The Rawn Chronicles Book Three: The Ancarryn and the Quest (The Rawn Chronicles Series 3)

by P D Ceanneir

  On the small, tightly cramped, island under a group of tall pines was the tombstone of Old Toms carved by mountain stonemasons into a howling wolf’s head. The loss of such a character from everyone’s past brought much sadness to the group of mourners, even Little Kith shed a tear. The only two who did not cry were the Factors of Lake Serene Lodge, Joach and Seth, the two youngest sons of Old Toms. They reasoned with the mourners, as they both made a speech that their father was almost ninety-four and had a good long life; one to remember with fondness and honour with pride.

  Afterwards, the Fire Wine and Magnus’s Homemade Mountain Ale helped to make the wake legendary. Havoc was amazed at the amount of people that Old Toms knew. Half the population of the Sky Mountains came to the wake and all had many interesting stories about the old trapper. The night of revelry faded into a morning of bleary-eyed silence.

  King Vanduke, the only one to remain sober throughout the night festivities for obvious reasons, was up early to bathe in the frigid lake. On the way to the long wooden jetty, he found Havoc sitting on its far edge after tying up the battered rowing boat to the mooring cleat.

  ‘Just come back from Old Toms Island, have we?’ he asked him. All of those at the funeral had thus named the small island that housed the small tomb of the trapper.

  Havoc looked around at his father and nodded, ‘I just wanted to be alone for a time to say goodbye to him,’ he said with a croak, ‘could not sleep anyway. Magnus’s Mountain Ale really gives one a thirst and the whole lodge is filled with his snoring.’

  ‘Ha!’ Vanduke laughed as he thumped his sons shoulder playfully with the back of his hand, ‘Have a swim with me. It will clear your head.’

  Havoc groaned, ‘I’ll give it a miss father.’

  Vanduke sat next to his son. He only wore one of Magnus’s fur dressing gowns and he dipped his bare feet into the frigid lake and swore loudly at the cold temperature of the water.

  ‘By Arcun’s stony anus!!!! That’s cold!!!!’ he yelled which made Havoc laugh.

  ‘Are you not sleeping either?’ Havoc asked.

  The king shook his head, ‘Oh, I sleep quite well enough. I’ve just been having very bad dreams lately.’

  Havoc frowned, ‘What are they about?’

  For a time his father was silent as he watched his feet paddle the lake surface. Then he said. ‘I keep seeing my father, your grandfather, die. It is the same dream over and over again.’

  ‘The Battle of the Single Survivor?’ asked the prince.

  Vanduke nodded. ‘Funny, I have never dreamt of it before and I see myself in it as if I’m watching from a distance, yet it changes at times to the desperate fight with the Berserkers’; that’s the army of Hinterland Warriors that were loyal to Telmar during the War of the Pyromancer. In the past, my recollection of the battle has been very limited, but now, I remember more, much more.’

  ‘What happens?’ Havoc listened intently. The Battle of the Single Survivor was well known in Rawn History, yet little was know of the details because of the king’s memory loss after the event.

  ‘Telmar came,’ said Vanduke as he looked over towards the small island where the wolf’s head tombstone of Old Toms glowed orange from the suns morning light as it climbed above the surrounding mountains. ‘I think Telmar put something inside my head and then let me go, he made me forget things, and then let me go.’ There was a distinct tone of sadness and pain in the king’s voice.

  Havoc was stunned. He did not know what to say. All he could say was, ‘why?’

  ‘We shall never know, will we? Whatever he put in here,’ said Vanduke tapping the side of his head, ‘is not causing me any problems, just bad dreams, which I can handle.’ He stood up and threw off his robe.

  ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘he’s gone and his era is buried and forgotten about, so I’m not going to let it worry me.’ He dived into the lakes placid water. The back spray covered Havoc and he flinched away from it with a chuckle.

  ‘Ahhh!!!’ Shouted the king, ‘its bloody freezing!’

  Havoc, still laughing, reached down and placed a finger into the water. After a minute, wisps of steam rose from the surface as he linked a Pyromantic Surge to the Fire Element and used it to heat the entire lake.

  ‘Better?’ he asked his father.

  His father looked around in astonishment. ‘Much. You know, I thought I was worried that you would be out of your depth at the Rite of Ancarryn. I’m so wrong.’ Vanduke stared at his son as Havoc looked away for a second or two. His face seemed to pale slightly in the golden glow of the rising sun. Finally, he looked back towards his father.

  ‘The Blacksword has asked me to tell you that your worries are entirely misplaced.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vanduke as he treaded water. However, he did not see at all. In fact, despite the warmth of the water, he felt a shiver run down his back as the words of his son echoed in his mind.

  Before the winter snows closed off the mountain passes, the royal party at Lake Serene relocated to the Rouge at the invite of the Red Duke and there they spent the winter. Havoc used his time there preparing for the forthcoming Ancarryn in the spring, so he trained with Lord Rett and Sir Powyss, beating them both soundly in mock sparring sessions that lasted hours. Both men saw how advanced his swordsmanship now was in the years since training him. His Grace the Red Duke, a Master of the Sword in his own right, told the prince that he had nothing left to teach him and Powyss merely said, ‘you’ll do,’ with a pat on his shoulder and a fatherly grin. Neither knew of his intention to entering the Ancarryn, though, Havoc guessed, that they would approve nonetheless.

  His stay at the Rouge that long winter was relaxing for him; he mingled with his friends, trained and played with the children. Even though Havoc Valient was his son, he kept his promise to Eleana and never revealed that secret. However, the only upsetting part of his stay was his Aunt Vara. She and Vanduke had now become very close; the king had given her a townhouse in Baronstown so she could be closer to him. Nevertheless, she spent most of her time at the Rouge in her capacity as Headmistress of the local school. Their relationship, not based on love but mainly companionship, did not upset Havoc as such, for he knew his father missed Molna every day. Vara was always kind and courteous to the prince, though cold and short her conversations with him seemed, but most of the time she avoided him. She had still not forgiven him since his speech to the Rogun peoples in front of the tattered corpses of his sisters and cousins so cruelly executed by the Nithi and Vallkytes on the Rattan Plateau; even after all he had done to right the wrongs that the Roguns endured during the early days of the war. He knew that in her mind revenge was still to be meted out to Mad-daimen and his kin. A sentiment he agreed with.

  On several occasions, he had decided to confront her about her thoughts about and feelings towards him, but had always found her in the presence of another, mainly Lord Ness.

  At the end of his stay, things became strained, not with Vara but with everyone else. He suspected that the rumour of his going to the Ancarryn had spread and, out of respect for him, did not confront him about it. He was in a strange situation; he could not tell anyone of his plans to go as the Blacksword because he feared their reaction and the secret of his departure was to remain just that, a secret. Paranoia was building in him every day and it was all he could do to dispel the Pyromantic Surges through meditation.

  ‘Now that I have helped you with Ciriana,’ said Lord Ness one day in late winter when he found him on the Red Castles battlements soaking up the spectacular mountainous scenery while deep in thought, ‘will you do me the honour of leading my quest?’

  Havoc had not given the quest for the Great Orrinn much thought over the past few years and the Ri had never mentioned it. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the Ri’s help with the dragon.

  ‘All going well at the Ancarryn, master, then yes, I will lead your quest.’

  ‘Good, then I think paying Queen Bronwyn a visit on the way to Dulan-Tiss is going to be wel
l worth the journey.’

  Lord Ness would not go into detail about his last comment and this left Havoc slightly perplexed. Nevertheless, travelling via the Eternal Forest before entering the Dulan Plain sounded like a good idea. Any chance to see Bronwyn again was worth the extra miles.

  Even though there was a pardon of safe passage granted to all Rogun Nobles wishing to attend the Ancarryn, none wished to go so soon after the war. The king, however, gave permission for Lord Ness to go as his ambassador. Being a member of the Ri Order, he already had free entry into any citadel. No doubt, thought Havoc, the Ri would also keep an eye on him. Even though Ness Ri was titled this was in name only and not attached to any land and therefore not attached to any heraldic noble rank, this gave Havoc pause. Who was to be his patron at the Ancarryn?

  When the thaws came, the prince made his move to depart. It was early morning when he saddled Dirkem at the Rouge’s stables. He was dressed in his usual attire of the Blacksword, but used the swords Earth Orrinn to disguise himself in travel worn clothes. SinDex, and its long black scabbard, had the look of grey knurled walking staff. He felt it was ironic that he was leaving without telling anyone, akin to all of those years ago when he left after the fight with his father, but the tension he had been feeling around the Rouge was becoming too much too bear.

  As he pulled on Dirkem’s reins and led him out of his stall, the Blacksword shifted in his mind to warn him of a presence close by. Even in this closed off state; the senses of his alter ego were more attuned than his own. A chink of daylight from the stable doors seeped through as they opened slightly and a small, short form slipped in. The early morning light was just bright enough for him to see it was his Aunt Vara.

  She stared at him for a while, tears in her eyes. She was wearing her school gown, her red hair tied in a bun. She was about ten years older than Havoc, but still looked young with the sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Only the thin lines beside her eyes and mouth gave away any age.

  ‘Aunt Vara, what is wrong?’ Havoc asked her with obvious concern as he noticed her sad expression.

  ‘We have all experienced much pain in the past,’ she said with a croak, ‘but you have felt the most.’ Her words were obviously rehearsed and her voice shook with emotion. Havoc frowned, confused, though he said nothing, allowing his aunt to continue.

  ‘You need someone to patron you in the Ancarryn; I would deem it an honour if you allow me that privilege, nephew.’

  The prince was stunned and he gave her a broad smile, ‘Aunt Vara, the honour is mine.’

  She smiled and rushed towards him hugging him tightly and sobbing on his shoulder.

  ‘I was so afraid to forgive you, but I do now. I want Mad-daimen and his kin to suffer,’ she said and Havoc pulled her gently away from him to look down at her.

  ‘Who told you?’ Was she aware of the fact he was going as the Blacksword?

  ‘Your Father and Lord Ness explained everything. I still can’t understand half of what they said, but… well, they are waiting for you outside.’ She turned and left, leaving Havoc mystified.

  His father and Lord Ness were not the only ones there; all of the Paladins had formed into two rows at the open gate and the town’s people were slowly walking out of their homes and lining the street. He mounted his horse and gently trotted to the exit.

  Havoc was confused at this outcome; did they all know about him going to the Ancarryn? Were they aware he was the Blacksword? How much did they know?

  He remained silent as he passed the locals who all quietly murmured goodbyes to him; he slowed as he saw his father and Lord Ness. King Vanduke gripped his hand and through tear streamed eyes said, ‘bring her back safe.’

  ‘I will father,’ Havoc acknowledged. He sensed that his father, though concerned for his son’s safety, also knew that he was the only hope of rescuing his wife from Dulan-Tiss.

  He said his goodbyes to the king and Lord Ness. Lord Rett stood next to them wearing a dark red cloak and full ceremonial armour underneath it. He nodded towards the prince with the slightest of smiles on that otherwise stony face. Azzen, the dukes old factor was retired now, but insisted on helping his master until he died, also said goodbye. Magnus and Eleana were there, a sleepy Havoc Valient clutched his mother’s hand. The prince looked down from his horse at his son.

  ‘You will have to look after things for me while I’m away, nephew,’ he said. The prince remembered a time, long ago, when his father had said those same words before he departed on the Battle March to the Pander Pass.

  ‘I will Uncle Havoc,’ said the boy looking back through sleepy eyes.

  The Paladins used their long spears to form an Archway of Honour for their prince, each of them nodded silently as he passed by. All of the Paladins were watching him with sad eyes as he entered the arch of Foygions; he heard the Red Dukes loud voice behind him.

  ‘THREE CHEERS, FOR PRINCE HAVOC!’ he shouted.

  The resounding yell of voices, cheering madly, followed him as he left the Rouge. All of the tension he had felt in the past week lifted. Once again, history had come full circle, he was alone again, but he felt happy as he steered Dirkem east.

  Destiny, revenge and the Ancarryn drew nearer.

  A sense of nostalgia overcame him as he took the newly restored ferry service over at Banferry, now controlled by the Roguns, with two ferries crossing the deep Great River. He stayed with Dirkem patting his fine black neck to calm him as the ferry bobbed in the rough water, the three ferrymen acted in turn to winch them along the long thick rope that stretched across the river. Havoc was deep in contemplation, his thoughts were with his friends and family; He wondered how much they knew, and then again, if all went well at the Ancarryn and his plan succeeded then nothing would matter.

  He took a direct route through the mountains after crossing the river. Within a few days, he was on the outskirts of the Eternal Forest. Queen Bronwyn had ordered roving patrols to watch the perimeter of the forest. Treaty or no treaty she was still cautious of Vallkyte intrusion. Havoc avoided the patrols easily; it made him feel good to be using his old hunting skills again and if the patrols came too close, he would use the Subtle Arts and virtually disappear from their sight.

  However, he was not going to have it all his own way. He was six miles from Ten Mountain Palace when horsed Falesti on a deer-hunting trip stumbled upon his path. Several of the hunters recognised him and escorted him to the palace grounds.

  The queen was not in residence but an old friend greeted him at the gates of the palace gardens.

  ‘Wondered when you would show up,’ said a smiling Soneros Ri, ‘Lord Ness told me to expect you.’

  Havoc was so happy to see the Ever Living One that he embraced him, this surprised the Ri, but he hugged him back, both men laughed.

  ‘Yes I have missed you too; it has been a long time,’ said Soneros Ri.

  ‘I have spoken with Ciriana.’

  ‘I know, but what she said to you is for your ears alone and not for anyone to listen. Ciriana is not one for divulging secrets to anyone. She sees you as someone special.’

  ‘She told me about Darus.’ Havoc said in a sad voice, ‘I’m so sorry to hear of Yula.’

  The Ri nodded, ‘that’s a name from the past that I have not heard for a long time, nor that of my late wife’s. I thank you for your sentiments.’

  The gardens were just as Havoc remembered. An array of beautiful colours bobbed and swayed in the wind. Even though it was early spring, the enchantment of the Eternal Forest kept everything warm and summer like. The dappled sunlight from the trees shaded a gravel path that wound through tall roses as they walked and talked.

  ‘Where is the queen?’ Havoc asked the tall white haired man at his side.

  ‘In Balael to the north,’ said the Ri, absentmindedly nodding his head in that direction.

  ‘That’s the Atyd Barnum’s Eldom.’

  ‘Yes, she spends a lot of her time there now, but not because of her husban
d. After you have eaten I will take you there myself, there is something you should see.’

  Balael was one of the largest burghs in the Eternal Forest, taking up most of the north. Havoc had already passed through this way on his journey to the palace; at first glance, it was much the same as the rest of the forest, but Balael House, the seat of the Atyd, was more of a garrison town. The rest of the population was scattered over the burgh in small villages near the borders, while in the centre of Balael remained quiet and peaceful and Havoc found the journey with Soneros Ri relaxing as they travelled slowly through the vast expanse of trees.

  Balael House was a square tower of four huge trees fused together in the Falesti style. Windows and balconies stretched high into the sky, the rest of the surrounding trees made up the garrison outbuildings. The river, that ran into Balael from the Great River was called Rivulet Payns (Soneros explained to Havoc that “Payns” in the old Falesti language meant, sustenance, so Rivulet Payns quite literary meant “River of Life”) and was redirected into a moat that went round the town in an oval formation. A tall embankment of earth and a whitestone bailey covered in ivy completed Balael House’s defences.

  The Atyd Barnum greeted them at the gates of the wall after the drawbridge lowered over the moat. To Havoc he seemed older now, his brown hair was greying at the temples, but he still wore his usual sardonic grin and arrogant frown. However, he greeted them warmly enough and invited them in. Havoc guessed that Barnum forced himself to act as a cordial host even though he clearly disliked him. After all, the prince did give him the Rogun Civil rank of Regent that he still held.

  The Atyd was carrying a two-year-old boy in his arms. The toddler was wearing long green dress, traditional clothing for Falesti children. The boy’s hair was a dark brown, cut short, but it was his eyes that drew the prince’s attention, they were a bright green, but with flecks of brown similar to his mothers.