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

by P D Ceanneir

  It may have been the sudden appearance of the Blacksword or the charging horde of the Rogun Army that made the Vinton Archers turn and flee back into the safety of the infantry lines. Rogun arrows whizzed into the running archers taking many in the back, none came near the Blacksword as he dodged through the running men to get to the first rank of Vallkyte spearmen that stood in his way. Black crossbow bolts fired from somewhere within the enemy’s left zipped past him as he ran. One bounced off his right shoulder guard as it changed into a black dragon’s claw complete with sharp talons of silver that looked as they were digging into the metal, just before the cloak covered it. As he got closer to the spearmen, he could see fear in their eyes as they realised who was approaching, yet they stood their ground, digging the end on their long spears into the dirt and bracing them at an angle.

  Then the Blacksword used the Wind Element to hurl himself high into the air and over the heads of the enemy.

  The view of the Brethac Army from that height shocked Havoc and made the Blacksword start for a second as he drifted for well over a hundred feet with the aid of the third element. He saw thousands of the enemy crammed into the narrow gully that sat between the east end of the Whaleback Ridge and the burial mounds, arranged into three separate companies or Vallkyte Battles. Gaps of fifty feet separated the Battles and the last two would obviously become reserves should the Roguns get through the first line of defence. The king realised they were hopelessly outnumbered.

  The Blacksword landed on open ground; as the enemy ranks of men-at-arms moved out of his way they formed a thick circle around him. The Blacksword grinned as he slowly stood straight after his landing. Several soldiers shuffled forward, urged on by the men behind them. They were apprehensive, fearful even, though they outnumbered him.

  Two men-at-arms with full length pavise shields and broadswords stepped into the open circle, one came straight for the Blacksword as the second attacked from the rear. The Blacksword separated SinDex and in one quick fluid movement, he speared each blade into the shields and through the men’s chests. They crumpled to the ground.

  The circle of soldiers looked pale as they tore their eyes from their dead comrades and stared at the grinning face of the Demigod.

  ‘Next?’ hissed the Blacksword.

  Saltyn struck again, this time with a clean underarm swipe that etched a deep gash over Ness Ri’s chest and sent him thumping up against one of the tall stone monoliths. Somewhere a mad cackle echoed around the Crux, Cinnabar was outside the circle watching the fight with glee.

  Saltyn moved in for the kill, sword held high. Nestor, healed now from Lord Ness’s sword cut, ran forward, the last of the wound was still knitting together across his brow and cheek.

  Lord Ness, despite his pain, moved quickly into Saltyn Ri’s defence and rammed the pommel of his sword into his nose. He smiled as he heard the splinter of bone and cartilage, blood misted the air around them and Saltyn Ri fell back, yelling in agony.

  Lord Ness dodged a lunge from Nestor and placed his hand on the monolith. He used the Earth Element to shatter the granite and then the Wind Element to send the rock shards at high speed towards Nestor Ri.

  Varix had no time to defend himself. Thousands of sharp edged stones punched tiny holes all over his body, shattering bones and shredding organs. His blood and other body matter sprayed for ten feet behind him as the shrapnel exited his body. He fell to his knees, mouth slack, and eyes vacant of life; one in particular was vacant of its eyeball. He fell face first among the red mulch that was once Varix Ri.

  ‘Protect the King!’ shouted Powyss as he urged his piebald mare onwards. He was keeping up with Chirn who was on a beautiful white charger, compared to the shorter Horseboy garrons, and holding the pole of the Rogun Royal Standard in his left hand while gripping the hilt of his sabre in the other. The line of horses stretched out on either side of him, galloping fast yet staying level, as they flooded the grassland and eased around the large flat boulder that the king had just vacated.

  They had few horses with them, most came with the Nithi host, others brought from the holds of the Sky Ships. By the looks of it, the enemy had little cavalry as well. Nevertheless, the plan was to use the lightly armoured horse to crash through the enemy ranks. This was only achievable by an almost suicidal charge by the Nithi horse and a smaller squadron of Rogun Horsed Archers that made up most of the cavalry.

  The front row of spearmen braced for the charging horseflesh. It took nerves of steel to stand their ground at such a fearsome spectacle and Powyss did not envy them. They put their trust in their weapons while Powyss knew that his odds were greater.

  The Horsed Archers loosed a volley of hissing death from their short bows. They pierced the enemy and gaps opened as the arrows downed the spearmen.

  The collision, when it came, was tremendously violent and the front two ranks disintegrated with the momentum of the horses charge. The Rogun attack did not all go their way, horses fell as they impaled themselves onto the spears, guts and blood spilled on the defenders, drenching them in their stinking warmth.

  Chirn on his charger fought deep into the enemy infantry, hacking and slashing as he went. Powyss was not so lucky, two spears brought down his smaller horse and he rolled from his saddle. He spun in the air landing feet first on top of two shielded men, forcing them to the ground. He came up with Bor-Teaven in his hand and with one sweep of his arm he cut through the throats of the soldiers before they could retaliate. He then turned to join the battle around him just as the press of bodies compressed due to the main Rogun Foot slamming into the Brethac front rank. The force of the attack pushed the enemy back so thoroughly that they nearly merged with the awaiting second Battle.

  Men died as the Sword that Rules sent them to the Halls of the Damned.

  They may as well have been naked and unarmed for all the good their weapons and armour could do. Shields, chain mail, padding, and spears had no effect on a sword that could cut through anything and its sharp blade was delivered with skilful precision. Soldiers moved closer to attack the Blacksword, but found a mortal wound inflicted by the black blades. Even as dozens attacked at once, the Blacksword’s speed and skill was such that he would parry and deflect any weapon at any angle and from any direction. He was tireless, his stamina and strength astounding. It was said, in his growing legend in years to come, that he had eyes in the back of his head; certainly the Vallkytes that were lucky enough to survive the onslaught of carnage, seemed to think so. Havoc, watching the battle behind the dark eyes of the Blacksword, realised that his twin’s skill with a sword had now greatly surpassed his own. He moved with a supernatural rhythm pushing back the enemy circle from one direction, turning quickly, and doing the same with those behind him so he could make room for his long swords. Even as he wounded soldiers by the blade, he would remember their position and return to deliver the killing blow before moving onto the next.

  Lanes of dead mounted to the Blacksword’s left and right as he walked through the enemy ranks. Blood sprayed from many opened arteries to drench him as he walked, but eyewitnesses said later that the strange black armour he wore absorbed the blood until there was none left on him. His cloak never stained and remained as dark as the night, shifting like a restless shadow, the black blades stayed clean, no residue of sticky gunk marred their surface.

  Soon he exited at the rear of the first battle. Or rather, the Vallkyte and Dutrisi soldiers moved out of range of his blades to let him through. He found himself face to face with the second Battle and they charged forward to aid the first because it was already moving backwards from the force of the Rogun infantry attack.

  The Blacksword linked a Pyromantic Surge to the Wind Element and sent a hurricane force so powerful that hundreds of men in the second Battle lifted high into the air.

  That checked them, they were cautious after that, and the Blacksword continued his walk through the fearful ranks of soldiers as he headed with purposeful strides towards the burial mounds and the V
allkyte Kings.

  Velnour had seen the danger before everyone else.

  He had left a field physician to tend to Sir Felcon’s wound and urged his thousand archers to the east end of the ridge. The ridge at this end narrowed, and the drop to ground level was sheer on both sides. Yet the archers braved the thin summit and lined the top to send volley after volley down onto the third Battle. Drawing over one hundred and twenty pounds of weight on their bow cords to send the goose-fletched arrows hurtling down upon the mass of soldiers in the formation. Approximately seven arrows a minute per man, seven thousand arrows darkened the sky in that short time to pepper the ground and the enemy that cringed behind their shields waiting for the sharp steel bodkins to punch through and find flesh.

  He could see that the enemy were regrouping and shifting away from the ridge at an angle. The damage that the Blacksword had caused to the second Battle was sending soldiers away and regrouping at another defensive position near the burial mound.

  Down by the foot of the ridge the Rogun army had demolished the first Battle by using the powerful veterans of the Raiders with their Foygions spears to hack open a large gap in the Brethac centre to allow the Rogun and Nithi Foot soldiers in to surround the enemy and kill them piecemeal. Dark red patches of stained grassland marked the areas of spilt blood saturating the earth as the soldiers of the first Battle fought bravely in tight circular groups.

  But they were doomed, and there they died

  Velnour watched as Whyteman and three Eternal squadrons moved around the right flank of the enemy and quickly lined up at the foot of the ridge. They walked forward as one unit and launched arrows into the retreating second Battle. The Rogun army regrouped after defeating the first defensive formation and charged again.

  Yet, they were moving into a killing field.

  This was the danger that Velnour had spotted. King Kasan had been very shrewd with his tactical positioning. He was drawing the Rogun host into the open ground thereby exposing them to the army of Vinton Archers that had just crested the summit of the burial Howes.

  It was easy to find the battle, thought Lord Rett as his cavalry squadrons left the drove road. Even if one was deaf to the sounds of clashing swords and the agonised screams of the dying, you could not avoid spotting the black cloud of ravens that spiralled in their thousands above the battlefield. The Red Duke had a nose for battle, he could smell fear and hate, and just beyond the rippling ferns was an almighty stench.

  As the cavalry approached the Whaleback Ridge from the north east, Lord Rett took in the battle at a glance.

  ‘Dolment, take half of the men and protect the king’s left flank near the burial mound. If Kasan has a cavalry force, then that’s where he will send them,’ he said to his younger officer as he pointed to the north. ‘I will head around the Whaleback Ridge and attack the enemy on their left flank. Make haste lad, battles are won and lost in seconds!’ Dolment responded with a nod and rode off issuing commands for his Ifor Lancers, and most of the equestrians of the Dragorsloth Volunteers that had accompanied them on the long tiring ride, to follow him.

  Sir Linth, running with his half of the Eternals on the Rogun left flank to try and find a good spot to attack the Brethac second Battle, was one of the first to see Velnour in the distance indicating wildly at the burial mounds behind the Brethac army. The enemy had moved its last two Battles at right angles to their original position to run parallel with the two hundred foot high mounds. Now, as the arrows of the Vinton Archers descended amongst the charging Rogun Army, he could see why. They were drawing them into a trap as the open ground left them exposed. The front rank of Raider, Nithi and Rogun Regiments raised shields just as the arrows of the Vinton Archers struck. Many were not quick enough and fell writhing on the ground, peppered with many shafts. The advance stalled and gaps opened up in the front as the surviving soldiers stumbled over the dead.

  Linth regained momentum after the first shafts struck down many on the Rogun left flank. He shouted for three of his companies to follow him up the slope of the mound to attack the archers. Gunach met him when they reached the foot of the turf-angled slope. He brought with him five hundred dwarves along with his son, and together they stormed the mound. Linth and his men walked behind them, shooting arrows at the Vintons, having plenty of targets to choose from as they saw the danger below them and reformed to repulse the new attack.

  As the dwarves doggedly sprinted up the slope, they protected themselves by hiding behind their tall dragon scale shields to push through the enemy arrow fall.

  The Blacksword, running towards the newly positioned second Battle, noticed the archers on the mound’s summit and he halted. A dark shadow passed over him as the shifting cloud of dark arrows blocked out the morning sun and hammered into the forward runners of the Rogun Army. Raiders, Roguns, Nithi Militia all collapsed under the hail of arrows and the Demigod felt Havoc’s despair as his army fell in ragged lines. The emotion welled into a violent spasm and he linked it to the Fire Element. Both of his hands shone a ruddy orange and a ball of white-hot flame expanded in each. Enemy soldiers, which were advancing towards him from every direction, backed off from the immense wall of heat that emanated from the Pyromancer.

  He sent the two Fireballs to the summit with his thoughts, yet his arms juddered with the recoil as they shot into the air at tremendous velocity. King Kasan’s party, up high on one of the mound’s steps, involuntarily ducked as the Fireballs whistled overhead.

  They tore into the top of the mound, gouging out two deep furrows of earth and masonry with a loud splintering sound. They wrenched hundreds of archers off their feet from the compression wave that spread out from the summit and were lost in the dark cloud of dirt that ejected from the impact.

  Debris, chunks of armour, bodies, some whole, most not, rained down for hundreds of yards around, and for a moment there was a lull in the fighting.

  The Blacksword’s anger rose in him and he reached out with his mind at the golden emotions of volatile energy seeping up from the ground. He did not coax out the filaments or draw them to him as he usually did, he pulled them out forcibly and made them burn.

  NOOO! Screamed Havoc in his head, this is how Telmar met his end at the battle of the Firelands. He took too much and it snapped his mind!

  ‘I know what I’m doing,’ said the Blacksword through gritted teeth. Havoc felt the power of the Element flow through him and the Blacksword. It filled him with ecstasy and pain, it invigorated his soul, and at the same time, it tore at every fibre of his being. The Blacksword felt it too. He screamed as he tried to control the torrent. Superheat built up in waves around him with no direction and no means of controlling its increase.

  GET RID OF IT! Shouted the king, IT’S KILLING US!

  The roar dulled to a moan, sound evaporated in the deluge of senses. The Blacksword lifted up the Sword that Rules and directed the energy into the Pyromacium blade. It drank it thirstily, acting like a lightning rod. It absorbed enough for the Blacksword to convert the energy into flame and give him enough control to direct it to his front.

  The sky above the second Vallkyte Battle burst into flame and a huge concussion wave flattened thousands of the enemy soldiers to the ground, flames licked over their prone forms. The Blacksword’s body jerked violently as he released his hold on the energy filaments and he collapsed to his knees with a halo of steam issuing from his back.

  To his front, the Vallkyte dead littered the ground in heaps. Most were blackened husks, some partly charred or their flesh melted from their bones. Others were just heaps of ash. Flame still wreathed the sky in patches and smoke hugged the ground around the devastation.

  Wow, was all Havoc could manage, and then, you transferred enough energy into the sword to nullify the residual effects on our body, very clever.

  ‘Yes, something that Telmar could not manage.’ He grinned as he reached into a small pouch on his sword belt and extracted the Talisman of Mortkraxnoss.

  ‘That should be eno
ugh to augment the numbers. It is time, Storm Child,’ he whispered loudly, ‘time to finish this.’

  The talisman glowed bright blue and, for a second, it absorbed all other light from around it. Men on both sides averted their eyes from the sheen that passed over them. From the confines of the central blue stone, there materialised a figure of a beautiful girl dressed in a white wavy dress. When the blue glow dissipated, she lingered for a few seconds longer, and then she too disappeared but not without issuing a cold malicious laugh that sent shivers down everyone’s spine.

  Gunach waited under his shield for the raining debris to subside, destruction caused by the Blacksword’s Fireballs ripping apart the summit of the Tumulus. He then roared a battle cry as he stood up, which was taken up by his men. They laid into the Vinton Archers with a ferocity that shocked Linth and terrified the enemy. Some brave men stood their ground, but the dwarves were out for blood. Their run up the slope did not dampen their stamina; battle fury did not hamper their skill. They were barely aware of the air warming, and did not notice flame shooting across the sky dozens of feet above them, conjured by the Blacksword on the battlefield.

  Though outnumbered three to one, and with a lot of ground to cover, the dwarves split into teams to dispatch the enemy archers. Linth used up the last of his arrows and then threw away his bow stave and drew his short sword. His men did the same and ran with the dwarves to take the mounds. The Vinton Archers, disorientated by the destruction on the hill to their left and the burning clouds above, were too late to react to the danger on their right flank as the dwarves fell amongst them. Yet several managed to regroup and fight back.