by P D Ceanneir
‘You can come out now, I know you’re there,’ he said with some amusement in his voice.
Her heart thumped, but pride curbed her fear. She walked out of her hiding place and stood in front of the man, who she realised, was not much older than she was. Nevertheless, the look he gave her made her feel guilty for spying on him.
The mist was departing quickly, yet trickled and shifted around the tall warrior. Havoc had used his sword practice to calm his mind and link to the water energies in the mist and stretching his mind throughout the woodland. He had detected the girl long before she found him. Appraising her as she stood before him, he realised she was a beauty. Slim with long bare legs under a loose green skirt, a white bodice tied up at the front with loose white lace, long dark hair with light brown eyes full of soulful sadness. A blue-green tattoo of an intricate leaf pattern ran from her left shoulder to her elbow.
She clutched her leather satchel to her chest as if it was a shield, and did not take her eyes off Havoc’s semi-nakedness.
‘I’m sorry I did not mean to startle you,’ he said as he put on his shirt and sheathed his sword.
She was about to say something when shouts from the forest made her jump. She turned and ran from the sound. Havoc was about to follow, when three boys, dressed in short trousers and leather jerkins, burst out of the shrubs screaming through redden cheeks.
Totally ignoring Havoc, they ran after the girl.
Bronwyn panicked, the boys were faster than she was, her hope of avoiding them all day disappeared, and she knew she could not outrun them.
She looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the three boys catching up with her.
Only three, where were the rest?
The answer to that question appeared in front of her as the other two men stepped out from the trees and she realised they had flushed her out like a wild animal. Her anger bubbled in her, and she ran headlong into the two waiting boys. Her momentum knocked one to the ground, but the other caught her wrist tightly. She kicked her bare foot into the side of his knee and he fell to the ground but he still did not let go. The boy got a set of bony knuckles for his tenacity and his lip split on his teeth, he finally released her.
Bronwyn took two steps at a run but strong arms wrapped around her hoisting her off her feet. She thrust her head back and heard the sound of cartilage on bone her capturers nose flattened, the boy yelled and they both fell to the ground. She looked around her and saw that the other two surrounded her, cutting off any chance of escape.
A short blonde boy with white stubble and a yellow toothed grim, reached for her throat. She bit down on his hand until the copper taste of blood filled her mouth. His yell of pain was suddenly silenced by the arrival of a sword pommel as it bounced off his head with a dull thud.
Havoc had no wish to hurt anyone when he threw SinDex, but he was angry at seeing the group of men attack a defenceless girl. He raced into the last two boys. The nearest, and tallest, took two rapid fists to the jaw from the prince and he fell to the ground unconscious, Havoc spun on his heel and kicked the next boy onto his backside with a well placed shin.
Bronwyn was surprised at the speed of the stranger, but her anger still welled in her and she rounded on him.
‘Are you alright?’ said Havoc picking up his sword, ‘did they hurt you?’
She slapped him hard on his left cheek.
He was so surprised that the ringing in his head drowned out the groaning of the boys on the ground.
‘I’m sure I didn’t deserve that,’ he said, as he flexed his jaw with his hand.
‘You fool! Do you realise what you have done?’ yelled the girl.
‘I...’ he did not finish his answer because she slapped him again, this time on the other side of the face.
Her brown eyes burned with anger, clearly confused, Havoc backed off.
The sound of approaching horses gave Havoc’s cheeks the respite they needed and he turned to see four equestrians canter into the opening that the girl and the prone boys occupied.
Two of the nearest in brown armour pointed their swords down at Havoc’s chest, each of them wore the same dull green and red livery tabards. An old man with a white beard and a worried frown looked at the girl, while the fourth man was richly dressed with short bowl-cut brown hair and hooded eyes over an unwelcome sneer. His lined forehead creased into a frown as he looked around him.
Havoc heard the girl groan beside him, he felt her edge closer to him in a pitiful attempt at hiding herself from the scrutiny of the well-dressed rider who Havoc guessed was a Falesti noble.
‘My lady, are you alright?’ said the old man.
‘I am fine Lowell, why are you here?’ snapped the girl. Havoc glanced at her when he heard that she was also a noble, although she was dressed as a peasant.
Before the man could answer, the rich dressed man spoke.
‘Because I ordered him to take me to you,’ he said with a sigh as if he was utterly bored of the situation.
‘This is the Flower Hunt, you have no right to interfere,’ she said.
‘I have every right, child, and you know it!’ snapped the man.
‘Ahh... the rules, Atyd Barnum are quite clear,’ interjected the old man nervously.
Havoc recognised the name and looked from the old man to the Atyd.
‘Damn the hunt Lowell! The princess is already betrothed,’ the Atyd pointed to the boys on the ground still groaning from their beatings, ‘these idiots have no reason to be here,’ he looked now at Havoc.
‘They are here at my behest,’ said the girl who noticed the Atyd staring at the stranger.
The Atyd Barnum ignored her; he looked down his nose at Havoc, who never took his eyes of the Atyd.
‘Who is this?’ he pointed to Havoc as he asked the question while completely ignoring him.
There was silence as all eyes stared at him. Havoc turned to the girl.
‘Can I speak without being struck?’ he said to her, there was a glint of amusement in the girl’s eyes she nodded in response.
‘My name is Havoc,’ he said turning back to the Atyd.
‘That is a Rogun name is it not boy,’ said Barnum, there was an audible gasp from the girl.
‘Yes it is.’
‘Clearly you need some manners on addressing a lord of the forest, ‘you will call me Atyd or sir.’ Barnum was not looking at Havoc’s face. He was more intent on the medallion around the prince’s neck.
Havoc did not have time to give back a scathing answer, because two more riders appeared in the now crowded opening. With relief, he recognised Powyss riding his tan mare and The Atyd Morden.
‘Greetings Atyd Barnum,’ said Morden, ‘such a fine day is it not?’
‘Morden,’ sneered Barnum, ‘I see you are staying at your brother’s inn again. I assure you that the rooms in the palace are far more comfortable than in that doss house Deron runs.’
‘I like to go where I always have a warm reception,’ smiled Morden, then he noticed the girl. He bowed in his saddle, ‘Princess Bronwyn, a pleasure as always.’ Havoc tried to keep his face neutral when he heard of the girl’s identity. He still glanced at her and she gave back a coy smile before answering Morden.
‘I’m glad to see you are well Atyd Morden,’ she said giving him a slight bow in return.
‘Does this boy belong to you Morden,’ said Barnum indicating Havoc.
I belong to no-one,’ said Havoc trying hard not to grit his teeth in anger, Barnum gave him a cold look.
‘The Lord Havoc is my guest,’ said Morden, and Havoc smiled at Morden’s mention of the noble term, ‘and he does not take kindly to sharp implements’ being pointed at him!’ this last statement was directed at the two guards in armour, with such a commanding tone that everyone looked at the Atyd Morden in awe.
After a while, Barnum nodded to his men and they sheathed their swords and backed their horses away.
‘My lords Atyd, said the old man, ‘Highness, the rules of the hunt are
clear, this Lord Havoc is the last man standing and...’
‘Enough...’ shouted Barnum, ‘I will not be a part of this folly anymore. Bronwyn come with me, your grandmother wishes to see you at once,’ he reached out his hand to pull her up onto his horse.
The girl hesitated, and Havoc felt pity for this young princess with the sad eyes. She gave him a quick beseeching look, then ignoring Barnum, climbed gracefully behind Lowell.
Barnum pulled round his horse and rode off without saying goodbye. The rest followed, but not before Havoc saw the girl turn round and give him a final look. The five boys limped quickly away from Havoc as he picked up his sword.
‘So that is Barnum,’ said Powyss, who had remained strangely quiet throughout the whole exchange. He looked down at the prince, ‘can’t you keep out of trouble for five minutes?’
‘You know me,’ informed Havoc and he shrugged, ‘Trouble always finds a way.’
‘Exactly what kind of hunt was it?’ asked Morden.
‘The Hunt of Flowers, or something,’ said Havoc.
‘Oh dear,’ said Morden
Powyss did not like the look on the Atyd’s face.
‘Is that bad?’ he said.
‘It’s an old custom, rarely performed these days. Once the woman is of age she picks potential husbands for the hunt, whoever is standing at the end, or is the first to kiss her, wins her hand in marriage
Powyss laughed.
Havoc went pale, ‘Oh shit.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it though, she is already betrothed,’ said the Atyd, ‘but everyone knows she hates him.’
‘Who is he?’ Havoc asked.
‘The Atyd Barnum of course,’ Shrugged the Atyd.
Chapter 5
Queen Nieve
Cinnibar stared at her Lobe Stone without seeing it. She had not let it out of her sight since the last conversation with the Blacksword. Her thoughts were elsewhere, her feelings mixed.
The spies from the pass had reported that the destruction of the Sky Ships was true. Witnesses among the Vallkyte soldiers in the area confirmed the Blacksword destroyed them.
Jynn’s body could not be found.
The sheer fact of her Lobe Stone being in his possession, proved to Cinnibar of the Ri’s demise.
Jynn, Jynn was one of her trainers in the arts, her friend and one time lover, now dead.
The tear trickled down her left cheek. She was not used to her plans failing.
She plotted revenge.
‘This is not the woman I trained in the arts,’ said the voice of a dark figure sitting in the corner of the room hidden in shadows. His crimson cloak covered him just like the gloom of his surroundings and he gave off an air of authority.
Cinnibar did not look around. She wiped the tear from her eye.
‘I will miss her council more than anything,’ she said, ‘Jynn always had the answers, master.’
‘I know this, remember she learnt from me before I taught you to harness your unique gifts,’ said the figure.
‘Why did you not foresee this, Master?’ said Cinnibar in a strained whisper. For a time the figure behind her said nothing. Then he sighed.
‘Events of the future are clouded when they concern the Blacksword, whether he be a man or a weapon,’ he said, ‘I sense he is touched by the Old Gods, we must be cautious for he grows in power.’
‘The Blacksword has to be stopped, the Earth Daemon demands it,’ she said through gritted teeth, biting back the anger.
‘Of course he will,’ said the mysterious man with a calm voice that always reminded Cinnibar of her youth and her days of training with her tutor. ‘But use your anger; condense your bitterness so it gives you energy for the coming fight. Find a solution to eradicate the problems before you. That is what I have always taught you and it has been good advice up until now.’
Cinnibar sighed and nodded. ‘You are wise as ever, Lord Sernac, I will do as you advise.’
‘Good,’ Lord Sernac rose from his chair. He was tall and lean, but the cloak concealed his body and his face was wreathed in darkness due to his wide hood, ‘I must leave soon, and I want constant reports.’
‘As you wish, my master,’ intoned Cinnibar as she bowed to his back as he left her apartments.
The days before Havoc and Morden were due to meet the queen were used for training, Morden would learn with sword and Havoc with Fire.
The Atyd was no warrior and he never claimed to be one. His sword was his mind and his skill was the books he read. Havoc enjoyed his moments with him, taking his student back to the basics of swordplay brought along some nostalgia for him.
Morden however, was a good student. He learnt quickly the rudiments’ of defence and attack, he listened to his trainers every word and Havoc found in himself that he had an aptitude to become an instructor, he was patient, but firm, and he taught well.
As for Powyss teaching Havoc the use of the Fire Element, well, he did his best.
Havoc was keen to move on to the fourth element. His mastery of the wind element had only one hurdle in the past to complete. Using the third element to bring a weapon to his hand at long distance was his weakness.
However, during the fight with Jynn he succeeded in bringing his sword to him. Technically, he never caught the sword; the Ri did, in her back. Now after that incident he found that he could move larger objects to him. It was all a matter of perspective, coupled with this ability to harden the air around the object. Linking Pyromantic Surges to the energy flows within the element meant he could lift heavier objects and at greater distance. Powyss acknowledged that the prince’s ability with the third element surpassed his own and was a formidable weapon for Havoc in a fight.
The fire element was the hardest to achieve, as Powyss could attest too. Havoc would be able to shrink the warm air around him into a small point of heat but the final spark still did not ignite.
‘Never mind,’ said Powyss to him one day as he watched him struggle to make fire in the palm of his hand, ‘I still have trouble in doing that, as you know.’
‘Damn it, I can create superheat that melts rocks, but I cannot make a tiny flame appear!’ he said as he looked at the small ball of shimmering heat hovering above the palm of his hand.
‘The fire element is closely linked to emotions. I find that pain and fear help me,’ said Powyss, ‘but those are dangerous, volatile emotions for you. You will just have to find the right emotion that works.’
Life with the Falesti was good. Havoc noticed a change in his friends, which he felt in himself. The stress of their incarceration, escape, and subsequent flight, disappeared from their faces as they moulded themselves into the calm of the forest and its people. Yet, they were still outsiders and treated as such. Few of the locals acknowledged them. Such was the Falesti way.
Although the thoughts of revenge against the Vallkytes still niggled at the back of his mind, he did not dwell on them. Every time he did, he felt a shifting in his psyche, as the persona of the Blacksword took an interest in those thoughts. His alter ego stayed dormant for now, ever since he had stashed the black cloak away in his backpack.
In the more quiet times, in-between training, his thoughts turned to Princess Bronwyn; her sad eyes and her slim body. He would look for her dark hair in the crowds of the market place. Morden told him of her betrothal to Barnum. The match of the princess to the most powerful Atyd was a sound one, but Bronwyn complained about the age gap of thirteen years and his bullying arrogance.
‘The queen organised the match, Bronwyn has been trying to convince her to call it off, but the queen’s word is law. Bronwyn’s mother died when she was giving birth to her, she has no other family but the queen, they are quite close,’ explained Morden.
Powyss slapped Havoc on the back.
I think she will be better off with him, than with you, that’s for sure,’ he said. The result of the Flower Hunt had not stayed quiet for long. Powyss had had a laugh about it with Little Kith and Furran and they told Dero
n. Soon the whole forest had heard and Havoc could not go out without people looking and pointing his way.
‘Most of the Falesti are old fashioned about rituals and ceremonies’. They believe in the Hunt,’ said Morden.
This did not make Havoc feel any better.
The morning of the Hynndborg saw them all at the large food tent watching the entertainment. Dancers and musicians, bards and acrobats, entertained the crowd for most of the day. There was a happy holiday feel to the whole festival. At Whyteman’s invitation, they all tried the Falster Juice, a potent alcoholic fruit cocktail, in a large steel punch bowl to the right of the food tent. Velnour and Furran were the first to drink the brew. They all laughed when Furran’s cheeks went red after two sips and Velnour started to see double through one eye.
The glade in front of the food tent became a stage for the jesters and actors doing comedy skits. Little Kith’s booming laugh was heard over the entire crowd. They were all surprised when Morden got up to spout poetry. He told the tragic tale of Olsen and Dari. Falesti lovers split up by war and only reconciled through death. He was so good at it that Havoc thought of his father who knew how to spin a yarn. Even Powyss had a tear in his eye when the Atyd finished the tragic ending, to resounding applause.
The glade became a dance floor as the sun began to set. Oil lanterns lit up the surrounding area, casting a pale yellow glow on the dancers as they pranced over the hard larch planking of the dance floor. The old coal pit on the other side of the tents filled up with dry logs and coke soon became a raging bonfire were everyone could stand around and chat.
Young women of varying beauty plucked up the courage to ask Havoc’s friends to dance with them. They all accepted with bright drunken smiles, Velnour was dragged away first then Kith, who was easily seen in the crowd being head and shoulders taller than everyone else. Three young girls asked Havoc at the same time, he was reluctant to turn them away. Powyss and Furran came to his rescue, escorting two to the dance floor while the prince danced with the third.
