The Rawn Chronicles Book Four: The Dragon and the Daemon (The Rawn Chronicles Series 4)

by P D Ceanneir

  Major Tamarind De Winn watched dejectedly as his three fake Trebuchets wheeled into position on the grassed ridge and lined up in a row two hundred yards in front of Storing Fort’s north walls.

  Sir Jericho, sitting astride his horse beside him, grinned like a court jester.

  ‘I do so like it when a plan works so well,’ said the Paladin.

  Tam just nodded. The three siege engines took the better part of two weeks to build, though they certainly looked threatening in their construction with the proper length of arm and a fully functional winch, they were however totally useless at the task of throwing a two hundred pound ball of solid stone three hundred yards at a twelve foot thick wall.

  Tamarind certainly did not wish his name, which was that of a highly respected engineer, to be associated with such hastily constructed contraptions. Yet they served a purpose, as Jericho constantly informed him, of laying the foundations of a ruse, a ruse that Tamarind De Winn only learnt about after placing a bet with the Paladin.

  ‘I give them two more days and they will surrender without a shot fired,’ said Jericho.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tam with little conviction.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so melancholy, major. The Ubhdomnall Hillmen have played their part well, as have you.’

  Tam nodded. The Ubhdomnall Hillmen, which Jericho spoke of, were locals from the northern mountains and many had been recruited into the ranks of the Tattoium Militia in the years after the civil war broke out. The Paladin used them as infiltrators, scouts, pathfinders and spies. They were very good at what they did. Being local, they knew the language of the Kelang and spoke in the same dialect; they incorporated themselves inside Kelang society and several even ranked highly within the Overlords retinue structure. They were so organised and immersed in the events within the Wildlands that they passed valuable information to the Paladin long before Jericho reached the North Mountains to begin his siege. That valuable information included the letters sent by messenger from Tyrandur to the Fort at Storing Gully. The Messenger was an Ubhdomnall infiltrator and he had not only passed the letters to Jericho, but had taken the Paladins own forged copies to the commander of the fort for the past two weeks now.

  Tam only found out about this a few days ago during one of Jerichos frequent meetings with the Hillmen.

  ‘You have been sending fake messages to the fort?’ asked Tamarind in surprise.

  Jericho nodded.

  ‘Saying what, sir?’

  ‘I’ve been letting them know that the conflict against Prince Magnus’ Raiders is not going well and ordered them to send more horsemen. Those horsemen are then ambushed by my Militia long before they reach Tyrandur.’

  ‘So, the fort is emptying of vital soldiers.’

  ‘Correct. When they see your contraptions, they will think twice about mounting a defence with, I judge, only two hundred souls. Also, the latest letter I sent indicated Mad-borath’s death.’

  Tamarind groaned and shook his head. He wished he had known all of this before he had taken the hundred sovereign bet with the Paladin-knight.

  ‘Magnus is drawing them into the Ash Field,’ said Dolment, who was pointing at the hastily drawn map in the dirt of the plain beyond the woods. ‘That amount of booted feet is going to send up a large dust cloud which may obscure your approach.’

  Chirn watched as his father, Mad-gellan, a broad shouldered bear of a man loomed over the map and pointed to the scratches at the bottom section.

  ‘What is this area?’ he asked.

  ‘Torwind Marsh,’ said Sir Felcon, a slim Paladin-knight with a shock of blonde hair, ‘you will need to take your Warband to the north of it to be able to cross the worst of the streams that trickle down from the mountains.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Chirn, who was sitting on a log eating a honeyed oatcake, ‘that would put us closer to Magnus, but it’s still a long jog over the plain before dawn.’

  Mad-gellan nodded, ‘Aye, lad. We still have time for a couple of hours rest, though. How’s the chest?’

  Chirn had only arrived a few minutes ago and warmly welcomed by his friends. He had not had time to talk to his father.

  ‘It’s getting better, father.’

  ‘You are as fit as an ox, youngster,’ said Sir Mactan with a grin which surprised Chirn because Dark Mactan rarely smiled. The Paladin-knight co-commanded the Dark Company along with Felcon, but because of his seniority in military years, he was in overall command, so much so that Prince Havoc made him a Senior Banner-knight before he left to go on the quest.

  ‘I heard that others were not as lucky as you,’ added Mactan.

  Chirn acknowledged this with a nod. The virulent chest infection had taken the lives of many of the older veterans.

  Dolment cleared his throat and continued, ‘Magnus needs my lancers back very soon, but he also wanted to say that he needs the Dark Company to hit the rear of Mad-borath’s host, to stop any escape back to Tyrandur.

  Felcon chuckled, ‘why do we get the easy jobs?’

  ‘You do know we are fewer in numbers,’ said Mactan, ‘and we will have to take the route south, over the marsh, to get anywhere near the enemy before nightfall.’

  ‘I know it will be difficult…’

  Mactan held up his hand to stop him, ‘I never said it was difficult, lad. We have achieved the impossible before.’

  ‘We could use the horses to get us in position quicker,’ said Felcon with much enthusiasm.

  ‘Horses?’ asked Mad-gellan.

  ‘Yes. The Dark Company has been ambushing Kelang Horseboys for months now. We keep their horses, over two thousands of them, on a high pasture about half a mile from here. Our intent was to take them into Jertiani territory, but…’

  ‘Good idea,’ acknowledged Mactan.

  ‘It’s a brilliant idea!’ said Dolment.

  ‘Well I have been known to have them, now and again,’ said Felcon with a grin.

  ‘We can double up the mounts with the archers,’ said Mactan, ‘with luck, daybreak will bring us within sight of the enemy.’

  Mad-gellan stood up, ‘we have time for some rest,’ he said as he looked up at the fading light through the tree canopy, ‘three hours, no more.’

  Chirn nodded and left the group. Dolment left the remaining commanders and went back to his troop of Ifor Lancers.

  ‘We should start now,’ said Mactan. He turned to Felcon, ‘move the men to the pasture and take the mounts.’

  Both friends shook hands with Mad-gellan. ‘Speed to your blade,’ said the Multan lord in the traditional Nithi farewell.

  ‘Honour in Death,’ replied the other two in unison.

  Magnus watched as the Kelang host flooded over the plain and kicked up black dust from the Ash Field to create a cloud that stretched back for about a mile behind them. Even if that made it difficult to see the approaching mass of foot soldiers, the thousands of burning brands lit up the cloud around them into an orange haze.

  It also informed Magnus he was hopelessly outnumbered.

  ‘A fine display of numbers,’ said Sir Colby by his side. The Princes Legion had arrived during the early hours of nightfall after a long and tiring march to meet up with the Raiders. Personally, Magnus was grateful of their appearance, which was timely and secretive.

  Magnus grunted, ‘just a lot more to die tomorrow.’

  The enemy front was thick with peasantry, poorly armoured, armed and lacking discipline. They would be the spear fodder to tire the Raiders in the morning’s fight while the trained regulars at the rear awaited their turn.

  ‘Keep your men to the rear, Colby,’ ordered Magnus, ‘watch our backs. The enemy will think twice about encircling us or hitting our flanks if they see you there.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Where, in the name of Arcun, is Dolment?’

  ‘He will be here, said Colby reassuringly, ‘that lad will not miss a fight if he can help it.’

  The Dark Company spent a good part of the night fording
the difficult and treacherous marsh to the south of Relin Plain and then they rode their stolen horses eastwards for the better part of two hours before turning north. The early morning light brought them to the fringes of the Ash Fields and within sight of the black dust cloud.

  ‘Dismount,’ shouted Mactan and over two thousand of the Dark Company regulars and two hundred Eternal Archers attached to his men, groaned as they jumped down from their mounts, relieved to be on firm ground again.

  ‘I need a dozen men to corral the horses and follow on behind, but I need three scouts to ride up ahead, no heroics now, tell them to report back as soon as they have sight of the enemy,’ said Mactan to one of his sergeants. The soldier ran away to collect “volunteers” to carry out the captains orders.

  Felcon appeared beside Mactan as the company formed up into one long line.

  ‘Left wing in position,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Good, let’s move forward at a jog.’

  ‘This could all be an astoundingly bad idea, you know,’ informed Felcon with a grin.

  ‘Well, “Astoundingly Bad” sounds better than “Insane Stupidity”,’ Mactan quipped.

  ‘That’s fine, because Insane Stupidity was my second option.’

  Morning broke. The sun rose behind the Raiders amidst fragmented clouds that burnt away as the burning ball cleared the rim of the horizon. The ground before them began to shimmer slightly in ripples of heat.

  The Raiders stood their ground, Foygion spears angled and bristling along a tightly packed phalanx. They all watched as a ragtag horde of Kelang men trudged forwards kicking up fine black dust as they did so. The Nithi halted and rows of archers oozed out from between he ranks.

  ‘Eternals ready!’ shouted Magnus to the three rank deep formation of Falesti Archers behind him, ‘forty-fire degree angle, take the strain.’

  The enemy archers moved closer to the Raiders front line, they would have to close the gap if their shorter-range bows were to have any effect. Of course, the longer range of the Falesti Warbow needed no such adjustment in distance.

  ‘Loose!’ said Magnus and there was a lengthy rushing and twanging noise behind him as hundreds of arrows shot into the air.

  Down on the ground, the enemy archers knew they were outmatched and some began to turn back before the arrow-fall landed around them. Dozens fell to the long white-fletched shafts. The undisciplined peasantry behind them roared in anger and surged forward like an uncoiled spring. Magnus gave the order for the Eternals to continue firing.

  More dust hung in the early morning haze. It was going to be a long hot day. One of Mactan’s men pointed out three shimmering specks in the distance, which turned out to be the three mounted scouts galloping towards him.

  The lead horseman reined in his pony, ‘Horseboys to the east, sir, but the main host saw us and detached four Kelang companies to meet you.’

  Mactan did a quick calculation in his head. If the information were correct then five thousand Kelang infantry would be in sight shortly.

  ‘A sizable welcoming party. Alright, take your horses to the rear and join the line,’ he said and then turned to one of his junior officers beside him. ‘Have the archers watch the flanks and take down any of those Horseboys if they get too close.’

  It was fifteen minutes before the enemy were in view. So far, there was no sign of the Horseboys, which was reassuring. Mactan watched as the Kelang rushed forwards. They looked like Kelang regulars due to the rows of flapping standards depicting the various tribal houses. These bondsmen wore an array of studded leathers and metal guards. Most wore Ferrington Woade; a strong, flexible and cheap form of leather mail common in the Wildlands.

  Mactan wished he had his spear, but the cumbersome weapon was too awkward to carry on horseback with a passenger. Instead, the Dark Company hid behind their shields and copied Mactan’s unvoiced order as he extracted his Spit Gun and aimed its muzzle at the fast approaching front rank. As soon as the enemy soldiers were in range, the Dark Company opened fire. The black wolfram tipped bolts tore through the Kelang numbers in the front row, several more shots took out the second, yet they still came on. Behind the Raider line, the Eternals loosed shaft after shaft that took down swathes of the charging Kelang, but still they sprinted forward.

  Mactan holstered his Spit Gun and took out his short sword.

  ‘Form a wall!’ he roared. The call was taken up along the line of his highly disciplined soldiers and their full-length shields slotted together to form a formidable barrier.

  Seconds later, the Kelang charge struck the shield wall and the impact shook the smaller army to their boots.

  Chirn coughed, but this time it was dry with no glut of phlegm to hack up. He continued his pace as his Warband ran throughout the early hours of darkness.

  Earlier, he only had two hours sleep before someone kicked him awake in the early hours of the morning. Standing up made him groan as his leg muscles protested. He only had time to have a quick snack and mouthful of water before joining his fellow soldiers in jogging out of the woodlands edge. When they finally crossed the level ground of the plain, his aching muscles began to ease and his body found the rhythm again as his legs eased into the pace.

  Early morning revealed the long trail of the dust formation kicked up by the Kelang Nithi. He, like the rest of his men, pulled up his silk scarf to cover his mouth before the dust choked them.

  The pace quickened as the Warband entered the plume. Even though they were jogging onwards in silence with swords drawn, they could hear the sounds of battle up ahead as clear as day. This meant that the enemy had already engaged the Raiders yet cries of anger and clash of weapons also reached Chirn, this time coming from the left wing where his father commanded the second Multan Warband, this told him that they must have been charging at an angle through the cloud of dust. He thought about giving orders to swing left, but the cloud opened up enough to see a clear area and a tall Kelang in black leathers turned his way with a look of surprise and panic on his face.

  Chirn was far too close to the soldier to swing his sword so he sprinted the last few feet and rammed his targe shield into his opponent’s body, knocking him to the ground. Chirn dropped his sword and pulled out a boot knife, which he plunged into the throat of the struggling warrior beneath him. Dark rich blood pumped from the wound and covered his arm. Chirn rolled off, picked up his sword and continued the sprint, realising that most of his men had passed him by in the rush. He pushed himself to the front, where his men packed together in the struggle to get forward. He found a gap in the shield wall and had to climb over bodies of Kelang and Multan warriors to reach it. To his front, the enemy wall was crushed and falling backwards under the shear momentum of the Multan charge.

  Over the heads of the enemy were tall shifting shapes enshrouded by the black dust. Chirn recognised mounted Bondsmen, Black Branch warriors, protectors of the Nithi Overlord. One of them held up the banner of the golden feather beside a young man in black battle gear, the man not much older than Chirn himself.

  ‘BORATH!’ roared Chirn and redoubled his efforts to get to the Nithi lord.

  The Multan Warband had smashed into the enemy in a devastating charge. The shock of the impact pushed the Kelang rear lines onto spears at the Raider’s south-western edge and almost caused the Raider’s box formation to crumple in on itself with the force. Earlier, the charge from the enemy regulars had resulted in a stalemate where the Raiders held them at bay with their long spears, and the Kelang tried in desperation to hack into the Raider front line by stepping in between the gaps in the phalanx. Yet with one spear successfully negotiated, another took its place and the glut of bloodletting continued.

  About an hour after sunup, when the sweat began to stream down helmed faces, the Multan Warbands struck and began to encircle the enemy to the north. Magnus received reports of the Raider right wing now forming with Mad-gellan’s Warband. The young lieutenant that passed him the report also gave him more good news.

  ‘The
Ifor Lancers have arrived, sir!’ he said with a grin, ‘they are skirting towards the east of the battlefield as we speak.’

  Magnus smiled back, the relief evident on his face, ‘get word to him to put pressure on the enemy right and watch out for those bloody Horseboys!’

  Dolment, the Master of Ifor, was an experienced heavy cavalry commander and so rarely needed anyone’s orders to do the right thing in a battle situation. He took the scene of the fray at a glance and had already decided to aid the Raider’s eastern flank, which was in danger of collapsing due to the numbers of leather-clad warriors there. Obviously, the news of the Multan arrival had not reached this section of the battle and the Lancers’s commander used this to his advantage as their tall sturdy chargers broke from the dust cloud in the west to descend into the eastern flank of the enemy. Four hundred heavily armoured horses tore through the startled Kelang host, barely breaking stride as they ploughed through with violent speed.

  All of a sudden, the thick mass of the enemy broke and fled, Dolment found a huge space to the rear of the Kelang host as the Lancers exited the enemy ranks and he wondered why such a space did not have a reserve force to guard the enemy rear. Then he saw the reason why. Far in the distance, the reserve force had turned and engaged the Dark Company. Dolment could see Mactan was grossly outnumbered. He raised his sabre for all of his men to see and pointed its blade south. He dug in his heels to his mounts flanks; she broke into a gallop almost instantly. Within seconds, his well-trained squadron were beside him as they charged over the ash thick plain.

  The Dark Company were struggling to hold the enemy back. Their poor numbers proved insufficient at keeping the shield wall in a straight line and the enemy constantly pushed them backwards, away from the main battle to the north.

  To make matters worse, the Horseboys troop had returned to harass his archers at the rear. All this Mactan could see each time he popped his head above his shield rim, almost taking a sword in the face on the last peek. He grunted and pushed his shoulder into his shield, concentrating on the push and keeping the line straight. His companies exposed flanks were already beginning to curve inward and the Eternals struggled to keep the enemy fragmented in those areas without having to concentrate on attack from the Horseboys.