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

by P. D. Ceanneir

  “The tunnels are a network of dead ends,” said Furran, “but wait a minute.” Furran shouted into the tunnel, “Whyteman! Is Whyteman of the Falesti there?” he asked, and a few seconds later, there was a reply.

  The press of bodies jostled as a tall, gangly beardless youth with long fair, almost white, hair, appeared.

  “Whyteman here has told me of a possible exit some time ago; tell them, lad,” said Furran.

  Havoc could see the Vallkytes were reforming. Bowmen had appeared with a front line of shield men.

  “An exit it may be, Furran,” agreed the youth.

  Havoc realised that he was no older than he was. He wore a short hauberk and had a long bow with a full quiver slung on his back.

  “Next level down,” he said, “there is an underground river, which flows from the Haplann Hills. It has cut out several tunnels in the rocks.”

  Havoc and Powyss nodded in silence, but clearly did not understand him.

  “I think the river tunnels run all the way to Lake Falryhana,” explained Whyteman.

  Chapter 26

  Lake Falryhana

  While Havoc and Whyteman rushed through the tunnels, Powyss ordered a barricade built at the mine entrance. There was no shortage of timber. Thick roof beams, props along with tables and chairs from the mine guards’ mess room added to the construction. They emptied wooden carts of their granite load and threw them onto the barricade.

  Shield men formed a line behind the makeshift wall, while the few archers that were there fired at will.

  “I thought you said there were three of you,” Othell said to Powyss as they threw another beam onto the pile.

  “There are, but the third shows up when we need him.” Powyss grinned.

  Othell was going to ask another question when the Vallkytes unleashed a hail of arrows. Othell ducked behind the shields, while Powyss blasted the nearest arrows away with the wall of wind or disintegrated them to dust. However, some of the deadly points found their targets, as men spun to the ground, felled by the arrows only to have the bodies replaced by the living.

  Little Kith had found a Golas, a larger cousin to the crossbow. Its range was longer and used thick, spear-like arrows, with iron points. The only problem with the weapon was that a large ratchet lever, which took some time and a lot of strength to prime, was the only thing that could tighten the wire bow cord. The giant was the only one there who could arm and fire it quickly. The effect on its target was astounding. It would go right through the forward shield man and hit any archer behind him. This had the result of slowing the Vallkyte advance so the barricade could be finished.

  “Jericho. Is Captain Jericho here?” shouted Havoc as he and Whyteman ran through the wood scavenging prisoners.

  “Over here,” came a cry from further down the tunnel.

  Two men, one with curly black hair and an eye patch over his left eye, and the other taller and thinner with a bent, pock-marked nose, walked up to them.

  “Which one of you is Jericho?” asked Havoc.

  “Neither,” said eye patch, “but we know where he is. He is up another level in the interrogation rooms. My names Velnour, by the way; this is Hemphill; we are from Jericho’s unit.”

  Havoc asked, “Please tell me. Are the rooms far?”

  “They’re on the way to the underground river,” added Whyteman. “This way.”

  All four ran to the end of the tunnel, where they found stone steps cut into the rock. They led up to another level and downwards towards pitch darkness.

  “Velnour, Hemphill, go up and release Jericho,” said Havoc. “I and Whyteman here need to go down one level. There may be a way out.”

  “The doors to his cell are made of iron. We only have axes; that won’t budge them,” said Hemphill.

  “Try your best; I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

  He and Whyteman took the stairs down. They opened into a cavern with rail tracks and carts. Whyteman took him to the left and into a short tunnel.

  “We have been working on this seam for a week now,” said the youth as he pointed to the veins of gold running through the rock that flickered by them from Havoc’s torch. “Just the other day, this crack appeared, and the Vallkytes do not know about it.”

  At the end of the tunnel was a thin crack about twelve feet high. Havoc put his torch closer and a breeze blew against the flame; he could see the gap stretched for a few feet.

  “It’s a bit narrow,” he said.

  “I’m thin enough to get through. There is a shingle beach just below the gap, then a shallow lake. The tunnels are to the left, about a hundred feet or so, to the rear of the lake.”

  “It will take forever to get everyone through here; stand back.”

  Havoc placed his hands on either side of the crack. He summoned the earth element and linked a Pyromantic surge to it. Usually, in the past, he would need to compose himself for a few minutes before attempting this trick, but now he was becoming more adept at linking the volatile energies to the arts. He only used a small surge, but the effect made Whyteman’s jaw drop. The granite rock and gold seam disintegrated into dust, leaving a gap ten feet wide and twenty feet high.

  “Go and tell Powyss to send the men down here, please,” said Havoc, snapping the boy out of his shock.

  Leaving the boy to carry out his orders, Havoc took the stairs upwards, two at a time. The sound of clanging metal reached him before he got to the Jericho’s cell. The narrow, well-lighted corridor had four iron doors on each side; all were open, bar one on the left side that had suffered many dents, due to Velnour and Hemphill’s attempt to open it with their axes.

  “Move aside,” he said. He raised a hand as the two men stepped away and the door soon buckled inward and then distorted as the prince used the earth element to manipulate its elemental particles. He pulled his arm away to the left and the door burst open in that direction where it shook and finally hung from one hinge. Both Velnour and Hemphill looked on in wonder. The room beyond the door was dark on the other side.

  “Are you bastards finished making a racket?” asked a gravel-like voice.

  “Captain Jericho, I presume?” asked Havoc.

  The sound of movement came from the far end of the cell, and Jericho walked into the light, blinking. He was a well-muscled bull of a man, with friendly eyes, a two-day growth of beard and a shaved head. His captors, due to the cuts and bruises on his face and body, had treated him poorly. He squinted at them through black puffy eyes.

  “You’re not one of my men,” he said to Havoc.

  “My name is Havoc; I came with Captain Powyss. This is a rescue.” He was not worried about revealing his name; it was common enough among the Roguns.

  “Powyss,” he boomed. “Is that old goat still alive?”

  “Are you well enough, Captain?” asked Velnour.

  “It will take more than a dozen Vallkytes to knock the wind out of my sails, Sergeant.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Havoc. He turned to the other two. “Gentlemen, arm the captain and take him to the lower level.”

  The captain shouted after him, but Havoc was already running down the stairs. Men were already making their way to the river and escape.

  The Vallkytes made another attack. Furran was loading his own Golas to help Little Kith, who was starting to weaken from the constant use of the crossbow, but he was still firing three bolts to Furran’s one. Every time Furran fired, the kickback sent the shorter man onto his arse.

  “No wonder these bloody things are obsolete!” Furran mumbled as he fumbled with the ratchet.

  Whyteman could hear the giants bellowing laughter as he ran up the tunnel. “Your friend says you are to pull your men back to the river, Captain,” he said as he reached Powyss.

  “Does your apprentice think he is in charge, Powyss?” Othell asked sarcastically.

  “He is, Othell.” Powyss gave his friend a frown. “All right, everyone to the rear of the tunnel.”

  He pointed Bor-Teaven at the b
ase of the barricade when everyone moved back. Bright orange flame spread quickly over the timber and raised high into the sky.

  “That should keep them busy,” he said.

  More men were running past Havoc as he raced up the main tunnel. He met Whyteman on the way and sent him down the stairs to show everyone the opening. Powyss appeared seconds later. Havoc could see the burning barricade. The Vallkytes soldiers were attempting to pull it down.

  “Turning up the heat, are we?” he asked the older man.

  “You know me. I like to give my guests a warm reception.”

  “I found Jericho. He said you’re an old goat.”

  “Aw, he’s just being nice.”

  They ran together to the opening Havoc had made. As they entered, they could see men waist deep in the river with torches, which were bright enough to make out the outline of the tunnels beyond. There were four of them. The soft rock had been eroding it for centuries, forming into pillars and arched caves. The orange light from the torches cast dancing shadows over the rough surface of the openings and rushing water drowned out the slaves’ voices. By this time, they had waded over to Othell and the shield men, most of the prisoners had ducked into the small caverns, and Havoc could feel the strong pull of the current as the water gripped his legs.

  A whining noise issued suddenly above the sound of the cold, black river. A man yelled beside Havoc and fell face down in the water with an arrow in his back. They all turned and saw the handful of Vallkyte bowmen line the far bank and fire at them. Havoc and Powyss used their swords to bat the arrows away or use the Arts to deflect them away from the slaves, granting them time to go into the caves.

  More Vallkyte bowmen appeared at the edge of the river. They waded forward to get better range.

  “Barricade didn’t last long, then,” said Havoc.

  “It bought us some time though.” Powyss looked behind him; darkness engulfed the escapees as the torches disappeared into the caves. “Off you go, then,” he said.

  “No, I insist, you first,” said Havoc.

  Twelve Vallkytes fired a volley.

  “Bugger it! We’ll both go.”

  They both ran into the nearest cave, one after the other.

  The slaves had split themselves into groups. The battle with the soldiers had reduced their numbers, but they still managed to clog up the cave entrances. Havoc and Powyss never had the problem of queuing men, because, in their rush to get away from the archers, they chose the nearest and smallest opening, which had been avoided by everyone else.

  The river torrent was faster in the narrow tunnel and the rushing water took the feet from under them. Both men yelled as they sought purchase on the slimy, smooth walls. Powyss was taken away first. Havoc could just see him disappear around a dark corner. Then the freezing water sapped his strength and pulled the air from his lungs as he was also swept away.

  The tunnel wound and twisted left and right, up and down. He was underwater many times. His body bruised and battered as he struck the sides. His disorientated heightened as sound and light disappeared. Time stretched as he bathed in cold, roaring darkness. There was no sense of direction in the wet numbness of the fast flowing current, he twisted and turned at maddening speeds; he felt that he was rushing through the bedrock for hours.

  At times, the water would slow. He could hear Powyss calling to him from a parallel flute. Shafts of morning light from above shone through wells or natural holes in the ground. Then darkness and speeding water engulfed him again and the disorientating journey started all over. He guessed that he had travelled some distance from the mine; then, just as that thought struck him, he saw a light up ahead, and it was approaching fast. Before he knew it, he shot out of the tunnel, arms and legs falling through the air. He was aware of some light streaming in from above him, and then he landed feet first into a shallow pool of water.

  Arms reached in to haul him up. He coughed and spluttered as he looked around him, body quivering from the numbing cold. Powyss was laughing and patting his back to help him breath. Little Kith held him above the waterline.

  “Are you all right?” asked Powyss.

  “Can we do that again, Daddy!” he joked.

  “He’s fine.” The captain nodded.

  Havoc looked around. They were still in the caves. Dawn’s light struck through a small hole in the ceiling. He could see that only a handful of the original prisoners were in the pool. He looked up and saw two waterfalls cascading out of separate tunnels. Somehow, only two of the four tunnels met in this pool. He looked around for Jericho, but could not see him, though he did see Velnour as he coughed up a lungful of brackish water while being patted on the back by an equally drenched slave called Ethyn.

  “Another opening over here,” said the voice of Whyteman.

  In the gloom, Havoc could see him standing next to an opening in the wall, about three feet above the waterline.

  “Let’s use it,” said Othell.

  Men ducked under one at a time. Havoc looked around to make sure everyone had gone. Then he followed the men through the opening.

  “Tell me what he said, child,” said Jynn in a smooth voice. In truth, she was becoming impatient with the stupid girl’s sobbing.

  “He said... He said he was... Was the Blacksword, mistress.” The young woman rubbed snot from her nose.

  “Very good, my dear. Is that all?”

  The girl nodded. The remaining officers of the Haplann Fort started to fidget as they stood around the Havant and Karnack’s lover.

  “Take her away,” said Jynn, and a soldier escorted the girl from the group.

  The captain, who had organised the search of the mines, reported to Jynn. “My Lady, it seems that they have escaped through tunnels formed by an underground river,” he said.

  “Tunnels, where do the tunnels lead to, Captain?” asked Jynn.

  “I’m not sure, My Lady; we were unaware that they existed.” The captain realised he had said the wrong thing. Although the Havant’s face was still, her eyes betrayed fury.

  A sergeant stepped forward. “I think they lead to…”

  He suddenly gasped at the sight of the captain’s body lifted into the air; wind rippling his hair and tabard. The choking, gasping sounds as his neck and windpipe crushed together by invisible hands would stay with him for life. The captain’s eyes bulged and the tongue protruded from purple lips as he died. Jynn used the third element to throw the body away in disgust. It skidded on the cobbles for six feet before it came to a halt.

  “You were saying, Sergeant?” asked Jynn in a friendly tone.

  “Ahh... I, ahh, believe that the tunnels run west to Lake Falryhana, My Lady. I was born there. There are many caves at the east end of the lake.”

  “Very good, Sergeant,” said Jynn, smiling. “You are now promoted to captain.”

  The new captain’s chest swelled in pride; he was not sure a Havant priestess had the power to grant promotion to a Vallkyte soldier, but the method of the last captain’s death dispelled any doubts he had.

  “Search the mines thoroughly, Captain,” said Jynn. She turned to Hildek. “Signal to Captain Plainer on the Jezzrion to set sail for Falryhana and start a search. We will follow later.”

  A wider tunnel and slow-running water allowed the escapees to wade out of the tunnel systems. They walked out of a huge cave mouth onto a muddy, flat shoreline, beyond which was the ocean-sized Falryhana. Those of the men who had the strength jumped for joy at the freedom they now experienced. Havoc knew they were not out of the woods yet. In fact, the woods were where they needed to be.

  He called everyone to him; they all huddled together, tired, wet, cold and muddy.

  “We need to get into cover. The sky ships will be here soon.”

  “What sky ships?” Othell scoffed as he scowled at Havoc.

  “In a word, Jynn,” said Powyss.

  “Oh great, I would be safer back in the mines,” groaned Othell.

  Some of the men had no idea who the
Havant was. Powyss described her in a string of short, deliberate insults, which left none there in any doubt as to the diabolical nature of the antagonist in question.

  “Some rescue, Captain; we escape drowning to end up gutted alive by a ruthless Ri assassin. Brilliant.” Othell shook his head.

  “We have no time to argue; let’s move,” said Havoc as he walked off to drier ground.

  Most of the men followed, including Powyss.

  “You’re not taking orders from your own apprentice, are you?” asked Othell.

  Powyss rounded on him so quickly that the man jumped in shock.

  “If you want to get out of this alive, I suggest you listen to him,” said Powyss through gritted teeth.

  All of the men heard this exchange and duly followed Powyss as he walked the same route as Havoc.

  The sun blinked pitifully as it shone through overcast clouds; a light rain soaked the men further as they trudged waist deep through a watery reed bed that seemed to stretch forever along the east bank of the lake. Havoc could just see, in the distance, the islands of the Minchies, of which there were many, dotted in a long line on the western side. All with trees, lush vegetation and signs of life as black smoke filtered through the canopy.

  They heard shouts to their right. Everyone drew weapons and crouched, ready to attack. They relaxed when Furran appeared through the reeds, smiling at them all. He was supporting a wounded Verkin; four others appeared behind them.

  “Gods, I’m glad to see you lot; we got washed up a few feet away by a small waterfall. Two others did not make it,” said Furran.

  “Have you seen Captain Jericho?” asked Havoc.

  All of the men shook their heads.

  “He took a different tunnel from us,” said Verkin. His face was pale, and his brown hair plastered to his scalp. A makeshift tourniquet dressed his wound.

  Havoc counted the survivors of the flight from the mines, including himself and Powyss, who numbered thirty-three of the original hundred. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.