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

by P D Ceanneir

  Mad-gellan, in the centre, shouted orders to keep the line steady. Jericho, on his right with Little Kith and Furran, were keeping running men in well-disciplined order compared to the disorganised Gazzen-Sel and Vallkyte units. Mactan and his company were intermingled with the legion, for the purpose of this attack Magnus would have to take orders from him. Once they reached a certain distance to the advancing enemy, Mad-gellan gave the order for the men to use Spit Guns.

  The Raiders stopped; the front rank kneeled and took out their guns from their holsters. The second rank did the same but remained standing, both ranks aimed directly at the oncoming infantry, while the third rank aimed their guns at an angle above their heads.

  Forty feet away, the Gazzen-Sel tribal regiment screamed a war cry. Thirty feet, the professional Vallkytes Regulars from Dulan and Wyani sprinted into the attack behind them. At twenty feet Mad-gellan gave the order to fire.

  The light armour of the Gazzen-Sel regiments and Vallkyte foot soldiers was no match for the wolfram tipped bolts and the ballistic velocity of the Spit Guns. Even if they had time to raise shields it would make no difference at such close range. The first rank of the enemy crumpled to the ground in mid sprint as the raiders fired, the shafts sent the second rank jerking and spinning as they ripped through them, and the third either fell over their fallen colleagues, or died as the next volley of lethal bolts pierced through their armour. The volley of the Raiders third line, who fired at an angle into the sky, landed somewhere in the centre ranks of the enemy. Gaps opened up as men fell under the onslaught.

  Mad-gellan shouted for the men to holster the guns and use spears. The Raiders now marched forward. The Spit Gun attack has stalled the enemy, but some of the officers had seen the danger and were shouting for gaps in the lines to close up and shields to be raised. The fourteen-foot long spears of the Raiders hit the disorganised Vallkyte front rank with a resounding clash of timber and metal. The Gazzen-Sel Regiment laid in tatters on the ground under their feet; most dead, the rest dying, as the Raiders walked over them and started spearing and slashing at the Vallkyte infantry in a tight phalanx of spears. The Vallkyte billhooks were too short to cause any problem for the Raiders and the enemy had no choice but to fall back, but the ranks to the rear were shoving them forward towards bloody ruin.

  Using a similar drill that was used with such efficiently at Sternford, the Raiders as one unit, stepped forward while at the same time hacked down, pierced then stepped back again. They continued this mode of attack as long as their forward momentum allowed, causing much devastation. The Vallkyte spearmen had no answer to such a well disciplined manoeuvre; they floundered, impotent, with their shorter weapons. Vallkyte men-at-arms used tall pavise shields to push away the Raider spears in an attempt to batter their way forwards and create gaps that the soldiers behind could fill. In pairs, the Raiders varied their assault to counteract this. One would hack down trying to lower the enemy shields, while the other jabbed at any exposed part of the opponents body armour. The reek of blood saturated the air. Screams and shouts reverberated across the battlefield.

  The Legion had a far better opportunity on the left flank. With Linth’s archers causing the enemies right flank to bunch, there was an opening between them and the lower ridges of the Skytop Hill. Magnus used this opportunity and stormed into the gap with the Legion. Mactan followed and ordered his men to discard spears in favour of their short swords and shields as they joined the Legion in the tightly packed fight. They locked shields with the Vallkytes and jabbed over rims with their short swords, pushing and screaming as they did so.

  Linth however, had a problem; Vallkyte infantry had climbed the steep southern slopes of Skytop and were in danger of storming his position in the old forts ruins. He ordered his fifty to defend the high ground at all cost. If they lost it then the enemy would be able to fire down on his fellow Raiders. His archers loosed arrows at the climbing soldiers, pushing them back.

  The enemy were also attempting to neutralise the Eternals on the Fess ridge. Felcon’s men used their spears to hack and slash down at any Vallkytes that climbed the grass embankments with varying degrees of success.

  With the Vallkyte left flank crumbling under the onslaught of Whyteman’s archers, Havoc turned to Queen Bronwyn and her Falesti reserve.

  ‘Your Highness, would you be so kind as to send your troops into the enemies left flank and ensure the gap stays open for my cavalry to enter?’

  ‘Certainly Commander,’ Bronwyn smiled, and shouted orders for her people to run into the gap.

  ‘Please be careful,’ said Havoc to her as she passed, she nodded and brushed his arm with her fingertips.

  The Falesti and the Vale Dwarves sprinted to the attack as they joined the queen’s host. Brown armour creaking as they ran; pennants of the separate troops flapping in the wind. The sky was a brooding darkness; the first drops of rain pattered and pinged off Havoc’s armour.

  Weakened by the Raider attack and struggling under the barrage of arrows that Whyteman’s archers constantly sent, the Vallkyte infantry tried in vain to close the gap on the left flank, but the Falesti reserve sent them reeling as they crowded through the opening. Hand to hand fighting broke out and the Falesti pushed the gap wider. The dwarves swinging low with axe and sword, cutting the feet from under the enemy; they were relentless, and so efficient, that enemy infantry moved away from these mad little men and this caused the left flank to crumble. Queen Bronwyn sat astride her horse with her personal guards, heedless of the arrows that flew around her, shouting encouragement to her men.

  Back on hill fort; Linth felt a hard punch on his left shoulder and the force pushed him to the ground. Ethyn beside him saw the arrow in his back; he turned to see enemy archers behind them. They must have climbed the steep side of Skytop further to the east to attack from behind. There were perhaps a dozen of them. He shouted for men to aid him as he threw away his bow, drew his short sword, and charged the enemy.

  Down in the centre; Mad-gellan’s voice was raw as he and the rest of his unit shouted out their attack drill as one voice, “Forward, Hack, Pierce, and Back” and so on, to keep the timing universal. The Vallkyte ranks fell in their hundreds, the ground became slippery with blood, and then once they were over the mound of dead, the ground became dry until the next wave of Vallkyte infantry moved forward to the slaughter. The front line of Raiders tired, it felt like the battle had gone on for hours. Mad-gellan ordered the second rank to swap with the first when there was a lull in the battle, but he stayed to keep the men in formation.

  When the gap on the left flank opened to an adequate size Havoc ordered Powyss and Velnour to charge with the Raider Heavy Horse. The combined might of the Raider cavalry quickly pushed through the gap at a decent canter.

  Somewhere on the Raider’s right flank, Little Kith lost his spear early on in the battle, but un-slung his trusted axe. He rushed forward tipping down shields so his fellow Raiders could slash with spears or swords. He was so effective that the path he cut through the enemy brought him to within a few feet of Zolar and his Bodyguards.

  Up on Skytop, the attack of the dozen Vallkytes stalled as green armoured Raiders rushed them. Two enemy archers lay dead at Ethyn’s feet when an arrow hit his chest, jerking him backwards. Several of his men rushed to help but they too fell under the arrows before they reached the attackers. Then a flurry of white appeared out of the rain sodden ruins. Ness Ri was among the Vallkytes so quickly that his attack took them totally by surprise. With Belthoin unsheathed, he sliced through the archers and used the hurricane forced blast of the third element to lift others off the mountain and send them spinning through the air like autumn leaves on a blustery day. Within seconds, Belthoin’s long thin blade was slick with blood and the five of the Vallkyte soldiers were dead around him.

  Down on the battlefield; Powyss and Velnour knew their job well, once through the gap the thousand equestrians split and attacked the rear of the Vallkyte lines, cutting down the archers firs
t then mowing through to the marshal’s bodyguards.

  Havoc watched from Dirkem’s saddle and felt a sudden stabbing pain in his head. Let me out! Hissed the Blacksword. Havoc whistled through gritted teeth and rubbed his head.

  ‘My lord?’ asked Verkin beside him, ‘are you all right?’ Verkin’s face was strangely pale, and had been for a few days now; it showed concern for his commander.

  ‘Fine... Fine,’ he unsheathed SinDex, the Blacksword laughed with joy in his head, ‘let’s end this lieutenant; get me to Zolar.’

  With the Raider cavalry in such a good position to block the south of the dry lake, the enemy soldiers started to panic. Those who could not bloody their weapons because of the restriction of terrain, or crushed behind the fighting front line, saw the hopelessness of continuing the fight, they ran before the south exit was blocked. It became a rout.

  With the gap open on the enemy’s left and their attackers dead or running. Felcon and Whyteman climbed down from the ridge as soon as Havoc and Verkin’s fifty bodyguards rode through, they ran behind and joined the Falesti. Adding to the slaughter and compounding the rout.

  In the middle of the battle Powyss saw Zolar first, he swung left with a dozen of his cavalry and attacked, but Zolar sat calmly amongst his knights until Powyss was in range then he lifted his hand and a bright orange glow emanated from his palm. He threw a large fireball straight towards the small group of Raider Cavalry.

  Powyss dodged the missile just in time but the ball exploded behind him sending him and his entire troop high into the air with huge chunks of earth. The energy from the explosion sent shockwaves thirty feet in diameter, knocking soldiers of both sides onto their backs.

  Behind the marshal’s position Little Kith roared as he saw a way to reach Zolar. He hacked down a knight’s horse with one stroke of his axe, and then turned on the marshal. Zolar sneered at him, flicked his hand in Kiths direction sending him and his men flying backwards with a strong elemental pressure wave. The strong gust blasted a hole through the Raiders centre.

  Havoc led the charge of the elite. He and his troop of about forty curved around the enemies left flank taking a path similar to Powyss before him. Zolar, and his knights, decided to ride forward to meet him, obviously recognising the De Proteous standard as it flapped on the pole held by Chirn. Zolar at the head lifted his arm and summoned another large ball of burning flame, so hot that it sizzled in the rain. The Vallkyte general was clearly a powerful Rawn, Havoc felt that the energy needed to produce such heat, was vast.

  Inside his head the Blacksword thrilled at the enjoyment of conflict, he showed Havoc the simplicity of the kill, explaining to him his next step with whispering urges. Havoc was concerned for his elite; if the fireball hit them then they would surely die, the Blacksword thought only of action and told the prince to place his trust in him.

  Zolar threw the burning missile, but the prince saw the calm cold sense that focused the mind of the Blacksword and through his eyes he saw the path of the missile flying slowly towards him. With a sweep of the Sword that Rules he hit the fireball away, at the last second however, the influence of the Blacksword made him angle SinDex slightly so the red-hot ball rebounded off the black blade and hit the charging enemy knights.

  The huge explosion sent ten of the marshal’s knights flying from their mounts. Three horses turned into clouds of red mist that hung in the air like a scarlet haze. The blasts pressure-wave slammed into Zolar’s back as he tried to jerk his mount away from the missiles path. He was lifted from his saddle and landed heavily on the blood soaked grass, skidding to a halt. Havoc’s elite clashed into the rest of the marshals bodyguards and a furious battle commenced. The prince hacked and swiped at two knights as they rounded on him. SinDex took the first in the throat, cutting through his mailed coif to send a fountain of blood into the damp air. The second overextended his lung with his sword and narrowly missed Havoc’s left side. The prince brought his sword back around his body and took the knights arm from his shoulder.

  Alone now amongst the fray as Verkin and his troopers fought the marshals bodyguards, Havoc looked for the marshal and saw Zolar get up groggily a few paces away. He heeled Dirkem, spurring him forward, cutting through the battle to get to the Vallkyte Rawn. He reined in the black stallion, dismounted, and walked to the enemy commander.

  Zolar had blood leaking out of one ear, his arm had dislocated on landing and it hung limp and lifeless at his side. He turned and saw the prince of the Roguns walking towards him, but something was wrong with the boy, his face was very pale, ghostly, and his eyes were jet black.

  ‘Look around you, marshal, your host is falling apart,’ said the prince in a harsh whisper.

  The prince was right. The panic of the rout had taken hold. Vallkytes fled from the centre in the fear of being surrounded, but Velnour and his men hacked them down as they ran blocking their escape. Thousands lay dead and dying in piles around them, but pockets of resistance continued.

  Zolar healed himself and unsheathed his broadsword with the newly mended arm. He yelled as he swung wide aiming for Havoc’s midriff, but the prince stepped back laughing, he blocked the second sweep and skipped around the marshal.

  ‘Let me kill him,’ said the Prince in the same harsh whisper.

  ‘No, this is my fight not yours!’ this voice was normal, Zolar frowned, the prince was talking to himself, he looked amazed as the black eyes faded away to reveal a pair of bright green ones.

  ‘What are you?’ said Zolar, attacking again.

  ‘We are prophecy,’ said Havoc in a mixture of both voices, the prince sidestepped and brought his sword down on Zolar’s arm cleaving his sword arm away from his body. The marshal fell on his knees, his men were dying around him, and all was lost.

  The black-eyed grinning face of the prince had returned leered over him.

  Some of the marshal’s guards ran to save him, but the prince turned and white flames issued from his hands to cover the attackers. The Pyromantic flames engulfed them utterly and they screamed in agony as their flesh incinerated to ash. Throughout this, the prince chuckled, dryly.

  ‘ENOUGH!’ shouted the prince in anger clutching his head. He fell to his knees in pain, ‘you will have your time, but not here!’ he said to himself. Zolar recognised a strange conflict raging within the boy, the green eyes had returned, and if he was honest, he preferred to look at them than the black ones.

  Vision dimming and losing a lot of blood the marshal stood and swayed, he pulled out a boot knife and advanced on the prince while the younger man clutched his head, struggled with himself.

  Something hit Zolar in the back and he jerked in pain. A sword point protruded from his chest, he turned and saw the Falesti queen staring at him, and he swung his arm hitting her hard across the face with his elbow. ‘Bitch!’ he yelled.

  He stumbled to his knees again and tried to heal, but it was no good he had no energy left. He looked up to see the prince was only a few feet away, gripping his head. Zolar crawled to him with his knife in his good hand and lunged at him.

  Havoc caught the knife hand with a swiftness of movement that stunned the marshal. Zolar could see the black eyes staring defiantly at him, and then they changed back to green, fading away like a gale blowing away a small black puddle. Havoc twisted the marshal’s hand with amazing strength, snapping the bones in Zolar’s wrist and plunged the knife through his chest armour and into the marshal’s heart.

  Zolar’s eyes bulged as he died. ‘What…kind…of monster…are…youuu’ were his last words.

  Chapter 16

  The Blacksword’s Dilemma

  The pain in his head abated.

  The Blacksword had never shown dominance like that before, and it worried him. Bronwyn helped him up.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she said to him. He shook his head. The presence of his alter ego receded to leave the prince alone. For now.

  ‘How about you?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m fine, though I could do with some
strong cider right now.’ A bruise welled up on her right cheek; splatters of blood covered her emblazoned carapace. She looked pale and a little shaken, but that was to be expected. Around them, the battle was ending as the main line of the Raiders hacked down the last of the enemy that still defended the centre. While the prince and the marshal fought, the right flank of the enemy nearest to Skytop still held, but as soon as the Vallkyte Regulars routed, Felcon wheeled his company around to encompass those that resisted on the right. The fighting was at its fiercest on the steep western slopes of Skytop Hill; the slaughter there did not abate for half an hour. Far to the east and south, Velnour’s cavalry were harrying those that were fleeing the battlefield as panicking soldiers continued to route.

  Prince Havoc felt unsteady on his feet. Bronwyn held him up as they walked amongst the piles of dead. Suddenly, there was someone laughing behind them with genuine humour. Mad-gellan, as before at the Battle of the Pass, was drenched in blood and filth. He pushed his way out of his company of exhausted soldiers, stomped straight towards the prince, and gave him another big hug lifting him off his feet.

  ‘Once again my lord you have done it,’ he grinned as he placed Havoc back onto his feet then walked off, chuckling to himself.

  ‘Does he always do that?’ asked the queen, but the prince was not listening. He looked around him. The battlefield was unrecognisable, rows of bodies lay strewn around him and the carnage was appalling. Rain began washing the blood from the Raiders armour as they milled around the dead and dying, red puddles of it formed everywhere, but nothing could clean away the heaped corpses. Havoc wished that the rainwater would fill up the dry lake and cover the fallen.

  The prince’s coalition army casualties had been light; the Raiders had lost close to one hundred men, and the legion about fifty. The queen’s reserves lost seventy-nine including five dwarves. Wounded were many. Powyss broke a leg, which he healed, but wallowed in despair because his tan mare Sarema, his old friend, died from the back blast of Zolar’s Fireball. Linth luckily, was not badly hurt, his armour helped to slow the arrow fired at a distance. The wound was not deep, yet it pained him greatly and shooting arrows would be impossible until it healed. The biggest loss was Ethyn, who had died in Linth’s arms. The single arrow pierced his armour and his heart. Many, including the prince shed a tear for him; he had been one of the twelve survivors rescued from the mines at Haplann.