Read Online Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) by Alan Ratcliffe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alan Ratcliffe
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tugged at Cole’s mind as he lay on his cot, listening to the faint sounds of the festivities carrying across the courtyard. Every time he thought he had laid hands on it, the feeling dissipated like morning mist.
Mist. He felt a memory surface then. With the end of the thread in his grasp, he was able to pull upon it. Not so fast that he would lose it again. Slowly but surely, he felt the memories flow back. Cole’s eyes widened. He lurched upright, and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Brother Merryl was aghast. “Lay down, Cole,” he begged. “You’ve had a terrible shock and must rest.”
Before he could argue, Cole felt his head swimming. He crashed back down on to the mattress. “Please,” he groaned.
“What is this all about?”
Cole clutched his temples, trying to quell the tumult building there. “Archon...”
“What about him?”
Cole squirmed onto his side, and grabbed Merryl’s robe tightly. He had to make him understand. “You... have to... he...”
Brother Merryl wrenched Cole’s hands from his robe. “I think perhaps I should seek out Brother Burdock,” he announced, standing. “A concoction to help you sleep, perhaps.”
He slipped from the room, and Cole heard the sound of his sandals slapping along the passageway.
“Please,” he croaked despairingly at the closed door. “He... he’s not what he seems.”
* * *
It was a banquet unlike any the Crag had seen in over a decade. Servants had spent a fortnight preparing the Great Hall in readiness for the Archon’s visit, cleaning away the cobwebs and layers of dust. Every bench had been polished until the wood gleamed. The enormous hearths standing at each end of the hall had been lit. The air around them shimmered with the heat.
Every Brother, novice and initiate in the keep was present, bar Merryl and Cole. Indeed, it would have been a near-impossible task to keep any away from an occasion that had held the entire keep in a state of eager anticipation for the past week. Dozens of them lined the benches, their ranks bolstered by a score from the Archon’s party. To his dismay, the elder’s well-stocked wine cellar had even been breached to mark the occasion, and beer and mead flowed generously along every bench.
If there was a slight pall cast over an otherwise convivial atmosphere, it stemmed from the oddly standoffish attitude of many of the visitors. As festivities began, a number of the Crag’s Brothers had tried to open dialogue with their counterparts from the Archon’s party, only to be either politely rebuffed or ignored entirely, until such attempts were abandoned. As the evening approached its end a state of uneasy truce existed between the two groups, though the flow of alcohol ensured that any grudges were, if not forgiven, then at least temporarily forgotten.
Caspian, seated near to the hall’s great double doors, felt sad that Cole would miss the festivities; the Crag’s cooks had excelled themselves in stark contrast to their efforts at breakfast, and course after course was greeted with a hearty roar as it was carried in atop heaped, steaming platters.
Upon a raised dais that ran the length of one side of the hall stood the top table. Seated at its head, in a place of honour, the Archon cast a benign eye over the proceedings. Elder Tobias sat to his right, befitting his station as master of the college, while the hulking figure of Dantes stood silently a few steps behind, half-hidden in shadow.
“I must apologise again for the events of this afternoon, Archon,” Elder Tobias burbled muzzily. While he had reluctantly allowed the contents of his cellar to be shared to help mark the occasion, he had ensured that all the best vintages were reserved for the top table.
“Please, I assure you that it is already forgotten,” the Archon replied genially.
“It is good of you to say, Archon. Brother Merryl’s work with the boy had been progressing so well.” He gestured
Mist. He felt a memory surface then. With the end of the thread in his grasp, he was able to pull upon it. Not so fast that he would lose it again. Slowly but surely, he felt the memories flow back. Cole’s eyes widened. He lurched upright, and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Brother Merryl was aghast. “Lay down, Cole,” he begged. “You’ve had a terrible shock and must rest.”
Before he could argue, Cole felt his head swimming. He crashed back down on to the mattress. “Please,” he groaned.
“What is this all about?”
Cole clutched his temples, trying to quell the tumult building there. “Archon...”
“What about him?”
Cole squirmed onto his side, and grabbed Merryl’s robe tightly. He had to make him understand. “You... have to... he...”
Brother Merryl wrenched Cole’s hands from his robe. “I think perhaps I should seek out Brother Burdock,” he announced, standing. “A concoction to help you sleep, perhaps.”
He slipped from the room, and Cole heard the sound of his sandals slapping along the passageway.
“Please,” he croaked despairingly at the closed door. “He... he’s not what he seems.”
* * *
It was a banquet unlike any the Crag had seen in over a decade. Servants had spent a fortnight preparing the Great Hall in readiness for the Archon’s visit, cleaning away the cobwebs and layers of dust. Every bench had been polished until the wood gleamed. The enormous hearths standing at each end of the hall had been lit. The air around them shimmered with the heat.
Every Brother, novice and initiate in the keep was present, bar Merryl and Cole. Indeed, it would have been a near-impossible task to keep any away from an occasion that had held the entire keep in a state of eager anticipation for the past week. Dozens of them lined the benches, their ranks bolstered by a score from the Archon’s party. To his dismay, the elder’s well-stocked wine cellar had even been breached to mark the occasion, and beer and mead flowed generously along every bench.
If there was a slight pall cast over an otherwise convivial atmosphere, it stemmed from the oddly standoffish attitude of many of the visitors. As festivities began, a number of the Crag’s Brothers had tried to open dialogue with their counterparts from the Archon’s party, only to be either politely rebuffed or ignored entirely, until such attempts were abandoned. As the evening approached its end a state of uneasy truce existed between the two groups, though the flow of alcohol ensured that any grudges were, if not forgiven, then at least temporarily forgotten.
Caspian, seated near to the hall’s great double doors, felt sad that Cole would miss the festivities; the Crag’s cooks had excelled themselves in stark contrast to their efforts at breakfast, and course after course was greeted with a hearty roar as it was carried in atop heaped, steaming platters.
Upon a raised dais that ran the length of one side of the hall stood the top table. Seated at its head, in a place of honour, the Archon cast a benign eye over the proceedings. Elder Tobias sat to his right, befitting his station as master of the college, while the hulking figure of Dantes stood silently a few steps behind, half-hidden in shadow.
“I must apologise again for the events of this afternoon, Archon,” Elder Tobias burbled muzzily. While he had reluctantly allowed the contents of his cellar to be shared to help mark the occasion, he had ensured that all the best vintages were reserved for the top table.
“Please, I assure you that it is already forgotten,” the Archon replied genially.
“It is good of you to say, Archon. Brother Merryl’s work with the boy had been progressing so well.” He gestured
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