Sirendor laughed. ‘Our most popular question. Tell me what you’ve heard, first, then I’ll tell you the truth.’
‘All I’ve heard is that he didn’t want to be found.’ Denser shrugged. ‘So he refused to tell anyone his name and took on the one he has now.’
‘Common but fatally flawed,’ said Sirendor. ‘I mean, if he was trying to lose himself from someone, calling himself “The Unknown Warrior” and fighting with The Raven is about the worst way he could have chosen, don’t you think?’ Denser nodded. ‘No. When we first formed The Raven ten years ago in The Rookery, it was after we’d met on a contract we’d taken as individuals out by Gyernath. By we I mean him, me, Hirad and Ilkar. I remember us all riding back to Korina and how he said he was owner of an inn and we could have lodgings and food because there was something he wanted to discuss.
‘The Raven name came up because of where we were drinking, then the code, and we all signed the parchment which Tomas keeps mounted in the back room. When it came to The Unknown’s turn, he wouldn’t sign, saying his name wasn’t important, and it was only then that the rest of us realised that through the week of fighting, he’d not once told us who he was.’
‘Why The Raven? Rooks live in rookeries.’
‘Same family of birds, better name. Can you really imagine us being called “The Rook”?’
Denser chuckled, the sound dying on the rock in front of him where the pass opened out a little. Sirendor continued.
‘Anyway, I remember what Hirad and Ilkar said like it was yesterday. The loudmouth said, “We don’t want any mystery man in the team, so either sign up or bugger off.” ’ Sirendor shook his head at the memory. So typical, so very, very Hirad. ‘And Ilkar said, “Yeah, what are you, some kind of mystical unknown warrior or something?” That was the name that went on the parchment, under the code. And it stuck.’ Sirendor shrugged. ‘It’s as simple as that.’
Denser chuckled. ‘Well, well, well. Of such things are legends made.’
‘We sincerely hope so,’ said Sirendor.
‘But doesn’t it fascinate you to know what his name really is and why he won’t tell you?’ asked Denser, his tone serious again. ‘I can’t imagine why any man should claim his name wasn’t important.’
Sirendor turned in his saddle and put a finger to his lips. He lowered his voice.
‘Yes it did, and I suppose still does in moments when my mind wanders. And don’t think we haven’t asked him, got him drunk and tried to trick his name from him, refused to speak to his face, anything. But he won’t let on, and if you press him, he gets angry. You learn to keep your fascination to yourself. He is our friend. If he wishes to be private about something, even his name, we respect it. He is Raven.’
‘But he’s hiding something from you,’ pushed Denser. ‘He’s not telling you—’
‘Enough,’ said Sirendor. ‘It is his decision. Let it rest.’ But the look in Denser’s eyes suggested he might not.
A flight of large grey-winged white gulls swept along the pass towards them, angling up away into the sunlight, their calls clattering into the clefts above. More birds, smaller, quicker, darker, rose in protest, their harsh calls scattering the flight, which re-formed high above to continue its journey west. With a loud fluttering of wings, the birds of prey returned to the cliffs, the nests and chicks protected from the marauding carrion gulls.
Gresse followed the exchange, straining his neck upwards before turning to The Unknown. ‘Tell me, did Blackthorne show any concern about the Wesmen rumours?’
‘I think you have an overblown view of our importance,’ replied The Unknown. ‘Mercenaries don’t get to talk to Baron Blackthorne. ’
Gresse turned in his saddle and fixed The Unknown Warrior with his bright eyes.
‘Unknown, I am the oldest Baron and I have overblown views about very few things. The Raven’s reputation and importance are not among them. I also speak to Blackthorne on occasion and know he enjoys your company.’
‘So talk to him again.’
‘He is two hundred and fifty miles south-west of here, so I am asking you,’ said Gresse testily. ‘You aren’t telling me everything.’
The Unknown glanced across at Talan, who shrugged his shoulders. The party were moving at an easy trot and Denser was some way behind them, still chatting to Sirendor.
‘Six months ago, when you say Arlen sold out to Blackthorne, we were in Eastern Balaia, assessing the Wesmen threat,’ said The Unknown. Gresse punched the pommel of his saddle.
‘I knew there was more. Sly bastard.’
‘It just made good sense,’ said Talan. ‘Let’s face it, if the Wesmen invade through Understone Pass and head south rather than north, Blackthorne will catch it rather than the Colleges, at least to begin with. The same goes for an invasion across the Bay of Gyernath, which would leave them only five days from the City itself and a couple of hours from Blackthorne Castle.’
‘And what did you see?’
Ahead of them, Hirad called a halt and the party reined in and dismounted for rest and food. It was shortly past midday and the pass was heating up pleasantly. They had stopped in a natural bowl where the rock was scooped out on either side, focusing the strength of the sun.
‘Nothing to back up anything you’ve heard.’ Talan shrugged, dusted off a rock with a gauntleted hand and sat down. To his left, Gresse’s bodyguards set about lighting a fire, gathering armfuls of the thick dry scrub that clung to the base of the pass the whole of its length. ‘We went through the pass as guard to a Blackthorne wine convoy heading for Leionu. We went south after the pass and tracked the Blackthornes for four days, eventually crossing the Bay of Gyernath. We saw no burning villages, no war parties, nothing to suggest the Wesmen were even raiding.
‘The Wesmen, if they are massing, are doing so in their Heartlands in the south-west peninsula. Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘But that was six months ago.’ Gresse sat beside him, choosing the softer grass and heather over a slab of stone.
‘Granted, but Baron Blackthorne is not, to my knowledge, concerned about a Wesmen invasion,’ said The Unknown. He sifted briefly through his pack and pulled out a small leather bag, stoppered at its neck. ‘Hey, Sirendor, salt.’ He tossed the bag at the warrior, who jumped to catch it one-handed. ‘And use it this time. It makes your soup just about drinkable.’ Hirad laughed. Sirendor swore.
‘Then he should be concerned.’ Gresse was thoughtful for a while. ‘And what about the pass itself?’
‘Well guarded. Tessaya is not a fool. He gets good revenue from the pass and isn’t about to give it up to the KTA or a rival tribe.’ The Unknown scratched his nose.
‘The barracks?’
‘Boarded and empty.’ The Unknown shook his head slightly. ‘He had a significant guardpost at either end of the pass but was not shoring up for siege.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gresse. ‘Both of you. Sorry to press.’
Talan shrugged. ‘No problem. You have other sources, I take it?’
‘More recent and no less reliable. The pass is reportedly closed to the east, full of Wesmen, and war parties are emerging from the south-west. If it’s true, we’re in trouble. We have no organised defence and neither Blackthorne nor the Colleges are strong enough. Just keep your eyes and ears open is all I ask.’ Gresse sighed. ‘I haven’t a hope in hell of persuading the Barons to ally at this meeting, not without Blackthorne. I only hope it’s not all too late.’
Talan raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s that serious, you think? What about the Wytch Lords rumours?’
Gresse snorted. ‘Yes, it is that serious. We could all be in a fight for our country very soon. As for the Wytch Lords, if by some appalling miracle they are returned, we can kiss Balaia goodbye.’
The fire crackled into life, flames casting pale shadow on the sunlit walls of the pass. The men lapsed into silence, each preferring his own thoughts on the exchange as he stared into the hypnotic flickering. It was a good time for a little quiet, and Sirendor’s meat broth, when it arrived, tasted fine.