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

by P D Ceanneir

  His wife hugged and kissed him, told him to be careful and gave him her green silk scarf. Morden tied his Lobe Stone to the Earth Orrinn with it, just as the king had instructed.

  He then hugged his boys and climbed onto his horse. He led the men out of the castle grounds and then out of the town gates. He took his party north through the Haplann Hills to their goal.

  Moreover, that goal was the Rings of Port.

  The Herald led Havoc over the drawbridge and through the wide-open entrance of Sonora. The looks of concern on the Raider officers’ faces followed him as he disappeared behind the closing gates.

  They both waited at the second wall until the huge oak doors were cranked open. Soldiers of the Havant Guard looked down at them from the battlement’s heights and Havoc knew Lord Rett was right about the small space between the two walls.

  It was a killing ground.

  Sunlight flooded through the doors as they opened to reveal the wide cobbled road that cut right through the citadel leading to the harbour on the far side of the northern district. Another road crossed over the centre of the main one from east to west and the citizens of Sonora called the crossroads Quarto Arenem or Four Arms. The two roads split the town into four districts, with most of the homes found in the east and south side of the city. In the west were the Botanic gardens, common grasslands, Plaza Square, Garrison buildings, shipwrights, warehouses, and offices to the Harbour Trade Authorities that gave everyone in Sonora a living. Overshadowing everything on its short rock crag was the small Royal Palace to the north. In the centre of the citadel sat the Buildings of the Authorities comprising of the Havant Temple, the library, theatre and the mighty Delthioum, a form of town hall of immense proportions. It was a hundred thousand foot square building with a slopping roof of red slate and in its centre was a taller domed structure with three huge bells in its belfry. Rows of sculpted marble columns, eight hundred in all, held up the roof’s arched beams.

  The Herald led the king to the Delthioum.

  Soldiers, in a colourful array of various liveries, lined the route to the huge building. Town’s folk were packed together in small crowds and craning their necks to get a look at the Rogun King. They stood behind the soldiers who formed a tight line to hold back the locals as they surged forward, continually jostled them in order to see better, when the king came into view.

  ‘May the My’thos bless you King Havoc!’ shouted a distant male voice to Havoc’s left.

  ‘Bless you, your Majesty,’ shouted out several female voices to his right. There were cheers, which echoed along the front of the mass. Someone started clapping and this continued outwards when everyone behind the front rows heard. It rippled along to the far ends of the surging mass of people.

  Havoc smiled at them, nodded to those who smiled back. The local folk were few in number, some five thousand lined the street only and, according to Havoc’s reports, most of the Sonorans had left before the Rogun Army got there. These few came with the safety of their feudal lords and his guardsmen who fled before the Rogun Army. Others had nowhere else to go.

  As he rode through the cheering crowd, he spoke to the Blacksword.

  ‘These people are innocent in all of this. I need to convince Cinnibar to let them leave,’ he said.

  Agreed, we shall have to give her a choice. Life or Death, and on one of those I am very convincing, said the Blacksword. Havoc had only confided in Bleudwed about his plan to siege the citadel. It was not that he distrusted his friends, it was mainly the Blacksword’s instinctive suspicions that stopped him from trusting others, and even then, he shut his mind off to Havoc’s probing. The involvement of the Nicbetha at Dulan-Tiss disturbed the king. Raising the dead was a macabre way to win the battle, but it did reinforce his and his twin’s legendary reputation. Still, the Blacksword remained quiet on that score also, and Havoc felt that both he and the Storm Child had formed a strange kinship that was beyond his understanding.

  At the marble steps to the Delthioum, Havoc and the Herald dismounted. From out of the crowd walked a star-struck little boy with a dirty face who gratefully held onto Dirkem’s reins, Havoc tossed him a shiny gold Sovereign from a velvet money pouch made from a bull’s scrotum. He turned to the Herald.

  ‘Tonkin is it?’

  ‘Yes, your majesty,’ said the obviously nervous young Herald with a slight bow.

  ‘Well Tonkin, I wish you to come with me. I need you to listen to what I have to say to the queen and relay it to the people out here when I’m finished,’ he said inclining his head to the crowd.

  ‘But your majesty I have to report to my master and...’

  ‘Your master is also my subject, enemy or not!’ snapped the king. ‘Do you understand?’

  The Herald looked flustered and blushed, ‘yes, of course your majesty.’

  ‘Besides I will make it worth your while.’ He pulled out his money pouch and gave him a gold Sovereign and two silver Merks. Tonkin smiled as he accepted them. As an afterthought, the king threw the rest of his money into the crowd, which roared in approval.

  Inside the entrance to the Delthioum the air was a few degrees cooler than the warmth outside. Their boots echoed loudly on the elaborately tiled floor. Havant Guards in purple armour and cloaks lined the edges of the entrance hall, standing next to tall thin torch bowls of burning oils that filled the room with dancing light and a rich scent of jasmine. The white smoke from the torches hung in thin clouds above their heads.

  Some of the guards stared forward and ignored the duo. Other, younger, soldiers followed the Rogun King with their eyes, noting how tall and grand he looked in the silver armour that reflected back the firelight. He carried his helmet under his arm and the long red cape billowed behind him like blood waves crashing on a shore as it swished with every footstep. This, to them, was the figure of their time, a warrior, a leader, and a general of a victorious army. They remembered the stories that they had heard about this royal prince. Some true, others fanciful. Yet, he walked with a confidence that unnerved them.

  Havoc borrowed that confidence from his twin. He may have had butterflies in his stomach, but he felt alive and in control, which was just as well because when he walked into the huge auditorium that sat under the Delthioum dome, he saw that Queen Cinnibar was not alone.

  It was a circular room with pillars holding up the curved mezzanine baloneys on the upper levels. The balconies were crowded with the nobility of Sonora and the surrounding lands. Hundreds of faces stared down at the Rogun King silently. Most were the nobles that had thrown in their lot with the Brethac Ziggurat. Havoc glanced around at their ranks; most would not give him any eye contact, and looked away.

  The pride of the Brethac Order, said the Blacksword, see how their guilt eats their souls.

  On the far wall of the room sat the throne seat with Cinnibar sitting in the high backed chair, her aides and ruling officials flanking her on each side. She looked older since the last time Havoc saw her, ravished by the unforgiving power of the Pyromantic Energies she had stolen from Baron Telmar. Such was the price she paid for her faith in Lord Sernac.

  A raised wooden platform about twenty feet in diameter, with a handrail three feet, high sat before the queen’s party. This was a mobile Dock, a device to allow an accused or condemned man to stand alone amongst his peers and prove his innocence. Havoc nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Clearly, his aunt wanted to unnerve him. About a dozen Havant soldiers guarded the entrance gate to the Dock and the soldier’s officer held it open for the king. Havoc thrust his helmet at the man, indicating for him to hold onto it for the moment and without a word strode into the centre of the platform.

  Silence filled every corner of the room. It was as if people were holding their breath. Cinnibar looked at her great great nephew as she supported her head on her hand, elbow on her knee. She said nothing. Beside her stood Saltyn Ri whose weasel face and dark brown eyes looked at the king with distaste.

  Havoc knew his first words had to have the
right effect. He looked around the room, noting familiar faces and committing them to memory, he wondered which one was the mysterious Lord Sernac. He spoke to the group in general, sending his voice high into the dome so all could hear.

  ‘The Brethac Ziggurat Order is over!’ he said. ‘Prince Creed and his army have been slaughtered on the floodwaters of the Dragorsloth.’ There were mummers from the balcony and not a few gasps. ‘Dulan-Tiss is no more, the citadel lies in ruins, the flames that still smoulder have cleansed the buildings of your taint, and the dead of the Brethac Army litters the field before it’s smashed gates,’ continued the king. All around him the people shifted uncomfortably, even Cinnibar closed her eyes and shook her head. The order must have had reports from survivors of the battle, now the king himself was confirming it.

  ‘King Kasan is dead,’ shouted Havoc, ‘killed by my hand! By the laws lain down in the Royal Tables, all Vallkyte titles and land now pass to my family. As ruler of the House of Cromme I am now the king of this entire continent and you are now all my subjects.’ There was silence again from the mass of lords, the Havant Guards fidgeted behind him, looking from Cinnibar to the king and back again.

  ‘The town authorities had no jurisdiction or permission from my father to make a new monarch to take on the mantle that was carried so well by King Hagan of Sonora,’ said Havoc as he looked directly at Cinnibar. ‘Therefore I do not recognise my aunt’s title as Queen of this citadel and I revoke previous titles thereof.’

  There was general uproar from those flanking the queen, some shook clenched fists at the king and voices ranted at him. There were even some curses hurled down from the balconies, but the majority remained silent and watchful. Cinnibar rose from her throne and held up her hand for silence.

  ‘Your statement, nephew, has been heard,’ she said in a light voice, ‘but I do believe a Pyromancer cannot own land or titles.’ That got a laugh from Saltyn Ri and several jeers directed at Havoc.

  The king’s face remained impassive. ‘You may be correct, aunt, though a court of the land will, by law, judge if I am fit to rule, and they will once I give them proof that I can control the Pyromantic energies. You however, are suffering from the same curse that inflicted Telmar.’

  Those lords and ladies on the balcony gave a sharp intake of breath. Queen Cinnibar narrowed her eyes at Havoc.

  ‘Surely these people must know that you stole the Pyromantic power from the Baron all those years ago and it, as we can see, is killing you,’ went on the king. ‘Do they also know that Telmar still lives?’

  The shocking burst of surprise filled the room and many voices shouted out. Even Saltyn looked stunned and stared at Cinnibar, who remained motionless. Havoc raised his arms and gestured for the crowd to silence.

  ‘I speak the truth, Baron Telmar is alive and currently residing at Aln-Tiss, though he is no longer the madman he once was and his power is diminished. In addition, yes, I am a Pyromancer, yet I have controlled the curse and it greatly improves my use of the Rawn Arts. The madness has not touched me, if it had, then I would be a drooling wretch by now. No, I am not free from the curse; I embrace it. It has helped me conquer my enemies and to find the Great Orrinn which has been stolen by your queen.’ More astonished gasps rang out. ‘Stolen and hidden in this citadel. She and her accomplices have orchestrated a heinous crime, the murder of a Ri. Lord Ness died to keep them from the Gredligg Orrinn. He died bravely.’ The news of Lord Ness’s death seemed to surprise everyone.

  ‘Yet I come here to offer you all a choice. The first choice is my leniency and friendship should you swear your loyalty to me and leave the citadel before first light tomorrow. Leave tonight and you shall receive my welcome hand of friendship and peace. Do it not, and the second choice shall be meted out with terrible ferocity.’ At this point Havoc used his Pyromantic powers to change the air around him and create an oppressive pressure within the room. Just like that time in the Reivers Tavern in Sloe all those years ago when he confronted its governor, Garth. This time he could control it far better and he spread the energy around the room so its dynamic power pressed on everyone, sucking the air from their lungs and pushing at their eyeballs to irritate them. People hunched and shuffled uncomfortably, not wishing to be there.

  ‘Leave now, leave with your people, and avoid the doom that will befall the citadel. The second choice is death, for I shall unleash the Blacksword who will gladly give it to you in abundance!’

  Cries of alarm rippled around the watching crowd at the mention of the Blacksword. Some lords were shouting down at the king and asking why the Blacksword should bother with them.

  The king shouted over the sounds of complaints, ‘because the Blacksword is the Keeper of the Gredligg Orrinn and he does not conform to laws and rules! He is his own man, created by the Old Gods, Champion of the My’thos, a Demigod. He will come now and bring judgement on you all! Though, I can intervene if you swear to leave by first light.’

  ‘Do not do this, Havoc,’ said Cinnibar, but her voice drowned out by the voices from above, frightened voices, ‘do not bring Him here.’

  ‘Your choice is me,’ said Havoc through the echoing ruction, ‘or the Blacksword.’ The world changed, everyone felt it. The pressure in the air intensified until people cried out in despair. Havoc remained calm, but the rising anger of his twin rose to the surface as he allowed the change. His cape went a darker red, and then eventually black, as it whipped around Havoc’s body, ripping and reforming as the small Earth Orrinn on Sword that Rule’s pommel changed the molecular structure of the material. The sound of metal armour creaked and clanked as it shifted into a new shape, causing the silver suit to mould over the Blacksword’s tall thin frame. It turned to a deep matt black as the cape wrapped around him and fastened together at the front with the silver clasps.

  ‘Choose Life or Death,’ said the harsh whisper of the Blacksword who now grew several inches taller in Havoc’s body. The frown was deep as he scowled at Cinnibar and the black sunken eyes looked like well holes into the darkest recesses of the Hall of the Damned just before the hood formed to cover his face in shadow.

  The Havant Guard unsheathed swords and levelled spears as the figure in the black cloak appeared, but they backed off several paces. Tonkin went with them, his face pale with fear.

  The Blacksword stood in all his glory. The light from the Muse Orrinn lit up the high beams of the dome. It gleamed off his pale bald head as he pulled down the hood. Fearful gasps echoed around the room at the sight of his malevolent face.

  Saltyn Ri stared at the cloaked figure before him in amazement. He stepped forward for a better look. The protagonist of so many stories and the destroyer of all the Orders plans now stood amongst his enemies. Havoc thought that the Identity Block would not work with all of these people watching him at once, and he did not care if it did or not, but then Saltyn spoke

  ‘He has come, our enemy has come!’ he said in wonder. ‘He replaces the king...but how?’

  ‘I come with my judgement, Saltyn Ri,’ said the Blacksword. ‘You shall be the first for the death of Lord Ness.’

  ‘Take him guards, seize him!’ said the Ri, red faced.

  ‘Saltyn no... !’ warned Cinnibar as she reached for him.

  The guards moved forward and then hesitated, their reluctance to tackle the greatest warrior in the land showed on their faces. When the guards made no further move, Saltyn reached for his sword-staff’s pommel. Just then, the Blacksword lifted his hand to point at the Ri. A strong and violent wind encircled Saltyn. He lifted quickly off the ground five feet into the air. He dropped his sword and struggled within the powerful cyclone that whipped his white robe around him. He shot forward at incredible speed towards the Blacksword and the Ri’s throat landed in his outstretched steel-clad hand.

  The hand of the Blacksword clamped down on Saltyn Ri’s throat in an iron grip, the Ri’s legs kicked and dangled three feet above the floor of the Dock. The circulation to his head stopped in an instant as the h
and squeezed like a blacksmiths vice, his eyes bulged and his face turned blue.

  ‘Stop this, Blacksword, release him!’ commanded Cinnibar. Her own voice quivered in fear. She searched the gallery and the room around her, possibly for Lord Sernac, but no one dared step forward to help.

  Saltyn gurgled, his tongue dangled loose from purple lips. Bloody spittle ran down his chin, tingeing his short black beard red as the Blacksword continued to crush. He was trying in vain to pull the hand away from his throat, but his vision was dimming. The Blacksword sneered evilly at Cinnibar.

  ‘Release him?’ he said. ‘As you wish.’ With one short but violent flick of his wrist, the Ri’s neck snapped in several places. The Blacksword gripped the white cloak at the chest with his left arm, ripped out the thorax with the other hand and threw Saltyn Ri over his shoulder so that he smacked the stone floor in a dead heap, blood poured out of the ruin that was once his throat.

  ‘Everyone here will suffer the same fate as that piece of filth if you don’t take heed to the king’s warning!’ said the Blacksword to the stunned silence emanating from the audience.

  Subtle and very convincing, said Havoc.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Earth Song

  T

  ia witnessed panic strike the Rogun Army as the huge doors of the citadel closed and swallowed up its king. However, Mad-gellan and Powyss remained calm and commanded the men to continue working on the siege engines and defences, there was still a feeling of loss saturating the air.

  King Havoc, viewed by all as the last hope of the Roguns, the reason to fight for freedom, the inspiration to win. With him gone, the Paladins were struggling to keep the men calm.

  It was well over an hour later when the king rode back through the gates and into the camp. He ignored the Paladins, who swarmed around him wanting to know the outcome of his meeting with Cinnibar, and rode straight towards Tia.