Free The Rawn Chronicles Book One: The Orrinn and the Blacksword: Unabridged (The Rawn Chronicles Series 1) by P.D. Ceanneir Page B

heavy jingling noise. “It’s a thousand gold sovereigns from Sir Woodel,” he said
    The king was dumfounded. The messenger obviously needed to explain. “You won the bet, Sire.”
    “The bet?” The king looked surprised.
    “Young Prince Magnus, Sire.” The messenger smiled, remembering the fight. “He beat Hectur in the third round, threw him out of the circle; you should have seen him, Sire.”
    The king smiled as understanding flooded his features. With all that was happening in the last month, he had totally forgotten about the wrestling match that he had wagered.
    “Magnus.” He roared with laughter, getting to his feet and clapping a smiling Lord Rett on the back. “Told you the boy would win, old friend, a chip off the old block.” He playfully punched a confused King Hagan in the arm. “He is just as good as you were at that age, Hagan, if not better.”
    He ordered the messenger to tell them all the fight in detail, and gave him five gold sovereigns for his trouble.
    The second messenger came later that day. He was a Vallkyte from King Kasan’s host. He informed the Rogun king that Kasan was, at that very moment, approaching on his march through the Long Valley from the east and would soon be crossing the Furran Ford by the ruined Cromme Castle into the marshes. He had received reports from Plysov that the rebels were now camped in the dry land just north of the Dragorsloth, and Rogun and Sonoran assistance was required.
    “Kasan has done his job, gentlemen,” the king said to his assembled officers the next morning. “Now it is our turn; we leave at once, and we will pick up the main force at Fort Curran. Let us go to battle.”
    This last comment met with shouts of approval.
     

     
    The four horsemen galloped through the Vallkyte lines towards the king’s marquee. Soft sunlight was trying its best to burst into life through to watery clouds, a feat that it was failing at in this early evening.
    The tallest of the horsemen was General Plysov, gaunt and tardy in his black armour. He had piercing brown eyes and a large nose, which gave rise to his nickname of the Hawk; well known among all in the king’s camp, and granted instant access through the picket lines without any need of a password.
    Two others that rode with him wore the same black armour, and in the same condition; these were his aides.
    The fourth was a huge man of about six feet tall in furs, with a shaved head a black bushy beard and a golden feather tattooed on his scalp. He had a large double-headed axe strapped to his back.
    The largest tent in this city of canvas was the king’s pavilion. White and circular, it doubled as his home from home and his battle headquarters. The two guards at the front opened the flap for the visitors. The newcomers had placed their weapons on a small cart by the tent, an act that made the tall man grumble.
    Only the general and the tall man entered; the aides tended the horses.
    “Plysov, welcome,” said King Kasan, getting up from his desk and giving the general a warrior’s handshake. There were others in the tent with them; Udren, the king’s champion, and three of his closest captains were sitting around the table pouring over maps as the visitors entered. Plysov noticed another figure sitting in a dark corner of the tent that was the king’s private bedchamber. The poor torchlight gave away some aspect of the stranger, tall and thin in a hooded dark purple cloak of the Havant Order; he could see this person was a female. She held a white staff with a serpent’s head at the top.
    Although a tough man who had seen much in battle, he could not help but give an involuntary shudder as he recognised the figure.
    The king introduced the group that was already familiar to Plysov, and then ignored the dark, hooded female. The tall, bearded man gave no such indication that the woman was there; Kasan was warmly welcoming him as he entered.
    “Mad-daimen, how goes your rest in the marshes?” asked