by P D Ceanneir
Vanduke had been put at ease when he realised the full story of the Brethac and fragments of memories came back to him, but he was still on edge about Telmar and his destructive past. Havoc thought that if it were not for the mollifying influence of his mother then the king would have thrown Shanks into the palace dungeons.
‘You can see the Dragon Lanes, can’t you,’ said Shanks. It was not a question, it was a statement of fact.
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘I have always been able to see them, since I was young and my Pyromantic Powers were in their infancy. In some places they are easy to see, in others non-existent.’
Havoc looked at the dim forms of the stones in silence for a few seconds. He was glad to have someone, other than Lord Ness, to talk to about his affliction, if one could call it that. He now no longer saw it as a curse.
‘I realise now that it’s not the Dragon Lanes I see, but the volatile energies inside them and it’s only the Blacksword that sees them, not me,’ informed the prince. The fact that he could see the earth’s energies was a secret only Lord Ness knew; nevertheless, he felt he could tell Shanks anything.
‘I understand,’ said Shanks, ‘ever wondered what these volatile energies are? And why you can see them?’
Havoc shrugged and prompted Shanks to continue with a nod.
‘As I have said before, I have studied the Pyromantic curse. The truth that I have discovered may be a little disturbing,’ Shanks looked at the prince with concern, ‘this is a secret only we Pyromancers can have. You must tell no one.’
‘All right,’ Havoc was intrigued.
‘Think of the Earth Mother as an emotional being. It stands to reason that she, who creates life forms with emotions, also has some of her own.’ He spread his arms around for Havoc to take in the panorama. ‘The world as we know it has been created from her more stable emotions. However, the destructive force of the unpredictable ones causes destruction and death. It is these unpredictable, volatile emotions which formed into an entity of violence and chaos.’
‘You’re talking about the Dark Force of the Earth, the entity that is trapped inside the Gredligg Orrinn?’
‘Yes, but not all of it was trapped,’ he pointed at the standing stones, ‘the energy emissions we both see in the Dragon Lanes are its residue, its component parts. It left pieces of itself behind swimming inside the energy conduits of the earth, mindless and dormant, closed off from the larger mass. Some, however, can merge and grow inside a warm body.’
‘Like a spore,’ Havoc was starting to understand, ‘are you trying to tell me that Pyromancers are the offspring of the Earth Daemon?’
‘Yes, and I believe you would have come to that conclusion on your own. My suspicions started when I studied the Drift and my own theories of Chaos Modulation bore out my supposition; I think that I contracted the Pyromantic Power that way, or I may have got it from my father. He had done the same research when he was a Master. He studied the life of the Elder Styx who first discovered Driftwalking thousands of years ago. I was even born in Tuen House, near the ruins of Dorit Lorne Castle where the late elder is entombed. Of course, it would be foolish of me to think I was powerful enough to control the Drift. Ri are better suited to travelling the Drift because they are more in harmony with the four elements, giving them immunity to the volatile energies within the lanes. Yet, there is a fragmented memory I have of travelling the Drift and another of a tall arch full of shifting images inside it.’ Shanks trailed off, frowning, or so it seemed to Havoc, trying to remember more of what he was saying even though it made no sense to either of them. It was at that moment Havoc suddenly felt such pity for the man who could not remember important events of his past. He could now truly understand why Telmar passed his memories onto his father.
Shanks saw the sad look on the prince’s face and hastily continued.
‘Anyway, once my Pyromantic Powers became stronger I could use the energies to destroy whole armies. I was more powerful than any Rawn or Ri, but I would weaken after a time. I soon discovered that I could manipulate the volatile energies inside the Dragon Lanes giving me a vast resource of power; it had a price though.’
‘What price was that?’
‘My madness would become more pronounced. I think it was that that tipped me over the edge. Even though I knew my sanity was dwindling I still used the energies for one last time, I found a place where there was a large concentration of Dragon Lanes and I used that place for my final battle.’
‘The Battle of the Firelands,’ acknowledged Havoc.
‘Correct, I could have used the energy for longer, but something in me snapped. I discovered that I could not use the Arts again and I was drained of all Pyromantic power for a time. Although they would come back now and again they were never as strong as before, I could live with it though. I may have accidentally found a cure.’
‘Does not sound too promising,’ said Havoc and Shanks chuckled.
‘Lord Ness has done wonders with you,’ continued Shanks, ‘because you are able to link the volatile energies to the arts, this makes you very, very powerful. I think it would have been too late to teach me such techniques. Incidentally, if you are able to link to the dark energies in the lanes then you will be unstoppable. Of course that is how I was able to communicate with the Earth Daemon, linking to those energies and sending messages to it through the Drift via the Cloud Orrinn, so if you learn to use it be very careful.’
Havoc decided not to tell Shanks about the time in the Great Marsh when he used those same energies in the Dragon Lanes to merge two trees into a bridge so his army could cross the Fess River.
Together they walked back to the palace. The sun was rising over the horizon and it would soon burn the mist away from the coast.
‘I will not be there to see you off tomorrow,’ said Shanks, ‘it may be best to keep a distance from your father, but my thoughts and hopes go with you on your quest. Thank you again for all you have done for me.’
‘Do not worry about my father. My mother and I have made him promise to keep you safe and in secret until I return.’
Shanks nodded in response. ‘Please be wary of the Gredligg Orrinn, my Lord. It is something created by the gods, man should not tamper with it. It harbours a dark and terrifying power, one so strong that it could destroy the world should it escape.’
‘I understand.’
To the prince’s surprise Shanks not only shook his hand, but hugged him also. He then wordlessly wandered back through the royal rose garden and towards his quarters, leaving Havoc much to think about in the days before he left for Haplann.
Havoc had spent the last few days organising a team to accompany him and Ness Ri as they voyaged into the unknown aboard the Cybeleion. Of course most of the Paladins volunteered, to the prince’s joy, although Mad-gellan was in two minds.
The Nithi lord had concerns. The demise of Mad-daimen and his kin had left such a huge power vacuum in the Wildlands that he now saw a chance to bring his noble house of Multan back into power there. The only obstacle was Borath, Mad-daimen’s youngest nephew, who now took the lordship title and termed himself Mad-borath. However, the eighteen-year-old boy had much support within his powerful family house, but he was too young and weak to hold onto it. This presented an ideal opportunity for Mad-gellan and his people to move into the Nithi homelands and start a civil war.
After the battle at Merit Howe, three years previous, General Balaan had made some headway into the Wildlands and the engineer had built several forts in strategic places. Mad-gellan knew that the Jertiani and the Aliniani were strong enough to push into the barren wasteland from their homelands and destroy Mad-borath in his own powerbase. He was lucky enough to have married Bellthua, a daughter of a Jertiani chieftain; the girl had been one of those saved from slavery by the Blacksword before he burnt down the harbour at Cosshead. Now, with a strong force at his command, Mad-gellan did not want to miss the opportunity it presented.
The prince
saw the potential of subduing the Wildlands, and if anyone could do it than it was Mad-gellan, so he gave him leave to carry out his conquest. Sir Jericho wished to join him, he and Mad-gellan had become close friends since the Raider Campaign, and with his contacts in the Tattoium Militia he could raise an army in the north and cut off any retreat by Mad-borath. Havoc saw sense in this and acceded to his wishes. However, this resulted in the prince promoting Sir Jericho to Warden of the Southern Marches and held him to retain enough of a host to watch the tribes to the east. This was a very cautious approach from the De Proteous, who knew enough of the honour amongst the eastern tribes to trust them to keep to the Ifor Agreement, but not enough to trust King Kasan’s influence upon them. Even though the tribal chieftains were also held to the same Haplann Peace Treaty as the Vallkytes, that treaty still had many years left to run before renewal or left to lapse. The prince, sceptical as he was, felt that his recent incursion into the Vallkyte capital might have placed a strain on the already fragile peace. Certainly, just like the Roguns, the Vallkyte king was making no secret of preparing for further war and the prince wanted to leave his homeland in safe hands.
King Vanduke had already prepared to counteract any spy ring of the Brethac Ziggurat that may exist in the Rogun citadel. Duke Rett and Lord Cort, the High Steward, jointly organised a covert team of Rawn Masters from the academy to wheedle out any would-be spies, no matter their background and nobility. Added to that, Vanduke had taken it upon himself to organise his own opposing order to the Brethac. His extensive list of loyal nobles was mainly those that backed him on the war crimes ruling against King Kasan after the liberation of the city. They now referred to themselves as the Temperance League.
Mactan and Felcon also wished to stay and lend support to Mad-gellan’s Wildlands Campaign. Magnus wished to go on the quest and was upset as his father vehemently declined; stating that the Master of the Rouge leaving his family alone was out of the question.
‘I will not have both of my sons going on a dangerous mission,’ he said, and that went for Queen Molna also.
Havoc felt sorry for his brother and decided to write out a draft decreeing that Sir Colby take over the command of the Prince's Legion and Magnus be appointed Marshal of the Raiders in his absence, to be used as reserves in Mad-gellan’s civil war.
His brother was over the moon.
That just left Little Kith, Whyteman, Velnour, Linth, Hexor, Foxe, Furran and Powyss to join Havoc and Lord Ness on the Quest mission. The rest of the crew of the Cybeleion, Ness Ri informed the prince, would be made of Falesti.
The goodbyes in the morning were touching for all concerned; the Raiders gave their prince, and officers, a warm send off. Mactan and Felcon had arranged them in two lines, spears held at an angle, for them to ride through the Honour Guard. Local crowds had formed behind them and they shouted cries of encouragement and good luck.
A tearful Queen Molna hugged her eldest son and kissed the remaining Paladins that she had missed (the truth was that she had not missed any of them, but the Paladins did not correct her and she went about her duty with a knowing smile). At one point King Vanduke had to lift her up off the ground so she could reach Little Kiths face, this brought much mirth and laughter from everyone that were there and a sudden flush of red to the giant’s cheeks.
‘Be safe now, son,’ imparted the king, ‘concentrate on the mission. Everything is safe here, hurry back.’
‘I will father.’ They embraced for a long time.
Magnus was wearing a bright smile when Havoc turned to him; Eleana stood by her husband’s side and strode forward to give the prince a quick kiss on the lips before her eyes started to water and she wordlessly walked away.
‘Don’t worry about her, she will be fine,’ said Magnus, ‘she’s relieved that I’m not going.’
‘Well this is it then.’ Havoc was scuffing his feet on the ground, he was not good at goodbyes and he felt awkward in front of Magnus, his brother looked embarrassed too.
‘Oh come hear you fool!’ said Magnus as he grabbed Havoc in a bear hug, their Raider armour clanged together loudly.
‘Bring back lots of treasures, something shiny and expensive for Eleana, also a toy for your nephew and niece,’ continued Magnus.
‘This is not a holiday,’ laughed Havoc, ‘we’re not going sightseeing.’
‘Ah, but when are you going to go and see the world again? The least you can do is bring some treasures back for us.’
Havoc joined his friends as they mounted their horses. All of them wore the green Raider armour and dark green hooded rain-capes because of the rain that had started to fall that morning. Lord Ness was the odd one out in his white robe. Cheers, yells and whistles followed them out of the east gate as they exited the citadel and Havoc wondered when he would ever see home again.
They rode east, stopping for a night at the Pander Pass, then headed east again, bypassing the Eternal Forest, crossing into Haplann and riding up to the gates of Caphun. Havoc was taking a chance at coming here, but his excuse was to collect Dirkem, he missed the stallion.
Their arrival at Caphun was obviously pre-warned. The local watch had informed the mayor and he had them open the gates for the prince and his illustrious company. The people of Caphun did not seem fearful of the fact that Havoc was the Blacksword; in fact, it was almost as if the knowledge did not bother them one bit. They lined the streets welcoming the prince as he and his Paladins trotted along the cobbles.
‘Rumours of the Ancarryn must have reached here by now,’ said Powyss as he leant from his horse to whisper in the prince’s ear, ‘it’s that Identity Block thingy again.’
Havoc nodded in agreement. The people were looking at him with awe and reverence, but if he changed into the Blacksword now they would all get a shock.
Lord Ness made the same comments that Powyss put forward when they all dismounted and went into the local tavern, the “Rook and Kettle”. The wooden sign above the entrance showed a large brass fermenting kettle and a man stirring the contents with a narrow paddle, which in these parts was called a “Rooker”. The tavern was famous for making its own ale.
‘This Identity Block you and Powyss talk about, it is truly remarkable,’ he said to Havoc. ‘I think that because myself and the commander knew you were the Blacksword before he, how can I say it, “grew” within you. This could be why we are not affected by it.’
‘That is a fair point,’ said Havoc as he ordered everyone, bar the Ri, a pint of White Ale each. ‘I must say that I’m not complaining.’ Truth be told, he had his own theory about the Identity Block. It could only be affecting people at a sub-conscious level and the Muse Orrinn on SinDex’s pommel was the only object that had that ability.
The rotund barkeep, obviously overawed at the heir to the Rogun throne and his famous Paladin knights, made every attempt to make them welcome. The bar was small and not overcrowded yet the Paladins lined the long bar and stood chatting and quenching their thirst after the long journey.
After he finished his ale Havoc went to collect Dirkem. He left by the rear entrance because the streets at the front were too crowded with locals trying to peer through the dirty windows of the bar. He paid Viler, the stable master, handsomely in Rogan Royal Sovereigns. He found Dirkem well fed, the prince worried that he would find him fatter, but Viler had given him plenty of exercise while Havoc was away.
‘He will make a fine stud horse when you retire him, my lord,’ said the rugged Viler.
‘I hope he has a few years to go before I do that, my friend.’
Back in the bar, Furran had ordered another round and had placed two bulbs in his own ale - he had a sweet tooth. The beer slopped down his beard as he downed half of it. He had grown his whiskers to cover the ragged scar on his chin and lower cheek that he received from the Drakken’s weapon all those years ago. Covering up the unsightly wound with a beard was his only answer. The white that grew from his scar marred the brown hair that grew from his face, nevertheless, it ga
ve his boyish looks a rough appeal, which went down well with the local serving girls that skipped around the Paladins as they served the ale.
The hour wore on. One of the locals played a fiddle as he accompanied two of the younger serving girls in a song, The steals of the Marshwraith, and the rest of the Paladins joined in, though not all quite in tune. Powyss surprised everyone by having a loud baritone voice and got a louder applause from the customers than the girls did, to which he bowed gracefully.
Havoc had finished half of his second mug of White Ale when the bar door burst open and two town watchmen, armed with pikes, rushed in, their grey capes drenched from the rain. The startled Paladins drew swords as one and the sight of these doughty warriors bearing arms at the newcomers struck the watchmen with alarm and they backed off. It was then that a third man, wearing a long red velvet travelling cloak and white gloves, stepped in between them. He had obviously had difficulty getting through the crowd outside and his face looked flushed behind his curly blonde fringe. Whyteman recognised his brother first.
‘Morden!’ he yelped and clasped the Atyd’s arm as the other man shook off the rain from his expensive looking cloak.
‘Well met, brother,’ smiled the Regent of Caphun and welcomed the prince and his friends as they all shook his hand or clapped him on the back. It had been many years since some of them had seen the Atyd, although Sir Linth and Whyteman had been to his wedding the previous year.
‘How are Merle and the children?’ asked Havoc.
‘They are all well, thank you, your Majesty. I come from the castle, my lord; the countess has invited you all for a farewell dinner.’
‘Is there plenty of ale?’ added Furran.
‘In abundance, my friend,’ smiled Morden.
‘Then why are we standing here paying for this pish?’ he said as he finished his pint.
Chapter 14
The Launch
Havoc was apprehensive about meeting Bleudwed again; he knew she was deliberately keeping her distance. She had not contacted him via his Lobe Stone and the last time they met was confusing for him as well as for her. They had kissed, but her cold reserve had returned the next day. He liked her and she clearly liked him, however, he felt like a spoilt teenager when it came to the countess after all that he had done for her.