The Voyage of the Cybeleion: A Rawn Chronicles Interlude (The Rawn Chronicles Series)

by P D Ceanneir

  THE

  VOYAGE

  OF THE

  CYBELEION

  A RAWN CHRONICLES INTERLUDE

  A Novella

  by

  P.D.CEANNEIR

  This novel is entirely the work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed herein are

  the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

  entirely coincidental

  This edition 2014

  1

  Copyright © P.D.Ceanneir 2014

  Cover Design and Artwork by P.D.Ceannier

  Baskerville Old Face 12 pnt

  All right reserved. No part of this publication may be

  Reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

  In any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

  photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without the

  prior permission of the publishers.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not

  by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or

  otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent

  in any form of binding or cover other than that which it

  is published and without a similar condition including this

  condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Dedicated to those who have passed

  to the Greenfields Beyond.

  Fear Naught.

  Foreword

  The tower of blood and bone

  A short history of the Hinterland

  marauder doom

  the tomb of the blacksword

  Also by P.D.Ceanneir in the Rawn Chronicles Series

  Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword

  Book Two: The Warlord and the Raiders

  Book Three: The Ancarryn and the Quest

  Foreword

  It came as some surprise when P. D. Ceanneir asked me to pen the foreword for this, his first novella and continuation of his epic story, The Rawn Chronicles. Furthermore, I was just as surprised that I agreed, feeling somewhat daunted by the prospect of writing something that could, and should, be read by millions. It is with great honour that I accept this task, undaunted by this prospect of mass readership.

  I've known the author for a relatively short time, although we share a bond that only soldiers will understand, particularly those of us who are the Men in Black. However, I am a great admirer of his work and am in awe of his imagination and skill as a writer.

  I should point out at this stage that I am the proof reader for the previous, third book of The Rawn Chronicles, as well as this novella. I mention this so that any grammatical errors that surface when you, the reader, digest this tome are largely my fault for not picking them up. So don't put too much blame on the poor author! P. D. Ceanneir has a unique and impressive imagination that has yet to reach it's full potential and he seems able to progress the story of his characters with aplomb.

  This volume of the epic adventures of the Havoc De Proteous Cromme, Crown Prince of the Roguns of Tattoium, follows his quest for the Gredligg Orrinn and the travels that take him to far away lands, to meet new, sometimes strange, people and often … to kill them.

  Havoc is accompanied aboard the Sky Ship Cybeleion by the usual motley crew; the Ri, Lord Ness, Commander Powyss, 'Little' Kith, Tia, the former Havant Priestess and many more characters from his previous adventures.

  I commend this book to you and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have – there are many surprises within along with some impressive and momentous battles!

  Cary Hughes.

  These are the tales of the My’thos.

  The Old Gods.

  The ones who were here before all others.

  Though they are long passed into legend, their influence on the world is still strong.

  They watch, they manipulate and they are the hands of fate upon the lives of the unwary.

  Of the tales, there are many.

  Of the players, they are watched.

  Of the acts, they are played out and scrutinised.

  Therefore, we begin.

  Somewhere amongst the myriad of stories, there is a beginning of sorts...

  Two thousand and ninety seven nautical miles north by north east of the Assassi Oasis. On the fourteenth day of Jithi, 3036 Years of Ascension.

  1

  The tower had stood alone on the mountain for over four thousand years. It had seen wars come and go, fields of crops grown and harvested, villages built and deserted. Over time, the local populace gave it a name. During the Invici Uprising of 759 YOA it was called the Tooth of the Dragon. In the time of the Mordican Dynasty it was now as the Semerus Rigi, the God's Sentinel. In addition, following the short reign of the Four Kings, in 1278 YOA it reverted to its original name, that of the Oculus. Recently it held a new name, the Storm Tower. Witnesses who travel by it in foul weather often noted that the sky above the tower was untouched by clouds. Calm and peaceful sunshine followed by bright and ethereal moonlight always reflected from its white walls.

  No one was to know that the storm actually raged inside its highest rooms. The room of the Phemoral Oculus. No one entered into its inner sanctums, none dared to search its dark corridors and even the bravest warriors were reluctant to venture beyond its boundaries. Those that did never returned.

  However, one man did come to the tower.

  He travelled form a far off land, a land of myth and legend. He came to the Tower for a purpose.

  It is said that the Tower “took” him. Those that tell the tale of this man tell it in hushed whispers. For those that saw him remembered his departure. They remembered the tear in the air that formed inside a storm vortex. They remembered his screams as the storm pulled him into the opening.

  That was two hundred years ago and the tower stayed the same, silent and watchful.

  Until the ship in the sky appeared.

  Then everything changed.

  2

  Little Kith turned over his third card. Furran whistled through clenched teeth. It was the Queen of Wands, a strong card. The six Skrol symbols under the naked woman holding a black stick in each hand could strengthen Kith’s first card, The Regal, and the second, the White Dancer. He could have a Royal Straight, but it all hinged on his fourth card, which lay face down by his left hand.

  Furran rubbed his stubbly chin. He had a Warrior Straight, a good hand, but his first card, Field of Crows, had weaker Skrol at the four edges so he could not go for a Battlefield Run of Four. Why was playing Karsh so damned difficult?

  He flipped his last card over and grinned. It was a Kingly Retainer, a form of wild card with no less than ten Skrol underneath the Retainers feet. Each one could strengthen his other cards.

  ‘Nice,’ said Little Kith with a nod, ‘but is it a winner?’ he flipped his last card over and Furran grinned.

  The card was the Tower of Oblivion, a death card, one of ill luck. Luckily, most of the twelve Skrol, which encircled the top of the tower, may be used in conjunction with a Royal Straight to strengthen his hand; it all hinged on how he was going to use them.

  ‘Ah! No warrior hand could get close to my king if I use the tower as a Magellan,’ said Little Kith.

  ‘A Watchtower! You can’t use a death card as a protector…that’s cheating!’ Furran was scowling hard at his larger friend. What Furran lacked for in height he certainly made up for in
personality and a mean competitive streak.

  Just then, the door of the galley rec-room opened and Prince Havoc walked in carrying a porcelain cup.

  ‘Morning lads, have we still got any mint tea left?’ he asked.

  ‘Cupboard on the far left, boss,’ mumbled Kith and he stared at Furran’s darkening frown.

  ‘You never play fair,’ said Furran as he folded his arms.

  ‘That’s because you’re crap at Karsh,’ said Kith calmly in his deep level voice. The bigger man had a laid-back nature, although one had the impression he was a coiled spring under all that hard packed muscle.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ Havoc asked as he unbuckled his sword harness from his back and placed the weapon down on one of the tables. He followed his own orders on the Quest Ship Cybeleion, that of being armed at all times, but the close confined spaces of some of the rooms meant that some weapons were just a hindrance. He took a silver tin from the cupboard, scooped some green-brown leaves into the cup, and filled it with cold water. Being a Rawn Master, with the ability to control the four elements of Earth, Water, Wind and Fire, he was able to heat the water within a few seconds with the slightest touch.

  ‘Kith is cheating at Karsh….again!’ hissed a disgruntled Furran.

  ‘Let’s ask the Boss, shall we? He’s better at Karsh than anyone,’ said Little Kith. The admission that the crown prince of the Roguns' prowess at Karsh was no small boast. Havoc’s grasp of the subconscious language was exceptional, although the Muse Orrinn on the pommel of his sword, the prophesied “Sword that Rules”, aided his understanding of Skrol far better than any of the scholars back home.

  Havoc scanned the cards and nodded towards Little Kith’s hand, ‘Kith wins, but only just', he said. He looked at a very upset Furran, ‘if you used your White Dancer as a Distracter then you would have nullified some of the Towers Skrol.’

  ‘Bugger!’ cursed Furran.

  ‘Loser,’ said Kith with a grin.

  Suddenly, the Sky Ship lurched to port. Havoc dropped the steaming hot cup of mint tea and his sword clattered onto the floor, so did all of the Karsh cards except the Tower of Oblivion.

  ‘What the…?’ gasped Furran.

  ‘Must be that turbulence stuff that Captain Danyil is always on about,’ said Kith who got to his feet and picked up his double-headed axe.

  Havoc was staring down at the Tower card. The Skrol shifted and wavered in front of his eyes.

  ‘Let’s get on deck,’ said Furran, ‘I get sky-sick indoors when the ship hits a rough patch,’ he moaned.

  The Skrol spun faster, it formed into a black broadening storm above the tower's upper turret; spewing out bolts of lightning. Havoc gasped so loudly that the other two turned towards him.

  ‘Something is coming!’ he said in such a harsh voice that was obviously not his own.

  ‘Boss?’ said Kith.

  Havoc shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he looked down at the card again the Skrol had returned to its normal place around the tower. He glanced up at his friends.

  ‘I think we have a problem.’

  3

  The huge bulk of the Sky Ship Cybeleion floated gracefully through the air. Around her was a canvas of bright blue sky and brilliant sunshine above and vast swathes of green grassland swaying like a choppy sea below. Life on board was slow on these long journeys to the next port of call so the crew busied themselves with general repairs or relaxed under the horizontal canvas drowsing in the sunlight.

  Tia had taken to relieving the boredom by producing charcoal sketches of the fleeting landscapes and the occasional crew member. She was good, her rendering lifelike, even though her own criticism was, at times, scathing. Her closest confidant in all things artistic was the young cabin boy, Opeac. Opeac had taken to writing a lengthy journal of the Cybeleion’s voyage and wanted Tia’s sketches added as an accompaniment to the numerous stories he produced.

  At that moment, Tia was sketching the dwarf, Gunach, who had left his forge below decks to smoke some tobacco in his long-stemmed bone pipe and sitting back on a bundle of hemp rope. She had just finished adding in the beads that interlaced his hair and beard together in small plaits when the dwarf stood up suddenly and looked over the starboard rail. Tia also looked over. All she could see was a rolling expanse of grassland that ended in a low ridge of mountains. Commander Powyss had told her that dwarves had very bad eyesight but could see patterns of energy around them that humans could not.

  ‘What do you see, Gunach?’ she asked, while putting down her sketch sheets and charcoal and getting up from her three-legged stool to join him.

  Gunach frowned and shook his head, ‘strange…I thought something was there, but it is gone now. I am not even sure what it was.’

  Tia looked up at the foredeck's crow’s-nest, one of the dwarf’s favourite haunts, ‘perhaps if you go up…’ suddenly the ship lurched violently to port as something invisible slammed into it.

  Tia and Gunach were thrown to the deck, others likewise. Shouts ran out and the crew scrambled to their positions on the bridge or the rope ladders ready for the senior officer on deck to shout orders. First Officer Tyban was nearest to the helm and he ordered a report from the starboard side and for the helm to slow to a crawl. He obviously thought that something had struck the ship. More of the crew raced on deck from doorways and grill hatches. Captain Danyil, buckling on his rapier’s baldric, appeared from his cabin entranceway and ran up the stairs to the bridge.

  ‘What in the name of Arcun was that?’ he shouted.

  ‘Not sure yet, sir,’ answered Tyban.

  Several of the Wyvern Filial appeared with curiosity etched on their beautiful young female faces. Hexor and Velnour, two of the prince’s Paladin-knights rushed on deck with swords in hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Velnour; his single ice-blue eye surveyed the deck around him.

  Tia helped Gunach up and both of them looked over the side of the ship. They could see no damage whatsoever.

  ‘A freak gust of wind, perhaps?’ said Gunach tentatively.

  ‘Perhaps,’ nodded Tia, ‘but I did not sense anything.’ Being a Rawn Master herself, Tia would be able to detect the increase of elemental energy in any of the four elements.

  Ness Ri rushed on deck, clutching the wooden staff that held his sword, Belthoin, in one hand. He was about to ask a question to anyone on deck when he suddenly looked up towards the foredeck at Tia, his stare was one of shock. At first she was startled, she and the Ri rarely got on, but she realised that his gaze was fixed on something behind her. She turned and gasped.

  What she saw, not twelve paces in front of her, could only be described as a miniature storm forming in mid-air. Dark grey clouds spun in an anti-clockwise direction, long streaks of blue-white lightening sprung from the formation to punch charred holes into the forward masthead, beams, rope and scar a long line along the deck just in front of her and Gunach. It was about the size of a large man and growing larger by the second. The roar that issued from it was horrendous. Tia could sense that the energy needed to create this phenomenon was gigantic. Rawn Energy virtually pulsed from it edges, she could see the rippling flow of its charged aura cascading outwards from its centre, a centre that was now opening to reveal a deep black hole.

  The wind whipped around Tia, threatening to pull her towards the churning mass of grey cloud. Gunach was the first of the two to react. He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the thing.

  Down on deck, more Paladins arrived. The Eternal Archers, Whyteman and Linth, joined Hexor and Velnour with arrows notched to their war bows. Prince Havoc, Little Kith and Furran also stepped on deck from the rec-room companionway. Tia could also see that Commander Powyss had joined them. However, something was wrong with the Rawns. The wind from the storm entrapped Havoc, Lord Ness and Powyss so completely that those beside them had to hold them down. None of the non-Rawns seemed affected by the gale. In fact, it barely touched them. Lord Ness was clutching onto a lantern
bracket on the aft mast. His feet were literary lifting off the deck as several of the deck hands and Velnour held him down. The same was happening to Powyss and Havoc, Little Kith and Furran were holding them by the waist, but they were all being dragged along the deck as if some invisible rope was pulling them towards the storms opening.

  Tia was experiencing the same effect of the storm. Gunach screamed as he put all of his strength into holding her back from the pull of the whirling cloud. He may be small, but dwarves were far stronger than humans were. The pain in his face was evident that he was struggling to hold onto Tia’s waif-like body. Tia used her knowledge of the Rawn Arts and directed a counter-flow of energy towards the miniature storm. The moment she did so, she felt instantly weakened and the storm surged in size.

  Gunach hollered over the noise of the storm. It sounded like, ‘no! Don’t feed it!’ he was losing his grip on her. His boots slid along the deck towards the phenomenon. The storm's pull was getting stronger as, down on deck, a large section of the crew were holding onto Lord Ness and Powyss; the whole mass of them began to slide along the planking of the deck.

  Havoc could see that Gunach would not be able to hold onto the Tia for long. He watched, in hopeless shock as they were both pulled towards the storm's opening. Something flashed beside him. He looked into the shining silver orb that was the Muse Orrinn pommel of the Sword that Rules, which he gripped by the ash scabbard. He grinned as sudden realisation dawned on him.

  ‘Kith!’ he yelled towards his friend who was using all of his might from his muscled torso to hold his prince down. Kith turned his huge head towards Havoc.