The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (31 page)

“SinDex?” asked Powyss.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“I don’t think this sword will be called that in the future.” Powyss was looking at the sword in a strange, wide-eyed awe.

“How do you mean?”

“You said to me you had to follow a path of destiny,” said Powyss.

“That’s right.” The prince frowned.

“Well, the path that you have followed has already been foretold. You, Havoc, have taken the steps that were set in a prophecy five hundred years ago, the Prophecy of the Blacksword. What you have in your hands is the Sword that Rules.”

Part Four

The Rise

of the

Blacksword

And he lifted up the

Sword that Rules

And said...

“All hail to the Glorious Dead,

For I’ am the envoy to the Queen of the Ravens.”

Legend of the Blacksword

An excerpt from the Book of Fates

By Opeac, the historian

Chapter 23

Unravelling the Prophecy

The hall was crowded. Everyone was there, squashed together. Some stood on stools to get a better view; children sat on their parents’ shoulders; all were looking in wonder and curiosity at the sword nestling at an angle on a wire rack, which in turn, sat on a table.

There was silence all around from the dwarves as the
kerf
walked around the table looking at the sword from different angles. He would stop from time to time for a closer look and comb his fingers through his white beard. Gunach stood next to Havoc and Powyss. He would tense up when his father scrutinised the weapon, then relax as he continued his analysis.

The old dwarf put on a thick pair of leather gloves and picked up the sword. The hilt, which was two and a half hand spans long, looked like a spear handle in his small, gloved hands. The long, thin blade was as tall as he was, but he lifted it without any trouble. He looked up and down the blade on both sides, ran his finger over the surface, and then looked sharply at Gunach. He put the sword back on the rack, shaking his head. Gunach flinched. Powyss knew the master smith always received the highest praise for his skills from his father, who was a great smith himself, but something was confusing the
kerf
.

Havoc watched as the
kerf
took a cup of water and poured a small amount on the blade. It ran off quickly, dripping onto the yellow flagstones. What surprised Havoc the most about this test was the fact that
all
of the water left the blade and that it remained completely dry.

The
kerf
stood up straight and sighed. He raised his head and nodded at the crowd. To Powyss’ surprise, he spoke his language for the first time.

“This is an excellently crafted weapon,” said the
kerf
. “My compliments to the master smith.”

Gunach relaxed and gave back a slight nod to his father.

“However,” continued the
kerf
, “I know of all the elements that the earth can produce, but I don’t recognise the material that makes up this blade. I believe it is indestructible.” He indicated for Havoc to pick up the sword. “Show me what it can do.”

Havoc looked around at the assembly, who all looked back at him in anticipation. He picked up the sword and walked out of the hall. Powyss and the dwarves followed him as he walked up to a large, ten-foot-high granite boulder deposited there a thousand years ago by an ancient glacier, which had also carved out the valley of the Vale.

He paused; looking at the imposing boulder, its surface covered in lichen. He looked down at the sword, which felt good in his hands. He turned to the crowd, and saw the
kerf
nod and smile.

“Let’s see what you can do,” he whispered to the sword. He turned to the boulder, which looked as if it would remain there until the next Ice Age. He swung the sword in a diagonal arc from left to right and struck the stone.

He expected a jarring shudder to flow up his arm, but there was nothing but a slight resistance. The sword cut through the stone as if it was butter. It made a soft humming sound as it came out the other side.

The cut section of the boulder slid off the main body and onto the long grass. The cut on both halves looked smooth and clean. Havoc could see no scratch or nick on the blade; the edge was still sharp.

The assembled crowd were aghast. Powyss just stood with his mouth open. Then the
kerf
started to laugh, a course, dry chuckle, which became resounding guffaws. The rest of the dwarves followed suit, and soon Havoc stood head and shoulders above a crowd of smiling, bearded dwarves.

He returned to the hall on the shoulders of two dwarves, who, for their size, were very strong. The women folk served more food and the beer flowed into never empty tankards. It was widely known that dwarves did not need any excuse to celebrate; the fact that Havoc was their first customer in four years was enough for them. The prince felt it prudent to be careful not to drink too much of the strong beer. He left the revelry in the hall to the dwarves and sat outside on one of the benches that lined the curved wall of the building and sipped from a pewter tankard.

It was only midday and the winter cloud had covered the sky in a light white glow; he did not feel cold as he leant against the wall and looked at the blade of the sword.

“Thought up a name for the metal yet?” asked Powyss. He was only slightly drunk. He held a mug of frothy ale in one hand, and in the other, he offered Havoc a bowl of steaming hot stew.

“I was thinking of calling it
Pyromancium
,” he said, taking the stew gratefully and starting to eat.

“Sounds good,” Powyss nodded. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”

“About this…” He indicated the sword in his lap. “…Being the Blacksword of Prophecy? I have, and I still don’t believe you.”

“Well, I can prove it.” At this point, Powyss pulled out a large piece of parchment from his trouser pocket and unfolded it. “I wrote down what I could remember of the prophecy from my old school days.”

“I thought you said the prophecy was
only
five hundred years old?” asked Havoc with a smile.

“You’re not funny, young prince.” Powyss punched him playfully in the arm. “Now listen. ‘Lo, when the ruling tribes split asunder’…”
He looked at Havoc expectantly.

“That could mean the war between the Roguns and the Vallkytes, I grant you.” Havoc shrugged.

“I think it does. The next line is, ‘and the wandering prince rages forth’; that is obviously you. There are not that many princes left on the island; Soujonn is dead, and your brother is illegitimate. You have wandered from your people.”

“I was also raging a bit, I suppose.”

“No, rage means something else. Five hundred years ago, there was no such word as Pyromancer; it was always known as Rage.”

That gave Havoc pause to think. He was starting to feel that Powyss might have a point.

“‘The Blacksword shall be fashioned in the lonely pasture’.” He looked around him. “It can’t get much lonelier than the Vale.”

“Oh, come on! There must be thousands of lonely pastures dotted all over the continent,” said Havoc unconvincingly. The words of Gunach came back to him: ‘only a Pyromancer can make the sword I intend to fashion for you’.

Powyss took out a thin piece of charcoal and wrote ‘
Valesinum Lornasind’
in very neat handwriting at the top of the page.

“That is the original name for the Vale, given to it by my ancestor. The name Vale comes from the first word.
Valesinum Lornasind
is from the ancient Noric language of the Mubean Desert. It literally means the Lonely Pasture.”

“All right... Go on.”

“‘In the deep, dark forge it shall be born’.” Powyss pointed to the cliffs where the caves were. “That refers to Gunach’s forge;
‘crafted by a son of Pelnier’.”

Havoc frowned at the last part. “What is the
kerf’s
name?” he asked, and Powyss shrugged.

Mitty was a short distance from them, hanging out wet clothes on a wooden frame. Powyss asked her what the
kerf’s
name was in his broken Dwarfish.

“Herken Lornsson,” she called back.

Havoc smiled and Powyss looked disappointed.

“We’ll come back to that one later,” he said. “‘in the right it shall wrought vengeance, and in the left fear’; this part refers to the two swords of the twin dragons, Dex and Sin.”

“But Dex represents justice, not vengeance.”

“In modern times, yes, but in the old days of the
Dragor-rix War
he represented justice
through
vengeance, whereas Sin was always the dragon of fear. Listen to the rest; this will interest you: ‘the prince then rages not, his destiny looms’. It is saying you now control of your curse, and you have. It’s also saying you have a destiny, which you yourself told me you do, then it goes on to say, ‘all enemies shall be vanquished, for he has the Sword that Rules’; it’s basically saying that, with a sword that can cut through anything, a weapon of power, you will be invincible. You will defeat your enemies with the king of swords.”

“Or it may mean I become king and rule with the sword,” said Havoc, who was starting to come around to the fact that he may have the actual Blacksword in his hands.

“Could be, but what it is saying is that you will defeat everyone who stands against you.”

Havoc pondered this for a while, running his hands over the black blade. “All right, I believe you, but what about the Pelnier part? That doesn’t make sense.”

Powyss shrugged and was about to say something when a crowd of dwarves staggered out of the hall. One of them was Gunach.

“There you are, my friends.” He was a little worse for drink. “Come back in, drink and be merry.” He saw the parchment in Powyss’ hand. “Are you reading the prince poetry, Errcat?”

“It’s a prophecy about this sword.” Powyss sighed, and handed it to the dwarf.

Gunach’s big-bearded smile slowly faded from his face as he read. “How old is this prophecy?” he asked.

“About five hundred years old,” said Powyss.

“Then what it states here is all true. My peoples left our homelands about five hundred years ago to come to the island. The ancestor of all dwarves was the half-god, Pelnier, who delivered us to freedom thousands of years ago. So you see all of dwarvenkind are the children of Pelnier.”

Powyss smiled and raised his eyebrows at Havoc, who was shocked into silence.

The days that followed went by quickly and peacefully. Havoc came to have a deep affection for the Dwarves of the Vale. He loved the way they looked at him with humour in their eyes and a slight touch of awe. Their respect for him, which was already generous, now became a form of reverence as they passed him bowing and looking at the Blacksword. Clearly, they had all learnt of the prophecy.

He continued to train in the Subtle Arts. He found a way to hide himself in the open. He would use small amounts of the water element to weave himself a mist to cover his approach as he walked through it, towards Powyss, like a shadow in the fog.

Powyss found that this worked for the prince up to a point, but it also obscured Havoc’s view of his opponent.

However, he had improved at sneaking up on the older man and caught him out many times.

Powyss took the training up a level and blindfolded Havoc as they leapt around the training posts.

“Use the wind to bring sounds to you from all around; defend accordingly, but keep a mind on your footing,” said Powyss.

Havoc improved every day. It came to the point when Powyss had nothing more to teach him, so they improved on what they had already learnt.

The prince also watched the dwarves train. He was amazed at how nimble these short people were, how aggressive, powerful, and, most of all, how relentlessly durable they were in a fight. Most fought with axe and spear. They clad themselves with a lightweight and strong metal that did not dent when struck by the strongest dwarf with an axe.

He and Powyss visited the dwarf armoury, which was a huge workroom inside one of the larger caves. It was full of various pieces of war craft wear, from helmets with cheek guards to iridescent plate steel. Full body suits were on display, alongside tall shields embossed with crests and coats of arms.

In the armouries fabrics section, Havoc found a new cloak. It was jet black, waterproof, and thinly quilted. Its wide sleeves stopped just short of the elbow and the length stopped below the knee. It split at the sides so it did not impede when riding a horse. There were three silver clasps to fasten it at the front. It had a wide, deep hood that covered most of his face.

Underneath, he wore a dark red woollen shirt with the twin dragons of Sin and Dex sewn onto the front, which Mitty had made for him a few weeks ago. On his arms, he wore fingerless black gloves that went up to his elbows and had metal strips running along the forearms similar to the metal strips in his boots, which Gunach had repaired and newly shod.