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

by P D Ceanneir

  A long tongue of liquid flame jetted from the dragon’s mouth and hit the guards that stood in a half circle near the centre of the arena. The Wyrmfire, as it was known in the olden days, leapt from one soldier to the other quickly as her flapping wings fanned the heat, engulfing them in its sticky oily fire. The fire was so well controlled, that not a drop of it touched Havoc and Molna on the platform. The guard’s high-pitched screams pierced above the roar of the dragons own and even the screams from the departing crowd. Ciriana ignored all of this even as the guards ran around like human torches flailing their arms wildly in agony as they tried in vain to beat out the flames, but it only took seconds for the Wyrmfire to burn through their flesh and twist their bones.

  The few guards nearest to the royal box half-heartedly threw their spears at her. The sharp points of the spearheads could not penetrate the hard scaly hide of the dragon and they bounced off with loud thuds. The spear throwers ran from the dragon as she turned to them, but she let them go. Those four remaining guards on Havoc’s right were not so fortunate, because Ciriana used them for a soft landing, crushing them into the ground with her huge fore claws.

  Molna clung to her son’s body as she saw the great head of the dragon turn their way.

  ‘Did I miss the party?’ said Ciriana to Havoc.

  ‘Only the best bits,’ the prince replied with a grin.

  She turned to the royal box, most there had fled to the exit at the rear, the king amongst them, but that was not what grasped their attention. There was a high pierced scream from Cinnibar as she took the sword from an astonished Creed’s limp hand and used the wind element to leap high into the air. Her target was Havoc, or more correctly, the Blacksword, and she held Creed’s sword high above her head as she swooped down towards the announcer’s platform.

  With surprising speed, Ciriana’s huge talon plucked her out of the air and unceremoniously slammed her onto the ground flat on her back, the foot of the dragon covering half of her body. Cinnibar yelled and cursed, her white hair flew wildly around her head as she prodded the claw with the sword to no avail. She placed a hand on one hooked talon, Havoc saw her use her Waternymph powers on the dragon, but the scales only fluttered under her fingers, and the dragon laughed.

  ‘Your powers will not work on one of the Five who Speak, Cinnibar!’

  Ciriana’s long neck snaked into a loop as her head hung several inches from the Queen of Sonora’s face, the smell of raw mutton ripe on her breath.

  ‘Our doom together will come, Queen of Sonora, but not yet, no, not yet,’ she growled. With gentle care she picked up the queen then threw her to the other side of the arena where she landed like a rag doll, although unhurt, she stood up glaring at the dragon and made no other move to attack her.

  The big dragon crouched and turned her head towards Havoc and his mother.

  ‘Let’s go before my good mood fades,’ she said.

  Havoc urged Molna towards the dragon, but she was reluctant to move, one hand in Havoc’s the other was covering her nose and mouth to block out the smell of charred flesh.

  ‘That’s a dragon?’ she said mumbling through her hand.

  ‘Yes mother,’ laughed her son, ‘and one with very little patience, now get on her.’

  ‘Get on her?’

  ‘Yes, the best way to escape the citadel is to fly out.’

  Molna thought about this for a second and then shrugged. She allowed Havoc to help her up, showing her where to put her feet, as she scurried nimbly up the dragon’s outstretched left leg, also where to sit and what back ridges to hold onto.

  ‘Are we sitting comfortably?’ asked Ciriana. Both of her passengers acknowledged her, ‘then we’re off.’ The jump into the air was not graceful and she just managed to clear the north balcony of the arena, but once she was higher and her wings caught the thermals that rose from the Dulan Plain, then her flight was more stable and straight as she ascended slowly into the air.

  After ten minutes of flight Molna, sitting behind Havoc with her arms around his chest, managed to prise her eyelids open and look around her. The view was spectacular and frightening at the same time. After a while she gave in to the exhilaration of the experience, smiled and laughed she was free. Havoc laughed with her.

  ‘Why is there a red kite following us?’ she shouted in Havoc’s ear, pointing over his shoulder at the bird that bobbed and weaved over the top of the dragons head.

  ‘That’s Mirryn, my eye in the sky,’ was all he said.

  Then he turned his attention towards Ciriana.

  ‘You got to Dulan-Tiss quite quickly, thank you,’ he shouted towards the dragon. The rush of wind took his voice away, but the dragon turned her head slightly to the right and grunted.

  ‘I was in the general area anyway; sheep are easier to catch on the plain,’ she roared back.

  As the flight progressed towards the Tattoium Ridge, Havoc explained his story to his mother. About his Pyromantic Powers and the training he got from Ness Ri to help him, the discovery of his sisters and cousins, which made Molna cry, his departure for the mountains, Mulvend, Powyss and the making of the Blacksword with Gunach, the rescue of the prisoners at the Haplann Mines, the forming of the Raiders and their subsequent battles. He told her everything, but kept the knowledge of his sons Havoc Valient and Lorimar to himself. He would keep that secret safe from everyone.

  By the time his story was over, they had crossed into Rogun land and Ciriana was making a descent towards Aln-Tiss. At the sight of his home, Havoc felt a pang of fear at the reception he would receive and reaction of his own people once the rumours of the identity of the Blacksword reached them. He had to tell himself that his secret could not have been hidden for long anyway. Some of his closest friends already knew and for years now the rumours of him being a Pyromancer had spread through the exiles while they were still in the Sky Mountains. Thankfully the mistrust of strangers, and the love for their prince, meant that his people had kept the rumour to just that, a rumour.

  Those who studied the Blacksword Prophecy would make the connections to him, eventually. He already suspected that Cinnibar was one of them. Now things were going to be different and he felt that a new era had opened up in his life. Suddenly, the prospect of going on Lord Ness’s quest did not sound so bad.

  Ciriana flew lower then went into a steep dive, pulling up just in time to fly several feet over the two towers of the east gate. Havoc heard her laugh in the form of loud barks as she watched the guards on the walls mill around in panic.

  ‘I haven’t done that in many years,’ she said as she climbed higher and twisted between the spires of the palace. She flew so close to the highest one that Havoc and his mother had to duck as the dragon looped around it. Molna laughed as Ciriana bellowed a joyful roar as she twisted and turned around the palace towers with exceptional dexterity. Havoc felt his stomach churn with every turn, yet he laughed along with the dragon.

  ‘I and Dex used to do this in our youth,’ shouted Ciriana, ‘scared the shit out of the population.’ Sure enough, the small black blobs of people were running in all directions as they panicked at the sight of the winged beast.

  ‘You’re just a big child,’ shouted Molna in a motherly tone and Ciriana laughed again at the remark. The dragon turned west and glided down to the standing stones on Carras Isle landing to the south of the stone circle. The touchdown was smooth and gentle. Havoc felt a sad pang of regret that the flight was over

  The prince helped his mother climb down from the dragon’s back; the queen’s eyes were as wide as her smile as she drank in the view of the citadel in the distance, the home that she had not seen for over ten years. She whooped with joy and hugged her son, then looked up at the big head of the dragon.

  ‘From one queen to another, I thank you for helping my son,’ she said.

  The dragon was taken aback at Molna’s comment and laughed.

  ‘A queen? Well I suppose so, Queen of the Dragons. That’s if there were more like me. I thank
you for your sentiments, your Grace.’

  ‘I thank you also,’ said Havoc, ‘although tell me, you had Cinnibar at your mercy, you could have put her, and us, out of our misery.’

  ‘True, but being a prophet means that I have to be a slave to fate; I have always known the future of those around me. Cinnibar’s fate has been preordained, just as surely as my own doom has.’ She turned her huge head towards the towers of the inner palace, ‘I see we have company.’ This last statement directed towards the troop of fully armoured Carras Knights that were running from their barracks on the south of the isle. They lined in one long row, shields locked, and swords resting on the rims.

  Ciriana grunted and shook here head as she watched them. ‘Human bravery always amazes me. Time for me to go, I think,’ said Ciriana, ‘we shall meet again, Prince Havoc, fare thee well.’

  Wind surrounded them as the long wings lifted her great bulk into the air and out of sight amongst the low clouds.

  Havoc felt reluctant to move as the knights came closer. His mother felt his hesitation and realised that although he was her son he still wore the garb of the Blacksword.

  ‘Not thinking of running away again are you?’ she said to him in a stoic manner.

  ‘No, mother, I’m not.’ he smiled down at her.

  ‘Good, because there are times one must face the consequences that his life path takes him, or her,’ she held his hand firmly, ‘I will be there to help you.’

  All of his anxieties fled from him at his mother’s words, he had gone through life on his own, now he had someone to help him with the burden. Such was Molna’s personality, her love for him and her duty as his mother.

  As soon as the Carras Knights recognised the prince and the queen, each of them knelt and discarded their weapons. They gasped in astonishment at Queen Molna who was smiling broadly.

  She had returned. She was home.

  The only Paladins in the citadel at the time were Sir Powyss and Sir Hexor. While Hexor ran a programme of extra drill for the Raiders near the sparring grounds, Powyss was helping the barrack Quartermaster to sift through heaps of paperwork that accompanied the overseas supplies of military equipment that came in that morning from the Old Port.

  The dragon sent a shockwave of alarm around the soldiers and everyone took up arms, even those not on duty. The civilian population ran in panic for the safety of their own homes. Powyss rushed out to see what all to fuss was about and just caught the sight of the large winged creature gliding through the spires of the palace, obviously enjoying itself, and not attempting to attack. It was only when he noticed a red kite flying along with it that his fears lessened to some degree. Yet he still chuckled when he recognised passengers on the back of the dragon. He later found Hexor and ordered him to stand down the soldiers and send out a messenger to find the king’s party who were hunting Buck Deer in the huge expanse of forests that nestled inside the crescent of the Aln Hills, about ten miles to the south.

  Both he and Hexor walked over the Two-way Bridge and met Havoc half way under the royal apartment’s archway. Powyss was gob-smacked when he recognised the queen and fell to his knees in front of her. Hexor, who had never met Molna before now but recognised her from the portraits that adorned the walls of almost every building in Aln-Tiss, knelt with his commander.

  ‘Sir Powyss,’ said the queen, ‘please stand, my friend, for it is I that should be honouring you. Not only have you served King Hagan well, but you have watched over my son also. What reward could I give you?’

  ‘Serving your son is reward enough, your Grace,’ said Powyss as he and Hexor both stood.

  ‘Nevertheless, I think this will do for starters,’ said the queen with a loving smile and seductive charm. She shocked everyone by standing on her tiptoes and kissing Powyss on the cheek. Not exactly royal protocol, but a kiss from one of the most beautiful women on the island had a strange effect on Powyss; it was the first time Havoc had ever seen him blush.

  ‘And this handsome soldier is?’ said Molna as she looked at Hexor.

  ‘Sir Hexor, your Grace,’ said Hexor who was looking at the prince’s clothes with suspicion.

  The queen gave him a surprised look, ‘one of my son’s Paladin-knights,’ she said enthusiastically to Hexor as she also planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘If all my son’s officers are as handsome as you are, young man, then I shall enjoy this immensely.’

  ‘Alas, your Grace, the good looks of the others goes downhill from here on in,’ smiled Hexor, which brought out a musical girly giggle from the queen.

  ‘Come now, Sir Powyss,’ she said as she walked along the bridge with him arm in arm, ‘help me meet the multitude and make me feel at home.’

  Hexor walked next to the prince.

  ‘You have done it boss, but how...?’ he asked him.

  ‘I’m sure you will hear about it from all of the great travelling bards at one time or another, but let’s just say I had some help from the Blacksword.’

  This stopped Hexor in his tracks and Havoc chuckled at the confusion on his face.

  Dolment was the first in the kings hunting party to spot the dragon and called to the others. Magnus had to leave the body of a fine stag he had downed with bow and arrow as the king ordered them back to the citadel. The monarch and the rest of the Prince’s Paladins left the forests that fringed the foot of the Aln Hills, riding hard and fast. They met a lone messenger half way along the south road who informed them that the dragon had left.

  ‘I stayed long enough to be sure,’ panted the messenger, ‘but it’s the De Proteous and he has the queen with him.’

  ‘By the gods, he’s done it!’ the king said before galloping off at breakneck speed to get to the citadel first. The queen had ordered the south gate to the Old-town open for the population of the citadel to flood in their thousands onto the palace grounds. Therefore, by the time the king and his hunting party arrived, the gravel square in front of the palace entrance thronged with city locals. He had to shout above the din of chatter, ordering them to open up and let him through.

  As the crowd opened and the king trotted up the path, he could see Molna standing with Sir Powyss on the stairs to the palace doors, and then his vision became unfocused as his eyes misted with tears at the sight of his beautiful wife. He jumped from his horse and ran through the cheering crowd, scooping her up and twirling around in a circle with her in his arms.

  ‘Oh my beloved Molna!’ he said as tears streamed down his face.

  ‘Van... how I have missed you, husband,’ she said crying just as much. They laughed, they cried, they kissed and their emotion swelled to the crowd as many among shared in their joy.

  ‘Is this a personal welcome, or can anyone cut in?’ said a voice beside them and Molna laughed, wiping tears from her cheeks as she recognised Magnus.

  ‘Magnus...oh how you have grown,’ she hugged him, continuing to weep uncontrollably.

  Then the crown went silent. The sudden quiet was palpable and cloying. All eyes turned to the palace entrance.

  Out of the dark shadows of the palace entrance walked the Blacksword. He stood in full view, in broad daylight for all to see. He slowly pulled the wide hood down and the black eyes surveyed the crowd. The rest of the Paladins standing beside the king lifted their hunting spears and spread out, Whyteman and Linth notched an arrow to their bows and stepped forward.

  It seems that my paranoia at the Rouge, the day we left, was not due to the knowledge of my alter ego being revealed, mused Havoc inside the confines of the Blacksword’s mind. The Blacksword, for his part, remained silent.

  ‘No, stand down your weapons gentlemen,’ shouted the queen, ‘for this is the man who made it possible for me to escape Dulan-Tiss. This is the man who killed Mad-daimen and his kin and won the Ancarryn by defeating King Kasan’s champion, Lord Udren.’ There were rippled surprised gasps amongst the crowd. The Paladins lowered their weapons and just stared at the Blacksword, unsure what to do.

  ‘I am one man,’ hissed
the Blacksword, ‘but share a body with another, through him I use his Rawn powers and the ability to be a Pyromancer. Be afraid of me, but don’t be afraid of your prince.’

  The stunned crowd were even more shocked as the face of the Blacksword faded from their eyes to reveal that of Prince Havoc’s. They looked on in silence. Even the Paladins stared in disbelief with their jaws gaping open.

  Havoc looked worriedly at the people in front of him. He expected a reaction, but not one like this. At least they were not running away in fear.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone started clapping beside him; it was Powyss with a big smile on his face. Queen Molna was the next to clap, then the king and then a laughing Magnus who whooped with glee. Little Kith joined in the laughter and started beating the end of his hunting spear onto the ground. The rest of the Paladins followed the giant and soon the whole crowd was clapping and cheering.

  The Paladins surged forward and picked up the smiling prince, and for the next half hour carried him through the streets of Aln-Tiss, thronged on each side of them by the cheering multitude. People shouted and waved from the windows of their homes and tried to get closer to the De Proteous in order to touch his outstretched hands. Havoc looked behind him and saw that his mother and father were following the crowd as if they were part of the jubilant mob.

  He had never felt so happy in years.

  As the days wore on Havoc noticed a strange change come over people when they were in his presence. On some level of conscious understanding they had come to accept he was the Blacksword, but understood that it was a different entity altogether. They would talk quite freely about the Ancarryn and the deeds of the Blacksword in his presence, whether it is at the banquet table talking to members of his Paladins or local folk out in the streets of the citadel deep in general conversation. Although, confusingly, they did not seem to make any direct link to him and to make matters more complicated, those people who looked upon the Sword that Rules saw it in its disguised form, even though Havoc had not activated the change to conceal it as Tragenn.