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

by P D Ceanneir

  Suddenly the woodland came to life as dozens of green-armoured soldiers sprung up from the bushes, firing Spit Guns into the horsed ranks of the Nithi Horseboys. The “phut” sound the guns made was drowned out by the screams of dying men and the loud screech of their panicking mounts.

  Sir Felcon fidgeted in his crouched position as he leant his weight onto the balls of his feet. He peered through the ferns and counted the Kelang Horseboys numbers as they trotted by his position.

  Two days ago, his forward scouts returned with the news of the patrols approach. The Horseboys were riding towards Norde Mastiff Major, a watchtower to the north, which was one of many that lay in the entrance to mountain passes. The tower and its fort were relics of the Dragor-rix War, built from white limestone with Vallkyte skill and Rogun ingenuity, the Mastiff forts were an important strategic advantage if one wished to tame the Wildlands.

  Three years ago after the battle of Aln Plain, when Mad-damien and his defeated Nithi host retreated through the Jertiani lands, General Balaan’s small force wounded the Nithi Lord’s pride even further by routing him for a second time on the riverbanks of Merrit Howe. Mad-damien still managed to escape with most of his men, but failed to reach his destination of the nearest Mastiff, Jertiani Mastiff, because Balaan cut off his retreat to the fort. The doughty engineer then captured the fort, mainly by luck rather than force, probably because the overeager Nithi in the Mastiff sallied out to aid their Overlord. Unfortunately for them Balaan’s Jertiani Militia cut them down and took the fort.

  Prince Havoc saw the advantage of holding the Mastiff Towers. He sowed the seeds of a plan in Prince Magnus’s head before leaving on the Cybeleion. Magnus and Mad-gellan had hatched a strategic campaign against Mad-borath, the last remaining son of the late Mad-damien. Mad-gellan and Sir Jericho would enter the Wildlands from the east mountains while Magnus and the Raiders would take the two northern Mastiffs and raid the northern villages of the Nithi.

  Such a plan all hinged on Mad-borath’s pride; the young Nithi lord hid in his father’s castle of Tyrandur to the south. Magnus was to be the bait while Mad-gellan waited in the mountains of the Duluth-Row. Mad-gellan handed Jericho the task of taking the Nithi fort of Storing Gully in the east, a particularly hard nut to crack. The hundred-foot walls of the ancient fort stood against even the most powerful of dragons during the Dragor-rix War.

  Sir Felcon watched as the tail end of the Horseboys cantered by. For some reason they did not take the direct route to ride over the fields of black ash that were laid down by constant eruptions from the twin volcanoes of Dracolinth-sol. Felcon did not blame them, the Black Ash fields were desolate and harsh. Instead, they skirted the mountain slopes and used the Overlords Road through the woods. Felcon’s Jertiani scouts said that they rarely took the pass at Bone Mountain; apparently, a fearsome dragon watched that route, Felcon scoffed at such rumours.

  Once the last rider went by, Felcon whistled, he made the perfect sound of a Song Thrush. His men rose from the bushes on either side of the road and ran into a three-abreast formation with Spit Guns aimed. The distant commotion up ahead meant that Mactan’s men had engaged the enemy. Felcon gave the order to fire and the slaughter continued.

  Major Tamarind De Winn, Tam to his friends, shifted uncomfortably on his stomach. The long grass soaked his jupon and it would take most of the day to dry off back at camp. Camp sat many miles away to the north, it would well into the small hours by the time he and his companion returned. His stomach made a loud grumbling noise as it complained about the lack of food he had that day.

  To his left, Sir Jericho ignored the major’s fidgeting and continued to look through the brass telescope at the fortress that sat inside Storing Gully. The fort’s high walls would be impossible to breach with the small host of Raiders and Tattoium Militia he had at his command. The “Gully” itself was an opening between a large sloping bluff that the fort sat on. Only the north walls seemed lower, flanked by two round towers and well defended. Jericho did not have to guess at the quantity of ballista sitting on those battlements.

  He turned his attention towards the wide valley floor to the front of the Gully opening. Three miles wide from the slopes of the South Mountains to the climbing moor lands and forests behind their position to the north. It was far too open to move siege pieces into position without fear of a sally from the fort.

  Nevertheless, that was why Major De Winn was here.

  He grunted and handed the scope back to the major.

  ‘What’s the rough formation on the ground to the front of the fort?’ he asked.

  Tam took some time looking in the direction the Paladin indicated. The ground there undulated in rows of hillock or scarred by ditches running in various directions. The terrain looked old, most of it under a thick covering of grass and shrub, but the ditches still looked very deep.

  ‘Ah, old siege works, sir,’ said Tam. ‘Sappers would dig the trenches towards the fort to protect them from arrow fall. Then they would build a redoubt emplacement to move or build a catapult unhindered. Siege warfare is slow going, sir, but effective.’

  Jericho raised a dark eyebrow, ‘that’s why you are here.’

  Tam audibly gulped. The major, a cousin of the Mormaer of Turnac, was one of the many noble officers in General Balaan’s Jertiani Regulars. Young, at the age of twenty-seven, he rose to major on his own merits. Balaan considered him the best technical engineer he had. This is why he sent the major and ninety experienced sappers to aid Jericho. Jericho, for his part, hated privileged nobles who were not trained soldiers, but Tamarind De Winn had an easy going, humourous and likeable personality. His only downfall was a penchant for gambling.

  Tam was not in a joking mood. He had heard many stories about the Paladin-knight beside him, mostly about his days as captain of the Tattoium Militia, so he was slightly in awe of the man knighted for his bravery by the De Proteous himself. Besides, Sir Jericho always seemed to be in a bad mood.

  ‘Erm…sir,’ he said, realising his throat was dry, ‘it would be…difficult…’

  ‘But not impossible!’ it was not a question and the Paladin scowled back at him.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Quiet!’ snapped Jericho and ushered Tam to get his head down. The huge gates inside the Gully were opening. A five hundred strong squadron of Nithi cavalry rode out to mill around the entrance and then galloped west, seemingly in a great rush.

  ‘That is the second group of Horseboys we have seen leave the fort today,’ said Tam. He turned to the Paladin, ‘do you suppose they head for Tyrandur?’

  Jericho grunted, ‘maybe,’ he shrugged. ‘Something has them spooked, gives me less to deal with, even so.’

  If the garrison commander at Storing Gully was sending away his cavalry, it could only mean that Mad-borath was assembling a host. This meant that either Magnus had carried out his part of the plan effectively or word was out that Mad-gellan’s host hid inside the Mountains of the Duluth Row. Either scenario meant that the garrison at Storing Gully was now undermanned.

  “When your enemy makes a mistake, don’t interrupt him”, said Jericho with a dry chuckle.

  ‘Sevaris the Mage, from Treaties of the Mind,’ said the major, proving to the Paladin that he was well read.

  Jericho shrugged, ‘whoever.’ He took back the telescope and scrutinised the north wall again. ‘Has the fort ever been taken in the past, major.’

  ‘Yes, it has, sir. Count Sedgwick Cromme took it from the Acanthi during the Dragor-rix War.’

  ‘Cromme?’

  ‘Prince Havoc’s distant ancestor, actually. Eldest son of Cromme of the Halcyons, who was the founder of the Royal House of Cromme. He…’

  ‘If I wanted a history lesson, major, I would ask for it!’ snapped Jericho.

  ‘Yes sir. Sorry, sir.’

  Jericho sighed, ‘the north wall brickwork looks new.’

  ‘It is sir, it’s still newer than the foundation stone, which is solid Jertiani limestone, the
rest of the wall is whitewashed local sandstone, much softer. But if they had any sense, the builders would thicken the stonework regardless of the type of material they used. Erm… I believe that’s where Count Sedgwick finally breached the fort and assailed it, sir.’

  Jericho gave him a sidelong glance. ‘How long did it take him?’ he said reluctantly, realising he was contradicting his previous comment regarding history lessons.

  ‘Well, sir…. it took him about a year,’ said Tam a little timidly.

  Jericho groaned. He wondered how his military career had come to this, from being a renowned guerilla leader to digging trenches.

  ‘How long will it take you to build the catapults?’ he asked the engineer.

  ‘Of the three we discussed, it would take the better part of three months to construct them powerful enough to break through the north wall, sir.’

  Jericho shook his head. ‘Too long.’

  The major remained silent as he watched the big man tap his chin deep in thought as he stared at the fort.

  ‘How long will it take you to build three siege engines that looked like real catapults from a distance?’ he finally said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I don’t want them working, major. Time is against us on this one. I want that fort occupied by my men before Mad-borath meets Marshal Magnus and Mad-gellan. How long?’

  ‘Erm, well…possibly a couple of weeks if I work the sappers hard.’

  ‘Good. You will start at first light,’ said Jericho as he shuffled backwards, preparing to head back to the horses.

  ‘First light, sir?’ said Tam incredulously. It would be dawn by the time they got back to camp in the North Mountains and he was cold, tired and starving.

  ‘Like I said, major, time is against us. You’re a gambling man, right?’

  ‘Ah…yes…sir,’ said the major hesitantly.

  ‘I’ll wager a hundred golden sovereigns to you if I don’t get us into the fort two weeks after the fake engines are in place; deal?’

  Major De Winn stared at the knight with a slight sense of foreboding, but he loved a wager and found himself shaking the offered hand.

  It was the first time in his life that he hoped he lost the bet.

  Sweat trickled down Magnus’s back. His white woollen shirt was now soaked and he barely felt the chill in the autumn air. He was digging the last of the trench pits into the hard packed earth of Norde Mastiff Major’s courtyard. Such a task was not for the Marshal of an elite army, but when Magnus was bored he tended to let his body? find something for his mind? to do. The thick muscles on his arms and shoulders bunched as he swung the pick and gouged out another large chunk of earth and rubble. A soldier to his front scooped it out with his shovel and flung it onto the earthen pile to his left. Of course, Magnus was a Rawn Master and could easily rip open the earth to make the row of deep traps with just a flick of his wrist, but he was enjoying the exercise too much.

  Panting heavily, Magnus stopped and lent against his pick shaft. He looked around at the fort and it’s tall white tower and remarked at how well built it was for something that was three thousand years old. Some of the newer fortifications had been built by successive Nithi occupation, but the main Rogun and Vallkyte structures still stood.

  Over a month ago the Raiders, Princes Legion and the Ifor Lancers had taken Norde Mastiff Minor to the north. Magnus had led them down from the heights of the northern mountains and made camp in the Westwoods above the Mastiff. His plan was to take the fort quickly, but without siege pieces the task was not going to be easy.

  Dolment of Ifor came upon the plan for taking the fort. Surreal as it sounded.

  ‘You want us to dress as sheep!’ was Sir Colby’s startled response to Dolment suggestion as the young baron outlined the plan.

  ‘Well, yes, cover your backs with sheep fleeces, crawl about on all fours and make bleating noises. You will be able to get close to the walls undetected to use the rope ladders I had made.

  ‘Bleating noises!’ Magnus cried.

  ‘Do you have any other plan?’ Dolment had asked with a frown.

  To everyone’s surprise, the plan worked. Sir Mactan had led the “flock” and had ceremoniously been given a black fleece to everyone’s glee, but the swarthy warrior did not see the joke and scowled at anyone’s comment of him being the Black Sheep of the assault unit.

  In the dead of night a dozen human-sheep bleated and scurried up to the walls of the Mastiff amongst the other sheep that milled around the grass field outside the walls. It took Mactan ten minutes to climb the wall, kill two of the Nithi guards and lower the rope ladder. Once his men from the Black company were over the wall, they opened the gate to let in the Prince’s Legion and then the taking of Norde Mastiff Minor was complete. Technically, the Treaty of Haplann was broken in the taking if the Mastiff, though only representatives of the Rogun, Sonoran and Vallkytes actually signed the document. No Nithi nobles signed the treaty, however, and this fact was not far from Magnus’s thoughts.

  The later capture of Norde Mastiff Major was not as easy as it seemed. Unfortunately, all livestock remained inside the larger fort. Sir Colby, Magnus and Felcon disguised themselves as traders from Hoath and managed to enter the fort via the trader’s gate. At nightfall, the guards forcibly ejected all newcomers, therefore, they hid in the stables and opened the main gate just before first light. The battle that followed was a tough one. Magnus lost three Raiders and many wounded, but both forts were now his.

  As he lent against the pick shaft a soldier on the walls signalled that a rider was approaching. He signalled again that it was one of Felcon’s scouts and then the gate opened to let him in.

  Magnus walked to the well and used a ladle to scoop the cold water from a wooden bucket. He took a drink as the dust-covered rider dismounted and ran towards him.

  ‘My Lord,’ he panted, ‘I bring word from Sir Felcon.’

  Magnus held up a hand to stop him talking. ‘Here, take a drink lad,’ as he offered the ladle. The scout drank thirstily.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Now, what news?’

  ‘We have dispatched the Kelang Horseboys that were coming to replace the force here,’ he said. Magnus nodded with a smile. Mactan and Felcon took to the forested hills in the east not long after Norde Mastiff Major had fallen.

  ‘Have you any word from Mad-gellan?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘Only that he still waits in the Duluth-Row’ answered the scout.

  ‘And what of those two reprobates?’ He meant Mactan and Felcon.

  The scout chuckled, ‘they await orders from you, sir. Can they start raiding into the Nithi lands?’

  Magnus nodded. ‘Do it. Turf civilians out of their homes, burn crops and buildings, tell them to be ruthless.’ It was not in Magnus’s nature to order such acts of violence against civilians, but everyone agreed that this task would fall to the Riders and not Mad-gellan who, as the future Overlord of the Nithi, should be apart from condoning such barbarity on his subjects. ‘But no killing of innocents,’ added Magnus. ‘Now, get some food and sleep. The cook tent is over there.’

  Sir Colby caught Magnus’s attention as he walked around the newly dug pits. The Carras Knight waved him over.

  ‘The “baron” wishes to see you,’ he said with a grin as the marshal drew near.

  Magnus groaned, ‘has he been reading books again?’

  Sir Colby laughed, ‘I am afraid so.’

  ‘Damn it! I told him it will be his undoing.’

  Dolment had taken it upon himself to chronicle this new campaign in the Wildlands, but he was becoming more engrossed in the archives held in the Mastiff’s sanctum. His obsession with the old records was such that, when the Raiders moved from Mastiff Minor to Mastiff Major, Dolment had the entire archives moved as well. They had to use three packhorses with leather saddlebags full to bulging with yellowed scrolls and books. Still, Magnus authorised it. Much as he and Dolment were very separate in their personalities, he was fond
of the innocent and naive Master of Ifor.

  The sanctum was at the far end of the Derma Ken Chapel on the east side of the Mastiff tower. Magnus barged through the sanctum door without knocking and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘What is it Dolment? I am busy!’ he said.

  Dolment looked up from his writing desk and placed the quill on the table. He barely flinched as Magnus scraped a chair along the flagstones and flopped down on it.

  ‘Busy? Digging holes is busy?’ Dolment asked with a slight frown.

  ‘It keeps me occupied. Now, what do you want?’

  Dolment ignored Magnus’s abruptness. He shuffled through some papers on his desk and carefully shifted aside a gilded picture frame of a painting depicting a beautiful girl he was using as a paperweight.

  Magnus smiled slightly; Dolment was always full of surprises. The picture frame was of his childhood sweetheart, Lady Elli of Le Fern and both betrothed to be married. It was a surprise to Magnus, because Dolment did not speak much about his private life, he had only found out about the betrothal a few days ago when he first saw the picture.

  Dolment found the paperwork he was searching for. ‘Now, as you know, I have been searching through the Land Tithes.’

  Magnus groaned, ‘Gods! Spare me.’

  Dolment sniffed in disapproval but carried on. ‘Each Mastiff looks after a hundred square miles of land and farm ownership in the Wildlands. In the olden days, the Wardens were stationed in the Mastiffs and took the tax from the locals, Land Tithes they were called.’

  ‘You have already told me this!’ Magnus snapped. ‘Get to the point!’

  ‘I will, I will…Now, in the ancient past, the towers were built after the defeat of the Acanthi in the battle of Relin Plain during the Dragor-rix War, by the command of your ancestor Count Sedgwick Cromme. The Mastiffs have always remained, by Rogun Law, part of the Rogun Crown, but new owners could hold lordship over them in the form of Crown Leases, this way the Rogan Crown could always collect Tax if a Rogun lord owned it.