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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘So easy.’

  The snow took longer to thaw in the southern half of the island. A powdery covering still clung to Hoath, Tol-marr and the southern half of Bethlann. Luckily the coast was clear of any winter weather and the sun shone low in the blue sky as the Birlinns sailed around the tip of Horn Point; that rock stack strewn peninsula that jutted out from the Lands of the Hoath. The flotilla of fifty-six ships, closely followed by sixteen twin sailed schooners called Waterweavers, which were fast vessels with sails set lengthways fore and aft, cut through the calm grey waters. The Hoath admiral had the Birlinns converted into battle galleys complete with small calibre cannon and ten Bowrails apiece; Bowrails were larger navel versions of the Golas and fired harpoon sized bolts over a greater distance.

  After ten days at sea the Multan Nithi army, along with the Tattoium Militia, were more than pleased to see an end to their journey. Once the fleet harboured in Cosshead, they then disembarked and marched into the eastern lands while the Hoath Navy continued east along the coast as they kept pace with the marching columns of soldiers. The ships would be carrying much needed supplies and equipment should Mad-gellan require it.

  The outbreak of the war had changed the face of the land, literally.

  Cosshead had never recovered from the devastating fire that the Blacksword had set upon it before the Raiders battle with Lord Elkin and it was almost deserted. Carcasses of sunken ships still blocked the harbour entrance, their blackened hulls stuck out from the water at low tide, like the charred ribs of a wild boar. Ifor too was a shadow of its former self; only old men, women and children lived there now, trying to survive as the menfolk fought in the war.

  Much of the land to the north of Ifor was deserted also, the land untilled and absent of cattle and sheep. Mad-gellan expected this, which is why he brought the Hoath Navy. On the fifth day of the march, as they neared the Tol-marr and Bethlann border, three riders from the Tattoium Militia returned from scouting ahead to report to Commander Jericho that a small army of dwarves were heading their way.

  ‘Gunach’s welcoming party,’ said Jericho rhetorically.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ nodded Mad-gellan.

  ‘How many have come?’ Jericho asked the scouts.

  ‘About two hundred and just as many carts, sir,’ replied the lead scout.

  ‘Carts?’ said both commanders together.

  They both rode with the scouts and twenty of the Nithi lord’s personal bodyguards, called Nithiumi, to meet the dwarves. From a distance they could see the uniformity of the dwarves marching columns were pristine. The two rows of pony-driven carts followed behind in perfect lines. As they approached, a detachment of four dwarves ran up to them with surprising speed.

  Jericho and Mad-gellan, remembering their days in the Vale amongst these people, dismounted before speaking with the leader to show respect. Jericho was astonished that the warriors could carry so much armour and weaponry about their person, the four that ran to them were bristling with so many sharp objects that they resembled porcupines. Each had two double-headed axes strapped to their backs and a shoulder belt with a dozen small throwing knives holstered into brown leather loops etched with silver dwarfish writing. Two short swords, one below the other, on their left hip and the all too familiar Spit Gun on their right, finished the compliment of holstered weapons. They also carried long spears and a strange shield that looked far too big for them. Jericho could not help thinking that if it was not for the dwarves round faces, smiling eyes and their jovial personality then this ensemble would look positively fearsome to the hardiest of warriors, he was glad they were on their side.

  The four halted in front of them and bowed. All of them wore the same armour and steel domed helmet but the one in front had three beards plaited with catgut and decorated in sea shells, like Gunach’s, this obviously represented some form of rank.

  ‘I am Hunach, son of Gunach, second son of his fourth wife and I bid you welcome my Lords Gellan and Jericho,’ said the one in front with a warm smile.

  Both commanders bowed in unison.

  ‘Well met Hunach, your father told me of your coming though, how you are going to help us defend against dragons is a mystery?’ said Mad-gellan.

  ‘Then I will enlighten you, my lord. In yonder carts is flame-proof armour, there is not enough to go around all of your men for we had little time to make more, but the shields we have brought will help also.’ Hunach handed his diamond shaped shield to Mad-gellan. The shield was a blue grey colour, it was light but surprisingly strong and had what looked like raised scales rippling along its surface. It was a few seconds before he realised what it actually was.

  ‘This is Dragon Skin,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, shed scales, and flame retardant. However, Wyrmfire isn’t quite flame, but these should protect you from the worst of the inferno.’

  ‘Where did you come by so much?’ asked Jericho.

  Hunach smiled and tapped his nose three times.

  ‘Even us dwarves need our secrets,’ he said.

  Mirryn bobbed her head lazily as she moved in time with Dirkem’s trot, tilting it to one side as she listened to the tinkling scrapes of her claws on the king’s armoured gauntlet. Havoc stroked her chest with the finger of his free hand and stared off into the distance as the stallion trotted ahead of the Raiders.

  His plan was audacious, even he had to admit that, but there was no other choice.

  Creed was a threat, a thread he had to eliminate.

  ‘You want me to do what?’ said Lord Rett incredulously as the king finished outlining his strategy six days ago in Lord Andric’s battle tent.

  ‘Take the Rogun Army and Dolment’s Lancers, with my standard, and head back to the Pass,’ said Havoc.

  ‘I thought that’s what you said.’

  ‘Then head south along the Tattoium foothills until you enter the Dragorsloth and stay there until I send a signal.’

  ‘That sounds better, sire. Where exactly will you be?’ asked the duke.

  ‘I will be the bait that draws Creed out of Fort Tressel.’

  Word had reached them that evening of the withdrawal of Lord Nethroin from the Eternal Forests. Everyone was in little doubt that the death of the dragon Tyre and the arrival of Ciriana was the catalyst that sparked the retreat. Nethroin headed north, possibly to Sonora.

  ‘He will meet up with Kasan,’ remarked Havoc in regards to Klingspur’s intent. ‘Nevertheless, we will not be here to see the reunion. We leave as soon as we can and set the trap.’

  ‘Where, sire?’ asked Sir Colby as he looked over the many maps on the table. The king pushed some away from the largest one underneath and traced a line down the Haplann border, over Lake Furran, and finally to a mountain slope not far from Little Dorit.

  ‘Here,’ he said, stabbing the map with a finger, ‘at Castle Cromme.’

  ‘Your ancestors’ old home? It is an overgrown ruin,’ explained Lord Rett.

  ‘But still defensible, up high on a slope with plenty of firing arcs for archers.’

  ‘You will be surrounded on three sides, sire,’ said Powyss. ‘Fort Tressel has somewhere between twenty to forty thousand men that the Vallkyte prince can bring to arms against you.’

  ‘A few alterations to the castle’s defences and the Raiders can hold for a while,’ said Furran. ‘I grew up there, it may be a ruin, but it’s on a good site.’

  ‘Plus, if all goes well,’ said Havoc with a bright glint in his eyes, a sight that was very welcome to them all after his days of mourning his late father, ‘we won’t be fighting them all.’ The tent fell silent and everyone looked at the king in anticipation.

  ‘I know that look,’ said Bronwyn with a mischievous smile, ‘you have a devious plan, haven’t you?’

  The king nodded.

  ‘So how do we cut their numbers, boss?’ Furran asked.

  ‘We drown them,’ was the simple reply.

  Castle Cromme jutted out of an ancient cave that was once a home to a hermit calle
d Gild the Chased some three thousand years ago. Baron Cromme, Havoc’s distant ancestor, was a famous warlord and a key figure in the early years of the Dragor-rix War. His grandfather began the building of the castle as a family home and Cromme’s eldest son, Count Sedgewick, rebuilt it after Earl Landis, a rival noble to Cromme’s father, destroyed it in a fit of rage. In those days the castle was one of the largest on the continent and it used the long wide slope of the hill to full advantage making it easily defensible. Now its glory days were gone, abandoned for years following the death of Sedgewick and left to fall into ruins. It’s walls covered in moss and silver lichen or mainly overgrown with wild dark green ivy, it mostly resembled a row of undulating hillocks now than it ever did as a large fort.

  The approach to the castle was on the south shore of Lake Furran, the king wanted to stay away from the more populated north side. Small hills that ran on this side of the lake covered their arrival. The hills had a smattering of powdery snow on their summits and the calm surface of the lake reflected their slopes in a mirror image. The land around was peaceful and serene, the only sign of life were eider ducks paddling by the reed beds near the shore and the occasional grey heron lazily flapping its great wings as it flew over the calm, glassy surface of the water.

  Further from the lake, and closer to the Dragorsloth wetlands to the west, was the steep slope of the castle’s Motte. Many miles to the south sat the Dorit Hills and further towards the west the winter air above the marsh showed low cloud and wisps of mist.

  The king scanned the surrounding landscape as he idly stroked Mirryn’s chest whilst Dirkem scratched at the ground, impatient to move on as the Raiders filed past him. Queen Bronwyn reined her horse in beside the king’s. She said nothing for a few seconds, allowing Havoc to scan the landscape with the eyes of a tactician. She tried to gauge his mood.

  ‘Mirryn is such a beautiful bird,’ she said, ‘as wild as you and just as headstrong.’

  Havoc smiled at her despite himself. After the meeting in his temporary command tent, he and Bronwyn had an argument that the whole camp heard. The queen insisted on coming on this new campaign, but Havoc argued, quite convincingly, that her place was with her people.

  ‘My people,’ she had shouted back at him, ‘can manage quite well under my husband’s rule! Where were you when your people needed you?’

  ‘That is not fair, Bronwyn. I had to go on the quest, the power within the Gredligg Orrinn affects us all,’ said Havoc calmly.

  ‘Then if it affects me so much you won’t mind if I come along. Besides, I was with you in the Raider Campaign and you need my archers. I can send a letter to Barnum and order him to provide me with a small force.’

  The re-supply of more men swung it for Havoc and he reluctantly agreed. If he was honest with himself the trio of Bronwyn, Bleudwed, and Tia riding together was beginning to worry him a little.

  Now as they both sat on their steeds side by side, Havoc realised he had missed her.

  ‘I didn’t want you to come along, but I’m glad you’re here anyway,’ he said, and Bronwyn knew that was the nearest to acceptance she was going to get from the new Rogun king.

  Bronwyn nodded. ‘I’m glad I’m here too, I’ve missed you. Not as a lover you understand,’ she added hastily. ‘We have had our time and I love Barnum in my own way. Besides I think there is another that catches your eye, yes?’

  Havoc sat up straight in his saddle and looked at the queen.

  ‘You and the countess are made for each other,’ she said. She could have sworn the king was blushing, but he turned instead to Mirryn and said.

  ‘Fly my friend, be my eyes in the sky once more.’ The kite jumped from the king’s arm and shot off into the sky calling loudly with every flap of her long wings.

  ‘Bleudwed and I go back even before you, my dear,’ said Havoc with a smile and was delighted to see the surprised reaction on the queen’s face as he turned and rode away.

  They had waited for two days at the Rings of Port for the promised Falesti men at arms and bowmen. When the reinforcements arrived they departed and made good time as they skirted around the Haplann Hills before finally saying farewell to Lord Rett and the Rogun army as they set off to the west side of the Dragorsloth to carry out their own part in the king’s plan.

  The Raiders had trebled in size since Havoc had last commanded them. Nearly nine thousand strong, this mixture of original veterans and elite soldiers of the Rogun and Falesti armies was a formidable force that had distinguished themselves under Marshall Magnus’s command. Now, the Marshall was back in command of the four-thousand strong Princes Legion, with the addition of the new Falesti detachments placed under his command along with the Ifor Lancers, although Dolment and his horsemen accompanied Lord Rett for now. The army had marched to Caphun and stopped for provisions, though food was becoming scarce, the cartloads brought by Hoban already depleted, so the king sent out hunting parties to feed his men. Meanwhile, Bleudwed collected a group of six stonemasons, two of which were structural engineers, and paid them handsomely to aid the king. Morden, who stayed to command Caphun in the countess’s absence, even managed to provide several companies of Caphun Rangers to escort the king’s army south.

  They reached Castle Cromme two weeks later.

  ‘You were right Furran,’ said Powyss as he looked at the ruins of the castle, ‘this is still a defensible fort.’

  Earlier, Havoc and his core commanders had climbed the castle slope to a high embankment that looked down into a wide courtyard overgrown with weeds, although the old grey flagstones still showed underneath the marsh grass. The courtyard could hold many men and the wide cave opening at the rear was ideal for storage. They soon discovered a large flock of sheep cowering at the rear of the old hermit’s cave and these were slaughtered to feed the men. Later in the day of arrival, Hexor and Foxe found the steep narrow path that the sheep had climbed down from and followed it’s winding route around the back of the castle ruins to discover a large field ideal for corralling the horses.

  Powyss stood on the embankment and pointed down the slope.

  ‘The ground is uneven and steep,’ he said, ‘the ivy-covered walls at the foot of the slope will break up any cavalry charge.’ He turned and looked at the rocky cliffs above the cave. ‘There’s plenty of room for the Eternals to hide and adequate height to loose arrows from.’ He scanned the area above the cave opening. The mountain above it had old walls along its cliff edge that flanked a path and a set of ancient stairs cut into the rock for access to that level. ‘With a few changes this place could be a death-trap.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Havoc.

  ‘Will Prince Creed fall for it?’ asked Velnour as he looked around.

  ‘That is our task, my friend,’ said Havoc. ‘The hardest part is going to be drawing him out of Fort Tressel and luring him here. Have faith.’

  Velnour smiled and his one remaining eye twinkled, ‘if anyone can do it, boss, it’s you.’

  ‘The thing that worries me is Creed himself. The stories I’ve heard about him from Lord Rett and others about his enchanted armour, he sounds invincible,’ said Linth.

  ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I sure wish the Blacksword was here,’ mumbled Furran.

  ‘Oh he will come when he is needed,’ assured Powyss, ‘won’t he, sire?’

  Havoc shrugged, ‘who am I to know the mind of the Blacksword?’ he said sadly. ‘Now where is that dam?’

  Lake Furran was one of the longest on the island, although two thirds of its length was formed by part of a long wide river. The largest portion sat at its southern end, and this was the only part of it that was man made. About six hundred years ago, the area around Castle Cromme and the north shore was marshland. The locals at that time built a dam called Cromme Hold to help drain the soil, giving them a large expanse of fertile farmland to grow their crops.

  The Hold, situated in between a natural narrow inlet and framed by high cliff faces from the surrounding hills, was prima
rily made from trunks cut from the large local oak and then strengthened by boulders of granite several feet thicker than the original timber layers, before the addition of more logs in recent years. Iron beams along its upper sections strengthened the dam due to cracks that had appeared in the old cement plastered along its surface.

  Three culverts at the top allowed water to cascade down the other side into a small stream to relieve any building pressure on the dam. It had remained like this for over a hundred years.

  ‘You want me to destroy this dam?’ Powyss asked the king as they both stood up to their knees in the stream with the top of the Hold towering three hundred feet above them.

  ‘Don’t look at it as a dam, but more as an obstacle in your way?’ said Havoc.

  ‘You know what I think?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you are insane, but hiding it well. This is a job for many Ri.’

  ‘You have Tia and Magnus to help, and the countess’s engineers, that’s all I can give you,’ he patted his old friend on his back. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘I’ll bloody need it! If I do bring this thing down for you my name will be mud with the local people.’

  ‘Powyss the Destroyer, I like the sound of that,’ laughed the king.

  Powyss grunted; he was clearly not amused.

  ‘Listen Powyss, do this for me and I will make it up to you,’ said Havoc in a soothing tone.

  ‘You don’t need to. This is my duty as your subject, sire.’

  ‘Not as a subject,’ said Havoc as he turned and walked out of the river. ‘You’re now the closest thing to a father I have.’

  A surprised Powyss stroked his goatee as he watched the young king leave and then smiled. ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he said to himself.

  Ciriana and Gunach arrived on the morning of the king’s departure to seek out Creed. The great dragon landed with a thump and swirl of wind. She aided Gunach’s dismount by lowering her body to the ground. Gunach jumped off lightly but rubbed his back and stretched.