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

by P D Ceanneir

  Havoc brought Dirkem to a scraping halt near Velnour and Foxe after he burst out into the open. The Ice Drake was contenting itself with freezing the fleet of trade ships just off the closest jetty and heading in the general direction of the largest ship there, the Cybeleion. Even from this distance, he could see the crew rushing to battle stations and angling the deck cannons upwards.

  ‘Velnour your spear!’ he shouted to his captain of cavalry and he deftly caught the thrown weapon. Without a word, he kicked the stallion’s flanks and galloped to the north keeping parallel with the gliding dragon.

  He linked a Pyromantic Surge to the Fire Element and sent it to the spear. Everyone that witnessed the prince’s ride towards Glajziur had to cover his or her eyes from the blinding flash of white light that engulfed the weapon. Others dared to stare in amazement as he hauled back on Dirkem’s reins to halt him as the dragon turned into a tight ark, whipping his head around, and sighting the prince down his long flat snout.

  The spear was gone from the prince’s fingers before the Ice Drake completed the turn, Havoc deliberately allowed the Pyromantic Superheat to shimmer around the spear so it could cause no damage to the wooden shaft. He willed the surge to take the weapon further than anyone could throw. This confused the dragon as the speed of the flying missile caught it off guard and it pierced his hide just above the right leg and drove the spear point deep into the hipbone. The dragon roared in pain, spun it’s head around to snap at the shaft of the spear that now protruded out of it’s body by half. Glajziur’s act of turning and folding his right wing to look at his side caused him to turn abruptly onto his back. He fell into the calm glassy surface of the fjord shattering the black mirrored water and sending up a fifty-foot plume of foaming liquid high into the air as he dropped below the surface.

  The silence that followed was only broken by the low whisper of snowfall.

  A cracking noise, soft at first, then rising to a high-pitched splintering sound accompanied the blossoming spread of rippling ice that formed on the surface of the water. It moved outwards pushing the hulls of the ships out into the inlet or, in the case of others, shoving them against the harbour embankments. Havoc sat astride Dirkem and watched as the ice sheet spread in a circle about a hundred feet in every direction. It stopped when it touched the Cybeleion, which was sitting anchored on the far northern shore close to the smaller cargo ships. When the frozen surface stopped its journey of crystalline branches, the tearing noise of cracking ice stopped also. Sound and heat abruptly disappeared into a vacant vacuum for only a few short heartbeats. Then, when the prince thought he must take another breath, a rumbling gurgle issued from the ice sheet where the Ice Drake had entered. Its surface wrenched upward in a myriad of glistening fragments as Glajziur exited the water. With several flaps of his wings, he raised higher over the town. The spear could still be seen sticking out of his hip like a blackened wood splinter as he turned north-west and flew away with alarming speed.

  Tia felt warm hands lift her from the freezing cold blanches that covered her. As she rose unsteadily to her feet, she was glad to see Foxe and Velnour smiling back at her.

  ‘Look what I found, Sir Velnour, someone has thrown away a perfectly good female with the garden waste,’ said Foxe.

  ‘So they have, Sir Foxe,’ said Velnour with a glint of amusement in his single swollen eye. ‘Let us hope this one keeps us out of trouble, because the last one was hopeless.’

  Tia giggled as they led her out of the woods.

  By the time Havoc trotted back to where he had burst out of the trees, a crowd had gathered. The Archward and his followers, in their blue tabards, were in a huddle around Captain Carbaum, Little Kith, and Furran. The sounds of an argument swelled over the crowd.

  Lord Ness had ignored the arguments, and as Havoc approached, he saw the Ri rush over to help Tia, Velnour, and Foxe thaw out the icebound soldiers. Powyss ran in from the north with Gunach and a bleary-eyed Hexor behind him. Many of the town’s folk crept out of their hiding places and shelters to wander towards the crowd of Wards, many nodding politely to the prince and thanking him profusely for banishing the dragon as he passed them.

  ‘...brought despair down on us, you and your new found friends...’ shouted Mannheim to Carbaum as Havoc drew closer, the Archward’s cheeks were red with fury, puffs of vapour escaped into the cold air as he ranted. Havoc reined in Dirkem, stopped, and listened.

  ‘...where were you last night? Your bed has not been slept in. No doubt showing the outsiders to the forbidden path, yes?’ said Mannheim. Little Kith and Furran acted as mediators as they stood between the Wards and Carbaum’s followers who had joined the crown. The tall figure of Kith was a mollifying influence on anyone.

  ‘Checked my bed?’ Carbaum said in a shocked voice. ‘You have the audacity to presume to be my personal Ward now? How dare you!’

  ‘Do not evade the question! We have been at peace with Glajziur for nine months. Now you have brought him to us with your selfish desires,’ Mannheim was slamming his staff on the slush-covered ground with almost every word he spoke. Havoc watched as the old Sernac briskly walked up to the crowd with several guards, barged his way through to the antagonists, and flapped his hands palm downwards; indicating to them to calm down, both men ignored him and continued shouting.

  Glajziur would have come at any time,’ said Carbaum, ‘even if I hadn’t gone up to the Guardians...’

  ‘Ah so, you admit it!’ shouted the Archward so everyone in the crowd could hear his voice. He began pointing a finger at the captain’s face. ‘You admit to bringing evil to our sanctuary...’

  ‘You are insane, Mannheim,’ said Carbaum.

  Havoc, unusually for him, was quite annoyed at this outcome. Mannheim was using him and his people as an excuse to criticise Carbaum and the captain was using it to bring out another side of the Archward that all could see. Clearly, there were divisions in this quiet, quaint little town. Two opposing sides were vying for power. He allowed the argument to simmer away for a few more exchanges then intervened.

  ‘SILENCE!”’ he roared and everyone turned in shock at the sound of his voice, Mannheim scowled behind his bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Listen to yourselves,’ continued Havoc, ‘the mighty race of Elementals, prosperous, generous to guests, and keepers of My’thos wisdom. Yet for all your greatness you tear at each other’s throats while your own brave soldiers freeze to death.’ He jerked his chin towards Lord Ness and the now unfrozen men. The silence that followed was mixed with guilty looks and broken pride at the prince’s words. Mannheim’s face even softened and he looked around him furtively at his own men.

  The Sernac and Carbaum pushed themselves out of the crowd to get closer to their fallen men, Havoc dismounted and reached Lord Ness before them.

  ‘I’m afraid four are dead,’ said the Ri, ‘their internal organs have frozen solid. Fortunately, one was lucky enough to be behind them and has severe hypothermia. He needs to have his body temperature brought back slowly or he may die.’

  ‘Right,’ said Havoc and pointed to five of the Wards. ‘You five, new clothes, blankets and a warm room.’ The volunteered Wards were startled for a moment then looked at their Archward for support. Mannheim nodded his assent to the prince’s orders and they helped the casualty with care and efficiency.

  ‘Commander Powyss,’ continued Havoc, ‘I want the Paladins, Thane Garrett and twenty of his Falesti Infantry to be ready to depart for a long journey.’

  Powyss eyed his prince reproachfully, so too did the others, but Havoc was staring up into the sky in the same direction that the Ice Drake had departed.

  ‘May I ask where we are going?’ said Powyss.

  ‘We’re going to get the Mortkraxnoss Talisman back from the Nicbetha.’

  Powyss shrugged and sighed, ‘I thought as much.’

  Tia stepped into the group of men, ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘No, I want a Rawn to remain on the Cybeleion,’ he raised a hand to sto
p her annoyed reply. ‘No arguments. That is an order!’ She frowned at him and turned away.

  ‘Well, you will not be ordering me to stay,’ said Carbaum, ‘you will need my help to guide you. It’s the least I can do for you for seeing off Glajziur.’

  Havoc nodded to acknowledge the captains company. Then Mannheim appeared beside him.

  ‘I will join you also, because I have been chosen by the Old Gods and will not be seen craven to their cause.’ He looked the prince in the eyes. ‘You choose a dangerous task, my lord, one that will be trying in the extreme.’

  ‘Story of my life,’ mumbled Havoc as he watched Tia walk away.

  Chapter Eight

  The Ice Path

  “N

  ever seek a hollow death. Only one that is steeped in glory,” quoted Fowyn as he used the monk’s robes to wipe the blood from his sword. ‘I always thought the Dragor-rix was a mundane poem but it seems quite apt here.’ He stepped over the body, avoiding the pools of blood, and approached Serena who was at that moment lifting piles of scrolls out of their nooks set in the walls and opening them one at a time.

  Fate was with them when they found the only survivor of the mountain bandits that had escaped the crew of the Cybeleion months ago. The unfortunate man had given up his secrets to Fowyn Ri through a Thought Link that left him a drooling, gibbering wreck. The bandit had pointed the way to a valley in the mountains and the monastery of the Jehu Chi Monks. It was the library that the monks looked after that caught the Ri’s attention. The months of searching for the Quest Ship now proved fruitful, he knew they were closer to their goal.

  The monks had died in their droves, protecting the sacred chamber to their holy secrets and their map room. Most died trying to stop the Vallkyte soldiers from entering the huge iron doors at the entrance, even if they were armed, they would not stand a chance against the well-disciplined formation of soldiers, a Rawn and a Ri.

  ‘Found anything?’ Fowyn asked. Serena did not answer him as she spread out another map onto the round wooden table that took up the centre of the chamber, placing it next to others she had found. As some of the soldiers dragged out the last of the bodies, Fowyn scanned the charts.

  ‘This is where we are,’ said Serena as she pointed to an exquisite sketch of mountains and a miniature representation of the monastery. ‘And this,’ she pointed to a separate map, far older than the first on the other side of the table, ‘is Ternquin of Assassi.’

  ‘Then we have our route, but what is this,’ said Fowyn as he pointed to the central map and a long valley with what seemed like a red river running through it.

  ‘According to the mind of the senior librarian that is the Valley of the Floating Wrecks.’

  ‘Ah yes, the fabled Epicentre. The Bandit had knowledge of this. I am familiar with this phenomenon anyway, from my early Ri studies, it must be avoided. Gather the charts together.’ He turned from the table and issued orders to one of the soldiers standing by the entrance.

  ‘You! Contact Captain Arvin; tell him to send word to the other ships and meet us enroute. We have found the landing area of Mortkraxnoss.’

  The Ice Path was tougher than it looked. Once the group, led by the prince, left the high uneven root structures of the Ternquin tree as their starting point, the route was up hill until they stopped at the Gateway of Life. Those who had not seen this extraordinary wonder of the floating Glammarstone gawped at it in awe.

  The path led to the north and then west after they left the gateway and it rose steeply through the low needle sharp branches of firs and pines. Then, as the day dragged into night, the snow lessened and so too did the width of the path as it wound around the edge of the mountains, first east for several miles, and then north, until they found a shallow cave large enough for them all to huddle together against the biting wind.

  Havoc was in a foul mood, and all there knew it. Even Powyss and Lord Ness stayed away from him. An angry Pyromancer was not the best company to keep. All of them had heard the prince argue with Tia as he refused her participation on this trip and order her to stay on board the Cybeleion.

  ‘Why?’ Tia had screamed at him as he caught up with her after leaving the others near the Ternquin Tree in order to discuss their argument in private.

  ‘I need you to stay and watch things here. Remember the dream I told you about?’ he said calmly in a low voice. Tia’s brow beetled, annoyed at the change of subject and the confusion at his question.

  ‘What dream?’ she shrieked at him.

  ‘The one about the six Vallkyte Sky Ships and the mountains in their background,’ he said sighing with irritation.

  ‘What? That was months ago! Havoc, how do you expect me to...?’

  He pointed to the south east with a stiff jab of his finger. ‘Those are the mountains,’ he said and Tia’s furious face softened in understanding. ‘Once we leave, tell Captain Danyil about it. Have him patrol the mountainous area to the south. I will return as quickly as I can.’ He kissed her fiercely then walked away without another word. The tears in Tia’s eyes were the only goodbye she gave him.

  Now, with the men grouped together for warmth and the pickets on patrol amongst the tree’s edges, Havoc made his excuses to Lord Ness so that he could go and meditate his dark mood away. He wandered deep into the woods, back along the path, and then found a rocky precipice overlooking a deep ravine. He sat on the rock looking out across the dark expanse. Other surrounding rocks and trees broke the rushing wind and an eerie quiet descended upon him.

  He fished inside one of the pouches that formed part of his scabbard belt and extracted the Lobe Stone. It sat in his hand, pale and unassuming in the moonless night. He had thought about Bleudwed a lot of late, and found himself resisting the urge to call her. Most of the time their conversations were informative, but personal matters seemed stilted and awkward. He waited in the chill silence of the solitude and decided to activate the Lobe Stone. He called her name into the stone several times before she answered. The countess had taken to keeping her stone close to her so she answered after his fifth attempt.

  ‘Oh Havoc, you call at the worst times,’ she said, ‘I’ve had a call of nature.’

  ‘You took your Lobe Stone to the privy with you?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Only peace and quiet I get these days. However, I am actually washing ink off my hands. You would not believe the amount of letters, forms, pension parchments, decrees and other official correspondence I have to sign in one day.’

  ‘Well, you are a very important person with lots of responsibility.’

  ‘Ha! Charming as ever, my prince.’

  ‘How fares my home?’ he asked and Bleudwed told him, in excited tones, about Magnus and Mad-gellan’s victory over Mad-borath several months ago at, what was now being referred too, as the Battle of the Ash field.

  ‘Mad-borath miraculously escaped the battle,’ she told him, ‘with his bodyguards and several noble advisors. Mactan and Felcon set out to apprehend him after he fled the field. The two knights and their soldiers of the Dark Company chased them on horseback for six miles before Mad-borath made a stand in an open field where a high Howe of earth and rock was the only place to fight. I have since learned that the mound’s name is Kelang’s Cairn, ironically the grave of Mad-borath’s distant ancestor and first tribal lord. Whether it was coincidence or fate that brought him to it, no one would ever know.

  ‘Despite outnumbering the chasing force of Raiders, Mad-borath and his men could not withstand the sheer discipline and skill of Mactan and Felcon’s veterans. With shield, spear and arrows the two knights cut through the circle of soldiers at the foot of the cairn and then captured Mad-borath. Once their lord was overpowered, the rest of the Nithi Kelang surrendered.

  ‘When the two Paladin Knights returned with their hostages the Battle of the Ash Field was well and truly over. Mad-gellan was so relieved and overjoyed at his victory he began his reign as Overlord of the Nithi by dishing out titles and land holdings to his closest frie
nds and allies. He started with your brother who is now honoured with the rank of Élitas, a form of military general and advisor that would rank him high in the Nithi alliance with the Roguns. He has spent some time in the Wildlands as Mad-gellan consolidates his power. Your father has agreed to the title.’

  Havoc nodded, this was a shrewd move by Gellan. Magnus was heir to the powerful Red Dukedom and would prove to be a close ally in the future.

  The countess continued, ‘Chirn was also given the rank of Élitas and the governorship of the castles in the South Mountains. Mad-gellan was so happy at the capture of Mad-borath that he granted Foxe and Mactan with the titles of Kubaldoms, similar to a Rogun Sheriff, each sharing in the control of the unruly tribes of the Duluth Row. They would have to answer to Chirn as it’s governor. Dolment and General Balaan were accepted as ambassadors of their relevant countries and honoured with farmland in the east and west respectively. Jericho marches now to meet Mad-gellan at Tyrandur. His siege of Storing Gully Fort was successful and it is now in his control. I have also heard that the new Overlord has granted a smallholding in the north close to the Tattoium Ridge that once belonged to Mad-borath, called Sidon Maze, and titled Jericho, Baron of that land thereof.

  ‘Not long after the battle, Mad-gellan marched to his grandfather’s castle of Tyrandur in the east. Mad-daimen’s father had almost destroyed the castle when the Kelang deposed the Multans from power many years previously. Now Mad-gellan plans to rebuild it’s damaged sections.

  ‘Mad-borath and his surviving officers and advisors were taken in chains to the castle. Once there, Mad-gellan hung the lower ranking men from his castle walls and had the senior officers ripped apart, limb from limb, by four sturdy horses. Mad-borath got off lightly, his tongue was cut out, his eyes burnt from their sockets and his hands snapped and twisted around so they would heal back-to-front. He is now locked up in Tyrandur’s dungeon. The same cell Mad-gellan’s father had rotted in many years ago.’