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

by P D Ceanneir

  Serena was looking Tia up and down. ‘Hello my dear, I see you have gone native,’ said Serena. Tia was wearing the winter costume of the Wyvern Faille. Dark green fox fur trousers that looked tight around her legs, brown long-sleeved moleskin shirt, buttoned to the neck and calfskin boots. She had discarded her wolf pelt fur for the coming fight.

  ‘Yes, and I feel better for it. It’s good to be away from Cinnibar’s influence, such a relief,’ said Tia. ‘Don’t you feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, Serena? Is that what makes you so bitter?’

  Serena gave back a dark frown, ‘Oh, harsh!’

  ‘Enough of this!’ said Fowyn Ri as he adopted a battle stance. ‘We did not come here to talk, but for you to die.’ He leapt towards Lord Ness, Serena did the same, crashing into Tia and locking weapons as the two Ri’s jumped through the air, swords clanging.

  Serena pouted at Tia, putting on a baby voice. ‘Did you miss me, lover?’

  ‘Not really, it was hard to miss such a selfish two-faced whore, like you.’

  Serena’s face went crimson with anger. ‘I will teach you the meaning of absence. When your head leaves your neck, then that will be at the end of a hard lesson!’

  To any normal person, the thick web strands of a spectre’s essence would be cloying in the extreme. However, the Blacksword was no normal person. The spirits cleared a path for him to wander along and then formed into a wide corridor, which closed up behind him. The fear they felt at his presence was tangible, although some moved close to get a better look and retreated in fear as the Blacksword growled at them.

  One soul was braver than most, he stepped out onto the path in front of the Blacksword. His dejected look made the Blacksword stare at him. The man was of medium height and wearing battle-dented armour that was once elegant but now tarnished, though his helmet still had stumps of vibrantly coloured plumes sticking out of the top. The shaggy bearded face was pale and the eyes looked at the Blacksword imploringly.

  The Blacksword did not recognise him, but the prince did.

  Hagan, it is my Uncle Hagan! He said in wonder.

  ‘Please nephew, I know you are in there, I beseech you to end my suffering and put my tormented soul to rest,’ said the late King of Sonora.

  The Blacksword tilted his head, listening.

  ‘The prince asks how he could help?’ he said, repeating Havoc’s question.

  ‘I am with the Damned because my body is not whole. Find my head and bury it with my remains. This is the only way to release me from my torment, please...’ as he ended his sentence he was borne away into eddies of the shifting currents of souls.

  The Blacksword felt Havoc’s sadness and pity for his uncle, but he walked on regardless, and exited the cloud of moaning spirits.

  He entered a land of beauty.

  A high, wide plateau dominated the skyline to his front. Waterfalls cascaded down its flanks feeding the tropical forest that surrounded it. The air was balmy, in sharp contrast to the land he just came from. There was a scent of rain in the air even though the sky was a brilliant blue and at this height, the air should have been chilly, yet it was not. He had walked out of the wall of cloud and onto a well-worn path twisting through jagged rocks, which formed part of the island’s shore. He was about to move forward when he caught sight of a figure standing on a high moss-covered boulder.

  Robed in a purple hooded cloak, the darkness of the hood did not reveal a face and the hands were tucked into the wide sleeves. The Blacksword stepped forward, intrigued. This was obviously a spirit. He could see the tall trees through the body of the apparition.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said.

  ‘Someone you killed a long time ago,’ said a familiar female voice. ‘I am compelled now to lead you to the Hall of Whispers before I return to the Wall of the Damned.’ She took down her hood to reveal a cold pinched face that was once savagely beautiful and intelligent at the same time.

  ‘Jynn Ri,’ acknowledged the Blacksword.

  Tia had trained in the arts with Serena. They had sparred together many times, and she knew her tricks, however she must have had some training from Fowyn Ri, because her footing was better as she lunged, putting Tia off balance many times and cutting her hip with a lucky complex sweep at the beginning of the fight. Lords Ness and Fowyn attacked each other with a combination of swords and the elements, causing stray bursts of Fire or Wind to blend as tumbling balls that rolled and burst in every direction. A stray burst of Rawn energy flashed around the white yacht to make it far too dangerous for Kith and Carbaum to remain on deck. Both of them climbed down onto the solid surface of the bridge and went to aid the Paladins, who were holding back the Vallkyte mass with a thinly constructed shield-wall.

  One such stray burst of the third element exploded between Tia and Serena to send them sprawling. Tia’s momentum saw her thrown to the ground and losing the grip of her sword as she slid over the edge of the bridge. She screamed as her nails broke on the Glemmarstone as she just managed to grip the edge to stop herself from falling into the valley below. Quickly she managed to haul herself onto her elbows, but the cold steel of Serena’s sword tip pressed against her throat.

  ‘I preferred you on your knees, my dear, but this will do nicely,’ she taunted through a smile.

  ‘I’m not done yet!’ said Tia as she used the Wind Element to summon her sword to her hand. She pushed herself off from the bridge and used another blast of the element against her back to force her body back to Serena. The act was so quick that Serena did not have time to duck as Tia’s boot found her face. She ended up on her back with an ugly bruise blooming on her cheek.

  ‘I preferred you on your back, my dear. So glad you can be as submissive as always,’ said Tia with a mocking smile.

  Jynn Ri said nothing as she led the Blacksword along the path to a wide cave mouth. Animals hollered and hooted in the distance, although they became silent as the Blacksword passed close to their roosts along the path. A small deer walked out of a stand of bushes to graze along the edge of the forest. It’s head and ears flicked up when it heard the Blacksword’s footsteps approach and it darted off as quickly as it had come.

  Soon their journey took them to the opening at the foot of the plateau. The cave was wide, with thick vines growing along it’s opening. Jynn Ri turned to him with sad eyes.

  ‘Yonder is the path to the Halls of the Heroes,’ she said as she pointed to dirt track to her right, ‘but I know you do not wish to go there, even though the Glorious Dead will welcome you as a brother.’ She then pointed up towards the cave mouth, ‘the Hall of Whispers awaits you. I must depart now and return to the Damned. Thank you for this moment of peace,’ she said.

  ‘Why did you guide me?’

  ‘I must pay homage to you in death. That is my servitude; my will is yours, Master.’ She turned and glided silently down the path back the way they had come leaving the Blacksword bewildered.

  He entered the cave, crossing the thick vines that lay twisted on the floor of the opening. He recognised the entrance from his dreams. This was the way to the Gredligg Orrinn. He quickly crossed to the back wall where he found a smaller entrance that opened into a tunnel. His footsteps echoed along the walls, bouncing along the gold seams that tracked like arteries in the rock face, they merged with the hushed whispers that gave the hall its name.

  Pulsing colours dappled the far wall of the corridor as it opened into a large domed room. There in the centre was a square altar with the Gredligg Orrinn sitting in a gold cup. The mix of colours surged under the surface of the glassy exterior of the orb. Skrol markings covered every available space of the dome ceiling, glowing silver. The light from them radiated outwards to reveal the floor and cut through the shadows of the room. The whole effect impressed the Blacksword. He wandered around the stone altar and listened to the unintelligible whispers issuing from the Orrinn.

  Movement from off to the left startled him, and he extracted SinDex with alarming speed. He scrutinised the
far wall, the gloomy darkness of the shadows there was absolute, even with his excellent eyesight he could only make out a twenty-foot high opening. However, close to the top of the opening was a pair of glowing orange orbs and they moved with the sound of deep breathing.

  ‘Who is there?’ he shouted.

  The sound of running water, creaking trees and wind through grass seeped out of the walls around him, they entered his mind to form words.

  My true name is impossible for you to understand but you know me best as Hagan, the Wise One. I am the Keeper of the Book of Lost Souls and I have been waiting a long time for you, Blacksword.

  Admiral Hurnac snapped closed his brass telescope and cursed the captain of the quest ship in a long stream of unpleasant syllables. He, like the rest of the crew, thought that keeping their distance and firing their cannons would surely give them tactical advantage. He ordered the Vergenion to turn to starboard and smiled when he saw her sister ship the Deucalion turn to port and move round the Cybeleion in the opposite direction. The quest ship listed slightly to her port side, due to the damage she received with her collision with the Carillion and she was turning slowly to engage the Deucalion. However, as soon as the Vallkyte vessel was in range the Cybeleion spun around quickly as if her bow was rooted to the spot. Now, because of her teardrop design, she posed a smaller target, face on, and still able to bring her forward cannons to bear. The only explanation Hurnac could fathom was that the quest ship had more than one Orrinn to perform that manoeuvre. Clearly, the quest ship was better equipped than he imagined. He had no time to ponder this any further as the Cybeleion opened fire on the Deucalion and her cannonballs punched gaping holes into her sister ship’s starboard side, reaping devastation to her teams of cannon crew below decks. With the Cybeleion engaging the Deucalion, the Vergenion opened fire, peppering the quest ships open deck with hot shrapnel shot.

  A shout from one of his officers drew his attention to the north east and he looked through his telescope to see three new Sky Ships heading towards him. Flags of the Ternquin flapped in the high masts. Obviously, the population of Ternquin of Assassi were not all taken care of.

  Fowyn Ri was one of the youngest in the Ri Order, but he was no slouch when it came to swordsmanship. Ness Ri knew of his prowess with a blade and was wary, he held back more often than not, staying in a defensive stance and when Fowyn did not find an opening he resorted to the arts instead, which was skilfully blocked by Lord Ness.

  His signature move was a concentrated blast of the Wind Element that unbalanced his opponent long enough to attack him. He opened his arms and let a strong gust hit Ness Ri full on and he was lifted into the air. However, he twisted around, neutralised the attacking element and landed lithely, easily knocking away Fowyn Ri’s lunge. He was pleased to see the other Ri’s look of respect at Lord Ness’s use of the Arts.

  Fowyn then attacked with a fury, stupidly opening up his stance. Lord Ness broke through and elbowed him on the face then turned quickly to kick him in the chest. Fowyn careered backwards, slamming into the hull of the Licessia. Lord Ness lunged and Fowyn moved away with inches to spare. Belthoin rammed into the white hull and Ness Ri did not have time to extract his sword because Fowyn barged into him, knocking him to the ground. He rolled and sparks flew from Fowyn Ri’s sword as it struck the Glammarstone where his head had been. He could roll no further, because the white yacht’s hull barred his way and the blade-tip of his opponent’s sword suddenly embedded itself into his shoulder, Lord Ness yelled in pain and Fowyn yelled with pleasure.

  Tia noticed that Lord Ness was struggling, so she broke off her fight with Serena, she dashed forward and stabbed Fowyn in the back with the point of her sword in order to grant Lord Ness some time. At that very moment, Serena lashed out and cut a long gash down the small of Tia’s back.

  There was a sudden strong surge of the Rawn Arts from Lord Ness as he dashed everyone away with a mixture of all four elements. It lifted them into the air and dumped them unceremoniously down onto their backs with a winded thump. Strands of flame writhed in the air, slashing at Fowyn as he struggled to his feet, but he found the energy to blast the flame into dancing embers, which the wind he summoned carried it harmlessly away.

  Powyss knew they were outnumbered two to one, but the Paladins and the small handful of Falesti Infantry that remained held the Vallkytes in a shield wall to a stalemate. Little Kith could not help to break the line with his Golas, because he had no clear shot, so he concentrated on keeping Powyss and his group from being surrounded by picking away at the flanks. As Carbaum helped him reload, he saw the big man’s arm shake with the strain of firing his twelfth bolt and wondered how long he could keep it up.

  Then a noise that was sweetness to his ears echoed around the valley. The Ternquin battle horn thrummed from behind the Vallkytes and he saw a group of his own people, along with the Falesti infantry left by Captain Danyil, rush through the gate to attack the Vallkyte rear.

  The voice was like the trickle of a rocky burn, a wavering image on a sun scorched horizon and a hissing geyser on volcanic slopes. They were these sounds, images, and more. Nature was his voice, peaceful and calming, but it could also rumble like an earthquake. A scent washed over the Blacksword that comprised of many things. It was the mouldy undergrowth of rotting fungus infected leaves or the sweet perfume of wild flowers on a summertime meadow. His presence was everywhere.

  The creature moved out into the light of the cave, unfolding like a Burrow Spider leaving its narrow tunnel. He stood fifteen feet in height with a shaggy coat of moss and leaves covering his whole body, bipedal limbs with thick tree trunks for legs and roots for feet. He had long bony arms, so reminiscent of tree twisted boughs, hanging at his side, and a large spread of branches at each end flexed into fists as he walked. Havoc stirred in the Blacksword’s mind, he was in awe at seeing a living My’thos, large, imposing, and terrible to behold. Although the god was formidable, his face was the least frightening thing about him. A long straight nose came down from a high forehead of green bark and spread into bulbous nostrils. The mouth was small and thin lipped, partly hidden by a greying beard of pondweed roots. However, the face looked solemn and intelligent, with eyes of bright orange, pulsing with vibrant energy that could bore into any mortal soul.

  Ah, I sense your Bani is strong. Even now, your presence shifts the tapestry of life around you. Do not be afraid, said the My’thos god who the humans called, Hagan, which became a common enough name amongst the Rogun people.

  ‘I’m not,’ said the Blacksword, and meant it.

  Good, for we have much to discuss. I have spent many years understanding your language for this very day. The sound of his voice, the voice of nature, did not come from the presence in front of him, but seeped into his mind from everywhere else. It brought images and feelings as well. He saw years of wandering in solitude and then many more in long hibernation. The expanse of time was too long for the Blacksword to comprehend.

  ‘So I’ve been expected?’ said the Blacksword, it was actually Havoc who asked the question, for the moment the Blacksword would speak for both of them.

  Yes, it has been preordained, said the god, a great plan has been in progress from far back in the mists of time. You are to be the new keeper of the Gredligg Orrinn.

  ‘Why me exactly?’ the Blacksword asked with genuine interest.

  Hagan lifted his arm, the claw of branches that looked like a hand, clenched leaving one branch still in place to point at the Blacksword.

  You have the Sword that Rules, he said.

  The Blacksword frowned as he looked at SinDex, still held tightly in his grip, and then looked back at the god.

  ‘The Muse Orrinn can control other Orrinns, but I don’t...’

  Step closer to the Gredligg; look at the other side, Hagan interrupted. The Blacksword did so. Fluttering colours fanned overhead as the walls reflected the pulsing myriad of lights from the oval stone. On the other side, he saw a part was missing from near the t
op, a chunk about the size of a small fist in an area that glowed silver. His jaw dropped as he made the connection.

  ‘The Muse Orrinn is part of the Gredligg Orrinn!’ he said more to himself than to anyone else. Hagan’s chuckle was like a spring river lapping against a sandy shore.

  Around him, the walls suddenly flickered a vibrant blue for a few seconds and then the youthful version of the Nicbetha appeared beside him with a smile.

  ‘You are here…?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but only as a projection, my spirit still exists inside the talisman where you left it in the Gateway.’

  ‘Why…?’

  ‘You have questions. We have answers. Ask.’

  The Blacksword glanced up at Hagan and then back at the witch.

  ‘You took a part of the Gredligg Orrinn and gave it to that Ri at Tenk’s Bazaar. That is why you showed me all of this in a dream,’ nodded the Blacksword in understanding.

  The Nicbetha smiled and nodded.

  Correct, added Hagan, I gave the Nicbetha permission to take it many years ago when her spirit visited me. She knew of the plans that my kind orchestrated and I showed her many visions, past, present and future. She took the piece and gave it to the Ri, years later it was given to an ageing blacksmith on your home island. His son was destined to make the sword, Tragenn, with it.

  ‘Lord Borran,’ added the Nicbetha. ‘The missing piece does not make much difference to the power within the Orrinn, but it does make it whole. When the Old Gods formed the Great Orrinn with their thoughts, their essence or souls, whatever you wish to call it, were held within the Gredligg in order to hold enough of the energy needed to trap the Dark Force of the Earth.’

  We understood the price we were to pay, the god said, we saw the doom in our future and formulated plans to secure the safety of the Earth Mother. One such plan was to take a piece of the Gredligg and use it to control other Orrinns, which is now in the pommel of your sword. It also holds a My’thos, one who was instrumental in bringing your people to Carras Isle.