The Rawn Chronicles Book Four: The Dragon and the Daemon (The Rawn Chronicles Series 4)

by P D Ceanneir

  Suddenly, the pressure to his front became so intense, that the company fell backwards several yards. Everyone yelled along the ragged line to keep the wall intact and with a gargantuan effort, the company’s skill and discipline showed through.

  Then the push eased off and all but dissipated, Mactan looked over his shield’s rim and was relieved to see hundreds of Ifor Lancers cutting into the rear of the enemy. He roared in approval and ordered his men to charge.

  Magnus flung his mount’s head around and galloped to the east. With the enemy attack stalling, he had time to review the battle. On his eastern flank, Dolment’s charge had obliterated any push from that area so he ordered the Raiders at that side to break their box formation and swing their companies around to enclose the fight and narrow the field. The Princes Legion, as reserve, was to follow behind and help to close the gap. He knew this would take some time to organise so he rode back towards the west where the thickest part of the battle roiled in confusion. Over in the distance he could just make out the Multan Warbands now curving around the Kelang regulars. Panic was setting in, that much was obvious. No army, no matter how large, had any desire to have their foes surround them.

  It was then that Magnus saw the Golden Feather Standard of the Kelang Sect; the large flag held aloft on an ash pole by a burly bearer. All around the bearer were black clad riders, about three hundred in all, but it was a shorter youth in bulky leather armour, frantically urging his soldiers onwards, that drew the prince’s attention.

  ‘Mad-borath!’ he hissed. The last heir to Mad-daimen’s line was within reach of his archers. He shouted for any Eternal that were close enough to loose arrows into the thick mass of riders, but only a dozen heard his call. He cursed and formed a huge Fireball with both of his hands and threw it as hard as he could. However, the distance was far too great and he had not learnt how to Blend two elements at the same time or he would have used a large gust of Wind to move it further and faster. The ball struck a row of regulars ten feet to Borath’s front, bursting with bright sparks and made a loud thumping noise as it exploded. The fire spread quickly over the screaming enemy.

  It was then, through the heat shimmer of flames that Borath looked up, straight into the eyes of Magnus. There was some commotion as the young Nithi lord gesticulated behind him with his arm issuing orders to his mounted bodyguards and then they all of them turned and rode south.

  ‘The coward!’ growled Magnus, ‘he’s leaving his men to die.’

  Dolment hacked right and his sabre carved through the metal helmet to slice open the face of a Kelang spearman. The man screamed as his own blood gurgled down his throat and he fell away to be replaced by a Lancer who trotted forward to fill the gap. Most of the Lancers still pushed and prodded the enemy with their lances; others were broken and discarded so they could wield their lethal curved cavalry sabres.

  The push forwards lasted minutes before the enemy began to flee. Dolment took a moment to look around him and saw that he, and over half of his men, had pushed right to the very front of the enemy lines. He held up his hand and reined in his mount just as the ragged line of the Dark Company staggered into view amongst the dust clouds. Behind the Dark Company lay row upon row of dead, some Raiders, most Kelang.

  ‘Your timing is impeccable as always, young Dolment,’ said a grimy, blood drenched Sir Mactan, who had been standing in the centre of his men and looked up at the cavalry commander with a big grin.

  ‘I would not miss it, my friend,’ Dolment chuckled, ‘yet, no rest for my men. I’ll see off those Horseboys, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Mactan with a flourish of his arms in the general direction of the enemy light cavalry.

  Dolment gave the order to disengage. The Lancers formed up and galloped eastward.

  Out of the dust that their horses kicked up, Felcon appeared riding a Kelang pony and held another by the reins. He was in a rush and looking around for Mactan who was wondering why he was not on the far left with his men.

  In answer, Felcon shouted, ‘the enemy on the left began to rout as soon as they saw Mad-borath escaping from the main host! I only had time to order one round of Spit Gun fire as they rode past, but most of them got away. I’ve sent my men and the archers to the horses, we must give chase!’

  Mactan nodded in understanding and mounted the offered horse.

  The rank smell of sweat tinged with the thick cloying coppery smell of blood wafted along the main battle as the two sides struggled. Screams of rage and fear mingled with the sounds of clashing weapons rippled in the shimmering heat that emitted from the ground.

  Somewhere in all of this, the Raider spearmen on the eastern flank swung around into the opening left by the enemy rout. The remainder of the Kelang Host, which had massed in the west a few hundred yards away to compensate for the larger Multan Nithi attack, did not see them coming until it was too late. The Foygion Spears of the Raiders massacred the Kelang regulars as they attacked them from behind.

  With the fear of encasement rippling through their ranks, compounded by the flight of Mad-borath and his squadron of bodyguards, the Kelang host disintegrated and fled in panic towards the south. The unrelenting attack from the Multan Nithi continued as they gave chase.

  Mactan crouched low over his short but nimble pony as she galloped out of the Ash Field and into the tall grasses of the plain. He hoped the mare had not become too tired in last night’s journey here from the woods.

  To his right rode more of his men, several of them were archers. He judged more would follow on behind. Felcon kept pace on his left, doggedly keeping an eye on the tight column of dust in the distance.

  After a time, they rode past many wounded horses with black Spit Gun bolts protruding out of their rumps or neck, their owners fleeing on foot, discarding their armour and weapons as they ran. Felcon’s single volley of bolts had done the damage he intended. Mactan shouted orders to ignore the runners. The prize was with the main group.

  The group of bodyguards slowed five minutes later. Now, that the pursuers were closer they could see that the riders had to double up due to the lack of mounts, thereby slowing their flight.

  Unfortunately, Mactan’s horse was sweating profusely and blowing loudly out of its flaring nostrils. He knew he would have to stop before her heart burst.

  ‘They are stopping!’ shouted Felcon beside him.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘They are making a stand. Look!’

  Sure enough, the riders up ahead had dismounted and left their horses to go and group themselves on what seemed like an ancient stone Howe. The Howe was not that high, but it did give them the advantage.

  Mactan gave the order to halt and dismount at a safe distance. Only fifteen of his men were there to form a line, six of them archers. He gave the order for the archers to shoot at will, but not at Mad-borath who stood with his standard-bearer on the highest part of the Howe.

  The small group of about forty bodyguards raised shields as the arrows struck, some of the shafts got through and leather-clad warriors fell from the stones replaced by another soldier to close the tight ring of men protecting their Overlord.

  More of the Dark Company arrived on horseback to augment the Paladin’s original party. When he had about thirty men, Mactan walked them forward and ordered them to encircle the Howe. He raised a hand and the archers stopped firing.

  Into the silence, he said, ‘it’s over, Borath, you have lost. Surrender now and I will personally see you are treated well.’

  The young man in the centre of the group shouted back. ‘I would rather die than give up, Rogun scum!’ he did not sound very convincing.

  Felcon, standing beside Mactan, chuckled and said ‘looks like he’s doing it the hard way.’ He looked at his friend and saw the usual deep dark frown he used when he was angry. He groaned, ‘You’re not going to…’ but it was too late, Mactan roared and charged. Felcon followed and the small group of Raiders joined them.

  The charge took the bo
dyguards by surprise; they actually stepped back from the onrush of green armoured warriors and ducked behind their shields when the company slammed into them. Mactan’s pace was so fast that when he crested the low cairn of stones he jumped onto his direct opponent, knocking him onto his back. Mactan rolled, stood up and found himself in the centre of the bodyguards with a shocked Mad-borath staring back at him. The tall standard-bearer dropped the flagpole he was clutching and drew his sword. Mactan stepped forwards and lunged, impaling his sword into the bearer’s chest. Mactan lost his weapon as the big warrior fell back. A flick of light to his left and he instinctively raised his shield as a Kelang falchion rattled off it. Felcon moved into the space beside his friend and hacked with a broad sweep of his sword to cut down Mactan’s attacker.

  Borath screamed as he took his sword in one hand and dirk in another and then jumped towards Mactan. There was little room on the Howe for anyone to manoeuvre, but the Paladin chopped his shield to the right catching the blade with the rim to slow the speed of Borath’s sword lunge, the point scored a deep dent in Mactan’s chest piece. The dirk sailed forwards his face, but Felcon grabbed his arm, stopping the blades descent by the narrowest of inches. He then smashed his shield into the young Overlords face, breaking his nose so it popped and gushed with blood and knocking off his helmet.

  Both Paladins manhandled Borath and virtually threw him out of the group to land somewhere amongst the attacking Dark Company who were increasing in numbers as they arrived from the main battle. Several archers grabbed Mad-borath and dragged him away from the fight.

  Mactan and Felcon extracted themselves from the bodyguards, who were too intent on surviving the growing number of Raiders to their front to worry about the knights in their midst.

  ‘Hold!’ roared Mactan and ordered his men to step away. As they disengaged, the twenty remaining bodyguards got their breath back and looked around them apprehensively.

  ‘Bloody fools! Drop your weapons, it’s over, we have Borath!’ said Mactan gruffly.

  The enemy on the Howe acknowledged their fate and threw down their weapons at the feet of the Dark Company.

  Felcon knelt down by Mad-borath whose face was a mask of blood and obviously still dazed. The Paladin signalled for the two archers holding his arms, to let him go.

  ‘A fine day it has been,’ said Felcon in an upbeat tone, ‘a battle the bards will sing about for centuries and the fall of the Kelang Sect as an added bonus. It’s a good day to be alive, don’t you think?’

  Borath said nothing; he just glared back at the knight.

  ‘Clearly not,’ Felcon shrugged.

  Jericho sat on a high backed seat with his feet up on a low maple table. The canvas entrance of his command pavilion flapped in the wind as he looked out of the wide opening towards the approaching contingent of officers from the fort.

  Beside him sat Tamarind, who was eager to find out what the reply form the fort’s herald was. The terms for the fort’s surrender were fair under the circumstances and the fort’s commander, thought to be a clever man, would see reason. Tam, for his part, wished all of this was over and he could go home.

  Six of the riders halted some distance from the pavilion. One lone rider dismounted and approached the tent taking the seat offered to him in front of Jericho. Tam was surprised to note that this was not the herald from yesterday but clearly a man of good breeding. He wore light leather Ferrington Woade armour and an array of bejewelled weaponry that marked him as a high-ranking officer. He was tall, with narrow set blue eyes, clean-shaven and bald with a topknot of black hair at the back of the skull. He also had an eagle tattoo on his scalp that showed he was of the Yemini noble house, a rare sect within the ruling houses of the Nithi.

  ‘Good morning, Sir Jericho, your reputation precedes you. I am Kalyn, Commander of Storing Gully Fort and Chieftain of the Yemini Tribe.’

  Jericho looked as stunned as Tam did. The commander of the fort had come in person. Jericho stood and shook Kalyn’s hand.

  ‘You honour us with your presence, commander,’ said Jericho, ‘or should I refer to you as, My Lord?’

  Kalyn chuckled and waved away the compliment. ‘Alas, major, the Yemini have little standing in the politics of the Nithi. I am only fit; it appears, to command several hundred starving men and a dilapidated fort. Which brings me to my main point, I wish to offer you my terms for surrender.’

  Jericho smiled, turned towards Tam and winked before speaking to the commander. ‘I shall look at the conditions, sir, although mine were extremely fair.’

  ‘That they were, sir knight, that they were,’ Kalyn hooked a thumb behind him to point at the fort, ‘I only ask that my fellow Yemini in the fort are returned to their homes unmolested, oh, and with some food if you can spare it?’

  Jericho rubbed his chin in thought, ‘that can be arranged as long as they disarm?’

  ‘They will be. I, ah…only wish my own weapons were not confiscated. They are part of my chiefly standing?’

  ‘I can ensure you they will be returned to you when your men are gone.’

  Kalyn considered this and then nodded. He stood and unbuckled his weapon harness and placed it on the table with a heavy clunk, turned to exit the pavilion, hesitated, and turning back.

  ‘That was a nice bit of deception with the Hillmen, major,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘Huh, Hillmen?’

  Kalyn sighed, ‘do not be coy, Sir Jericho, it is common knowledge that you use the Ubhdomnall Hillmen as your spies. I must say they did their job very well until we figured out your plan.’ He looked over towards the three large trebuchets in the distance where most of the Tattoium Militia formed up in ranks behind them, ‘those ornaments even look real up close. I would still prefer to use those new-fangled cannon bombards, though.’

  Jericho and Tamarind looked askance at one another. Tam said, ‘hang on! If you knew about the deception why did you send your men off to Tyrandur and why surrender now?’

  Kalyn smiled and fished for something in his pocket. He pulled out several hollow steel cylinders. All of them had small strips of paper protruding from them. When Tam looked at the paper, he could see very small lettering, a code of some sort.

  ‘A mounted rider is only one message system I use. Pigeons are another,’ said the commander. Jericho groaned.

  ‘But, your men they…’

  ‘Did not put up a fight when captured, yes?’

  Jericho nodded with an annoyed look on his face.

  Kalyn continued, ‘as I ordered them to do.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tam.

  Jericho interrupted as he jabbed a finger at the cylinder in Tam’s hand, ‘obviously, due to the information on the notes, yes?’

  ‘Correct,’ said Kalyn, ‘it seems that your assumption of the situation at Tyrandur was almost correct. Although, Mad-borath is not dead, he’s in the hands of Mad-gellan after his defeat on the Relin a few days ago.’

  Both Jericho and Tam took in a startled breath.

  ‘Magnus and Gellan did it!’ said Jericho with a chuckle.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Kalyn, ‘If my men were not starving then I would have found out more.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They ate the pigeons.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Now,’ said Kalyn wearily, ‘I must return and order my soldiers to ground arms. Then I have a long journey to Tyrandur.’

  ‘You’re going to Tyrandur?’ said Tam.

  ‘Of course. We Yemini have always been on the rim of Nithi politics, but a shift in power means greater opportunities for my people. We Yemini were always looked upon favourably by the Multan in the past. I go to Tyrandur to be the first to swear fealty to the new Overlord,’ He looked at Jericho, ‘I trust you will report my good behaviour to Mad-gellan?’

  Jericho nodded.

  Kalyn bowed to them both and left the pavilion.

  Jericho whispered to Tam, ‘he’s one to look out for.’

  Tam nodded and then frowned, �
�erm, sir, about the Hundred Sovereign Bet?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, major!’

  Chapter Two

  Epicentre

  The twenty-fifth day of Jarrod 3039 YOA

  M

  aleene pulled her furs closer together to cover the gap at her throat. She walked unsteadily from her bunkroom, which she shared with her fellow Wyvern, and climbed through the deck hatch.

  Outside, the early morning air was bitter and the mist rolled over the bow in white rolling waves. She shivered, acknowledged the helmsman with a slight nod of her head, making her headache thump harder against her skull, and then turned towards the Sky Ship’s high aft deck.

  On the way, she steadied herself against the portside rail. Down below was a pine forest, which she could just see through the mist because of the Cybeleion’s Wind Orrinns displacing the fog. It made the Sky Ship seem as if she were riding on a warm air current. Her stomach heaved, but all she did was gag, her belly was empty. The ship sailed the sky smoothly, there was no rocking motion to give her seasickness. She wished her illness was that simple. Obviously, that half-cooked leg of lamb had given her food poisoning several days ago, and this was her first walk on the deck to get some fresh air.

  Their last port of call was Trilmex, the three-spire city, home of the Mychee people. The Mychee treated them like royalty and the food was exquisite, although some of the crew suffered for it now. They had gathered supplies only to find that it had spoiled quickly. Still, the local grape wine was good.

  As she looked over the tops of the vast forest down below, she could not help but be homesick for the Eternal Forest. The year and a half since their journey started seemed to rush by quickly, although when she thought back on it, she realised that the weeks had dragged on into months.