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

by P D Ceanneir

  Köthal nodded, ‘apologies, my Lord, I was not questioning your abilities…never that. I just have concerns.’

  ‘Noted. Now lead the way, please.’

  4

  Their route took them along a high overhang called the Grand Promenade, which overlooked the mine entrance. In fact, there were several mines created over the years, but those were smaller and situated over on the west side of the prison. The main entrance was over a hundred feet tall with a confusion of steel rail tracks spewing out of the dark opening. Many oxen pulled four-wheeled carts full of rubble along the rails to process them through a large crusher in another area of the prison grounds. Hundreds of convicts, all of them manacled at the ankles, shuffled back and forth from the mine with picks and shovels. It was a hive of activity. The work was harsh, temperatures plummeted in the winter and only the hardiest survived their sentences.

  The promenade curved south to skirt the east side of the prison before dropping down to a set of wide stairs and another steel gate flanked by more archery-towers. Köthal grasped a huge knocker in the shape of the Hinterland Sky-God Thorsol’s face and struck it three times. A small door set into the gate opened to allow entrance and the group stepped through into a small courtyard. Six guardsmen kitted in studded leathers with plated steel over their chests and shoulder guards; they wore bronze helmets with the crest of the Sky-gods anvil hammer. The guards escorted them to another door; this one seemed to be made of solid limestone. The guards moved to one side and two of them operated a large winch. While the stone door shifted sideways into a hidden recess with a grinding and squeak of poorly greased wheels, Köthal explained several less obvious points.

  ‘These guards are called Castrum. They were once convicts, but their loyalty to the Jötnor allowed them service within the prison. They are eventually castrated to curb their more...sinful...urges and trained as our bodyguards. Mostly, the prisoners and our commissioned guard force revile them so we keep them here to watch the more lethal convicts.’

  Once the door opened fully the six Castrum left them alone to walk down the wide grey-stone corridor and into a circular room with three levels, all of them contained barred prison cells, but by the looks of it, only a few were occupied.

  ‘These are the less dangerous offenders,’ informed the Jötnor, ‘Stormstrider inhabits the lower isolation rooms.’

  ‘How many others do you have down there?’ asked Powyss.

  ‘Just the Marauder Doom. We felt it prudent to move the other prisoners up here for their safety.’

  Havoc and his friends shared some questioning looks. The more they learnt about this Elric Stormstrider the more apprehensive they felt about their mission.

  The Jötnor took them to another stone door. This one did not have a winch to open it but it did have several large mortis locks. Above the locks were a series of angled scratches in neat rows held inside a brass plaque. Again, Köthal knocked three times.

  ‘Ogham Script,’ said Gunach who had to stand on tiptoes to see the writing, ‘It’s just warning us about entering an extremely dangerous are of the prison.’

  Furran groaned, ‘great!’

  ‘Do not be alarmed, gentlemen,’ said Köthal, ‘Elric is bound by steel chains and he sits inside an inescapable room. There are fifty Castrum guarding him day and night. He will not escape.’

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ Havoc quipped.

  Köthal did not seem reassured; in fact, he was frowning at the door. ‘The captain of the Castrum should have opened the door by now.’ He took a set of keys from his belt and used them to open all of the locks. After the last one clicked with an ominous echo, there was a whirl of hidden cogs and gears then the door slid open.

  They all stepped inside a dimly lit corridor and the door closed by itself and locked. The Administrator explained that all of the doors in this area of the prison were timed to remain closed; only he had the passkeys to open them from the outside.

  ‘If you would all remain here, please. I will go and find the captain.’ Taking a lit torch from its bracket, the Jötnor stalked off down the corridor.

  ‘I did not realise that shore leave could be so much fun,’ said Furran.

  ‘You should feel safe with three Rawns with us,’ said Gunach, ‘even a Marauder Doom as skilful as Elric would think twice about opposing them.’

  Kith nodded, ‘the dwarf has an opinion and it’s a sound one.’

  Furran scowled at his taller friend, ‘are you trying to stir it again?’

  ‘Me? Never.’

  Suddenly there was panicking shouts from along the corridor. In an instant, Havoc and his friends unsheathed weapons and sprinted towards the yells. They found the Administrator pale with shock as he stared into the room he had just backed out of; he was visibly shaking with fear.

  ‘They’re dead...the captain and his men are dead,’ he stammered.

  Havoc grabbed him by the shoulders and calmly asked, ‘and Elric?’

  Köthal stared back, his eyes wide, ‘he has escaped!’

  5

  The dead lay in heaps. Their wounds were skilfully dealt and mortally fatal. Inside Elric’s small damp cell, they found a pile of chains and open manacles.

  ‘This...this is impossible!’ Köthal gibbered, ‘those bands were triple locked and not even the most skilled locksmith could unpick them!’

  ‘Never underestimate a Marauder Doom,’ said Gunach.

  Havoc’s mind whirled quickly, ‘Keys, administrator, give me the keys.’ He wanted every avenue covered even one that led to the way out. Having the key in his possession was safer than leaving them with the Jötnor. The Administrator seemed to see sense, but reluctantly handed over the keys anyway. With all of his guards dead then the prince and his friends were the only people protecting him. ‘The keys will not get you out, highness; remember the door is time-locked.’

  ‘Is there any other way out?’ asked Havoc.

  Köthal shook his head. ‘There is no need for panic,’ he said but the manic glow in his eyes said otherwise, ‘if I’m not out of here in ten minutes then the guards outside will rescue me.’

  ‘And how will they get inside a time-locked door?’ asked the prince.

  ‘They will have to break it open with axes.’

  ‘This is probably what Elric wants. He has just killed fifty men; six more will make no difference.’

  Furran ran into the room, panting heavily. ‘He’s broken into the Armoury; seems as if he was keen to get his belongings. There are two more dead there.’

  Havoc acknowledged this with a nod and then he looked over at the Ri who was standing outside the cell with his eyes closed and his head tilted to one side as if listening to something that the others could not hear. Havoc could feel the use of the Rawn Arts; he judged that Lord Ness was searching for a human life up ahead. Rawns had the ability to detect others seen and unseen close to them, though their distance was limited. Lord Ness’s talent at this was exceptional however.

  ‘He’s further down the corridor, inside the next room,’ said Lord Ness.

  ‘There is no “next room”,’ said Köthal, ‘there is only the old...oh, dear.’ Köthal went pale

  ‘What?’ Havoc asked.

  ‘He’s in the Cürious Room.’

  6

  After stepping over more lifeless bodies and slipping in their splashed blood, Havoc and his friends found the opening to the Cürious Room; a room hardly used for hundreds of years and sealed up with bricks. Those bricks now lay scattered on the floor and the door was open because someone had hacked off the huge rusted hinges.

  ‘So, what is this Cürious?’ asked Havoc as he cautiously stepped over the rubble.

  ‘That’s difficult to explain,’ whispered the Ri, ‘It’s some form of transporter.’

  ‘Transporter? Like Driftwalking?’

  ‘Sort of, but it uses magic instead,’ added Gunach.

  ‘That’s why it is difficult to explain,’ finished Lord Ness.

  Magic w
as a concept rarely found on the continent of Tattoium-Tarridun and relatively new compared to the ancient power of the Rawn Arts. It was also difficult to control without having a grasp of the workings of magical devices.

  Inside, the Cürious Room was large, round and domed. There were no windows and it had walls built from the white limestone that was so common in the hinterland. Light came from three shallow caldrons that sat side by side on the wall to their left. Their flames cast an eerie glow over the entire room and yet cast the far walls into dancing shadows. The group had to turn right to descend the curving stairs to the floor area that held a strange diagram of a ragged spiral carved out on the flagstones. The spiral was as thick as a man’s arm and etched in magical glyphs. On the back wall, the same flagstone as the spiral replaced the white limestone, although this one was a half circle cut into three sections with the same glyphs scattered all over its surface. The surface was old and worn, but clearly depicted an old map of the Plysarus Mountains.

  As the group reached the bottom of the stairs, Havoc sensed movement in the darkness up ahead and he signalled for everyone to halt. There was a tall figure half concealed in the shadows. Elric was at least six foot four inches in height and broad of shoulder. His prison smock now discarded at his feet, though he continued to wear the heavy woollen Braga trousers. He had managed to find his calfskin boots, trimmed with grey wolf-fur at the cuff and leaving ample room for boot knives. His fur-lined sleeveless leather jerkin exposed his thick arms that were bejewelled by many gold and silver Torcs, which was a fashion of many of the warriors from the Hinterland. He was clearly identifiable as a Marauder Doom due to the intricate pattern of knot-work tattoos over his arms, similar in design, Havoc noticed, to Rogun and Vallkyte art. He also had a long trellis of plaited blonde hair capped at the bottom by the famous whalebone Mara.

  ‘Elric Stormstrider?’ Havoc asked.

  ‘Indeed. Who asks? You do not smell like Castrum and yet you bring that pious fool of a Jötnor,’ Elric said, in what was, surprisingly to Havoc, a very clear and educated voice, with little hint of the heavy Hinterland accent.

  ‘He is there!’ cried Köthal hysterically, ‘take him, my lord, before he has a chance to strike!’

  ‘Please keep calm, Administrator,’ said Havoc quietly, but Köthal’s anxiety showed as he hopped from one foot to the other.

  ‘Administrator?’ scoffed Elric as he buckled his Mara sword harness onto his back. Both hilts could be seen sticking out at right angles behind his head. ‘This oaf has been pilfering the prison coffers. He stinks of money. He should be locked up with the rest of his murdering Castrum scum and endure the pain his arse will feel every time they bugger him!’

  That remark actually got a chuckle from Furran and a smirk from Little Kith. Köthal went into a babbling rage as he screamed obscenities towards Elric. Havoc heard Gunach say something about not incurring the anger of a Marauder Doom but it was lost in the high-pitched yelling from the Jötnor. Havoc sighed and glanced over at Lord Ness who gave back a beseeching look. Havoc nodded his head towards the Administrator and the Ri stepped forward and placed his hand on Köthal’s head and said, “Sleep”. The man collapsed into a heap on the floor and silence filled the room.

  Elric, who was tucking a long-bladed dagger into each of his boots, looked up with a note of surprise in his voice, ‘A Ri?’ he said.

  ‘I am Lord Ness of the Ri Order in Aln-Tiss; please allow me to introduce Havoc De Proteous Cromme, Prince of the Roguns, Gunach of the Vale and Paladin-knights Powyss, Furran and Kith.’

  ‘The Lord Ness?

  ‘Indeed,’ answered the Ri.

  ‘And the De Proteous?’ Elric sounded truly surprised at the illustrious company. He sniffed the air in a strange fashion and remained inside the shadow of the room.

  ‘Castrum are at the main door,’ he said with a growl.

  Everyone looked around in confusion. Suddenly, there was a loud hammering echoing along the corridor. Havoc caught Little Kith’s attention and jerked his chin in the direction of the sound. Without a word, the big knight sprinted out of the room with his huge axe in hand.

  Elric noticed the exchange, he sniffed the air again and tilted his head this way and that like a bird. The silent order from the prince to his soldier meant that this small group seemed highly trained and attuned to Havoc’s needs. Havoc noticed this reaction in the big warrior, also. So too did the Blacksword, who was wordlessly scrutinising Elric from the confines of the prince’s head.

  Elric twitched his head towards Gunach, ‘the Master Smith I have heard of. Well met, friend dwarf, are you of the Loran League?’

  ‘Always,’ answered Gunach.

  Furran whispered, ‘the what?’ but Elric stepped forward before Gunach could answer.

  ‘A long time ago the Dwarves and Elves made a pact to cast aside their differences and join against their enemies. It was called the Loran League.’

  Silence filled the room again. Elric had stepped out of the shadows so everyone could see his face. He looked about fifty years of age due to the weather-worn wrinkles on his face and the greying of his short beard. He had a several prominent tattoos on his face, one on his forehead was of the All Seeing Eye, which represented the All-god Eil in Hinterland Mythology and the Earth Mother in Rogun legend and the rest were serpents on each cheek cleverly shaped into magical glyphs. However, the thing that truly shocked everyone was his eyes, which were completely covered in a white opaque film.

  Elric Stormstrider was blind.

  ‘You gentlemen seem surprised,’ said the Marauder Doom. Gunach spoke first into the silence.

  ‘You’re a Loremaster!’ he said with a tone of wonder in his gruff voice.

  ‘Correct, friend dwarf, although that was a long time ago.’

  ‘Err…Loremaster?’ asked Havoc.

  Gunach pointed to the All Seeing Eye tattoo on the Marauder Doom’s forehead, ‘it seems our friend here has the ability to see into the future. Jarls once recruited Loremasters into their service in the past. They are highly respected in Hinterland society and very rare.’

  ‘Alas, I was born blind but with the gift of foresight,’ continued Elric. ‘My parents wanted me to become their Jarl’s Loremaster, but I had a greater yearning to become a warrior and one day the Marauder Doom sought me out.’

  ‘So,’ asked Powyss, ‘would I be right in assuming that you knew we would be here?’

  Elric shook his head, ‘my gift does not always work like that…when it does it…well it is rather cryptic. This is why I do not know why you are looking for me?’

  Havoc said, ‘we have come seeking your assistance.’

  ‘We have been told that you have been to Sjardhiem,’ said Lord Ness.

  ‘The Castle-mount of Grendal the Wayfarer?’ Elric rubbed his chin, ‘why do you need to go there…ah! You seek the Elemental’s Marker, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Havoc with a smile.

  Elric drew in a deep breath and shook his head, ‘no one can find Sjardhiem on foot, all of the passes are blocked with snow or mountain rubble. I couldn’t tell you where it was on a map, even if I had eyes that worked.’

  ‘But, how did you find it before?’ asked Furran. Elric’s head flicked straight towards his voice and stared at him with those sightless white eyes.

  ‘I cheated!’

  This stumped everyone until Lord Ness stomped the floor of the room with his sword-staff and laughed, ‘you used the Cürious, didn’t you?’

  Elric smiled.

  Gunach almost yelled and stepped off the devices circle, ‘is this thing active?’

  ‘I rather hope it still works or this will be the shortest escape in Marauder Doom history,’ Elric jested. He turned away and rummaged around inside an area out of sight from them in the shadows. He returned with three long crystals, two blue and the other red. He slotted the two blue crystals into holes at the edge of the Cürious map and the red one into a section at the centre of the display. Bright blue light emit
ted around the floor spiral. The room revealed itself some more and Havoc saw a tall rack behind the Marauder Doom with many dated paper scrolls and more crystals of various sizes and colours to the left of the device.

  ‘Tathula Crystals,’ gasped Gunach. ‘I did not think any existed after the war with the Morgana?’

  ‘Few remain,’ said Elric, ‘although there are two more Cürious Rooms; the prison officials saw fit to seal this room without destroying the crystals a long time ago. Most Jötnor are superstitious and refuse to touch such pagan devices of magic. Magical energy remains charged inside Tathula for a very long time.’

  Elric brushed his hand over the wall map and with each touch at certain locations he drew a circle around one glyph and then another at the other end of the map. The line he traced began to glow blue. He turned back to the group with a wide smile, ‘all set.’

  Lord Ness and Havoc exchanged glances and then the Ri shook his head, ‘unfortunately, I shall have to point out that magic has no effect on Rawns.’

  Elric shrugged his big shoulders, ‘technically, that’s wrong. A Cürious transporter taps into the Dragon Lanes just like a Drift Circle, but it uses magic to link instead of Rawn energy. I agree that the Elemental Harmonising of a Ri would, in theory, disrupt the magical resonance and shred the link, but it should be alright for a Rawn Master to travel…in theory.’

  Havoc smiled ruefully and noticed a glint of admiration in Lord Ness’ eye as he stared at the big warrior. Elric Stormstrider was not only a man with a killer’s skill but he clearly had an education to match.

  ‘Gunach?’ asked Havoc, searching for a second opinion.

  The dwarf shrugged, ‘He is right, Kervunder.’

  Just then, Little Kith ran back into the room. He spoke directly to the prince, ‘the guards are hacking through the door. It will not take them long to break through.’

  Havoc nodded and then stepped onto the spiral, ‘we are wasting time,’ he said.

  Elric watched him carefully and sniffed as he did so.