The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1)

by P. D. Ceanneir

  “Well, the Pyromantic power is immense, if unstable... Now don’t fret, son.”

  “I know who I’m going to burn... Uncle Kasan and all the Vallkytes…” Havoc said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s enough of that talk... Be calm.”

  “...Burn their damn city down around their ears!”

  “Havoc… Calm down!” The king stood as he bellowed.

  Havoc stopped pacing and stared back in shock. His father had never shouted at him before, but it did have the desired effect of breaking his concentration.

  The camp folk had halted in their work and looked over at the king and the prince. Some had judged the conversation correctly and looked worried. Lord Rett and a confused Magnus walked towards them, but the king waved them away.

  “Son…” Vanduke put his hands on Havoc’s shoulders. “Look at me! You must curb your strongest emotion that is how the energy increases. Anger, fear, hate, jealousy, paranoia… these are what fester and feed the burning fire of the Pyromancer.”

  “What must I do?”

  “I will give you a programme of mind techniques and meditation that will help you to control the flow of energies. However, it will be difficult and you will need to do this every day.”

  Havoc sighed and nodded.

  Every day, he did, for the weeks that followed his conversation with the king were some of the longest and coldest of his life. He missed his mother, he missed Mia’s warm smile and Verna’s sharp mind, Hagan’s wit, and he missed Ness Ri, who was a caring teacher.

  The king and Lord Rett were tirelessly bringing in new blood to the vastly depleted ranks of the Roguns and the constant training of new recruits became a priority. The veterans were not exempt from training, either. The Red Duke wanted a more flexible and tighter host with unwavering discipline and loyalty.

  Havoc’s refugees now incorporated into the main Rogun host, but the king had allowed him his status and responsibility for them, so he gathered his most trusted men and formed a small unit of soldiers that trained with the main body and were entirely under his control. They eventually became known as the Prince’s Legion.

  Queen Molna had put on a brave face as soldiers removed her from the cell she shared with her daughters and the twins. She told them to behave and to be brave, although inside she was screaming.

  King Kasan’s cold face met her at the naval yard before her departure. She hated him, and wanted to claw that emotionless face off, but she never gave vent to her feelings, and showed instead a cool air of indifference.

  Now, as the Kerthion ploughed through the grey waters towards the bay of Hoath and the Vallkyte naval yard at Cosshead, she allowed herself to shed a tear as she stood on the bow. The guards who watched her constantly shifted uneasily, but gave her space. They knew now that, even in her grief, she would not seek to take her own life. She had brokered a deal with Kasan. She would do anything he asked of her, if only her daughters and Hagan’s girls remained safe. King Kasan had agreed.

  King Kasan had lied.

  At first, the royal prisoners’ life was routine; they were fed well and allowed out to exercise in the palace courtyard, they were given water to wash, some luxuries such as brushes and dresses from their own rooms, and their furnishings in their large cell was meagre, if at all comfortable.

  The soldiers had rebuilt the burnt section of the barracks and the banqueting hall remade from Alniani Bluestone, carved and chiselled as only the Vallkytes knew how. It had a grand eclectic look about it similar to the palace and its grounds, and the girls would come to know it well.

  The girls realised their royal status was now next to nothing. They had been ordered to clean the hall up after the soldiers’ meals, and on occasion, serve them food and wine. They were rough, crude men who eyed and pawed at their soft skins, would make suggestive remarks and try to fondle them when they were not looking.

  That was just the Vallkyte soldiers; everything changed when the wild warriors of the Nithi would return from their hunting of the Roguns in the Sky Mountains.

  The training was hard and intense.

  As the winter wore on, the soldiers became hardened to the cold and their bodies hardened to the constant exercise with sword and shield, bow and lance.

  Havoc and Magnus put their very souls into the training and, as a result, became fast and deadly on the many raids they commanded with the legion. Havoc did not have another attack of his Pyromantic powers, and his father’s mind and meditation techniques seemed to be helping. One thing was for sure; the constant sparring kept his mind off things, as he would subconsciously use any build-up his volatile energies and incorporated them into his fighting style to increase his stamina. He was easily becoming one of the best swordsmen in his father’s camp. Even in unarmed combat, he was proving unbeatable to all newcomers who would try out their skill with him. Only Magnus had any real chance, and that was only if he could catch him and wrestle him to the ground.

  Lord Rett remained the only one better than Havoc with a sword, but the duke had to admit to himself that it was only a matter of time before he was beat. At one point, they had fought for a tiring hour with no clear winner. He later told the king that he had used some old and new attacking styles and he just could not get under Havoc’s defence. Lord Rett would not say it to the prince, but Havoc was the best he had ever trained by far. However, the fact that Havoc was such a skilled fighter and a Pyromancer made the duke anxious.

  Vanduke had started drinking again. No one seemed to notice at first, because he hid it well. Havoc and the others only found out about it when Lord Rett openly argued with the king outside his tent, chastising the king and throwing his ale on the snowy ground. These two had always been firm friends, but their relationship after that became strained; the king, however, always apologised to Lord Rett when he became sober.

  Old Toms, the trapper, taught the princes all he knew, which was plenty.

  They would learn how to track animals and humans on the ground and, even as a scent in the air, their Rawn abilities made hunting easier, though they deliberately curbed some of their powers and used instinct only. They would camp deep in the mountains with Old Toms and he would find tracks for them to hunt; they would run after their quarry until their hearts felt as if it would burst, and then run some more. They would use the wind behind their backs to leap wide gorges and climb sheer cliffs to give themselves shortcuts to their prey and use stealth to come within sword stroke of a deer or rabbit.

  King Vanduke had spies in the city reporting as often as they could to the exiled king. When he got news of Molna and her departure on the Vallkyte flagship, he went into a black mood and drank heavily.

  At times, Nithi and Vallkyte troops would ride into the mountain fastness to try to flush them out. However, the rocky and wooded terrain aided the Roguns. Any enemy presence in the passes usually met with strong resistance from defenders as they ambushed with superior numbers, cut them down with arrows, or attacked them in their camps at night. Those who survived reported of the difficulties they faced to General Plysov and he built wooden watchtowers around the foot of the mountains, sending roving patrols out daily to scour the land and to find prisoners for torture.

  Many days later, Rogun soldiers infiltrated those towers and, with Havoc’s Legion; they burnt them to the ground.

  Good news for the exiles arrived from the north in the shape of the Rogun Navy. Admiral Uriah had spent months trying to find them, and he brought a valuable supply of provisions to the exiles. He told the king of the sea battle against the Vallkyte Navy and the destruction of over half of the enemy’s ships. Nevertheless, the Roguns ships, though intact, yet each suffered damaged and, in the month that followed, he lost four to the weather. They had braved the winter storms in the multitude of coves on the north coast. In addition, like the king, he had sent messengers to contact other allies for help; most had, but only in the sale of food and weapons.

  The admiral gave him news from Queen Vara of Sonora. Th
e king’s heart leapt as he remembered Hagan’s death. The queen was all but a prisoner in her castle. Princess Cinnibar, the Countess of Sonora, now controlled the politicians and the trade authorities within the city.

  Now the high priestess of the Havant Order – after the mysterious disappearance of Kellborne and the other male priests – she used her influence amongst the Sonoran nobles loyal to Hagan, and everyone looked to her for guidance in the aftermath of the allies’ defeat. The Havant Guard, elite male soldiers and bodyguards to the priestesses, roamed the castle and forbade Vara to leave for her own protection.

  Vanduke was interested to learn that Kasan had marched his army to the gates of Sonora after he had left Aln-Tiss. There, he and the countess met and signed the Treaty of Sonora, whereby all trade from Sonora to the Rogun and Vallkyte capital cities would continue as normal so long as Cinnibar was in control. Queen Vara, distraught at the news of her husband’s death and the Roguns’ plight, knew her days in the city were numbered.

  Mia wiped the blood from Verna’s mouth. She shushed the twins sobbing in the corner of the cell by using a motherly voice to calm them, but she was on the verge of breaking herself.

  Verna was silent and starred with wide green eyes at the far wall. She did not cry; she never would; her face was battered and bruised like the others, but more so; one eye was swollen and nearly closed. Mia had seen her fight the men off her with all of the strength that her small body could muster. She did not stop even when the punches rained down. Mia finally snapped at the twins and told them to be silent and brave like her sister, but they continued crying and pulled their torn dresses around them.

  The months of abuse had started when the wild men of the Nithi used the new banqueting hall. They would get drunk very quickly and fight with each other. Food thrown and ale spilt. The girls would serve or tidy up around them, and they would not go unnoticed by the lustful drunkards.

  Many of the warriors raped each one of the girls. They came to fear for their lives when the Nithi came back from their hunting of their father and brothers, yet it gave them hope when they came back empty handed.

  Tilly and Letti were going mad at their situation and saddened at the news of their father’s death, a melancholy had settled over the pair.

  The Vallkyte soldiers also abused them, but they were gentler and only a few would take part. They left Verna alone, though, thinking she was mad as she screamed obscenities at them and pummelled them with her fists; she would pull men off her sister or the twins and gouge their eyes with her long fingernails.

  As the months wore on, they left Tilly alone as the pregnancy started to show. Mia secretly wished she was with child.

  Now, as Verna’s face started to heal from her last beating she had received from the Nithi, Mia told them that their situation had begun to change. A Vallkyte captain called Soroth had taken a shine to her and he wanted her to be his lover; she had agreed, but only if her sister and the twins were not harmed by any soldiers.

  He kept his promise.

  Part Two

  The Year of Rage

  “Destiny, is just another word

  For a journey unfulfilled.”

  The Prophet Ciriana

  Chapter 9

  The Welcome Guest

  The calm sea sparkled in the summer sun. A cold easterly breeze swept around the sandstone cliffs at the opening to the cove. Bobbing in the water were three Rogun galleys, their sails down. The ships floated around their anchor chains as the tide slowly went out. In the closest ship, the crew lowered a boat and rowed it out to the pebble beach, where King Vanduke, Lord Rett and Magnus waited with a selection of the legion.

  Havoc stood halfway up a small dirt path slope that led to the cliff top; on his left was Old Toms sucking on a long piece of sorren grass. Sweet and juicy, only found in high mountain crannies. The old man loved it and kept a stash in his hip pouch, but one had to chew constantly to get the flavour and the trapper had no teeth. Havoc smiled at his wrinkled, tanned, leather-like face; even though it was warm, he still wore his mountain furs.

  He turned to his right and looked at Eleana.

  The breeze had ruffled her long blonde hair and the sunlight gave it a silky sheen. She wore light tan calfskin trousers that hugged her shapely legs and hips; a tight short-sleeved top of the same material covered her chest and showed off her bare, muscular midriff; a sleeveless fox fur jacket hung loosely from her shoulders as the wind caught it.

  Havoc had taught her how to fight with a sword, but her weapon of choice was the short bow and she was proving to be very good with it. She leant on the bow now in the same way Old Toms leant on his staff.

  She sensed him staring, and turned her bright blue eyes to him and smiled. It was not the special smile that she always gave him now, but a friendly one. So much had happened to them both that the years of being young at heart were over. She was a woman now of eighteen and he was no longer a boy. Today was Havoc’s sixteenth birthday.

  She moved closer to him and slipped her hand in his.

  “Romantic view is it not?” she asked in a whisper so the old man could not hear.

  Havoc knew that Old Toms acted deaf, but he could hear when he wanted to.

  “Yes it is,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand.

  She was silent for a while and watched the little boat draw nearer; the sweet smell of honeysuckle wafted from her hair.

  “I love you,” she said.

  Havoc smiled. “Magnus will have something to say about that, I think,” he said.

  “He knows.”

  He laughed, which made Old Toms jump. Eleana smiled at Havoc’s bright, handsome face. She had not seen him laugh for a long time.

  “I love Magnus too,” she said

  “You can’t love two men at one,” he said

  “Tell that to the camp whores,” said Old Toms, and Eleana’s loud, tinkling laughter echoed off the cliffs.

  “Can I come to your tent tonight to give you your present?” she whispered.

  “Thank you, child, but my time with the lassies has gone now,” said Old Toms, who had outlived three wives.

  “Not you; I’m talking to Havoc... and stop pretending you are deaf,” scolded Eleana.

  Havoc was not listening; he was staring down at the boat and watching the passengers get out; he started to walked down the path, but Eleana still held his hand and he turned back to her; her look was beseeching.

  He smiled and mouthed the word ‘yes’ to her; she let him go.

  She watched him walk towards the beach taking long-legged strides; he cut a fine figure in his black leather trousers; he also wore the handcrafted boots that one of Old Toms’ sons had made for him, a white woollen shirt, and Tragenn strapped to his back. She bit her bottom lip and sighed. She picked up her bow and walked back to the horses.

  There was some commotion down on the beach when Havoc arrived. He noticed two people welcomed by his father; he also saw another man in the boat wearing a hooded, black robe; he seemed to be waiting, and he never took his eyes off Havoc.

  The shorter of the two was a pretty, short woman whom he instantly recognised as Queen Vara. She hugged everyone and broke down into tears. Lord Rett had fretted about the queen’s safety, and, being her cousin and the only direct family, he had, he asked Admiral Uriah to orchestrate a rescue. It took a few months of planning, but, in the end, she dressed as a maid and escaped the castle and took the next ship out of port, which just so happened to be commanded by one of the admiral’s captains

  The second person was a slight man with short grey hair who looked more like a politician than a warrior, but this was General Balaan. He told the king that, in the months after the battle, when he received the king’s message; he had taken his men into the Wildlands, now deserted by the rebels, and stayed there throughout the winter months. He had sent a force into the Tattoium Mountains to be a presence there and spy on any Vallkyte activity. Its commander, Captain Jericho, knew the mountains well, havi
ng grown up there. Meanwhile, Balaan had made contact with Admiral Uriah, and came to the king with the rest of his army.

  “I have also brought someone else here to meet you, Sire,” said the general.

  “Oh... Who is that?”

  Balaan pointed to the boat and the cloaked figure got out; he walked towards Havoc and pulled down his hood. Havoc was elated when he saw the face.

  “Ness Ri,” he cried.

  Tilly gave birth to a boy; the birth was difficult, but Mia and Letti helped. The child screamed for his mother, but Tilly did not want to see him. Letti, now six months gone herself, looked after him and called him Hagan.

  The invaders left them in peace; Captain Soroth gathered whores from the city to keep the Nithi happy.

  Verna was her own worst enemy, though. She did not want to be touched by the men, even though they did not have sex with them since Mia’s captain had kept his promise. She however continued to shout out obscenities to those who had been inside her, and cursed them. The superstitious Nithi thought she was a witch and chained her by the neck to a wall in the banqueting hall so they could keep an eye on her.

  Mia had begged Captain Soroth to have her sister released. However, the captain said no, and that Verna needed to learn respect.

  Verna would choke on the chain around her neck. The bruises became an angry blue. She would run at any man who came near her, gnashing her teeth and screaming, but the chain stopped her short and choked her more. The Nithi thought she was mad.

  Mia suddenly became sick in the mornings; if the captain found out she was pregnant, he would desert her to the wolves of the Nithi and Verna would surely die. Therefore, after sex with a very drunk Soroth, she stole his keys, and, in the early morning, went to the hall to release her sister. She had no idea how they were going to escape; she was running on fear.