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

by P. D. Ceanneir

  The front of the Raxion was a mass of ruined wood and bent metal, the rest of the ship continued to break up as the anchor chain dragged her after the Jezzrion.

  However, her ultimate demise came in the shape of the Orrinn Tower, still wrapped in fragments of the sail, which the Blacksword had cut from the Jezzrion. It dropped from its upward flight, by turning upside down, and gravity did the rest. The whistling noise of the tower’s rapidly speeding fall made Captain Hildek look up as he gripped tightly to his disintegrating ship. The tower hit the Raxion’s aft castle, punching through it with incredible speed. Exploding debris and great chunks of snow erupted high into the air, along with Hildek’s broken body.

  Without the weight of the Raxion to slow her down, the Jezzrion picked up speed. The snow and ice slope of the mountain was now not as steep, and it provided a firm platform for Jynn to stand on as she pulled out her sword from the deck and ran to grapple with the Blacksword.

  He was ready, sword in hand, as she leapt into the air. Both swords clashed and the fight began. Snow cascaded around them as they fought, making the deck more slippery than it already was. Its white brilliance shone off Jynn’s bright steel blade and made the Blacksword’s a stark silhouette.

  They danced around each other, swords clanging with each strike. The momentum of the sliding hull threatened to put them both off balance, and the Blacksword was grateful for the training he had received at the hands of Powyss. He used small amounts of the third element to steady him when his balance failed.

  Jynn, too, was as lithe as a cat and very fast; both combatants were staying away from the thrusting swords, looking for an opening as the ruined hull continued to pick up speed, bounce of rocks and smash into trees on its journey down the mountain.

  The volatile energies of the Pyromancer had abated slightly during the battle, but the Blacksword had achieved his goal. He also knew in his heart that the prophecy told him that he could not be defeated, and his enemies would fall to the Sword that Rules. Nevertheless, the bespoke clashed harshly with the fact of Jynn’s prowess with the blade. It was taking all of the Blacksword’s skill and concentration to keep up his defence. His speed was with him; every time the Havant got under his defence, he moved away from the sharp metal that always landed inches from his body. He used this to his advantage when she saw an opening and lunged. He ducked, moved behind her, and rammed the pommel of SinDex into her back.

  She yelled as she stumbled forward by the force of the impact, but recovered well. She brought her sword over her back to block the Blacksword’s blow. She made a mental note not to fall for that trick again.

  As they fought, they had moved up to the ruins of the aft castle. Debris lay everywhere and the Havant used the wind element to send chunks of wood and storage barrels at her opponent. The Blacksword did not move out of their path; he merely sliced them in two with his sword, or waved a hand to disintegrate them into dust as they neared.

  The ship lurched to the right as she struck a row of sharp boulders. Jynn glanced to the bow and noticed they were heading for a narrow ravine, there was barely time for her to grab hold of something when the Jezzrion flew over the edge. Both combatants felt the sudden weightlessness as the hulk of the vessel drop; rope, broken timbers and canvas lifted into the air around them as they too floated a few inches off the deck. The silence of the fall seemed deafening after the roar of the ships journey over the snow.

  She landed with a violent crash on the other side and continued her decent. Snow jettisoned outwards, port and starboard thinning into a powdery cloud.

  Jynn gritted her teeth, pushed her feet against the railing and used the third element to give her forward velocity. She smacked into the Blacksword’s midriff and he grunted loudly as his breath was forced out of his lungs. They both crashed into the raised planking of the aft deck. The Blacksword dazed, and in some pain, managed to grip the Ris arm as she brought her sword down to strike his head. She yelled in shock and pain as the hand squeezed with amazing strength and almost crushing her forearm. The Blacksword then kicked out and she flew backwards along the deck.

  Out of the corner of his eye as he stood up, the Blacksword caught a glimpse of the captain. He still leant against the broken helm; a long plank of wood pinned him there through his back.

  The broken wreckage of the Raxion tumbled past them. To his front, Jynn stood up, breathing heavily. She quickly ducked as huge chunks of the deck flew overhead. The starboard anchor chain flapped behind the remains of the aft castle like a flag flapping in the wind.

  The snow line ended as the Jezzrion skidded off a shallow cliff and into the timberline. Jynn took the opportunity to attack the Blacksword; she distracted him by shooting a bright, glaring ball of flame directly at him, which he managed to bat away with his sword. Jynn leapt and somersaulted over him, cutting a gash in his right shoulder. He yelled and put his hand to the cut; deep red blood covered his hand as he pulled away from the wound. He changed hands, holding SinDex with the left.

  The hull of the Jezzrion tore a path through the sparsely populated firs. Unknown to the two combatants, the route they now travelled on was going to take them over the edge of the Tirithana Falls.

  Tree branches flapped over their heads as they fought on; the left-handed attack, the Blacksword now used, proved productive, as the Havant struggled to compensate to the change in tactic. The Blacksword quickly got under her defence and slashed into the muscle of her left thigh; he twisted around, exposing his back to her, and whipped SinDex over his right shoulder. The black blade pierced her just below her left collarbone. To add insult to injury, he hauled her over his shoulder. She landed with a sickening crack on her back when she slipped of the Blacksword sword. He raised the weapon ready to bring down on his beaten opponent.

  Unfortunately, the loose anchor found that moment to do its job. It dug into the ground near an old fir tree with strong roots. Everything that was not tied down on the shattered hull of what was once the Jezzrion, pitched forward violently as the anchored chain brought the ship to a sudden halt on the edge of a rocky outcrop overlooking the misty pool of the falls, two hundred feet down.

  SinDex fell from the Blacksword’s hand as his body thrust forward into the air after the sudden halt. He went spinning towards the bow, barrels, rope and other items slid along the angled deck beside him. He franticly lashed out in a desperate bid to grab hold of something, but there was nothing. Ironically, Jynn had seen the danger in time and grasped onto the same rope that the Blacksword had tied around the remains of the Orrinn Tower.

  The hull skewered partway over the edge with a wrenching crunch as it threw up clods of earth and avalanching snow over the cliff. To the east sat the horseshoe waterfall, spilling its contents into the gapping maw of the five-mile-wide pool.

  The Blacksword skidded amongst the vestiges of the tree-battered bow. His speed sent him over the broken edge, along with debris, barrels, bodies and weapons, but managed to cling onto a knotted length of cargo netting as he slid over the smashed bow. The netting caught onto broken planking and he dangled there above the Tirithana Falls as other pieces of matter fell past him. The fine spray soaked the rope, making it slick; the roar of the falls was frightening.

  The pain in his cut shoulder did not help the situation, so he healed himself. He started the slow, exhausting task of pulling himself up. The ship lurched forward as the weight of the hull on the anchor pulled some of the firs roots out with a dull twanging sound. He got to the edge and pulled himself over. He rested a little, getting his breath back, and then stood up.

  Jynn appeared out of nowhere. She struck him on the forehead with the snake pommel of her sword. He hit the deck hard. She looked down at him with a sickening smile on her pale face and mad hope in her eyes.

  The fugitives’ attack was a success, up to a point. They concentrated first on the weapon less soldiers who were putting up tents or dealing with supplies. Those either fell to the slaves or ran away. The fugitives then turned on the
armed guards who had run to the aid of their colleagues, and then the battle really started.

  Othell and Little Kith stuck with Powyss. Together, they went straight for the enemy’s leadership. They hacked down any officer they saw and, once they accomplished that task, they ran to wherever the battle was thickest.

  Velnour, Mactan, Verkin and Furran had the hardest job on the left, where most of the enemy’s shield men were closest at the beginning of the attack. With ten others, they joined shields together in a thin line and charged at the Vallkytes. The element of surprise caused them to control the offensive. They prodded and hacked over their shields while others sliced at exposed legs; they left a wake of screaming men behind them as they walked over the wounded and dead.

  Whyteman and his six archers helped to thin the lines of Vallkytes, firing at will into the ranks, but the weakness of the fugitives took its toll on unused muscles and also their numbers. More Vallkytes arrived to turn the tide of battle and the thin shield wall fell back.

  Powyss, Othell and Little Kith arrived to disperse mayhem as they diced and carved their way into the centre of the enemy. Bor-Teaven cut through shield, armour and bone. Kith’s axe added to the death toll. Then the Vallkytes retreated at the sight of the blood-soaked giant.

  They all stood breathing heavily, too weak to chase after the retreating soldiers.

  A circle of dead or mortally wounded men surrounded Powyss. He looked around for his own casualties; he counted six. Fair odds in a normal battle, but they could not afford to lose any more.

  A tremor rumbled through the ground. Kith, being the tallest, cursed. “I see horse, about twenty,” he said to Powyss.

  “Back to the river bed; move!”

  The pain in his head subsided and he looked with bleary eyes at the Havant, who towered above him, smiling, elegant and foreboding.

  The Sword that Rules sat point first in the deck, some twenty feet away. He could summon the wind and use it to pick up the sword, bringing it to his hand. However adept he was with the third element, he was still not able to control it at that distance; he may end up with the sword in his own gut, but he had to try.

  “You have given me a fair run, whoever you are, and you are only a man and not a phantom. And men bleed.” Jynn laughed.

  Using small amounts of the Subtle Arts, he used the wind to move the sword back and forward, to prise it loose from the deck.

  The hull lurched forward as more roots ripped from the earth under the strain from the anchor.

  “Now all I require from you is your head.” She raised her sword, two handed, and high above her.

  Powyss elected to stay and cover the retreat. He had never gone against a squadron of horses on his own before, but, according to the ancient fables of the Rawn Sagas, it could be done.

  The squadron rode in an arrow formation; the snorting and galloping horses looked menacing, their riders clothed in chain mail and red tabards of Vallkyte light horse, yelling as they waved their swords and gripped shields to their chests.

  Powyss screamed and ran into the attack. Little Kith and Othell shouted for him to come back.

  The old Rawn used the wind element to jump high and decapitate the lead horseman. He then kicked two others off their mounts before landing with a tumble.

  Little Kith moved to his right to come in line with the cavalry’s flank. He used his axe to cut the foreleg of the nearest horse. When the horse collapsed, those behind piled up on top, riders fell crushed by horseflesh or kicked to death by flailing hooves.

  Othell dodged a spear point and took the rider’s leg off at the knees. He lost his sword in the process and the rump of another horse knocked him to the ground. A spear came out of nowhere and pierced his chest.

  Whyteman came to his aid, firing a flurry of arrows in quick succession, all of which found their targets. The cavalry attack stalled. The rest of the fugitives rushed out from the dry riverbed with sword or spear and forced them to retreat.

  Powyss dispatched the two he had kicked to the ground; he was about to run back to his men when he noticed a dozen Vallkyte archers in a line aiming notched arrows straight at him. He rammed Bor-Teaven into the ground next to him and summoned the wind element as the archers fired. He used up all his energy to disperse the arrows and send others back to their owners. Archers fell under the returning missiles; others fled, yelling, ‘Rawn! Rawn!’

  He fell to his knees, weakened by his use of the Arts.

  “You did well,” said Little Kith, lifting him up.

  There were frantic shouts from Furran and Hexor. Powyss turned and used Little Kith for support. Together, they walked back to the riverbed. They found a crowd of people around Othell; he had snapped the spear shaft with his sword, but a good portion still protruded from his back. They carried him to the river. Someone gave him water, pink blood trickled from his lips.

  “How bad does it look?” he asked Powyss, gripping his arm.

  “Well, you’ve died from worse,” he joked with a slight tremor in his voice.

  Othell laughed, and then groaned in pain. Powyss looked at Little Kith, who sadly shook his head.

  “Powyss... thank you for freeing us... and... And thank Havoc too. I didn’t mean to be so hard on him,” said Othell, his voice getting weaker.

  “You can tell him that yourself,” said Powyss, but Othell’s body sagged and the last breath he had in his lungs escaped him.

  Powyss groaned as his friend died in his arms.

  Chapter 29

  The Cairn of Othell

  The Blacksword of prophecy, SinDex, the retainer of part of Prince Havoc’s soul, still sat uselessly embedded into the deck. He needed time to pry it loose. He pulled back his hood to reveal his face, which looked pale to the Havant with dark menacing eyes. Jynn lowered her sword and smiled sweetly.

  “Ah... the companion of Powyss; I thought so. Are you his son?” she asked.

  “I am Havoc De Proteous Cromme.” The sound of his own name, while still in the persona of the Blacksword, felt strange to him. It was as if two identities were at odds with sharing the same mind.

  Jynn’s face betrayed her astonishment. She stared for a long time into the eyes of the boy in front of her. Havoc-Blacksword took the time to loosen the sword from the deck.

  “This is fortuitous. My mistress will be surprised at my discovery.”

  “Why, is Aunt Cinnibar looking for me?”

  The Havant hesitated for a second. Havoc could feel the sword give. Its back and forward momentum became faster.

  “Your aunt and the Earth Daemon fear you, they fear the Blacksword,” she revealed to him.

  The hull lurched forward again and SinDex toppled to the floor, sliding down the deck a few feet.

  “Who is the Earth Daemon?” Havoc frowned.

  “Redemption, revolution and unimaginable power,” said Jynn, “but you will not be around to witness it.” She raised her sword.

  Havoc unleashed the third element and the sword lifted into the air and hurtled towards his outstretched hand. Jynn caught it in her back; the black point protruded from her chest. She staggered and coughed blood; her wide eyes bulged in their pale sockets. Then she laughed down at Havoc.

  “Do you think this will stop me? I will heal and your pain is just beginning,” she said in a girly voice.

  “No,” said the harsh whisper of the Blacksword. “Your pain has just begun!”

  A spasm rippled through the Havant’s body as the sword’s Fire Orrinn recognised the touch of a stranger. She shrieked in agony as her body felt the burning pain that issued from the Orrinn. It started in her nervous system, and then it filtered out to her organs, eyes, toes, fingernails, even her sex. Every atom of her fibre burnt, as if in the deepest depths of a volcano; the feeling of molten lava filled her pores and clogged her mind with pain.

  She caught a glimpse of a dark figure rear up beside her, the hooded persona of Death.

  The pain stopped as the Blacksword pulled SinDex out of her back.
She collapsed to her knees, holding her chest.

  “Give my regards to the dammed, bitch,” whispered the Blacksword and swung his sword and decapitated her.

  Before he took her head from her neck, Jynn caught a glimpse of a young girl in a blue dress. She smiled benignly at her as she hugged a doll. She stood by the smashed bow with a raven on her shoulder, and then her eyes suddenly turned into burning orange globes that issued black smoke. Suddenly, the view flipped upside down as Jynn’s head tumbled over the edge of the ship and into the falls.

  The Blacksword rummaged inside the robes of the headless Havant; he found the Lobe Stone. Strangely, his Rawn powers could not tell him what mineral it was made from, so he put it into his pocket for later scrutiny.

  The wrecked ship jerked forward again. He decided that getting off the wreck would be a good choice. He turned and ran to the aft castle as fast as he could, the ship tipped and his legs pumped faster to sprint up the sloping hull while, at the same time avoiding any debris that flew past him. The roots finally gave way, and the anchor with its chain, whipped back through the trees, narrowly missing the cloaked figure as he reached the destroyed rear of the ship.

  The ship tipped slowly over the edge. The Blacksword reached the edge and jumped from the shattered stern just as the point of gravity met equilibrium. By the time he landed on the churned earth, the falls below swallowed the wreckage.