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

by P D Ceanneir

  Lorth tried to ignore the pain and grabbed the crossbow. He pulled out another bolt from his hip holster and fumbled as he loaded. Throbbing pain from his leg dulled his senses.

  Larsen stood as best he could. He knew his great uncle was a skilful fighter, but his age would begin to show as his stamina failed him. Therefore, he went to help, hobbling towards the combatants and lunged for the Blacksword’s exposed back.

  The Blacksword’s footing was quick. He knocked away a lunge from Tygen, then turned and caught Larsen’s attack at his rear. He then twisted to his right, getting inside the boys defence, and rammed the pommel of SinDex into Larsen’s nose. The crack of the shattering nose resounded throughout the arena and everyone cringed as the organ exploded into a red pulpy mass.

  The Blacksword then turned back to Tygen as Larsen fell to the ground; he defended against several more strokes of the big sword. Tygen was pushing the Blacksword’s back to Lorth as he noticed the boy lift his loaded crossbow and aim. He pulled the trigger.

  The Blacksword moved so quickly that Tygen thought the boy had missed, but from this distance how could he? Without taking his eyes off Tygen, the Blacksword moved his long black blade around his body and deflected the bolt off his weapons forte as the sword passed his back, and then he went straight into the attack again against Tygen.

  Tygen was caught off guard and SinDex sliced through his chain mail and into his left shoulder blade. The older man stumbled backwards nearly stumbling over Raimen who had fallen to his knees, the ground around him soaked with spilt blood, his face pale and clammy.

  Lorth, stunned at his near miss, loaded again.

  Tygen lurched backwards away from the Blacksword, his weapon held in front of him to parry any lunges. He was tiring and knew he was beat. Walking towards him, the Blacksword passed Raimen and with a nonchalant flick of his wrist took that man’s head off before he died from blood loss. A despairing cry went up from the Nithi and from Raimen’s sons.

  ‘Another from the Head Harvest,’ hissed the Blacksword.

  Tygen clutched at the wound in his shoulder with his left hand, his face contorted in anger and he tried one last desperate attempt at killing the man in front of him. He ran forward swinging his sword roaring at the top of his voice. The Blacksword sidestepped from the attack and nicked Tygen slightly at his exposed side. It was then that Lorth fired his third bolt.

  It flew straight and true, but the Blacksword turned and plucked it out of mid air with astonishing speed. He then twisted back round again and stuck the sharp tip into Tygen’s left hand with such force it buried into the flesh of his hand right up to the fletch and effectively pined it against his wounded shoulder. Tygen yelled with the shock and agony then lunged again. The Blacksword circled round the Nithi’s right arm, parrying the thrust, and then brought SinDex down in Tygen’s sword arm, cutting it off at the elbow. Blood gushed from the wound and the man fell to his knees.

  Larsen got up and limped ungracefully to attack the Blacksword, his anger getting the better of him even when his eyes misted through the pain of his broken nose and dimmed his vision.

  The Blacksword waited for the boy to come to him, then easily stepped into his attack, gripped his sword arm by the wrist as the boy swung. He then thrust SinDex through the Nithi’s body armour piercing his heart. Larsen coughed blood from his throat; some of it spurted over his chin as he sank down to the ground looking at the darkness of the Blacksword’s hood with wide-eyed shock. He died as the black blade extracted from his chest with a loud squelch.

  Lorth groaned as he watched his brother die. Fear gripped him. He crawled to one of the wooden pillars to pull himself up to a standing position as he loaded the crossbow again.

  The Blacksword put his toe under Lorth’s sword and flicked it up to his hand; he then walked up to Tygen and without a word crossed both swords over the man’s shoulders. With one hand missing and the other pinned to his chest. There was nothing Tygen could do but meet death without fear. He looked up into the darkness of the hood and scowled.

  ‘You Bastard...!’ the crossed swords suddenly jerked across his neck, decapitating him in mid sentence.

  Lorth was panicking as he loaded the bolt into the crossbow. His fear became stronger as he noticed the faded blue feather on the daggers hilt, he recognised it as a Nithi ceremonial dagger and, being superstitious realised when he had used it. It once belonged to him, now it was in him and he was cursed, retribution was coming towards him in long quick strides.

  He fired his fourth, and last, bolt at the approaching Blacksword, but there was a metal clanging sound as, once again, the long black blade batted the bolt away effortlessly. Lorth pulled out a sharp hunting knife from the sheath that was strapped under his left armpit. He pulled himself upright as he leant against the pillar at an angle and was about to throw the knife when it was knocked from his grasp by the Blacksword’s blade. He then felt Larsen’s blade spear into his guts and nail him to the wooden pillar.

  ‘Oh...Ahh...! Please… please… have mercy,’ begged Lorth.

  Lorth’s agony multiplied as the Blacksword pulled the Nithi dagger out of his knee.

  ‘This is yours,’ he said, ‘it was found in the head of a child. Did you show mercy then? You can have it back now.’ He plunged the blade through the top of Lorth’s skull and watched as the life faded from his eyes.

  Everyone was on his or her feet watching in silence as the Blacksword systematically hacked off the last two remaining heads of Lorth, and Larsen with Larsen’s sword. The macabre sounds of crunching bone and ripping flesh made everyone cringe. He then walked up to the Nithi seats and threw his grisly burden into the crowd who this time did not shout at him in anger, but remained silent in fear. He then walked back to the ramp. The champions had crowded at the exit to watch and they all parted in the middle to let the Blacksword through.

  Creed knew it was over as he saw the Blacksword leave, but the crowd still looked on in stunned silence. He realised that the Ancarryn had now changed into something dark and brooding, it had always been a fight for survival, but now that fight was for your very soul.

  He looked towards his father who stared at the Blacksword as he left the tournament ground. Cinnibar was clutching his arm as she too watched the tall warrior depart.

  ‘This is not right,’ she growled, ‘this cannot be happening. Why did Lord Sernac not foresee this?’

  ‘What could he have done if he did?’ said the king in a low whisper.

  Dull moisture-filled clouds pressed down upon the citadel of Dulan-Tiss as the evening sea-winds brought rain clouds from the east. Ripples of sheet lightning brightened the dark skies at the horizon and the closing vacuum thundered moodily over the churning sea.

  People said to each other that a bad storm was coming, but in their hearts they knew that the storm was already here.

  The wind strengthened and circled around the tallest gothic spire of the Museum of Arcun. A waterspout in the shape of an eagle-beaked gargoyle jutted out from the spire’s guttering and the Blacksword used this as a platform to watch the busy streets below. It was getting dark; the City Watchmen, walking the cobbled streets lightening the night lanterns, did so quickly before the storm took hold. Nightfall would bring its own terrors. Many would have a sleepless night because the news of the Blacksword being inside the walls of the citadel sent shivers down the hardiest citizen’s spine.

  The Blacksword watched with his keen eyes and smiled at the panicking rabble running for the safety of their homes. His plan to have the citadel quaking at his feet was becoming easier than he imagined.

  Nice trick with the cloak of darkness said Havoc, it was quite an entrance.

  ‘Who says it was a trick?’ whispered the Blacksword, ‘it got the reaction I wanted, did it not?’

  Fear is our greatest ally and our worst foe, Havoc said, quoting the Skrol etched on SinDex’s black blade.

  ‘Correct, but we still have a long way to go.’

  The shrill cr
y from the Muse Orrinn told the Blacksword that Mirryn was in position. He unsheathed the sword from the black scabbard and looked into the parting silver clouds of the Orrinn. He could see she was perched on an ivy covered stone railing, the balcony doors were partly open and the curtains flapped in the breeze. Beyond the glass, doors stood Cinnibar in a light blue dress with red velvet lining. Candlelight glinted off her gold bracelets and the large sapphire ring that once belonged to her predecessor, now it represented the Monarchy of Sonora. She was standing with a goblet of wine in her hand listening to King Kasan as he paced up and down the open fireplace at the other end of his personal study. The Blacksword could hear everything clearly through Mirryn’s ears.

  ‘...how could this happen?’ said the king, ‘the Blacksword, here, in my citadel, and Mad-daimen...’

  ‘Do not fret nephew, this is obviously meant to be,’ said Cinnibar softly, though there was a tone of annoyance.

  ‘Meant to be!’ shouted the king, ‘a phantom that I did not believe existed has just killed my most loyal supporter, and is now loose in the citadel. Do not tell me to stay calm, aunt, the Ancarryn plan has failed!’

  ‘The plan has not failed, Kasan,’ she sighed.

  ‘Oh... hasn’t it? Havoc is not here, this was all for him.’

  The Queen of Sonora laughed aloud making Mirryn flinch.

  ‘Where the Blacksword is, Havoc is not far behind,’ she said, but before the king could question her any further there was a loud knock at the door.

  ‘Enter,’ said Kasan.

  Lord Udren and Saltyn Ri walked in and both men bowed to the king and then Cinnibar.

  ‘Well?’ snapped Kasan.

  ‘There is no sign of Ness Ri or the Lady Vara in the castle apartments or the Hub Taverns, my lord,’ said Lord Saltyn, ‘but the search continues.’

  ‘Damn it! Vara must be found. Why did she patron the Blacksword?’ the king had started pacing again, ‘did she know he would fight Mad-daimen? Has all of this been preordained?’

  ‘The Lady Vara has done nothing wrong, my lord. She is well within the rules of the Ancarryn,’ informed Saltyn Ri.

  ‘DAMN THE RULES, SALTYN!’ shouted the king making the Ri jump. He turned to his aunt, ‘can you not send your wolf bitches to track them down?’

  ‘Serena and Tia!’ snapped Cinnibar, ‘they are already busy hunting down the Blacksword.’

  This was news to the Blacksword. Two Rawn Havants were on the prowl. He would have to be wary

  ‘Then let us hope they have better luck than the guards,’ said Udren.

  Earlier, after the Blacksword had left the arena ground and disappeared down the ramp, Kasan had sent guards to find and apprehend him. The duty guard commander did not relish the prospect of finding said assailant and was overwhelmed with relief when his men came back empty handed and, thankfully, with their heads still attached to their necks.

  Nevertheless, the king was becoming paranoid about the Blacksword’s agenda and sent soldiers scouring the citadel to find him. Their search, however, was proving fruitless; the Blacksword had easily evaded them by either shrouding himself in darkness or silently jumping to his required destinations via the rooftops.

  ‘I want him found before the morning Heats. Who knows who will be next,’ moaned the king.

  ‘How did he get into the citadel?’ said Saltyn Ri, but in a low voice as if to himself.

  ‘He must have had aid,’ explained Udren, although with little conviction.

  Saltyn shook his head, ‘I don’t like it. All of the Order’s plans are falling apart.’

  The Blacksword saw the king frown at his Consul and then look towards his great-aunt.

  Cinnibar walked slowly around the soft furnishings, ‘What worries you, Saltyn?’

  Saltyn looked confusingly at the Sonoran Queen.

  ‘Forty years ago we had a chance to take over the continent, but we were thwarted by one of our own. Telmar’s madness and rebellion set us back. Now we have a better opportunity only to have our plans destroyed by the Rogan De Proteous and the arrival of this prophesised Blacksword. Don’t you think that it’s all a tad inconvenient?’ his tone was condescending.

  Cinnibar smiled sweetly as she approached him. ‘Lord Sernac has seen many things, my friend. The rise and fall of the Blacksword is but one of them. Fear not and stay true to the Order.’

  High on the spire, the Blacksword listened intently.

  ‘Lord Sernac did not tell you of the Blacksword intervention at the Ancarryn!’ scoffed the Ri. ‘He seems to only allow you to know the possibilities and not the details. Ha! For a Terraseer he is very lacking in details.’

  Cinnibar sighed as she halted in front of the Ri. ‘Such a disappointment, when did you become so cynical, Saltyn? You were always so loyal to Sernac over the years; it seems you shall have to learn loyalty all over again.’ In a flash, she places her hands on each side of the Ri’s head and he gasped. Watching through the keen eyes of Mirryn, the Blacksword could see the Ri struggle for only a second. His face flushed and the flesh rippled like a skimming stone on water. His arms hung limp at his sides. As quickly as it started, Cinnibar released him and calmly walked away. Saltyn just smiled. His eyes looked wide and catatonic.

  ‘I think the Consul requires a short nap, Udren,’ said the king.

  The champion bowed before leaving with the Ri who shuffled beside Udren as if drunk.

  The wind breezed through the open balcony doors to ruffle the curtains. Cinnibar closed the doors and Mirryn gave back a chirp of annoyance.

  The Blacksword mused over what he had seen and heard. It looked as if Cinnibar performed a Thought Link on the Ri, but to control the mind of powerful Rawn like Saltyn was an extraordinary gift. He decided to think on it later and instructed Mirryn to carry on with her search of the castle rooms while he leapt the wide gaps between the town houses of the Hub. Their angled and flat roofs making it easier to sprint and jump to the buildings on the opposite street. He then reached the castle walls in several short bounds and scaled them using the Earth Element to make small hand and foot holds in the whitewashed walls.

  At the top of one of the corner towers of the castle, he waited in an arrow-slit crevice as he watched the Orrinn and Mirryn’s flight around the royal apartment rooms. Once she found the correct window she guided him down to the east side of the castle walls. The balcony was smaller than the kings own study, but ample enough for a table and two chairs to occupy the far corner.

  The double doors of the balcony were locked, but that was not an obstacle to a Rawn Master who could disintegrate a lock into dust. He used the Subtle Arts as he quietly eased himself inside. Over on the far wall a fire dimmed in its grate, a lone candle reflected a sleeping form on a wide four-poster bed and the small figure moved restlessly as it detected someone in the room or stretched in the throes of a dream.

  The boy woke up, his eyes bleary and bright green. He saw the dark mass of shadow blocking the poor light from the balcony doors and his eyes widened in shock. Creed gave a small startled cry, but the Blacksword’s long white fingered hand touched his face and said. ‘Sleep,’ in a cold whisper. The boys eyes closed in sleep again and he would not remember his head hitting the pillow. The Blacksword looked down at the sandy haired boy with the angry red birthmark on his face without any recognition, but to Havoc there was a slight family resemblance.

  Next to the bed was a door that led to another room, parallel to the outside corridor. The Blacksword went through and found himself in a larger room with lush woven rugs and soft comfortable furnishings. The candlelight was bright here so he stuck to the walls filling every space he walked into with shadows. Next to the fireplace was an oak tallboy upon which sat a glass dome. The keen eyes of the Blacksword saw a mummified head inside, the skin had dried and looked brittle and broken in places, eyes sunken and the lips were pulled back into a sneer that showed white uneven teeth. The reddish hair was wispy and unkempt; most of it had fallen out in clumps. However, it was
the crown on its head that was the most recognisable thing, especially to the prince.

  It was the Sonoran king’s crown. This was the missing head of his uncle Hagan.

  The Blacksword was as amazed and angry as Havoc felt. He stepped back from the grinning skull and tried to stay calm. He surveyed the room again, obviously used as King Kasan’s sitting room. He wandered around looking through drawers and cupboards until he found a Lobe Stone, similar to his own, in a drawer of one of the smaller varnished tables next to an ornamental suit of armour. He pocketed it for later scrutiny and thought about taking the head of Havoc’s uncle away from here when he felt a presence close by and barely had time to hide in the shadows when the corridor door opened and in walked Queen Molna on her own.

  She walked to the door of the boy’s room and peeked in quietly. The Blacksword could hear Havoc buzzing with excitement in his head when she walked back out and closed the door behind her. The Blacksword walked forward and used the shadows around him to thicken and conceal himself until he was almost upon her.

  Molna must have realised she was not alone and turned quickly as he neared. She was unable to cry out because the Blacksword covered her mouth with his spidery hand.

  ‘Make no sound,’ he whispered in her ear, none too harshly, ‘and you will not be harmed, there is someone who wishes to meet you.’

  The queen nodded and the Blacksword released her, her eyes were still wide with fear, though. He pulled down his hood to reveal his face; she was shocked and gasped at the black eyes staring back at her. Her face was almost as white as his was. Her hand clutched at her bodice and she resisted the urge to scream.

  Then the change happened, he shrunk several inches, colour returned to his cheeks and the eyes changed to green, the baldhead instantly became covered in long black hair moving into a bushier style and the grin became the charming smile she recognised as her first son.

  ‘Hello mother,’ said Havoc with a slight glint in his eyes.

  ‘H..av..oc,’ she stammered, then fainted into his arms.