The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (34 page)

The Blacksword gently laid the dead guard on the ground to lessen any noise made by his fall, then opened the door to the commander’s quarters.

“Three of you! That’s insane; we’re outnumbered as it is,” said Furran as he handed out spears and swords to the prisoners. “Look around you, Captain; the men are all weak from the lack of food; they don’t have a fight in them.”

“Stay if you want, Furran,” said Little Kith, who was frowning at Powyss’ silence.

“That’s not what I meant, you big oaf. It’s just…”

“Shut up, both of you,” said Othell, who turned to Powyss. “What was your plan?”

“Sneak out the gate and hide in the Oldwoods,” said the captain, stroking his beard and staring off into the distance.

“Of course, we will have to get past the wall guards,” said the swarthy Verkin, shaking his mane of dark hair.

“Trust me,” said Powyss. “They’re dead already.”

The bottom section to the commander’s quarters was full of tables and chairs for the officers’ mess; the upper area was the bedchamber. The Blacksword quietly opened the double doors and stepped into a large bedroom. A fireplace with dying embers on his left; chairs with soft coverings arranged in a semi-circle several feet from the hearth. Through a thin curtained archway, he saw a large four-poster bed. Sitting up in the bed was a young, naked girl looking straight at him in fear.

The Blacksword felt a slight twinge of apprehension. This feeling heightened when he felt the sharp point of a sword against his back.

“Do you think I’ am a fool, assassin?” asked a man’s rich, deep voice behind him. “Who are you?”

The girl could not see the face under the darkness of the hood, so she gave no reaction when he winked at her.

“I am the Blacksword,” was the harsh whisper, and the girl gave an involuntary scream as the cloaked figure spun quickly and knocked Commander Karnack’s sword to one side.

Karnack, a big, square-jawed warrior with close-cropped brown hair, quickly recovered and fought back with stinging heavy blows. The Blacksword took the punishment, then saw the opening in the commander’s defence and swung the tip of SinDex over Karnack’s thigh, cutting him deeply and maiming him.

The commander backed off; he took the pause in the fight to heal his wound and threw a bright orange fireball at his assailant. The fire struck the black-blade and nonchalantly deflected to the other man’s right. It struck the bed’s canopy, setting it alight. The girl screamed and ran from the flames, careful to avoid the swinging swords. The last image that the Blacksword had of the girl was of her naked buttocks and flailing arms as she ran out of the door.

So much for the element of surprise
, he thought. He hoped that Powyss had freed the prisoners.

The fire spread as the men fought. The Blacksword deliberately put himself between the fire and the exit. The commander fought well. By the growing light of the fire, he could see the Rawn had many healed scars on his half-naked body.

Flames spread from the bed to the roof and its rafters; the walls burnt next as the hungry fire consumed any flammable material it came across. Smoke, black and thick, snaked around the combatants, and the part of the Blacksword’s mind that still belonged to Havoc remembered a day, many years ago, when he had fought an imaginary fire-plagued fight with Magnus in the palace library.

However, this was real; there was only going to be one survivor in this battle.

Karnack’s sword swung close to his opponent, but missed by an inch; the Blacksword took the opportunity to step into the commander’s defence and brought SinDex up in a diagonal arc, which sliced the man’s torso from gut to chest.

Karnack stumbled back one more time. His opponent did not allow him to heal. With a wave of his hand, a strong gust of wind slammed into the commander’s chest, sending him out through a fire-weakened wall and plunging towards the ground.

The Blacksword followed, landing lightly on his feet just after Karnack struck the cobbled ground.

The screaming girl had raised the alarm; dozens of half-clothed soldiers were running from their quarters to the fire. Most stopped when they saw a black-cloaked man silhouetted by the flames.

The commander stood up; his face betrayed his pain. He was holding in his guts and pinching his skin at his chest, trying to nit the flesh together.

“Kill him…” he said, but never finished the sentence.

The Blacksword took his head clean off with one sweep of his sword.

There was a commotion up at the entrance, Powyss and the others ran up to see what it was.

Flames from the commander’s quarters reached high into the sky. Soldiers were running from the brick building, their attention was not on the fire, but on something in the courtyard. From the angle of the entrance and the milling bodies of Vallkytes, he could not see what it was, but he could guess

Mirryn chirped in the Orrinn. The Blacksword took a quick glance at it, and cursed his ill luck at what he saw. Two sky ships silhouetted against the dawn sky. They were close. Escape by the fort gates was too risky now. The prisoners would be too exposed out in the open.

Vallkytes circled the Blacksword, shields and spears at the ready.

The long black blade lifted for all to see.

“Have you come to join the head harvest?” whispered the intruder.

The soldiers stared in astonishment as the sword split into two.

“What in the name of Arcun is going on?” asked Othell.

The prisoners could see a fight had broken out within the small circle of Vallkytes, but they were losing. Bodies, headless or dismembered, flew into the air by some unseen force. At least a dozen men reeled after a strong gust of wind stuck them violently and sent into the burning building.

Powyss unsheathed Bor-Teaven and ran into the attack. There was only a second of hesitation from Othell and the other freed prisoners; they all ran forward behind the captain.

The Blacksword, with Sin and Dex in left and right hands respectively, sliced through a line of enemy soldiers and was close to the stables when the prisoners struck. The effect of the attack dispersed the Vallkytes, but more were running out of their quarters, this time in half armour. The Blacksword took the opportunity to run into the stables and change back into Havoc.

Powyss was looking around for Havoc as he struck down two men. He heard him whistle behind him and looked around.

“Jynn and the sky ships will be here any second,” he shouted to him. “Get back to the mines.”

Powyss took a millisecond to assess the news, and then shouted to Othell and the others to retreat to the entrance. He heard Othell shout out the same orders and to pick up the fallen weapons of their comrades. Powyss looked about him as he ran. He counted about twenty dead prisoners.

“What about Karnack?” he asked Havoc as he caught up with him.

“Dead,” he said, looking about him as he took in the situation. His face was pale and concerned. He looked worried and Powyss knew something bothered him. The boy was patting his chest and arms in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Powyss asked.

The prince shook his head, “It does not matter. You’ll think I was going mad.”

“No. Tell me.”

He hesitated for a moment, “when I take on the persona of the Blacksword, its…it’s like I’m someone else watching from being his eyes. I feel confident, focused and invincible. It’s the strangest feeling.”

Powyss nodded slowly and rubbed his chin. He glanced at the entrance where the freed slaves now mingled around at the entrance; most, he saw, were armed. The steel glinted in the firelight beyond.

“Do you always have to burn things down?” Powyss asked the prince, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject, but a figure appeared beside them before the prince could answer.

“Who’s this?” cut in Othell as he, Furran and Little Kith arrived with the survivors and wounded, one of which was Verkin, who had a nasty gash on his left arm.

“My apprentice, Havoc,” said Powyss.

He, in turn, introduced Havoc to his old friends. If the younger man was surprised at the size of Kith, he did not show it.

“Is there a back way out of the mines?” asked Havoc.

“The tunnels are a network of dead ends,” said Furran, “but wait a minute.” Furran shouted into the tunnel, “Whyteman! Is Whyteman of the Falesti there?” he asked, and a few seconds later, there was a reply.