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

by P D Ceanneir

  Bronwyn killed her first man, granted, the soldier had a large wound in the shoulder, but he still had use of his sword. The princess ran straight at him, screaming. She hacked his sword aside and plunged the tip of the sabre into his chest, blood gushed over her hands and on her pristine white dress.

  Havoc noticed that she was in the path of the bulk of enemy cavalry. He ran to her as they charged forwards in a surge of horseflesh, but Soneros Ri was by her side. His old tutor speared the ground with his hand, fingers first, and Havoc felt the powerful use of the earth element. The ground under the advancing horses erupted as tendrils of soil and rock lifted the soldiers and horses high into the air. The earth then buried them alive; this had the effect of muffling the bone splintering impact of their landings.

  The remaining cavalry stood no chance; the precision of the Falesti archers took them out. Soon, the last of them littered the glade.

  The princess looked pale with shock as Havoc approached her. She dropped her sword and hugged him.

  ‘Thank the Earth Mother you are safe,’ she said in a quavering voice. She was breathing heavily, caked in blood and clots of earth churned up from the horse’s hooves, but still very attractive. He realised that his own clothes were just as layered with filth as hers was.

  There were frantic shouts from the top table, calling for Bronwyn. The prince and princess ran with the Ri and the others. They pressed through the crowd that had formed around the tables; shoving people aside to get to the queen. The pale thin figure of Nieve of the Falesti looked exhausted in her chair, her lacklustre eyes found Bronwyn and she grasped her hand in a vice-like grip.

  ‘Time is short my child,’ she said in a thin dry voice, that was loud among the now silent crowd, ‘we have reached the point of no return now. I knew this day would come, the war has finally reached us.’

  She looked at Havoc and gave him a smile, addressing the princess once again.

  ‘I do not have long,’ she said and pulled an emerald stone ring from her finger, ‘the Eternal Ring of Monarchy is yours now, Queen Bronwyn, now go do what you have to do!’

  Her grandmother collapsed back into her chair, her breathing shallow. She ordered her porters to take her back to the palace.

  As the old queen’s entourage went out of sight, the young queen gave orders to tend to the wounded and remove the dead; her bearing was stern and demanding. The tears in her eyes were the only thing that gave away any emotion.

  She took Havoc and Morden to one side, Barnum joined them uninvited.

  ‘What is it you need from the Falesti, Prince Havoc?’ she said in a rather official tone.

  ‘Bronwyn, you surely can’t side with this man after all that’s happened...!’ stated Barnum but the queen shushed him into silence.

  ‘Lord Atyd, you may be my husband but I’ am your queen first! However, if I ever find out that you had anything to do with bringing the Vallkytes here, disturbing my wedding and killing true Falesti subjects, I will have you hanged for treason!’

  The Atyd was silent under the new queen’s tense stare; his face went red with anger. He turned and stormed off. Morden chuckled. Havoc was amazed that the amiable dandy did not have a hair out of place despite being in the thick of battle.

  ‘Remind me never to make you mad, your majesty,’ smiled Havoc, and the queen smiled back.

  ‘What is it you need?’ she repeated.

  ‘I need an army.’

  ‘And you shall have one.’

  Morden clenched his fist, ‘yes!’ he exclaimed with relish.

  Chapter 8

  Chunla and Beyond

  Morning mist floated above the grassy plain that sat on the southern edge of the Oldwoods. It just seemed to ooze out of the woods edge at dawn and gradually float over the grassland. Chunla Fort lay about two miles from the furthest edge of the trees on an old drove road that cut through the plain. The Roguns had built the fort after the last battle with Baron Telmar in the civil war known as the War of the Pyromancer, before then it had been a busy trading post. It served as an extension of the Pander Fort, which sat just three miles northwest on the same road.

  Chunla Fort consisted of a large oak panelled keep, done in true Rogun style, stone foundations, and support columns helped to strengthen the structure. A stone and wood palisade surrounded the keep. Inside the fort was a small village complete with its own smithy, garrison, schools, and Vallkyte temple-ken. The drove road went through the fort from the south and north gates and passed under a stone built arch at the west side of the keep, effectively cutting the fort in half.

  The day was proving to be a warm one, the low mist at the edge of the woods would burn away as the morning sun rose higher. On the palisades upper platforms, the Vallkyte guards with their crossbows, walked around the fort on their morning watch. The red and gold tabards plain to see from the ground as they patrolled.

  A young guard by the north gate breathed in the sweet air. Not a cloud was showing on the dark blue early morning sky as he looked up. He smiled when he saw a silhouette of a red kite high above him.

  Suddenly, the sounds of distant fighting distracted him. Shouts and screams were issuing from the Oldwoods. The guard shouted for his duty sergeant. Presently, a small plump man with an air of authority on him climbed the stairs to the guards’ platform, he joined the young guard and together they watched the forest in the distance.

  ‘Could it be the patrol Sarge?’ said the youngster. Yesterday’s patrol of fifty lancers had not returned, but that was not unusual when they had a wide area to patrol.

  ‘Possibly boy, possibly,’ the sergeant narrowed his eyes to see.

  The calling of the kite faded. The young guard noticed it flying off to the sounds of the fighting. The battle became louder and the sergeant shouted for more men to man the walls as a wise precaution. It was still early morning and the bulk of the four hundred soldiers would still be asleep. The sergeant ordered the young guard to ring the alarm bell, but they were both distracted in their duties by four Vallkyte cavalrymen as they burst out of the tree line at full gallop.

  The four were shouting for the gates to open, they were racing across the grassland towards them in a panic.

  ‘It is our patrol Sarge, their under attack!’ said the young guard.

  ‘I can see that, idiot!’ growled the older man.

  At first Powyss was incredulous to Havoc’s plan, but it was growing on him, he remembered the conversation.

  ‘You want to what?’ he asked the prince wide eyed.

  ‘I want to take Fort Chunla,’ said Havoc calmly.

  ‘May I remind you, that the fort has over four hundred Vallkyte soldiers, of which, one hundred is enough to defend it.’

  ‘I didn’t know that but thank you for telling me.’ There was a groan from Powyss and sniggers from the others around the white birch tables in the palace hall. All of Havoc’s motley crew were there, the new queen, Lord Soneros and a very quiet and sullen Barnum. The Atyd Morden left to raise his Fyrd, or local army, in his own lands. He had promised the prince a thousand men to begin with.

  ‘So how do you propose to take the fort?’ Powyss asked.

  ‘Thirty of us will dress as the Vallkyte cavalry. Then the Falesti will chase us from the Oldwoods to the fort entrance in the early hours of tomorrow. There must be enough Falesti to make it look as if we are running in panic and seeking aid from the fort.

  He remained silent, allowing them to digest the plan.

  ‘They may very well open the gates to let you in,’ said Soneros who quickly grasped the prince’s scheme.

  ‘Correct master, although it is essential that we keep a gap between the pursued and pursuers. That’s so the Vallkytes in the fort can see that the gates can be opened and closed before the Falesti get to the fort, but enough of a distance for the Falesti on foot to reach us as we keep the gate open.’

  Barnum scoffed and shook his head.

  ‘You are forgetting the soldiers at the pass. As soon as Chunla i
s attacked then they will send aid,’ he said.

  ‘I’m banking on that also Lord Atyd,’ said Havoc, ‘that is why I’m sending Boughman Whyteman and the Atyd Morden to attack any force that leaves the Pander Pass. If my plan goes well then we should be in Chunla before they can send aid.’

  ‘What do we do when we have the fort in our grasp?’ asked the queen.

  ‘We burn it to the ground.’

  As Powyss, Havoc, Verkin, and Furran, burst out of the Oldwoods shouting in panic, Powyss had a slight sense of doubt at the prince’s plan. He would have been happy to have Little Kith at his side but none of the enemy’s cavalry uniforms would fit him, so he commanded a small unit of Falesti on foot.

  He could remember the smile of pride from the beautiful queen’s face as she watched the Falesti volunteers appear in their hundreds. She had raised four hundred in half a day; Morden had fared better with the promised thousand. The Atyd Barnum was more reluctant, already marked by the queen and hated by her subjects; he nevertheless showed face and provided an equal to the queen’s numbers. Bronwyn told Havoc that her husband could easily provide more than Morden and he was only doing this to boost his flagging popularity.

  The other two Atyds’ only supplied a token effort of men and arms after the new queen ordered them to aid the prince’s cause in a no nonsense tone. Powyss could see that Bronwyn was full of confidence in her new royal appointment, but she also worried for her grandmother, who had fallen into a very deep sleep and was failing fast.

  Now with over two thousand men at their backs Powyss was enjoying the thrill. Once the four had ridden a hundred paces then the rest of the thirty fake Vallkyte cavalry under Sergeant Velnour stormed out of the woods in a disorderly rabble.

  After a few seconds the Falesti, mostly on horseback under the queen and Barnum, and the rest on foot, followed the fleeing pack in front shouting their war cries.

  ‘OPEN THE GATE!’ shouted Havoc, ‘OPEN THE GATE, NOW!’ he hoped he was doing a good impression of the late cavalry captain, safe in the knowledge that their faces were not recognised under their shiny helmets and cheek guards.

  The young guard’s face went pale as he looked over the sharp stakes of the palisade. Behind the returning Fifth Mounted Division was a vast horde of screaming, brown armoured, Falesti.

  ‘It’s finally happened sarge, the forest natives have joined the war,’ he said, but the sergeant was not paying attention to him, he was shouting out orders for the gatehouse porters to open the gates.

  Havoc nearly yelped with joy as he saw the two wooden gates opening, as he had been nearing the fort he had several moments of doubt when the fifteen-foot high thick oak gates remained shut. Now he could put the next part of the plan into action.

  Powyss would hold the gate until the others arrived, He, Verkin and Furran would take out the archers on the walking platform that encircled the upper walls of the palisade.

  Five men helped the gate porter to push the heavy wooden gates open. Havoc laughed when he saw one of them ushering them in with an anxious wave of his hand. The prince took out SinDex and hacked the hand off as he passed the entrance. The appendage waved for the last time through the air.

  Verkin and Furran cut the sentries down as they rode through them. Powyss stayed by the gate as Havoc and the other two dismounted and rushed for the stairs. There was a moment of muted shock as the palisade soldiers watched the gate sentries massacred, then shouts rang out to call the garrison to arms.

  The element of surprise was gone now, Vallkytes in the bunkhouses ran off in all directions, pulling on armour, and weapons after struggling out of bed. Powyss knew that the timing of the attack was essential to surprise the enemy. Velnour and the rest of the thirty were only seconds behind him, but he still felt exposed as he used Serna as a barricade to ward off the other sentries that ran from the watch huts.

  The few archers on the palisade were too busy preparing to fire at the oncoming Falesti to notice that the enemy were amongst them. Havoc and Verkin took the east stairwell and attacked silently, killing six before men down in the courtyard saw them. Furran took the west ladder stairs and attacked with shield and sword.

  Once Velnour’s troop was through the gates with his men, he continued onwards at a gallop. His men had formed into a tight and disorderly arrow formation, but it was enough to cut through any Vallkytes in their path as they galloped along the cobbled road. They rushed under the stone arch into the second half of the fort where they found the main force of the garrison which they took totally by surprise. At first, the Vallkytes did not defend themselves against, what they thought, were their own people. The mistake cost them their lives.

  Commander Leman had awoken early and was half dressed when the alarm bell chimed. He finished dressing and quickly buckled on his sword belt and baldric. Then he took the stairs down to the courtyard at a run.

  Chaos met him on the ground; incredibly, it looked as if his cavalry were attacking his foot soldiers and they were winning. He rushed for the stables where he found most of his personal bodyguards saddling their horses.

  ‘What in the name of the Arcun, is going on?’ he said to his master sergeant.

  ‘Falesti have breached the fort sir, and that’s not Captain Mallon’s cavalry,’ he said, ‘we have been deceived.’

  ‘Falesti...?’

  ‘Sir we must make a move,’ urged the other man and mounted his horse.

  Chaos turned into anarchy as they left the stables. From the height on the back of his horse, he could see that the north gate was now swarming with Falesti. The fake Vallkyte cavalry were still fighting with the few remaining foot soldiers. His archers were firing down from the height of the sentry platform, but Falesti, who were now running along the platform in numbers, were attacking them with sword and arrow.

  ‘To the south gate!’ he ordered his men, and they fought their way through the tight press of battle. A defensive half circle had been professionally organised by one of his senior ranking officers at the smaller south gate. The officer, badly wounded in the left arm, recognised the commander and quickly ordered the defensive formation to let his troop through, the commander made straight for the officer.

  ‘Hold them off for as long as you can captain, I’ll go for help at the pass,’ said Leman.

  The old captain hid the look of disgust from his weasel of a commander and followed his orders, shouting for his diminishing line to hold.

  After killing his last two archers, by lifting them into the air with a tight flow of air and throwing them over the edge of the palisade, Havoc surveyed the progress so far from the height of the sentry platform. The north section of the fort was now in his hands. He sprinted round to the south and saw a stronger defence had been organised, but it was failing. He smiled, his plan was working.

  His attention moved to the south gate. It was being held well by a few men. Sergeant Velnour was doggedly cutting a path towards them through the Vallkyte foot soldiers, but the gate was being opened for a small troop of mounted men. He knew that their only escape was to the pass.

  He shouted to Furran on the far side of the palisade to find horses then ran back to the north side. He found Powyss with the queen and the Atyd Barnum near the gate.

  ‘You did it Havoc!’ the queen smiled down at him from her saddle, ‘your plan worked.’

  ‘The plan has changed,’ he said, ‘now we attack the pass.’

  The queen and Barnum’s faces went pale, Powyss groaned.

  ‘A horse troop is leaving via the south gate for the pass, we need to catch up with them, now!’ explained Havoc.

  Powyss turned and blared out orders for those on foot to clear the north gate. A panting Furran arrived on horseback with a grey mare, but Powyss had kept Dirkem to one side for the prince. Little Kith gratefully took the mare.

  ‘Bloody feet are killing me,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Furran, tell Velnour to go through the south gate and follow the escaping troop to the pass,’ ordered the pr
ince. He turned towards Bronwyn. ‘Your majesty, would you be so kind as to secure the fort?’ he asked her and the queen nodded.

  The small group then left through the gate and the bulk of the Falesti on horses followed close behind.

  Commander Leman was slow to leave through the south gate. His own men had to unlock the cumbersome metal slide locks and pull the gate open while being bombarded by arrows fired from the Falesti high on the upper walkways of the keep. Once through the gate though, he took a wide berth to keep out of range of the archers then headed straight for the Pander Pass. He looked behind him and saw that the fake Vallkyte cavalry had broken through his captain’s defensive line, exiting through the south gate, and was now hot on his heels.

  As he reached the drove road to the north of the fort, he then noticed another enemy force exiting the north gate, on horseback, chasing him. Falesti on foot were not far behind them. He bent forward and dug in his heels.

  The shorter outer walls of the Pander Pass were not yet completed and they flanked the drawbridge that spanned the Great River at its narrowest point. The taller walls of the main fort were also partly under construction, but the gate’s stone built archery towers flanked the tall metal gates. Leman headed for these gates, hoping to reach them before the enemy caught up. His few remaining men were whipping the life out of their horses. They all began shouting in unison for the gates to open.

  This was not part of the plan, thought Morden as he watched the fleeing Vallkytes head for the pass. Havoc’s fake cavalry, and the Falesti horse and foot, followed close behind them. This new chase had the effect of stringing the pursued and the pursuers into a long ragged line of galloping horse that intermingled so densely that it was difficult to tell friend from foe.

  He and his four hundred men of Triel’s Fyrd, with Whyteman’s force of five hundred archers that he had raised on his own as Boughman, waited quietly in the tree line less than half mile from the walls of the Pander Fort. If any Vallkytes showed concern by the attack on Chunla fort, they did not show it, even though the sounds of fighting had reached them even here.