The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) (38 page)

No one on board the
Jezzrion
could miss the fireball that fast approached them; even if they could not see it, they would be able to hear the high-pitched whistling as the orb scorched the air around it.

A young crewmember on top of the forecastle saw it first. “Incoming!” he shouted.

Plainer, the Jezzrion’s captain, thin and bowed, with a hooked nose and long, straggly hair, rushed to the port side. The sound of the fireball was ringing in his ears as it burnt the air in front of it. He took one glance at it and turned to the helmsman in panic. “Starboard, steer to starboard, man!” he screamed.

It was not the Blacksword’s intention to destroy the ship, but to attract the crew’s attention to his whereabouts. The missile would not go unnoticed by the crew of the
Raxion
, either. He needed to draw them away from the fugitives’ position.

However, the ball of shimmering flame struck the lower port side of the aft castle. It ploughed through the bottom bunkrooms and disintegrated the starboard storerooms when it exited the ship.

If anyone could look through the portside hole, they would see the fireball had carved out a tunnel the size of a man’s head; the tunnel’s walls were either smoking or on fire. The starboard side was now a gaping hole.

The captain and crew gripped the nearest firm object before impact, but there was barely a tremor. The young sailor who had first saw the fireball also notice in which direction it had come from. The captain issued a new course change and for someone to assess the damage.

Powyss had been watching the movement of the sky ships as they came closer and closer. He could feel the tension from the men around him.

Everyone gasped as the white ball of flame with a trailing vapour tail struck the
Jezzrion
.

A shiver ran down his spine. He was the oldest amongst the men and the only one experienced enough to recognise a Pyromancer fireball when he saw one.

The crew of the
Raxion
noticed the fireball. It had passed very quickly in an upward trajectory across their bows, and did not look like it was going to stop anytime soon.

Jynn caught a fleeting glimpse of it before the clouds swallowed it up. She had an instinctual feeling of uncertainty at the object’s identity. She ran to Hildek’s side and snatched the telescope he was using out of his hands. She got a close-up view of the
Jezzrion’s
damaged starboard side before the ship turned to port, heading for the mountains. Debris of burning wood and inventory from the storeroom trickled out of the hole as she turned.

Jynn then scanned the mountains for the source of the fireball. It took her several seconds to find the tall, thin, black-cloaked figure standing in full view high on a ledge.

Her heart leapt at seeing the Blacksword in the flesh at last. All the images of him in other people’s minds were no substitute for the real thing.

“Hard to starboard, Captain, follow the Jezzrion,” she said.

When both ships turned in the same course direction, Powyss knew that the young fool, Havoc, had achieved his plan. “May the gods go with you, boy,” he whispered to himself. “Right, men it’s now or never, let’s go.”

He led the men running over the Peril Bridge.

With the first task accomplished, the Blacksword ran. His heart beat in time with his strides, a booming tattoo, ticking countdown to salvation or oblivion. He was no longer the exiled prince; he was a being of power, a free spirit, exempt from obligation and rules. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel the spiritual essence that was Prince Havoc receding into dark recesses of the minds void; forced to slumber, while allowing this new entity to control his body. He knew the source for this phenomenon.

The Sword that Rules.

He easily leapt a twelve-foot-wide gully, and then turned in another direction parallel to the rock face. He used natural narrow paths and footholds as he climbed upwards. His concentration was on the task before him; he willed his stamina never to flag; the muscles in his legs pushed him ever onwards and there were moments when he exceeded human abilities. Energy fed his muscles, Rage focused the energy and the danger around him focused his mind.

The
Jezzrion
was closing. Captain Plainer had ordered the helmsman to go higher so he could bring the catapults to bear on the target.

The ship’s catapults were, in essence, larger versions of the Golas. A spoke wheel wound up the spring, tightening the bow’s cable. In the centre of the wire was an angled cup that held the projectile, which was a small sphere made from thin, brittle iron, with holes all around its surface; inside the ball was flammable material that burnt bright and hot.

Once in range, the captain gave to order to fire.

The
Jezzrion
turned to starboard and then she opened fire on the Blacksword. Five flaming missiles shot out of iron portholes on the lower port side with an echoing boom. They screamed through the air and exploded when they hit the rocks. Shrapnel whizzed around the Blacksword as he ran, and he leapt high into the air when the missiles ranged too close. He heard a fragment rush by his ear.

“What is that fool doing?” cried Jynn as she saw the firebombs burst around their target. “Does he not realise he is dealing with a powerful Rawn?”

“Ma’am, I don’t think Plainer gives a shit,” said Hildek.

“That’s for damaging my ship, you bastard,” shouted Captain Plainer. “Load again; fire at will.”