Free Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) by Alan Ratcliffe Page A

of the air.
    The giant sliced the blade through the air a few times, testing its weight. The grotesque mask nodded once with approval. Then the mechanical hand and the sword it grasped began to spin. Slowly at first, then gathering speed.
    A commotion broke out as Brothers and novices around the hall leapt to their feet, panic in their eyes, sending platters and half-filled goblets flying. One of the younger boys began to bawl.
    At a signal from the Archon, the other robed figures spread out around the hall drew out swords of their own. The elder fell to his knees beside the Archon. “Please, lord,” he begged. “I-”
    The giant’s metal arm swept down. With a gush of blood, the elder’s head flew from his shoulders. It landed in the nearest hearth in a puff of ash. Moments later, the stench of burned hair and roasting flesh filled the air.
    There was a heavy thud as the doors of the Great Hall were barred. Then the slaughter began in earnest.
     
    *      *      *
     
    As the first scream shattered the stillness of the night, Cole sat up on his bed with a jolt. Only a few seconds had passed when he heard the sound of running feet outside his door. Before he could stand, Brother Merryl barrelled into the room, his face a sickly grey pallor.
    “Cole, can you walk?” the old man demanded. Outside, the sounds of battle carried across the courtyard.
    “Yes... I think so.” Cole was already beginning to feel better. He swung his legs to the end of the bed and planted his feet on the ground. He swayed slightly as he stood, but did not fall.
    “Good,” said Merryl, opening the door. “We must leave, now.”
    “What’s happening?”
    Merryl shook his head. “I’m not sure. Just as I reached the doors to the Great Hall, I heard shouts, and then screams. We are under attack, that much is clear, but I cannot say by whom. I returned here as fast as I could.”
    An old cloak hung by his bed. Cole grabbed it and threw it hurriedly around his shoulders as they stole from the room. Merryl hesitated, glancing up and down the corridor. They could still hear the fight raging on nearby, but so far it seemed contained within the Great Hall.
    Satisfied that they were alone, Merryl hurried in the direction of the main gates, Cole at his heels.
    “Where are we going?” he whispered.
    “To the dock, it is the only way,” the old man hissed back.
    “What?” Cole was appalled. “I am no craven. Flee if you must, I cannot leave my Brothers behind to be slaughtered!”
    Brother Merryl’s hand darted out as he turned to leave, and fastened onto his cloak. “If we go back, child, then we die. I cannot wield a sword and you can barely walk. There is nothing we can do. We must go, and bring aid if we can.”
    Cole stared across the courtyard to the closed double doors of the hall, his jaw tight. Even now, the sound of fighting was lessening. Merryl began to shuffle away. Reluctantly, Cole followed, casting one last glance over his shoulder.
    They stumbled along darkened corridors and galleries, moving as fast as age and injury would allow. As they neared the gatehouse, Merryl pressed himself into a shadow along one wall, and gestured for Cole to do the same. He raised a finger to his lips.
    Cole risked a peek around the corner of the wall they were huddled against. The outlines of two men were visible in the torchlight of the gatehouse. He heard a murmur of voices, but was unable to make out what was said. Friend or foe? he wondered.
    The old man had clearly had the same thought. “We must assume they mean us ill,”  he said. He broke away from the wall, beckoning Cole to follow.
    “What now?”
    “To the solar,” Merryl replied. “There is a secret stair that leads to the dock. It will be perilous in the dark, but I see no other choice.”
    They had to double back part of the way they had come, until they found a flight of steps leading to the ramparts. “If we’re careful, this should bring us there safely,”