by P D Ceanneir
Havoc looked and saw, through the line of battling Carras and Vallkyte Knights, that his father was desperately fighting off his brother.
‘We must get to my father!’ he said to Lord Rett.
Kasan fought with a ferocity that Vanduke had never seen before. It took all of his skill to defend against both the broadsword and axe blows. One such blow jarred his arm and he used a scything sheet of the Fire Element to keep Kasan away. Kasan dashed away the element with a petulant flick of his hand and swung his sword to cut open Vanduke’s chest armour. The Rogun king yelled in pain as he stumbled backwards.
‘Your wife yelled like that every night I took her to my bed,’ taunted Kasan.
Vanduke yelled in fury and lashed out, but the side of Kasan’s battle-axe struck his head and he saw stars as his crown-helmet rolled away. A violent lunge knocked the sword from his grasp and Kasan hit him hard in the chest. Vanduke used the momentum to roll away. He found a shield and raised it quickly, just in time to stop a hammer blow from Kasan’s axe. He then lurched forward and slammed the shield into his brother’s face. The Vallkyte king went reeling backwards and his helmet fell from his head to reveal a deep cut on his forehead. Vanduke followed up his attack by repeatedly slamming the edge of his shield into Kasan’s chest. His brother roared in rage and made a thrusting motion with his hand. The Wind Element he summoned formed into a hardened ball of air and it struck Vanduke in the stomach sending him flying backwards to land on the stone ring’s central dais. Vanduke struggled to get up, blood trickling down his chin. Kasan placed a boot on his chest, holding him in place. The Vallkyte king smiled down at his brother in triumph, he lifted his sword.
Havoc, Lord Rett, Powyss, Hexor, Velnour, and Furran all ran into the Vallkyte Knights at the same time. They hacked through them until they were almost in line with the Carras Knights.
Havoc could just see into the centre of the Rings of Port. He roared in frustration as he saw his father helpless under the boot of his uncle.
Vanduke quickly pulled out his boot knife and plunged it into the gap in Kasan’s armour just under the armpit. His brother grunted and dropped his sword. Vanduke rammed a fist into Kasan’s face then snapped the hilt of the knife off with a downward jerk.
‘That’s for Hagan!’ he hissed through gritted teeth.
King Kasan swung the axe into Vanduke’s torso, it screeched as it bit through the silver armour and cut deep into his side. Pain washed through Vanduke and he saw his own blood spurt over his brother’s white armoured vambrace. His legs buckled.
There was sickening squelch as Kasan pulled out the axe. Vanduke heard Kasan roar then something punched into his chest with incredible violence, he fell back, his face contorted with pain. He heard someone shout and it sounded like his son.
‘NOOOO!’ screamed Havoc as he saw Kasan’s axe plunge right into his father’s chest. He pushed through the last of the enemy, cutting them down with rage as he ran, venting his anger in a Pyromantic surge that sent Vallkyte Knights in all directions. He made it to the rings when his uncle turned and gave a start as he recognised his nephew.
King Kasan casually stepped onto the dais and extracted something from a belt pouch. Havoc recognised it as a Lobe Stone. Kasan grinned menacingly at his nephew. There was a loud crack, the sharp smell of ozone and then the Vallkyte king was gone.
‘Coward!’ shouted Havoc to the empty space on the dais. He quickly knelt by his father.
‘Father! father! It is me, Havoc...’ he lifted the king’s head. The face was pale, and the axe still embedded inside his chest. He could tell from the angle of the axe’s entry that it had cleaved his father’s heart in two, but Vanduke’s Rawn power was still keeping it beating, although his energy was failing fast.
‘Father, hang on, I can heal this,’ Havoc said as he removed his gauntlet. He was unaware that tears were streaming down his dirty face. Lord Rett appeared and knelt by him. He took one look at the wound, and then respectfully grabbed the prince’s bare hand. He shook his head with a dejected look of sadness on his face.
Vanduke opened his eyes. They focused instantly on Havoc.
‘Am I…dreaming?’ he said.
‘No father, I’m here, I’m home,’ Havoc sobbed. The king placed a hand on his son’s cheek.
‘Did you find... what... you were looking for?’
‘Yes father...everything is all right. You have won the battle. You must rest.’
‘Tell your mother and... Magnus that I love them...very, very much,’ he said as he coughed up blood. ‘Take my love also, my son and share it with the people... Love and honour… they are the answers to…to… kingship.’
‘Father...’
‘I see now what Telmar was telling me...everything has energy,’ said the king faintly as he looked up at the wisps of clouds above them, ‘energy...is...life.’
Then the king died as his eldest son held him close.
‘Oh, no! No father...no!’ Havoc unleashed a torrent of pain and cradled his father’s head in his arms, sobbing loudly. Silence filled the circle of stones, even the battle down below sounded dull and far away. A breeze shifted the grass this way then that, above them Mirryn keened long and loud in a lonely lament.
Then Havoc heard Lord Rett say in a strained croaky voice full of emotion.
‘The King is dead... Long live the King.’
Behind him, Sir Powyss repeated the Red Duke’s words.
‘The King is dead. Long live the King.’
Then the voices of several Paladins repeated the chant. The fight on the plateau waned in intensity as more of the cavalry from Caphun pushed the enemy back. The chant repeated further as the news spread like wildfire amongst dry grass until it reached to the ears of the battling soldiers below. Ciriana roared into the sky. Havoc’s tears merged with his father’s blood. In his despair, he felt the world turn and time stretch, the Blacksword brooded in respectful silence in the dark confines of his mind.
Therefore, it came to pass that on that cold, wind-blown plateau Havoc the Pyromancer became King Havoc of the Roguns, first of that name.
Chapter Twenty Four
The Mourning of the King
K
ing Kasan leant against the nearest granite standing stone and waited for the pain to recede. The broken blade in his armpit hurt with constant stinging pain whenever he moved and he would have to remove it later. In the meantime, he healed the flesh around the broken metal instead. The after effects of Drift Travel rippled through his limbs, he frowned and clenched his fists until the painful tingling in his body lessened, and his headache abated. He opened his eyes and looked around him.
The Lobe Stone had brought him to the Plaza Ring in Sonora. There, on his left, was the Sheriff’s Courthouse and beside it the squat white arched entrance to the Atrium and public gardens. Over on the far side sat the Palace Annex, otherwise known as the Hypendium, where the Havant Order had their public offices. Sunlight reflected from the whitewashed walls of the buildings, blinding him with it’s intensity.
Sonora. The Lobe Stone had brought him to Sonora.
He groaned, not in pain, but in exasperation. Queen Cinnibar had been strangely absent from the first onset of the war. Her refusal to join him left him feeling betrayed and perplexed. Kasan suspected Lord Sernac’s involvement; she belonged to him now, more than ever since he appeared with the dragon eggs. She obeyed his every command.
He realised he was still holding the Lobe Stone. He lifted it to his lips and spoke quietly into it.
‘Creed, my son, are you there?’ he said.
The reply was instantaneous and so clear it was almost as if the boy was by his side. This was probably because the prince had his own device on his helmet.
‘I am here father, how fares the battle?’ said Creed.
‘Not so well son, but the good news is that my brother is dead.’
‘Good news indeed.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Kasan looked upward as he spoke, in his mind’s ey
e he could still see his nephew standing at the edge of the Rings of Port, ‘we have another problem.’
History records two versions of the Battle of Aquen. The Roguns finally broke the back of the Brethac Army and the enemy fled in panic to the safety of the Haplann Hills. The true version of events tells a different story, though the result was much the same.
The Roguns were close to defeat. The Brethac had manoeuvred the Rogun infantry around so that the lay of the land bunched them together and the enemy shield wall started to surround them. If it were not for Dolment and his Ifor Lancers putting on the pressure at the enemy flanks then the infantry would surely have faced annihilation. The timely arrival of two thousand horses made the Brethac reform their ranks, which gave the Rogun infantry some respite. The arrival of a larger, more formidable dragon did not help matters for the Vallkytes, either.
The Brethac Army disengaged and retreated in good order. Their discipline was such that a good fifteen thousand left the battlefield and disappeared into the security of the hills and forests to the east of Aquen Town. The Rogun Infantry were the worse off, but at least they kept the field despite, their loss in numbers, which was large.
Ciriana and Gunach chased the retreating Brethac until even the dragon could not find the enemy inside the forests and narrow ravines that dotted the eastern section of the Haplann Hills. In the end, and at the urging of Gunach, Ciriana realised that the Brethac would probably make for the safety of Aquen Town. Therefore, she flew there on the second day after the battle and terrorised the townsfolk by burning down a quarter of the fine houses and destroying part of the surrounding town walls. By the time Lord Rett and the bulk of the Rogun host arrived on the third day, the town councillors agreed to discuss surrender.
The Red Duke had just lost his king and best friend; he was in no mood for petty talk. He ordered the unequivocal surrender of Aquen, Queen Bronwyn to be released and the confiscation of all of the Watch’s arms and armament. He demanded that all soldiers of the Brethac Army that remained in the town were to be handed over as prisoners of war, and the Baron of Aquen given over to the Countess of Haplann as her hostage. Further to that, a detachment of Rogun soldiers, under the command of experienced officers, would hold governance over the town for the duration of the war.
The town’s councillors and it’s mayor did not like the demands. The young baron forbade them to give in, but they would be foolish to resist the wrath of the Red Duke. In the early hours of the following morning while some of the town still burnt with sizzling Wyrmfire, the councillors and their guards formally arrested the baron and handed him over to Lord Rett. The young baron left in the custody of some of the countess’s people; Bleudwed ordered the baron taken to Caphun to be imprisoned in the castle’s dungeons until she could find a punishment suitable for his crimes.
Reports arrived later that the Brethac army had now left the borderlands of Haplann under the cover of darkness and struck out with all speed for the Dulan Plain. The threat of the enemy returning to Aquen Town was over for now, but the duke still left a presence there.
The late king’s remains lay inside his command pavilion to the northern edge of the plateau. His body stripped of his armour and cleaned of blood and dirt and then adorned with fine cotton and silk vestments of royal office, then placed with reverence and care on his cot with his arms over his chest holding his sword. His face looked serene and he finally looked at peace.
At first Havoc helped the servants to clean his father’s body and then he sent them away to continue on his own. He spoke little, took no sleep, and ate nothing.
At some point, after nightfall, Tia and Bleudwed entered the tent to try to get the prince to rest. He would have none of it, wishing instead to continue the vigil. Therefore, they joined him in his mourning, kneeling together by the body and praying to the old gods. Tia, being a former member of the Havant Order was particularly pious and led the prayers, possibly because of her own guilt at leaving a religious order that she had sworn her life to or maybe in genuine sorrow for the late Rogun king, whom she had never known. She even found a clump of roses growing close by the king’s tent, coincidently called the Sovereign Flower; everyone on the continent identified it as the symbol of monarchy. She made a garland of them and placed them around Vanduke’s neck. Havoc thanked her with a tired smile.
Both women seemed to get on well together. At first, it was mainly because of their mutual affection for the prince, but then a likeable respect drew them closer. Tia liked the countess’s generosity and her patience; she could see that Bleudwed bore a great love for the new king. No matter how much she tried to hide it, Tia could see it in the way she looked at him. Bleudwed saw a great loyalty and passion in Tia. Partly for Havoc and partly for her own convictions, she admired her for that. If the countess was aware of the bond that Tia and Havoc had shared together over the past few years, she did not show it and neither women spoke of their love for him. Instead, they talked as friends, discussing different aspects of life, but not of love.
As the new king mourned, Lord Rett and Sir Powyss took command and formulated a plan. The Red Duke took most of the Rogun army to Aquen forcing its surrender while Powyss stayed in camp, and organised hunting parties to seek out the retreating Brethac army in the hills. He left this task to Sir Foxe, Sir Hexor, and Sir Linth who took to it with vengeful gusto.
Back in camp, Little Kith remained behind and was often found guarding the entrance to the king’s tent while the countess was inside. It seemed that the last order that Havoc gave him would continue until the king countermanded it. Furran, Velnour, and Whyteman agreed to help him by taking stints on guard duty.
It was while Little Kith was on one of these stints, four days after the battle of Aquen, that Barron Andric of the South Alani Isle of Turnac, walked up to the tent and demanded to speak to the king.
‘The king is indisposed, my lord,’ growled the big man, who stood a clear head taller than the already tall baron did. Sir Furran, sharpening his boot knife as he sat on a log next to the pavilion to keep his friend company, tried not to smile at the baron’s face as it flushed with anger.
‘He will see me, Sir Kith, out of the way man, I need admittance!’ said Andric.
Little Kith was the only one of the Paladins who did not like to use, or hear, his knightly title. He changed his sight from over the top of the baron’s head to the baron’s eyes and frowned with such malice that it would have withered the soul of a lesser man. Furran stepped in because he noticed the knuckles on Kith’s fingers go white as he tightened their grip on his spear.
‘Perhaps, my lord, it would be better to know why you wish to see the boss... Ah king.’ He said in a clear posh voice.
‘I need to speak to him about the matter of the Crowning Ceremony. By tradition the new king must return to Aln-Tiss to be rightfully crowned King of the Roguns. I do not wish to appear insensitive to the mourning for the late king, but we have waited four days now...’
‘I think that putting a crown on his head is the last of his worries,’ Interrupted Little Kith, ‘there is a war to win.’
The baron frowned. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he shouted. ‘I am the High Senator of the Alniani and political representative within the Rogun Parliament; it is also my duty to place the crown on the new kings head as my family’s hereditary right...’
The tent flap opened and a tired looking Countess Bleudwed walked out.
‘Is there a problem out here, gentlemen?’ she said calmly as the three men bowed to her. Baron Andric explained what he had said to Little Kith and the countess listened attentively while at the same time turning the baron around and guiding him gently away from the tent. Little Kith followed behind. The countess explained to the baron in a compassionate tone that she noted his concern for the king and seeing him at this moment in time was impossible, but when the time came for the king to see his loyal subjects then the baron would be first in the queue. The baron was left feeling he had won a hollow victory as t
he countess and her interim bodyguard walked off to her tent.
Furran, who had been relieved from his shift by Velnour, found the baron as he stared after the retreating countess.
‘Did you get what you wanted?’ asked Furran.
‘Yes...Well... not exactly, Sir Furran,’ said Andric.
‘Better luck next time, eh?’
‘Suppose,’ he shrugged ‘I don’t think Sir Kith likes me very much.’
‘He likes you well enough, my lord. You actually got complete sentences, usually he just grunts.’
In the late evening of the fourth day, Havoc, in his tired, exhausted mind, was aware of Velnour telling him that the Raiders had arrived along with the Cybeleion. He answered him with a silent nod. Prince Magnus entered the tent in dirt-streaked armour and hugged his half-brother. He then clasped his father’s body to him and cried for a long time.
Through his fatigued mind and blurry eyes, brought on from lack of sleep, Havoc watched Magnus. Magnus, like all Rawn Masters he had not aged on the surface, despite this, age showed in his eyes and this made him look older and world-weary. Havoc could see a lot of his father in that face and he smiled. He was aware of others entering the tent to pay their respects to the late king. Mactan and Felcon were amongst them, the new king watched all of this with a strange detachment as if through another’s eyes.
Then, when Magnus spoke, he could not focus on his face or words, his vision dimmed from the edges of his sight and he felt drugged, but was unaware of taking anything herbal earlier.