The Rawn Chronicles Book Two: The Warlord and The Raiders (The Rawn Chronicles Series 2)
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THE RAWN
CHRONICLES
BOOK TWO
THE WARLORD AND
THE RAIDERS
P.D.CEANNEIR
This novel is entirely the work of fiction.
The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it 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
2
Copyright © P.D.Ceanneir 2014
Set in Times New Roman 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.
For Mither and Eddie,
Thank you for
everything.
Also by P.D.Ceanneir in the Rawn Chronicles Series
Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword
Table of Contents
Map
Principal Characters in Order of Appearance
Prologue
The Fugitives
Triel
Truce of Madness
Ten Mountain
Queen Nieve
The Ever Living One
The Point of no Return
Chunla and Beyond
The Battle of the Pass
Return to the Vale
Marshal Zolar
Ghosts in the Night
The Battle of Sternford
Trapped in the Marsh
The Battle of the Fess
The Blacksword’s Dilemma
The Battle of Cosshead
Dragonstalker
The Prodigal Son
King Valient’s Secret
The Battle of Aln Plain
Paladins
The Trinkets Ball
Drakken
There will be Deaths
Aftermath
Map
Principal Characters in Order of Appearance
Powyss of the Hoath-Former Captain of the Sonoran Kings Guard
Havoc De Proteous Cromme-Crown Prince of the Roguns
Whyteman-Falesti Archer
Little Kith-Former sergeant of the Sonoran Kings Guard
Hexor-Soldier of the Haplann Army
Foxe- Soldier of the Haplann Army and twin brother of Hexor
Verkin- Former soldier of the Sonoran Kings Guard
Furran- Former sergeant of the Sonoran Kings Guard
Velnour-Sergeant of the Tattoium Militia
Linth- Falesti Archer
Brynd- Falesti Archer
Ethyn- Falesti Archer
Felcon- Soldier of the Haplann Army
Mactan- Soldier of the Tattoium Militia
Morden-Atyd of Triel, elder brother of Whyteman
Cinnibar-Countess of Sonora, Havoc’s great-great aunt
Lord Sernac-Master to Cinnibar and a mysterious and powerful Ri
Bronwyn- Princess of Ten Mountain, Granddaughter of Queen Nieve
Barnum-Atyd of Balael
Nieve-Queen of the Falesti
Tollard- Atyd of Flael
Sequilian-Atyd of Wurel
Soneros Ri-Consul to Queen Nieve and Chief Historian of the Tower of Sooth, Member of the Ri Order
Mad-gellan- Nithi Lord of the Kelang
Vanduke-King of the Roguns, first of that name
Ness Ri-Consul to King Vanduke and member of the Ri Order
Lady Vara-Former Queen of Sonora and Havoc’s aunt
Lord Rett-the Red Duke, uncle of Magnus
Magnus Cromme-Carras Knight, Master of the Rouge and Havoc’s half-brother
Jericho-Captain of the Tattoium Militia
Gunach-Dwarven Master Smith
Kasan Cromme-King of the Vallkytes and Havoc’s uncle
Shanks-Prisoner in cell 42, formerly known as Baron Telmar
Molna-Queen of the Vallkytes and Roguns, Havoc’s mother
Lord Yaquis-Commander of the Wyani Heavy Horse
Marshal Zollar- Commander of the Vallkyte Army
Sir Colby-Carras Knight
Dolment-Master of Ifor
Sir Kellan-Baron of Ifor, Lord Judiciary for Toll-marr and father of Dolmen
Elkin-Lord of Storridge, General of the Bellmen, Great War hero
Tia-Havant Priestess
Serena-Havant Priestess
Eleana-Lady of the Rouge, wife of Magnus
Plysov-Governor of Aln-Tiss
Zerkis-Commander of the Vallkyte Western Battalion
Mad-daimen-Nithi Warlord, Overlord of the Wildlands
Raimen-brother of Mad-daimen
Prologue
The dreams were coming thick and fast nowadays. The glutinous mass of them chafed at his reality, scorched his soul, and burnt his mind with the images they presented.
Lustrous and solicitous pictures of dark desires mixed with portents of hateful malevolence, filled his sleeping hours. These feelings were present within daylight time, wakeful and restless, and they disturbed his thoughts, preyed on his conscious, and diminished his physical self.
Lord Ness knew, that the images he was seeing, were being projected by a calm, kind and sentient mind; a mind so vast and ancient that he blanched at the sheer enormity of it all.
It was showing him the purpose of his existence, the reason for human survival. He concentrated on the received thoughts and processed them into his conscious mind.
It told him of the danger to the world at large. It showed him a war that had existed for millions of years.
A dark entity would soon prevail itself upon the planet and the sentient mind warned him of the coming doom. It was not until he viewed the last dream that he took the warning seriously. First, he was shown the usual fleeting visions of dread and despair, coupled with the hope of intervention, with righteous dogmatic optimism.
The preservation and order of the earth was of paramount importance.
Then the dream brought him to a cave mouth. It was large and inviting, reticent in its beauty and awe-inspiring in its scope. The plants that festooned its walls dazzled his mind with their colours, made him gasp with their splendour. Thick vines with lush green leaves and purple flowers carpeted the floor and walls of the cave. There were orchids of various species, tall trees, shrubs, and pretty flowers grew together in the sunbeams from the cave mouth along with other attractive vegetation.
Small monkeys climbed the vines, birds called for mates, or to warn rivals away from their territory; insects hummed around the heads of open orchids.
The Ri climbed through this gardens alluring charm and walked into the darkness at the rear of the cave.
There was little plant life growing in this dim light, but light there still was. Bacteria and algae formed a symbiant link to produce a bright illuminated glow that showed him his route down a long high tunnel, a tunnel carved out of the rock judging by its neat symmetry
and smooth surface.
He continued down the corridor, or hall. To a faint light that grew brighter with every footstep, the light was a kaleidoscope of colour that blazed into an eerie conflagration. It also spoke to him.
It whispered.
Hushed tones of thousands of voices radiated outwards with the colours, and bounced off the walls of the cave. It was like the touch of wind on rippling water, the creek of bough on branch, but it had a voice that was incoherent and disjointed in its multitude.
As he turned the corner, he could see the source of the myriad of colour and sound.
It was an Orrinn.
It sat upright on a plinth, it was large and robust in dimensions, full-bodied, yet petite in stature. A small section at the top was missing. It was broken, damaged.
A host of colours swirled under its surface, swarming in dazzling hues. He could not make out the Orrinns original material but he understood it was ancient. He understood also that it was alive. More alive than any Orrinn he had ever seen.
The whispered voices that echoed inside the chamber calmed his fear and soothed his doubts. He looked around and saw that the high curved walls of the Orrinns chamber was totally covered in Skrol symbols; they shone silver, though, not reflecting the colours from the Orrinn, but glowing from within. Lord Ness recognised all eighty four symbols of Skrol, However, there was others that were new to him.
He was aware of a presence close by. He turned towards a dark archway on his right and saw a large creature there. Its main mass was all in shadow, but its eyes shone through the gloom; they were orbs of red and orange fire that bore into his soul. He was suddenly afraid.
However, the attention of the creature moved to the Orrinn and Lord Ness realised that the whispering had stopped. The colours were now sinking to the base of the Orrinn and a black form was rising towards the surface.
No, not black, but an absence, or an extinction of light. It crawled and oozed from the damaged top of the Orrinn like a glutinous mass of sticky tar. It cackled and jeered at the hushed whisperers and flinched at the surrounding Skrol that blazed brighter, sending the chamber from darkness into an opaque monochrome. Ness Ri backed up, although his instincts told him to stand still, because he somehow knew that the black form could come no further from the Orrinn.
Then the creature with the eyes of fire spoke to the dark form in a commanding tone that struck terror into him, it spoke in a language he understood.
It said, “BEGONE!”, and Lord Ness woke....
...screaming and sweating in his bed.
The dream fragmented as it always did, but he clung onto the message it gave him. He sucked in air as he gathered his thoughts. Once calm, he allowed himself to smile.
‘The Gredligg Orrinn,’ he said, ‘at last. I know where it is!’
Part One
The
Eternal
Forest
“Darkness comes in many forms
But in the human mind
It is absolute”
The Dragor- rix
By Herodotus
“And the Shadow-wrought shall smite the benighted.
He shall bring order through chaos.
He shall stand against the Dark Entity wielding the Sword of Power.
But the tentacles’ of the Lonely God can reach through the hearts of the most evil of men!”
Lortharlsson’s Chant
From the Hinterland Sagas
Circa 1670 YOA
Chapter 1
The Fugitives
These are the tales of the My’thos. The old gods. The ones who were here before all others. Though they are long past 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...
...He was running, with the rest in front of him running just as fast, running hard.
The adrenalin-fuelled fear helped to pump his legs faster over the forest floor, clarity of mind helped him dodge the trees in the dim light.
His fellow co-runners stopped suddenly and he crashed into them, breathing hard. He fell onto his knees clutching a stitch in his side. In front of them stood ten Vallkyte soldiers, armed with sword and shield, full-body mail and the red- gold overcoat of his fellow infantryman.
‘Who are you? What unit?’ a burly sergeant said. He had a scar on his chin that was the only bald patch on his beard, and he was looking at the soldier on his knees.
‘Sergeant Morgan,’ said the soldier, ‘Pander Pass infantry unit under Commander Gryphon.’
‘Well met sergeant, I am Senior-sergeant Todd from Fort Chunla. I take it we are all after the same fugitives?’
The other sergeant nodded. He also noted the other man’s mention of his higher rank.
‘Yes we are. My troop caught up with them back there about a hundred yards,’ Morgan indicated behind him with his thumb, ‘but we were outnumbered, my men were slaughtered, thank the gods we found you.’
‘And you ran away?’ Todd scowled down at him. There was silence from Sergeant Morgan and his men.
‘Get in line with my men and follow my orders!’ growled Todd and Morgan jumped at the volume and disgust in the man’s voice. He and his fellow runners took their places behind the others and ran with them back the way they had come. The stitch in his side did not go away.
Whyteman was running too, despite his weakness from lack of food he had made good time and was now in the Eternal Forest proper. Havoc had sent him on ahead to call for help while the rest of the men dealt with the pursuing Vallkytes patrols.
It had been a list of misfortunes for the fugitives. They had spent the last four-day toiling through the Oldwoods; desperately defending themselves in a series of running battles since they entered the woods. Their numbers were shrinking.
He did not allow himself rest. The lives of good men were at stake.
The sounds of fighting grew closer as Todd and his men neared the sun-dappled opening at the bottom of a slight slope.
They could see two Vallkytes fighting an older man in worn leathers and a grey goatee. The old warrior had already killed three soldiers and those men lay in a circle around them. He was fending the other two off with consummate skill.
Sergeant Todd pulled out his sword from the grey leather scabbard at his side and yelled as he went into the attack, his men followed loyally behind him. He had reached the bottom of the slope and was several paces in front of his troop when a long black object whizzed through the air, cutting his head off, and continuing through the trees on the other side of the forest clearing. The men stopped in shock, but Morgan watched the object come back towards them. He saw it was a sword which did not shine in the rays of sunlight that filtered down through the high canopy above, a strong wind held it aloft, he could see leaves moving under its flight, disturbing their decomposition to become clouds of browns and yellows.
He suddenly crouched as the sword flew over his head and he turned to follow its course. He saw it land, hilt first, in a black gloved hand. The hand belonged to a black-cloaked figure that stood menacingly on a fallen tree trunk. The hood turned towards his direction, the face could not be seen though the darkness of the cowl.
‘By the gods!’ he gasped and the other soldiers turned from the headless corpse of their sergeant towards the new threat.
Morgan had heard the stories of the Blacksword, the Headhunter, the Dark Phantom, and many other fearsome descriptions’. However, it did not prepare him for the reality of the situation, presented here in shocking clarity.
The Blacksword moved quickly from his place on the fallen trunk and glided down towards the fight, swinging his black-bladed sword into the ranks of Vallkytes. The soldiers instinctively raised shields and linked them together, their training
and discipline showing.
Sergeant Morgan, too stilled by fear to join in, noted that the infantrymen’s defence was formidable, but it did not deter the attacker.
The Blacksword swung his sword in a horizontal ark, straight at the line of shield men. There was a sound of clanging metal and screams as three soldiers were violently lifted off their feet and sent reeling through the air. Morgan fell to the ground and scurried away as the mysterious figure carved into the space that he had opened. He swung round at surprising speed cutting through shield and chain mail. Swords were useless as they shattered or received deep nicks from the black blade.
One infantryman saw his chance and lunged at the hooded man’s back, but his opponent turned with an unnatural swiftness and caught his sword arm. He then hooked his own weapon under his armpit and cut his arm off at the shoulder. Gouts of blood sprayed into the air from the severed stump. The assailant followed this up but parrying two other attacks and slicing open the ribcage of a third, cleaving his heart in two.
Sergeant Morgan noticed that the old warrior had now dispatched his opponents and was cutting into the rear of Todd’s men. He had knocked one young infantryman on his back and used the tip of his sword to cut through the man’s throat, rich red blood pumped and frothed up the older man’s blade. Morgan got to his feet and ran, he ran until the sounds of the dying were far behind him. He ignored the stitch in his side.
The rest of the Vallkytes died, as between them, the Blacksword and the old warrior hacked them to the ground.
Standing slightly apart and breathing hard, the older man turned to the hooded stranger who flicked his sword at an angle and the last remnants of blood shot from the smooth metal leaving it completely dry. Nothing stuck to Pyromancium.