by P D Ceanneir
‘We need a truce, because I will have to answer as the Blacksword,’ he said to himself feeling very self-conscious about talking to himself, ‘you have the confidence to help me.’
He felt his alter ego answer him with a nod. Havoc felt as if the Blacksword had grown into a more solid manifestation since the dream.
He voiced the Skrol for opening, the stone stopped pulsing, but the light stayed constant.
‘Jynn, Jynn it is Cinnibar, where have you been? I have been most concerned!’ said a distant female voice.
‘Jynn is dead,’ said Havoc in a dry whisper, it was a voice not unlike his own, but he felt it was being used by another mind, similar to his. The Blacksword was controlling his words, ‘She screams in pain amongst the damned,’ the voice continued, ‘her mistress is the Queen of the Ravens now.’
In Havoc’s mind, Temporary mind of the Blacksword’s, the Queen of the Ravens was Verna. He first used it to strike fear into fragile souls, but now she had become real to the Blacksword.
There was a long silence for a while, the lobe Stone still glowed and Havoc-Blacksword refrained from saying more until there was a reply. Havoc’s heart leapt in his chest, but the Blacksword remained calm and sat cross-legged on the bed, two entities sharing one body.
‘Who is this?’ said Cinnibar.
‘I’ am the Blacksword.’
The connection was broken at the other end, the glow of the stone dimmed and the room went dark.
Havoc sat in silence. The Blacksword laughed.
Chapter 4
Ten Mountain
Powyss’s face showed concern for Havoc when the prince explained to him about the dream the next morning after breakfast. They had decided to meet in the stables.
‘Havoc, do not fall to pieces on me now. You are the Blacksword, the Blacksword is you,’ he said as he ran the grooming brush through Sarema’s flank.
‘I know; it’s just that I feel different when I become the Blacksword, confidant, unbeatable, invincible,’ said Havoc pacing up and down, ‘but I also felt fear from him when I fought him in my dream. I felt his pain from his wounds just as much as he felt mine. It is as if he fears losing through my weakness. I can feel him shifting in my mind, even now. Is this the start of the madness?’
Powyss dropped the brush and grabbed Havoc by the shoulders.
‘Listen to me, you young fool! You are good and strong. Show the Blacksword that you are better than he is!’
‘How can I?’ Havoc shrugged, ‘when I don the black cloak I feel more powerful, not the other way around.’
‘Then start by doing something he can’t.’
Havoc frowned. ‘You’ve lost me now.’
‘It’s simple. Who would follow the Blacksword?’ said Powyss picking up the grooming brush again and went back to grooming his horse. The idea that the fearsome solitary figure of the prophesised Blacksword having followers actually seemed strange to Havoc.
‘I will take a stab in the dark on this one and say, no one?’
‘Correct. Now you however,’ Powyss pointed at Havoc’s chest, ‘who will follow you?’
Understanding dawned on the prince. He gave his big wide grin.
The old warrior shrugged, ‘The Blacksword thinks for some reason you lack confidence in yourself. So prove to him you have it in abundance, lead an army. You have already proved to be very good leader.’ said Powyss as if the answer was obvious.
Havoc rushed up to Powyss and gave him a tight hug, laughing as he did so.
‘Powyss of the Hoath, you are a genius!’ Havoc said.
‘I know, now get off me before we are seen, you dolt!’
Havoc then became sombre as he mentioned to Powyss about the short conversation with his Aunt. The older Rawn listened with a blank expression on his face.
‘Well let’s hope that she has given up on the Blacksword now,’ said Powyss without much conviction.
‘Doubt it.’
They worked in silence for a while as they brushed the horses, replaced the straw and fed them both oats from a nosebag. Once everything was done, Powyss asked the prince if he would like to spar, but Havoc was lost in thought.
‘Alright, what is wrong now?’
‘Oh, nothing really…just…’
‘Spit it out.’
Havoc explained to him about the last battle in the Oldwoods and the curious control he had over the mist.
‘It was as if I could feel the enemy soldiers through the vapour in the air. I’ve never heard of Rawn being able to do that.’ He said.
Powyss stared at him for a few seconds and then rubbed his chin as he pondered what to say.
‘Most Rawns, Masters and Apprentices, vary in their ability to control the elements. What you speak of is a very rare gift that only a few Ris’ have ever managed to accomplish. Have you ever heard of Master Mingaan?’
Havoc nodded. All students at the academy knew of the adventures of Master Mingaan, possibly one of the most powerful of all the Rawn Masters and one who would have become the greatest of the Ris’ if he did not meet his tragic end during the Dragor-rix War.
‘He could do what you described, and other things, of course,’ said Powyss, ‘he could even use the mist to Thought Link at a great distance. Practice, my boy, and you will become as great as he once was.’
When the others found out about Havoc’s trip to see the Queen of the Eternal Forest they all asked to come with him. Havoc was overwhelmed, but toned down the discussion by saying he would only be away for a few days.
‘Where you go I go,’ said Powyss, seconded by most of the group who gave back their answer loudly.
‘Alright, seems I will have to make a choice,’ said Havoc raising his hands for silence,’ Furran, Velnour, the Captain and Little Kith can come with me. Whyteman and Linth are going with the Atyd anyway. The rest of you can stay and wait for Verkin’s recovery, and if we don’t return in two weeks then come after us, how does that sound?’ they all agreed. Seemingly the rest and entertainment at Triel Hall appealed to those left behind. Mactan and Felcon had formed a close friendship and were constantly gaming with dice in the local Cider House, preferring the company of the serving girls that would drape themselves over them whenever they played. The twins, Foxe and Hexor, had been seen riding the other day along with two of the Treil Halls women that had entertained them all with their singing on the first night. Brynd was never out of the Halls library and Ethyn had taken leave to visit his parents in the next village,
The group headed off on the dawn of the next day, the twenty-third of Malya in the 3030th Year of Ascension. Havoc marked it well in his mind as a possible new beginning. The Atyd also brought along twenty of his armoured bodyguards with him.
‘The queen is a bit particular about arms and soldiers in her home, so bringing along less men is better,’ said Morden to Havoc as they rode together at the head of the column.
‘I would not think you’d be expecting any trouble in this safe haven,’ said Havoc with a touch of sarcasm.
The comment was lost on Morden; he regarded Havoc with a brief glance and a slight shrug.
‘The men are merely a show of power, my friend; the other Atyd’s will be competing against each other. There is much rivalry between the families, I for one do my duty and never antagonise my peers,’ and he turned to Havoc, ‘I like a peaceful life.’
With everyone on horseback, the group made good time and reached the outskirts of Ten Mountain in the late evening. It was much the same as Triel but larger, the road they trotted along was made of flagstones that curved downwards from the centre so the rainwater flowed into gutters at the sides from the camber. Preparations’ for the coming Hynndborg was well under way, garlands of colourful flowers and brightly dyed material lined the route along the road and a large market was busy with Falesti who flocked to it even in this late afternoon. Portable huts with tables and chairs were dotted all over the area, cider, ale or wine was sold over the huts counter. Singers, and minstrels
’ moved from crowd to hut, making a fortune in tips.
They stopped at a long food tent next to a hollow in the ground with hot coals burning inside it. A variety of meats and roasted vegetables was cooking away on the coals in metal pots or on spits. The smell in the air made the travel weary newcomers hungry. When the owner of the tent recognised Morden he quickly seated them all down and served them with a wide platter of the cooked foodstuff.
‘Your people certainly know how to throw a party, Atyd,’ said Little Kith spilling pork fat down his stubbly chin, his new clothes made him look like one of the Falesti, only bigger, much bigger.
‘This is only the market day. The actual festival starts at the end of the week, for two days,’ said Morden.
Velnour and Linth both tucked into a sweet, but spicy, breadcrumb coated chicken leg, while Powyss nibbled on two slices of buttered rye bread with salted ham and thick cheese inside it; Furran noticed this and made one for himself.
‘Is this some sort of Hoath way of eating?’ he said to the captain as he lathered the bread with thick spicy tomato relish from a jar and them topped that with hard cheese, cherry tomatoes and spiced stripped pork.
‘Yes, my father first showed me how to make them,’ he said between bites, ‘he called it a Food Parcel.’
Havoc and Powyss both laughed at Furran’s attempt at eating his very overfull Food Parcel as the contents fell out and slopped wetly onto his lap.
‘Maybe I should call it a Furran Fool from now on,’ said Powyss with a grin.
Morden explained to them that the Ten Mountain’s were more or less a clump of small hillocks shorter than the trees that surrounded or grew around them. Seven hills surrounded the three in the centre. On the three, grew ten tall trees with the queen’s palace sitting among its branches. In consequence, it was the highest building in the Eternal Forest and the view from its towers was a panoramic sea of green that stretched for miles in all directions.
The rest of the town nestled among the other seven hills, but the bulk of the population was to the south of the palace. Large open crop fields lay to the northwest in tree-enclosed boundaries. The Atyd Morden and his troop now took Havoc and his men into this terrain after their evening meal. They followed a path that fringed a natural river, which flowed from the Tattoium Mountains far to the west. It pooled into a small lake from a waterfall. The calm lake was quiet and tranquil among the trees. Havoc noticed long furrows cut into the earth on the far bank to channel the water into wooden troughs, which irrigate the crop fields.
‘The pool is called Tarquiel or the Lovers Lake,’ Whyteman told him as they cantered by the lakes calm waters, ‘you are betrothed to the woman you make love to here, so the old stories say.’
Furran leaned over on his saddle towards Velnour and said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘This is a place to avoid with the local whores then,’ Velnour smiled and nodded.
They reached their destination long before nightfall. They crossed a small stone bridge into Tarquiel Village. Below the bridge sat a wooden pier lined up with several shallow bottomed skiffs; these looked to be the main trading transport through the Ten Mountain Eldom. The Tarquiel Inn, sat on the west side of the palace hills boundary. The river flowed lazily by its front door. Four sequoias had been formed into a three-storey house. The insides of two of the tree trunks skilfully carved out to make large rooms.
‘Deron, my third oldest brother, is the Landlord here, he always allows me to stay for free when I visit Ten Mountain,’ informed Morden to the group.
There were only two rooms available at the inn. The Atyd explained that he and Whyteman would take one and Havoc and Powyss the other. The soldiers and the others would sleep in the stables or among the large tree roots.
‘With all due respect, Atyd, I will sleep in the stables also,’ said Havoc.
‘You will?’ Morden looked at Havoc in wide eyed surprise.
“Endear yourself to your men by enduring their hardships,” said Havoc. ‘Rule six, chapter eight paragraphs eleven to twelve of Elkin’s Battle Tactics, and Strategies vol 2,’ this brought some laughs from the Atyd’s men and smiles from Havoc’s friends.
‘Oh... right, I see you have read it then,’ said Morden.
‘From cover to cover,’ nodded Havoc.
‘I’ll do that too my lord, thanks you all the same,’ said Powyss.
Morden looked at Whyteman, ‘have you read Elkin as well?’
‘No, but the stables do look inviting,’ said his brother.
‘Well then, I have a reputation that must not be besmirched, I bid you all goodnight,’ said the Atyd, walking into the inn.
As they all settled for the night, the owner Deron, entered with four servants and many flagons of ale and a platter of food.
‘This is from my stuck-up fool of a brother,’ he boomed, he was a big fat man with a natural friendly face and a shaved head. He bore no resemblance to Whyteman at all and was clearly several years older. He tucked his hands into his braces and spoke to his younger brother, whom he had not seen in a few years, and Whyteman introduced him to Havoc and the others.
‘Morden only stays here to keep away from the other Atyds’,’ said Deron.
‘Are they really that bad?’ asked Powyss.
‘Bunch of conceited bastards if you ask me; Morden may have his faults, but he is the best of them. Just watch out for Barnum.’
‘Who’s he?’ Havoc asked.
‘Atyd from Flael, a snake in the grass, power hungry that one,’ Deron said. He and the servants poured dark ale into tall wooden mugs and drank with them for a while catching up with stories from Whyteman. He was incredibly grateful to Havoc and Powyss for helping the slaves to escape from the Haplann Gold Mines. It seemed that the boyish Whyteman was also Deron’s favourite.
‘Of all the brothers I have, this one,’ he said affectionately ruffling Whyteman’s shock of blonde hair, was always in trouble, and being older, It was my job to look after him; never complained about it though.’
‘He hasn’t changed much then,’ Furran quipped, to a few chuckles.
Deron turned towards Havoc, ‘Morden tells me you are going to visit the queen?’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘she only grants an audience on the second day of the festival, and you will not be the only one. Luckily, you will get in quicker with my brother. She likes him for some odd reason.’
‘He has his good points, Deron’ said Whyteman, ‘he did give you funds to start your business, remember?’
Deron sniffed, ‘Yes..well…I suppose he did. He may have his faults, but he has a good heart.’
After a time, Deron and his servants left them to prepare for sleep. The men laid down their horse blankets on the thick straw that covered the hay loft they all now occupied. Other travellers were also staying in the stables because they could not afford Deron’s room rates, but they kept a distance from the Atyd’s soldiers. Havoc lay on the straw with his hands behind his head listening to the others sleep. He mulled over what he would say to the queen of the Falesti and hoped she would aid him in the Roguns’ cause.
The water was cool and refreshing. The dawn sun crept over the hills of Ten Mountain, pushing away the darkness under the canopy. Bronwyn stroked back her wet hair and tied it behind her. She heard the shouts of the Hunters in the distance and she hoped that the false trail she left would lead them in the opposite direction.
She filled her water pouch from the lake and put it into her satchel that hung over her shoulder. She moved off, stooping low through the bushes and headed for the Tarquiel River. If she could skirt the edge of the lake to the east and reach the other side then she would be safe, but dawn was fast approaching and her time was short.
Her heart thumped in her chest. She knew of the outcome her situation had created and feared capture from the Hunters. She had brought the situation upon herself and must see it through to the end or face the consequences.
Her grandmother would be very displeased with he
r, but her pride had forced her hand. The shouts became louder as the pursuers’ closed in. How could they have found her trail so soon? She ran faster.
Havoc woke an hour before dawn and left the stables to the sleeping crowd. To his relief, his dreams were too faint to remember. He took some food from his saddlebags and summoned Mirryn to the river edge. She did not come to him for some time, so he walked upriver until he saw her sitting on a boulder by the river bend. He fed her a few crumbs of honeyed oat biscuits, then took out his sword and performed standard exercises and forms to loosen muscles and relax his mind.
The early morning mist covered the banks of the river in a ghostly shroud, but the rising sun would soon burn it away. Bronwyn slowed her pace to a stooped crawl by the water’s edge. Her plan was to wait here until a crowd of people walked by on the way to the market, then slip in amongst them to hide from her pursuers. However, she could hear them getting closer and she would need to keep moving.
A whooshing sound and movement caught her eye to her right. She slipped in behind tall shrubs. Peering through the ferns and the thinning mist she could see a tall man doing complex movements with his sword. He had long wavy black hair down to his shoulders, bare chest from the waist up and lathered in sweat. She watched as the muscles in his arms and back moved in time to the whistling of his sword as it slashed through the air so quickly that it blurred. The fluid movements of the intricate routine were hypnotising and she stared with her mouth open at his fine physique.
He turned in her direction, his eyes closed. Sweat trickled from his chest down to his muscled stomach. Three white parallel scars showed through his pale skin as they stretched on his chest, they ran diagonally from his left breast to the top of his abdomen. A silver medallion on a black leather thong around his neck glinted in the rising sun.
He finished the last difficult manoeuvre and opened his eyes. They were bright green, they gave him a handsome, yet feral look, and they were looking straight at her.