Elfsorrow Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  ‘Barclay writes with power, pace and a wonderful sense of humour. Better than that, he creates novels you want to read again and again’

  David Gemmell

  ‘A greathearted book written on a grand scale. An enthralling novel: gritty, down-to-earth and delightful, invoking tears and laughter by turn. This is the best new fantasy I’ve read in years’

  Maggie Furey

  ‘Majors on sheer energy and a fast, often frenetic pace. Barclay writes with an assured gusto, has a great eye for action, and imbues his story with a fine imagination and jolts of wit. If ever there was a case of a plot acting like a man-trap this is it. Barclay brings a genuine aesthetic to the fantasy action novel’

  Stan Nicholls

  ‘Truly excellent fantasy is rare. Truly excellent heroic fantasy is rarer still. Discovering a new author who writes truly excellent heroic fantasy is perhaps the rarest gem of all. James Barclay is such a find’

  SFSite.com

  ‘The fantasy equivalent of The Magnificent Seven. A good fast read perfect for that legendary train journey, but more thoughtful than many novels in this area’

  SFX

  ‘Quite simply, spectacular storytelling. One of the most exciting and exhilarating series in a long time’

  Amazon.co.uk

  James Barclay is in his forties and lives in Teddington with his wife and son. He is a full-time writer.

  www.jamesbarclay.com

  Also by James Barclay:

  Chronicles of The Raven

  DAWNTHIEF

  NOONSHADE

  NIGHTCHILD

  Legends of The Raven

  SHADOWHEART

  DEMONSTORM

  RAVENSOUL

  The Ascendants of Estorea

  CRY OF THE NEWBORN

  A SHOUT FOR THE DEAD

  Elfsorrow

  JAMES BARCLAY

  Orion

  www.orionbooks.co.uk

  A GOLLANCZ EBOOK

  First published in Great Britain in 2002 by Gollancz.

  This eBook first published in 2009 by Orion Books.

  Copyright © James Barclay 2002

  The rights of James Barclay to be identified as the author of this

  work has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright,

  designs and patents act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  eISBN : 978 0 5750 8758 3

  This eBook produced by Jouve, France.

  Orion Books

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper St Martin’s Lane

  London WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.orionbooks.co.uk

  For Michael, Nancy and Virginia.

  Finer siblings a brother could not wish to have.

  Cast List

  Chapter 1

  The Unknown Warrior reined in on the crest of a rise overlooking the once tranquil lakeside port of Arlen. In the gathering gloom and encroaching mist, battle raged through its streets. Buildings were burning across the town, a heavy pall of smoke thickening the mist. The thud and crack of spells echoed against the mountains to the north, blue-edged for Xetesk, stark orange for Dordover. The shouts of men and the clash of weapons, muted by the mist, reached his ears.

  In the last two seasons, he had seen and heard plenty of evidence of deteriorating relations between the two colleges but this was infinitely worse. This was war. He’d hoped to get them out before it started. Even thought his plan could bring peace. But here was proof of that folly.

  ‘And you expect us to ride through all that to the dockside?’ Diera was right beside him, her horse nuzzling at his.

  He looked over to her and down to Jonas, his baby son, cradled in one huge arm. ‘I want to know you’re both safe. And away from Balaia’s the only way.’

  ‘Tomas didn’t think so,’ said Diera, wisps of her light hair blowing outside the hood of her cloak.

  ‘Tomas is more stubborn than any man I know,’ said The Unknown, smiling. How hard he had tried to get Tomas to bring his family too, to leave The Rookery they owned together. An inn now ruined by a hurricane. ‘Except one. He’s never left Korina and he’s blinded himself to the disease, the rats and the starvation. He thinks it’ll get better now spring is here. I don’t. I’ve seen Balaia. And it’ll get worse not better. I won’t leave you here. I can’t.’

  Diera shivered, and as if sensing her unease from where he lay in the safety of his father’s arm, Jonas started to whimper.

  ‘Shh, shh,’ he said gently, rocking the child. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘It isn’t all right,’ said Diera. ‘Just look down there. They’re killing each other and you want us to ride through it.’

  ‘And this is just the start, believe me.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Please, Diera. War is here. Nowhere on Balaia will be safe.’

  She nodded. ‘How do we get to the docks?’

  ‘On one horse we can ride where ten or more could not but I need you close. Sit in front of me and hold Jonas. I’ll keep you from falling. Try not to be afraid.’

  ‘Don’t ask that,’ she said. ‘I’m terrified. You’re used to the noise and blood.’

  ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you.’

  ‘Better not.’ Her expression softened slightly.

  ‘Just remember to do what I ask. It’ll be difficult down there and there’s no time for debate. You must trust me.’

  ‘Always.’

  She dismounted and he helped her up in front of him before handing her their baby son. He kicked his big stallion to a gentle trot down the slope towards Arlen.

  Riding in from the north-east along a narrow, barely used trail, The Unknown cou
ld see the fires of a camp some miles off to the east and a Dordovan column under torchlight heading down the main track into the heart of the port. Xetesk had been in tacit control of Arlen when he put into port two seasons ago and he had no reason to believe anything had changed barring the fact that Dordover was now on open offensive.

  Closer to, the sounds of buildings aflame and collapsing, of spells crashing into structure and soldier and the roar of close-quarter fighting were deafening. Jonas was crying and Diera was rigid in the saddle.

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ said The Unknown.

  ‘Just get us there, Sol,’ she said, trying to comfort their bawling son.

  Entering the town on a dark and shadowed street with the din a terrifying press on their ears, The Unknown snapped the reins.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘It gets tricky from here.’

  He heeled his horse’s flanks and the nervous animal sprang forward. In his ears the clash of metal and the shouts of warriors mixed uncomfortably with the wails from his boy. He fought to keep the horse in the middle of the street, galloping headlong for the docks. He aimed to ride down the eastern edge of the town past the Park of the Martyrs and through the Salt Quarter to emerge at the end of the docks where Captain Jevin had the Calaian Sun at berth.

  But already he could see it would be difficult if not impossible to avoid the conflict around them. To their right, multiple FlameOrbs burned away the mist, their arcs of flight carrying them down to splatter into buildings and onto streets. The flat crack and orange flare of a ManaShield collapsing was succeeded immediately by the screams of those caught abruptly defenceless. Smoke billowed as mana fire gorged on wood and flesh, pouring out of a side street and billowing over rooftops, hemming them in still further.

  Ahead of them, shapes ran, disordered and panicked; townsfolk trying to flee college blade and spell. There were dozens of them led by an uncertain trio of town militia. They were looking behind them more than ahead and all were weighed down by possessions or tiny human cargo. The Unknown cursed, the horse skittish beneath them and slowing automatically.

  ‘Sit tight.’

  The townspeople ran on, all but one heedless of the lone horse as they raced out of town, fear stalking every face below streaks of mud and soot.

  ‘Turn around, the way is blocked!’ yelled one of the militia as he closed.

  ‘The docks,’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Best way!’

  ‘No way,’ came the reply. ‘That’s what the bastards are fighting over. Run, it’s your only chance.’ And then he was gone.

  The Unknown pushed on, Jonas squealing and coughing in turn as the smoke thickened nearer the centre of the fighting. Diera’s face was white and strained.

  ‘Not far now.’

  More stragglers came by them as they rode quickly down the street, the park behind them. Ahead, the low warehousing and packed tenements of the Salt Quarter, once heavy with cargo and seafarers, now blazing in countless places and full of war. From the right, men ran in close form across their path, ignoring them. Dead ahead, fire blew up the side of a warehouse. Timbers creaked and collapsed. There was a roar and the renewed clash of weapons. They were on the fighting now.

  The Unknown swung the horse left, down a narrow muddied lane between two lowering warehouses. Slightly muted for a moment, the tumult of the fighting was brought suddenly and horribly close. Cantering past a crosspath, The Unknown glanced right. The passage was full of men, blades catching the glare of the fires around them as they charged away towards an unseen enemy.

  A heartbeat later, FlameOrbs surged from the gloom and smoke and into the front of the packed line. Fire scorched up walls, tore timbers from roofs, and the impact snatched soldiers from their feet and flung them backwards, human firebrands shrieking as they died.

  It was too much for The Unknown’s horse. Already scared, the stallion jolted sideways and reared high. Caught by the double move, and already compensating to catch the slipping Diera, The Unknown lost his brief fight for balance. But as he fell left and back, he enclosed his wife and son in his embrace and took the weight of the fall for all of them, rolling across his shoulders.

  He grunted, wind knocked from his lungs, pain stabbing through his upper back. The horse bolted back the way they had come. The Unknown carried on rolling, his broad back protecting his family from the wood and dirt firing from the passage. He dragged himself to his feet, bringing Diera with him, swinging her trembling body to face him and seeing Jonas too scared even to cry.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he gasped, forcing air into his lungs, a sheet of pain washing across his ribcage.

  Diera shook her head. ‘What will we do now?’ she asked, pressing Jonas’s head into her chest.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll protect you.’ He stepped back and drew sword and dagger. ‘Do everything I say without question.’

  Diera flinched. His tone was hard, his eyes cold. He knew it worried her but there was no other way if they were to live. He assessed their position. Going on was their only option. Already, survivors were stumbling towards them from the crosspath, bloodied and angry.

  ‘Back away,’ said The Unknown, pushing her gently in the right direction. ‘Don’t run.’

  They’d been seen. Four men with swords ready. Brief guilt surged through The Unknown at the position he’d placed his family in. Others might have been ignored as Arlen townsfolk, but the shaven head, bull neck and sheer size of The Unknown Warrior made him instantly recognisable. And every Dordovan knew with whom he had fought on Herendeneth. Xetesk.

  ‘Running to join your soul brothers?’ sneered one. He was burned across his head but otherwise unhurt. ‘Just that little bit too far away, aren’t they?’

  ‘I’m just taking my family from here,’ said The Unknown. ‘I’ve no fight with you.’

  ‘You’re Xeteskian.’

  ‘I’m Raven.’

  ‘But they aren’t here.’

  ‘Keep clear, Diera,’ said The Unknown.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘And don’t let Jonas see.’

  The Unknown tapped his blade once on the ground and ran at the Dordovans. They hesitated fractionally as he knew they would. It was their undoing. His blade sliced clean into the stomach of the first soldier but was blocked by the second. He fielded a wild swing from the third on the broad hilt of his dagger even as he dropped to his haunches, left leg sweeping out to knock the poorly balanced swordsman’s legs from under him.

  Bouncing up on his right leg, he stabbed straight forwards into the neck of the second, his speed making a nonsense of the man’s defence. Again he was moving as he struck. Left this time, dagger fending off a smart stab to his midriff from the fourth. He turned the strike aside, reversed his dagger and buried it in the soldier’s eye.

  Not stopping, he left the blade where it jutted from the dead man’s skull, gripped his long sword in two hands, spun and chopped down through the shoulder of the last survivor as he tried to get up and defend at the same time, succeeding in neither.

  The Unknown knelt to clean his gore-spattered blade on their clothes. He heard shouting close at hand. More Dordovans had witnessed his devastating attack. They were coming left and right, twenty yards distant. An arrow sang past him.

  ‘Dammit.’

  He turned as he straightened, sheathing his blades. Diera was staring at him, her face white and eyes wide. She pointed behind him at the quartet of corpses.

  ‘You—’ she began.

  ‘Not pretty, is it?’ He grabbed her arm and swung her round, starting to run. ‘We’ve got to go. Now.’

  ‘They’re dead. You killed them all.’

  ‘It’s what I do. You know that. Now come on.’

  Almost lifting her from her feet, The Unknown set off down the narrow passageway. The fighting was concentrated to their right around the centre of the dockside, on the other side of the warehouse that loomed dark grey above them. He guessed they had two hundred yards to make it into the heart of the Salt Quar
ter. It would probably be no safer but they might find friendly blades.

  The shouts of pursuit spilled into the passage behind them. A thud by his head and a skipping off a stone at his feet told him the bowmen had almost got their range. He pushed Diera in front of him, still trying to support her terrified stumbling run, Jonas whimpering again under her cloak.

  ‘Keep running if I fall.’

  Another shaft whistled past his head, burying itself in the wall just beyond. Diera yelped. Ten yards ahead, a turning.

  ‘Go left.’

  He saw her nod. Arrows clattered into the walls behind, another flew overhead. He ducked reflexively, arms coming up to protect Diera. They swung left. The Unknown sensed fighting very close. The passageway ended at a blank wall and went left and right.

  ‘Right, go right,’ he said, pushing Diera ever faster. She half stumbled.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Jonas.’

  ‘Move!’ he snapped. ‘Don’t stop.’

  She started and ran on, taking the right turn.

  Twenty yards and it opened out on to war. The street beyond was ablaze. Men ran everywhere, orders were barked over the deafening roar of battle. Spells fell at random, fire and lightning gouging rents in the ground and destroying unshielded soldiers. Corpses and the screaming wounded littered the ground.

  ‘Ten yards and stop!’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Take the doorway. Crouch small.’

  Not waiting to see her do it, he swung to face the opening, dragging out his sword, its point tapping rhythmically in the mud. Their pursuers were only moments away, their breath and words betraying them. First was a bowman, tearing blindly round the corner, an arrow nocked in his bow. The Unknown shifted his weight forward and drove his sword up between the archer’s legs and out through his ribcage, the power of the blow launching him backwards, dead before he hit the ground.