The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (6 page)

Havoc waited outside by one of the corridor statues when the first person to leave was Kasan, followed by Cinnibar; their voices muffled as they walked off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Hagan and his champion came next and walked in his direction; for some reason, he had the urge to hide, and snuck behind a marble statue of the sea goddess, Kwi-aqua.

“I still don’t like it, my friend,” said Hagan. “We should make our own steps and keep those we care for secure; I will leave my children here and the queen can continue to act as regent until all this settles down.”

“Overly cautious, Sire, but I will do as you say,” said the champion.

Now they were passing Havoc; he concentrated hard on the Hiding Art, something he and Magnus had been taught to do by Ness Ri. Rawns had the ability to detect creatures around them, human or animal, usually at close range. Havoc pictured himself as part of the material that made up the statue. The two men passed by him, and then stopped; Havoc held his breath. He thought they detected him.

“Move our folk of Zent, Powyss. You know where,” said Hagan.

“But Sire, you need me in this campaign,” said the champion, obviously flustered. “It will take time to do it in secret; the distance is too long…”

The king had held up a hand to stop him. “There is no one else I would rather trust in this task; don’t just do it for your king, but do it for your friend.” After a considered pause, the champion nodded and the two men moved on, their voices became distant and indistinct.

Confused by the conversation, Havoc was about to walk out from the statue when he heard his father’s voice. “…Be busy making preparations; it will take my mind off things. Are you sure about Ciriana’s opinions? She has never been very forthcoming in the past. Can you trust her, Consul?”

“I trust her with my life, Sire, and I would value her opinion above all others. As a prophet, she is never wrong,” said Ness Ri.

“Well, that’s true; we will just have to go with the information we have. I have already tasked Lord Rett with organising the Carras Knights. He will leave a skeleton crew to guard the city. Are you coming to the banquet?”

“Later, Sire, I have something to attend to first.”

Havoc heard his father’s long strides echo down the corridor. There was a quiet pause, then, after a while, he heard Ness say, “You can come out now, Prince Havoc.”

The game was up; he knew better than to hide from a Ri, so he ambled out from behind the statue, but prideful of his status, he kept his head high. “Master,” he said.

“You are becoming quite adept at that. I have only just detected you. Now what did you overhear?”

Havoc new better than to lie, “Oh, not much, just about Lord Rett and the Carras Knights… and someone called Ciriana... Who is she, master?”

“A famous prophet and an old friend of mine; what else did you overhear?”

Havoc decided that Hagan’s conversation with his champion was not worth mentioning. It sounded private, and his love for his uncle made him keep the secret; besides, he did not know what the conversation was about and was not a tattletale, so he shrugged and shook his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Ness with a severe expression on his face.

“Yes, master.”

“Very well, off you go.” Then, as an afterthought, Lord Ness turned to him again. “I must remind the steward to seal up my old spy-hole grill in the second floor broom cupboard.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You never know whose listening.” Then he walked off to the banqueting hall, leaving Havoc open mouthed.

Chapter 4

Battle March

The swordsmanship training grounds sat next to the city garrison to the south of the palace. It consisted of five long, narrow sand runs about fifty feet long and ten feet wide, where all of the Rawn apprentices would practice sword, archery, spear and lance.

Today, two days on from the war council, the grounds were all but deserted, and those who had come to practice in the late evening were now packing up to leave.

Havoc and Magnus preferred the peace and quiet, and continued sparring after all of the others had left. Leaping around attacking and defending in various styles, they were bare-chested and covered in sweat. Their breath came hard as they prowled around each other, looking for any sign that would give away the other’s next move.

They were not, however, alone. Mia, Eleana, Tilly and Letti had all came down to watch the older boys spar. Just seeing the muscled, half-naked bodies drenched in sweat was enough to make their eyes stand out on stalks.

As the other handsome youngsters left the training ground, they decided to watch the princes’ practice in their own sand run. There was nothing voyeuristic in the decision. Mia and her cousins found the display of sword clash and body movement hypnotic. As they arrived, Magnus was fighting with an ash staff, a weapon he was very good with as well as a sword. While Havoc fought with two wooden training swords at which, being ambidextrous, he had no equal. Even Lord Rett found it hard to keep up with his skill at dual weapon swordsmanship.

For their part, the boys ignored the girls; their concentration was on each other. Both boys were all cuts and bruises, but both refused to heal themselves, agreeing at the start of most bouts that the mending of their bodies caused them to get weaker, and stamina and endurance was the key to winning these sparring sessions.

To the girls, both looked so different in their physical appearance, and their style varied because of this. Magnus, short and stocky, with a good amount of muscle mass, was a fearsome fighter; what he lacked in stamina, he made up for in brute strength. Havoc, tall, lithe and athletic, did not have an ounce of fat on him. His wiry frame showed well-toned muscles for one so young and he was very light on his feet and fast with it.

The girls watched as Havoc lay a devastating attack on Magnus, and forced his opponent back, but Magnus changed his stance and shifted his balance to whirl around Havoc and try to club him in the midriff, but Havoc saw the attack and knocked it away. The problem was that the two princes seemed to know each other’s techniques from sparring together for so long. However, Magnus knew from experience never to underestimate his brother as Havoc caught one end of the staff in between the swords and spun around to heal kick him in the head in a move his brother had never done before. The girls cheered, yet Magnus recovered and attacked again.

One of the girls groaned – Havoc thought it was Tilly – he heard her say, “What are
they
doing here?”

Havoc held up his hand to Magnus to signal a halt to the spar and turned to look in the same direction as the girls.

At the entrance to the grounds strode in four older boys in Vallkyte tabards; three were tall, dark, and slim; the other was Soujonn, so rotund that he was almost bursting out of his clothes. Havoc wondered why they were here. The grounds were mainly for student use, although it was an unofficial rule. No Vallkyte had ventured in here, since most of them were camped outside the city gates. Only the royal party from both delegations were staying in the many plush rooms in the palace. Soujonn was a novice knight, so he and his group had no right to be here.

Soujonn noticed Havoc and said something to his friends, who all started to laugh. His cousin was grinning as he walked up to the little group.

“Look at the little children fighting with wooden swords,” he said in a childlike voice, “afraid of losing an eye?”

His friends laughed and nudged each other, eyeing up the girls.

“What do you want, Soujonn?” asked Magnus.

“Nothing from you whelp,” Soujonn growled.

Soujonn cut an imposing figure; people would think twice about making him angry, but Magnus was always one never to show fear and walked towards him, his face red and furious. Havoc put out his arm and barred his way, shaking his head at him slightly.

“Yeah, that’s it, little pup, stay there if you value your life.”

There was general merriment from all the older boys. Some kicked sand at each other and made comments about the girls, who seemed to be stunned into silence by the close proximity of the lust-filled teenage boys.

“Not much meat on you, is there?” Soujonn asked Havoc, eyeing him with a look of distaste.

“Only where it counts,” said Havoc.

This got a laugh from Magnus and the girls.

“Oh, and which one can attest to that, then?” asked one of the boys; he had a fluffy goatee that did not suit him. “My money’s on one of the red heads.” He gave a pig-like laugh.

“They are princesses of the Third House of Cromme. They are descended from the oldest of the Eldi and they demand your respect!” This from Havoc with such angry severity that all the boys seemed surprised, even Soujonn was taken aback. Havoc could feel a curious heat build up in his body, probably, he thought, from the anger he felt, and he forced himself to quell it.

They were all silently looking at Havoc, who now seemed strangely composed; he had wracked his brains to try to find a peaceful solution to any mounting conflicted with his bullying cousin, but as he looked into his face, he realised that there was only hate and jealousy there.

“We have not finished our sparing session,” he said, “so we may as well finish on you. You can blame your friend for his insult; now grab a weapon!” He said this last calmly and with a petulant flick of his wrist, and then turned his back on them to face Magnus, who was looking at him wide eyed.

“Are you mad?” he whispered.

Behind him, Soujonn grunted, “Time to teach a Rogun a lesson, boys... Ahh, the swords will be metal, of course?”

Havoc and Magnus were too young to be using real weapons, but Havoc turned around to him and grunted his agreement. The girls’ sharp indrawn breaths were clearly audible.

Not allowed to carry their own weapons into the city, the older boys chose from the sword rack next to the sand run. Most of them were blunt, heavy and poorly balanced, but there was no complaint from them as they limbered up.

Havoc chose a sword and Magnus stuck with tradition and kept his staff; he figured that working together he could fend them off while Havoc attached.

Soujonn took the lead and advanced on Havoc; the other boys rounded on Magnus. Soujonn’s plan was to separate them and deal with them individually.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said as he attacked with several ferocious blows of such strength that it forced Havoc back to the rear of the sand run.

The prince studied Soujonn’s style, or lack of, as was the case; although a fearsome fighter and in possession of some skill, he nevertheless would make an adequate knight where the combination of anger and strength was required to beat down one’s opponent. Havoc watched the wrist movement and the feet, judging when the next move would come and defending accordingly.

He was nearing the end of the sand run when he made his move, changing hands from right to left and leaving himself open. Soujonn saw his opportunity and swung his sword in an arc at Havoc’s side. Havoc stepped into the attacking swing and kneed him in the stomach; as Soujonn doubled up, Havoc rammed the pommel of his sword into the nape of his neck.

Eleana cheered and clapped, while the others just looked on in amazement. Soujonn’s powers of recuperation were amazing; he gave Eleana a withering look and attacked Havoc again, screaming in rage, but this time, in his anger and humiliation, he overreached so that Havoc was able to sidestep him and swing his sword into his cousin’s side. The training blades were blunt, or the damage would be more severe for Soujonn; he fell onto his knees and clutched his ribs; one was probably broken and he would have a nasty bruise in the morning if he did not heal himself.

Havoc turned and ran to help Magnus. His brother was fending off the others well, swinging his staff from side to side. One boy in the group had stepped too close at one point, because he had a grazed cheek that looked swollen and red.

Havoc saw Magnus run at one of them who seemed more concerned about the fallen Soujonn; using his staff like a lance, he rammed it into the other boy’s belly so hard that he lifted off his feet and landed outside the sand run.

Havoc, without losing his stride, picked up the downed boys fallen sword in his left hand and attacked the other two, pushing them back. Magnus clubbed the downed boy twice on the head for good measure, assured himself that he knocked him senseless, then turned and hurled his staff with deadly accurate precision. It struck the red-cheeked boy on the forehead, making a dull bonging sound, and the staff wobbled off into the air. After the impact, the boy collapsed to the ground clutching his head.

Havoc’s odds were now better and his opponent, the one with the goatee, who tried to defend himself from Havoc’s two swords. However, they were moving too quickly for him and the young prince trapped goatee’s sword between both of his own and flicked it away; he spun on his heel and kicked him in the side of the head with such force that goatee twisted full circle before falling to the ground.

Soujonn, his face a mask of pain, ran at them. He headed for Magnus, because he was unarmed and easier to deal with, but a loud voice stopped him.

“
That is enough
!”

At the entrance to the training ground stood Lord Rett in half armour with his sword, Selnour, meaning Death Shroud, strapped to his back. He also wore an angry frown.

He marched straight towards them and unsheathed Selnour.

“Ohh... we are in the shit now!” mumbled Magnus.

To everyone’s surprise, the Red Duke totally ignored Soujonn and his friends, stomped past them and came to a halt in front of Havoc, still frozen in a defensive pose against Soujonn’s attack, and he relaxed the stance as he saw the duke’s dark-eyed frown.

“Well, young prince, do you want to take on a
real
warrior instead?” he asked, Selnour hanging by his side.

Magnus and the girls tried not to laugh. Lord Rett, with that withering statement, not only accepted Havoc as a worthy opponent, but also insulted the four Vallkyte boys into an embarrassing silence.

“No master, not until I have learnt all that you can teach me,” said Havoc, with a serious look on his face.

“Then ground your weapons,” said the champion, and Havoc rammed both of his swords into the sand.

Rett turned towards Soujonn. “Are you still here?”

Soujonn’s face went red, he was about to say something and then thought better of it; everyone in the land had heard of the Red Duke’s prowess with a blade.

“Pick up your filth and get off my training ground; don’t come back until you have learnt how to fight!”

The Vallkytes teenagers either carried each other or limped out of the grounds.

Lord Rett looked at the girls, whose smiles slowly faded. He indicated the entrance with a thumb over his shoulder and simply said ‘out!’ in a loud, no-nonsense voice; the girls knew they had outstayed their welcome, and left rather quickly.

“You left yourself open too many times,” Lord Rett said to Havoc. He rounded on Magnus. “And you should never leave yourself unarmed at any point in a fight.”

“You were watching?” asked Magnus incredulously.

“Of course, I saw them come in. Now get my training ground tided up.”

The princes looked at each other and shrugged as the duke stomped off.

Then their training master stopped halfway to the entrance and turned; the smile he wore lightened his handsome, dark features. “Ohh... And lads, that was very nicely done.”

Havoc and Magnus beamed at him, and then set to work tidying the sand lane.