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

by P D Ceanneir

  Havoc smiled, ‘Oh, I have a gift for you.’ He handed over a Spit Gun complete with holster, belt and several bolt cartridges.

  ‘From Furran. He says you need the practise.’

  Elric laughed loudly. On the pier, the workers looked their way for a moment and then went back to work.

  ‘Tell him I will practice every day.’

  ‘I will. Well, this is goodbye, Elric,’ the prince held out his hand and Elric grasped his wrist tightly.

  ‘You know the location of Mortkraxnoss and how to reach it?’ asked the Marauder Doom.

  ‘I do. The Skrol on the throne revealed all.’

  ‘Then you go on a greater adventure than I could ever hope for,’ said Elric, ‘but beware of your Bani, Havoc Cromme, and the effect it has on those around you, especially those you love.’

  ‘You make it sound as if I have no choice in my life path.’

  Elric released his grip and looked away, ‘you don’t. As I have learnt to my sadness.’ He mounted his horse.

  ‘Be seeing you, Elric Stormstrider,’ said Havoc.

  ‘I will look forward to that day, your highness,’ said Elric, jovially. He turned his mount around and trotted back along the pier. Havoc watched him go until the wall of snow that fell like a curtain obscured the large warrior.

  He wondered if he would ever see Elric Stormstrider again.

  THE END

  1

  The stars glitter against the velvet backdrop of space.

  One of them moves. Its surface catches distant sunlight so it can be revealed as a small object with strange winged protrusions and is actually not a star after all. Lights blink on its surface and it emits a series of random high-pitched sounds that it sends deep into space.

  It slows by expelling bursts of white gas from several cone ports. It hovers now above a planet, a plant so large that the object takes several hours to confirm its readings. Finally, the planet’s size can be recorded and sent back by a series of complex subspace transmissions. The size of the planet is 381,638,346.74 Miles in circumference.

  Then atmosphere composition, mass, weight, rotation, every scrap of information is recorded and transmitted.

  Worryingly, the planet is moving through space at incredible speed. Something is causing this to happen. The probe is about to complete its first orbit when it discovers the planet has a huge protrusion of thousands of very long tentacles. The tentacles are so large that the smallest measures about a mile across. They stretch out into space for many hundreds of miles. They are so numerous that they are able to act as sails that catch the solar winds and so pull the planet through space.

  The Artificial Intelligence on-board the probes computer is so engrossed in this new information that it fails to manoeuvre around the danger when it looms before it in the shape of one of those tentacles, yet it still manages to send the last of its transmissions before crashing into the protrusion and exploding.

  2

  ‘We have now lost Tetra-sat 3, admiral,’ said the young lieutenant at the operations desk, ‘It has given us plenty of data before it went down, sir.’

  Admiral Paltra rubbed his forehead as he sat upright in his command chair and then nodded slowly. Outwardly, he was giving off an air of confidence, on the inside his thoughts were in turmoil. The last “eye on the Entity” was gone. He suddenly felt the last one hundred and seventeen years of his life creep up on him and fear replaced hope.

  He lent forward in his chair, his long arms resting on his knees. His thin fingers rubbed at the Plettaro Ridges on his forehead and wondered if he would ever sleep soundly again without the worry of annihilation dogging his dreams. He raised his hand and waved a young female to his side. She was tall at about seven feet, like all Plettraians, and moved with a feline grace, almost predatory. Her oval face seemed cold and impassive to the news of the lost satellite, but the admiral could see worry in her large almond-shaped blue eyes.

  ‘Commander Vlaren,’ he said, ‘I will be sending the landing craft out just as soon as we clear the debris field. Analyse the data for an adequate landing zone.’

  ‘Yes, admiral,’ she quickly moved over to a console on the other side of the ships bridge and ordered the lieutenant to transfer all data to her station.

  ‘It looks like Professor Gatha was right,’ she said after a while, ‘his hypothesis on the Entity’s use of travel is through the solar winds. It uses those giant tentacles as sails. Current velocity is sixty thousand teraquans an hour and it has moved into sectors six and seven since its last known position.’

  ‘That’s way off course,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘why is it not moving directly towards Plettra Prime? Does this mean its ignoring us?’

  Some of the bridge crew were looking towards the admiral after the lieutenant’s question. All of them looked worried, but hopeful. Could it be that after fifty years of waiting, they would not have to engage the Entity? Could it be that they would not have to suffer the same fate as the other planets and advanced civilisations in their solar system, all of which were now destroyed by the thing that now threatened them?

  Admiral Paltra chuckled and shook his head, ‘It’s tacking,’ he said but got a questioning look from the lieutenant, ‘just like the old sail boats I once used on Essa Six when we trained in the Naval Collegium. The Entity is searching for favourable winds before changing course.’

  ‘It’s been looking for “Favourable Winds” for the past twenty years according to these readings, sir,’ said Vlaren.

  Over on the expansive helm where a young ensign was keeping an eye on the tiller control, a loud signal emitted from the console and the ensign tapped at a round nodule to lessen the volume. ‘Exiting the debris field now, Admiral,’ he said.

  ‘On screen.’

  The forward bulkhead of the SS Clarion, the Plettra Prime’s Flagship, disappeared and expanded to reveal a three dimensional view of the blackness of space. In front of the ship were the remnants of hundreds of spacecraft, shattered and floating aimlessly around the flagship like an asteroid field. Everyone looked with a degree of sadness and anger at the last remaining Hortkalken battle fleet to engage the Entity over fifty years ago. Now most of the Hortkallkens were gone, so too was their planet. All of them taken by the creature that now threatened their homeworld.

  It was the admiral, as commander of the Plettra battle fleet, who planned to sneak up on the Entity by using the debris field as cover and get close enough to the thing to send landing craft, with an elite squad of infantry, to find a way to destroy the Entity on the surface of the planet. Every other attempt to destroy it from space had failed. Now, with the thing so close to his home planet, Admiral Paltra and his battle fleet was the last wall of defence that the Plettraians had.

  This mission had to succeed.

  ‘The Nixxus and the Venture have both acknowledged they are clear of the field, sir,’ said a young female at the communications desk.

  ‘Good,’ said the admiral, ‘have them move into battle formation. Commander Vlaren, ready your team for the next stage.’

  Vlaren, still standing at her console, was so busy scrutinising the data streams emitting from the planet, she never heard the admiral.

  ‘Commander,’ said Paltra impatiently.

  ‘Ah, sorry sir, I was observing an energy signal coming from the surface.’

  ‘A signal? That can’t be right. There is no advanced technology there,’ said Paltra.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m getting an intermittent energy spike.’

  ‘Signature?’

  ‘Unknown, sir. It does not conform to anything on our database.’

  ‘Location?’

  ‘Somewhere in the heart of the ruined city.’

  The admiral rubbed at the horn ridges on his chin as he pondered his next move.

  Suddenly, deck commander Juyil groaned loudly.

  ‘What is it, Juyil?’ asked the admiral.

  ‘Computer shows that the Entity is changing course.’ He tapped a few ke
ys on the console and a three dimensional display appeared from a light port that sat directly in front of the admirals chair. It showed a series of concentric circles that represented distance boundaries around Plettra Prime and another, thicker line, depicting the course path of the Entity. The thick line now crossed one of those boundaries.

  ‘New course?’ asked the admiral, but he already knew the answer.

  ‘Homeworld,’ said Juyil with a tone of weariness in his voice.

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘At its current trajectory, it will reach Plettra Prime in sixteen days.’

  The mood on the bridge suddenly became more sombre, if such a thing was possible.

  ‘Time until it reaches us?’

  Juyil tapped on several more keys, ‘forty-seven minutes, sir.’

  ‘Fine,’ said the admiral, ‘this is why we are here. Vlaren, transfer this new data to ops and my chair console. Then get yourself to your Lander.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ said Vlaren. Her hands flew over the keypad as she transferred the information to the relevant targets and sent a mass of data to her personal PDU, Portable Data Unit, which was plugged into the console. She extracted the PDU from its charging port and holstered it into its plastic sleeve on her left hip. She then marched off the command deck, but the admiral reached for her as she passed him and he grabbed her arm.

  ‘Stay safe, my child,’ he whispered.

  Vlaren smiled and patted his hand, ‘all will be well, father.’

  Paltra let her go and issued more orders to the bridge crew as more of the fleet cleared the debris field. Vlaren took the deck lift to the sixth floor and tried not to cry. She knew she would never see her father again.

  3

  Vlaren had spent most of her adult life on board the Space Ship Clarion so she knew its motions even as the guidance thrusters caused the slightest shift in position, marked by vibration through the floor. Yet, her senses were in the periphery of her conscious mind as she had other things to worry about.

  An energy spike! From the surface?

  She knew that the planet that housed the body of the Entity had no civilised technology to speak of, so where was this reading coming from?

  Oh, the planet had its legends when there was recorded life on its surface. Some were breathtakingly absurd, yet nothing like the vast technology that came from Plettra Prime.

  As she ran through an adjoining corridor and into another lift, her father’s voice could be heard through the ships intercom system. His tone was low, serious and steady.

  People of Plattraus, this is the moment that we have been training for all of our lives. This is the time we face the monstrosity that threatens our Homeworld…

  Vlaren exited the lift and entered section nine’s changing room where she pushed past the other infantry soldiers getting into their Tactical Suits: a soft, malleable one-piece suit that had the ability to absorb energy and protect its wearer from harsh extremes.

  We are the last vanguard that stand between It and our extinction…think of the Hortalken Empire, the Veppirians and the Star Cluster Federation, all of these great races have succumbed to the Entity. Some were destroyed, others joined us in their fight and are on board this very ship…

  Already most of the flight teams and soldiers were leaving to board the Landers. Vlaren quickly suited up, she then went to the armoury next door and took her standard CaB 490 High-Energy Phase Blaster, which she holstered on her right hip before picking up her Mark III Kytor Pulse Rifle and sprinting towards the docking bays followed by her father’s voice.

  We will not fail you. We know that this could be our last fight, but we will die in defence of life and in the hope of bringing down fear and tyranny. We will succeed because we have to. We will sacrifice because of necessity. We cannot allow this creature to destroy thousands of years of Plattraus History and we have sixteen days to do it…

  Ladies and Gentleman…the Dark Tanis must die!

  4

  Somewhere in the Fields of Marrow, two thousand miles northeast of the last Hinterland outpost, in the month of Oplacus 3037 YOA.

  ‘It’s a damned strange place to build a monument, all the way out here?’ said Tia, as she rode astride her dappled mare called Tertha, which was the Wyani name for a small whirlwind that often swept across the Wyani grasslands; grasslands much the same as the terrain that the small group of riders now cantered over.

  Havoc looked towards the young Rawn Master. She had let her short brown hair grow longer and it now bobbed and flayed out with every bounce of her mount and rush of wind. She had taken to wearing the Wyvern Faial clothing on warm days and, as such, had developed a deep chestnut tan along her arms, shoulders and bare legs. In the past year, he could see a formidable change come over the once proud Havant Priestess since her abandonment of her faith. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and her worries were the shared worries of the new family that surrounded her aboard the Cybeleion.

  Some of that family now travelled with them over the vast expanse of flat grassland towards the tall tower in the distance. Powyss always followed the prince without argument, Little Kith felt the same and was never far from his side, Lord Ness, purely out of curiosity, and two of the Wyvern, the sisters Debdil and Maleene. Debdil had developed a close friendship with Tia and, since the days after the Oculus incident, had become her personal servant. Maleene, the beautiful and stern leader of the Wyvern Faial, which was the personal honour guard of the Queen Bronwyn, had also grown close to Tia and developed a motherly instinct, even though she was only two years older. Maleene knew of the Prince and Tia’s relationship and, being a diligent follower of Falesti law in regards to courtship, decided to keep an eye on them.

  ‘It would make sense,’ said Havoc in answer to Tia’s question, ‘when you know who it’s built for.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ said Tia, ‘it’s over a thousand years old.’

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ mumbled the Ri, who was still very standoffish with the former priestess.

  About a month ago, while entering the Marrows terrain, the crew of the Cybeleion had stopped at the trading city in the area, Mj’guth. Most of the “People of the Marrows” were nomadic and so rarely settled down in one place. They were a short, hardy people used to the climate and the thinner air this far above sea level. They were a strong warrior-like race, but most were mainly farmers of domesticated livestock, from goats to horses.

  It was while collecting supplies in Mj’guth that they learnt of the monument in the centre of the grasslands. A place few dared to visit and so many stories about its origins developed over time.

  ‘There is no way this is the Tomb of the actual Blacksword,’ explained Tia.

  Havoc had to agree with her, yet there was a yearning to confirm the truth and Lord Ness was just as much intrigued as he was. Both of them, and Tia also, knew of the many strange fables about the Blacksword down through the ages. It made sense that there could have been many “Blackswords” in the past. Even the Blacksword himself, skulking about in the prince’s head, voiced an opinion that they should visit this tomb, so the Cybeleion made a detour. The huge ship now sat on the grass about a mile behind them.

  As they drew closer, the monument took in more detail. It had a central spire of black glass, like obsidian, wrought with ancient runes along it’s surface. At the base of the spire, carved out of the rock face, was a huge human skull with shadowy eye sockets and an open mouth. Inside the mouth was a stone doorway. Flanking the skull were a pair of bony fingers gripping large orbs about the height of a man. This was obviously the main entrance to what looked like an ancient barrow. The barrow itself stretched from the rear of the opening for about a hundred feet, rising out of the ground like a humped hill, bedecked in stone obelisks that seemed to grow out of the grassy hump of the barrow.

  ‘The stones and rocks must have been transported here from the distant hills,’ observed Lord Ness as he nodded towards the snow-capped mountains on the hori
zon. There were no other rock formations anywhere else on the Marrows.

  ‘Quite a lot of effort went into making this, then,’ said Debdil with a slight quiver of apprehension in her voice. She, for one, knew of the many tales attributed to the Blacksword and was just as anxious as everyone else was.

  They all dismounted and walked between the tall stone spheres, which acted as a border to a pathway leading to the open mouth of the entrance. On closer inspection, the monument was in dire need of repair. Many cracks had opened up on the façade due to the extreme winters at this height. A large covering of White Snowmoss obscured much of the ornate carvings, but those on the stone door were obviously Skrol.

  Lord Ness, walking in front of the group, halted and raised his sword-staff to warn the others to stop also.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked the prince.

  ‘There is a strong energy flux near the doorway,’ he said, staring straight ahead. ‘Shift your perspective and look.’

  Havoc did so. A Rawn apprentice received training in seeing things that others did not; this is achieved by applying a form of second sight, imagination and a lot of logic. Havoc focused on the area near the entrance and quickly picked up a small wave of Earth energy hovering above the ground.

  ‘Someone has laid a trap,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Lord Ness, ‘anyone crossing the flow will be instantly crushed by falling rocks from above the skull façade. This is the work of a Ri, a very powerful one at that.’

  ‘Well, that’s disturbing,’ said Powyss.

  ‘It’s also newly installed. Relative to the age of the structure, I mean.’

  ‘Gonliss Ri?’ asked Havoc, knowing full well that a Ri from the Brethac Order went ahead of them on his own quest to find Mortkraxnoss many years ago.