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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘I must apologise Morden for not supplying you with an appointment of your own; Regent of the Pass will seem superficial to Barnum once Lord Rett arrives. I have better plans for you.’

  ‘Very kind of you, my lord, but I do not ask for anything.’

  ‘Even if it is the Regency of Haplann?’ asked Havoc.

  The Atyd looked surprised and stared at the prince as if he was making some sick joke.

  ‘You jest sir?’ he said.

  ‘No Morden I’m deadly serious. Haplann belongs to the countess; she is young, blonde and has bright blue eyes,’ reminisced Havoc as he looked over the parapet, ‘she will bring proof of her identity and she will answer to the name of Mulvend.

  ‘I know all of this because I believe in destiny. Fate brought us together and it will do so again, I have no doubt. I tell you all of this in confidence, Morden, because you will look after Haplann for her, and for me. Will you do that?’

  ‘Of course my lord, but there is the slight snag of Haplann being currently occupied by Vallkytes.’

  ‘One problem at a time, Morden, one problem at a time,’ said the prince.

  Before she left, Queen Bronwyn gifted Havoc with her handmaiden, Mila as a runner to deliver his letter to his father. She also had an official note of passage with the queen’s seal in case she came across any Vallkyte patrols. The taking of the Pander Pass would not have reached the Rogun held lands so soon. Havoc had no doubt that the hardy little girl would not fail in her task.

  ‘They may need verification to your identity my lord,’ she said as Havoc handed her the rolled up scroll for his father. The prince pondered her query as Mila looked around at the wide slope of grassland where she had finally found the prince astride his horse. The wide slope was part of the three-tiered grass mound where the main walls of the fort sat; however, the fort only took up a small fraction of the mound, the rest curved and stretched about another mile south. She had found the prince at the far end of this formation overlooking “preparations” for the coming battle. Over to the east, at the far edge of the plain, she could see the smoking remains of Fort Chunla.

  She watched as soldiers from the prince’s newly formed army drove hundreds of wooden stakes into the ground halfway up the mound. She guessed it was about a seventy-foot incline down to ground level from where they began, and even though they arranged the stakes into three neat rows, they would not help with defence, because the soldiers did not angle them towards the plain nor did they sharpen them to a point.

  ‘Give my father this,’ said the prince, startling Mila from her thoughts. Havoc handed her a silver medallion depicting a Vallkyte Knight astride his charger. Bronwyn had returned it to the prince and apologised for her husband’s stupidity. ‘Tell him I took it from the ashes. He will understand.

  ‘Very well my lord, I shall tell him,’ said Mila clearly confused. She was about to ride away when the curiosity about the stakes became too much.

  ‘My lord, I must ask you. Why are the stakes arranged thus?’

  ‘Do you believe in revering the dead?’ whispered the prince.

  Mila was startled at the question and change of subject, but she answered anyway.

  ‘Yes I do, my lord?’

  ‘Even Vallkyte dead?’

  ‘I have no love for the Vallkytes my lord. They killed my father at Dragorsloth.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I on the other hand revere the dead. I hope they will win a battle for me, hence the stakes.’

  The problem of Lord Luxon, and his Vallkyte host, came to a head on the fourth day after Havoc had taken the pass. Foxe and some of his scouts returned from a routine patrol and reported that they had seen off a small company of Vallkyte scouts from Caphun. Later that day, Hexor arrived to confirm that Luxon was on the move from the garrison.

  ‘They will force-march throughout the night,’ explained Hexor. His face so dirty that no one could make out his freckles, ‘and be here by early morning.’

  ‘How many?’ the prince asked.

  ‘At least five thousand, my lord,’ said Hexor.

  Havoc turned to his officers who had gathered on his orders at this late evening.

  ‘Major Gellan, you know what to do, take the main body through the Oldwoods using the trees as cover, attack on my signal.’

  The big Nithi lord had an amused expression on his face. He was also shaking his head.

  ‘Our odds are not good my lord, I’ll be surprised if we can win this,’ he said, ‘but if we do, then you’ll break the sceptic in me.’

  Havoc chuckled, ‘and in me also major, I’ll see you in the centre.’

  Little Kith and Furran joined with their own units under Mad-gellan, Linth and a hundred archers went to give support. That left Havoc with a thousand men to command, mostly archers and horse. An hour before dawn, the prince ordered Whyteman and his archers, who were now simply being termed as the Eternals, to lay down behind the top tier of the mound out of sight from eyes down on the plain; they would spring into action when called. Morden commanded two hundred as reserves, most were his Falesti Fyrd.

  On the mound, rank upon rank of Vallkyte dead had horizontal staves lashed behind their backs. The staves, in turn, were tied to the stakes that had been hammered into the ground the previous day. Each corpse was tightly packed together and wearing Falesti, Haplann or Rogun mail and armour along and with spear and shield strapped to them. They gave any observer at a distance the look of an armed force. It was a silent and macabre scene if one was close enough to the rows of upright corpses; there were also several problems to address. Putting helmets on them weighed their heads down. To remedy this, birch bark was wrapped around their necks for support and then covered up with dark scarves. The other problem was the ravens. Hundreds had flown in from all directions roosted in the trees. The racket of their calls in the morning was horrendous. Powyss was the first to point out to Havoc that the ravens never came close to the dead men on the mound, yet it was Verkin’s comment that gave the prince a chill down his spine.

  ‘She will not let them feast just yet,’ he said with conviction.

  ‘Who?’ Powyss asked Verkin. A worried frown etched his brow.

  ‘The Queen of the Ravens.’

  Havoc and Powyss exchanged looks, but nothing more was said. Verkin had not been himself since his wound had healed.

  To give some semblance of life to the macabre scene Havoc had placed a line of his own men at the front of the dead and at each side. Felcon and Mactan took charge of the flanks.

  As always, a mist had spread over the plain. Havoc and Powyss used the arts to thicken it around the army of living and dead. With the princes ability to “Link” his Pyromantic energy to the Arts, the mist thickened and spread over a wider distance that Powyss could manage on his own. It would add to the deception at least.

  Barnum watched from the forts battlements. The smell of the dead reached him here, the womenfolk had saturated the corpse’s clothes in perfume made from Seethum petals; it helped a little, but the smell of burnt wood and charred flesh still emitted from the smoking ruins of Fort Chunla, and that helped to cover the smell also.

  Powyss and Velnour had managed to scrape together four hundred horses. Havoc took half that number along with Verkin’s bodyguards and watched the exposed right flank, while Powyss remained with his squadron on the left.

  They sat astride their horses in silence. Verkin fidgeted with his leather armour and coif beside the prince. The only sound came from the snorting of the horses or their teeth champing at their bits. Everyone looked down the rise of the mound towards the plain. Havoc hoped that Mad-gellan was in position.

  Dressed in the brown light armour of the Falesti, Havoc also wore a chain mail shirt underneath. Several of the women of the forest had made his royal standard. Instead of the dragon Dex holding the Cromme Acorn on a blue background of his fathers, his Dex was on a red background for De Proteous, minus the golden crown of monarchy.

  His army however was s
everely lacking in banners to represent divisions or command status, there was no time to have any made. Armour was also lacking, the army took what they could get. Most, like Havoc, wore the brown armour of the forest people, but the prince was the only one not wearing a helmet, he wanted his men to recognise him in battle.

  Havoc did not need Mirryn to see the many pennants and banners of the Vallkyte force when they finally swamped the plain. They were far more numerous in number. Their colours clashed with the misty green of the land and their knights steel plate armour glinted slightly in the early morning light.

  Even at this distance, the ground shook under the hooves of a thousand cavalry trotting onto the plain. They were Luxon’s van, sent first to retain their part of the battlefield. Behind them came the mass of infantry grouped in square formations, or Battles, filing through the narrow Drove Road and the blackened skeleton of Chunla before moving onto the plain. The ground trembled with every step of their armoured boots the closer they marched. Hexor’s estimate of numbers was correct; Havoc’s army was outnumbered two to one. He thought he could see the Vallkyte commander among his bodyguards, handsome in his black armour and surrounded by standards and banners shifting slightly in the morning breeze.

  The mist rolled back as the host filled the plain. Because of his well-chosen tactical position, Havoc had put his army on an area of the tiered mound that curved to the south forcing the enemy to have the Oldwoods at their backs. Although, when the enemy host halted they were still a good distance from the Oldwoods. Mad-gellan and his men would have a fair distance to cross. Havoc hoped he would use the tall grass for cover.

  The prince needed to keep the enemies attention on him and away from their backs. He called to Mactan further down the slope.

  ‘Lieutenant, will you not welcome our guests?’ he said.

  The normally reserved Mactan smiled back at the prince. He then turned to his front and hurled abuse at the Vallkyte army. All of his men joined in, obscenities about birth parents and genitalia size, filtered down to the watching soldiers. Havoc’s men needed to shout louder than normal, to make up for the silent dead. Felcon, on the far right, started slamming his sword pommel onto his shield. This was taken up by his company and a cacophony of noise rolled down to the silent and watchful Vallkytes who could only see a wide dark mass of men on the mound through the mist.

  Commander Luxon had an answer for the indecent language. With a flick of his hand he called up his archers, who seemed to ooze out between the lines of cavalry, and ordered them to fire; each of them wore half mail and cap-like skillets with the red and yellow padded overcoats, similar to the infantry.

  There was no parley, no negotiations, and no champion’s bout. As far as Lord Luxon was concerned, these rebels were scum. The archers’ main targets would be the prince’s cavalry, but he had made sure his horses were out of range and too far behind the tiered mound to have any tactical advantage. The archers moved forward to get range but not close enough to be exposed. They notched, drew and loosened shaft after shaft, sending two more before the first had landed. Mactan and Felcon shouted for the shields to be raised. Men grunted as the arrows thumped against metal shield, some screamed as the deadly points found flesh. The dead took the brunt silently, arrows clanging against their shields, which were strapped to their bodies; the point’s that pierced open the abdomens of the dead were responsible for unleashing an overpowering deathly stench among the living.

  Mactan crouched behind his shield as the bone-numbing shock of the shafts struck. He dared to peek over the rim towards Felcon on the other side of the row of dead. His friend was also crouched into a tight ball behind his shield. The white fletched shafts littered the ground to their front, some being lost amongst the tall grass.

  Eventually, after a five minute barrage, the shadow of iron hail disappeared to reveal sunlight and the pressure relented on his shield. Mactan was the first to stand and use his sword to cut away shafts from his shield least they weigh it down. His men did the same.

  Havoc signalled towards Felcon, the tall blonde soldier acknowledged with a nod and moved his left flank formation towards the rear of the dead so it looked like they were fleeing. This was a testing time for the young prince; he wanted Luxon to take the bait.

  The enemy archers moved back behind the cavalry. Havoc felt tense as he watched the Vallkyte cavalry trot forward forming into three rows and then they cantered towards them with their lances held vertically.

  Thankfully, they had taken the bait.

  The prince knew that his lack of horse was his weakness; he needed to nullify the situation.

  A thunder of hooves rippled through the ground as the horses broke into a gallop, as they couched their steel-tipped lances. Havoc then ordered his right flank to move away. Mactan did so with such quickness that the fleeing men looked to be panicking, this goaded the cavalry into a faster speed; it seemed as if the wretched rebels were fleeing for sure. The front ranks of Havoc’s army, the living that is, now seemed to run in fear as the cavalry hit the bottom of the slope. The slopes incline did not slow the horses much; if they realised that they were riding towards dead men tied to thick stakes then they were too late to do anything about it.

  There was a huge wrenching noise as the stakes along the front rank of corpses ripped from the ground. Snapping sounds of lances and bones cracked through the air like thunder. However, the remaining stakes of the second row of dead held and the enemy horses stopped suddenly as if they hit a brick wall. Riders flew forward from their saddles with the momentum of the charge. The front rank disappeared amid the chaos of the impact and the crushing force of the rear two. Bodies of the dead burst sending up a foul rotting stink. Bones, human and charger, could be heard snapping even from where Havoc sat astride Dirkem. Screams rent the air, ranging from shocked human to agonising neighing.

  Havoc turned in his saddle towards Whyteman’s position still lay beyond the view of the enemy and behind the mound of dead; the prince raised his hand and the Eternal archers were up and aiming their arrows, the prince dropped his hand and the massacre continued. From the advantage of height and the closeness of their targets, the Eternals could not miss; arrows annihilated the remaining front rank of cavalry and decimated the second. Armour and plate steel was no aid to the horsemen at this close range because of the archers steel piercing bodkins and deadly broad heads, even if that were the case, then the horses could not be missed. Furious equine temper and fear thrashed the living and dead into a red ruin as the mass of horseflesh mounted into the pileup.

  Havoc tore his eyes away from the massacre and looked towards the main enemy force, Luxon had seen the chaos, and ordered his infantry and archers forward at a sprint. However, Havoc’s attention was suddenly fixed on the Vallkyte rear; Mad-gellan had engaged the enemy, enclosing them into a long thin half circle, two ranks deep.

  ‘The fool, he has not waited for my signal!’ complained Havoc.

  The remaining cavalry at the rear of the chaos broke and began retreating, but as Havoc watched, they did not split to the flanks to allow the infantry and archers to take the space on the field and attack. Instead they galloped straight into their own men, conveniently covering the rebel force from their own archers.

  ‘This is it!’ shouted Havoc, ‘it’s now or never,’ he unsheathed SinDex and all eyes of his own army watched him raise the sword in the air and heard him order the general advance.

  ‘CHARGE!’ he screamed.

  The enemy cavalry mowed down their own men in a desperate bid get back to their own lines, the rebel cavalry exacerbated the panic by ploughing through the enemy archers and disorganised ranks of foot soldiers and pounding them into the grass. Both Havoc and Powyss used a V shaped formation, or arrowhead, with each of them at the front. Havoc aimed his “arrow” into the right flank of the enemy, coming in at an angle so he could cut a path to the Vallkyte commander and put an end to the battle. The now thinly spread infantry stood no chance against the charging horse
. Even if some survived, Mactan and Felcon’s men then cut them down as they charged behind their own cavalry.

  Havoc could see that Powyss was slightly ahead on his left, the old major slammed into the enemies flank, causing them to bunch together. Havoc’s own attack split the Vallkytes into two as he hacked his way towards the centre. With SinDex separated in each hand, he cut down all in his path. No weapon, no shield, nor armour could stand against the Sword that Rules.

  The mounted guards of the enemy commander had surrounded their leader in a defensive circle; these elite horsed soldiers had the best armour and weapons and were formidable fighters, but the prince had an advantage of speed and he could see that their attention was elsewhere. They were looking at the rebel attack towards their rear; Mad-gellan’s assault on the enemy had resulted in the disintegration of the rear lines. Even now, the half circles of rebels were trudging doggedly over the bodies of the dead, which littered the ground behind them. Little Kith, and his huge double headed axe, had cut a path deep into the enemy infantry. Mad-gellan was doing his best to catch up with the giant, but even now the Vallkytes were recovering from the attack, forming a shield wall and slowing the rebel advance.

  Luxon’s standard-bearer saw the prince’s cavalry charge. Even as the bodyguards turned around their mounts into a defensive formation the prince struck hard. Four hundred static horses were no match for a charging cavalry half that number and the front rank collapsed as the prince’s men sliced open bodies and toppled riders as they passed. Powyss rammed his formation in the bodyguards left flank, and as that crumbled, Havoc looked around to gauge the battle progress. He could see that the entire left flank of the enemy was now being overrun utterly and contained by the rebels; the right was disintegrating into a rout.

  ‘Powyss, they rout to the left, breakout with your troop and cut down the fleeing men!’ shouted Havoc to his second. His aim was to have no survivors returning to Caphun, and Powyss understood and issued orders for the breakout.

  Havoc’s men left the arrow formation to fight off Luxon’s bodyguards, now reduced by half of their original number. In the centre of the fighting melee sat the black armoured Luxon astride his horse hacking away at Little Kith’s division as they got closer to the centre. Havoc shouted the commander’s name over the sounds of clanging metal and dying screams.