Verna answered for him. “Women have difficulty in mastering the Rawn Arts and it is for this reason, more than others, that they are denied entry. However rare it is, when a woman does become adept at the arts, she becomes very powerful. It is said, in every generation or so, a female Rawn Master comes along and acquires Ri abilities extremely quickly,” she said, all this while not taking her eyes off Cinnibar.
Havoc laughed. “Then for that reason they should be allowed into the order.”
Verna smiled up at him and nodded. “Quite so,” she said, “but it seems she is making her own order with the Havants. They were not as strict about mixed sexes in their order as the Ris, and they allowed her entry after her brave deeds against Baron Telmar, and, of course, her royal status helped. One thing to mention here, though: there are only five men left in the order; most of the females joined due to Cinnibar’s influence.”
“Who’s he, then?” asked Magnus, pointing to the grey-haired priest.
“Kellborne, the high priest.”
“At least there’s still a man in charge,” he said gloomily.
“Maybe not for long, from what Verna has just said,” Havoc said. He rubbed his chin; he was feeling uncomfortable and did not know why.
“Why start new Rawn Orders when you can infiltrate one that is already established?” he asked himself.
Verna looked up at Havoc with awe. “Very astute of you, brother.”
“Thank you, sister, we males can use our brains too, you know.”
“How old do you think Ness Ri is, then?” asked Magnus.
“Well over two thousand years, I think,” said Verna.
They all looked at her.
“How do you know these things?” scoffed Magnus.
“From the history books!” she said.
“What history books?” Magnus frowned.
She pointed towards the library in the distance. “I like to read, Magnus, you should try it sometime.”
Everyone now moved into the palace, and then eventually into the council chambers inside the parliament building. The council of war was due to start after lunch, and then on for a couple of more days.
“It would be interesting to know what is said at the council, wouldn’t it,” said Magnus to Havoc when they had a quiet time on their own away from the others.
Havoc could see the mischief in his brother’s eyes.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Havoc.
“Yes, the grill.”
During a game of Hide and Seek one summer before their Rawn training, Magnus had hidden in a broom cupboard on the second floor overlooking the council rooms. He had heard voices coming from the main meeting room, but muffled; looking behind a wooden cupboard, he found a brass grill that formed part of the ventilation system that went all around the parliament building. Vent openings under the roof gutters would draw air down narrow stone tubes hidden inside the walls and out through these brass vents to all the rooms in the building, giving much-needed fresh air to many crowded conferences.
The grill had a silver knob, used to open the vent and its companion vent in the room opposite, but it was stiff. The next day, he had stolen some tallow from the palace kitchens, which did the trick of opening it easier.
“We could sneak in before they arrive and listen; we may even know something before Verna does,” said Magnus.
“What about Verna?” Mia asked suspiciously in front of them.
“Man talk,” said Magnus, who though Mia must have the hearing of a bat.
She scowled at Magnus and then screwed up her face when she noticed who was behind them. “Oh no, Soujonn,” she said.
A portly boy of about eighteen stormed past them in his plate steel armour. Kasan’s illegitimate son scowled at Havoc and Magnus, and then gave Mia and Eleana the same lustful look his father gave to Molna. Their cousin was in training to be a Rawn Knight in the king’s guard, and he had filled out since the last time Havoc had seen him; the children always remembered his bullying ways in his youth and despised him for it.
“I hate the way he looks at me; he gives me the creeps,” said Mia with a shiver as the Vallkyte teenager got out of earshot.
“Don’t worry, Mia, we will look after you,” said Magnus, with such great sincerity that Mia beamed brightly at him.
The broom cupboard was smaller than Havoc remembered and it was a tight squeeze for them both. Although, with the grill open, he could see most of the meeting room, and the acoustics were perfect.
The council of war, however, had already started.
“…He has such a hold over the Nithi that it is nigh impossible to change their loyalty to him. Mad-daimen is not a man for negotiation. He is single minded and intent on his purpose; this is why I urge Your Highnesses to pull your forces together.” This was from a tall Ri with long, white, curly hair that was brown at the temples, on an otherwise young, friendly face. Havoc recognised him as Saltyn Ri, his at one time, instructor who had left the Ri Order under mysterious circumstances and had joined with Kasan as his personal consul.
“All very well, Consul, but the facts of the situation must come too light; we have been at peace with the southern tribes for two thousand years; why this animosity now?” asked Vanduke.
Behind him stood Lord Rett, the Red Duke, the king’s champion and Magnus’s uncle impassively watched the other champions in the room, who were the only ones allowed weapons, all being armed with their swords and fully armoured.
“You have sent your own consul, have you not?” asked Kasan, who seemed to be bored already, as if he had better places to be.
All eyes turned to Ness Ri, who sat on Vanduke’s right at the head of the long oak table that dominated the room.
“My consul mission was on another matter in the south, but what my learned colleague said about Mad-daimen is correct. I have met him in the past, and he is not a man to turn from his convictions. It will take a far better man than I too change his mind. If he has an armed force the size of the one stated, he would use it. I predict dark times ahead.”
The mood was sombre when their master finished talking. The tall, slim champion behind King Hagan shifted slightly and stoked his greying beard. He was by far the most handsomely clad in the room.
“Well, that settles it, then,” said Hagan. “My emissary missions also came back empty handed. So let us all do what we came here to do and quell this uprising. I propose a united alliance and put a stop to this rebellion before it is too late.”
“You, popinjay, can propose nothing. It’s not your lands that are being raided every month,” said Kasan sombrely.
“I’m here to help, you dullard!” replied Hagan angrily. “You cannot speak to me as if I was a child again.”
“Insolent peacock, you have not learnt any respect in front of me. Remember your place, Cromme Secondur, or I will have Udren remember it for you.” Kasan indicated his champion by his side, who reached for his sword.
Hagan’s champion stepped in front of his king, but wisely did not touch his sword hilt. Havoc could not make out his face from behind his helmet, but he scowled back at Kasan’s larger bodyguard.
Hagan and Kasan were on their feet now, throwing insults. Vanduke joined in siding with Hagan; Ness Ri’s quiet voice was also added into the mix, trying to quell the argument. Havoc and Magnus glanced at one another in alarm. They had never seen grownups fighting like juveniles before.
This two-sided argument banded around from both sides for about ten seconds when a new voice entered into the affray.
“Quiet!” The voice was so loud in the venting system that Magnus and Havoc cried out involuntarily; both of them clamped their hands to their mouths.
All were still. The only sound came from the crackling of the wood in the fireplace.
“It seems to me that there are some underlying issues to be addressed here.”
The princes relaxed, no one had heard them. The speaker was Cinnibar, who was out of their sight at the other end
of the table. There was a rustle of clothing and a scrape of a chair, and then she came into view, looking regal in her gowns.
She walked up behind Kasan, lightly touching his cheek and he sat down with a half dazed look on his face that Havoc noticed was somewhere between love and admiration for this woman. She had a mysterious radiance about her that Havoc had to remind himself to blink. Her confidant poise captivated her audience.
“I remember,” she said, “the last time we all joined together in this room, twenty years ago, to thrash out the issue of titles and family dynastic rank.” She stopped by a red-faced Hagan and, in her pause; he sat down with a huff.
“It was firstly proposed by my kind great nephew, King Vanduke, and which I incidentally seconded, that the issue of respect, which is clearly noted in the Royal Tables, must be adhered to when meeting with a higher-ranking house.”
Hagan’s red, angry face was now a blush and he mumbled to himself. Kasan grinned for the first time since his arrival; Havoc did not care for it much.
“And goading your siblings does not become you, King Kasan!” scolded Cinnibar, and the Vallkyte King’s grin faded.
“Now, we are not here to squabble over the past like petty children. The future is at stake here and we must put aside our differences and focus on the issues at hand.”
Hagan nodded to himself and Kasan looked nonplussed.
“I, for one, agree with King Hagan’s proposal of an alliance.” She put her hands on the Sonoran King’s shoulders. “Cromme, standing together, is far greater than its individual family units, and, as one, we will push this rebel Mad-daimen and his armies back to the sea and be rid of his threat for good.”
There was a general agreement all around. The rest of the meeting was all down to voting and finalising detail on the deployment of armed forces.
Hungry and stiff from the enclosed space, Havoc and Magnus left the cupboard. Magnus ran off down the corridor to tell his sisters about all that they had heard.
Havoc waited outside by one of the corridor statues when the first person to leave was Kasan, followed by Cinnibar; their voices muffled as they walked off down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Hagan and his champion came next and walked in his direction; for some reason, he had the urge to hide, and snuck behind a marble statue of the sea goddess, Kwi-aqua.
“I still don’t like it, my friend,” said Hagan. “We should make our own steps and keep those we care for secure; I will leave my children here and the queen can continue to act as regent until all this settles down.”
“Overly cautious, Sire, but I will do as you say,” said the champion.
Now they were passing Havoc; he concentrated hard on the Hiding Art, something he and Magnus had been taught to do by Ness Ri. Rawns had the ability to detect creatures around them, human or animal, usually at close range. Havoc pictured himself as part of the material that made up the statue. The two men passed by him, and then stopped; Havoc held his breath. He thought they detected him.
“Move our folk of Zent, Powyss. You know where,” said Hagan.
“But Sire, you need me in this campaign,” said the champion, obviously flustered. “It will take time to do it in secret; the distance is too long…”
The king had held up a hand to stop him. “There is no one else I would rather trust in this task; don’t just do it for your king, but do it for your friend.” After a considered pause, the champion nodded and the two men moved on, their voices became distant and indistinct.
Confused by the conversation, Havoc was about to walk out from the statue when he heard his father’s voice. “…Be busy making preparations; it will take my mind off things. Are you sure about Ciriana’s opinions? She has never been very forthcoming in the past. Can you trust her, Consul?”
“I trust her with my life, Sire, and I would value her opinion above all others. As a prophet, she is never wrong,” said Ness Ri.
“Well, that’s true; we will just have to go with the information we have. I have already tasked Lord Rett with organising the Carras Knights. He will leave a skeleton crew to guard the city. Are you coming to the banquet?”
“Later, Sire, I have something to attend to first.”
Havoc heard his father’s long strides echo down the corridor. There was a quiet pause, then, after a while, he heard Ness say, “You can come out now, Prince Havoc.”
The game was up; he knew better than to hide from a Ri, so he ambled out from behind the statue, but prideful of his status, he kept his head high. “Master,” he said.
“You are becoming quite adept at that. I have only just detected you. Now what did you overhear?”
Havoc new better than to lie, “Oh, not much, just about Lord Rett and the Carras Knights… and someone called Ciriana... Who is she, master?”
“A famous prophet and an old friend of mine; what else did you overhear?”
Havoc decided that Hagan’s conversation with his champion was not worth mentioning. It sounded private, and his love for his uncle made him keep the secret; besides, he did not know what the conversation was about and was not a tattletale, so he shrugged and shook his head.
“Are you sure?” asked Ness with a severe expression on his face.
“Yes, master.”
“Very well, off you go.” Then, as an afterthought, Lord Ness turned to him again. “I must remind the steward to seal up my old spy-hole grill in the second floor broom cupboard.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You never know whose listening.” Then he walked off to the banqueting hall, leaving Havoc open mouthed.
Chapter 4
Battle March
The swordsmanship training grounds sat next to the city garrison to the south of the palace. It consisted of five long, narrow sand runs about fifty feet long and ten feet wide, where all of the Rawn apprentices would practice sword, archery, spear and lance.
Today, two days on from the war council, the grounds were all but deserted, and those who had come to practice in the late evening were now packing up to leave.
Havoc and Magnus preferred the peace and quiet, and continued sparring after all of the others had left. Leaping around attacking and defending in various styles, they were bare-chested and covered in sweat. Their breath came hard as they prowled around each other, looking for any sign that would give away the other’s next move.
They were not, however, alone. Mia, Eleana, Tilly and Letti had all came down to watch the older boys spar. Just seeing the muscled, half-naked bodies drenched in sweat was enough to make their eyes stand out on stalks.
As the other handsome youngsters left the training ground, they decided to watch the princes’ practice in their own sand run. There was nothing voyeuristic in the decision. Mia and her cousins found the display of sword clash and body movement hypnotic. As they arrived, Magnus was fighting with an ash staff, a weapon he was very good with as well as a sword. While Havoc fought with two wooden training swords at which, being ambidextrous, he had no equal. Even Lord Rett found it hard to keep up with his skill at dual weapon swordsmanship.
For their part, the boys ignored the girls; their concentration was on each other. Both boys were all cuts and bruises, but both refused to heal themselves, agreeing at the start of most bouts that the mending of their bodies caused them to get weaker, and stamina and endurance was the key to winning these sparring sessions.
To the girls, both looked so different in their physical appearance, and their style varied because of this. Magnus, short and stocky, with a good amount of muscle mass, was a fearsome fighter; what he lacked in stamina, he made up for in brute strength. Havoc, tall, lithe and athletic, did not have an ounce of fat on him. His wiry frame showed well-toned muscles for one so young and he was very light on his feet and fast with it.
The girls watched as Havoc lay a devastating attack on Magnus, and forced his opponent back, but Magnus changed his stance and shifted his balance to whirl around Havoc and try to club him in the midriff, but Havoc saw the attack a
nd knocked it away. The problem was that the two princes seemed to know each other’s techniques from sparring together for so long. However, Magnus knew from experience never to underestimate his brother as Havoc caught one end of the staff in between the swords and spun around to heal kick him in the head in a move his brother had never done before. The girls cheered, yet Magnus recovered and attacked again.
One of the girls groaned – Havoc thought it was Tilly – he heard her say, “What are they doing here?”
Havoc held up his hand to Magnus to signal a halt to the spar and turned to look in the same direction as the girls.
At the entrance to the grounds strode in four older boys in Vallkyte tabards; three were tall, dark, and slim; the other was Soujonn, so rotund that he was almost bursting out of his clothes. Havoc wondered why they were here. The grounds were mainly for student use, although it was an unofficial rule. No Vallkyte had ventured in here, since most of them were camped outside the city gates. Only the royal party from both delegations were staying in the many plush rooms in the palace. Soujonn was a novice knight, so he and his group had no right to be here.
Soujonn noticed Havoc and said something to his friends, who all started to laugh. His cousin was grinning as he walked up to the little group.
“Look at the little children fighting with wooden swords,” he said in a childlike voice, “afraid of losing an eye?”
His friends laughed and nudged each other, eyeing up the girls.
“What do you want, Soujonn?” asked Magnus.
“Nothing from you whelp,” Soujonn growled.
Soujonn cut an imposing figure; people would think twice about making him angry, but Magnus was always one never to show fear and walked towards him, his face red and furious. Havoc put out his arm and barred his way, shaking his head at him slightly.
“Yeah, that’s it, little pup, stay there if you value your life.”
There was general merriment from all the older boys. Some kicked sand at each other and made comments about the girls, who seemed to be stunned into silence by the close proximity of the lust-filled teenage boys.
The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) Page 5