The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (26 page)

“Welcome, my Lady Jynn, to…”

“Dispense with the pleasantries, Leman; where is the witness?” cut in Jynn.

Leman, taken aback for a moment, covered it well with  nod and a serious composure. “Died in the early hours of this morning, I’m afraid, My Lady.” His half smile faded when he saw the chill look she gave him.

“Take me to the body then.”

The body of foot soldier, Tarnym, was at that moment being sewn up into a linen bag by an elderly maid, while her husband dug a fresh grave in the garrison’s cemetery; in the cart beside Barnum was the sack containing the remains of the other night’s patrol.

“I hope I am not too late,” said Jynn as she nudged the old woman aside and ripped open the stitching.

The soldier’s face made Hildek flinch.

Jynn placed her thin white hands on the dead soldier’s forehead. She performed the thought link and saw only dark images of a fevered mind. The brain was too long dead to make any sense of it, but what she did get was a feeling of dread. To the commander and Hildek, her systematic search of all the severed heads was macabre.

“If I did not know better, I would say they all died of fear,” said Jynn.

The commander was startled and the captain noticed, as they shared a glance at each other.

“I have saturated the forest with patrols throughout the night, My Lady; we will find him, have no doubt,” said Leman with a lack of confidence.

“One of us will be having doubts if he is not found soon, Leman, and it will not be me, I assure you,” said Jynn in a calm, soothing voice.

The threat hung in the air for a while.

“We shall step up our efforts, My Lady.”

“See that you do.”

Hildek watched the commander leave and start shouting orders to any of his men in the general area.

Jynn Ri was looking up at the passing clouds.

“Captain, how will the
Raxion
fair in a storm?” she asked wistfully.

“She will hold her own if we face into the wind.” He frowned; he could see a look in her eyes and he knew he was not going to like her plan.

“Then I think we will flush this fiend out our own way,” she said with a cruel smile.

“I was born in the lands of Hoath,” said Powyss, “but l left there to become a Rawn at a young age. My father was the cousin to our tribal chief and the village shaman, and he wanted me to better myself and sent me to the academy. However, before my departure, he told me a secret; he took me to see the Vale.

“We had left the village of Tac-upon-Perrin in the early hours and spent the better part of four days on a trip into the Wither Mountains that sit to the north of our tribal lands. He took me through canyon and cave, through narrow crevice and summit till we could see the Fess Lake that sits at the entrance to the Vale, and I tell you, my prince, that was a sight to behold, my first view of the most beautiful and lonely area of grassland and trees in the world.

“The Vale is a large strip of flat grassland and trees that stretches for miles, and is surrounded by the mountain peaks. My father called it his ‘island in the sky’; I know how he felt. The location of the Vale was a secret was known only by the first-born of my family; an ancestor of mine discovered it by accident and passed the secret of its location to his son. Being country shamans, they believed that a place of such beauty should not be tainted by man, and left it as it was; my first thought, however, was to share it with the world, but I never did, of course. I only ever told one person.”

“My Uncle Hagan,” said Havoc.

“Yes, he knew it existed, but not where it was. It was also the ideal place to move the dwarves. I kept Hagan’s promise for him.”

“How long did it take you to move them?”

“About a month in total, and many months of planning before that; we stepped up the naval patrols around Zent and secretly shipped them off on three boots, four hundred and twenty of them, including families, all crammed in the ships for the better part of two weeks. We sailed down the Great River from the Chunla Delta and disembarked before the Pander Pass. We then took to the mountains, walking right across the spine of Tattoium; the trickiest part was crossing the Dragon Marshes, because it was slow going, but because we had word at that time that Mad-daimen was moving into the Dragorsloth from the Wildlands. We never saw a soul, though, and, once we were in the Withers, it became easier and less stressful for me.

“Once they all saw the Vale, though, it was as if the rigours of the journey never happened; they hailed me as their saviour and are constantly in my debt. I wanted nothing, though; my gift was their safety, and I had to be at my king’s side.” His eyes began to water and he looked off into the distance. “I was too late, I could not find King Hagan’s body among the many thousands of corpses, but I found a few I knew. Others I could not find. That is why I’m here; there are rumours that my comrades are still alive somewhere.”

“Ness Ri found my uncle and buried him under a cairn, on a hill, overlooking the battlefield!” explained Havoc

“Did he? I am grateful to him for that.”

“He could not find his sword and head, though,” said Havoc softly.

“Barbarians.”

Both men sat in silence for a while.

Havoc looked up to see Powyss looking straight at him.

“You must come with me to the Vale,” said the older man.

“What?” Havoc was startled.

“The dwarves owe me a great debt, and I owe you a sword; they will make one like Bor-Teaven, if not better.”

Havoc did not know what to say.

“You are also a Rawn in training; what level are you?” asked Powyss.

“Wind element,” Havoc said.

“You still need guidance through the arts; I will deem it an honour if you allow me to instruct you as your master.”

Havoc felt his heart leap. He had not prepared for this. He had so adapted to life on his own that even talking to this man seemed strange, yet liberating. He realised that Powyss was a good man made sad by similar circumstances as his own; he saw a kindred spirit in him, though, and he worried that he would discover his Pyromantic curse. The thought of a new sword and a new teacher was appealing; his lonely days were over.

“Powyss, I am the one who will deem it an honour to be your apprentice,” he finally said, and they clasped each other’s arms in a warrior’s handshake.

“So be it,” said Powyss. “We shall sneak out of the Oldwoods in the early hours of the morning, so get some sleep. Maybe on the way we will pay your Uncle Hagan a visit.”

Chapter 20

The Firelands

Powyss woke Havoc up four hours later.

“We will head south-east and avoid the patrols until we can cross the Chunla Gorge,” he said. “Incidentally, how did you get over the gorge?”

“I used the wind element to lift Dirkem over, and then I jumped it,” said Havoc, stifling a yawn.

Powyss just stared at him in wonder. Havoc realised he had said too much.

“That’s very impressive; did it not weaken you?”

“A little,” he lied.

“Maybe you have a thing or two to teach me, then.”

They walked their horses out of the thicker part of the forest so they could make good time. Dirkem was nudging the mare with his nose, and she whinnied back at him.

“She’s too old for that sort of thing, my handsome young fellow,” said Powyss. He turned to Havoc, patting the mare’s nose. “This old dame is Sarema, and we have been through a lot together.”

To the north, they could see a storm coming in fast. For now, the air was still, but thick, dark clouds showed up as swollen black bulges, then white forks of lightning flashed inside them. They moved faster, intent on finding shelter before the storm.

“This may prove to be to our advantage; the storm will hide us,” said Powyss.

After a while, they came to the gorge and started to follow its way to the east. They had not walked for twenty minutes when Powyss gasped and ushered Havoc and the horses behind a large moss covered boulder.

“What is it?” asked Havoc.

“Look for yourself; we are not alone.”

On the other side of the gorge, Havoc could see row upon row of flaming torches; they ran horizontal to the gorge as far as his eyes could see. In their flickering light, he could make out shiny glints of armour or shield behind the torches, hundreds of them.

“Nice of them to send us a welcoming party,” he smiled.

“They have gone to a lot of trouble to catch somebody, haven’t they?” Powyss looked at the younger man with suspicion.

“Well, I may have killed a few Vallkytes on the way here.”

“How many?” Now Powyss was smiling, and Havoc gave a shrug.

“I don’t know; lost count after fifteen.”

“Well, there are more than fifteen there and only two of us.” He looked at Havoc. “It’s you they’re after, isn’t it?”

“Guess so.”

“Are you the head hunter, this black-cloaked stranger?”

Havoc paused, and then nodded.

“Oh great, I’m going to die as a sidekick to an exiled Rogun prince with a decapitation fetish,” he mumbled to himself. “I thought I would go in a more dignified manner.”

Havoc laughed; a gust of wind blew around them, sending up fallen leaves; splashes of rain struck their faces.

They could see the storm had caught up with them. The moon and the stars had disappeared behind a giant wave of black clouds. Lightning forked across the sky and, a second later the thunder clashed loud and clear, deafening them and frightening the horses.

Both men calmed their mounts by linking with their minds. Powyss was more concerned with the soldiers on the other side of the gorge.

“There is something not right about all this,” he said.

Havoc agreed and saw something on the other side that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “The torches, look; they are not moving in the wind,” he pointed out.

Powyss looked and, sure enough, they were burning vertically and not flickering in the strong wind that surrounded them; even the trees over there were not moving. “There is a powerful Rawn of a Ri causing this storm. I knew that it did not look right,” he said.

“Surely a Rawn is not strong enough to do this,” shouted Havoc over the noise of the wind. “And Ris are forbidden to interfere.”

“You have much to learn, Highness; we have to chance it and keep moving.”

However, before they could, a white burst of lightning struck the ground four hundred feet from them, tearing up the earth and splintering the forest. Crimson sparks flew from tree to tree as the lightning continued its path of destruction; more bolts joined it, and a great tearing sound of trees being uprooted reached them through the storm. The wind picked up the flames and carried them onto exposed branches. The dry leaves of autumn caught fire quickly. Lightning bolts flared angrily as they strung out in one long line across the sky. They were a long still way off, yet coming closer with every second. With each bright flash, the sky showed that the storm was directly above them, and Powyss briefly recognised a large black bulk outlined in the flash.

“Sky ship,” he pointed for Havoc to see. “Whoever it is, they are trying to flush us out,” shouted Powyss over the rush of wind. “Any ideas?”

Captain Hildek gripped the rope tightly as the
Raxion
bucked and swayed in the gale. He had been through storms before, but this was not natural; its unpredictability was unnerving him.

The storm’s cyclone whipped around the ship in a deafening rush; he had given up shouting orders to his crew to secure the sails, and they would not hear him anyway. Most of his men were now in the hold or holding onto any secure rope or fixing, like himself. He yelled as a white stream of lightning curved itself, horizontally, around the bow of the ship; it lighted up everything in the darkness in a brilliant monochrome, casting shadows of the ropes and pulleys and outlining the cowering men on the deck for a split second. Nevertheless, the dark, threatening monster of the storm frightened him the most, as it showed up behind the jab of electricity. He felt its thumping pulse in his head, as if it was alive, looking at him, into him.

A livid red mark rose on his face from the heat of another bolt that came too close for comfort. This was too much and he had the safety of the crew to think about.

He turned to the Ri.

Jynn was floating ten feet above the aft castle with her arms outstretched and her head back. The storm did not touch her; her robe hung limp; the needle-sharp rain did not soak her.

Hildek could see in the flashing darkness that her long white hair was the only thing moving. It stretched and whipped about her head as vivid and alive as the storm.

The thing that made his skin crawl was her elated laughter; it chilled him to the bone.

He decided not to ask her to stop.

“We’ll lower the horses into the gorge, and then follow them,” yelled Havoc; the strikes of electricity were getting closer.

“That’s difficult and too dangerous for the horses. We will have to summon a good amount of wind to do it.” Powyss looked worried.

“There is plenty of wind around us. Do you have a better idea?”

Powyss gave no reply.

“The depth of the gorge may protect us. We have to give it a go. I will lower them, and you steady them, all right?”

Powyss agreed against his better judgement. Havoc’s fear and bitter despair at their situation was enough to charge the wind element with a small Pyromantic surge. He knew he had to be quick and lift the horses between the lightning flashes so the darkness could cover them from anyone looking from the other side of the ravine.

Fortunately, he need not have worried about the searchers on the other side. Most of Commander Leman’s men were blinded and hypnotised by the beauty of the lightning discharges and so did not see the two fugitives. Those of a more logical nature were more concerned about wearing plate steel in an electrical storm and backed away into the treeline.

Dirkem and Sarema struggled at first, but could not thrash about too much as the wind grasped them like an invisible hand. Havoc knew how much he needed to use, having already got the hang of moving Dirkem previously, although it took more concentration with both horses, even with Powyss making it easier as he used the third element to steady their descent.

They did not break their concentration, even when the crashes of lightning strikes got closer; once the horses landed in the shallow river, the two men nodded to each other and jumped into the darkness of the gorge.

“Electricity and water don’t mix; we will have to stay close to the edges of the gully,” shouted Powyss as he turned Sarema in that direction.

They trudged through the ravine for a few miles, then the cliff walls opened wider and they had room to take the dry bank. They then headed east, riding their mounts now that there were no trees to hamper them. The storm’s electrical discharges were easing and were now a fair ways behind them; even though they had not seen any strikes inside the gorge, thunder still rumbled overhead.

“Whoever was causing that storm was trying to keep it localised and wasn’t concerned about the gorge,” said Powyss. “That was very advanced summoning you did back there. Most Rawn masters would not be able to do what you just did.”

“Do you think they will figure out what we ‘just did’ and follow?” asked Havoc, subtly changing the subject.

“More than likely, they will.”

They continued through the gorge until its steep sides receded and the river came out onto a flat plane. They rested the horses and ate a light breakfast of cold pork and hard bread.

“We’ll make for the Haplann hills.” Powyss pointed into the close distance, where Havoc saw a cluster of mountains sitting on the plain. “We can rest there and cross the plain at night. Once we reach Lake Furran, we can move into the Dragon Marshes. The mist in the marshes will cover our movement.”

They reached the hills by midday and made a camp in a small cave surrounded by shrubs and trees; they saw no sign of the sky ship.