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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘We took the scenic route,’ said Velnour with a laugh. The rest of the Paladins greeted the two commanders warmly. They had not seen these two for over four years now.

  ‘Have you seen the king by any chance?’ said Powyss to Mad-gellan and Jericho.

  ‘Vanduke, I thought he was with you?’

  ‘I meant King Havoc, actually,’ Powyss smiled sadly at his co-commander’s stunned expressions.

  ‘I think we have plenty of catching up to do,’ he sighed.

  It was some time before King Havoc found the Rogun camp.

  He had stayed by Ciriana until her breathing eased and she slept deeply while he sheltered from the storm under a huge wing. He left her as the early light of morning seeped through the storm clouds, turning back once to see the vast bulk of her body in the distance. Her scales looked less vibrant, waxy. The rain jumped two feet from them as they struck, but she did not move.

  A new day was dawning and the storm slackened enough for him to walk straight enough into the wind as it howled around him. The Sky Ships had gone now. Most would not have survived the storm anyway and he hoped Admiral Danyil got the Cybeleion to safety and shelter. He realised that Bleudwed and Tia were still on board the Quest Ship, yet he felt in his heart that they were safe now that there were no more dragons to worry about; he and Mulvend had a destiny.

  When he found the camp after a long arduous trek and recognised the many banners that flapped in the wind, most were damp from the rain, which was now beginning to ease. He recognised the pennants of the Wither Barons, The Earl of Rondhieght and the Dorit Militia, flapping alongside Ubhdomnall carved poles that the hillmen used to mark their camping ground. He was surprised at how alive it all was. Soldiers were up and huddling by smoking fires or sharpening weapons. Several looked his way, instantly stood up, and bowed as he walked by. An officer in the silver and blue livery of the Withers Regiments informed him that he had wandered into the southern section of the Rogun army that had occupied this area of the Temple Woods. He realised that he must have lost his bearings in the storm. The officer supplied him with a horse and a guard force to guide him to the command tents further to the north.

  Daylight eventually brightened the land around him as he rode along the line of his, now larger, army. Nithi warriors, in their thick leathers and pointed skillets, welcomed him as he rode past. Militiamen, some in tarnished armour others wore mail and woven jupons, waved as he rode along the lines of his cheering host. They greeted him all with a smile on their dirty faces.

  Havoc found the banner of a winged Grey Eagle clutching two crossed keys in its talons, the family standard of the Royal High Stewards. Sir Cort was not present due to his extreme age, but his son, another Cort, greeted the king with a bow and escorted him through the camp to the Command Tent, which had replaced the old canvas one used by the Nithi chiefs. He found the Paladins together near a hastily made fire having breakfast of boar meat and dry biscuits. They welcomed him into their huddle with claps on his back and both Jericho and Mad-gellan kneeled before him.

  ‘By the gods! Get up both of you. My friends need not kneel before me,’ he said and embraced them both in turn. ‘It has been a long time, my friends.’

  ‘It has, sire,’ said Jericho, ‘we are glad you have all returned safe and from what I hear from the others you have had an adventure.’

  ‘Sorry to hear about your father, sire, my people will honour the day of his passing with song and stories of his victories,’ said Mad-gellan and to his surprise, the king smiled.

  ‘I’m honoured. Father always liked a good celebration,’ said Havoc and the Paladins mumbled their agreement.

  ‘Although his brother is a different matter,’ he continued, ‘and I have it on good authority he is on his way and spoiling for a fight.’

  The Brethac Army grew in numbers as it snaked over the undulating landscape of the Stormeade Fells. The Fells rose up from the flat Dulan Plain, which sat on the outskirts of the citadel; it was from the outlying villages of the Fells that people flocked to the Vallkyte King’s standard. The number grew from twenty thousand normal regulars to thirty thousand in a few short days, but the king knew that the bulk of his army were poor peasants who only joined out of fear rather than respect for their king.

  Soon the weary army stepped off the Fells and onto the Old Drove Road that led to the citadel’s main gates. At this point Kasan was cautious, the land opened out here and was an excellent place for an ambush, but he made haste towards the reeking smoke that still lingered above his city.

  Meanwhile, another host moved north. Havoc rode on Dirkem towards the Whaleback Ridge, that mile long ridgeline which ran parallel to the Drove Road. From its lofty height, about two hundred feet or so, it could prove to be of tactical advantage to his host when the enemy arrived. Scouts and pathfinders from every company and regiment now spread over the landscape for miles. The Paladins and other Rogun officers, including Baron Langstroum, rode with him to check out the landscape close to the Whaleback. They kept abreast of him and said nothing; the loud rumbling sound of soldiers marching behind them dissipated in the strong wind that still lingered from yesterday’s storm.

  As they neared the ridge they ran into two Tattoium Militia scouts riding at full gallop to reach them. They informed the king that the Brethac Army were heading their way from the north-west and their numbers saturated the plain with soldiers.

  Havoc was surprised at how fast the enemy moved, but he wasted no time.

  ‘Sir Felcon, Sir Velnour, take your men to the ridge. Secure it at all costs.’

  ‘Aye boss,’ said both men and they broke from the group to seek out their units and storm the ridge.

  King Kasan saw the potential danger and the tactical advantage that the Whaleback Ridge could pose for him. Therefore, he sent the Dutrisi Sixth Foot under it’s commander, Lord Welles, and a regiment of Vallkyte spearmen in support to take the high rocky landmass while he marched on with his host towards the ruined citadel just a mile and a half east of the ridge.

  The Crux Room stilled into silence as the four interlopers stepped off the dais.

  Cinnibar had aged since the last time Lord Ness had seen her. Her hair no longer had the luxurious long curls of fine blonde locks cascading down her back, now they were grey and unkempt. Dark rings under her eyes made her look weary. The thin lines on her forehead and the wrinkles around her mouth belayed her true age of two hundred.

  However, it was her eyes that made Lord Ness look twice at her.

  They glinted with fire and energy, stoked by the residue of the Pyromantic powers she once wielded, stolen from Shanks; they were the sharp stare of the maniacal. He had seen that look before.

  His onetime apprentice Baron Telmar once had the same lunatic scowl.

  ‘You’re under the same curse as Telmar, Cinnibar, you dabble in powers that are beyond your control,’ he said to her as he ignored the other three Ri circling around to his left and right, swords ready.

  ‘And you don’t?’ she said in a dry voice as she pointed towards the Gredligg Orrinn. ‘You think you can control the power that is trapped in there? You are a fool Ness! Your arrogance is your undoing.’

  ‘Your confidence and trust in Sernac is yours,’ he retorted, and was glad to see her hesitate slightly.

  ‘Enough of this!’ said Saltyn Ri, who had managed to move around to Lord Ness’s rear, ‘his overly-long life ends here.’ All three Ri attacked.

  Velnour and Felcon, with over five thousand men, got to the top of the Whaleback Ridge just five minutes before the Dutrisi infantry. Felcon had seen the sense in bringing a thousand archers, some from the Eternals but most from the Rogun and militia ranks, so they lined along the edge of the ridge and notched their bows. The steep rock and shingle slope, which the enemy ran up, proved unfortunate for them as it gave time for the two Paladins to organise their ranks. Far towards the east, at the formation’s lower end, the ridge had steps cut into the rock, but Velnour had taken care of any
enemy movement in that area by sending a detachment of archers to defend it.

  On the summit of the ridge stood a guard station, complete with tower and walled enclosure with a smattering of billet houses, and Felcon sent some of the Dark Company to clear the buildings of Vallkytes, which they did with speed and ease

  The Eternals, being quicker than the rest to reach the top, fired the first volley of wolfram tipped arrows into the charging enemy as they scrambled up the north side of the slope. The rest of the regular archers loosed off their volleys of steel bodkin arrows that pierced through plate steel at this close range, and their superior height gave them the advantage. The archers soon had to step back to let the Rogun spearmen, with their lethal billhooks, through to line the summit of the ridge because the attackers just kept coming closer and closer as they protected themselves from the arrow fall behind raised shields. Soon a crushing, rippling line of soldiers collided on that precarious edge.

  Kasan watched the battle on the long Whaleback. His men were trying to move to the Rogun flanks by climbing up the vertical incline of moss-covered rocks, but the Rogun archers soon made short work of their feeble attempt at flanking them. Therefore, he sent more men up the slope in the hope of overrunning them with numbers.

  Just then the main force of King Havoc’s army marched around the western edge of the ridge and down into the two mile wide valley that the Brethac Army now occupied. North of Kasan’s host sat the ten low man made hills of the Royal Burial Mounds and the road that led through them to the Rings of Dulan; this was Kasan’s only escape route. Behind him sat the smoking pyre of his once glorious citadel and the sea beyond. If Havoc could spare any soldiers to get behind the Brethac host then he would be able to trap his uncle.

  This knowledge did not vex Kasan, by the looks of it his host outnumbered the Rogun king’s two to one, though he had to take into account the weariness of his men from the long march to get here and the villagers he picked up on the way. All that prayed on his mind was revenge over Havoc for the death of his son and the destruction of his home.

  Dolment knew they were close, though not close enough.

  Lord Rett had ridden the coalition cavalry hard these past few days and there was little rest, for the stops were rare. Old horses fell to exhaustion and the fitter ones continued, but the pace had barely slackened.

  Thankfully, the Ternquin Sky Ships that were sent to attack Fort Tressel had done their job well. They had kept up a sustained barrage for almost two days; this allowed the large cavalry force to pass unopposed by any host still in the fort, although they later discovered that most of the Tressel and Wyani regiments had been recalled to the capital days before.

  How the ships fared when the storm hit, Dolment did not know, but it slowed his host to a bearable crawl.

  The morning found them within ten miles of the citadel. They ate on the hoof and kept the pace steady to rest the horses.

  Clouds were breaking towards the east. The rain was still light, eventually succumbing to a fine drizzle.

  The clouds in the west were more disturbing.

  ‘They are following us from Dragorsloth,’ said Dolment to the Red Duke, who was not one for idle conversation, especially to lower ranks and young nobles, but he liked Dolment and knew of his close friendship to his nephew, Magnus.

  Lord Rett grunted, ‘it is often said that they can sense a battle from miles away.’

  ‘Yes, but this many, your grace?’

  The duke turned in his saddle and looked up towards the massive formation of ravens that flew in from the west. Their multitude completely obscured the sky.

  ‘It could be a big battle.’

  While the struggle on the Whaleback continued Havoc stretched his army out, covering the two miles of flatland in front of the Brethac armies that stood just six hundred feet away. He placed Furran and Mactan with their units on his right and Prince Magnus’s Legion and the Nithi on his left. In the centre sat the Rogun, the Tattoium Militia and the rest of the Raiders under Powyss. From the look of the terrain, the land in front of the host narrowed because of the burial mounds to their left, so Kasan could only bring so many men to arms against his enemy. Havoc did not want his uncle to move from that position so he sent his archers forward to keep them pinned down.

  The battle on the ridge was becoming desperate for Felcon, even though the enemy soldiers were at a disadvantage because of the angle of the slope and the loose shale underfoot. They were pushing strongly against his wall of men, due to the mass of enemy climbing up the slope and lending strength to the front ranks, this also had the effect of the attacker’s front line being involuntarily pushed forward onto Rogun swords and spears.

  The gutting, hacking, and sword cuts continued for the better part of an hour while down below both sides fired volley after volley of arrows into one another. Some, to Felcon’s delight, were even thinning the lines of men that climbed the steep slope.

  Several breaches in his shield wall of soldiers appeared and were quickly filled by the soldiers of the second rank, but they could not keep this up for long, eventually one side was going to break.

  Lord Ness was no fool. He had been prepared. He had secretly placed two Wind Orrinns near the west and east compass points of the stone circle, tucked behind their respective monoliths. As Varix and Saltyn rushed him, he intoned Skrol and activated the Orrinns to the maximum power he could.

  The Orrinns were small, they would only produce a very strong gale at the most even with his exceptional expertise with Skrol but it would be enough to give him an edge. Varix Ri was unfortunate, because he was right next to the Orrinn when it activated. Its vortex lifted him from the floor and spun him into a ball, snapping his arms and legs as he curled up. It sent him into a dark corner of the room, flopping like a rag doll.

  Saltyn was lucky, he spotted the other Orrinn’s movement as it spun on the floor, still the wind caught him as he tried to dodge it, and he was forced away from Ness Ri and thrust up against the nearest pillar, hitting it with a sickening thump.

  Nestor shouted out loudly the Skrol for deactivation, and the Orrinns stopped their spinning just as he lunged forward and swung his sword at Ness Ri.

  Felcon had no idea how Velnour fared on the far right of the shield wall, but at one time he did spot the cavalry officer’s unique curved sabre jabbing over the top of an enemy shield and slashing open a soldiers face.

  To his front was a row of shields pushing into his men. Roguns grunted as they lent forward forcing the men over the edge of the ridge and leaning into the enemy shields. The Eternals helped by standing on rocks or the roofs of the few billet houses next to the tower to get a better view and fire at any exposed target. One Dutrisi in front of Felcon fell back with an arrow shaft protruding from his eye.

  Something long and sharp struck his left shoulder guard and dug into the seam between it and his mailed shoulder. The spear sliced through the links and his flesh, drawing blood, and he winced as he gripped the shaft and hacked at the wood with his short sword to break off the tip. One of the men beside him stepped into his line of sight and lifted his shield as a tall Dutrisi with a poleaxe lunged towards him, but it clanged off the shield and bounced to his right, jabbing straight into Felcon’s side as he struggled to extract the spearhead from his shoulder. The Paladin yelled in pain and pulled the poleaxe out while at the same time sticking the point of his sword into the enemy soldier’s throat and drenching him in gouts of his blood.

  Blood also ran down Felcon’s leg from his wound, but he battled on for a short time until dizziness from blood loss caused him to fall back. Many arms of his fellow soldiers lifted him up and carried him to the rear where they lay him down by a rock. He shouted for them to leave him alone and get back into the fray while his heart thumped painfully in his chest.

  The Sky Ships, those that had fought over the burning citadel, were either destroyed by enemy fire or were scattered for miles by the intense winds of the night’s storm. The Licessia, cripple
d and losing height, managed to move south before crashing onto tall trees at the southern edge of the Temple Woods. Carbaum and his crew managed to climb down from the mass of branches to the safety of the forest floor and wait out the storm. Their part in the Battle of Dulan-Tiss was over.

  The Cybeleion, however, was dying.

  She had moved west away from the worst of the weather and her crew had spotted the approaching Brethac Army below them. Crippled from extensive fire and cannon damage she set down to brave the battering storm.

  In the morning, and at the urging of Countess Bleudwed, Admiral Danyil took the ship aloft again back east, to her last mission. With only three Wind Orrinns in operation and badly torn sails, the green leaves of which were not mending, she limped along at a fraction of her normal speed. With every hour that ticked by Tia could feel the pain of the Choylorran tree as it suffered through it’s last torments. It was dying, Tia could even witness the lustre of the trees wood along the deck lose its sheen. She shed a tear for it’s misery. The remaining crew had managed to extinguish the Wyrmfire at the aft section, though it still popped and smouldered in places, and the damage was extensive.

  ‘We only have four cannon in operation on the starboard side,’ said the admiral. Cannonball fire had torn through the port side cannon mounts, smashing their trunnions to pieces and killing most of the gun crews. The hull wall was a tattered row of holes, which the wind howled through and shifted the linen wrapped dead that lay in neat lines near their cannon posts.

  ‘We will have to make them last, I don’t think the Cybeleion can stay aloft for very long,’ he continued. Only a skeleton crew remained on board now, the admiral had ordered non-essential personnel off the dying ship.

  ‘Agreed,’ nodded the countess as she clutched the helm with Tia, trying to steady the juddering ship, ‘we may have one shot at this. Literary.’