by P D Ceanneir
‘It is good to see you again,’ whispered the Blacksword.
‘Why are you here?’ she said letting out her breath, ‘how did you get in?’
‘Your security is a little lax countess.’
Bleudwed thought her security measures were excellent, but did not push the issue; this was after all, the Blacksword.
‘No offence, but I wish to speak to the prince. Please,’ she said.
The tall imposing creature in front of her remained silent for a few seconds and she got the feeling he was regarding her with interest.
‘Certainly,’ he finally said and pulled down the hood to reveal his face. It had been over two years since she last saw it and it had changed much in that time. The face was paler and thinner and the black eyes sunk into their sockets shaded by the protruding brow that looked more like a menacing frown. His lips were thinner and pulled back from the smiling white teeth. The impression she got was of a grinning skull. As she watched, she saw the Blacksword’s face melt away quickly to reveal the welcome face of the prince and she realised that the Blacksword was now at least another foot taller than Havoc.
The Blacksword had grown, but not just in height. He was more of a presence, real and unique, since that day she first saw him at the Trinkets Ball.
‘Sorry about that. The Blacksword is far better than me at getting into places undetected,’ said Havoc gasping for breath after the change, ‘it’s good to see you.’
‘Oh, Havoc, why did you come here?’ she sighed.
‘I wanted to see you one last time,’ he said walking towards her.
‘No, stop, please,’ she held out her hand to ward off his advance. Her face betrayed her emotions. She was upset at the intrusion and slightly confused at his comment. ‘What do you mean one last time?’ she asked.
Havoc realised that Soneros Ri may well have been right about the countess’s duty to her people and being too friendly with the De Proteous put everything she had worked for in jeopardy.
‘I go to the Ancarryn in the morning,’ he said with a seriousness that betrayed his smile, his eyes burning bright, ‘I have a chance to take revenge on my enemies, seeing as there is a truce and all.’
Bleudwed stared at him in what looked like shock. She shook her head.
‘I had a feeling you...I mean the Blacksword, would go to the Ancarryn, he is after all the best swordsman in the land, but do you not realise it is a trap?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh...’ She raised her eyebrows in surprise, ‘Ah, well then, please be careful,’ she felt her words were a little lame, so she smiled a bit too, which made Havoc chuckle. He looked around the small study.
‘I have been to visit Queen Bronwyn,’ he said changing the subject, ‘she tells me you have supplied some Orrinns for the Sky Ship she is building.’
The countess visibly relaxed, obviously glad to be free of an awkward moment; she waved her hand at the bookshelves.
‘Yes, the Cybeleion. You see, I study Orrinns after my miners and engineers found many in the mines a couple of years ago.’ She pointed to a small table at the side of the balcony doors. On it was glass dome with an Orrinn inside, exactly like the Earth Orrinn on the Cybeleion.
‘This one’s twin I gave to the queen. One of the miners discovered them together in a sandstone seam, how they got there, no one knows. In all honesty, Orrinns are not all I study,’ she said as she crossed the room to a small rosewood writing desk with a shutter made of slats of the same wood. She pushed open the shutter and pulled out a small box that the prince instantly recognised.
‘This is the Trinket Box you left for me at the Mulvend all of those years ago,’ she said smiling up at him. However, the prince was not looking at the box, but at her bare legs and the absurdly large slippers she wore.
‘You have always had nice legs,’ grinned Havoc and then frowned, ‘though I can’t remember your feet being that big.’
The countess quickly moved back behind her desk, her face a little flushed.
‘I lost my good pair somewhere,’ she explained, ‘I’m a bit untidy, you should see my bedroom.’
‘I’d love to.’
Bleudwed blushed some more and then changed the subject by opening the box.
‘Er... I managed to keep hold of this,’ she said pulling out a purple velvet pouch with a piece of gold coloured string tying it up at the top, ‘after your...the Blacksword’s, battle with the Drakken at the Trinkets Ball.’
She untied the string, pulled open the top and then shook out whatever was inside it onto her small dainty hands. A silvery white orb, the size of a large chicken egg, covered her palm where it landed.
Havoc gasped and pointed at the object, ‘that’s a Lobe Stone,’ he said, ‘where did you get it?’
‘Well, the Drakken was silly enough to drop it in front of me during the fight. Anyway, I’ve done some study into these stones, do you have yours?’
‘Yes I have it right here, I always keep it with me.’ He fished inside his cloak pocket and pulled out his own Lobe Stone, it looked exactly like the one in the countess’s hand.
‘What did you find out about it?’ he asked her, intrigued.
‘Sadly, not much, the history books are a little sketchy on the subject, although there are some references of them being used by Drakkens to help hunt down dragons during the Dragor-rix. Oh, and interestingly, they were also used by Rawn Masters to aid them in travelling through the Drift without the use of a Ri, but it does not tell me what it’s made of or where it comes from.’
‘Well being a Rawn I can detect what an object is made from and I can tell you that it’s not made from any known material on Earth.’
‘Interesting,’ she said wide eyed, ‘you told me that it was a communicator?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It also has another purpose,’ she looked down at it and said something that made the back of Havoc’s head prickle with jabbing pain. He was amazed as he recognised her words were the ancient subconscious language of Skrol; she was activating the Lobe Stone.
‘Sorry, it has taken me a month to learn that, Skrol is so hard to grasp,’ she said as she noticed Havoc’s discomfort.
Both the Lobe Stones burst into light and lit up the small room in a vivid silvery glow.
‘The Drakken was using it as a Locator,’ she said to him, ‘see how they shine constantly? Well if we move away from each other then they will start to pulse until we bring them together again. On that night, the Drakken attacked me because I had the other stone, your stone; it was looking for you, Havoc.’
The prince knew she was right. He remembered the stories the Paladins told him about Verkin’s ravings before they saw the Drakken. He warned that the Drakken had come for the Blacksword.
It was coming for the Blacksword, not me, he thought to himself, but the Drakken was wearing a Havant cloak when it exited the Circle of Carras. Could it be that Cinnibar had made the connection between the Blacksword and me? On the other hand, was it just exiting the Drift that was closest to his Lobe Stone? Jynn Ri’s Lobe Stone.
‘To me this proves another thing, a link between the two stones,’ continued the countess, ‘I believe that they come from the same unit, a larger version of itself, it’s the only way they can be used in harmony. Did you not think to ask Lord Ness what it was?’
‘To be honest it never crossed my mind, I keep too many secrets for my own good, I suppose.’
‘I asked Soneros Ri one day when I delivered the Orrinns to the Quest ship. He went a bit pale when I asked him what a Lobe Stone was. He said they were used by the Drakken abominations two and a half millennia ago and it was a secret that died with them.’
Havoc shrugged, ‘dead end then,’ he said a few quick word in Skrol and the light from the stones disappeared. Bleudwed was amazed at his understanding of the subconscious language.
‘I forget that you know Skrol,’ she said.
‘Only when I have SinDex,’ said Havoc pocketing the orb.
He noticed Bleudwed’s puzzled frown.
‘It’s the secret name of the Sword that Rules, the Muse Orrinn helps me understand Skrol,’ he explained as he hooked his thumb to point at the sword on his back.
‘Not much of a secret if you’ve told me.’
‘I can tell you anything Mulvend. Our destinies are linked, remember?’
She blushed again. This was a charming, yet innocent, side to the countess he loved to see. His heart leaped in his chest, but never forgot the fact that no close relationship could come to fruition and this instantly dampened his emotional fires. Once again, he was lucky in war and not lucky in love.
‘Anyway,’ he said with a slight tremble in his voice, ‘I’ve kept the Lobe Stones active so we will be able to talk to each other. All you have to do is use the Skrol for opening; it will be a comfort for me to hear your voice at any time.’
Bleudwed stared at him for a while and he saw tears form in her eyes.
‘Oh, bugger this damn treaty!’ she said her voice cracking under the emotion and then she rushed around her desk towards Havoc to fall into his arms, which made him smile.
‘My lady this is not proper protocol,’ he joked, ‘what of the neutrality of Haplann? People will think you are a harlot when they see you with your arms around a man dressed as a peasant.’
She laughed despite herself. She looked up at his face with tears rolling down her face.
‘Please don’t jest, Havoc, this is not easy for me, I need to keep a distance from you for the sake of my home and my people, but there are times when I think that I will give it all up to spent a second with you.’
Havoc was gobsmacked and the melancholy he had felt over the last few days was replaced by a barely contained glee at the countess’s words.
‘Please come back safe,’ she said.
The prince cupped her face with both hands.
‘You bet I will. We have a lot of destiny together, you and me,’ then they kissed.
The countess was kind enough to secrete Havoc onto a local band of travelling wagons going to the Vallkyte capital. The caravan joined up with many others on the journey across the Dulan Plain; many coming from Sonora, Farness and Aquen. No one paid any attention to the stranger in the tattered cloak that travelled with the small family on four-wheeled wagon; he was one of many, just another traveller going to watch the Battle of Champions in the Criab Arena, the first of its kind for almost fifty years.
Havoc’s body rocked back and forth, as the wagon bumped over the loose paving slabs and cobbles that was the Old drove Road. Eventually, the road would connect with the wider Kings Road as it journeyed through the Wyani vales and meadows. He absentmindedly toyed with the Lobe Stone in his pocket, but though he desperately wanted to call Bleudwed again, it was too soon and he resisted the temptation. Besides, the formal and reserved goodbye she gave him left him confused. He tried to tell himself that there were too many problems surrounding their relationship for it to become something more than he wished. Bleudwed’s loyalty and love was for the people of Haplann and that took precedence over his feelings. He had to admit to himself that, even though he understood her reservations, he still felt a pang of jealousy with the whole situation.
Forget about her just now, Havoc; put everything to the back of your mind. Focus on the task ahead, said the harsh voice of the Blacksword and the prince agreed with him, although reluctantly.
As the days rolled by, just like the scenery that changed from low-lying hills, splintered with oak and sycamore copses, to undulating meadows and crop fields. More and more people accompanied the Haplann caravans. Most came by carriage, some on foot or horseback until thousands thronged the road. There were Wyani, Sonoran, Jertiani, and even fellow Roguns who were brave enough to come. Joining them was many from the eastern tribes and of course, hundreds of Nithi in their war gear on horseback. It was obvious that the capital, though huge, would not be able to accommodate this many people, but the problem to the overcrowding was answered when Havoc noticed, in the fading light of late evening, a city of multi-coloured tents outside the citadel walls. They lined the north side of the wide flagstone road that led to the main gates. Over to the south lay the squat ridge known as the Whaleback that ran parallel to the road. On it blazed thousands of torches that lit up the campsite. Further to the north was small-forested parkland the sat outside the outer walls of Dulan-Tiss. Even though it was too dark to see, Havoc knew that somewhere in that area of parkland was the ancient ruins of the old city now converted into sizable tombs for the old Vallkyte kings, known as the Kingslair. Further north sat another low ridge, this one manmade from all of the excavations of the new citadels trench works and wall foundations, now worn down by thousands of years of weather and covered in grass. It curved inwards from the north to flank the main road so it, and the Whaleback Ridge, formed a synthetic valley to the entrance of the Vallkyte capital.
Once the Haplann people found a safe spot, especially away from the Nithi, they camped for the night. Havoc left a bag of gold for the family that brought him on his cot and then he slipped away in the small hours towards the gates of the citadel. He easily sneaked past the guards who were too busy doing checks for weapons and illegal smuggling to scrutinise the shifting shadows behind them. No doubt, the competing champions would all be using another gate along with their noble patrons to get them into the citadel freely without the need for such heavy-handed security measures.
Dulan-Tiss was a city of contradiction; the Vallkytes built great stone buildings with a marvellous skill, but it missed the Rogun touch for beauty and style. However, the splendid carvings of gargoyles on the corners of each square house holding up the roof corner beams were a joy to behold. The citadel’s tall grey outer walls were artfully constructed into a perfect circle enclosing all but the manmade harbour on the east coast. Havoc could just make out the tall tower of the harbour lighthouse in the distance, the Val-Larntenium or Lantern, was one of the oldest buildings in the city and one of the most beautiful.
There was another round, shorter, wall in the centre of the capital closed off from the rest of the city. This housed the rich noble quarter, affectionately called the “Hub”. Amongst its many glorious edifices were the Royal Castle, theatre, museums, religious Kens and the town houses of the nobility belonging to the landed gentry and the occasional rich merchant. It also had a large sports field with the Criab Arena beside it.
Once through the round outer walls, everything else was square or box shaped, there was hardly a curve in sight as the blocks of whitewashed buildings lined the wide streets of right-angled intersections and gloomy narrow wynds. There was no market square to speak of, but there was a wide cobbled street that the locals for some reason, unfathomable to Havoc, called the “Lawn”. It was on this Lawn that the market stalls lined up and shoppers walked up and down the mile long road in the early hours of first light.
The owners of the stalls came from miles around. Some from other parts of the world selling expensive silks, exotic spices, green leaf tea and magical amulets (the concept of magic to the natives of Tattoium/Tarridun was difficult for them to take seriously. Yet legends of such a mysterious power were written in many of the classic literature from these foreign lands.)
Havoc bought a large spicy pork sausage on a garlic and herb bread roll from a local food vendor and a mug of White Ale. They went down a treat. He resisted the temptation to buy another and instead tried to get his bearings, which in the square layout of the streets was easy and, like the streets of his home citadel were, named and signposted.
He wandered around to the large entrance of the richer area of the citadel. He had to pay to get into the Hub gates along with others going into the arena. On the Hub side, the buildings were far more stylish than the poorer areas. Most of the large town houses had plaster borders around their roundel windows and dark stained oak beams contrasting against the white wattle and dab walls. Other buildings had fine marble carvings depicting the original owner’s an
cient ancestors that acted as pillars holding up tiered red-slated rooftops. Other larger structures, like the museum and theatre with their tall spires, lent more to a classic style and openly gothic on some edifices. The Royal Castle stuck out like a sore thumb; a huge square block with four round castellated towers at each corner, the castle was the highest building in the capital due to its construction on a natural rise in the landscape, on this otherwise flat region. As a result, it looked, imposingly, down on the rest of the citadel.
Jostled by the growing crowd, Havoc walked with them towards the arena, occasionally moved on by the Vallkyte guards that swarmed all over the citadel, keeping order. The arena came into view at the other side of the tilting lanes. It sat alone with few buildings near it. A large oval-shaped white marble structure, it’s north and south ends were curved upwards giving Havoc the impression of a porcelain bath for a giant. Black and grey carvings surrounded the arenas upper walls. They looked down on the crowd from a ledge halfway up the building. Havoc heard one of the spectators explaining to his colleague that they were depictions of the old Vallkyte Kings.
Havoc understood the Vallkyte peoples need to honour their ancestors and monarchs, though it was seldom a practice with Roguns; this was one of the ways in which the Vallkytes Derma Ken religion differed from his people’s religious beliefs.
Havoc studied the arena. High windows, which were just small slits framed by a curved arch, stretched right around the building. Havoc could see people walking behind them as they searched for their seats. He walked with the crowd as they moved through the arched entrance, which had a statue of King Criab III on the right and the My’thos god Arcun on the left. The coolness inside was a welcome relief from the growing heat of the morning sun.
The inside of the Criab Arena was a remarkable sight.