by P D Ceanneir
Magnus was beginning to fidget, a sign of boredom.
Now, I have here the most recent Lease from Mastiff Minor. It is about eight years old, though.
‘And?’ Magnus was trying to look interested, but failing.
‘The interesting thing is, the lease was passed to Mad-damien by Varix Ri.’
Magnus sat upright. ‘Why would a Ri of the Ri Order pass land ownership over to a known rebel?’ he said. ‘Eight years ago was just before the War of the Wildlands. Mad-damien was throwing his weight around at that time.’
‘Correct. I did some digging in the archives here in Mastiff Major, and found that the same thing happened eight years ago. Mad-damien received the lease, this time from Lord Luxon.’
‘The same Lord Luxon that Havoc killed at the battle of the Pass?’
‘The same,’ said Dolment. ‘The interesting thing is, who gave both Luxon and Varix the leases in the first place.’
Now, more interested, Magnus said, ‘Who?’
‘Someone called Lord Sernac.’
Magnus frowned, ‘never heard of him.’
‘Neither have I, schooled in Heraldry when I was younger as you were, I know all of the lords of landed titles and the Ri I have never heard of a Lord Sernac. I also think it is a pseudonym.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Sernac is an old name, dating back to the Bergelonian days. It means something like “The Peoples Messenger”.’
‘I see.’
‘But, I had seen the name before in the Mastiff Minor archives.’ Dolment rummaged about on the paper pile at his side. ‘Ah! Here it is.’ He handed the long piece of yellowing parchment to Magnus.
It was a tithe of goods passing through the Mastiff to Jertiani dating back to 1056 YOA.
‘Four bushels of corn, six sheep to Kemper Luni…’ mumbled Magnus.
‘No,’ said Dolment, ‘go further down the list.’
Magnus traced a finger down to the bottom until he found it. ‘Repairs to east wall. Quarry cost and labour, loan shall be fifteen silver marks. Paid by Lord Sernac by decree of the…’ he stopped and stood up so quickly that paperwork fell from the desk. He stared at the parchment, ‘…by decree of the Brethac Ziggurat.’
‘That’s the one. Looks like this Sernac may be older than we think.’
His father, mother and Havoc had brought Magnus into the family’s confidence before the De Proteous’ departure on the quest, even Duke Rett knew about the mysterious Order of the Brethac Ziggurat and their involvement in orchestrating the fake War of the Wildlands. But neither he nor his uncle knew about the real identity of Shanks. For all they knew, he was just a rescued prisoner with vital information for the king.
‘Brethac Ziggurat?’ he said again.
‘Have you heard of them?’ Dolment asked. ‘I think my father mentioned them when I was younger.’
Magnus looked up from the parchment and stared at Dolment.
‘The Baron?’
Dolment nodded. ‘Hmmm…something to do with paying back a loan that grandfather took from them. Grandfather gambled a lot. Father disliked their bulling ways, said that they were a Brotherhood of Scholars, or something… you are looking very pale, Magnus.’
‘Have you found out anything else about this Sernac or the Brethac Ziggurat?’ Magnus asked kindly to stop Dolment from becoming too suspicious.
‘No, none yet…but I would like to see the archives from Jertiani Mastiff, if I could?’
‘Good, I’ll send word to General Balaan to have them sent up.’ Magnus handed back the parchment and made for the door.
‘Sent up?’ Dolment said in confusion.
‘Yes, you’re going to be busy. Are you hungry? I’ll order some food for you.’
Dolment, perplexed at his friend’s change in temperament, nodded. ‘Er…yes, a little….’
Magnus opened the door. ‘Good, I will get right on it…’ he stopped and looked around the dingy room. ‘You’ll need plenty of candles as well.’
This time he closed the door quietly.
Cinnibar walked over the cold, damp earth full of dead and decomposing leaves. High above her the closed canopy of branches that acted as the roof of the Temple woods shifted in the late autumn breeze. She saw the huddle of nobles near the shrine and slowed her pace until she came in line with the Havant gathering, their faces hidden behind hooded cloaks. Standing on his own was the tall figure of the mysterious Lord Sernac; he wore a baggy vermilion cloak and no weapons. The Queen of Sonora walked up to him.
‘It is on very few occasions that you appear in person my Master,’ she said to him.
‘I come to see that my plans are carried out as ordered, my young apprentice,’ he said in a gruff voice.
‘They are being carried out sufficiently my Master; the future will be here sooner than you think.’
‘Only dwell on the present, Cinnibar, do not rest your thoughts on the future, which is where your weakness lies and the strength of your enemies flourish.’
‘I shall remember that, as always, my Master.’ She respectfully bowed and walked towards the shrine, slipping through the throng of nobles and cursing the day she fell subservient to the powerful Lord Sernac.
The façade of the columned shrine opened onto a square, man-made lake at the centre of which was a small island where a huge stone smithy sat. The nobles of the Brethac Order walked along a thin paved path that seemed to rise out of the lake’s calm waters by mere inches. They gathered around the smithy, each of them wearing the light brown cloaks of the Insular Tabernacle, a lowly order of Delegates to the Havant Priesthood. Prince Creed ignored their arrival and instead watched with fascination as the Master Smith Mentis hammered away at the armour on the anvil beside the roaring coals of the hearth, folding and bending the red hot metal until the shape became one he recognised.
In the early morning light, with winter fast approaching these shadowy trees that surrounded Temple Wood Lake, the boy stood sniffing the crisp air and watched the dance of sparks with each hammer strike. Eventually he turned, taking in the congregation around him. Brethac Ziggurat nobles stood watching the process with fascination. The quick and nimble hands of the Sonoran Smith were always a joy to watch, even if they shared the knowledge that he was a powerful Rawn Master also.
The Master Smith had been kind to Creed; he had taken the damaged sword of Lord Udren and remade the blade into a strong and powerful weapon, one to rival any made by the Dwarves of the Vale. Creed renamed the mended sword Norux, or Night Serpent, the curved hilt was in the shape of a black cobra head, hence the name.
Cinnabar, Kasan and Sernac moved closer to the shrine, which sat in the centre of the island beside the hearth. Topped by a red cedar roof and held up by four ornate pillars, this was where the Brethac Ziggurat reformed on the island, two thousand years ago. This special building was their temple in question, and it sat on a strong concentration of Dragon Lanes.
At a beckon from Cinnibar, Creed climbed the three steps to the open shrine and stood next to his aunt. On the altar sat the completed parts to the new armour; leg and shoulder guards, gauntlets, helmet and greaves. The torso casing was last of all and Lord Mentis had just finished it. The steam rose high into the air as he dipped it into a wide water trough, fresh and chilled from the lake itself, then he placed it on the stone alter dripping wet.
‘The Vallkyte De Proteous has not yet reached the tender age of thirteen,’ said Creed’s father standing beside Queen Cinnibar, the assembly stood still as they listened to the king. ‘For now though, he already has a remarkable sword and has shown he can use it.’
Which was true, the months after the Ancarryn were extreme for Creed. He had practised the arts and swordsmanship with an enthusiasm bordering on compulsive obsession. As a result he was bigger and stronger than any other eleven year old in the Vallkyte Academy of the Arts. This did not go unnoticed by the king or Cinnibar, who saw the transformation of a young innocent into a powerful warrior. The sudden and horrific
death of his Master may also have been a factor in the young prince’s development; the boy missed Udren and vowed to revenge him.
‘Now the Queen of Sonora has gifted to him this armour so he may become a powerful knight and my new champion.’ There was a murmur of surprise at that last remark. All who had come here thought this was a ceremony to confer the young prince with the title of De Proteous two years early, now it seemed there was another agenda.
Once the armour was cool and King Kasan helped his son put it on. It fitted beautifully, tailor made to fit to his body. Black with snake etchings in silver, there was also a small Lobe Stone set into the forehead of the helmet.
When the boy pulled on the last gauntlet he nodded to his aunt and Lord Sernac, who now joined them on the platform of the temple.
‘I am ready now,’ he said.
Lord Sernac stood by him, bowed and spoke the words if Binding.
‘I am the Rod and the Lonely God is the Diviner.’
The congregation took up the chant together.
We hear the Diviner.
Cinnibar moved next, ‘I am the Disciple and the Lonely God is the Numina.’
He is in all things.
King Kasan moved beside his son. ‘I am the Sanctified and the Lonely God is the Ruler.’
His Hallowed Shadow is our Covenant.
The Queen and Lord Sernac then both touched the armour and forced their Elemental power into it. Sernac weakened the structure of the metal so Cinnibar could reconstruct the crystalline composition of the whole suit and she did this with the last reserves of her stolen Pyromantic powers. The armour became flexible and rippled all over the boy’s body. The Queen’s use of the water element made the suit press over the Prince’s flesh fitting so snugly and thinly that it looked like a second skin, and feeling lighter than any clothes he had ever worn.
Creed moved his arms and legs; the new armour was so malleable he hardly felt it moving against his skin. The metal seemed so thin it seemed painted on. He flexed his fingers and saw that the black armour had mimicked the whorls of his fingertips and the pores of his skin. Then he flipped down the face guard of the helmet; it instantly moulded to his face and sealed around the edges to cover his head completely. The small Lobe Stone glowed brightly in the morning gloom, looking for all the word like a shinning single eye. In fact, if he concentrated, he would be able to see through the stone and see further and better that any human; such was the remarkable property of Lobe Stones.
‘This special armour will allow your skin to breath and make you strong,’ said Cinnibar. ‘It will grow when you grow, and...’ she turned to Kasan, who had picked out one of the Master Smith’s newly forged swords. He swung the weapon at his son and the blade shattered into thousands of tiny shards, Creed barely flinched, the assembly of nobles gasped in astonishment.
‘...and it is impervious to damage,’ went on Cinnibar. ‘This is my gift to you, nephew. Use it well, for in it you will be invincible. In this armour, nothing can harm you, nothing can stop you. Use this to destroy your enemies and vanquish your foes, for when you come up against your greatest foe it will give you a chance to destroy him.’ She turned to the group of robed lords who watched her, rapt.
‘The Blacksword must die!’ she shouted. The cheers echoed around the trees and disturbed the birds roosting in the cold, cold morning light.
The story concludes in
The Rawn Chronicles
Book Four
The Dragon and the Daemon