his arm down. ‘Again!’
The Wesmen charged the walls of Xetesk once more, tribal banners snapping in the breeze, voices mingling to a roar. The ladders drove into position, his warriors stormed up their rough rungs. Below them, archers tried to keep the defenders back from the wall. A difficult task over such a distance.
In the deep night-shadows of Xetesk’s walls, tribesmen pivoted more ladders. Along a four-hundred-yard stretch of wall they arced up. The best of them just rough-cut and bound, the worst little more than shaved trunks of the tallest trees they could find. In earlier attacks, some had not been tall enough. He saw the ladders catching the light of the torches on the battlements before they thudded into place, warriors already swarming up them two abreast.
This time he had his enemy. This time, the Wesmen would break through the defences. He could feel it. In the daylight, many had died. Spells and arrows had ripped into wood and flesh. Burning warriors had tumbled to the ground screaming. Ladders, charred or frozen, had cracked and collapsed in heartbeats.
Yet the tribes had not faltered. Urged on by their lords who could see victory so close they had continued to press. And while hundreds scoured the land for the wood to build more ladders, hundreds more died at the walls doing exactly what had to be done. They exhausted the spell casters.
Tessaya saw the outlines of men running along the battlements to prepare their defence. Below them, holding shields above their heads, came his warriors. It was the fourth attack of the day. The night was just passing its zenith, and the spells no longer deluged them.
In desultory fashion, the odd casting blew away the top of a ladder and the men that scaled it. But that was all. Tessaya had foreseen this moment and had kept back his greatest force. Xetesk no longer had the magical power to stop them. Now it came down to who was the stronger with sword, axe and spear. And that was a battle he knew the Wesmen would win.
He watched for a moment longer. Arrows still peppered the warriors streaming up the ladders. His people still fell in their dozens. He breathed the night air deeply. The smells of ash and fear mingled with the freshness of grass in the breeze. He heard the voices of the Wesmen, their tribal songs echoing from the walls of Xetesk. They were the anthems of strength and victory, swelling in volume with every heartbeat.
He turned to Lord Riasu. The man’s small eyes sparkled in the darkness and his heavy-set features had reddened with excitement.
‘You can feel it too.’
‘I can, Lord Tessaya,’ said Riasu. ‘We are so close.’
‘And what is your desire now?’
Riasu nodded in the direction of the walls. More and more Wesmen were higher and higher up the ladders. Arrows alone were not enough and the spells had all but stopped falling. One deep blue flash to their left served as a reminder of the diminished threat.
‘My men are on those ladders,’ he said. ‘I would join them. Lead them onto the walls.’
Tessaya smiled and slapped Riasu hard on the back. ‘It is a wish I share.’
He looked quickly about him. Six other tribal lords stood with them, their warriors, a thousand and more, ready to charge forwards. Their shouts of encouragement to those already engaged sounded across the open ground. Beyond them, the fires of the camp burned and the Paleon guard stood watch over the Shamen while they prayed for guidance and strength from the Spirits. Prayers that had surely been answered.
The group of lords was close to him. All wanted just one thing but waited for Tessaya’s word. Ten tribes and their lords had been unleashed already. The glory of being the first to make the walls outweighing the risk of death. Three of those lords had joined the Spirits as heroes. Four more would join them shortly. The remaining three were at the walls now.
‘It is time,’ said Tessaya. He unhitched his axe and held it in one hand. ‘My Lords, let us deal the greatest blow.’