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

by P. D. Ceanneir

  Havoc continued his training in the Subtle Arts. He tried every day to sneak up on Mitty, the comely dwarf girl who had given him the Sorel grass on his second day in the Vale. She always saw him, though, and he became disheartened at his inability to use this simple art, Powyss who put his mind at ease.

  “Dwarves may be short-sighted, but they see very well,” he said, tapping the side of his head.

  Gunach finished one of the blades by late afternoon. He left to cool after folding and tempering several times in the pure mountain water. The master smith had folded the metal until it was of the correct consistency, then hammered it until it was long and slim. He then heated the blade to a certain temperature that he knew by instinct, and then quenched it for a final time.

  The rest was up to Havoc. He sat by the forge and meditated for five minutes. When he was ready, he took the diamond powder from an apprehensive dwarf and sprinkled it onto the blade; he then summoned the earth element.

  Even though the earth element was the first and easiest to use, it was still difficult for Rawn masters to change base materials, such as an alkali metal like sodium, into a non-metal like selenium or phosphorous. It was hard, but not impossible; the knowledge of weights and density helped.

  Nevertheless, the fusing of atoms with one or more elements was a near impossibility. The energy needed to accomplish such a feat was immense, and it should only be attempted by a Ri.

  Havoc concentrated on the earth element and saw all of the materials in front of him form into his mind as a simple pattern of crystalline structures that he understood due to his training in the arts. His hand hovered over the blade, with his eyes tightly shut.

  There were flaws within the structures. There were elements there that served no purpose, but in respect to the master smith’s genius, these were few. The black diamond powder needed improvement too, and he knew where to place the atoms in order to strengthen the molecules. However, the earth element was not nearly powerful enough alone to carry out the enormous task of complex transmutation. His energy levels would deplete far too quickly. To keep his surges at bay, he would open his mind to the painful images in his life and focus on controlling the volatile emotions.

  Now, he revealed those images to the light in his mind’s eye and stoked the fires of a Pyromantic Surge that erupted from the emotions. He linked the surge to the earth element and pushed a controlled flow into the materials under his hand.

  Unknown to Havoc, Powyss had joined Gunach and his apprentices as they watched in wonder. They could see Havoc’s hands turn into different shades and textures of stone and metal, until it stopped at a deep, black, metallic sheen that burnt with white light under his palms.

  The diamond powder was disappearing into the blade; it looked like it was a being absorbed into pores along the surface. From the sides of the blade came the waste material, forced out like rank air from a bellows.

  Powyss knew, from the energy that Havoc used, that the blade changed at a molecular level, and that the energy was vast. It disturbed him. He knew that the prince was going to be a far more powerful Rawn Master than he was, but this was unnatural.

  Havoc saw, no sensed, behind his eyelids that the crystalline structures of the metals changed and enhanced by his power, they strengthened exponentially. The atoms, particles and the entire physics were working with him, to better place themselves into a stronger and durable element. He was forcing his will on the metal, pouring his very soul into it.

  When it was complete and the improving of the metal could go no further, he stopped and all but collapsed. The dwarves rushed to him to keep him on his feet; he was very weak.

  “How is this possible; he should not be able to do that,” said Powyss to Gunach as the dwarves took a now unconscious Havoc and bedded him down on a nearby cot.

  “This is a difficult time for Havoc now, my friend,” said Gunach. “If you care anything for him, you will give him your support. He will tell you in his own time.”

  Confused, Powyss nodded and went to sit by the prince’s bed as he slept.

  Havoc did not wake for another two days. The winter snow had come to the Vale, but did not last long on the settlement’s half of the grassland, because of the warmth from the volcanic heat in the earth.

  Powyss had not left his side in that time. When Havoc did wake, the first thing he saw was a very concerned man with a bowl of warm soup.

  “Eat this and the bread; you need to get your strength up for the other blade, which is now ready,” he said.

  “How long...?”

  “Two days,” said Powyss, feeding him the soup.

  Havoc felt starved and finished off two bowls, the food went some way to curb the knowing in his stomach. He felt better after he relieved himself and had a wash. Powyss was still sitting on the cot when Havoc returned. The look on his face was enough for him to blurt out the truth.

  “The real reason I left the exiles was because I did not want to burn anyone with my rage,” he said.

  “Rage, what...?” asked Powyss, clearly confused.

  “I’m a Pyromancer, Powyss.”

  There was a long silence from the other man.

  “Say something, please,” pleaded Havoc.

  “Tell me everything.”

  He did; he told him of the heat that had welled up inside him, the death of Soujonn, about the surges and the expert training he had received from Lord Ness. He told him of the falling out he had had with his father and the dream of Verna and his own journey alone to follow his destiny.

  Powyss listened carefully in silence. “So you can control it?”

  “Yes, by meditation, but I’m a slave to it. I must do it every other day or the surges will be too much to dispel.”

  “So there is no sign of madness, then?”

  “Not till I heard your jokes.”

  “I’m being serious, Havoc.”

  “I’m as sane as you.”

  “Damn, now I’m worried.”

  Gunach arrived and asked Havoc if he was ready for the second blade. He held up his hand to the master smith and turned to Powyss.

  “I’m sorry I never told you, but I’ve kept this secret from you purely to never see the look of fear in your eyes that I saw with my own people. Please forgive me?”

  Powyss smiled. “I knew there was something different about you as soon as I laid eyes on you. Yes, I forgive you. Now go and do your stuff.”

  He used the same technique as before on the second blade. He felt weak again afterwards, but stayed awake to eat, and then slept for twelve hours.

  In the days that Havoc slept, Gunach and his apprentices made moulds for the hilt covers. The original black twin dragons that formed the hilt on Tragenn fell to pieces when they tried to remove it from the broken blade’s tang, but Gunach had had the presence of mind to make a mould of the dragons. The resin they used to make the new hilt was more pliable and softer to give a better grip; it had a lustrous look to it that gave life to the dragons. Gunach made the hilts thinner than normal, because the two swords would too mould into one by the use of Havoc’s Rawn Arts, giving him the option of one or two swords. The tangs of the new blades lay inside the moulds, and left there as the resin set.

  Havoc was amazed at the result of the first blade that had the dragon, Dex surrounding the tang and the silver Orrinn on the pommel, held on by the dragon’s tail. The resin still needed to be shaved and polished), but the overall effect was stunning. The three Skrol symbols barely showed up on the blade. Because of the use of the black diamond powder, the blade was black and the only light reflection was from the etched Skrol.

  It felt light in his hand, almost an extension of his arm. He resisted the urge to try it out because the smith had more work to do on the blade. By Dwarven tradition, the master smith would present the finished sword to the kerf, before it passed to its new owner.

  Powyss was very quiet and sullen whenever he looked at the sword.

  Gunach called on the two men one morning as
he walked to the forge. The forge was a fair walk from the cave mouth; the tunnel twisted downward to a wide cavern. The forge itself was a vat of burning charcoal underneath a natural hole in the rock, which acted as a chimney for the smoke.

  Braziers burnt in the darkness, giving dim light to the cave. Gunach rummaged about in a set of stone shelves carved into the rock, and brought out a golden box with a curved lid. He opened it, and Havoc saw a polished sphere of brown onyx stone sitting on a bed of sand. The stone had a small white diamond in its centre.

  “What is it?” asked Havoc.

  “It’s an Orrinn. I have had it for many years with the intention of using it as a pommel. Now I have a sword with a pommel short,” said Gunach.

  “What does it do?” asked Powyss.

  “It’s a Dual Orrinn. The diamond in the centre is a sort of Fire Orrinn; pick it up, Havoc, and see for yourself.”

  Like a fool, Havoc picked up the Orrinn, eager to see what it could do. He held it in his hands and looked it all over. Suddenly, a burning wave of pain hit him from head to toe; he felt like his whole body was on fire from the inside out. The feeling of his internal organs bubbling away and evaporating was excruciating. He had the sudden image of Soujonn on fire and realised this must have been the same pain he felt. He dropped the Orrinn. He had only held it for a split second.

  Powyss was at his side, helping him off the ground; he had not realised that he had fainted.

  “Sorry about that, if you are going to be the owner of this Orrinn, so you need to know what it does,” said Gunach.

  “You could have just explained it to me,” gasped Havoc.

  “Yes, but then it wouldn’t be funny.” The master smith smiled, and Powyss laughed. “I did say it was a sort of Fire Orrinn; it only gives you the pain of fire. Whoever the My’thos was who made it, his only intention was to trap the feeling of burning inside the Orrinn. Sand is the only thing it doesn’t burn. Why, I don’t know.”

  “I hate to be obtuse, old friend, but what use is it to Havoc?” asked Powyss.

  “Ahh... watch.” Gunach pulled out a knife, took a very wary Havoc by the hand and cut him on the thumb. He directed the drops of blood over the Orrinn on the floor where Havoc dropped it. The blood that landed on it was immediately absorbed into the diamond, turning it red.

  “Now pick it up. Go on, it’s perfectly safe now, trust me.”

  Havoc hesitated for a second, then reached down to and picked it up. He waited a second, but there was no pain whatsoever.

  “Now this is what I call an Orrinn link,” said Gunach. “It’s linked to you only. So, when it is fitted to the sword, you are the only one who can use it.”

  “Brilliant, so anyone else using the sword will feel burning pain,” said Powyss.

  “Exactly,” the master smith smiled.

  “This is too much, Gunach…” said Havoc, overcome by the dwarf’s generosity.

  “Nonsense, young man, I would rather the sword be in safe hands.”

  Havoc had seen the dwarf’s smile and felt an overwhelming affection from him. No matter what happened from this moment on, he would have a lifelong friend in Gunach.

  “What does the onyx stone do?” asked Powyss.

  “Ahh... now that part is an Earth Orrinn; this Orrinn is a rare dual stone; for some reason, the My’thos who created the book must have added it later. It’s an Earth Orrinn to help with concealment and camouflage.”

  “That’s handy; it will help with my use in the Subtle Arts,” said Havoc.

  “No, it won’t,” said Gunach. “It is not powerful and doesn’t have much range, but it will help to disguise the swords from thieving hands and help you merge them together at will.”

  “Who would steal a sword that can’t be held?” asked Powyss.

  “No one will be able to use the sword because of the prince’s blood in the Fire Orrinn, but I think the best way to hide something is while it is in full view, don’t you think?”

  Havoc watched the dwarves put the dual Orrinn on the second sword. The hilt now represented the dragon, Sin – for the left hand, said Gunach – the sword blade coming out of her roaring mouth, her tail wrapped around the Orrinn, similar to Dex on the other blade. Both Orrinns connected at a slight angle to each other, and cut so they fitted perfectly when Havoc used the Rawn Arts to fuse them together into one sword for the first time.

  The act of fusing was harder than he thought; if it were not for the Dual Orrinn, he would have found it impossible.

  “I can use their names!” said Havoc under his breath.

  “What was that?” asked Powyss.

  “Just a dream I had a while back. The dragons at the gates to the Hall of the Dead gave me permission to use their names. Up until now, I had no idea why!” He looked at the sword; apart from the silver Orrinn, the duel Orrinn, and the gold and silver strips running up and down the dragons’ backs, the sword was black. Havoc could just make out the Skrol on the Dex blade and a nice final addition of etched flames coming from both dragons’ mouths that went a third of the way up the blade; Gunach’s doing. “Now I know what they wanted me to name the sword.”

  “SinDex?” asked Powyss.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “I don’t think this sword will be called that in the future.” Powyss was looking at the sword in a strange, wide-eyed awe.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You said to me you had to follow a path of destiny,” said Powyss.

  “That’s right.” The prince frowned.

  “Well, the path that you have followed has already been foretold. You, Havoc, have taken the steps that were set in a prophecy five hundred years ago, the Prophecy of the Blacksword. What you have in your hands is the Sword that Rules.”

  Part Four

  The Rise

  of the

  Blacksword

  And he lifted up the

  Sword that Rules

  And said...

  “All hail to the Glorious Dead,

  For I’ am the envoy to the Queen of the Ravens.”

  Legend of the Blacksword

  An excerpt from the Book of Fates

  By Opeac, the historian

  Chapter 23

  Unravelling the Prophecy

  The hall was crowded. Everyone was there, squashed together. Some stood on stools to get a better view; children sat on their parents’ shoulders; all were looking in wonder and curiosity at the sword nestling at an angle on a wire rack, which in turn, sat on a table.

  There was silence all around from the dwarves as the kerf walked around the table looking at the sword from different angles. He would stop from time to time for a closer look and comb his fingers through his white beard. Gunach stood next to Havoc and Powyss. He would tense up when his father scrutinised the weapon, then relax as he continued his analysis.

  The old dwarf put on a thick pair of leather gloves and picked up the sword. The hilt, which was two and a half hand spans long, looked like a spear handle in his small, gloved hands. The long, thin blade was as tall as he was, but he lifted it without any trouble. He looked up and down the blade on both sides, ran his finger over the surface, and then looked sharply at Gunach. He put the sword back on the rack, shaking his head. Gunach flinched. Powyss knew the master smith always received the highest praise for his skills from his father, who was a great smith himself, but something was confusing the kerf.

  Havoc watched as the kerf took a cup of water and poured a small amount on the blade. It ran off quickly, dripping onto the yellow flagstones. What surprised Havoc the most about this test was the fact that all of the water left the blade and that it remained completely dry.

  The kerf stood up straight and sighed. He raised his head and nodded at the crowd. To Powyss’ surprise, he spoke his language for the first time.

  “This is an excellently crafted weapon,” said the kerf. “My compliments to the master smith.”

  Gunach relaxed and gave back a slight nod to his father.
<
br />   “However,” continued the kerf, “I know of all the elements that the earth can produce, but I don’t recognise the material that makes up this blade. I believe it is indestructible.” He indicated for Havoc to pick up the sword. “Show me what it can do.”

  Havoc looked around at the assembly, who all looked back at him in anticipation. He picked up the sword and walked out of the hall. Powyss and the dwarves followed him as he walked up to a large, ten-foot-high granite boulder deposited there a thousand years ago by an ancient glacier, which had also carved out the valley of the Vale.

  He paused; looking at the imposing boulder, its surface covered in lichen. He looked down at the sword, which felt good in his hands. He turned to the crowd, and saw the kerf nod and smile.

  “Let’s see what you can do,” he whispered to the sword. He turned to the boulder, which looked as if it would remain there until the next Ice Age. He swung the sword in a diagonal arc from left to right and struck the stone.

  He expected a jarring shudder to flow up his arm, but there was nothing but a slight resistance. The sword cut through the stone as if it was butter. It made a soft humming sound as it came out the other side.

  The cut section of the boulder slid off the main body and onto the long grass. The cut on both halves looked smooth and clean. Havoc could see no scratch or nick on the blade; the edge was still sharp.

  The assembled crowd were aghast. Powyss just stood with his mouth open. Then the kerf started to laugh, a course, dry chuckle, which became resounding guffaws. The rest of the dwarves followed suit, and soon Havoc stood head and shoulders above a crowd of smiling, bearded dwarves.