“That’s difficult and too dangerous for the horses. We will have to summon a good amount of wind to do it.” Powyss looked worried.
“There is plenty of wind around us. Do you have a better idea?”
Powyss gave no reply.
“The depth of the gorge may protect us. We have to give it a go. I will lower them, and you steady them, all right?”
Powyss agreed against his better judgement. Havoc’s fear and bitter despair at their situation was enough to charge the wind element with a small Pyromantic surge. He knew he had to be quick and lift the horses between the lightning flashes so the darkness could cover them from anyone looking from the other side of the ravine.
Fortunately, he need not have worried about the searchers on the other side. Most of Commander Leman’s men were blinded and hypnotised by the beauty of the lightning discharges and so did not see the two fugitives. Those of a more logical nature were more concerned about wearing plate steel in an electrical storm and backed away into the treeline.
Dirkem and Sarema struggled at first, but could not thrash about too much as the wind grasped them like an invisible hand. Havoc knew how much he needed to use, having already got the hang of moving Dirkem previously, although it took more concentration with both horses, even with Powyss making it easier as he used the third element to steady their descent.
They did not break their concentration, even when the crashes of lightning strikes got closer; once the horses landed in the shallow river, the two men nodded to each other and jumped into the darkness of the gorge.
“Electricity and water don’t mix; we will have to stay close to the edges of the gully,” shouted Powyss as he turned Sarema in that direction.
They trudged through the ravine for a few miles, then the cliff walls opened wider and they had room to take the dry bank. They then headed east, riding their mounts now that there were no trees to hamper them. The storm’s electrical discharges were easing and were now a fair ways behind them; even though they had not seen any strikes inside the gorge, thunder still rumbled overhead.
“Whoever was causing that storm was trying to keep it localised and wasn’t concerned about the gorge,” said Powyss. “That was very advanced summoning you did back there. Most Rawn masters would not be able to do what you just did.”
“Do you think they will figure out what we ‘just did’ and follow?” asked Havoc, subtly changing the subject.
“More than likely, they will.”
They continued through the gorge until its steep sides receded and the river came out onto a flat plane. They rested the horses and ate a light breakfast of cold pork and hard bread.
“We’ll make for the Haplann hills.” Powyss pointed into the close distance, where Havoc saw a cluster of mountains sitting on the plain. “We can rest there and cross the plain at night. Once we reach Lake Furran, we can move into the Dragon Marshes. The mist in the marshes will cover our movement.”
They reached the hills by midday and made a camp in a small cave surrounded by shrubs and trees; they saw no sign of the sky ship.
Jynn had weakened herself considerably from summoning the storm, but she did not show it; she felt exhilarated.
The destruction around her was intoxicating; large gaps of blackened, smouldering logs had opened up the otherwise-dense forest and the smoke diminished with every drop of rain. The bitter smell of dampened charcoal was strong.
Commander Leman’s men searched the devastated forest with no result. A wary Leman delivered the verdict to the pale Havant. Jynn was not listening to him. She was looking down into the steep sides of the gorge.
She ordered men into the ravine to find a trail east and west then went back on board the Raxion.
Havoc told Powyss his story. He explained his need for revenge and his curiosity about the daggers, his discovery of the false war against the Nithi and the death of Garth and the other Vallkytes. He did not mention Mulvend, the dreams of Verna or his Pyromantic abilities, but the older man’s head snapped up when Havoc explained to him about the Muse Orrinn and Mirryn.
“You are joking, surely?” He gaped at Havoc in astonishment.
“No, I’m not; watch.” He pulled out the broken sword and spoke to the silver globe. He was more concerned than he realised about Mirryn; he hoped that the bird had found some shelter during last night’s storm, and, when she did not show up after an hour, he became worried.
Powyss looked at him with sad eyes.
“So... um... how does the Orrinn work, then?” asked Powyss with genuine interest.
“It’s difficult to explain. I look into the Orrinn, and the Orrinn looks through the eyes of Mirryn. It has also showed me visions of the future.”
“Really, such as knowing when we were going to be in an electrical storm, yes?” asked Powyss sarcastically.
“It kind of missed that one out. It only shows me the important things, which is probably why you were not in it.”
“Touché.” The other man smiled.
There was a high-pitched chirping from the Orrinn and from above them. Both men looked up to see Mirryn gliding in through the trees to land on Dirkem’s saddle, which sat on the ground beside Havoc.
“Wow... that is bloody marvellous,” said Powyss. “Can she find you anywhere?”
“She can find the Orrinn anywhere,” said Havoc, stroking the bird’s breast.
They talked some more about life, battles and love, Havoc mentioned Eleana. As he talked about her, he realised he missed her deeply. However, Powyss had two wives and four sons.
“They live in Hoath,” he said. “My first wife is pushing eighty, and my second is nearly forty. It’s something to remember, my prince, that the life of a Rawn far exceeds that of a normal mortal.”
“I know love is a fleeting thing for our kind.”
Havoc learnt much about Powyss that night. The older man opened his heart to him about many things, mainly about his insecurities concerning his Rawn abilities.
“Nevertheless, it has made me the man I am today. Sometimes the subtle use of the arts wins a fight more than you know; I will teach you this.” He studied Havoc for a while. “Lord Rett taught you swordsmanship, didn’t he?”
“Yes he did; have you met him?”
“Fought him in competition on three occasions; beat him in the last two.”
“You beat the Red Duke?” asked Havoc incredulously.
“I told you I was famous, but they were the hardest fights I ever fought... until I met you.”
Havoc was stunned; Powyss had a serious look on his face.
“Thank you; you weren’t a pushover, either.”
They talked and laughed throughout the evening, until tiredness got the better of them.
Both men slept well until the early hours of the morning, then they rode hard and fast over the plain towards Lake Furran, many miles to the south. The plain was flat and arid. Powyss informed Havoc that they now travelled over part of the Dulan Plain that was the far western edge of the Vallkyte lands. They only stopped once to rest the horses and drink water. The moon shone silver on something at the horizon.
“That’s Lake Furran over there; we have made good time, but it’s still a ways to go before sun up,” said Powyss.
They continued onward towards the silver shimmer, and then that vanished, to become an orange glow as the sun came up. They found some shelter in a rock-strewn scrubland, and kept a watch for the sky ships, though none appeared.
Havoc caught two large hares and they cooked the meat, leaving some raw for Mirryn; the kite would fly off from time to time to scan the sky and show them the distance to the lake, which was not that far.
Through the Orrinn, and Mirryn, he saw many strange landscapes that Havoc’s curiosity wanted to explore. He saw a barren wasteland some distance to the east. It was a blackened, scorched land many miles wide.
“That would be the Firelands,” said Powyss after Havoc’s query about the land to the east. “It is the sight of the l
ast battle to be fought against Baron Telmar.”
“Of course, the Battle of the Firelands; there was a coalition host comprising of Rawns, Ris and tribal armies,” said Havoc, remembering his history lessons.
“Yes, I was there, although not at the first battle of the civil war against Telmar; that happened a year before and was called the Battle of the Single Survivor.”
“Never got taught that one; who was the survivor?”
“Never got taught... Good grief, man, the survivor was your father,” said Powyss with stunned surprise.
The look of shock on the prince’s face was a picture. “My father, the king, he did not tell me!”
“That’s because he can’t remember most of it. After Telmar killed the Vallkyte king and his family, he was in a position of senior royal power, but his only rival for the throne was Valient III. Therefore, as the baron moved his force to the Vallkyte border, the king sent your grandfather to intercept him and negotiate for a truce. You see, Valient thought that Vanduke Senior would succeed on his mission, mainly because he and Telmar were very close friends from their days in the academy together. The other reason was your father; he went along too, as adviser in the negotiations. Your father was always very good at that sort of thing.
“Your father had yet to pass the Canndali, so he was almost a Rawn master, but older and wiser than the rest of us who still had to perform the final trial. I, on the other hand, lagged behind the other students of my year, because I could not get the hang of summoning fire. I decided to stay back a couple of years to continue my training. That is when I met the Cromme brothers. Your father was always kind to me, though he had his own friends to talk to in those days. Kasan was a cold fish, but your Uncle Hagan and I were to become best friends. Your uncle kindly helped me through the Canndali.
“Your father had gone with Vanduke Senior to talk to Telmar, and he was the only one to return. He remembers some of what happened. The negotiations were short. Baron Telmar’s mood swings of paranoia and madness were apparent to them all; your father remembers you grandfather’s comment to him before the battle. He said he did not recognise Telmar anymore; the man he knew as a childhood friend had been burnt away by the curse.” Powyss stopped, looking at Havoc thoughtfully. “You do know that Telmar was a Pyromancer, don’t you?”
“I had heard that from someone, yes,” said Havoc a little nervously.
“A terrifying and immense power the Pyromancer wields and it led to his madness.” Powyss was quiet for a few seconds.
“So what happened to my father?”
“Well, the baron sent his host to attack your grandfather’s smaller army. The surprise attack came unexpectedly, but the Roguns fought to the last man, who was your father. Vanduke Senior was one of the first killed in the enemy’s charge; was your father bravely rallied the men around the fallen De Proteous and fought like a true hero.
“When Telmar arrived to the slaughter, he had one of his mood swings and was so distraught at the death of his best friend that he let your father go. That is the part your father has difficulty remembering; he does not know the circumstances of his release. He does remember carrying your grandfather’s body back home, where he got a state burial.
“King Valient declared war, and, as you said, sent a coalition force to tackle the baron. All three of the Cromme brothers went and so did I. I found myself attached to Hagan’s unit. Baron Telmar’s general, Count Talien, had retreated after seeing the size of the allied force, but we soon managed to catch up with him. We cut down his men in several furious conflicts over the course of a few months. He made one last effort to destroy us at the area of land that, now called the Firelands. Rawns, Ris and even mortal soldiers fought well that day; the cavalry of the Red Duke turned the tide of battle by pressing in the enemy on their flanks.
“However, Telmar himself came to the battle as well, and everything changed. He was in a rage, a fiery passion, and he unleashed the Pyromancer’s power, burning the land for miles. Many died on both sides as the fire consumed them. It was the first time that I was able to control fire; the Rawns and Ris fared better than ordinary mortals did, as they protected themselves from the tidal wave of flame as it washed over them. I was able to push it away from me by force of will, and it weakened me greatly, even though I was on the outskirts of the battlefield.
“The remaining Rawns and Ris fought on against the Pyromancer; there were hundreds of them and only one of him; it seemed to go on forever, when I recovered I joined in so others could leave and gain strength. Then, when we thought all hope was lost, the baron stopped his attack. Greatly weakened from the fight, the coward ran to the safety of a ruined fort on the other side of the battlefield.
“Kasan was the only one brave and strong enough to confront him, even though it was not a difficult task for him. The baron had exhausted his power and left as a burnt, blackened husk of a man; he was still alive when Kasan found him, so your uncle split his heart in two with his sword. There ended the power of the Pyromancer and the civil war.”
When Powyss finished the story, Havoc was frowning. “He burnt himself?” he asked.
“Yes, we all saw the corpse with the remains of his armour. Kasan and Cinnibar dragged the body back to what was left of our army, still with Kasan’s sword in him.”
“Cinnibar,” said Havoc, wide eyed. “She was there too?”
“Havoc, everyone was there; some of the most powerful in the land were at the final battle, and if you think I’m good with a sword you should see Cinnibar. She fought very bravely in the battle.”
Havoc had a mix of emotions after Powyss’ description of the battle and the awesome power at the hands of the Pyromancer. Could he have the ability to burn an entire army? No wonder people were so afraid of him. He had thought about telling Powyss the real reason he had left his people, which was to keep them safe from his curse, but now he thought better of it after seeing the same fear in his eyes.
Cinnibar’s involvement disturbed him; why, he did not know. The words of Verna all those years ago, when she had mentioned females made very powerful Ris, swam back through his memory. Could Verna have been referring to Cinnibar? She was a very powerful Rawn and showed no signs of becoming a Ri. Then he realised that the Havant Order were now female dominated; could she be creating an opposition to the male orientated Ri Order?
However, the one thing that confused him most of all was that the baron had burnt himself. This, to him, seemed strange, because, being a Pyromancer in charge of the same power; he knew that it was impossible for him to burn from the same heat that he could produce from his surges.
Chapter 21
Journey to the Vale
They had decided not to stop at the lake. Powyss was concerned the locals would see them and, if a Ri was hunting them, they should err on the side of caution and stay hidden. He was also pleased to have Mirryn watching the skies; this would give them an early warning if those sky ships appeared.
Therefore, they bypassed the beautiful calm Lake Furran and its trees that grew right at its edge, and headed southeast towards the Furran Ford.
“Once we cross the ford, we will be on the eastern edge of the Dragon Marshes, and then we head on a diagonal course west,” said Powyss.
Winter had come early to the marshlands; a mist had formed that gave the travellers very poor visibility, although it also had the effect of obscuring them from the sky ships. Havoc was pleased that Powyss was with him; he seemed to know of the many routes through the sodden and stinking ground.
The route west was mainly to avoid the worst of the waterlogged boggy marsh, which was to the south. It conveniently brought them close to the battlefield of Dragorsloth. Havoc knew at some point in their journey they would pass the ridge that Kasan had sat upon to see the battle’s outcome; however, in the thick mist, it was impossible to see at any great distance. The mist would waver and glide like ghosts, opening up a view of the terrain they were traversing, then swallowing it up again; as a resu
lt, they passed the ridge without knowing it.
A startling cry came from the Orrinn; Havoc looked into it, but only saw mist. After a while, the mist opened and a sky ship loomed in front of the kite, which banked to the left, calling to Havoc in a warning cry.
“I hear her,” said Powyss. “But it is very far away to the east.”
Suddenly, the mist moved apart quickly in the distance and a sunbeam shone down to the ground; it moved over the marsh slowly as if it was a searching eye. The clouds displaced and blew away from the power of the Wind Orrinn on the ship; they would open and close behind it like a ship’s wake. They caught the briefest glimpse of the ship as its aft section came into view. It was floating away from them.
“That’s the Raxion, I would recognise it anywhere,” said Powyss.
Even though they knew that the vessel was going in the opposite direction to them, they picked up speed and galloped onto drier ground.
They were on the battlefield before they knew it.
At first, there was not much to see; the marsh had claimed the dead, a sludge brown rib cage sticking out of the ground there, a yellow skull or two here. It was as if an eerie presence was with them on that day. A chill breeze from out of nowhere blew away some of the mist to reveal the battlefield properly.
They could see the dead scattered around them; horses with armour and blackened flesh were like islands in the marsh, heraldic banners stuck out of the ground where their standard-bearers had fallen, and their colours hung in dirty tatters. Skeletons were in abundance; most had sunk into the boggy ground claimed by the marshland; others had been scattered by the scavengers.
Havoc noticed that the sun had not bleached the bones. They looked blackened with shrunken flaps of skin, or discoloured by bacteria and algae. A strange stench overlapped the smell of rotting vegetation from the marsh.
“The glory of battle,” said Powyss, and the sound of his voice brought Havoc out of his daze. At that moment, the mist closed up on the gruesome scene and, in the distance, a raven cawed.
The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) Page 23