by P D Ceanneir
‘Get Mirryn from my quarters,’ said the prince.
Kith frowned, ‘kind of busy at the moment, Boss.’
‘Let me go!’ the prince yelled.
‘What!?’ He had heard what the prince said, but found the comment as stupid as it sounded.
‘Let me go. I am the only one that can help her,’ shouted Havoc over the noise of the storm, ‘Mirryn will be able to find me.’
Everyone knew of the Red Kite’s connection to the prince. What he said made sense. But where did he think he was going? Besides, he did not know if he had any more strength to hold the prince back from the storm's pull for much longer.
Up on the foredeck Tia screamed as Gunach could not hold onto her. She flew towards the opening, but managed to hold onto a length of rope wound around a small capstan used to unwind the rope for the smaller of the two starboard outriggers. Her grip was not good enough and she began to slide down the rope. Gunach ran forward, utterly unaffected by the storms pull, and reached out for her again.
‘Let go! Now!’ screamed the prince to Kith and the giant did so. Havoc heard Powyss yell at him as the wind pulled the prince violently into the air. He spun head over heels towards the storm.
Tia screamed again as she reached the end of the rope and let go. Gunach barely had a chance to reach her. The man-sized opening sucked her in, followed closely by the prince, and then the storm closed with a loud thunderclap and the deck was drenched in calm silence once again.
4
‘In the name of Arcun’s stony left nut!’ gasped Furran, ‘what the blazes was that?’
Everyone was getting to their feet and staring at the space on the ships foredeck where the tiny storm had raged. It was Danyil, the ships ever-efficient captain, who forced everyone out of his or her shock by ordering damage parties to inspect the ship and send everyone else to battle stations. As the company on deck departed to their posts, Lord Ness and the Paladins remained. Gunach leant over the foredeck rear railing and sought the Ri’s attention.
‘Whatever it was, it came from the east,’ he said, pointing in that direction. ‘I caught its energy flux for the briefest moment before it manifested on-board the ship.’
Ness Ri nodded, ‘I sensed it had to be projected from somewhere close by. Can you see anything just now?’
Gunach brushed fingers through the plaits in his beard as he squinted off into the distance. He sighed and shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’
Powyss groaned as he steadied himself against Hexor, ‘I threw all I had at the thing but I didn’t make a dent. I feel so weak.’
Lord Ness said, ‘as do I. I fear that all we were doing was feeding Rawn energy into it.’
‘You were,’ answered Gunach, ‘Tia did the same.’
‘So, what happens now? Do we head east?’ asked Sir Foxe, who was looking over the starboard side.’
‘Yes!’ cried Little Kith suddenly, ‘the Boss wants us to follow him.’ He then stepped into the companionway that led to the aft quarters, ducking under the oval doors lintel because of his height, and headed towards the prince's quarters.
Everyone watched him leave. As one group they turned to Furran with perplexed and questioning looks. The stocky knight shrugged, ‘what? I don’t know what goes on in his mind!’
‘Who does?’ Hexor chuckled.
Kith was quick to return with a screeching Red Kite in his hand. Mirryn’s head bobbed up and down as she took in the group on deck and flapped her wings to keep her balance. Her long black talons were cutting into Kith’s bare forearm. Blood streaked down in parallel rows, but if the big man was in any pain, he did not show it.
Lord Ness snapped his finger and grinned, ‘of course! Good idea Kith, Mirryn will follow the sword.’ The statement confused most of them apart from Powyss. Only a select few knew of the kite’s mental link to the Orrinn on the Sword that Rules, but it was easier to explain to people that Havoc had a close bond with the raptor.
Everyone on board watched Kith and the bird. The silence stretched out as Kith looked around him. ‘Erm…what do I say?
Furran sniggered, ‘try “go. Find your master”’.
Little Kith did so, but the kite gave him a sharp look and then began nibbling his finger.
Furran laughed loudly, ‘I was only joking.’
‘You won’t be laughing any longer when I rip your head off, short arse!’ growled Kith. It was a very threatening tone, but everyone knew that both Kith and Furran were the closest of friends. ‘Can someone think of something quickly, please,’ said Kith with a tone of irritation, ‘I don’t want to die of blood loss.’
Lord Ness stepped forward and spoke the subconscious language of Skrol. The words seemed to hiss and spiral into stuttering whispers. The sound of Skrol had an unnerving property of being silent as it bypassed the ear. Only the brain picked up its strange tones and tried its best to form it into words with sound which it invariably failed to do. The result was a brain that went into overload as the conscious side ignored the sounds and the subconscious area fought to retrieve it. Those close by the Ri groaned as pinpricks of pain shot through their heads.
Kith grunted in relief as Mirryn flapped her wings and took off. She made a circuit around the full length of the ship and then headed east.
'Captain!' shouted Lord Ness towards the bridge, 'take us east'.
5
Havoc opened his eyes only to find himself surrounded by complete darkness.
He moaned loudly and the sound echoed off stone walls. Wherever he was, the stench was terrible. It was like a mixture of sewage and rotting flesh. He tried to move but his muscles ached.
‘Where am I?’ he whispered, ‘what happened?’ his memories of the last few hours were a strange jumble of images. Try as he might, he could not focus on recent events. Faces became blurred; names unknown, even his own name evaded him.
‘Who am I?’
You are Havoc De Proteous Cromme, Crown prince of the Roguns of Tattoium, hissed a harsh whisper in his head; you have been pulled into a porthole that has transported you here.
‘Who are you?’ He asked.
I am the Blacksword. I share your body, remember? Pull yourself together! The voice was demanding and a little irritated, but for some reason, the prince felt reassured at it presence.
Havoc stood, groaned again as his legs protested.
Flame, use the Arts, we need to see where we are, ordered the Blacksword.
‘Flame?’
You are a Rawn Master, use fire to light the room.
‘Alright, I will give it a go’. Havoc had no idea how he was going to produce fire, but it seemed like the obvious thing to do. He lifted up his left hand. Somewhere, in the dimness of his memories, he remembered training in the four elements of the Rawn Arts at the Academy…
What academy?
He shook his head and concentrated. The training flooded back to his thoughts as a trickle of energy from the fire element focused around his hand. Bright orange flame erupted all around his fingers, whatever filth was on his hand, burnt away instantly.
‘Well, that was easy. What else can I do?’
Whatever that storm was that captured you, it has scrambled your brain.
‘Why do you still remember things?’
Not sure, yet.
As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and brightness of the flame, he looked around. He was in a bell shaped room, much like a castle dungeon. Moisture trickled through the slimy moss and fungus that grew on the walls. However, copses littered the floor.
‘Urg!’ he said in disgust. He looked down to see he was standing inside someone’s ribcage.
I’ve seen worse, said the Blacksword, remember the Dragorsloth, and the dead left after the battle there?
Images of the mist-wreathed marshland and the half-sunken bodies fluttered into his mind.
‘Yes! Yes I do. I walked through it with…erm…Powyss!’
It was as if great chunks of his memory were slotting back into pl
ace.
About a dozen bodies lay in a jumbled mass on the slime-covered floor. Most of them appeared mummified with flaps of yellow skin pulled tight over the bones beneath. Others had rotted to the skeleton. Tattered remnants of clothing and armour lay around the copses. Some of the clothing looked ancient and outdated. He pointed to the nearest skeleton.
‘This poor fellow is wearing an imperial doublet from Summerland Amon. That means he’s about seven hundred years old,’ he said and then frowned, ‘don’t ask me how I knew that. I don’t even know where Summerland Amon is.’
It’s about two thousand miles to the north west, answered the Blacksword.
Havoc could also see weapons scattered amongst the dead. A broken spear, its shaft rotted, swords, some broken, most pitted and covered in rust. A shield, over on the other side of the room, depicted a winged silver griffon on a black field, which was the heraldic symbol for the Summerland Amon’s Osmium Guard. He had no idea how he knew that.
His eyes caught another sword, this one still in its scabbard and looking very new. It only took a few moments for him to remember the Sword that Rules. Images of him helping Gunach make the two Pyromancium blades flooded back to him.
‘Ah!’ he grabbed the sword, the instant he did, the silver Muse Orrinn that made up part of the swords pommel lit up to cast a silver light around the room. Havoc released the trickle of energy to his hand to extinguish the flame.
That’s better, sighed the Blacksword.
As the prince buckled up his sword to his back, the Blacksword said, look up.
He did so. The shape of the dungeon narrowed into a bottleneck, but it was too dark to see the top. ‘Obviously the way in.’
Use my eyes to see clearer, said the Blacksword.
Your eyes?’
Yes, you have done it before.
‘Have I? Oh well, alright.’
Havoc felt the presence of the other mind move forward towards a conscious barrier that he always kept erected around his mind. He allowed it to drop, without knowing how, and the Blacksword shifted into being, although only partly. The prince felt a rush of power, a sentient mind, ancient and yet young. There was a sense of freedom from the unemotional psyche of the Blacksword’s personality that the prince could relate to but also felt saddened by it. No matter what his alter ego actually was, he was primarily a loner, a creature of the Old Gods, a being with a dangerous path to follow and no life to live.
The prince’s bright green eyes faded as the pitch-blackness of the Blacksword’s oozed into them like spilled ink.
‘Amazing!’ gasped Havoc. He was surprised at how good his alter ego’s eyesight actually was in the dark. Everything was so pin-sharp clear. The darkness was still there, but what the prince was looking through was some form of night vision aided by the light from the swords Orrinn. The detail in the walls was clear, the brickwork and the shape, and curved outline, of the cell seemed so apparent. Even the darkness above the bottleneck of the room disappeared to show a grilled cover capping the entrance about ninety-feet up.
‘Good,’ said Havoc. ‘Now we have to formulate a plan to…umm…rescue Tia? That’s it, we have to rescue Tia.’
That’s if she is here, which I feel she is. Nevertheless, for now, we climb.
6
Captain Danyil shuffled the sheaf of parchment around the oak surface of the map desk. He and Tyban had searched the map shops of Port Harnaud only last month for detailed maps of the mountain vastness of North Plysarus and the Hinterland beyond. Unfortunately, there were few new maps of the area and these century-old ones were so faded and worn that they were barely legible. What annoyed him the most was the extortionate price he had to pay for them; never again would he haggle with a Harnaud merchant.
Young Orlam, the ships navigator, moved three pieces of the map together, ‘here is the pass through the mountains we are heading for,’ he said pointing to the map section where the mountains were thickest and a wide river ran through a valley. ‘There is a large expanse of flatland beyond the valley.’
Lord Ness lent forward and scrutinised the maps. His gaze came to rest on a symbol that sat above a ridgeline on the far end of the flatland. It looked like a single long vertical line with five short horizontal lines slashed through its middle.
‘What is this?’ he asked the captain and navigator.
Danyil shrugged, ‘damned ancient Tarsian maps are a bugger for obscure symbols!’
‘It’s the symbol for a tower,’ informed Orlam.
Danyil gave him a dark scowl. Orlam of Sonora may appear young in years, but he was an expert mathematician and had a fabulous memory for retaining facts
‘Smart arse!’ the captain quipped, but smiled anyway.
The Ri was scanning the map, ‘a tower, you say?’
‘Yes, sir’, answered Orlam. Both ship’s officers remained silent as they watched the Ri rub his chin in thought and stared out of the map room window. He seemed very distracted and a little worried. It was not something that the other two were used to in this venerable and wise man.
‘Let us go on deck and see what progress we have made,’ he finally said.
7
Mirryn was tired.
She had flown for a straight six hours until nightfall and finally come to rest on the ships masthead. Tyban fed her an assortment of morsels he kept for his menagerie of animals that lived in separate quarters next to his room under the quarterdeck. Everyone on board watched the red kite with growing unease. Each speculatively discussing Tia and the prince’s disappearance and concerned about the deviation of course which was leading them through dangerously jagged mountains. Captain Danyil had wanted to stay clear of the mountains, hoping to skirt their foothills and coastlines. Certain metallic elements in the hills tended to make the expensive compasses on board go haywire and getting lost was not on his agenda. Orlam could easily navigate via starlight, of course, but cloud cover was always a problem and as they headed further north the constellations changed.
Daylight was hours away. A dozen of the crew shone large lanterns hinged on brackets each side of the ship onto the passing rock face of the mountains as the Cybeleion glided silently by. Tyban shouted out manoeuvring orders back to the bridge from his position on the foredeck. Once the ship was clear of the narrow pass, the valley opened up to reveal a river glinting in the half-moonlight. The ship followed the meandering river north, but Mirryn screeched loudly and flapped her wings in obvious annoyance.
‘Two points to starboard!’ shouted Tyban. The ship eased to the right and the kite stopped squawking.
‘Clever bird,’ said Velnour who was shining the foredeck lantern onto the river below but now moved its hinged bracket towards the new direction of travel. ‘Great, more mountains,’ he groaned.
‘I think Mirryn wants us to follow the foothills,’ said Tyban, ‘they still head north.’
Underneath the massive bulk of the floating ship, the vast expanse of the grassland passed by as the hours of night lengthened. The helm made several more course corrections, based on the kites occasional squawks, and they eventually headed on a north-easterly course.
Daylight found them within a few miles of the mountain range on their starboard side. In fact, the mountains fringed the grassland on all sides, but those towards the west were too far away to see clearly by telescope. As the sun came up over the horizon, Captain Danyil offered the Ri his extendible brass scope. ‘Look there, directly ahead.’
Through the scope Lord Ness saw a forested landscape at the foot of the mountains. The foothills levelled off into a low ridgeline that then headed west too effectively box-in the grassland. There was evidence of agriculture and homesteads at the fringes of these forests, but the most interesting structure stood on a higher part of this ridge surrounded by trees.
‘Your tower?’ Danyil asked.
The Ri nodded. He passed the telescope to Sir Powyss.
‘Looks a bit like the Tower of Sooth,’ said the commander after a short pause.
Back on Tattoium-Tarridun, the famous Tower of Sooth was the home of the Ri Order and sat on a twenty-five mile long peninsula that jutted out of the Aliniani lands. Built from white marble and local yellow limestone, the tower’s base was about a hundred feet wide alone, tapering into a narrower point at the top room, which the Order used as a meeting room; it was a library, housing the largest collection of Orrinns in the world.
This tower, Lord Ness judged, was double the size of Sooth. It seemed to loom out of the tree canopy imposingly.
‘Yes, Powyss, I think you’re right,’ sighed the Ri, pointing towards the tower. ‘The Tower of Sooth was built as a smaller replica of this type of building. Gentlemen, what you are looking at is an Oculus.’
‘Oculus?’ asked Danyil.
‘Looking Towers, used by the ancient Assassi to see over vast distances of their kingdom,’ added young Orlam behind them, ‘I read about them, they are very rare. Most were destroyed during the Elemental War.’
Powyss gave the boy an appraising look and then smiled at the captain, ‘what he said.’
‘That’s a terrible habit you have there,’ said Danyil to Orlam.
‘What?’
‘Reading!’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Orlam actually looked abashed.
‘Don’t be sorry Orlam. “Knowledge is Power”, as the Elder Styx once said,’ chuckled Lord Ness. ‘Captain, set us down, I and the Paladins will ride over to the tower.’
8
Dark shadows, fleeting images. A sense of being alone and lost. Memories surfaced and bubbled, then sank back down into blurred and smoky depths, depths that raged like a storm…
Storm! There was a storm! Why was there a storm? It took me…why? Where too? Why me?
Who am I?
Tia opened her eyes and then groaned as aching pain swept through her body. Above her was an ornately carved stone peaked ceiling. Part of the carved design spiralled upwards towards a small hole at the top. Sitting to one side of the hole was the storm in question. It hung there as a small grey cloud about to burst its contents and rain inside the room. Small sparks of sheet lightening flashed inside it’s billowing formation.
