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

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘My dear,’ he said to her, ‘where would Cinnibar keep the Gredligg Orrinn?'

  Tia smiled. ‘I’ve thought about that for a while,’ she said, ‘and the only place she could keep it is in the crypt rooms of the Havant Temple that sit behind the Delthioum.’

  ‘Good, thank you,’ he nodded. ‘When the walls come down you will stay with me.’

  ‘Walls come down?’ she frowned, but the king was distracted by Powyss so did not answer her.

  ‘I do hope all our worries this past hour are worth it,’ said the commander. ‘Tell me, it wasn’t the usual family visit, was it?’

  ‘It was worth it, my friend, and Cinnibar hates me even more,’ laughed Havoc.

  He recalled, as the Blacksword, he had struck fear into the hearts of those nobles around him looking down from the balconies. They stared after him in mute shock as he strode past the slumped form of the dead Ri and out of the room, his task accomplished. He had changed back into Havoc long before he stepped out into the sunshine and retrieved his horse. No one stopped him as he rode out of the gates. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘we need to relocate the men.’

  ‘We do?’ said Powyss, taken aback. ‘You want to abandon the siege works?’

  ‘Yes, at nightfall everyone will move to the west of the citadel, we attack the walls on foot.’

  ‘How do you expect the men to get over the walls…jump?’

  ‘No. With any luck, there will not be any walls there. Trust me, I have a plan.’

  King Havoc was right; the enemy guarded the Rings of Port.

  Since the day that the king and the countess left Caphun to seek out Creed all those weeks ago Morden had sent spies out to the borderlands of Haplann and that was when reports started coming in thick and fast. The enemy had retaken Aquen, so it made sense that they would send a small force to the standing stones to stop any Rogun Rawn Master or Ri from moving back and forward via the Drift.

  Morden and his party had ridden hard throughout the heat of the day, taking seldom-used shortcuts through the hills. It was only the last two hours that held them up as they negotiated the narrow highland passes to the east side of the rings. Once through they had to climb on foot to a low ridge that looked down on the stone circle sitting on its small plateau at the foot of the escarpment. It was dark by this time, but there was a full moon high in the night sky, her single dustring gleamed. The stars twinkled in abundance, and in the early hours of the morning all was quiet.

  Morden looked over a bush and saw enemy soldiers down below on the raised plateau. He instantly cursed himself for bringing so few men. Lenoch counted one hundred and fifty, maybe more he said. Though twelve guarded the rings, fifty sat around a large campfire near a temporary encampment some distance from the circle. The rest of the soldiers were encamped, with their tents and wagons, down the west side of the plateau slope on the grassland were King Kasan’s army had been defeated.

  He felt deflated; He had hoped that the enemy would go to Sonora’s aid. The excitement that accompanied him on the ride here was gone and he felt fear for the first time. Nevertheless, this now served to enhance his resolve, besides Havoc had fought steeper odds than this and won. His asset was the twenty-five Falesti archers, sent by the Atyd Barnum, with their tall war bows that could shoot an arrow three times further than the crossbows that the enemy used.

  ‘I hope your messenger got through, my lord,’ said Lenoch, a tall man with bushy dark hair and bright grey eyes. He was referring to the letter of help Morden had sent to the Eternal Forest. He hoped Barnum would be able to spare more men even though his host still watched the forest rim for attacks from the occupied borders of Aquen.

  ‘I hope so too,’ acknowledged the Regent, ‘but we may have to do the work ourselves.’

  The captain looked at the backpack on Morden’s back. ‘How are the Orrinn and the shiny stone supposed to work?’

  Morden shrugged, ‘the king and the countess explained it to me, but I still can’t get my head around it. It’s something to do with harmonics and matter transference.’ Morden was a well-read man and deemed himself smarter than the average person, yet the king’s theory sounded confusing. He had to smile at the blank look on the captain’s face. ‘That was my reaction as well.’

  The rings sat off centre on the plateau, nestled against the mountain slopes, it was near a long rocky ridge and this was where he placed his archers with firm instruction to wait for first light, as was the king’s orders. He, Lenoch, and the fifty men-at-arms had no other choice but to ride through the smaller encampment and hack their way to the Rings of Port.

  They left Sonora in droves.

  At first it was small groups or families that exited the main gates with their few belongings on carts, but after the night settled and the Herald’s message from the king spread around locals of the citadel, more fled. The Herald’s words turned into a rumour that the Blacksword had cursed the citadel and doomed any who stayed after first light. The Demigod’s reputation was such that no one doubted him.

  Many nobles left too and swore their loyalty to the king; Mathis the Count of the Eveni, Ilene Baroness of the Bethlann district of Porthann, Lord Mohan of Cart Hen, near the borderlands of Dutrisi, Pargeal Duke of the Mutresi, the Baron of Esker and his Herald, and many more. Most left with their soldiers and Havoc had them disarmed before they were sent with their lords and ladies back to their homelands. City officials left with their families also, the mayor and several councillors approached Havoc and explained that the queen’s appointment to the throne of Sonora was partly one of necessity and partly coercion from Cinnibar. Havoc received them all with grace and gratitude as each swore fealty to him.

  Queen Cinnibar was now alone with only a small army of Havant guards and a few loyal lords. The king smiled at the knowledge that the power of the Brethac Ziggurat was diminishing.

  In the night, the Rogun Army moved to the west and waited for the dawn.

  Dawn came quickly for Morden, too quickly. His gut fluttered in fear and he sweated in his mail coat. Even though had been in many battles before he knew he was not a fighter, however, he was ready.

  The horses trotted to within a few hundred feet of the plateau. They came out of the same narrow valley that Havoc and the Haplann Cavalry had used when he rode to help his father at the Battle of Aquen. Now, as then, it was not guarded, which Morden thought was a foolish mistake on the enemy’s part.

  They broke into a gallop as they cleared the mountain slopes and charged the small encampment on the plateau. At the sight of the large group of equestrians, the Falesti archers stood up in full view of the enemy and sent down a torrent of arrows upon them.

  The soldiers at the camp reacted quickly. None were out of their armour while they guarded the rings in shifts. They remained fully kitted for conflict, and they now formed into a defensive line in front of the charging Haplann men-at-arms.

  Morden snatched a glance at the main camp on the prairie. Soldiers were running into formations and soon they would come to their comrade’s aid. He had to act fast. The king’s orders were to place the Orrinn and Lobe Stone on the dais and leave the circle quickly. The horses churned up clots of earth around them. Ahead, the enemy formation was breaking as the archers drove arrows into their backs. Captain Lenoch would take care of them while Morden, and five others, went to the ring of stones. Morden nudged his horse left as he spotted a gap in the enemy formation and he and his five went through without a scratch. Lenoch and his group crashed into the line, the sound of ringing steel echoed around the mountain slopes.

  Suddenly two of the men that flanked him to the right, fell to the ground. Morden looked back and saw that about a dozen of Lenoch’s men and mounts were down. Now he realised why the entrance from the pass was unmanned, the enemy soldiers had dug pits to stop a cavalry charge.

  The Rogun Army waited.

  They stretched out in a long four-mile curve on the western fringe of the Sonoran battlements with many gaps in between. Each of
the Paladins and officers commanded a company of foot or squadron of horse; each unit was slightly less than a thousand men. They watched and they waited.

  The king had finally outlined the plan to his friends that night. Everything depended on the Regent Morden getting through any gauntlet of enemy soldiers that guarded the Rings of Port.

  ‘He’ll do it or die trying,’ said Furran with a wry smile.

  ‘If he doesn’t I’ll kill him myself,’ joked Whyteman, who secretly feared for his brother’s safety.

  ‘Your brother may be a dandy, bookish and a poor swordsman, Whyteman,’ said Little Kith when he noticed the look of worry on the archers face, ‘but he has the heart of a warrior.’ Coming from Kith that was a compliment and Whyteman’s sad face broke into a grin.

  Therefore, they stood watching the sun leave the horizon and waited for a dandy to defy the odds.

  The odds were not good.

  After the first line of the enemy charged towards his downed cavalry, a small group now stood in Morden’s path. An infantry soldier in black leathers, brandishing a billhook lunged as the Atyd passed, the blade punctured the horse’s lung and burst the heart, blood misted the air as the front legs of the animal collapsed, and Morden was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground and rolled. The backpack with the Earth Orrinn in it flew from his gasp. He got up, winded, and the same spearman attacked him with a poleaxe. Fighting on instinct, Morden stepped to one side, gripped the iron shaft, and pushed up hard so it thumped into the soldiers face sending him onto his back with blood gushing out from under his skillet.

  He unsheathed his sword and ran. The Orrinn, with the Lobe Stone tied to it with his wife’s silk scarf, had rolled out of the backpack. He picked it up, tucked it under his left arm and headed towards the ring of stones at a sprint.

  More of the enemy were in front of him. A crossbow bolt whizzed past his left ear, he zigzagged to make himself a lesser target. He barged into one of the crossbowman as he was frantically winding up the bow’s winch and continued running. Enemy soldiers came near, but jerked away from him as arrows struck their chests sent from the War Bows of the Falesti archers, who fired with deadly accuracy.

  Two men rushed him at once, a horse blocked the attack from the soldier on his left, and he saw Captain Lenoch hack down from the saddle with his sword and cut through the helmet. Morden dodged a lunge from the second man, just as Havoc had taught him to; he twisted to his left and thrust his sword into the man’s exposed armpit. The soldier collapsed and screamed in pain, but his arm gripped the sword and Morden, in panic, tried to pull it out.

  ‘Go, my lord!’ shouted Lenoch, who now had an arrow in his shoulder. ‘Leave the sword and run, the circle is close.’

  Morden took a quick look around. Black armoured enemy were now rushing the slope of the plateau. Behind him, enemy spearmen surrounded Lenoch’s men, half had fallen into those horse-pits and died under enemy spears. On the high cliffs, the Falesti Archers were also in trouble. Somehow, the enemy had moved behind them and they were fighting a battle on two fronts.

  He gasped, fighting for air in blind panic, when his eyes focused on the ring of stones and a small gap through the enemy numbers. He dug in his heels and sprinted towards the outskirts of the Driftcircle, hearing the rush of air as he ran, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. He was only a few feet away when he felt a sharp stab of pain in his left thigh. He yelled as he fell to his knees, and felt the arrow bolt grind against his thigh bone. He gritted his teeth in pain.

  Around the plateau, enemy crossbowmen were running towards him from the other side of the stone circle.

  He was now trapped.

  Havoc paced in front of his army. The Lobe Stone in his hand remained motionless and devoid of light. He mumbled to himself when the long dark shadows of the night faded as the sun ascended over the horizon. Beside him stood Lord Soneros in mail and light armour, he had done away with his sword staff and now wore his weapon on his back like everyone else.

  Bleudwed, too, was ready; she stood not too far from the king beside her designated bodyguard, Little Kith, and his company of Raiders.

  ‘How would Cinnibar be able to extract the Earth Daemon, Master?’ Havoc asked Soneros Ri. He had asked the same question only a few days ago, but he needed to take his mind off things.

  Lord Soneros shrugged, his long white hair flapped in the wind that the morning had brought. ‘Lord Ness used Skrol to subdue the entity’s influence. That would be the first thing Cinnibar would forgo. However, my all too short glimpse of the Gredligg Orrinn revealed to me that a chunk of the stone was missing from the top, and I would assume that such damage would have weakened it’s integrity considerably. How she would go about extracting the entity is pure speculation, sire.’

  Havoc nodded. ‘She will find a way.’

  The sun rose. The Lobe Stone remained inactive and the Army of King Havoc waited.

  Archers ran in from the east, dodged through the stones and lifted up their crossbows to aim at Morden. It was at times like these that the Regent wished he had brought a shield.

  Three of the crossbowmen suddenly went flying backwards with white-fletched arrows embedded in their chests. The others turned towards the danger and Morden looked to his left to see a large contingent of horsed Falesti coming from the direction of the Eternal Forest. The forward outriders were firing arrows as they rode, the fall of steel hail landing amongst the enemy at the plateau’s slope, and the crossbowmen near the stone circle. The Regent recognised the Standard of Balel flapping in the breeze at the head of the galloping force. Obviously, his messenger had managed to get through to the Atyd Barnum and now the Guardian of the Forest himself was leading the charge.

  Morden chuckled as he stood up, ignoring the pain in his leg. He forced himself to run, but only managed to hobble forwards with the Earth Orrinn firmly under his arm. A black arrow ricocheted of the monolith next to him as he entered the stone circle. The dais stone lay in the centre, flat and covered in lichen; it was only a few feet away. The sounds of battle rang around the plateau. Morden had no time to look at the carnage Lenoch and Barnum were causing, so he just lurched onward.

  Then something smacked into his chest and took the breath out of him. He stumbled, concentrated on breathing and keeping his balance. He glanced down at the short bolt that protruded from his chest and groaned. The images of his wife and children came to the forefront of his mind and it gave him strength to take the last few steps.

  The thump of another crossbow arrow hit him square between his shoulder blades and sent him crashing onto the dais. The Earth Orrinn fell from his arm and bounced onto the surface of the flat granite slab, coming to a halt because the Lobe Stone stopped it from rolling off.

  Lenoch saw his lord fall.

  ‘Get up,’ he said under his breath, ‘run, man run, before...’ but it was too late. The air around the stones shimmered taking the form of the prone Atyd out of focus for the briefest moment. The flash of bright light blinded everyone and the loud crack echoed around the mountains.

  Morden was gone.

  Cinnibar wished to be alone. As the assembled crowd left the auditorium she sat on her throne and ignored the irritating buzz of her aides and advisors, sending them away with a flick of her hand.

  The Blacksword’s message had struck a chord with the order. Even now, she knew that her loyal subjects were leaving and taking their people with them. Let them go, the cowards! She thought. The Rogun Army could not get through the defences of the citadel, that much was obvious; they were safe. Yet, the fear that they all felt of the Blacksword clung to them, coupled with the fact that they were under siege by a king whose campaign had destroyed the Brethac Ziggurat more soundly than Telmar’s ever did.

  All hope was lost.

  Where was Lord Sernac when she needed guidance? He had ordered her and Saltyn to return to the citadel with the Great Orrinn and wait for him. He alone knew the ritual to tease out the Earth Daemon, but Cinnibar’s patience was w
earing thin.

  With the Earth Daemon as their ally, they could have swiped the Roguns from the face of the Earth. No one could stop them. Even the looming threat of the Imperial Realm, that fast growing empire far to the north, would seem pitiful against the might of the Lonely God.

  The Order of the Brethac Ziggurat could have been unstoppable.

  Yet they still could.

  Cinnibar rose from her throne seat. She did not need to wait for Sernac, she could bring the Earth Damon out herself, she had spoken with the entity in the past, and she could do so again.

  A smile spread over her face as she left the Delthioum with a new purpose.

  Six soldiers of the Havant Guards stood around the Plaza Rings. They had watched the stone circle in rotating shifts for several weeks now but the only person using the Drift these days was Lord Sernac.

  The familiar feeling of disjointedness told them that someone was coming through. A loud crack shocked the pigeons from the roof of the Authorities Buildings to the west. There, on the dais, was a prone figure with an arrow in his back.

  It was not Lord Sernac.

  Something round fell from the ring’s flat stone and bounced twice on the flagstones.

  The Lobe Stone in Havoc’s hand flashed rapidly and vibrated once. It was several seconds before he understood that Morden’s Lobe Stone was now closer. It could only be in Plaza Square beyond the walls of the citadel. His theory was correct, the Rings of Port were still active and the Lobe Stone had made the jump as soon as it was placed on the dais.

  ‘Thank the My’thos! he’s done it,’ said the king. He spun round and gave the order for his army to stand ready. Their officers passed the command down the long line of men.

  Havoc reached into his thoughts, the Muse Orrinn on SinDex’s pommel did the rest, giving him the ability to Rule Orrinns. It translated his plan into Skrol as he spoke into the pulsing stone. All those close by groaned as the subconscious language of the gods shot into their brains like tiny pin pricks. As the king spoke loudly, it was carried onto to the rest of the army and it drove them to their knees clutching their heads in obvious discomfort. Yet, within the agony came the understanding. The unveiling of the king’s plan was revealed as collective thought brought on by the Skrol cantrips. Each man knew what was going to happen next.