The Rawn Chronicles Book Three: The Ancarryn and the Quest (The Rawn Chronicles Series 3)

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘Ah... yes, I recall the name now. Did his younger brother fight under the command of Marshal Zolar of the Dutresi?’

  There was a short strained silence, the smile fell from Serena’s face and she fixed the prince with a cold stare. The prince remained impassive and Tia looked in wonder at him. Obviously, the prince had hit a nerve.

  ‘My Uncle Yaquis was once the commander of the Foygions, yes.’ Serena said coldly.

  ‘The Lord Yaquis died bravely at the Battle of the Fess, Lady Serena; you should be proud of his integrity on the battlefield and honour his name, I have not fought better.’ Havoc said all of this in a level, no nonsense tone that reminded Serena of her father and made her feel justly reprimanded for her attitude towards the prince’s question. Clearly, the prince was a man used to authority and this showed in his manner.

  ‘You are quite right, my lord. I will pass on your remarks to my father, who I believe shares the same sentiments.’

  The Paladins were standing not that far from them, listening in on the conversation, Magnus walked through them and up to Havoc’s side.

  ‘Congratulations, ladies,’ he said to the girls, ‘I was just saying to my brother that we need to see more female Rawns among us.’

  ‘My brother,’ said Havoc introducing the shorter man,’ Prince Magnus, the Master of the Rouge.’

  ‘Ah, the heir to the Red Dukedom, I am honoured to finally meet you,’ said Serena.

  ‘We are the ones who should be honoured, my lady, for having such alluring beauties grace our humble citadel,’ said Magnus, which brought a smile to Serena’s lips and a giggle from Tia.

  ‘Charm and flattery will get you anywhere with us, my lord,’ said Serena as she fluttered her eyes at him. The previous mention of her dead uncle now forgotten as she beamed at Prince Magnus, yet Havoc still noted a steely displeasure in her eyes. Everything he saw seemed like an act. Tia, on the other hand, was watching the exchange with fascination. When Havoc laughed at Serena’s quip, Tia smiled sweetly at the sound of his voice and she constantly glanced in his direction when she though he was not looking. ‘You must forgive my brother,’ said Havoc, ‘he has been too long away from the Lady of the Rouge that he forgets he must reserve his charm for her alone.’

  Out of sight of the Havant Priestesses’, Magnus kicked Havoc on the back of the leg, which made him flinch and topple.

  ‘Oh! Has the Canndali sapped your strength brother? Has the strain been too much?’ Magnus caught him so he would not fall and made it look overly dramatic to add more comedy to the jest, ‘perhaps you should lie down.’

  There was laughter from the Paladins and the Havants, Havoc laughed also and playfully pushed his brother away.

  ‘Take no notice of my brother’s jests, my ladies, perhaps we shall meet again if you are going to the Feast of Scarlet later this evening?’

  ‘Yes we are, we had also planned on staying the night... wherever that may be,’ said Serena in a husky voice, and Magnus audibly gulped.

  A shout came from the bridge and a young pageboy from the royal court sprinted towards them shouting out the De Proteous’s name.

  ‘Your Highness, the king requests your presence in the library’s round room,’ he said out of breath.

  ‘Alright, thank you, I will be there presently,’ said the prince, ‘Magnus would you care to join me?’

  ‘Do I have to?’ said Magnus still looking at the pouting Serena.

  ‘Yes, you do!’ he snapped and then smiled at the women. ‘We must take our leave of you now, ladies; enjoy the remainder of your stay.’ As they left the Havant’s curtsies and said their goodbyes, Havoc finally heard Tia’s voice, whose was light and sweet, saying goodbye and he gave her a secret smile as he passed.

  ‘The Rite of Ancarryn!’ shouted Magnus incuriously, ‘he has got to be kidding!’

  Havoc scanned the poster after Magnus gave it to him. It had been found, nailed onto the library entrance, by one of the clerks. He walked to the tall window that was the main feature of the round room, which was part of libraries castellated cone tower. The rooms curved walls housed high shelving totally filled with leather-bound books. A silver chandelier hung from the cone roof giving off bright gaslight in the otherwise gloomy ceiling.

  He and Magnus had found his father and Lord Ness on the second level of the library mezzanine sitting on the soft furniture that sat in the middle of the room. The king had picked up the poster from the shallow oak table in front of him and handed it to Prince Magnus as he reached the top of the stairs. Havoc’s half-brothers cry of astonishment echoed around the open library.

  ‘I think your Uncle Kasan is deadly serious,’ added Lord Ness.

  ‘Whether he is or not, my brother is devious,’ said King Vanduke, ‘in one fell swoop he has found a way to get people to fight in a time of peace.’

  ‘And to continue their vendetta against their enemies,’ Havoc mumbled to himself, but the comment was only picked up by Lord Ness who could not answer because Magnus cut in.

  ‘I thought that the Ancarryn was only fought before battles, with champions?’

  ‘These days they are, but in the past it was a spectator sport, a form of competition,’ said Lord Ness. ‘Over a hundred years ago the grandson of King Sallen the Fourth, King Criab the Third, was distraught about his warring tribes on Vallkyte lands. They would break into battles over land disputes, love rivalry, or blood feuds and it was always a waste of valuable resource to send his armies in to put a stop to these disruptions.’

  ‘So he created the Rite of Ancarryn and built the famous Criab Arena in Dulan-Tiss. He summoned the champions from each of the unruly tribes to settle their differences, while simultaneously viewing by the general public and lining the king’s pocket with gold at the same time. The whole thing became a huge hit, which justified organisers to run the event every five years until Baron Telmar came to power. Then everything changed.’ Havoc noticed the look of sadness on his master’s face. The Ri had trained the young and inspiring Baron Telmar before the days of his madness. The late Baron was one of his most gifted students.

  The king noticed as well. He placed a hand on his Consul’s arm. ‘Dark days those were, my friend.’ He turned back to his sons. ‘You can bet that the greatest warriors from all over the island will participate for the chance to win the King’s Gift.’ said Vanduke.

  ‘What’s the King’s Gift?’ asked Magnus.

  ‘The ultimate prize is one you ask for yourself, anything you wish for, and the king will grant it.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Magnus’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Pity no-one has ever won it.’

  ‘You’re joking! What’s the point in competing if you can’t win?’

  ‘Because the final hurdle you need to overcome to win the King’s Gift is to defeat the King’s Champion. The first person to win the competition agreed to become the first champion of King Criab; he was given his heart’s desire as long as he survived the future Ancarryns. When he was defeated, then the winner took on the roll of champion, and it sort of snowballed from there. No winner has ever turned down the glory of becoming the Vallkyte King’s Champion; the riches he receives from the position make up for any one great gift the king could give him, and the king gets a newer, better, bodyguard.’

  ‘Ahh...I see the problem now, Lord Udren is Kasan’s champion, and he has never been beaten,’ sighed Magnus.

  Lord Ness looked at Havoc, who moved to stare out of the window that gave him a view of Market-town and Old-port beyond.

  ‘Although, everyone knows that Prince Havoc is the greatest swordsman on the island,’ said the Ri, ‘this may be the reason that King Kasan has restarted the Ancarryn.’

  ‘Do you think he wishes to trap my son?’ asked the king.

  ‘Yes, of course it’s a trap!’ snapped Havoc, turning from the window to face them before Lord Ness could answer the king’s question, ‘that is why I’m going to spring it.’

  ‘You’re mad if you think I’m go
ing to let you walk into the lion’s den, my boy!’ said the king as he stood up from his seat, a look of concern on his face.

  ‘I’ve lived with madness before father, remember?’

  ‘Yes, I know, forgive me, but I can’t let you go to Dulan-Tiss alone, its suicide.’

  ‘I won’t be going alone,’ said Havoc with a smile. The others remained silent, but Magnus frowned.

  ‘Who are you going with... ahh... oh I see, you mean the Black...’ understanding flooded over his brother’s face as he talked.

  ‘...even if you were going to go as him,’ cut in Lord Ness, before anyone should overhear Magnus, ‘getting into the Vallkyte capital will be easy enough, getting out will be a problem. Even with the skills he possesses you will be hard pushed to escape.’

  Havoc thought that through, ‘you may be right, do you have any suggestions?’

  ‘I will think on it, your majesty.’

  ‘How about not going, that’s one good suggestion?’ Vanduke was pacing around the room, his hands behind his back, ‘I can’t afford to lose you again. The thought of you as this...,’ he waved his hands around, ‘...this other person is hard for me to accept even if he is part of an ancient prophecy.’

  ‘Father, the prophecy clearly states that the Sword that Rules will vanquish all enemies’. The Blacksword has never failed me. The Ancarryn will give me a chance to take revenge in this time of peace. It will allow me to avenge our families dishonour and bring vengeance to our people. Mad-daimen and his kin will be there, won’t they?’ said Havoc forcibly, and all there heard the sound of authority in his voice, a sound that made the king proud.

  ‘I would be surprised if he isn’t, son,’ nodded Vanduke in agreement.

  ‘Well than, I’m going too,’ said Magnus.

  ‘By the gods you will not!’ roared the king. Vanduke was very lenient with his sons, but up to a point, ‘bad enough that I send one son to his potential doom than send two; you are staying here boy where I can keep an eye on you!’

  That evening, at the Feast of Scarlet, which is the traditional celebration of the new Rawn Masters after the Canndali, Magnus was in a foul mood throughout. Havoc left him alone. Besides, he had his wife, Eleana, to keep him company.

  The newly constructed Banqueting Hall was full of families and friends of the Canndali participants. Three rows of tables side by side, straining under the platters of seafood and freshly cooked game. The waiters served ale and wine and even the new Fire Wine found its way to the princes table. After the initial speeches, firstly a congratulatory one from Lord Ness and then a humorous one from the king, the tables began to get rowdy with chatter as the minstrels sung a few ballads.

  As the evening wore on, Havoc noticed groups of people splitting from their tables and wandering off to talk to friends on others. He noted a crowd of five young men, still in their scarlet robes, talking to Serena who seemed very happy with the attention. He looked around for Tia and saw her with a wine goblet in her hand walking through the high curved arch to the patio entrance. He picked up his silver goblet and a half full wine decanter, and then followed her. He found her in the small flower garden surrounded by lush colourful potted plants and shrubs that swayed in the late evening breeze.

  ‘Are you enjoying the feast, Lady Tia?’ he asked her. The Havant turned suddenly and smiled at him. He saw her purple cloak was open and underneath she wore short brown riding boots, a grey linen skirt that came halfway down to her muscular thighs and a tight, sleeveless white woollen shirt that showed ample cleavage. Around her slim waist was a black belt with a large brass buckle depicting an egg-shaped Orrinn on a long plinth; the whole ensemble of clothing and her shapely figure looked very erotic. Havoc tried hard not to let his eyes wander.

  ‘Yes, my lord. However, the air inside the hall is stifling and unlike my colleague I shy away from the attentions of young men,’ she said in that small sweet voice that seemed so endearing and vulnerable to the prince.

  ‘Yes, well, she looks to have drawn a crowd.’

  ‘Ha, I pity them.’ This made them both laugh.

  ‘As things go,’ she said, ‘the citadel may see more Havant Priestesses. Maybe not Serena and I, but others,’ she sipped from the wine goblet she was holding. Havoc poured a little more into it.

  ‘How so?’ he asked.

  She looked up at him and saw that her eyes were wise in years even if she looked younger than he was.

  ‘Article six of the Haplann Treaty, “every citadel and town must have a member of the Havant Order available to administer to the religious needs of the populace”, my mistress was rather keen to have some say in the truce talks.’

  Havoc stared at her; he had to admit that he had not read the treaty in full and this reference to the Havant Order disturbed him. Sending Havant Priestesses to help the spiritual “needs” of the people sounded too much like spying to him. His Aunt Cinnibar, in her concern for religious fervour, showed how unscrupulous she actually was for the vulnerabilities of political stability after war.

  ‘The Havant Order is a free religion which belongs to the religious order of the Derma Ken. Rogun and Vallkytes can benefit from our teachings,’ went on Tia, who had seen the look of shock on the prince’s face, ‘it can only benefit the needy, my lord.’

  ‘Or benefit my aunt,’ mumbled the prince.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Tia frowned at him.

  Havoc smiled back and waved away his comment and he raised his wine goblet. ‘A toast,’ he said, ‘to spiritual stability.’

  Tia repeated his toast and sipped from her glass.

  ‘I must stop drinking this stuff, I’m not used to its strength,’ said Tia, ‘Fire Wine is quite potent.’

  ‘I agree, but I don’t want to throw it over the potted plants for fear of killing them. The Royal Gardener is quite ruthless and will wage all out war on anyone foolish enough to do so.’

  Tia giggled, ‘I must say you are not as I imagined, my lord.’

  ‘How did you imagine me to be?’

  ‘A bit more like your Uncle Kasan.’

  ‘Ah, well. I have been called worse by most of my friends, so I do not feel insulted,’ he laughed, and she laughed with him.

  ‘Well, my lord, I must be getting back to Serena. She can be quite flirty with a drink in her, and I fear for the men’s safety,’ she said with a smile. Havoc, who thought Serena needed no drink to fuel her desires, said goodbye to Tia and found himself feeling sad at her departure.

  ‘I’m sure we will meet again, my lady. Please give my regards to my aunt.’

  After the Havant went out of his sight through the ivy covered stone arch that led back to the hall, Eleana appeared. She grasped Havoc’s arm and dragged him back through to their table.

  ‘I don’t know what’s with you and my husband, but I want to enjoy the rest of the night!’ she said forcibly. ‘He is not in a good mood, so you had better cheer him up!’

  Magnus was nursing his wine when Havoc and Eleana sat down. Havoc poured more into it. ‘Come on Sir Magnus,’ he said in an upbeat tone with a hint of mockery, ‘let’s get drunk and talk about battle and women. For tomorrow we may die...hopefully between the thighs of the women.’

  He received a dig in the ribs from Eleana, but she laughed when she saw Magnus smile.

  ‘You are annoying some times,’ said Magnus.

  ‘Yes, but most of the time you love me, so let us get drunk. WE ARE RAWN MASTERS NOW!’ Havoc roared. The crowds at the other tables cheered as the prince raised his goblet and he drank it dry, feeling the heat from the wine go to his head. Magnus laughed and drained his own while Eleana poured them both another.

  It was several hours later, and several wine barrels emptier, that he rowdy and very drunk occupants of the hall seemed to double in number through Havoc’s bleary vision. It was about this time that he and Magnus got up onto their table to sing some songs, encouraged and cheered on by the inebriated crowd. Havoc could not remember at what time he fell off the table, but
it raised a laugh nonetheless.

  Eleana and Lord Ness helped him up of the floor. Magnus had carried on singing without him, stomping up and down the table kicking the remains of the seafood and game carcasses onto the floor as he reached a rousing crescendo along with the rest of the revellers. Eleana, who had only had one glass, began to clap along with her husband’s, rather impressive, jig as he nimbly swerved his feet around a salad bowl display.

  ‘I think the Fire Wine has gone to your head, my Lord,’ said a laughing, and very sober, Ness Ri.

  ‘Think so...bit drunk...Master,’ Havoc tried to say, but it came out slurred.

  ‘I have found a solution to your problem, reference the Ancarryn.’

  Havoc sobered instantly. He had forgotten about the poster, but if he was honest, it had not been too far from his mind.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes, meet me at the Circle of Carras at ten tomorrow...on second thoughts, better make that noon, and bring SinDex.

  Chapter 3

  Ciriana

  A sharp insistent screeching added to the pain in his head like a blunt wood saw. Havoc groaned as he writhed in his bed. There was a throbbing pain coming from his back when he had fallen on the hard stone floor last night.

  He looked around his apartment room through red-rimmed eyes. He could not remember getting to bed, although he had fleeting flashes of Eleana and Magnus undressing him and tucking him up under the silk sheets. This theory was justified when he looked under the covers at his naked body and saw the words “MR FLOPPY” in ink, written in Magnus’s drunken handwriting with a small arrow pointing down to his groin.

  Havoc laughed but it caused the pain in his head to intensify. The screeching got louder; through his hangover, he recognised Mirryn’s call.

  He stood up unsteadily and crossed the room to his walk-in wardrobe, and he reached into a small cupboard and extracted SinDex. He felt a slight jolt of heat throb through his arm. The feeling was quite pleasant; in fact, it dulled the pain in his head somewhat. There was the usual distinct feeling of connectedness he always go when picking up the Sword that Rules. Through the sword’s silver orb pommel the red kite’s insistent screeching became louder. He ignored the thumping in his head and concentrated on the Orrinn’s surface. Eventually its silver-grey motes opened like wisps of clouds to reveal the Isle of Carras and the stone circle at its centre. The kite was obviously circling above the structure. There, on the edge of the stone ring, stood the white robed Ness Ri looking up at Mirryn with a sardonic grin on his face. Havoc remembered the Ri had asked him to meet him at the stone circle. He wished he had chosen another day.