The Voyage of the Cybeleion: A Rawn Chronicles Interlude (The Rawn Chronicles Series)

by P D Ceanneir

  Havoc did not feel the urge to have a conversation with the big warrior. He was busy concentrating on the fight around him. He had dispatched two more of the enemy by the time Elric stepped into his circle of dead and stood with him back to back. The undead legionnaires moved to surround them, their numbers were few by now, but still formidable.

  ‘Do you always talk when you fight?’

  ‘Yes, the sound of my voice bounces off my opponent and I’m able to gauge where they are, but these buggers are way too noisy, anyway.

  Havoc, continually surprised by this man, actually grinned at the way Elric threw away startling and revealing comments like that. Besides, the anxiety he felt was mainly because his Rawn ability to detect life forms around him did not work on these Katávri and fighting in the old style as a mere mortal was very refreshing. Unfortunately, surrounded by walking copses that hissed and wheezed with every step towards them was very disconcerting.

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ he said and quickly pierced the ground with SinDex so he could have his hands free. He drew in the third element with hand movements. The air around the enemy swirled with dust and ice crystals. He made a pushing motion and about a dozen of the undead creatures were suddenly thrust high into the air and smashed against the dilapidated buildings that they had originally came from. The wave of Wind then ripped the weak walls of the buildings apart as it raged through the ruins.

  Those Katávri moving to intercept Elric were reluctant to attack. They backed off as Gunach, his axe blade dripping black gunk, and Furran joined them in a tight circle.

  ‘I killed more than the dwarf. I just thought I would mention that,’ said Furran as he holstered his two Spit Guns and unsheathed his short sword.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Furran,’ growled Gunach, ‘you count the dismembered body parts as well. By the same token you can multiply my kill count by fifty!’

  Furran chuckled.

  Elric sniffed the air, ‘Uh, oh!’ he said. The Katávri around them turned and ran back into their huts with an unnerving degree of expedience. Over by the bend in the road that led to the bridge, there was a loud roar and something huge and menacing lumbered out of the low ice frost.

  ‘Ah!’ cried Furran.

  ‘Perlin’s Beard!’ gasped Gunach.

  Havoc’s heart leapt as the huge male Ice Tor rushed towards them.

  14

  For a creature with such short legs and a lumbering gait, it moved towards them with surprising speed. Occasionally it would lurch forward onto its long arms displaying the mass of its white-furred body side-on to give the appearance of a larger and more intimidating animal, something, remarked Havoc; it did not need to do. For the thing was terrifying at a distance and close up it had the effect of turning mens bowels to water.

  Havoc hefted SinDex in both arms, but before he could make a move, Elric sprang into a sprint and raced towards the behemoth. He closed the distance within a few seconds and leapt high into the air just as the Ice Tor reached out its arms to grasp the warrior. Havoc, Gunach and Furran all watched in amazement as the Marauder Doom somersaulted over the head of the Tor, landed behind the creature and swiped his Mara Swords behind him. Both blades sliced the beast’s hamstrings at knee level and the big brute collapsed into the snow with a wild high-pitched cry.

  Elric quickly turned and placed his swords crosswise on either side of the things thick neck before the animal could reach those long arms around and rake him with its lethal claws. Elric pulled sharply and decapitated the Tor. Blood burst from the stump to splash on his face and arms.

  Havoc heard Furran let out a long held breath and he realised he had done the same. Elric was wiping the blood from his swords in the snow when another undulating cry rose up behind him and four more Ice Tors, smaller and obviously female, ran out of the fog.

  Havoc noticed that the Katávri were edging out of their hovels and moving into a position to surround and attack them. The prince and his group were vulnerable out in the open and the only route to safety was into the grounds of the Castle-mount.

  ‘I think a tactical withdraw is in order,’ he said.

  ‘I concur,’ said Gunach.

  ‘Suits me. I’ll go with the flow on this one,’ added Furran.

  Elric nodded, ‘Fine, live now, kill later. Let’s go for it.’

  They all ran through the dilapidated outer walls of Sjardhiem across the snow-shrouded grounds to the inner courtyard. The Castle-mount loomed high above them. A wide set of granite steps led up to the hundred feet high set of double doors that hung from its hinges. They aimed for the entrance, but Havoc stopped as they crossed an area of ground cleared of snow. In the frost hard ground, someone had written strange symbols in one neat row that curved away from them in both directions.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, conscious of the approaching threat from the broken walls and the roaring of the Ice Tors. Yet, something told him that these markings in the ground were important.

  ‘We have no time to discuss the pleasantries of horticultural design, Boss,’ said Furran, ‘they are getting closer!’ he pointed to the walls and the Tors ran through the breach along with the undead at their heels.

  Gunach, hefting his large axe onto his other hand looked down at the markings, ‘magical glyphs,’ he said, ‘for protection, I think.’

  Havoc used his boot to rub at one of the marking, three wavy lines with a circle beside each line. The symbol glowed briefly, sickly silver, as if in protest, but he was unable to rub it out or damage it in any way.

  To their front, the multitude of attackers slowed and then stopped. They looked confused.

  Havoc waved a hand to indicate to Gunach to walk backwards from the glyphs. As they took several steps, the Tors and Katávri inched forwards but did not cross the line of markings.

  ‘It’s to keep them out,’ said the prince.

  ‘That’s grand, Kervunder, let’s not put it to the test, though.’

  They met up with Elric at the top of the stairs. He seemed eager to enter.

  ‘Magical protection spell, Elric,’ said Havoc, ‘Know anything about that?’

  The big man shrugged, ‘I’m just a humble warrior, my prince. What do I know of magic?’ he turned from them so quickly that Havoc had not chance to ask more questions and entered Sjardhiem.

  The doors were so buckled they looked as if cannon fire had breached them. There were even scorch marks on the once varnished oak and its strapped iron twisted and covered in thick rust. Inside the huge hall of the Castle-mount, years of neglect showed throughout. Once high and majestic columns, that supported the upper floors of the east section, now lay like thick tree trunks and scattered at odd angles. The flooring of the upper room was now a gaping hole and debris lay in piles underneath it. The main hall seemed sound enough as they walked its length, though some of the high rafters were cracked and several large sections lay around the floor. The rafters were carved in stone to look like a whale’s ribs and spine, one under the other to give the effect of a bridge. The hallway led to more closed spaces and rooms inside the vast roof. The rest of the roof, though partly intact, had several holes where light and snow trickled in. Chill wind whistled eerily around the hall ruffling tattered and rotting tapestries and flags that hung from rusted wires.

  To the west lay the main stairway to the upper rooms of the west wing, part of the entrance to the foyer had collapsed so the stairs were blocked. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they quickly moved down the vast hallway and entered the largest room in the structure, the Round Room, the main feasting room of Sjardhiem. Many stone tables and chairs curved around a large central hearth where, long ago, most of the game was cooked. Behind the hearth sat a tall throne made of white marble, it was a complete replica of the Skull Throne. The dark sockets of the skulls watched them as they entered.

  ‘The Feasting Hall of Grendal the Wayfarer,’ said Elric with a tone of awe, ‘just imagine the many great warriors from all around the land eating a
t the feet of one of the Hinterland’s greatest kings.’

  ‘Truly remarkable,’ nodded Gunach.

  Furran found several torches and Havoc lit them with a wave of his hand. They all took one of the burning brands and walked into the hall. At the far end of the room was a longer table where the king and his closest bondsmen would dine. Tarnished silverwear and several tall candelabra cluttered its dusty surface along with broken imperial pottery and wooden cutlery. The marble throne itself sat behind the long table on a plinth with three steps. Havoc brushed his hand over one of the skulls that jutted out of the left armrest. The quality of craftsmanship was exquisite.

  ‘Where is the Elemental Marker?’ he asked Elric, who had joined him to stand beside the throne. He had a strange half smile on his lips as he looked at the seat.

  ‘You’re touching it,’ he said, ‘go around the back.’

  Havoc did so and gasped as the flame light from his torch picked up hundreds of Skrol markings on the plain back of the throne.

  ‘So the throne is the Marker and a gift to Grendal from the Elementals’,’ nodded Havoc in understanding.

  Elric grinned, ‘And a fine gift it is too. Grendal gets a replica of the Skull Throne and the Elementals get their marker that leads to the fabled Isle of the Dead.’

  ‘You know of Mortkraxnoss?’

  ‘Everybody knows about Mortkraxnoss.’

  The Skrol glistened as it returned the torch flame. Because the Muse Orrinn on the pommel of the Sword that Rules gave the prince unlimited ability to understand the language of the Old Gods, Havoc knew he would find the answers he needed, yet he stared for long seconds before the etching wavered and formed into words that he could understand. It was difficult, extremely difficult, to decipher. The Skrol had been deliberately cryptic in its creation, possibly due, thought Havoc, to the information it contained, but the power of the Muse Orrinn unlocked the secrets that the symbols held.

  He found what he expected, the location of where the Floating Isle would land once every two years to receive the new Keeper of the Gredligg Orrinn and he committed the co-ordinates to memory. The Skrol also had information regarding the throne’s contents and the fabled Heart of the Wayfarer. What Havoc did not expect was to see Elric Stormstrider’s name near the bottom; right next to the Marauder Doom’s own scrawl he had carved there years previous. He gasped and almost dropped his torch.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Gunach, ‘what does it say?’

  ‘Everything I expected it to say, and more,’ answered the prince angrily. He looked up into the high rafters where little daylight showed through the holes in the roof. ‘It will be dark in an hour. Gunach, Furran go and walk the perimeter, please.’

  Gunach seemed taken aback at the order and was about to protest when Furran punched him playfully on the arm and indicated with his head to follow. The knight could read the tension in the prince and knew he wished to speak to Elric alone. Gunach also sensed it, sniffed dejectedly, hefted his axe over his shoulder and went to join Furran.

  ‘Your friends obey and respect you. I like that,’ said Elric into the silence that followed the Paladin and dwarfs departure.

  ‘They trust me,’ said Havoc, ‘just as you should have done to begin with.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The whole point of this mission for you was this,’ he rapped his knuckles against the throne. The metallic sound of his armoured gauntlet rang hollow around the room. ‘ The Skrol tells me that the embalmed heart of King Grendal will be placed inside it, something, it appears, that the king agreed to upon receiving this as a gift. His own Loremaster convinced him at any rate. It seems that “a Marauder Doom who is True of Heart” only can open it.”’

  ‘That is the legend that is passed down to each new generation of Marauder Dooms.’

  ‘Well, you could have told me!’ shouted Havoc, ‘why the silence? Did you not think that I would figure out that a Loremaster, who can see the future, knew that a Rawn Master with a grasp of Skrol would ask him to guide him to the Elemental Marker and translate it for him?’

  Elric pursed his lips, ‘yes, well…’

  ‘Convenient for you to be in prison at the time of our meeting and that there was an active Cürious to bring us here. Did you intend to sleep with the king’s sisters as part of this great plan of yours to be thrown into jail?’

  ‘Ah, well…you got me on that one. I must admit it was one of the better options at the time.’

  ‘I don’t like being toyed with as someone’s secret game!’ snapped Havoc.

  ‘Apologies, highness. I agree, I should have been straight with you.’

  ‘Damn right!’

  ‘Look, this has not gone as well as I expected…’

  ‘Did you not foresee me figuring all of this out? Or did you not know about this legion of undead that are now blocking our escape?’

  ‘You make this sound worse than it is…’

  ‘Can you foresee it getting better?’ Havoc said with a hint of venom in his question.

  ‘I will get us out of this, you just have to trust me,’ Elric was clearly not used to someone talking to him with such rancour. He seemed flustered.

  Havoc jeered and shook his head. ‘Now I suppose you would want me to open the throne so you can get your beloved kings heart out?’

  Elric took a deep breath to calm down, ‘Yes, it is the sacred relic of the Marauder Doom. It’s said that the owner who is “True of Heart” can summon Grendal and his warrior Bondsmen back from the grave to aid him. So, as you can see. That would be rather handy in our current situation.’

  ‘Are you “True of Heart”, Elric?’ Havoc knew he had gone too far with that remark. Elric’s face became flushed and angry. He reached up a hand and to his head, Havoc thought he was going for one of his swords, but instead he grasped his braided mane of hair and showed him the whalebone Mara, pointing to the symbol of the crossed-swords and Havoc noticed a small “F” underneath the design.

  ‘This,’ growled Elric ‘is proof that I’m the only direct descendant of Grendal the Wayfarer. I have been of True Heart all of my life. Everything I have done has led me to this moment.’ He breathed slowly and calmed down.

  ‘Do you know what a Bani is?’ he asked the prince.

  Havoc nodded. Long before the quest, the dragon, Ciriana, had told him about those people in life’s tangled weave that are so strong in the life force that they shape lives and events around them, these people are known as Bani.

  ‘I only see the future through the lives of other Bani,’ explained Elric, ‘like my own, there are others strong enough to shape the futures of those around them that are weaker, even if those others have a set design to their existence; it matters not when they interact with me.’

  Elric rubbed at his nose and sniffed, he was actually getting emotional, ‘a long time ago, when I was training to become a Loremaster, the lives of those closest to me were lost even though I could see them enjoying old age far into the future. Yet, their doom was because of their closeness to me and I swore to find the power to change what I could so that no one would ever suffer because of my hindrance. So I became a Marauder Doom.’

  He turned towards Havoc, ‘you are Bani, Prince Havoc, your aura burns so brightly that the fates of others around you are drawn and bound to your existence and your future, but I also see another aura, a darker one, so strong that it scares me and I do not scare easily. It surrounds you and permeates the air. It is the strongest Bani I have ever encountered and I fear for you.’

  Does he mean me? said the Blacksword with a tone of amusement. Havoc ignored him. Instead he was sensing danger, not from Elric, but from the Castle-mount itself. The Blacksword acknowledged that he felt it too. There is something evil within this place. The walls are saturated with it. I need to be unleashed to learn more.

  Elric was watching Havoc closely, ‘are you alright?’

  ‘Yes. We shall talk later,’ he stepped down from the plinth and made his way past the top table
.

  ‘But, are you not going to open the throne…?’

  ‘I shall think on it, Elric,’ answered Havoc.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going for some fresh air.’

  15

  Sjardhiem was growing darker. It was an ideal environment for a creature of stealth and shadow. Havoc left the feasting hall quickly and quietly. He was sure Elric followed, but he was lost in the shadows so fast that not even Furran and Gunach saw him.

  You’re up,’ said Havoc.

  At last!

  The prince allowed the Blacksword to emerge from his conscious mind. It was as if the being flowed out of a void and into the clothing of flesh. The Blacksword was physically different from Havoc, taller by a clear foot, thinner, pale of skin and hairless. However, where these attributes would look like a sickness in most humans, the Blacksword emitted vibrant energy, an energy that enshrouded him, an energy that latched onto the Rawn Arts with relative ease as he raced through the shadows. He skilfully used the Earth Element to change the prince’s apparel into a flowing cloak, black as the night. He drew in millions of fine particles of dust and changed their molecular structure to merge with the shadows. He used this to hide and manoeuvre in. Thus concealed, he then summoned the Wind Element to lift him upwards at incredible speed to the lowest branch of roof rafters. He leapt from one to another, which was a gap of about twenty feet distant, yet he crossed the space with ease and silence. The shroud of shadow he had created followed him like an ethereal cloud.

  He found an opening to his right. A walkway, now gone, would have stretched from one side of the Castle-mount to the other, but only a small broken section remained. The Blacksword jumped to it and stepped through to a wide balcony that jutted out of the roof. To his left were steps leading to a shallow pond of iced water and a garden area beyond it. The balcony was perhaps beautiful in its heyday, but now broken plant pots littered the ground along the arched palisade and the Blacksword walked over them with barely a sound.