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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘Turn the ship around, number one, we are heading west,’ he said.

  ‘But captain...’

  ‘West, please and then bring us about on Ternquin’s heading.’

  Tyban looked confused at first, then smiled and nodded.

  ‘Aye, aye captain.’

  The first officer walked passed Tia and delivered the captains orders for the course change to the deck crew. She grabbed his arm when he finished.

  ‘What’s going on, why are we changing course?’

  ‘We are taking the long way round. We will get to Ternquin, but from the sun.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The Nicbetha

  G

  onliss Ri stepped back, sliding off Belthoin’s blade; his laugh was dry and unemotional, like the shifting of leaves across the ground from a cold wind.

  ‘I died a long time ago, my old friend, but the will of the Nicbetha is absolute,’ he said.

  ‘In my experience there are no absolutes,’ growled Lord Ness and he shifted his footing to attack from a different angle. Gonliss blocked then hacked away with surprising force, pushing Lord Ness back so quickly that he nearly fell over the central throne.

  ‘You will not stop me,’ said Gonliss, ‘as I recall from our days at the academy, I was always the better swordsman and I can do this forever, without sleeping.’

  ‘You also talked too much,’ said Lord Ness and sent a Fireball at the other Ri which was deflected with ease by Gonliss’s blade. The burning ball narrowly missed Manheim as he cowered on the floor and struck one of the Saracens, encasing it in flame. Ness Ri rushed Gonliss at the moment he blocked his Fireball, but Gonliss sidestepped the lunge and waved his arm through the air. The flame wreathed stone sparked and began to shine. A thick line of flame shot from the stone and looped around Lord Ness to lasso his body. The Ri countered by causing a column of ice close by to explode and become reduced to a liquid which then sprayed the flame using it as a shield before it reached him. As the fire dwindled and the water turned to mist on the floor, Ness leapt and twisted upside down in mid-air as he flew over Gonliss bringing his sword down in a scything motion. The swing of the blade hacked off Gonliss Ri’s left ear and the Ri yelled in surprise.

  ‘You may have eternity, Gonliss, but can you keep yourself together that long?’ Lord Ness said when he landed.

  The Blacksword walked alone through the glistening spires of ice and sparkling walls of a blue coloured sheen that reflected back his tall hooded form, distorting it into a ghostly figure, menacing and dreadful.

  The dead kept their distance. Even with the power of the Nicbetha controlling them, they still held back, as if some inner instinct bloomed into fear at the sight of the Blacksword.

  At the sight of Death.

  He entered the room of mirrors that he had seen in his dreams and was not surprised that it actually existed. A multitude of reflections of himself looked back at him. The room was large and the mirrors tall and narrow, they stretching up to the high ceiling where a row of lit chandeliers graced the ceiling. A thin mist floated several inches above the floor.

  ‘Congratulations, few have made it this far,’ said a sweet and light female voice.

  He turned towards the voice, which came from the other side of the room. There, standing in all her glory, was the Nicbetha. Havoc twisted and gasped in the back of the Blacksword’s mind at the sight of her. She was beautiful, tall and slim, with light blonde hair that cascaded down her back. She wore very little, an etched tight-fitting silver breast piece that barely contained her pert breasts; a head covering that only covered her forehead and the side of her face with cheek guards so her lovely hair splayed out from an opening at the back, framing her head like a golden halo. She wore a groin covering similar in design to her armoured chest piece that amplified her flat stomach and long legs, which ended at the knee-length grey boots covered with shin and knee bracers. Her skin was alive and vibrant over the taught muscles of her toned body with no imperfections whatsoever. Her face was soft and pleasing with an intelligent smile, high cheekbones and dazzling blue almond shaped eyes. The Blacksword walked towards her and did not fail to note the battle-staff in her hand. One end of the staff was thicker, like a club, while on the other had a two-foot long blade tip.

  The Blacksword ignored the lustful stirrings of the prince. He had no such desires, and it struck him suddenly that this may be the reason for his being here. A creature like him would never be swayed by human emotions.

  ‘Are you my enemy?’ he said to her.

  She laughed out loud, it sounded joyful and heart-warming to a normal man. The Blacksword thought it sounded mocking, and his anger rose.

  ‘Do not presume to think I am some petty slip of a girl, oh Reaper of Souls,’ she said, ‘for you will find no joy in fighting me.’

  The Blacksword unsheathed SinDex and he smiled as he noticed her expression change to one of interest as her eyes glanced over the sword.

  ‘Then the confusion must be mine,’ he whispered, ‘the dreams you sent to me told me that I had specifically came here to kill you.’

  ‘All in good time. First, you must prove yourself worthy.’ She stepped forward and flourished the battle-staff, spinning it around her slim body with a speed and experience that impressed him. He blocked and shifted quickly around her looking for an opening, but she moved so fast that he had to increase his tempo to keep up with her. He noted her style was unique, every time he found a way around her attacking posture she would block, intercepting his moves. He twisted and turned, used his strength or moving to unbalance her, but she found new ground and new positions to defend from. Her lithe form moved with a subtle eroticism that was hypnotising, never before had he fought someone so skilled.

  Finally, patience won through and his sword found her right side, it sliced right through her body without any feeling of contact, like passing through thin air. The lunge unbalanced him and the club end of her battle-staff hit him square in the chest. He shot backwards four feet into the air from the force of the blow and skidded across the icy floor, dispersing the mist from the ground and gouging out a scar in the ice with his back.

  He got up quickly ready for another attack, but the Nicbetha was watching him with a smile of amusement.

  ‘Very good. No one has ever got close enough to cut me before,’ she said. The cut in question was not even visible, ‘now, it is time to make this interesting.’

  Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, there appeared another Nicbetha standing in the mirror beside him, then another on the opposite side. Both dressed in the same battle gear. They stepped out of the silver mirror frames as if walking through a doorway and circled around the Blacksword, battle-staffs at the ready. He separated the two blades of the Sword that Rules and watched for any attacking movement from either of them.

  The original Nicbetha ran forward and the trio attacked him together. He beat off several furious blows when a sharp point tore a long gash in his left thigh. He feigned the wound, making it seem worse than it was and as he did so, caught one of the spears in between his swords and snapped it in half. He quickly picked it up and threw it at the closest opponent, but the broken spear passed through her as if she was just vapour.

  The obvious fact he was fighting an insubstantial opponent who could not be harmed, was not lost on the Blacksword. He looked around for a solution; he found none, all he saw were more mirrors and more Nicbethas stepping out of them. Soon they surrounded him.

  ‘Is that a look of fear I see on the face of Death?’ taunted all of them in unison, which made his ears vibrate with the echo. In an attempt to even the odds he slapped his hand, palm down, onto the cold stone floor and used the arts to aid him. A spider web of cracks issued from his hand, turning into fissures several inches wide, as they passed under the multitude of opponents, the ground erupted as thick chunks of icy granite blocks shot up from the middle of the room, engulfing or throwing the multitude of Nicbetha’s off balance.

 
The Blacksword slashed with his sword or hit with his fist at any who rose from the ground. Every attempt at striking his foe failed as his hand or the black-blade passed through her insubstantial spirit form. Suddenly, a staff-base clubbed his back pushing him forward; he was not quick enough to block a heel as the Nicbetha in front of him spun round and slammed her foot into his chest. He hit the floor hard a second time and was stopped by one of the mirrors as he careered into it sending shattered glass in every direction.

  The pieces of mirror lay glistening around him and out of the corner of his eye; he noticed one of the Nicbetha’s shimmer as if in a heat haze then disappeared completely. Her form appeared in the shattered mirror at his feet. Her beautiful face, in pieces on the floor, looked up at him, one blue eye even winked.

  They came from the mirrors, and go back to them when they are broken! Said Havoc in his head, it must be the source of these duplicates.

  With the women now grouped together and forming a hedgerow of spears ready to lunge at him, the Blacksword took in a large breath and used the Rawn Arts to destroy the mirrors. At first, he latched onto them with his powers and they buckled inwards under the pressure, some even cracked in their ornate frames. Then he pulled the surface outwards and they disintegrated into a glass hail that showered the Nicbethas completely. He smiled when he heard them scream together as the glass bit into their flesh.

  When the destruction of the vast tall mirrors settled into a three inch covering on the floor, the Blacksword was not surprised to see that the room was empty. With the mirrors gone, the small army of witches had disappeared. All accept one, the original he presumed, stood at the other side of the room in front of the only intact mirror. She smiled warmly at him.

  ‘Very well done, truly you are worthy to become the Keeper,’ she said, ‘come and claim your prize.’ She turned and walked through the large mirror at the rear of the room as if it was not there, leaving the image of the Blacksword alone and totally dumfounded.

  The twenty-foot mirror stood in the way of answers to some confusing questions. He did not let the flimsy barrier stop him so he put a black armoured fist through it, found no resistance, and so stepped through.

  A completely normal room greeted him, no ice anywhere, just a wood-panelled room. A fire roared in a normal-looking fireplace and plain soft furnishings sat to one side next to ordinary tables and an aged, but grand, wooden sideboard. A four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, thick velvet drapes covered it on all sides, but the side closest to him was open. A small form lay underneath the white sheet and the sheet tucked neatly under the foot of the mattress. He approached with some trepidation and the figure in the bed turned her head and spoke.

  ‘Come forward, Son of Death, yes that’s it. Do not be afraid of the Daughter of Life, even though life is now leaving her old body.’

  The Nicbetha was no longer the tall beauty that he knew in neither the hall of mirrors, nor the waif-like girl in his dreams. Her true form now lay on the bed, old and thin. Her pale parched skin hung loosely on her bones. The reddish-golden hair now a little grey, lay splayed out under her back, but still looked exquisite as it flickered with colour in the candle light. Old she may be, there was still an inner beauty that radiated from her and for the first time in his short life, the Blacksword felt afraid of it.

  ‘I hope my little trick with the mirrors has not scared you?’ she croaked as he stopped by the bed and looked down at her. ‘In spirit form I am still young, and I do like my little japes.’

  All he could do was nod. The fact he had fought an opponent equal to his own prowess was not lost on him.

  ‘This now is yours,’ she said. In her hand was a silver five-pointed star-shaped medallion with a blue stone in the middle, each arm of the star had a Skrol symbol neatly etched into the metal. It was so large it covered her small hand as she passed it to him. ‘The Talisman of Mortkraxnoss has now been passed to the Keeper. My people, the Spirit Elementals, made it. My sole purpose was to wait for your coming. I have fulfilled my destiny, now go, and fulfil yours.’ The pale eyes looked kindly up at him though the mass of wrinkles that was her face, she smiled. ‘Nigh on two hundred years I have waited, now death has finally come.’

  ‘Why me?’ asked the Blacksword.

  ‘Why? Because it has been pre-ordained, you are the only creature who can wander the land of the dead, I only managed it because I have the power to project my soul anywhere I wished, but you, now you are special, Death Incarnate. Even when I learnt of your coming, I could hardly believe it, even when I could foresee it for myself. But here you are, finally, and the end of my life has come.’

  ‘What if I choose not to kill you?’

  Suddenly her frail hand grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip, the pale blue eyes bore into him.

  ‘You must!’ she said vehemently, ‘for my power is the only thing that can activate the Talisman and you need it to align the Guardians. I forfeit my life so you can continue yours; think not of my loss. Your time is short; already I can sense the Isle of the Dead fast approaching. Be quick.’

  The Blacksword raised SinDex, blade downward over her thin body even before he knew what he was doing. He realised that Havoc was guiding his arm. He resisted the prince’s control.

  ‘I have questions, we both do,’ he said.

  ‘The Wise One will answer all questions, for even I do not know all of his secrets,’ said the Nicbetha, ‘time is short,’ she pointed to the Talisman hanging by its silver chain in the Blacksword’s hand. ‘I will always be here.’

  The Blacksword nodded and lifted SinDex, positioning the point above the heart. He saw her smile up at the weapon never taking her eyes off the Muse Orrinn and just before he plunged down, she said. ‘Hello old friend.’

  Death was quick as the old heart burst around the black blade and the light of life left her pale blue eyes, which glazed over the warm and friendly stare.

  The Blacksword extracted the Sword that Rules from the body and stood back feeling some remorse at what he had done. A flicker of movement caught his eye as a brilliant sheen of light floated with ethereal slowness over the Nicbetha’s body and coalesced into the youthful form of the original woman he had first met. She smiled down at him as she rose from the bed and pointed at the Talisman. The sapphire glowed into a bright blue luminescence that filled the room. When he looked up, she was gone.

  ‘Spirit Elementals truly are wondrous beings. This has got to be the weirdest moment of my life,’ he said.

  Ditto, Havoc agreed.

  Then the fire went out, the room went dark as the candles extinguished, and the ground began to shake.

  Manheim crawled through the debris of shattered ice as the stray streaks of Rawn energy ricocheted off nearby objects or damaged supporting pillars. Such was the destructive outcome of two Ri battling to the death. The Archward had heard of the awesome power that these people could wield, but he was unprepared for the destruction that unfolded all around the cavern. The air around him roared with every use and dispersal of the Wind Element, the ground rippled and cracked around the protagonists as they used the Earth Element in their attack. Already several areas outside the Driftcircle were aflame from random bursts of the fourth element. Manheim tried desperately to get away from the mounting danger. Ironically, the damage to the room was only slight inside the stone circle due to the harmonising control of Dragon Lanes contained by the amplification of the stones, but it was only a matter of time before the circle took some serious damage.

  Streaks of red stained Ness Ri’s cloak on his left side where Gonliss Ri’s blade found an opening in his defence. Lord Ness healed himself, but he was weakening from the effort. He wondered why he could not draw any energy from the ground to recharge himself but then realised that Gonliss had somehow managed to block Ness’s direct use of the Dragon Lanes. Lord Ness backed off while at the same time he raised the ground into thick walls of ice to block the Fireballs Gonliss was throwing at him. The ice shattered as the balls
struck sending chunks whizzing in all directions. The re-animated body of Gonliss moved with a lumbering carelessness that nearly erred on the side of caution, though only just. He received more wounds than he gave but felt no pain because of his undead state. As a result, his attacks wore down Lord Ness until he was panting heavily, Gonliss Ri, on the other hand, did not need to breathe.

  ‘Feeling weak, are we?’ taunted Gonliss. ‘The circle won’t work for you. I have seen to that.’

  That explained much to Lord Ness, who smiled back in a “see if I care” type of way and flourished his sword again.

  They fought around the standing stones, Lord Ness used them as an obstacle to thwart the other’s attack, the pace never slackened and Ness Ri tired quickly. Gonliss shifted around one particular stone faster than his opponent and gripped Lord Ness’s sword arm with his free hand and threw him high into the air with a hard formation of air that punched the Ri in the chest. Ness Ri landed on his back fifteen feet away and lost his sword, Gonliss picked it up on his slow walk to finish off his opponent.

  ‘Such a fitting end to one who lived by the sword in his youth,’ said Gonliss in a mocking tone as he swung both swords around in opposite arcs. ‘I remember the young man you once were, all starry eyed with the thought of adventure and glory.’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ gasped Lord Ness as he got stiffly to his feet, rubbing at the flaring pain in his chest and backing away from the approaching zombie. ‘Where did it all go wrong?’ he panted deeply, lost his footing, fell, and then got up again swaying with weakness.

  ‘It went wrong when we knew that you had different ideals than the rest of the Ri Order. Oh, and your dreams, of course, that was the main reason why Lord Sernac never initiated you into the ranks of the Brethac Ziggurat, though I believe he was tempted.’

  ‘So, I do know him?’ said Lord Ness between breaths as he staggered.