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

by P D Ceanneir

  For some strange reason, Shadowfall did not touch the old lichen covered monoliths and so did not tamper with the energy conduits under the stones. The power there was raw and it had no wish to disturb it, for inside that matrix lay it’s twin. The stark reality of their separation eons ago was both painful and euphoric. The years of his solitude, even though incarcerated, proved more fruitful.

  Therefore, the sudden appearance of Soneros Ri on the circle’s central dais went smoothly, if unwitnessed, and the loud crack of his appearance reverberated into the hills behind him.

  It was usual for common travellers to hire horses at the nearby stable a few hundred yards from the Drift Circle; however, this was only an arrangement orchestrated by the Ri Order and the stable owners were reluctant to give away standard hire if they knew a Driftwalking Ri was to make an appearance. Fortunately, the Ri Order was in decline and the dilapidated stable was much in need of repair.

  Lord Soneros found the stable deserted of the hands who often worked here, which worried him, but he found three well-fed sturdy mounts, all of them bathed in sweat on this damp early morning. Frowning at this strange phenomenon, he went back outside, sniffed the air and looked around. The world seemed as it should be, yet everything was wrong.

  Back inside, he rubbed down one of the geldings with straw and saddled him. Three hours of steady riding brought him to the gates of Caphun. The Gate Watch admitted him without question; most of the townsfolk knew Soneros Ri as he was a constant visitor to the town since the De Proteous’s liberation of the Haplann capital during the civil war, his prestige as a Ri also meant that none dare bar him entry.

  Leaving his mount with the guards, and declining the offer of an escort, he walked along Tallyus Road up through the streets and woods to the castle. The castle’s duty steward admitted him and escorted him to the small, but comfortable, drawing room that sat next to the main banqueting hall.

  Lord Soneros always found it amusing that in a castle of this size the countess always received her guests in this small room, not that he was complaining. The room was finely decorated with colourful pictures and tapestries that hung above dark stained wood panelling. The furniture was comfortable and arranged in such a way that it did not make the room seem cluttered. Light from the single high window shone through thin drapes to give the space a subdued and comfortable feel.

  He walked past the large marble fireplace, threw some logs inside and lit it with a wave of his hand. Within a few short moments it was a steady blaze. He was standing with his hands over the flames when the countess stormed in looking flustered. He could see she had been fencing, due to the padded white doublet and leggings she wore and the thin rapier in her hands.

  ‘Do forgive my tardiness, my lord, I was not told of your arrival,’ she said in such a way to imply she was annoyed at his appearance, but masked this with surprise. Most people were nervous around Ri, not so Bleudwed of Haplann, who hid her feelings rather well. At any rate, she and Lord Soneros may not have known each other for a while, but they had a deep respect for one another.

  The Ri waved away the comment, ‘it’s my fault, my lady, I should have sent a runner on ahead. I’m here at the behest of the queen.’

  Bleudwed nodded and gestured for him to sit on one of the two-seat couches by the fire. As he did so, the steward walked in from the servant entrance with a tray of tea and oat biscuits.

  ‘Haplann Honeyed Oatcakes are your favourite, I believe?’ said the countess as the steward poured the tea into thin porcelain cups and left the room silently.

  ‘Ha, yes!’ said Soneros, ‘it makes the trip via Drift and cheek-numbing saddle ride all the more worthwhile.’ He took a bite from one of the biscuits and closed his eyes in pleasure. ‘They have something similar in Ten Mountain, but it lacks an ingredient…’ he left the sentence open and looked at the countess, who smiled.

  ‘We Haplanns will take that secret to out grave, my lord.’

  Soneros chuckled.

  ‘Now, my lord, you did not come here for the oatcakes.’

  ‘No no…I did not. Queen Bronwyn and the Atyd Barnum have a favour to ask of you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  The Ri looked directly into the countess’s bright blue eyes, ‘Aquen appears to be raising a large military force.’

  This was news to the countess. She had trade links with the sizeable canal town of Aquen that sat outside the borders of the Eternal Forest purely to get access to the smaller trade town of Farness several more miles to Aquen’s north east. The young baron of Aquen, she suspected, was a member of the Brethac Ziggurat, but this was something she kept to herself and Havoc in their correspondence together via Lobe Stone.

  ‘That would go against the articles in the Haplann Treaty,’ she said.

  Lord Soneros nodded in agreement, ‘I feel that Baron Taren of Aquen is not the mastermind behind this turn of events. It is too careless for him and he would not place Aquen in so dangerous a situation without good reason.’

  The countess nodded, ‘and this favour?’

  The Ri sighed, ‘due to the strained situation between the Falesti and Aquen, the queen and her consort ask that you discover what you can through your strong trade links in the town and report directly to her.’

  Bleudwed frowned. The “strained situation” the Ri spoke of was the continuing resentment that Vallkytes still showed to the Roguns even after the peace treaty was signed. Aquen remained loyal to the Vallkyte king and only traded with Haplann because of her neutrality. The Falesti could only do business with the Vallkytes through the countess and this also worked the other way around, as the countess became a mediator for both sides.

  ‘Are you asking my hired professional traders to spy for the queen of the Falesti?’

  Lord Soneros raised a questioning eyebrow. If there were anyone else in the room, they would gasp at the forwardness of the countess’s question towards a Ri. He leant forward in his chair, entwined his fingers together and looked at her levelly.

  ‘Yes’ he said, ‘I am.’

  Bleudwed showed no outer emotion, she just pursed her lips as if deep in thought. Inwardly, she was annoyed.

  ‘The queen and I correspond on a weekly basis. Why has she…?’

  ‘Due to the delicate issue of this request, she saw it prudent to send me instead,’ interrupted the Ri. ‘I am her Consul; I have held that honourable rank within the Falesti since the days of her great-great-grandmother.’ It was not a scolding as such, but the countess began to pace the room so the Ri could not see the dark frown on her face.

  ‘Then she shares a level of trust with you that I also have with the traders in my employ, Master Ri,’ she almost failed to keep her tone level. It had taken her many years gathering a team of traders and local administrators that would act as her own spies in the various ports and wharves all around the towns and cities of the continent. They were incredibly loyal to her on the understanding that she would not compromise their position. Most of her agents had families.

  ‘I understand, countess,’ said Soneros Ri. ‘The queen would not ask such a favour if she did not deem it of the utmost importance. You can judge for yourself, a military build-up on the eastern edges of the Eternal Forest is of some concern to her and her people. Already she and Barnum are preparing to strengthen the old defences along the inner-rim of the Eldoms. Tell me, countess; are you not the least bit curious? Would it not be worth your while finding out more information? Purely for your business needs, obviously.’

  Bleudwed regarded the Ri for a few seconds. She wondered how much he knew about her agents in general or even about her vast network of spies. She sighed and set down her porcelain teacup on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Do you anticipate an outbreak of war, my lord?’ she asked.

  Lord Soneros seemed taken aback at that question. ‘I think we all knew that the Haplann Treaty was designed to stall the conflict, not end it. Already the Vallkytes are on a war footing. The Rogun king has formed a huge armed force, call
ing it the Temperance League.’ He pointed at the countess, ‘even you over the past two years have amassed your own private army.’

  Bleudwed nodded, ‘I will not fall foul of another invasion as my father and mother did. “There may be a time to flee only after there is no time left to fight.”’

  Soneros was impressed, ‘quoted from the Duke Torphilian’s papers on military tactics. I met him only a couple of times when I was a young Rawn Master fighting in the Dragor-rix. Prince Havoc reminds me of him in many ways even though they are only distantly related.’

  Bleudwed watched the Ri look out of the window as he spoke. She had to remind herself that here was a man that was over two thousand years old. He still looked young and handsome even with the long white hair tied back into a silver cup at the base.

  She sighed, ‘apologies, my lord, I have not been a gracious host.’

  Soneros barked a laugh, ‘on the contrary, I should apologise for asking so much from you, but it is for a good cause.’

  She nodded, ‘very well. I shall see what I can discover in Aquen, but would it not be better for you to go there yourself?’

  ‘Ha! Not so, they know me well there and tell me little. All the queen asks of you is to look for and provide information. She would use me as a last resort. However, my first duty is to the Ri Order and we are forbidden to interfere in all things. Indeed, it would be easy for me to slip into Aquen and extract information from various minds via Though Link…’ he left the rest unsaid, but added, ‘we Ri serve a purpose to ensure peace. We are not here as tools of war.’

  ‘I see. Then I shall provide whatever information I can.’

  ‘I am grateful.’

  On the way out, Bleudwed escorted him through the east quadrant of the castle so they could walk through the gardens, which visiting dignitaries always admired.

  ‘How is your fencing coming along?’ he asked as they walked past a long border of bright pink tulips.

  ‘Oh, my instructor has me at Damal Level, but I have difficulty in executing the Yanl-riposte.’

  Soneros Ri smiled, ‘if I’m correct, Damal is one below Masterblade, yes?’

  ‘Yes it is, yet it has taken me over two years, and a lot of bruises, to reach Damal.’

  ‘Persevere, countess, that is the best advice I can give you.’

  ‘I shall, and thank you.’

  They reached the stone tower block, which was part of the grounds keeper’s quarters. The block was rounded and served as a watchtower for her men-at-arms. It was also the easiest way to bring supplies into the castle from the town below, because it was the closest exit to the main road and had no steep slope such as the one that led to the castle’s main entrance.

  Bleudwed led Soneros through the arched cloister and into the main hallway of the tower. Military memorabilia decorated the walls around them. Swords, spears and shields of various sizes, styles and age were pinned to the stonework above ancient, worn, life-sized statues of soldiers in military regalia, some so old that even Lord Soneros had difficulty in identifying it.

  The countess reached the large double doors that led to the footpath to the town. She unlocked the many bolts of the small man-sized door on the right and opened it to let in chill crisp air even though it was well past midday, the sun shone brightly and the sky was free of any clouds.

  ‘Strange weather we have been having,’ she mused, ‘it is usually very warm at this time of year.’ When Soneros Ri did not answer her she turned around to see him staring into one of the five tall golden gilt-framed mirrors that sat next to the cloister entrance.

  ‘My lord?’

  He did not answer. The face that looked back from the reflection seemed haunted. She reached out to him, touching his shoulder. He flinched.

  ‘Oh…I am so sorry, countess. I must have wandered off.’ He looked back at the mirror. ‘I had all of the mirrors taken away from my apartments in Ten Mountain. I never liked what I saw.’

  Bleudwed frowned. She asked the question before she could stop herself, ‘what did you see?’

  It took some few seconds for Soneros Ri to answer. ‘I see guilt,’ he said, ‘guilt through someone else’s eyes and it has always confused me.’ Without another word, he turned from the mirror and stepped through the door.

  ‘Until next time, my lady,’ he said bowing.

  Bleudwed watching him as he walked down the path, silently wondering at the Ri’s sanity.

  Aquen’s canals sparkled in the fading sunlight of the afternoon. A strong easterly wind brought clouds over the Dulan Plain and the strange chill was still ever-present in the air.

  Aquen Town sat on wild marshland. The land, a poor dowry gift to the third daughter of the Count of Dulan over a thousand years ago, was a saturated expanse of soft ground. Nevertheless, she and her husband, Lord Lohan of Kerness, made the most of their fortune and built Aquen, quite possibly one of the strangest and most beautiful towns in the continent. Built behind hexagonal walls a hundred feet high, Aquen’s buildings literally sat on brick foundations above the waterline with straight, narrow canals running throughout the town. The only way to travel in town was via a narrow boat called a Slip or by cobbled pathways and arched bridges. Most of the streets and canals lay shrouded in shadow due to the tall buildings that flanked them. Not so the east district, which was mainly a trading port for the canal system from Kerness. The east district housed smaller wooden shacks and warehouses and was by far the busiest area of the town.

  All manner of cut-throats and cut-purses prowled the east district. Traders, trappers and whores did their business here and crime was rife. Inside the Quilon Tavern, a large wooden building washed in red-stain with many scantily clad women prowling the upper balconies, was a busy hub of traders, gamblers, lawyers and a den for the intoxicated.

  The common room was full of various beer-swilling men from all over the continent and even further afield, such as Mubea and the Hinterland. One man sat alone in a shadowy corner. He was clad in a brown rain cape, hooded to hide his face. He gripped a silver tankard full to the brim with frothing beer, but never drank a sip. The black armoured gauntlets he wore looked as if they were part of his skin, as if his hands were painted black.

  He must have sat for the better part of half an hour before another man joined him. The newcomer wore a hooded vermilion cloak and carried a long mahogany sword staff. He placed the staff against the back of his seat in full view of everyone. Anyone who understood that he was a Ri would not dare steal it.

  People moved away from the two men to find new seats, others nervously glanced their way.

  ‘Bronwyn will be at the western inner-rim of the Wurel Eldom within the week to inspect the defensive wall there. Will your Ulundi be ready?’ said Lord Sernac.

  The man on the other side of the table leant forward, pushing away his mug, and hissed, ‘of course.’

  ‘Good. Your father wants her alive. She will be a reliable addition to our Order when Cinnibar is finished with her.’

  ‘Father is reluctant to give me Tyre,’ whispered the other.

  Lord Sernac rubbed his smooth chin. The large cowl meant that his hand simply disappeared inside the darkness within. ‘The dragons are still young, undisciplined and yet to bond with their riders. Your father is playing a waiting game. He is moving his pieces into position. Wait until the march on Haplann.’

  ‘Why did he not allow me to become a dragon-rider?’

  ‘You’re still too young. Your brain has not fully developed. The dragon will dominate you; there needs to be a balance, young Creed.’

  Prince Creed grunted and stood up, ‘I must prepare my men.’

  Lord Sernac’s hand shot out so fast that Creed barely had time to move his arm away before the Ri seized it.

  ‘Your father’s whole plan relies on you.’ He pulled out a parchment of paper, folded and sealed with the crest of Haplann. ‘Forged in the Countess of Haplann’s hand and addressed to the Red Duke,’ Lord Sernac nodded towards the letter, ‘this
will draw him out of the Pass.’

  Creed took the letter and it disappeared somewhere inside his cape.

  ‘It shall be done.’

  He left Lord Sernac sitting in silence unaware of the satisfied grin on the Ri’s face.

  Shadowfall spread.

  The light touches of its taint hung over the east coast of Gazzen-Sel and Bethlan bringing with it a thick mist that clung like whale oil to the skin. The large flat grasslands of the Flattal Plain barely stirred as the wind dropped to nothing and the seasonal rains never came. The grassland dried so much that the smallest spark would ensure a raging inferno would cover many square miles of the plain. Two days later, huge dark clouds formed above the plain from thin air, so the local tales say. They brought bolts of lightning thicker than a man’s waist.

  It crept south and then west, weaker now, but still resistant to the suppressing effects of Skrol on board the Cybeleion. The people of the Hoath cringed as the shadow passed over them; animals within the Duluth Row hid in the daylight hours and were reluctant to venture out during the night.

  In the far south of the Wildlands, the high walled castle-town of Tyrandur sat in a sea of wheat grass. An army marched over the paved road through the scattered villages towards the looming walls of the castle on top of the low hill of Tyran.

  Sir Jericho, the new Baron of Sidon Maze, ordered the Tattoium Militia to pitch camp outside the walls while he and a few of his senior officers entered the castle gates. They trotted through the cobbled streets, fringed by quaint thatched houses, and into the stable yard of the castle grounds.

  Tyrandur castle was a huge square Keep, ugly and grey, flanked by various extensions built over the many years. Inside, though lit with hundreds of candles and oil lanterns, it was just as gloomy; making little difference to the imposing size of the rooms.

  ‘Jericho!’ boomed a deep voice and Man-gellan, the new Overlord of the Wildlands, extricated himself from the throng of tribesmen that milled inside the banquet hall. He and Jericho embraced like brothers and slapped each other on the back.