by P D Ceanneir
The Vallkyte ships now fired on the larger quest ship and the king and Danyil had to duck as cannon and catapult balls ripped along the side railing and punched a huge hole in the auxiliary outrigger, shrapnel and large splinters of wood whizzed around them killing several of the crew.
‘By the gods they will not do that again!’ shouted Danyil. He ordered the gunnery officers to open fire. The Cybeleion’s larger poundage and more powerful canon sent back an answer to the Vallkyte ships that left them in no doubt about their state of play in this battle. Two of them received heavy damage as the quest ship’s cannon took out their port and starboard deck cannon and the third crippled under the onslaught as the horizontal mast collapsed onto its deck.
For such a large ship, the Cybeleion suffered the storm badly as she pitched and rolled in the wind. This made it harder for her to continue attacking the enemy ships, but they were also suffering the same fate. Basilica, however, had no such difficulty in traversing the storm. He seemed to relish each shift in gale strength and upward pressure as he gilded gracefully around the broken and burning vessels he had just attacked. His next jet of flame took the jostling Cybeleion’s crew by surprise as he came out from behind a sheet of rain. It hit the higher deck of the aft castle and shattered the windows on the second level, flames spread around the rear end of the ship quickly, and the crew rushed around in panic as they made a valiant attempt at putting out the fire. Tia aided them with the Rawn Arts and Havoc smiled when Bleudwed took over as she coordinated crew into teams with the water buckets.
‘Take us higher!’ Havoc shouted in Danyil’s ear over the roar of the wind. The admiral looked at his king in surprise.
‘The last time we were in a storm you asked me to ground her, now you want the opposite?’ said Danyil
‘Yes, I need height, take us up.’
The admiral shrugged and ordered the helmsman to take the ship higher until the king said otherwise, the rain lashed the bow as the ship tilted upwards. The sails thrashed wildly in the storm threatening to rip them as the Wind Orrinns pushed more gusts into the canvas outriggers and main sail. The smoke cleared as they rose higher and Havoc felt he was barely able to take deeper breaths even though his lungs felt tight. As she climbed, the king unclasped his cape and let it fall. He then ensured that he was able to reach his sword, unhindered.
‘Any higher,’ shouted Danyil, ‘and we risk the thin air at this altitude.’
Havoc nodded while he continued to look over the side as he searched for the dragon; he raised his hand to indicate to the helmsman that this was high enough.
I know your intent, said the Blacksword whispering inside his head.
‘Do you?’
Yes, a powerful Rawn you may be, but what you plan is a dangerous undertaking. I will be able to control the elements far better than you ever can, brother.
Havoc grinned. He would never get used to the fact they were siblings of a sort.
‘Nevertheless, I have to try. The dragon is too fast and nimble in the air for the Cybeleion to outmanoeuvre. This is the only way.’
Then be careful!
‘Is that the sound of concern I note in your voice, brother? I am truly touched.’
No. my body is your body, I don’t want it ruined!
‘If I don’t get that fire out,’ said the admiral as he pointed to the rear of the ship, which was still burning even as the wind blew most of it out, ‘I will have to take her back down and land in a safe place.’
Havoc nodded, ‘I understand.’ Below him in the murky weather, he could just make out the orange flames of the burning city through thick clouds. Basilica’s long body and wide wings silhouetted as he flew below them turning this way and that in a search pattern. ‘I’m heading there myself, but I intend on taking a direct route,’ he said to the admiral, and then he surprised everyone by jumping over the side.
The forced march of the Brethac Army became even more taxing and tiring as they battled the raging winds that the storm had sent. Most of the men held aloft their shields to protect themselves from the torrential rain. They moved with a determined efficiency throughout the night until the storm’s strength relented enough for them to pick up the pace. In the morning they would find their homes in ruins and their families dead or dispersed into the wilds of the plain. Yet, many local farmers, gentry and low lords found their banners and rallied to the Vallkyte king’s cause.
Earlier, as the high winds battered the eastern seaboard, the survivors of the citadel that had braved the flames around them and escaped out of the west gates, were heading for the safety of the Temple Woods when an army blocked their path.
Most screamed in despair as they recognised the standards of the Nithi Kelang and they ran. The regulars, otherwise known as the Goldcoats, made a brave stand to give the refugees time to escape.
Commander Jericho’s Tattoium Militia made light work of the smaller ranks of the Vallkytes and it became a lengthy chase as the Goldcoats finally fled all the way back to the citadel’s crumbling walls and were slaughtered.
The citadel burned, the land before them was empty of the enemy. In Mad-gellan’s eyes, it seemed as if the war was over.
The wind rushed past Havoc’s ears as he plummeted towards the ground. The weight of the armour was making him reach a speed that was not to his liking so he used the Wind Element to slow his descent. Due to the wind around him being in such abundance, he used up very little energy in summoning the third element to do his bidding.
Dragons may have excellent sight, but it had not occurred to the creature that the Quest Ship had climbed higher into the clouds. Basilica frantically searched for the Cybeleion and was swooping round the other burning, but still floating, Sky Ships for her when Havoc spotted him. He stretched out his arms and legs to slow himself and commanded the wind to slam into his left side in order to push him to his right as he adjusted his fall, coming into direct line with the dragon’s current search area. Fifty feet above the creature and he reached his hand behind him and gripped the hilt of SinDex. He blinked tears from his watering eyes and adjusted to the left until he was right above Basilica when he turned around one of the burning wreaks and levelled off. At twenty feet, he drew his sword about halfway from the scabbard strapped to his back. With only a few feet to go he saw the dragon’s rider give a start as he looked up and their eyes met for the briefest moment before Havoc extracted the Sword that Rules and used the blade and his momentum to cut through the hard scales of the dragons neck.
He felt only a slight jolt go along his arm as the sword sliced the neck from it’s base near the shoulder. As he continued to fall, he turned onto his back and watched as the headless dragon dropped towards the ground with his rider franticly unstrapping himself from the saddle harness, but the limp wings of the dead dragon wrapped around him and he was unable to do anything but fall with the ill-fated creature. Their only direction was into the flames of the city below.
Havoc’s elation at killing the dragon was short-lived when he realised that he was going to meet the same fiery death. His plan was to use the Wind Element to help him land, but he would need to find a safe spot away from the flames. However, the citadel was now a mass of orange fire and it was getting closer.
Just then, something appeared in the periphery of his vision, large, green, and very close; Ciriana swooped in under the fallen king and scooped him up onto her back as she used the thermals to glide away from the citadel. Havoc grunted as he frantically gripped one of her back ridges and hung on for dear life.
She landed a good distance away from the walls of Dulan-Tiss and stumbled as she touched down. The king rolled to the ground from her back, gasping for air.
‘Thank you Ciriana,’ he said gratefully, ‘I did not bank on anyone catching me.’
‘Quite all right, your highness. Your fate, I am glad to say, is not to die by stupidly jumping out of Sky Ships,’ said the prophet, slightly out of breath.
‘That’s good to know,’ smiled Havoc
, ‘I was not at all sure about the landing part anyway.’
The great dragon laughed then groaned in pain, she collapsed to the ground and a loud sigh issued from her mouth.
‘Are you alright?’ said Havoc with growing concern. He looked around her slumped body and saw many gashes and much blood. One wound was particularly large, stretching from her left shoulder blade down to the bottom of her ribcage.
‘Compliments of Amphorae,’ she said, ‘she now burns within the ruins of the citadel.’
Havoc nodded as he looked over the wounds.
‘I can heal this for you.’
‘NO!’ snapped Ciriana. ‘I can do that myself; you need your strength for Kasan, he is on his way. I just need to rest.’ She laid her head on the wet grass.
Havoc ignored her, placed his hands on either side of the wound, and used the Water Element to seal the flesh together. The gash was too large to mend in one sitting and he felt weak just as the opening closed up. He fell to his knees with a feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach.
‘Bah! You are as stubborn as Ness was at your age. Don’t you ever do what you are told?’ growled the dragon.
‘Not really, I’m a king now, and I tell people what to do.’
Ciriana grunted. ‘That is a good enough answer. Now I have a question for you. Did the My’thos god, Hagan, tell you what you must do with the Dark Entity that exists in the Gredligg Orrinn?’
‘Yes, it must be sent back into the Earth Mother and dispersed via the Dragon Lanes now that she is strong enough to contain Him. I was not sure if this was the right thing to do, but from what I know of the lanes, the negative energy works in harmony with the positive. So I must disperse the volatile energies of the Earth Daemon to destroy him, correct?’
‘Correct, and are you also aware of the Apocalyptic Prophecy?’
Havoc frowned. Lord Ness had told him of the prophecy’s inscription on the Assassi Cenotaph. He nodded as the dragon watched him.
“Hope resides in an Orrinns caulk” she said, ‘remember that and all will be well. Now I must sleep, I have lost a lot of blood, and I feel weak.’
Havoc wanted to probe her for more answers, but after a few seconds, she was breathing deeply in blissful slumber.
Help did arrive.
Lord Ness was sitting by an old rosewood writing desk in an antechamber just one level down from the Crux. He was having a rare meal of rye bread, seasoned pork, cheese and a mug of mulberry wine when he heard a loud crack come from the Drift rings inside the Crux room. He ignored his meal and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.
A hunched form was getting up from the marble floor at the centre of the stone circle when Lord Ness ran in. The figure looked dishevelled in old worn chest armour, dirty linen breaches and carrying a leather pack on his back. He used his sword-staff to support himself as he stood up.
‘Botheration!’ groaned Soneros Ri as he arched his back, ‘travelling that way never gets any easier.’
‘Soneros!’ exclaimed Lord Ness and smothered his friend with a hug, ‘thank the My’thos you are here.’
‘Ah Ness, my boy, it is good to see you well and safely returned to us…erm…have you...?’ Soneros Ri looked around quickly because he had only just noticed the hushed whispers coming from the Gredligg Orrinn behind him. He stared at it with his mouth agape.
‘You have done it, Ness. You have brought it home to the land of it’s birth,’ he spoke in excited reverence as he walked around the dais looking carefully at the swirling colours within the Orrinn.
‘Not I, my friend,’ said Lord Ness with a smile, ‘only the Blacksword could take it from the Isle of the Dead.’
‘The Blacksword, yes, yes of course the Blacksword, but why have you brought it here? Are you alone?’
‘Prince Havoc placed it under my care; the last place anyone would look for me was here protected by other Orrinns and Skrol,’ he pointed up towards the ceiling. ‘You are the only person I can trust.’
‘Very clever,’ Lord Soneros stroked the white stubble on his chin as he looked from the Skrol paintings on the ceilings and then the Orrinn.
‘You look as if you have been through the wars, Soneros,’ said Ness Ri indicating his old master’s garb.
‘That much is true. I have been helping the Atyd Barnum defend the Eternal Forest from Lord Nethrion’s intrusions. Thankfully, the forest is now safe these past few days so your messenger got through, but not before his capture near one of the Falesti forward perimeter guard posts. If it wasn’t for young Havoc’s intervention at the battle near the Rings of Port then he would never have reached me.’
‘Rings of Port?’ asked Lord Ness.
‘Yes...you don’t know about the Rogun king?’
Ness Ri frowned and shook his head.
‘Oh Ness, I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this. I know you were both so close, but King Vanduke was slain by King Kasan at the battle.’
Lord Ness felt his legs go weak and he lent his body against one of the grey monoliths. He felt the loss like a father would a son, he groaned as he slid to the floor.
‘Van, no not Van...he can’t be gone?’ he moaned in despair. Soneros crouched beside him and placed a caring hand on his friend’s shoulder.
‘Young Havoc is king now. He will make a good one, I’m sure,’ he saw Lord Ness nod to himself.
‘Havoc and his army helped to win the battle after he took back Caphun, but Kasan escaped, now the new king has gone off on a campaign of his own, gods know where,’ shrugged Lord Soneros.
‘Creed,’ croaked Ness Ri through a lump in his throat. ‘He was going after Creed.’
‘Right, I see, I think...’ suddenly Soneros Ri stopped and looked to the stairway entrance, there was a noise echoing up the steps.
‘Did you say you were alone?’ he asked Ness Ri.
‘Yes,’ Lord Ness stood and composed himself.
‘Stay here, guard the Orrinn, I will go look.’ Lord Soneros crossed to the stairway and crept down while slowly unsheathing his sword from it’s staff. He was more than halfway down when a loud explosion rocked the building. Lord Ness felt the use of the arts as if someone had suddenly activated an Earth or Wind Orrinn in one of the niches. He rushed to the edge of the balcony and shouted the Ri’s name as he looked down, there was no answer. As the dust settled he could see his friend lying on a pile of rubble at the foot of the tower, blood covered his face.
‘NO!’ screamed Lord Ness, but four loud cracks from the stone circle told him he was now no longer alone in the Crux Room.
He turned, extracting Belthoin as he did so. Varix, Saltyn and Nestor Ri walked from the shadows of the ring and also unsheathed their weapons. They flanked an unarmed woman who smiled sardonically at him while she held a shining Lobe Stone in her left hand.
‘Good evening, Lord Ness, I do hope I am intruding,’ said the Queen of Sonora.
Chapter Thirty One
The Battle of Blood
Ninth of Marach 3041 YOA
T
he Rogun army made it to the outskirts of the burning citadel in the early hours of the morning of the second day of landing. Tired and dirty, the march was hard going as the torrential rain made the ground boggy for the men-at-arms and the few horses and supply carts that they had, yet they persisted and found the northern edge of the Temple Woods helped to shelter them from the storm. They stopped for the night, huddled together in their capes or sodden furs, and slept as best they could.
The Ubhdomnall Hillmen of the Tattoium Militia found them purely by accident. Two of the Dark Company’s scouts had jumped out of hiding from deep heather and pulled them from their horses as they trotted by. They reported to Commander Powyss that the army of Jericho and Mad-gellan were camped near the walls of the citadel, north east of the Temple Woods.
‘Well let’s go see the ugly buggers then!’ said Furran, who sported a bandage on his right eye from a wound he received in the last battle. A sword blade had narrowly missed taking that
side of his face off, but had scarred his eye and cheek just above the older scar on his chin. It would be some time until he knew if he was blind in that eye. The disconcerting thing about it all was that Velnour, who had seen the wound and looked at Furran with sympathy, gave him one of his old eye patches.
‘All right,’ said Powyss, ‘let’s move the men.’
There was a mêlée of joyful chaos when the Rogun army met with that of the Nithi and Tattoium Militia. The Raiders double-timed it there to be first and the Paladins, to a man, stormed through the mounds of half sleeping soldiers towards a large tarpaulin sheet tied to trees and pegged into the wet ground that was Mad-gellan’s makeshift battle tent.
Jericho and the Nithi Lord were expecting them and stood together outside the tent with big smiles as their friends approached.
‘What kept you?’ said Jericho as Velnour and he shook hands.