The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1)

by P. D. Ceanneir

That was the last instruction on the arts that he gave to the princes before his consul mission for the king, three months previous.

  “Fire, on the other hand, is very difficult to summon, use and control,” continued their master.

  The sun was getting lower in the sky. Havoc could just see the high peaks of the Sky Mountains, in the north, turning a light orange, reflected by the last of the winter snow.

  “However, fire cannot be controlled as you understand it; it has to be governed by your inner-self,” Ness Ri went on. “Controlling your emotions is the key to harnessing the power of fire.” He cupped his hand palm up, and a bright orange-red ball of flame appeared.

  Both princes witnessed their master do this on any number of occasions, and were always amazed at how easily he could summon the fourth element. The ball shimmered with heat and spat out little streams of flame like a tiny sun. Not every Rawn had the ability to create what they were seeing. For one thing, it took a great amount of energy to produce this amount of flame. Havoc felt suddenly cold and realised that his master was drawing heat from the air around them to feed the burning globe, a trick he would have to remember.

  “Nevertheless, it is too soon for you to learn the fourth element,” said Ness Ri as he closed his palm and the ball vanished like a candle in a gale; the heat returned to the air, but Havoc still shivered.

  “Eventually, you will master the fourth element before undergoing the Canndali,” Ness Ri said, mentioning the final trial that an apprentice must undergo to become a master.

  “Is the Canndali difficult?” asked Magnus.

  “It depends on the person and his discipline in meditation, for that is all the Canndali is.”

  “Yes, but it can cause madness, can’t it?” Magnus started to fidget.

  “Ahh, you refer to Baron Telmar… Yes, he went mad because of poor training from his Vallkyte masters, not from the Canndali, but rest assured that would not happen to you under my supervision. To give in to fear Magnus is the path to failure.”

  “Fear is our greatest ally and our worst foe,” said Havoc.

  This got a startled response from both Ness and Magnus.

  “Where did you hear that?” asked Lord Ness, staring at him.

  “Er, it just seemed obvious. I must have read it somewhere!”

  For some strange reason he felt compelled to look down at his new sword sitting next to his feet.

  “It seems to be a fairly good phrase on this occasion; listen to my instruction and focus on everything you have learnt, Magnus, and you will have nothing to fear!”

  This seemed to appease the boy.

  “And how long will it take to become a Ri?” asked Magnus

  “Oh... many more long years stretch out for the fledgling Rawn Master before he can control all four elements at the same time. I must advise that we concentrate on the here and now, little one.”

  Magnus nodded with a smile.

  The sun was casting long shadows from the elm trees on the lawn by the time Lord Ness ended the lesson; the princes put the tables, chairs and blackboard back into their classroom in the academy building.

  Lord Ness strolled with them to the cookhouse for supper, eager to catch the last rays of the setting sun. It had been a bright, cloudless, late spring day, with the promise of a warm summer in the air.

  Magnus was ahead of him with Tragenn. Havoc had given him a look at the sword at the first possible opportunity, and now he was parrying and lunging to his heart’s content. Lord Ness looked down at Havoc walking beside him and was glad at the opportunity to talk to him alone.

  “So… I will have to follow protocol and call you My Lord or Your Highness from now on, now that you are officially Crown Prince.”

  Havoc shrugged and mumbled that it was not necessary.

  “It is a beautiful sword, Tragenn, finely crafted. Did you have a good look at the blade?” he asked, watching Havoc closely.

  “Yes, I did, master.” Havoc nodded.

  “Skrol is an old language, about six thousand years old, they say. The Eldi and the Old Gods created it between them so they could understand each other better. It is very difficult to understand, because it is said to be the language of the sub-conscious mind.”

  Havoc wondered where he was going with this. His master stopped and looked at him.

  “You did not tell me that you could read Skrol so fluently.”

  “I can’t…. Well, only a couple of words.”

  “‘Fear is our greatest ally and our worst foe’ – those are the words on the sword’s blade,” said Ness, watching Havoc very carefully.

  Havoc did not know what to say and merely shrugged; he tried to change the subject. “Father told me to ask you about the Orrinn.”

  “Ahh… The Orrinn,” said Ness Ri. All queries about Havoc being able to read Skrol now seemed to vanish, and he became more enthusiastic about the My’thos book. “As far as I can interpret it, it is a Muse Orrinn about seeing or communicating at long distances.”

  This intrigued Havoc. Muse Orrinns were rare and were mainly specific thoughts on a subject that the My’thos had at that moment, thoughts trapped in time. The most common Orrinns were Elemental Orrinns, which held knowledge of only one particular element. Elemental Orrinns were very useful in student training.

  “How do I use it?”

  “Meditate and calm you mind. However, I will not deceive you; it will take some years of practice. You father gave up after a decade.”

  “Oh… great.” He felt disheartened.

  “Don’t worry, I will guide you; now let us get something to eat, shall we?”

  Chapter 3

  A Council of War

  Five days later, the princes were standing on the east palisade overlooking large swathes of the Aln plain. Far in the distance, a dust cloud stretched high above the horizon.

  Mia and Eleana joined them and, as the hour wore on, Havoc’s twelve-year-old sister, Verna, ambled over clutching her doll, Prissy.

  “It does not seem to be getting any closer, does it?” She said.

  She was a wide-eyed, short girl with light brown hair and a constantly runny nose, which she always wiped on Prissy’s dress. Although, Havoc knew all too well that Verna’s gift was in her all-knowing intellect that she inherited from her mother.

  “The wind is blowing in a different direction now,” said Eleana. “It must be a large army to kick up that amount of dust and chaff!”

  “Probably all heavy horse,” muttered Magnus.

  “Uncle Kasan likes to make an entrance, it seems,” said Havoc.

  The Vallkyte delegation, when it came closer, consisted of a thousand horses and six carriages all with elaborate decorations. The armoured horse knights gleamed in polished silver steel plate that dazzled the children so much that they had to cover their eyes at times.

  “Well, I tell you one thing,” said Verna, “they could not sneak up on us.”

  The whole spectacle was a remarkable sight. The knights held aloft their lances and banners, their horses’ mouths lathered with foam, and the ground trembled under the galloping columns.

  “Uncle Hagan’s was better,” said Magnus. “Did you see the size of those sky ships?”

  “Yes, Magnus,” said Mia sarcastically. “We did.”

  “Awesome!” said Magnus.

  The girls giggled.

  Havoc had to agree with his brother. The arrival of King Hagan of Sonora was very impressive. Early yesterday morning, as the mist from the sea cleared, three sky ships appeared silently from the north. They flew swiftly, hugging the coastline, and only slowed as they passed the royal apartments; they caused a bit of a stir in the naval yards as they landed on the southern tip of Naval Isle

  The sky ships were large, about the size of the Roguns’ seagoing battle-class galleys, but their sails were bigger and hitched into a horizontal triangle. Under these sails was a short, stumpy mast called an Orrinn Tower, where an Elemental Orrinn, on this occasion, of the wind element, would co
nstantly blast strong gusts out of large hull ports and into the horizontal sails to keep the ship aloft. The Orrinn inside the tower was fixed into a hinged wooden frame and gyroscope so it could be directed, from the helm, at any part of the sail to cause momentum. Outrigger sails on the forward, port and starboard sides of the ship were there for steering. Sky ships were a very rare occurrence. They had to be robust in design and flawless in flight, and it was only the very rich who could afford them.

  All thoughts of sleep on that early morning for Havoc and his siblings disappeared, as the ships came into view. The princes could see the sky ships from their apartments, it being the weekend, and a break from their training at the academy. They quickly dressed and rushed out with their parents to welcome the new arrivals.

  Ground crew anchored the ships to the docks as the royal party arrived. Havoc could see that Carras Knights in their fine silver armour were already there to welcome the delegation on shore. King Vanduke, to the children’s surprise – for he was not an early riser – was ready, too. Bedecked in his ceremonial armour, and barking orders to his men, squires and stewards.

  The three sky ships were of similar size and coloured in a light-varnished pine, but the sails were different, and two of the ships were a dowdy grey. The third was black with a giant emblem of the Sonoran royal crest. From that boat, armed men came in fine tight-fitting grey armour that Havoc noticed was tailor made for each warrior. While the armour of the Vallkytes was crisp and clinical, the Sonoran’s were all pomp and sparkle. Each warrior had lacquered diagrams of animals on their chests to denote rank or noble status, and long, coloured plumes of various species of exotic birds stuck out from their helmets, with their swords strapped to their back in a battle ready mode.

  King Hagan was one of the first off the ship, a stocky bull of a man, with a quick wit and a loud booming laugh like Vanduke’s. He walked straight past his brother and grabbed Molna, lifting her off her feet and planting a slobbery kiss on her lips.

  “Put me down, you rogue,” she said, giggling.

  “How is the most beautiful girl in the world? Second only to my wife, of course; if you had only married me, you would have had all this,” he said, indicating the sky ships.

  “I have all I want here,” she said, pointing to Havoc and the children.

  Vanduke gave a light cough. Hagan turned to him.

  “Van… there you are,” he said, grasping the king in a warrior’s handshake, both gripping the right arm just below the elbows. “Must have missed you; you should have dressed better.”

  Havoc, who thought that his father looked very handsome, laughed with everyone else. Hagan admired his jovial personality; was quite fond of Vanduke, and any disrespect shown was always in jest.

  The Rogun King said nothing, and Hagan’s bearded smile faded.

  “Do we always have to do this?” he groaned.

  Vanduke’s only reply was to raise his eyebrows.

  “All right, then.” He knelt in front of the King of the Roguns and said, “Well met, My Liege, please accept my honour and fealty.” He stood after saying the traditional greetings to the head of the Cromme dynasty.

  “Are you happy now? That I always demean myself in your presence once again, in front of a staring crowd.” He said this with a smile.

  Vanduke was impassive, and then his face broke into a grin. “I am always happy to see you, Hagan.” He hugged him.

  “Where is Vara?” Molna asked Hagan.

  “The queen is acting regent in my absence… Secretly, I think I have worn her out.” He winked at Molna and she gave him a playful slap on the chest.

  “Now, who wants to see the Pollmion?” asked Hagan.

  The flagship, Pollmion, and the other two, being Raxion and Jezzrion, had eighty men to crew each. Most were, of course, the kings’ warriors. As the Rogun party toured the vessel, the first officer, a young, dark-haired man, took the children to see the Orrinn Tower, where they met two similar redheaded girls about the same age as Mia. These two were Tilly and Letti, Hagan’s twin daughters and, subsequently, Havoc’s cousins, whom he had not seen for over a year. There were greetings all around, but Havoc and Magnus were more intent on asking a young officer, Willan, about the Orrinn and its role on the ship.

  “Well, you will not be able to see it, because the tower is too high, but it sits in a hinged cradle, which is linked to the helm,” said Willan. “The gust of wind it produces is constant and we can control it with metal flaps to direct it better; the Orrinn itself is quite large, about the size of a man’s head.”

  The helm was up on a low-tiered aft castle with a direct line of sight to the tower. The sail cables connected to two angled wing-like masts at each side of the stern and one long horizontal mast jutting out from the bow. Three short, hinged poles on either side could adjust to any angle to tighten or loosen the sail. All over the ship, rope, cables, pins and pulleys were in abundance. Havoc could not even begin to understand what they controlled.

  “Isn’t the ship heavy?” asked Havoc. “How can the main sail lift it?”

  “Good question, Your Highness,” said Willan. “You see the tower?” He tapped the side, and the boys realised that it was made of a brown metal, and not wood, with Skrol symbols written around the base. “It acts as a funnel. The wind from underneath the Orrinn travels down it and is forced out of the bottom through chambers that direct it onto the surface of the hull, which, I am sure you noticed as we came in to land, is more wing shaped on each side; this gives us the lift we need to keep us in the air.”

  “If there is a hole in the bottom, won’t it sink if you sail on water instead of fly?” asked Magnus.

  “No, the pressure in the funnel stops that from happening.”

  “How do you activate the Orrinn?”

  “By incanting Skrol, it only takes a couple of symbols. The inscriptions on the tower do most of the work.”

  The rest of the day they spent with Tilly and Letti exploring the ship’s quarters, bunks and galley.

  That was yesterday morning, now, on the walls of the east gate, they could see the serried ranks of the Vallkyte host stopping at the open entrance.

  Trumpeters from both the Rogun and Vallkyte royal parties announced the arrival of their subsequent monarchs. A single white horse-drawn carriage flanked by knights trundled into the city. The townsfolk lined the route and cheered, throwing flowers under the wheels of the carriage.

  The children followed from the ramparts as the procession continued up the half mile to the palace gates. They took the stairs down to ground level and ran on ahead to the small square at the palace entrance.

  As he ran, Havoc could not help noticing a tall man on a white charger who seemed out of place. His armour was different from the steel plate that the soldiers wore. Instead, it was a matt white and handsomely tailored to his muscular frame. The shoulder guards caught his eye, for they were of a strikingly rich colour of red that was in stark contrast to the white. A long black cape that covered the charger’s rump finished off his impressive appearance.

  King Vanduke, Queen Molna, King Hagan, Ness Ri and Sir Cort, the Rogun High Steward, waited for the visitors in front of the palace. Havoc could not help noticing that his father was pacing nervously.

  When the Vallkyte party stopped in front of them, the tall white knight dismounted and stomped, long legged, to Vanduke; he took off his helmet and bowed, saying the traditional greeting to the head of the family, and gave the king a warrior’s handshake. Havoc realised this was King Kasan of the Vallkytes; he also noticed that he did not kneel in front of his father during the greeting, but Vanduke chose, at that time, to ignore it. All knew there was no love lost between these two brothers.

  “If Uncle Kasan is on horseback, then who is in the carriage?” asked Verna at his side.

  Havoc was more intent on Kasan. He had long black hair tied back into a prince’s plaits, a neatly trimmed goatee, and thin eyebrows on a severe face. He always seemed to be frowning and his dark
green eyes were, at that moment, unscrupulously intent on Havoc’s mother. Totally ignoring anyone else, including King Hagan, he took Molna’s hand and kissed the back.

  “It is always a pleasure to see you, Your Grace.” He had a soft, rich voice.

  “The pleasure is all ours… brother,” She quickly extracted her hand from his grip, conscious of his piercing gaze.

  Havoc’s attention was now on two knights; they were the only two who he could see in dark purple armour, and they were opening the doors of the white carriage. An elegant silver-haired man emerged, followed by two young women. All were dressed in robes the same dark purple as the knights armour.

  “Havants,” said Verna

  Before Havoc could query her, Mia gave a start. “Aunt Cinnibar.”

  She was looking at a fourth person emerge from the carriage. Female, tall and slim with flaxen blonde hair and a benign countenance, Havoc thought she was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She waved away the attentions of the knights who were helping her to dismount, and walked straight backed with a half smile on her face towards Vanduke and Molna. She gave them each a kiss on both cheeks and held both Molna’s hands warmly as they chatted.

  “She must be well over three hundred years old,” said Mia, “but doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”

  The sister of the late King Valient the Third did in fact look good for her age; due to her mastery of the Rawn Arts, she could hold her age indefinitely.

  “She is now a high-ranking member of the Havant Order,” said Verna.

  “Aren’t they an old Vallkyte priesthood, faith worshipers to the Derma Ken?” asked Magnus. The Derma Ken was a name given to the Vallkyte religion. They promoted tolerance of other beliefs, including the Rogun faith of Rogal Ken.

  “Yes, Aunt Cinnibar joined them about forty years ago when the Ri Order refused her entry.”

  “Why?” asked Eleana.

  “Probably because the Ri Order is male only,” said Havoc.

  “Again, Your Highness, I must ask why?” asked Eleana, in what Mia always called her brazen voice, which she always used when talking to Havoc.