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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ shouted Powyss over the din of the flood. With the water churning into a deluge of towering waves, the weakening structure of the pyramid finally started to topple. First, the south wall slid into the wave surge and the diamond shaped tip of the building fell in through the centre of the structure, narrowly missing the prince as it crashed through half of the fifth tier platform.

  Powyss made a dash for the opening where the collapsed bridge once stood. Masonry had dislodged around him as the opening twisted with the buckling walls. He hoped that it would stay intact enough for him to make the jump, ignoring the stone cold fact that he knew he would never make the distance in his weakened state, but he jumped anyway.

  He fashioned a hardened area of air underneath him that produced a strong gusting that gave him extra lift. He suddenly realised that he had judged the distance wrong - the far side was much further than he thought. He gasped as his strength, along with his concentration on harnessing the energy in the element faded, and he felt himself drop with only two thirds of the distance crossed.

  Strong arms clamped under his armpits as the prince clutched onto his falling friend as he passed by him. The spurt of speed shocked the commander as they shot over the crater rim and nearly scattered the others like Tol-Marrian Skittles. Behind them, the pyramid folded in on itself as the boiling waves swallowed it up. Soon the water level would fill the cave and spill over the rim.

  ‘Can you stop it?’ asked Powyss, as Havoc held him up. He had never felt so old in his life.

  ‘I’ve already programmed them to deactivate after fifteen minutes,’ said the prince. ‘We need to get away from here, those creatures can swim, and swim extremely well.’ He had no doubt that some of the Brethac would have drowned when the cave flooded. However, all things being equal, fate had not been on their side these last few hours.

  Two of the Wyvern Filial half dragged, half carried Debbdil as they raced back towards the citadel. She could barely put her foot on the ground without shooting pain racing up her leg, but she bit her lip and allowed her friends to help her. Darkness was not complete yet; light still shone behind the mountains in the distance, but gloom draped over the citadel to add oppression and silence into the dark corners of the ruins.

  They slipped and slid down a steep slope of sand, crashing through dry shrubs and sun bleached tree limbs at the bottom. More jagged marble ruins greeted them coldly at the base of the ravine where white rubble was scattered loosely on the ground. They all stopped when they heard the all too familiar barking of the Brethac, who were obviously circling around them from the east.

  ‘Fire,’ said Lord Ness, ‘gather some of the dry shrubs and make a barricade.’

  Tia, Powyss and the Wyvern pulled some of the larger shrubs into piles, while Havoc picked up several wide sticks and wrapped dry tinder of moss and thorn to use as torches. An area of low rubble was ideal for defence, but a collapsed pile of broken pillars laying to their rear held some concern for Lord Ness. So he pulled up some of the collected brush on top of it and set it alight. Powyss used the Fire Orrinn on his sword, lighting up the shrubs that the Wyvern piled up in the rubble gaps. Heat shimmers rose as the orange flame grew high and the dry shrubs cracked under the heat.

  Barks and snarls resounded all around them as they prepared the defences. Havoc and Powyss loaded their Spit Guns and handed them to Debbdil and another of the Wyvern Filial called Mosset. Their job was to protect the others as they stood together in the centre of the walled ruins. The rest of the girls held the lit torches; some of them had the foresight to collect piles of broken marble to use as missiles. The three Rawns and the Ri positioned themselves looking outwards from the rubble.

  The fires burnt. They would not take long to die out. The caterwauling of the creatures loomed closer by the minute.

  They waited for the attack of the Brethac Korzac.

  Chapter 23

  The Circle of Death

  ‘Only use the Spit guns if they get by us,’ said Havoc as he threw more kindling onto the flames. Debbdil and Mosset both nodded, their little frightened gang huddled close together and flinched with every bark that pierced the night air. Desert heat still warmed the night a little, but not for long. They thanked the Earth Mother for the flames that the Rawns had started.

  ‘For what it’s worth, my Lord,’ said Debbdil, hopping slightly on her good foot while she used a branch as a crutch to steady herself. ‘I am thankful that you all came to rescue us. If you hadn’t then we would be...well I dread to think what would have happened.’

  Havoc turned and shrugged. ‘No problem, we had nothing better to do. Isn’t that right, Commander?’

  ‘Correct, Majesty,’ said Powyss in a deadpan voice. ‘It was either face certain death or risk the cold wrath of Maleene. Quite frankly, I would rather sleep the sleep of the dead than the sleepless nights that will be filled with endless nightmares of her unforgiving face if we hadn’t rescued you all.’

  Havoc’s plan to inject some light humour into their desperate situation had worked. There were ripples of laughter from the Wyverns and Tia, even Lord Ness chuckled to himself. The two native girls did not understand what was said, but smiled with the others. Havoc looked at them. They were malnourished and in need of a wash, however, they were not too thin and weak to help in a fight, Havoc surmised that they could not have been prisoners of the creatures for very long. He did not wish to dwell on what they had endured as captives of those vile things. He turned to Tia, her hair was ruffled and thick with dust, and her doe like eyes rimmed red, with her clothing ripped and tattered, she looked wild and feral. It also made her look even more attractive to him. She sensed his stare and looked his way. Their eyes met for a few seconds, valuable seconds of understanding, the heart in Havoc’s chest thumped harder and hers was beating an excited tattoo. The prince dropped his eyes.

  ‘Keep your concentration on your own defensive arcs,’ he said to her quietly. ‘Don’t worry about the rest of us.’ He knew he did not have to say anything, she was a well-trained Rawn Master and more than capable, but she smiled and nodded anyway.

  ‘Heads up people, here they come!’ Powyss cried as he crouched into a defensive posture holding Bor-Teaven with both hands.

  The Brethac had closed in and circled the group. They shied away from the flames and made short darting runs at the defended gaps. With the fires roaring away, the light that they cast out towards the desert seemed moderately nullified by the dazzle that the flames gave off. As a result, the group’s vision was impaired; they could only see a few feet beyond the barrier outside the line of burning tinder. Black and white shapes darted through the shadows of the darkening night. So the Rawns relied on their senses most of all, being able to detect a life form to within a dozen feet had its benefits.

  There was a snarl and a roar as the creatures ran around the little gathering.

  ‘I sense many,’ said Lord Ness, ‘too many. The Vul’yoi were many too, strange that.’ Havoc smiled at his former master’s powers of deduction.

  ‘That’s because they are the Vul’yoi, Master. It appears they change into these Korzac at night,’ informed Havoc.

  ‘You mean our little helper is a sex starved flesh eating male?’ asked Tia in surprise.

  ‘Only in the night, when the local bars are open,’ the prince jested. This got another laugh, especially from Powyss.

  ‘Havoc thinks they’re twins of some sort,’ remarked Powyss.

  ‘Oh?’ questioned the Ri.

  Havoc shrugged, ‘I am not sure how I know. It just feels like the right answer. The other thing is, it is a little cruel of nature to make a species where the male and females could not mate, is it not?’

  ‘Harsh,’ agreed Powyss, ‘perhaps they have been cursed by the Gods.’

  ‘It would explain much,’ said Ness Ri, ‘maybe the rubbings we gleaned from the cenotaph will shed some light on the mystery of these Brethac.’

  ‘Let’s hope we get out of he
re alive for you to find out,’ said Powyss.

  A sudden scream of anger signalled the attack. Powyss sensed one of the creatures charge towards him first and was already moving forward as the thing leapt over the pile of stones he was defending. He slashed upwards as the Brethac dived over the low ruined wall, his sword cut through the skull and out through the jawbone as the creature flew past him. It skidded to a halt in front of the Wyvern who screamed at the red pulpy mass that seeped from the head and flopped from the wide-open cut, soaking the sand with blood. The commander did not even look around; he concentrated on the next eventual attack, content in the Prince’s skills that he knew that the first one was dead.

  Contrary to their understanding that the creatures were afraid of fire, one of them challenged that fact by jumping through the flames, roaring as he leapt off the top of the high rubble pile that was such a concern for Lord Ness earlier. Red and orange light showed off its gaunt white body as it jumped through the flames and towards the small group of women.

  Debbdil gasped and fired once with her Spit Gun, the bolt punched right through the monster’s shoulder making it scream in pain as it descended through the air. Lord Ness turned around quickly and grasped it’s tail, and then pulled backwards sharply. The Brethac fell to the ground with an embarrassing belly flop that sent clouds of sand into the air. The Ri spun Belthoin around in his hand until it pointed downwards, then he speared the great sword through the monsters back, puncturing its heart.

  ‘Don’t waste bolts unless the things get by me!’ snapped the Ri at a very frightened Wyvern.

  Tia did not see this last attack; she was looking to her front, peering into the darkness. She heard the sounds of sword blades scraping together in a musical tone and quickly looked towards the prince. He had separated Tragenn and held the two swords in each hand. She could not remember if the sword of the De Proteous was supposed to be in two parts, then the image of the Blacksword separating his sword came back to her. It was as if a bright candlelight had just sparked to life in her mind, understanding dawned, and she saw a link between the prince and the prophesied Blacksword. However, the moment she grasped the facts, a thick mental mist descended and snuffed out the candle. She shook her head and tried to ignore the confusion. Suddenly, a Brethac running towards her with teeth bared, blocked her vision.

  ‘Men!’ she snarled through gritted teeth, stepped quickly to her right and swung her sword at the creature’s exposed side, pulling out the blade as he fell to the sand, gouts of its blood drenched her bare legs.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned the prince as he raked deep cuts into one of the attacking Korzac’s chest with diagonal sweeps of his swords. Another stepped by its fallen comrade and Havoc took its head clean off before it took another step.

  Powyss had two more to contend with as he ran between them both, hacking with broad sweeps of Bor-Teavan and avoiding the long claws. The women in the centre desperately threw their meagre collection of stones to help him, but the creatures were already mewing in their final death throws, torsos slashed and open to the elements.

  ‘Gods!’ Cried Powyss as a stray stone bounced off his helm. He gave Debbdil a withering stare and she had the good sense to look abashed.

  With six dead, no more attacks came forth from the mass of screaming fiends, though they continued to run around the group beyond the flames.

  ‘Is that the best you can do!’ shouted Mosset into the night.

  ‘I’m afraid that was just a little taster of things to come,’ said Havoc, ‘they were merely probing our defences, finding a weak spot.’

  Powyss helped Tia to throw the bodies onto the burning wood, the smell that came from the crackling meat was terrible, but it would save them from depleting their small supply of tinder. After a while the corpses moved and twisted as their tendons tightened in the heat, they even gave off a hiss of steam not unlike their own language.

  Even with the heat of the flames and smoke rising high on the defensive pyre, Tia was feeling a chill, the others in the centre huddled closer together for body heat ignoring the smell of sweat and fear that seeped from their pores and hugged each other tightly.

  Something hit Mosset on her thigh, grazing it enough to draw blood and cause her to yelp. She stooped down and picked up the thrown chunk of marble not unlike the pile that they had collected for themselves. Another whizzed by Debbdil’s ear and then three flew over the flames and at least one bounced off Powyss’ shoulder guard.

  ‘What the...’ he said, and then another whooshed past him.

  ‘Not me this time,’ said Debbdil.

  ‘The cunning bastards!’ said the prince then ducked as the creatures threw several more marble stones about the size of a man’s clenched fist. One struck Tia on her right shoulder making her cry out, others fell amongst the huddled group of women and they had to raise their arms to protect themselves from the barrage. Powyss and Tia both stepped back and deflected the stones with their swords as they rained down onto the central group. Havoc was about to join them when he forced himself to stop.

  ‘Positions! Get back to your positions, now!’ he shouted.

  His hunch paid off as he saw the Brethac charge as one screaming horde. It seemed to him that they wanted their group away from the defences so they were able to breach them without hindrance.

  What happened next was utter chaos to Havoc, as always in battle time had no meaning, disorientation and fear diminished when the adrenaline rush hit the brain, plunging it into raw heights of pin-sharp concentration.

  The flaming pyre burst apart in front of him as the creatures ran through it. The forerunners fell into the scorching charcoal and thrashed about in agony. Havoc ignored them and attacked those that used the fallen as stepping-stones. He hacked left and right with Sin and Dex, bringing down many with each lunge. He focused on using short precise jabs into the chest, or, if the claws were in the way, slashing cuts to dismember limbs. Soon he was drenched in blood and felt the sticky slickness of it travelling down the runnels of each sword.

  Every so often, he would flick the blood from the blades, making sure to hit one of his oncoming foes in the face with the jet of blood to give him an edge. He heard Tia grunt and yell, curse and scream, as she cut the monsters down. Her hair was slick with red liquid and the trickle of the Brethac blood down her face gave her a look of untamed fury. Powyss had taken down seven of the beasts, but they pushed him back to the central group, who at this moment were throwing their last supplies of missiles. Debbdil and Mosset took down three with the Spit Guns just to thin out the swarm of Brethac that pressed against the defenders. Lord Ness was slashing with his long-bladed sword in his right hand and blasting fire bolts into smaller groups when they came too near. Havoc could see the strain on his face as his energy dissipated, so he helped him by throwing his own fireballs into the inrush of Korzac. Some of the creatures were lifted off their feet as the balls exploded near them; others were engulfed in the flames, covering them in a liquid bath of fire. Yet still they attacked relentlessly.

  As wave upon wave of the Korzac ran to their doom, it became evident just how powerful the creatures actually were. Their wounds healed quickly and even burns seemed to regenerate into new flesh, they ignored pain and fought in rabid packs of threes and fours while other packs attacked at a different area to try to break the defenders circle. Only decapitation, disembowelling or dismemberment seemed the sure fire way to kill them.

  Havoc did not show it to the others, but he was growing steadily weaker. Yet he still summoned the wind and fire elements to defend the group, linking Pyromantic energy to the Rawn Arts helped, but he was only one man and he knew that the others would spend theirs long before his own energy levels were sapped from his body. To make matters worse, there were no interconnection of Dragon Lanes nearby for him to absorb more energy and recharge his flagging reserves.

  The group of bedraggled survivors clustered closer together as they relied on the prince to keep the Brethac at bay. Wh
en he used the strong gusts of the wind element to lower the creature’s numbers and swipe them into the air, more would take their place. He used the earth element to lift up a circle of sand and cover their adversary before hardening it into stone. However, the fiends just never gave up. Each would break out of their tombs with apparent ease. Their energy and strength were without limit; their thirst for blood was evident as rivulets of saliva dripped to the ground from open, hungry mouths, adding more fluid to the already red and muddy sand. The prince linked Pyromantic Surges to the fire element, his most potent use of the arts, whipping the air into long streams of super hot flames, scarred lines of simmering flesh into the clustering horde. After several minutes of this the Brethac found a defence to the prince’s attack and would dash away, with surprising speed, in the opposite direction whenever he threw any of these ropes of white flame.

  ‘The bastards just do not stay in one place to die,’ said Havoc through gritted teeth. He was panting heavily from the exertion. Everyone could see he was tiring. Lord Ness, Tia and Powyss were at the limits of their strength, each felt for the prince as he stubbornly continued to fend off the foe, but they could see he was weakening.

  ‘You’ve done enough, my Lord,’ panted Lord Ness with a hand on the prince’s shoulder, ‘the odds are stacked against us.’

  ‘If only I could recharge with the Dragon Lanes, but there is barely a trace of them here,’ Havoc hissed in despair. The sound of his voice was almost like the Blacksword’s dry whisper.

  ‘Damn it!’ cursed Powyss, ‘these things are more numerous than last night. I am sure we took down at least two hundred of them in the cavern.’

  Lord Ness frowned at the commander’s comments. ‘That is a very valid point,’ he said, ‘I had noticed that as well.’

  As the night wore on, the fiends surrounded the group in a circle of death. Rank upon rank, row upon row of the creatures they could see as they clustered closer to Havoc and his people. Powyss, Ti and Ness Ri formed a tight circle around the Wyvern Filial and the native girls, swords held ready for an attack. They kept the pile of rubble to their rear for protection, but the flames of the barricade there were dying out.