by P D Ceanneir
‘All right, Aunt,’ the Ri was cut off in mid sentence again, this time by the king, ‘let’s do this.’
Cinnibar removed the top portion of the woollen shawl. Lord Saltyn gave an involuntary intake of breath at the stillborn baby revealed under the cloth; even Tia stifled a cry by putting her hand on her mouth. The king moaned in anguish.
The queen’s long white fingers with their sharp pink nails flexed over the infant. She placed them delicately on the baby’s stomach and the skin there began to waver like water. It rippled out over the rest of the body giving off a flicker of light. She pulled her hands away and covered the body.
‘Let us begin,’ she said.
‘Begin what?’ said Saltyn Ri but he was ignored yet again. The thrumming of the energy within the stones increased as Cinnibar reached out her left arm to the north point, allowing her right to hover over the baby.
The burst of energy from the Dragon Lanes now concentrated itself through the monoliths and then into the dais and subsequently over body of the stillborn infant. The four Rawns standing at the points closed their eyes and concentrated on contained the magnetic power that fluxed and zapped at the edges of the monoliths, withholding it inside the circle of standing stones. Lord Saltyn Ri felt a pang of fear as he saw the wave of white energy leave the dais and enter the bundle. Rain fell heavier and lightening forked the sky directly above them to indicate escaped electricity from just above the dais stone.
‘Oh, no…not this!’ he groaned.
Sparks of charged plasma leapt from stone to stone, bathing everything in a blue-white light. The power became more intense, and the flickering light far brighter, until finally the streams of energy from all ten stones hit the bundle on the dais in a thick continuous scream of electricity.
The body under the woollen shawl, moved under the flux of energies. The Ri’s scream was drowned out by thunder. Saltyn stifled another outburst as it grew, took mass and form, large and humanoid in origin but alien in creation. It stood slightly hunched, as the powers coursed over its body and surged through its flesh to bring it to life. Taller it grew, wider. Soon it stood eight feet tall and broad in muscled mass, naked but for the shawl covering its modesty, skin glistening from the rainfall on pale green scales that covered it completely apart from the shoulders and chest area, which was a dark red. Rippling muscles flexed on its wide shoulders as the thing lifted its head with its thick neck and roared into the night.
The creature now fully formed gave off sparks of static electricity, like tiny lightning bolts, emitting all over its body as it absorbed the last of the rings energies.
King Kasan fell to his knees, breaking the link, ‘what have we done?’ he groaned as he stared at the thing that was once his son.
‘No, no, no, this is wrong,’ Lord Saltyn gibbered in shock, ‘it’s illegal to create dragons...or whatever this is...it’s an abomination.’
‘This is not a dragon, fool! He’s a Dragonstalker, a Drakken. Half man, half dragon, and he will destroy the Blacksword for me!’ said Cinnibar smiling up at the creature, she reached up to the crouching thing and rubbed its cheek, it mewed like a pet.
‘Behold Kasan,’ she said, ‘our son, son of your flesh, son of my power.’ The king nearly vomited with disgust.
Standing at the east point, Tia shed a tear for the dead child, a tear of shame; she looked at her beloved mistress and saw her eyes were as dark as the night.
In the citadel, Molna screamed in her sleep.
Chapter 19
The Prodigal Son
It was much too early for winter to settle onto the Sky Mountains. Still, there was a chill in the air and the highest peaks were now capped with a sprinkling of snow. Sunshine and blue sky were the mountains roof, forests of tall conifers was its blanket. Wild grassy meadows’ fringed cold deep lakes that mirrored the mountains reflected beauty. The Sky Mountain White Beam Elk roamed in herds of a dozen or less between these isolated lakes. The male with his huge twelve-foot wide antlers led his wandering cows through the meadows in search of lush green pastures.
Sergeant Junkin of the Rogun Infantry 6th Ranger Division moved carefully down the forest slope with his men. Half a dozen in all, spaced out on each side of him. He was a native of these lands and knew it well; he knew every sight, sound, and smell. He knew whenever something was wrong because his nose would itch. Junkin’s nose was legendary among the Mountain Rangers, it was the first warning his men had against danger and it never let him down.
This morning his nose was itching like mad.
He gave a hand signal to his men to stop and crouch, Lance-Fieldsman Cornell, his second-in-command, crawled up to his side.
‘Nose troubling you again Junky?’ he said.
‘Aye, like buggery,’ he hooked a finger in one nostril to scratch it, ‘something isn’t right, bloody quiet too.’ Sure enough, the only sound was the wind through the trees; Conrell could not even hear the twittering of birds or rustle of small animals in the background of shrubs and ferns.
They waited for a moment longer then Junkin gave the order to move to the lower tree line by the lake to see if he could see anything along the valley floor.
As they moved quietly through the thick undergrowth of ferns, Junkin’s nose twitched its final warning before the forest exploded into life and smothered them. Green armoured soldiers sprouted out from the ground surrounding the sergeant’s men and one of them stopped him suddenly by pressing a sharp blade to his throat. He looked on with helplessness as they disarmed him without a sound. He did not recognise their armour or rank insignia, and his heart beat loudly in his chest.
‘It’s alright Lieutenant Felcon, he’s one of ours,’ said a voice to Junkin’s right, the Lieutenant let him go as the owner of the voice walked into his view.
‘Sorry sergeant,’ said a tall man with dark hair and bright green eyes wearing the same tight fitting green armour as the rest, although he had the image of the dragon Dex running from his right shoulder guard and down his arm, ‘we were not sure who you were. Your men were on us before we could hide,’ he said.
Hide? Thought Junkin, by the gods they hid well! Then the Sergeant suddenly recognised the prince and fell to his knees with a gasp, ‘your highness, forgive me, I hardly recognised you...’ at the sound of his statement, his men all knelt before the De Proteous.
‘It is quite alright, I’m glad we ran into you,’ Havoc grinned, ‘can you take me to my father please?’
Dolment left Ifor and went with the Raiders.
He had argued for hours with his father the baron, but in the end he won; it was a loveless victory. The baron’s only concern was prestige and honour of the family. Whichever way the civil war went, whether the prince by some miracle won the war, or King Kasan retaliated with his usual strength and vigour, it would be beneficial to have one foot in each camp, so to speak. The baron would remain loyal to Kasan and Dolment to the Rogun cause, thus ensuring Ifor’s safety in the future. It was sound politics, even if Dolment disagreed
‘I will explain to the king that you have been taken as a hostage by Prince Havoc to ensure my good behaviour,’ the baron had said to his son. Secretly he would miss his only child who was too much like his late mother.
The prince was not stupid. He knew of the baron’s plan, but did not seem bothered by it at all. Even in times of war politics always played a big part in the outcome of many opposing factions. Prince Havoc welcomed the Master of Ifor into his officer ranks, giving him a lieutenancy in the Princes Legion under the command of Sir Magnus. Havoc’s half-brother was elated to let Dolment into the Legion, especially when he came with two hundred and eighty Ifor Lancers as his personal bodyguards –at the baron’s insistence- now Magnus he had a small cavalry unit to go with his infantry.
Dolment was surprised at the prince’s ingenuity when it came to controlling his forces and the land he occupied. First, he ordered his men to make makeshift temporary homes for the local refugees of Cosshead. The Dwarves were far m
ore diligent at this than their human’s counterparts ever were. Their enthusiasm and stamina at the building task was boundless and their devotion to the prince was plainly obvious. Soon they erected large roundhouses of brick and thatch construction on the flat area of the battlefield itself. Secondly, the prince sent out proclamations to the tribal chieftains and lords of the eastern tribal lands of the Eveni, Bethlann, and Gazzen-Sel; stating that his forces will not raid their homes and farmlands if they remained “quit and free” from their obligations to the tribal treaty with the Vallkytes. Then he alone as De Proteous will do everything in his power to treat their lands as an independent realm, exempt from tyranny, free from obligation.
He had also asked for supplies to go to the Cosshead refugees in their hour of need. The results of these letters were profound. Chieftains and lords arrived from miles around with gifts and food for the prince. Havoc saw them in turn, assured them of his views and stated that his power was limited, because the Tribal Lands were “out with” his jurisdiction and final confirmation would have to come from his father. However, Dolment himself drew up a contract, or covenant, to honour the princes’ claims and confirm their independent status. All of the chieftains and lords of the senior tribes and counties signed the document along with the prince himself. Only King Vanduke’s signature remained to be added to the list and make it legally binding. The Declaration of the Ifor Covenant was to become one of the most important pieces of legislation during the second civil war.
Havoc had asked his second-in-command to organise the departure of his army by the quickest means. Major Powyss had sent his son, Sergeant Faryss, to his homeland of Hoath were his contacts with the shipping authorities helped to send a large flotilla of twelve twin mast Birlinns, to the aid of the prince. Not all of the prince’s army could fit into these small ships so they towed the Ifor barges to the harbour at Cosshead. Later that week the prince’s army sailed through the Lindla Delta and up the Great River.
It had almost been two months since the battle at Cosshead; the charred ruins of the town were now going out of Dolment’s view as his, and the officers Birlinn, sailed out of sight around the headland of Hoath and into the Hoath Bay. He wondered when he would ever see his home again.
Captain Velnour went on ahead over land with the rest of the cavalry meeting them halfway up the river were they said goodbye to the Hoath flotilla and used the towropes tied to the horses instead via hemp harness and wooden yolks. The river ran long and straight for many miles. The low bank made it easy for the cavalry horses to pull the barges against the tidal current. The host made good time covering long distances daily, moving faster by water than on foot, which was the prince’s plan in the end. Once they reached the Falryhana Lake, they skirted its edge for a few miles then abandoned the barges to march the rest of the way to the Pander Pass on foot.
Dolment marvelled at the loyalty each soldier had towards the prince. Havoc would march with them on that long journey, chatting to the lowest rank as well as his officers as if they were his best friends. He would take stints on guard duty, join the gamblers playing Karsh (which he would always win) and spar with anyone who would ask. The prince was the best swordsman by far in the camp. Major Powyss was a great blademaster too, but the prince had a style all of his own, no one could beat him in a bout even when he took on groups of men he would always win by disarming each opponent.
Soon they reached the pass; it was the first time that Dolment had ever been here. He had never left the south of the island before and he experienced a strong sense of adventure at entering new lands. Incidentally, it was a feeling that would never leave him for the rest of his life.
All of the prince’s officers met Lord Rett, the Red Duke, stern and arrogant, but exuding a respecting charm. The duke warmly welcomed the prince with a tight hug.
‘By the gods boy I think you have gotten thinner!’ he said in a loud deep voice as he held him at arms length to get a good look at him, ‘you have been away overlong, it is good to see you.’
‘You too master, how does things fair here?’ asked Havoc.
‘All goes well, your man Morden is a sound fellow, he has done wonders at Caphun, do not think much of Barnum though, thankfully he spends more time in his precious forest than here.’
The prince chuckled, ‘I have someone here to meet you, my lord.’ He introduced Lord Elkin to the Red Duke. Presented with one of his hero’s, Lord Rett was, for once, speechless. They had both fought on the same side in the War of the Pyromancer all of those years ago as young men, but had unfortunately never met.
A feast in the town hall was laid on for the prince’s army. It became riotous, but in a social, friendly way. The Red Duke wanted to know everything about the prince’s battle plans and tactics at the Fess and Cosshead. He and Elkin got very drunk and sung battle songs throughout the night and shared stories of past honour and glories while agile fiddlers danced and played around the tables and bluish pipe smoke hazed the air.
‘I’ve seen a lowly foot soldier with all of his limbs hacked off in battle, your Grace,’ said a very drunk Elkin to the duke, with Dolment soaking up the conversation beside them in wide-eyed amazement, ‘but he still fought on with his teeth until he was surrounded by a ring of dead men. Tis true, upon my soul.’
‘I believe you,’ said an equally drunk Lord Rett. His eyes were glassy and his mouth hung slack, ‘if I had my limbs hacked off...I would not be bothered about my dental care.’ Both men laughed and slapped each others backs, leaving Dolment more perplexed that ever.
Before departure for the Sky Mountains, the prince presented the Red Duke with his own standard. Wind torn and battle scarred, the black dragon of Dex clearly detailed upon it in a rampant stance.
‘As Acting Warden, my lord, I must ask you to show a presence to our enemies. Use my standard and cover your armies armour with green cloaks, it may deter anyone to enter Rogun lands if they think the Raiders are still active here.’
‘It shall be done your highness,’ said the duke, bowing.
Queen Bronwyn and her Falesti left for the Eternal Forest on the same day. Taking with her the Jertiani women and children that the Blacksword rescued back at Cosshead. Mad-gellan had asked the queen, personally, to keep them under her protection and she agreed gracefully. The queen’s obvious pregnancy, now so advanced, that she had brought few clothes with her that fitted and had to borrow a dress from one of her handmaidens that made her look like a commoner. Havoc gave her a very awkward hug because of her bump before she left. Secretly, he was pleased she was leaving for the safety of the Eternal Forest. Bronwyn bravely kept her tears at bay while they said their goodbyes, speaking to each other in low murmurs for a long time, then she left and did not look back as Havoc watched her and her people go out of sight.
Dolment was sad to see the Jertiani women leave, he had made some friends among them, the stories of their capture and enslavement was harrowing to the impressionable young man. If he was honest with himself, their plight had finally convinced him to join the prince. He was annoyed that his father was right.
He had been there at the parting of Havoc and Bronwyn. The officers had bandied about much speculation over their relationship, but no one would say anything to the prince. Havoc was a private man, and everyone respected him too much. The commander of the prince’s bodyguards, Lieutenant Verkin, was very protective of Havoc; he would fly into a rage if anyone asked too many questions. Even Verkin’s closest friends feared he had changed much since last winter.
Dolment felt the camaraderie of the Raiders and Legionaries’. He loved their humour and their team spirit, their fortitude and their enduring loyalty to their commander. Most of all, he became firm friends with his own commanding officer, Prince Magnus, both were heirs, “Masters” of their home estates. Dolment liked Magnus’s sense of humour and in turn Magnus saw through Dolment’s innocent charm and noticed a clever and inquisitive man emerging. He became a big brother to him even though he was three years youn
ger. The Master of Ifor was also a natural Cavalry commander. Together he and Magnus incorporated battle techniques and attacks with the rest of the Legion.
The Raiders did not enter Tattoium by the Pander Pass; the prince wanted their entry into the Sky Mountains unobserved by Plysov’s soldiers. It was slow going as they climbed over the narrow passes through the Tattoium Ridge and down into the Silit Marsh on the 4th day of Jenlyn 3031 Years of Ascension.
After a long march through the mountains on the east side of the Silit they stumbled upon a roving Rogun patrol, or rather the patrol stumbled upon them. The relief on Sergeant Junkin’s face, and those of his men, when they found out that the Raiders were not the enemy, was memorable. They were enthusiastic about the prince’s return and offered to lead them straight to King Vanduke who, at this time in the year, was residing in the newly built Rouge.
Word of their arrival got ahead of them, because some of the natives of the Rouge and more Rogun patrols, greeted them as they marched up the main road. Men women and children lined the route to the castle cheering at the top of their voices, welcoming the prince and his victorious army. However, the king was not in residence. He had gone hawking (his favourite past time) with some nobles and his Aide-de-Camps.
‘Father always finds time for recreation in the middle of a war,’ said Magnus with a chuckle, ‘but he’s been a changed man after he took Aunt Vara’s potion, he hasn’t touched ale since.’
Havoc’s heart jumped at the mention of his aunt. The last time they spoke was at the funeral pyre of his sisters and Vara’s daughters. Her anger towards him had left him in no doubt that she would not have forgiven him for parading their corpses to the Rogun people before burial.
The Rouge was larger than Havoc remembered. It was even grander than Magnus’s descriptions of it. The original sandstone keep had survived the infamous “Red Roasting” and it had other brick buildings erected beside it as annexes. The construction of these buildings was so proficiently done that they looked as if they were merely an extension of the original castle. The crenulated battlements surrounded the keep and the new village. The village cottages, built from local pink granite, and roofed with golden thatch. Some, like the village school, were cob buildings built with mud and straw, which was the ancient way of making homes in the mountains, and so unique that with skilled labour huge buildings with sweeping curves and irregular shapes could be constructed quickly.
