The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (36 page)

The river torrent was faster in the narrow tunnel and the rushing water took the feet from under them. Both men yelled as they sought purchase on the slimy, smooth walls. Powyss was taken away first. Havoc could just see him disappear around a dark corner. Then the freezing water sapped his strength and pulled the air from his lungs as he was also swept away.

The tunnel wound and twisted left and right, up and down. He was underwater many times. His body bruised and battered as he struck the sides. His disorientated heightened as sound and light disappeared. Time stretched as he bathed in cold, roaring darkness. There was no sense of direction in the wet numbness of the fast flowing current, he twisted and turned at maddening speeds; he felt that he was rushing through the bedrock for hours.

At times, the water would slow. He could hear Powyss calling to him from a parallel flute. Shafts of morning light from above shone through wells or natural holes in the ground. Then darkness and speeding water engulfed him again and the disorientating journey started all over. He guessed that he had travelled some distance from the mine; then, just as that thought struck him, he saw a light up ahead, and it was approaching fast. Before he knew it, he shot out of the tunnel, arms and legs falling through the air. He was aware of some light streaming in from above him, and then he landed feet first into a shallow pool of water.

Arms reached in to haul him up. He coughed and spluttered as he looked around him, body quivering from the numbing cold. Powyss was laughing and patting his back to help him breath. Little Kith held him above the waterline.

“Are you all right?” asked Powyss.

“Can we do that again, Daddy!” he joked.

“He’s fine.” The captain nodded.

Havoc looked around. They were still in the caves. Dawn’s light struck through a small hole in the ceiling. He could see that only a handful of the original prisoners were in the pool. He looked up and saw two waterfalls cascading out of separate tunnels. Somehow, only two of the four tunnels met in this pool. He looked around for Jericho, but could not see him, though he did see Velnour as he coughed up a lungful of brackish water while being patted on the back by an equally drenched slave called Ethyn.

“Another opening over here,” said the voice of Whyteman.

In the gloom, Havoc could see him standing next to an opening in the wall, about three feet above the waterline.

“Let’s use it,” said Othell.

Men ducked under one at a time. Havoc looked around to make sure everyone had gone. Then he followed the men through the opening.

“Tell me what he said, child,” said Jynn in a smooth voice. In truth, she was becoming impatient with the stupid girl’s sobbing.

“He said... He said he was... Was the Blacksword, mistress.” The young woman rubbed snot from her nose.

“Very good, my dear. Is that all?”

The girl nodded. The remaining officers of the Haplann Fort started to fidget as they stood around the Havant and Karnack’s lover.

“Take her away,” said Jynn, and a soldier escorted the girl from the group.

The captain, who had organised the search of the mines, reported to Jynn. “My Lady, it seems that they have escaped through tunnels formed by an underground river,” he said.

“Tunnels, where do the tunnels lead to, Captain?” asked Jynn.

“I’m not sure, My Lady; we were unaware that they existed.” The captain realised he had said the wrong thing. Although the Havant’s face was still, her eyes betrayed fury.

A sergeant stepped forward. “I think they lead to…”

He suddenly gasped at the sight of the captain’s body lifted into the air; wind rippling his hair and tabard. The choking, gasping sounds as his neck and windpipe crushed together by invisible hands would stay with him for life. The captain’s eyes bulged and the tongue protruded from purple lips as he died. Jynn used the third element to throw the body away in disgust. It skidded on the cobbles for six feet before it came to a halt.

“You were saying, Sergeant?” asked Jynn in a friendly tone.

“Ahh... I, ahh, believe that the tunnels run west to Lake Falryhana, My Lady. I was born there. There are many caves at the east end of the lake.”

“Very good, Sergeant,” said Jynn, smiling. “You are now promoted to captain.”

The new captain’s chest swelled in pride; he was not sure a Havant priestess had the power to grant promotion to a Vallkyte soldier, but the method of the last captain’s death dispelled any doubts he had.

“Search the mines thoroughly, Captain,” said Jynn. She turned to Hildek. “Signal to Captain Plainer on the
Jezzrion
to set sail for Falryhana and start a search. We will follow later.”

A wider tunnel and slow-running water allowed the escapees to wade out of the tunnel systems. They walked out of a huge cave mouth onto a muddy, flat shoreline, beyond which was the ocean-sized Falryhana. Those of the men who had the strength jumped for joy at the freedom they now experienced. Havoc knew they were not out of the woods yet. In fact, the woods were where they needed to be.

He called everyone to him; they all huddled together, tired, wet, cold and muddy.

“We need to get into cover. The sky ships will be here soon.”

“What sky ships?” Othell scoffed as he scowled at Havoc.

“In a word, Jynn,” said Powyss.

“Oh great, I would be safer back in the mines,” groaned Othell.

Some of the men had no idea who the Havant was. Powyss described her in a string of short, deliberate insults, which left none there in any doubt as to the diabolical nature of the antagonist in question.

“Some rescue, Captain; we escape drowning to end up gutted alive by a ruthless Ri assassin. Brilliant.” Othell shook his head.

“We have no time to argue; let’s move,” said Havoc as he walked off to drier ground.

Most of the men followed, including Powyss.

“You’re not taking orders from your own apprentice, are you?” asked Othell.

Powyss rounded on him so quickly that the man jumped in shock.

“If you want to get out of this alive, I suggest you listen to him,” said Powyss through gritted teeth.

All of the men heard this exchange and duly followed Powyss as he walked the same route as Havoc.

The sun blinked pitifully as it shone through overcast clouds; a light rain soaked the men further as they trudged waist deep through a watery reed bed that seemed to stretch forever along the east bank of the lake. Havoc could just see, in the distance, the islands of the Minchies, of which there were many, dotted in a long line on the western side. All with trees, lush vegetation and signs of life as black smoke filtered through the canopy.

They heard shouts to their right. Everyone drew weapons and crouched, ready to attack. They relaxed when Furran appeared through the reeds, smiling at them all. He was supporting a wounded Verkin; four others appeared behind them.

“Gods, I’m glad to see you lot; we got washed up a few feet away by a small waterfall. Two others did not make it,” said Furran.

“Have you seen Captain Jericho?” asked Havoc.

All of the men shook their heads.

“He took a different tunnel from us,” said Verkin. His face was pale, and his brown hair plastered to his scalp. A makeshift tourniquet dressed his wound.

Havoc counted the survivors of the flight from the mines, including himself and Powyss, who numbered thirty-three of the original hundred. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

Luckily, they had exited the tunnels at the northern edge of the lake. The reeds in the shallow water covered their movements from the ground. The timberline at the foot of the mountains to the north-west was tantalisingly close; reaching them would be a hard slog; the men were cold, wet and exhausted as it was.

After an hour of wading through filth, a loud screech from Havoc’s vicinity made everyone jump. Powyss recognised Mirryn’s call and looked at the sword’s Orrinn, but Havoc was looking up at the damp sky; he knew what she had seen.

“Has she seen the sky ships?” asked Powyss.

“Who’s she?” asked Othell, clearly as confused as everyone else.

Several silent seconds went by, and then Havoc saw the black bulk and flapping sails gliding towards them from the eastern horizon.

“The
Jezzrion
,” said Powyss.

Havoc looked about him. He snapped off a thick reed and cut off the end.

“Get under water, now!” he said. “Use the reeds to breathe though.”

They all did as he ordered. Through the murky water, Havoc could see the wide hull of the
Jezzrion
glide right over their position. He risked breaking the surface to watch her glide past, and, when she did not turn around, he moved the men quickly onwards. The rain descended in a fierce torrent to add to their misery. The men constantly looked south-west, but the sky ship was out of sight due to the grey sheets of rain that filled the sky and obscured their vision.

They came to a small fishing village. The wooden huts sat above the waterline on stilts. They sheltered under some of the huts.

After a while, Havoc and Powyss took some of the men to scavenge for food. Luckily, the rain was keeping the locals inside, and Havoc did not want anyone to see them anyway. They all returned to the main group to share their spoils. Havoc’s foragers could only find some bread that was cooling on a window ledge. Powyss had stolen a bag of beef jerky from a smoke hut and one dead chicken.

“Tell me, how we are going to cook the chicken?” asked Little Kith.

“I thought we could use hot air from your gob,” said Powyss sarcastically, we’ll cook it when we get to the woods.”

Velnour and a slave called Felcon were their saviours that day. They had found four old boats on a manmade river cut into the sea of reeds. The boats, when they saw them, were old, but at least they still floated. They were long and narrow, and could hold six or eight men at a time. Each boat covered by a waterproof canvas to hide them in the reeds and keep them dry.

“The gods are smiling upon us,” said a willowy slave called Brynd. “We will need boats to get across the Great River, which this lake flows into at its western corner.”

They moved the boats deeper into the reeds, just in case their owners came looking for them. Havoc would have liked to wait until dark before pressing on in the boats, but the urgency to get to the mountains was overpowering.

“What’s that?” asked Whyteman, pointing to the southeast.

Havoc could see brief flashes of fire falling from the sky.

“Fireballs fired from catapults on the
Jezzrion
,” informed Powyss. “They must have found someone.”

Havoc turned to Velnour, who had an amused glint in his uncovered eye. “Could it be Jericho?” Havoc asked.

“Possibly,” said Velnour. “Fireballs are really going to piss him off.”

They all laughed, but Havoc felt worried for the captain. However, the reassurance as to the whereabouts of the sky ship was evident on everyone’s faces. It was busy elsewhere, so they took the opportunity to head west.

At first, they paddled hard, using the few oars in the boats, wooden planks or even their hands. Nevertheless, fatigue caught up with them, so they took it in turns to paddle. The Hessian sheets draped over them to keep off the worst of the rain. The boats tried to keep together, but some lagged behind, until Powyss ordered them all to keep up with the slowest boat.