by P D Ceanneir
Vallkytes were, in their hundreds, crushed under the hooves of the charging cattle. Most turned, and fled; it was turning into a rout. The mass of bovine flesh was blocking the route up the slope to the town. This would give the Raiders time to reform.
‘You may go and aid Major Gellan now Kith,’ said Havoc who had noticed the man was itching to be involved, ‘Chirn sound the recall, everyone to the ford.’
Lord Yaquis was broken but not beaten. He knew of another ford two miles upstream, he ordered his men to disengage and head north in the vain hope that Zollar’s infantry were now engaging the Rogun prince’s army from the east.
Little Kith was disappointed when he got to the ford, there was no one to fight, he helped Mad-gellan’s men pull carts to block the road from the west in case the rerouted Foygion cavalry should arrive before the prince and the Powyss’s cavalry.
After a while, with no sign of the Foygions, Havoc and Verkin appeared at the head of the Bodyguards, Powyss arrived later after picking up Whyteman and his archers who were busy covering their retreat.
‘It will not take long for Zolar to regroup his men. Over the ford now and head for the safety of the marsh,’ said Havoc.
By the time the Raiders crossed the ford, Lord Yaquis and his riders were now on the other side of the river after crossing the second ford. They broke through the roadblock then attempted attacking his foe out in the open prairie, but the discipline of the Raiders showed through as they formed with spears ready in a hedgehog formation of spikes, and moved into the marsh, one unit leapfrogging the other in an ordered retreat.
Lord Yaquis vented his frustration after the battle of Sternford; Zolar listened as he read a report from his officers, two hundred and ninety died in the stampede, another three hundred at the ford, and not one Raider amongst them, but the marshal was irritatingly happy at the result.
He explained to Yaquis that loses were minor compared to the final victory. Prince Havoc may be in the Great Marsh, thinking it was his fortress, but in reality it was his prison.
Chapter 14
Trapped in the Marsh
Unlike the Dragon Marshes, the Great Marsh was festooned with old warped and twisted trees. The cover they provided for the Raiders was excellent. Smaller than the Dragorsloth, and with an almost constant shimmer of low lying fine mist throughout the year, the Great Marsh proved to be a world all of its own. The stink of rotting vegetation certainly was out of this world.
The Raiders trudged through the shallow waters. Horses were in danger of sinking into the bog land from the weight of their riders and their mail and padded blankets, so riders guided them on foot. Thin brooks and streams that seeped from the floodwaters off the Tarridun Mountains veined the marsh but it was also dotted with higher dry islands of twisted woodlands.
In the ancient days of the tribal conflicts, this marshland was used as a safe haven against neighbouring tribes who pillaged and killed for sport and power. Signs of those olden days were everywhere; ruins of dark stone buildings covered in moss were in abundance as the Raiders travelled through these small abandoned villages. Turf roofs had caved in long ago and much rich plant life grew from inside these ruins. Dilapidated walls followed the streams in certain areas of the marsh, most had fallen into the rivers as nature forced them to change their routes.
Two days of constant and wearying marching over the dry islands brought them to a small fort with only three walls still intact at the wall head; it may have belonged to some rich nobleman in the olden days now lost to history. They camped the night, broke out the meat rations for stew and tended the wounded. To the men of Havoc’s small army, the battle at Stenford was a resounding success. Eleven men were wounded, only one mortally so, after receiving a blow to his head from a mace, and he was buried on one of the dry islands in full armour and with weapons.
Those that fought at the ford took strips of bandage cloth from their packs and stained it with an herbal-chemical mixture, called Haxodine that each man used to treat wounds. The Haxodine turned the strips of material bright yellow. The soldiers tied these strips onto their spear shafts that they now nicknamed Foygions Spears, in honour of the battle.
Havoc did not share in the enthusiasms’ of his men; he sat alone staring into the Muse Orrinn on SinDex’s pommel. He was looking for Mirryn. He was worried that something had happened to her, the silver surface of the Orrinn never opened to show him what that something was.
Powyss came to him with a bowl of stew, even though he was not hungry, he ate without tasting it; chewing slowly as he stared off into the distance. In his mind was the emotionless snigger of the Blacksword, deriding him as a failure.
‘I’ll talk to you when you have something intelligent to say,’ he whispered to himself, ‘we are not beaten yet.’
‘What was that?’ said Powyss as he dipped stale bread into his lukewarm stew.
‘Nothing, just thinking out allowed, I’m worried about Mirryn.’
‘Ahh...she probably has her talons in a potential mate,’ said Powyss with a full mouth, ‘it will soon be mating season.’
Havoc nodded in agreement, but the fact never occurred to him. As he finished his stew he was overjoyed to hear the high-pitched chirping of the red kite. Mirryn swooped down through the trees and landed on a wall of broken stones next to Furran and Little Kith who were tucking into their bowls. She ignored everyone’s interest in her and started to preen her wings.
‘There you are, where were you when I needed you?’ scolded Havoc as he ran to her. The birds reply was a drawn out screech.
‘What did she say?’ said Furran to Havoc and Little Kith sighed.
‘She said she wants a warm bath and bowl of Powyss’s ghastly stew,’ answered Kith.
‘Really?’ Furran looked at Kith in awe, and then the big man slapped him on the back of the head.
‘No you idiot! I can’t talk bird, and neither can the boss.’ To the men, the kite was a lucky omen, but they could not understand the mystery she played in the prince’s life. They obviously thought he had a way with animals.
‘Actually, she apologises for any inconvenience and hopes to facilitate a more professional, encompassing service,’ said Havoc with a wry smile. The crowd of men looked stunned, first glancing at the prince, then at the bird.
‘Too many big words in that sentence I think,’ Powyss chuckled.
Havoc brushed the feathers on Mirryn’s chest, something she always liked.
‘Go, fly, show me the marsh,’ said Havoc and she took off. He and Powyss walked back to sit on his own away from the others while the prince stared into the Orrinn.
With a dark sense of foreboding, he watched as Mirryn skirted the edge of the marshland. His worst fears had come true; Marshal Zolar had not been lax these last few days, he had strategically placed his forces around the eastern perimeter of the marsh. A ring of steel now trapped the Raiders.
Mirryn’s flight also showed him that the route north was blocked, the Tarridun River, wide and deep, the only crossing point was at the Stonebridge some miles to the north. The bridge arched over a deep gorge a hundred feet high and the marshal’s host could easily get there before the Raiders. The main blockading army looked to be local; Havoc recognised the banners and standards of the Gazzen-Sel Regiments, Zolar must have swung round to the south at some point in the last month, outflanking the Raiders, and picked up more men at Gazzen-Sel. Clearly the tribal pact with the Vallkytes had won some allies.
With the Tarridun River blocking their escape west, the Raiders had found themselves trapped in the marsh. He mentioned all of this to Powyss who hissed in frustration. After a time he lay down with hands behind his head and began to snore.
Havoc also felt tired, but was not ready for sleep. Instead he rested his head against the Orrinn and sighed. Just when things were going well, despair had to raise its ugly head. All Zolar had to do was march his men into the marsh and tighten the noose around his neck. The negative emotions burnt like fire in his gut an
d he knew he would have to meditate away the build up of Pyromantic energy. Darkness shifted inside his mind and the Blacksword persona chuckled.
Let me out! I will destroy all your enemies!
Havoc gritted his teeth, ‘no! I will deal with Zolar!’ he hissed.
You are weak!
The prince groaned as he felt his right arm go numb with cold. He flexed his fingers but they seemed to go pale and elongate as he did so. The Blacksword laughed inside his head.
‘What are you doing?’ he gasped.
Taking control.
Havoc forced his will. The entity in his head hissed back at him. When he opened his eyes, his hand was normal again and he felt no presence of the Blacksword in his mind. Sometimes he wondered if he was actually going mad or just imagining things through fatigue.
He rubbed his eyes and looked up; he caught a glimpse of shapes shifting inside the Orrinn and flinched in surprise. As he focused, he could see an armed force was heading their way from the centre of the marsh, and he could see glints of sunlight from armour through the trees. How could Zolar have gotten around us? He thought.
Havoc stood and shouted for his men to stand at arms and move northwest to engage the oncoming foe. He took the lead as he ran through trees and splashed over puddles and streams. There were similar sounds around him, the Raiders where running by his side. They burst out of a high thicket of brambles and saw the other force cresting the next area of dry land, mist swirled around them adding to the gloom. The Raiders roared as they charged, but the prince suddenly halted and shouted for them all to stand down.
He was staring at the men of the other army in half armour, bowl skillet, carrying sword and shield. The shield showed the black dragon Dex on a green field, twelve tall stones encircled the dragon, the symbol of the Carras Knights. In the centre of the formation was a knight in zircon grey armour, the knight grasped his visor and slammed it back.
‘Your Highness, we have found you!’ the voice belonged to Sir Colby of the Princes Legion.
The knight walked forward until he was within a few feet of the prince then knelt in front of him, the rest of the legion broke cover and followed suit.
The Raiders mingled uncertain behind Havoc. Jericho was smiling, Little Kith looked at Mactan, and both men shrugged.
‘Do we kneel too?’ asked Furran to Powyss and the old man thought about saying yes, but then just shook his head, Furran was way too gullible.
‘Colby I... why are you here? Man it’s good to see you!’ stuttered the prince and stepped forward as Sir Colby stood, both men clasped wrists in a warrior’s handshake.
‘We have been searching for you these past few weeks, but were forced into the marsh by the Gazzen-Sel Regiments coming in from the north,’ said Colby.
‘Searching for me, why?’ the legion, some old faces, some new, crowded round the prince to greet him. There were almost a thousand men coming out of the tree line. Amongst them were Falesti men in their brown armour, Whyteman noticed and shouted a greeting.
The men of the Legion were being jostled somewhere in the centre of the hubbub of men. A voice boomed over the sounds of talking.
‘Move aside! Where is he, where is that skinny beanpole...?’
The men of the Legion parted and Sir Colby, with a big grin on his face, moved aside so Havoc could see his half brother walk out from the press of men. Magnus had grown, in height and in width, he was still shorter than most but well proportioned and packed with muscles, carrying his helmet in one hand. Locks of long blonde hair framed his face, which was glowing with excitement. Havoc stared in disbelief at his younger brother who looked handsome in his full Carras armour; silence fell as the men looked from brother to brother.
‘Hello Havoc,’ said Magnus as he stood just feet away from the prince.
‘Hello Magnus,’ said Havoc with a lopsided grin
‘I take my eyes off you for two minutes and you go and start another war,’ laughter rippled through the Legion and the Raiders.
‘By the gods I’ve missed you,’ said Havoc and embraced his brother. Magnus reciprocated, and they laughed, both men talking in rushes.
‘You are a hard man to track down,’ said Magnus, ‘looks like you have become trapped like us?’
‘Yes, but do not worry about that now, look at you,’ Havoc stepped back from him looking up and down, ‘a Carras Knight.’
‘Yes, I had to be rushed through the trials to make up for the Carras losses in battle, passed them no problem, so I’m now a Knight Bannerette like Colby.’ This meant he had authority to raise his own company of soldiers.
‘Sir Magnus,’ said Havoc rolling the words around his tongue.
‘And Master of the Rouge,’ said Sir Colby and pointed to Magnus’s signet ring on his left hand. Havoc was overjoyed at that piece of news.
‘You are your uncle’s official heir to the Red Dukedom Estates, congratulations, how is Eleana and the baby?’
‘She is fine, Havoc Valient is two now and a quiet baby, its Anamia that’s the pest.’
‘A daughter too,’ Havoc’s smile was genuine for his brother, ‘you named your son after me; I’m honoured, but why are you here?’
‘We have been escorting a beautiful woman,’ Magnus pointed down to the tree line where more Falesti soldiers emerged into the mist carpeted marsh. There he saw two people he knew well.
Lord Ness in his white robe was walking side by side with Queen Bronwyn; she locked eyes with Havoc and smiled. The prince felt his problems flitter away at the sight of her.
The Raiders relocated to the joint Legion and Falesti camp that sat on the edge of the wide Tarridun River. Both the Legion and forest folk had a thousand men each. Their march south to find the prince was hampered by the enemy at the Stonebridge. Magnus knew they were outnumbered and in bad terrain for battle, so he advised a retreat into the marsh, the queen agreed.
After all that had happened, Havoc thought that his emotions had run dry, but he felt elated at the arrival of his old friends. Lord Ness surprised them all as he embraced the prince like a long lost son and telling how much he had been missed over the past two years. The queen was more standoffish, she curtsied and the prince bowed, but she planted a kiss on his cheek anyway, to the playful jeers and wolf whistles of the Raiders.
‘Mirryn may be a valuable asset to you Prince Havoc,’ said the queen, ‘but she is also a wonderful beacon in locating you. She came straight to me only three days ago.’
‘Ahh... so that is where she was.’
The officers of the Raiders welcomed news from the newcomers. King Vanduke, on the day that Marshal Zolar arrived at the Pass, had ordered Magnus and Sir Colby to take the legion and attack the enemy east of the Sky Mountains. Their campaign was so successful that they captured the Vallkyte garrison at Banferry. This had the effect of blocking the Vallytes’ northern routes into the Sky Mountains. With the Southron Pass watched by the Jertiani tribes, General Plysov was effectively trapped in Aln-Tiss with no trade or supplies coming from land.
The Rouge Castle, and village, had been rebuilt with high brick sandstone walls that surrounded the village; this was now the king’s main base, but the Roguns were still dotted around the Sky Mountains and the king spent his time moving from camp to camp.
‘Your Father wants you to come home,’ said Lord Ness.
‘Not until we destroy Cosshead,’ said Havoc, all there looked with surprise at the prince.
‘That’s the main Vallkyte naval base,’ pointed out Magnus.
‘And supply line from the sea for Plysov, that’s why it must be destroyed. We were heading there when we ran into Zolar. Now he can move into the marsh, or force us out and crush us out in the open.’
‘Did you know that the Cosshead Regiment there is commanded by Lord Elkin?’ said Ness Ri.
That brought Havoc up short. ‘The Elkin?’ the Ri nodded.
‘King Kasan must have some hold on him because he had been drafted into the Vallkyte army as an advisor,�
� informed the Ri.
‘No matter,’ said Havoc, rubbing his chin, ‘it doesn’t change my plans.’
The armies mingled and shared in each other’s rations. Havoc took Magnus and Colby and introduced his officers to them. Sir Colby who knew them from old, warmly welcomed Powyss and Jericho but they seemed to shun Mad-gellan, this annoyed Havoc who berated them, even Jericho was not amused by their actions. Suitably chastised, Magnus and Colby apologised to the Nithi lord who did not seem fazed by the whole incident.
Magnus had given Jericho a note from General Balaan, giving him and his Tattoium Militia authority to disband and reform under Prince Havoc’s new army. Now that it was official, Havoc gave Jericho a field commission of major. Mad-gellan surprised everyone by being the first to congratulate the newly promoted Jericho.
Lord Ness took Havoc to one side, and both men walked the riverbank.
‘How are your meditation techniques coming along?’ said Ness Ri.
‘Much better now, master, I can control the Surges, there are no more attacks.’
‘Surges?’ frowned the Ri.
‘That’s what I call the release of volatile energies.’
‘Good, Soneros Ri tells me you have trouble dealing with a dual aspect of your personality.’
The prince stopped suddenly and stared at his old master. The Ri held up his hand to reassure him.
‘I already knew you were the Blacksword before I spoke to Lord Soneros, Ciriana explained it all to me.’
‘Ciriana! The prophet?’ Havoc asked with a look of awe on his face.
‘Yes, she knew that only a Pyromancer could create a sword as powerful as that,’ he pointed to the Blacksword of prophecy, sheathed in its scabbard strapped to Havocs back. ‘From what Soneros tells me, it is remarkable indeed, tell me about the Orrinns.’