The Rawn Chronicles Book Two: The Warlord and The Raiders (The Rawn Chronicles Series 2)

by P D Ceanneir

‘Not a bad days work,’ said the older man, ‘two more than yesterday.’

  The Blacksword said nothing. He merely stared from the darkness of the cowl.

  ‘Hello, is there anyone there?’ he said waving his hand in front of the hood.

  The Blacksword crouched into a defensive stance.

  ‘Are you my enemy?’ he said in a harsh whisper.

  ‘Havoc it’s me Powyss, remember the old fool that took you on as an apprentice?’

  Powyss did not show it but he was worried for the boy. His alternate persona of the Blacksword was starting to chafe with the prince’s reality. He cleaned his sword on a dead soldier’s tabard and sheathed it. This had an effect on the Blacksword and he relaxed. The hood jerked from left to right as if its owner had just realized where he was, he pulled back the hood, and touched the Earth Orrinn on the swords pommel.

  Powyss could see Havoc’s confusion fade from his eyes as the gradual change from the black clothing of his alter ego disappeared into a dowdy brown and grey threadbare equivalent. The boy’s trim figure sagged from weariness, he brushed his hand through his long black hair, a two-day growth of beard covered his chin, and he looked at Powyss with dark eyes that slowly changed to his usual bright feral green eyes.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ said Havoc, he sheathed his sword which now bore the resemblance of Tragenn the old sword of his ancestors, ‘when I adopt the persona of the Blacksword, it’s like…like I’m someone else.’

  ‘I’m concerned for you. Maybe you should put the Blacksword to rest for a while.’ Powyss did not want to complicate matters with the prince he knew of the boy’s curse of being a Pyromancer, an awesome and vast resource of energy that could enhance his Rawn abilities, but could also lead to madness if he did not meditate away those energies that resided in his most volatile negative emotions. The boy had not meditated for a few days now and the strain was starting to show.

  ‘I think you are right, we had better get back to the others,’ said the prince.

  Just as they were about to leave, they heard shouts in the distance, more Vallkytes.

  ‘Do they never give up? How many do we have to kill to get them to leave us alone?’ said Powyss with a sigh. Both men turned and ran in the opposite direction of the shouts.

  Little Kith studied the Wind Orrinn that now sat in Dirkem’s saddlebags. The thing that confused him, and the others, was Havoc’s ability to use Skrol to activate the Orrinn and use it to produce a tornado that would kill an entire company of foot. Such a thing was unheard of, even for a powerful Ri.

  He was not complaining of course, Havoc did save all of their lives at the battle of Othell’s Cairn. He, and the other fugitives from Haplann, named it as such in memory of their fallen friend. They were all indebted to Havoc. He was an enigma, his prowess with the blade was the equal of the captains, but his use of the Rawn Arts far outstripped his masters. He was well educated, a natural leader, humble and brave, his sword was of a unique quality, and Powyss took orders from him. Little Kith may look like a towering ogre but he was no idiot, he knew nobility when he saw it.

  The sound of approaching footsteps startled him. He had no time to un-sling his double headed axe from his shoulder, so he quickly took out a long bladed dagger from his boot and turned.

  Havoc and Powyss were only several feet from him as he moved and he was surprised at how quiet they were. No one could sneak up on Little Kith. If they wanted to get past him, then they usually took the long way round to avoid him.

  ‘How’s Verkin?’ asked Powyss.

  ‘Not good,’ said Little Kith nodding towards the makeshift camp, ‘the twins are making a stretcher.’

  The earlier ambush had gone well at first, but the Vallkytes had fought back viciously. As Havoc and Powyss made for the camp, the prince could see four more of his people dead. Verkin had taken an arrow in the chest, but still lived. The doughty fighter had already suffered blood loss from a previous wound during the escape from the Haplann mines.

  Over the past few days he had come to know his shrinking group well, he knew them all by name now. The non-identical twins, Foxe and Hexor, from Haplann, had thrown together a stretcher from branches and strong vines; they still looked similar though, with the same brown hair and youthful sprinkle of freckles over their noses and cheeks. They looked up from their work as Havoc arrived.

  ‘Best we could do in the time we had, boss.’ said Foxe. The men had started calling Havoc, “boss” in the days since Othell’s Cairn, this seemed to be because he had no rank that they could see, but accepted his authority. The stretcher looked as if it could lift Little Kith with no problems and he said as much to the twins, who both grinned when Powyss said ‘with any luck they won’t break their backs trying.’

  ‘I heard that,’ said the distant voice of the giant.

  ‘Big ears on a big head,’ intoned Furran, Whyteman had sewn up the scar on Furran’s cheek before he left. However, the swelling was threatening to burst the stitching. Verkin was lying in the stretcher, his face pale and breathing, shallow. Havoc placed his hand on the clammy, cold forehead. The broken arrow shaft protruded from the man’s chest, it had punctured his lung and the congealed blood, and the shaft, was the only thing plugging the hole and stopping his lung from collapsing. Verkin’s eyelids flickered slightly at Havoc’s touch but he remained unconscious.

  Havoc shook his head, pity overwhelmed him, he was not going to lose any more men, and he placed his other hand next to the wound.

  ‘No Havoc, we have no time for this, Vallkyte soldiers are coming and we need to press on,’ said Powyss unconvincingly.

  ‘If I don’t do something now, he will surely die,’ explained the prince.

  The rest of the men stood around in a circle, concern on their faces. All there liked Verkin, but the use of the Rawn Arts to heal another used plenty of energy and left the user weak. With Vallkytes almost upon them, they would need Havoc’s blade.

  Havoc reached for a Pyromantic Surge and linked it to the energies flowing through the water element. He had only done this once before and ended up killing a man, although that was intentional. This time he closed his eyes and concentrated on using controlled amounts of the Surge that would gradually heal the wound.

  There were gasps from all around him and a sucking, popping sound told him that the arrowhead had been pushed out of the wound. Verkin’s back arched up in pain, his eyes opened and stared into Havoc’s face. The wound and the lung both healed in front of every one’s eyes. It turned into puckered red scar tissue.

  Havoc looked down at Verkin, who was staring straight back, and for a split second, there was a brief Thought Link, but it was Verkin, shivering from the loss of blood, who saw into Havoc’s mind for a few seconds, as the prince relaxed his control of the arts.

  Verkin saw a brown bear towering over a blonde headed girl, Jynn’s head falling over the side of the wreck of the Sky Ship, four girls impaled on stakes, a black cloaked figure with a sword that did not shine and a field full of ravens in the centre of which was a beautiful girl in a blue dress...

  Havoc suddenly pulled his hands away and the link was broken. Verkin coughed twice and fell back into unconsciousness; his breathing was more even now.

  For Havoc, the Pyromantic Surge still churned unspent and his hands took on the form of water, they rippled and looked transparent. The problem he had with summoning the Surges, was that the energy had to be released, and only in a controlled fashion. He concentrated on dispersing it and a thick mist started to rise from the moisture in the air and mingling with the dampness from the forest floor.

  All the men witnessed his hand returning to normal, they looked around them at the ghostly forms in the mist that moved like wraiths within the currents and eddies of the forest breeze.

  ‘Well this should cover us from the Vallkytes,’ said Powyss trying to change the subject and failing amidst the agog looks of the men around him.

  Havoc stood with no sign of weakness in him as
he gave out orders.

  ‘Linth, you and your men stay with me. The rest of you take Verkin into the forest. We’ll hold them off and catch up; it may buy you some time.’ He rushed off to Dirkem’s side and took out his horn bow and quiver from the black stallion’s saddle cantle.

  Little Kith with his Golas, a larger, more powerful, version of the crossbow, arrived at his side with the stocky Furran, who carried Whyteman’s bow.

  ‘We’d like to stay with you if you don’t mind, boss?’ Furran said.

  Havoc was about to disagree, but he had only Linth and four others, so two more would help.

  ‘Alright then, Furran take Brynd and cover both flanks in case they go around us. Little Kith, your with me.’

  He waved at Powyss who had gathered the rest of the men for the march onwards.

  ‘Take care, see you soon,’ said Havoc. His plan was to slow down the enemy with arrows, then catch up with the others. They would need to delay the enemy long enough to give Powyss’s group a head start.

  ‘Don’t be too long, when your body starts leaking blood, then it’s time to run,’ shouted back Powyss.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ Havoc watched as the twins, Velnour and Powyss took first turn at carrying the stretcher, and the others followed on.

  Havoc lined up with Linth, Felcon, Ethyn, and Mactan. The mist covered them well but obscured their view of the approaching enemy. Havoc moved them out of the mist and behind trees. They waited in silence as the soldiers came into view. Havoc was surprised to notice that his ability to detect life around him through the Rawn Arts was heightened because of the mist that lingered everywhere. As soon as one of the enemy soldiers moved through the low white clouds, he sensed their approach even though he could not see them in the mist. He could only assume he was using a version of the Thought Link as he connected to the energy flows through the water element. He would have to ask Powyss about it later.

  If there was a later.

  ‘I hope you are as good with that bow as you are with your sword?’ whispered Linth a skinny dark haired archer with friendly brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile.

  Havoc shrugged and notched an arrow; he took aim at the approaching enemy barely seen through the mist and shot his arrow into an infantryman’s eye. He went down with a piercing scream, which caused his comrades to duck for cover. ‘I get by,’ he said to Linth who was stunned, because they were barely in range for an accurate shot.

  The others fired arrows, pushing the Vallkytes back, and forcing them to retire behind shields, but the skilful Eternal archers soon exploited gaps in the formations and picked off stragglers in the flanks. Soon the Vallkytes took to up the challenge and formed into a tight shield wall. They moved forward slowly, fanning out to curve at the flanks. Havoc counted twenty in all.

  He called his men back to the thinning mist near the clearing. The Vallkytes saw the retreat and rushed towards them, screaming a blood-curdling war cry. Their discipline was such that their line stayed intact even as they ran through trees, but as they approached the fugitives’ camp, they had to bunch up as they funnelled in-between dense bramble thickets on each side.

  The mist parted to reveal a Golas held by a seven-foot grinning warrior. There was nowhere to go in the crush, so the front rank held up their shield and prayed to the gods. Little Kith fired the thick bolt from the Golas; its kick jarred the muscles in his biceps’. The bolt, at such close range, punched through shield, armour, flesh and bone. Havoc and the archers added to the carnage. However, they were outnumbered and the flanks were being overrun, he saw Furran throw his bow away and unsheathe his sword, Brynd, a tall, thin, blonde archer, had chosen a high spot to fire down at the Vallkyte infantry and achieving some success at holding them back, but his arrows were running out.

  ‘Fall back!’ shouted Havoc and his men instantly obeyed. As Little Kith passed him, he grabbed his arm.

  ‘Get them away, don’t look back, I’ll hold them off!’ he said and Kith saw the flash of seriousness in Havoc’s eyes for an instant and he nodded.

  As Little Kith ran after the others, Havoc pulled out SinDex, the Sword that Rules, known as the Blacksword of prophecy, and ran at the oncoming enemy. He jumped into the air, fashioning a hard area of air to lift him higher than a normal human could leap, and landed on two shield men forcing them to the ground with the audible crack of broken bones. He lashed out with his sword sending men back screaming as they clutched at spurting wounds and severed limbs.

  Nevertheless, the enemy soon surrounded him as he fought them off. He contemplated changing into his alter ego. He could hear a dry chuckle at the back of his mind urging him to let the Blacksword out, but the thought of not returning to reality disturbed him. He would possess the Blacksword, but the Blacksword would not possess him.

  A circle of dead surrounded him; he summoned a localised concentration of gale-force wind to blast soldiers away from him, but more charged towards him out of the mist to augment the numbers of the original attackers. He felt weak and tired, but fought on regardless. Soldiers from the flanks moved in, he hoped that Furran and Brynd had escaped with the others.

  The problem was that the prophecy was so precise in the details of warrior prowess, “all enemies shall be vanquished” clearly meant that the owner of the sword was unbeatable. It gave Havoc, as the Blacksword, the confidence to fight his opponents…

  A spearman lunged for his chest, Havoc sidestepped and spun around him bringing his sword diagonally down through the man’s back, severing his spine.

  …he had killed the commander of the Haplann Mines a few days ago, and though the Rawn Master was a great warrior, he had managed to defeat him easily…

  Two more soldiers moved in. The prince stepped into their attack and pierced one through the heart with the tip of SinDex and then heel spun, kicking the second in the throat, the soldier’s mouth worked up and down as he tried to breathe.

  …Jynn on the other hand, was a far trickier fight and his skills tested to their limit. A Ri was extremely difficult to kill. However, at the point of hopeless defeat the Blacksword itself struck a crucial blow to the final victorious outcome…

  An axe man swung at him screaming as he charged, Havoc ducked and took the attackers legs off from below the knee.

  …the Sword that Rules was indestructible, it could cut through anything and imbibed with part of his soul and a curse, so powerful, all feared it…

  Another soldier raced in with sword and shield, he swung the metal shield into Havoc’s lunge, but the prince stepped back at the last moment and brought his sword up, using the tip to cut the soldiers head from left jaw to top of right ear. The upper part of his skull slid onto the ground with a dull thud.

  …so why was he struggling to control this change in his persona. He needed to keep both aspects of his personality separate from the people of the island. His people respected the Crown Prince of the Roguns, they would think differently if they learnt he was the fearsome character of the Blacksword a prophesised bringer of war and destruction …

  An arrow whizzed past his ear, he turned to see more Vallkyte archers notching arrows just beyond the patch of brambles. He killed two more men with swift sweeps of his blade. He slit the throat of a third then lifted him with the wind element. The soldier hung above the ferns like a limp sack of grain.

  The archers, seven in all, took aim. Havoc threw the body with the force of a strong gale behind it, he could hear the arrows hit the body with dull thumps, and the archers dived out of the way, as the corpse landed on some of their colleagues.

  Fatigued now from the fight and from the use of the Rawn arts, but still determined to continue, he ran at the archers who dispersed in fright, running back into the woods.

  …his worry was the Pyromancer’s curse of madness. He hoped that the insatiable desire to become the Blacksword rose from the burning need to revenge his people and family from the tyranny of the Vallkytes and not the start of some physiological disorder…

 
; Even though he left a bleeding trail of broken bodies, the Vallkytes still came on and moved wide in a bid to surround him. He needed to break out of the circle, so he rushed two men and knocked them down. He ran with the soldiers at his heals towards the raised ground that Brynd had fought from. Thankfully, the tall archer was not in evidence among the dead.

  He cut down more men as they climbed after him, arrows flew by; one went through his cloak close to his left knee. He deflected several more with the forte of his blade as he battled between lunges.

  The enemy were slowing but so was he. He received a gash on his right thigh, and an arrow nicked his left ear as it whistled past his head. Below him, three Vallkytes linked shields then charged, running up the slippery slope and tried to knock him off the mound. They would have succeeded too if they had not been struck by a dozen, white feathered, arrows from behind. The rest of the enemy was falling under the skilful aim of hidden sharpshooters. The arrows came from all directions, but none touched Havoc.

  Green clothed archers walked out of the trees, firing at random towards the fleeing Vallkytes. They were mostly blonde and tall with straight backs and broad muscled shoulders. Dozens of them were seeing off the enemy.

  Havoc breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Whyteman among them. The white haired gangling youth beamed up at him and waved.

  ‘I told this lot I did not need their help, but they insisted, boss,’ he shouted, and Havoc laughed so much he thought that the bespoken madness would engulf him.

  Chapter 2

  Triel

  Not all of the men of the Eternal Forest were archers. Some were obviously well trained men-at-arms who wore brown armour that looked much like interlaced laminated hardwood to cover their chests in an ornate carapace, fitting their frames perfectly and designed to give freedom of movement. They also carried tall pavise shields and short swords that they used with quick precise jabs at the retreating Vallkyte spearmen. Havoc noticed how the woodsmen fought in pairs or in groups of threes or fours, strengthening their attack, and gaining a quick advantage in battle.