Devil's Dominion (The Anarian Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Trolly

  *

  It was two days later, the eve of the Silver Moon and the Morschen New Year, when Edya first left her tent, watched closely by El Darnen and various healers. The first thing that she did was demand to see Daliana.

  Daliana was reading a copy of the Croba Harnesh Qrua that she’d requested sent to her. She looked up over the pages as she heard the Drog woman’s unsteady movements. “Edya! You’re finally awake.” She patted the ground beside her, waiting for Edya to sit.

  “Yes, and according to the healers, I’m still not allowed to do almost anything.”

  “And what do you say?”

  “Where is my sword?”

  Daliana cocked her head as though that would help her hear Edya better. “Why?”

  “Because, whether or not you bear the name publically, you are a Garrenin. If Taren returns, as Makret seems to believe that he will, it will be on my head if I have not made you into an arms master by then.”

  “Edya, I don’t have the time. With you recovered, El Darnen and I are leaving for the Garuthen Mountains.”

  “When?” The question was more of a growl than anything else.

  “Not for two days. I want to be in Dothoro for the Silver Moon, and after the Silver Moon …”

  “Is the Red Dawn and then the Black Night.” Edya leaned back against the log she was sitting in front of. “Two days will give me time to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?”

  “You think that I’m going to sit here and let you run off with El Darnen? I’ve had enough of this forest to last me two lifetimes. I need to see the blue sky again, from somewhere far beyond this leafy land of yours. I would prefer the shore, or a ship, but the mountains are as good as anything. Two days isn’t a long time, but it should be enough to make these bloody healers believe I’m not pushing myself to recover too fast. Especially since I’ve been in bed for what? Two weeks?”

  Daliana tried to hold a storm of emotions in check. On one hand, she wanted Edya to come with her, if only to provide some relief from El Darnen’s grumpy and silent nature. On the other, Edya was the only skilled commander that she had, with Ranny in the Garuthen Mountains and Erygan far to the north. She needed Edya to be where there was an army to command in case the Deshika came back. “I need you to stay here, Edya. You are in charge. If the Deshika return … I need you to be here.”

  “The same way that I was left in charge when you needed your trees so desperately? No. You owe me this, Daliana.”

  “If the Deshika …”

  “If the Deshika were coming back, they wouldn’t have left in the first place. Something tells me that Makret will not be leading any other attacks on the forest. I am going with you, Daliana. Let others hold this country.”

  It did not help Daliana when Gelinia asked for her either. Daliana was surprised that the healer allowed Gelinia to come out to the fire though, but as the healer put it, “She survived this long without proper rest. She’ll probably last one more night.”

  The first thing Gelinia said made it sound like it was not the first conversation that she had had that day. “Let Edya go with you, Daliana.”

  “I can’t afford to leave Dothoro without a skilled commander.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, Daken, Aleishi, and I are all still here. And Xari is somewhere.”

  “You’re injured, and Daken is not what I would consider a competent commander.”

  “He is a Morschcoda. He can lead and he can fight. What more do you need? And besides, you said nothing against Aleishi.”

  “I don’t know if I can trust her.”

  “You have to trust somebody Daliana. You can’t fight this war on your own.”

  Daliana nodded in agreement, though she did not mean that she would trust Aleishi. “The only other tried commander that I have is Ranny, and she is far away. Actually, it surprised me when I found out that she was so skilled at command.”

  “Really? It doesn’t surprise me.”

  Daliana looked hard at the injured woman that she thought El Darnen might have implied was one of the Seven Devils. She could not see it in her though. ‘No,’ thought Daliana ‘there is no darkness in her. She is one of us.’ Reassured, Daliana asked her why it was not so surprising.

  “That requires a rather long answer.” Daliana tried to get more comfortable on her log. “After El Bendro Dakoia, Drogoda was the only country whose army was still … alive. So, they decided to start wiggling around, slowly expanding, pushing into the uninhabited lands around them. Eschcota and Meclarya made a show of force at their borders, nothing that would invite an attack, but not too small either. Armanda took it as a personal insult, and forced the Drogs into a battle that neither really wanted. So, when Flame Weavers began showing up in force every time the Drogs tried to expand southward, Drogoda looked the other way. For a time. It may not be pleasant to know, but that is why a large part of your forest is in Edya’s lands.”

  Daliana laughed at that. “We gave them that land. They needed timbre for ships, and those trees, at the edge of the forest, they were young and far beyond the centre of our influence.”

  Gelinia rolled her eyes. “We are under those trees now, Daliana, legally on Drogodan land. But, if it helps your ego to think that, by all means, do so.”

  “You can’t expect me to believe that Dothoro wouldn’t put up a fight otherwise.”

  “I can expect you to, but I don’t. Dothoro was once very different. Even if they’d had the army to fight back, after El Bendro Dakoia, your people were pacifists. They refused to march to war, even to defend their own land. They changed their minds quickly though. And there was Garrenin blood in the Danalath line. That was all millennia later though. Not relevant at the moment.” Gelinia gave a little half laugh. “You weren’t the only ones who just rolled over. Half of what is now Western Drogoda used to be part of Storinea. Drogoda marched west, trying to get around Armanda’s fortifications on the border. It ended badly, especially for the Storineans. Drogoda kept pushing. Armanda kept pushing right back. Finally, Drogoda decided to try and outguess Armanda, and the Garrenins started pushing east, through Caladea.” Gelinia stopped and shifted her position, so that she was no longer looking right at Daliana. Staring into the dwindling fire, she continued. “It worked for a bit too. But then it was just more of the same. Both borders expanding eastward, taking a massive bite out of Caladea with the little yellow sun caught in the middle. Only, the Caladeans got mad. The decided that they were not going to stand by and let what was happening continue. They started pushing right back at both of them. It caught Armanda and Drogoda by surprise. And it brought them both to their senses. Armanda surrendered some of the land that they took, maybe about half of it. Drogoda decided that it had earned what it claimed. Maybe the Garrenins did, but either way, they were in no condition to fight for it, even if they had been challenged. The first of the Garrenin Wars had broken out. Carva saw her chance with most of Miashny’s armies still close to all of the expanding borders. After Miashny won the war, no one was willing to challenge Drogoda for a long time, and then only if Drogoda was the invader. Either way, Caladea was the only country that ever really stood up to Drogoda and Armanda together. Since then, the Caladean Morschcoda has always been given training in military strategy and command.”

  Daliana absorbed the rather long answer silently. Gelinia pushed the ends of some of the longer sticks back into the fire.

  Landfall

  “Grathen Harbour in sight, Captain.”

  Elgred Varga wandered up to the bow to stare at the low coast and the city rising out of it. “Aye, and we be two days behind schedule. Those bloody Drogs. These are nay their waters anymore. They have no right to be searching our ships as they please.”

  “They were looking for a criminal, they said.”

  “They were looking for the boy. Did they find ‘im?”

  “No sir.”

  “Where did he stash ‘imself, I wonder. Carde’s men are nothing if not relentless. I reck
on they would ‘ave torn the Rider apart if they ‘ad been alone.”

  “He cut one of the boats loose, and hid himself in one of the tobacco bundles.”

  “Resourceful lad, then. Good. Maybe I should offer to keep ‘im on.”

  “I don’t think he would take it sir.”

  “Maybe not, maybe not.” Just then, the boy walked up. “Well, lad, Grathen Harbour, as promised. I do nay suppose I could convince ye to stay on, could I? After all, because of ye, I need to buy a new longboat.”

  “No sir. I need to be going as soon as I can. I thank you for not betraying me.”

  “Why did they want ye so bad?”

  “I honestly have no idea sir.”

  Varga looked at the boy with a calculating stare. “I think ye do, but I ‘ave no more business with them or ye, so fair weather to ye lad.”

  “And to you, sir.”

  As the lad was walking down the main street of Grathen Harbour, doors started slamming shut. People who passed him in the street stared at him in wonder as they walked by, and then made the sign of the circle as soon as they were past as they stepped into doors that were locked behind them. He stopped in the middle of the street, looking for anyone to explain what was going on, but no one would get within ten feet of him. ‘Do these people already know what I plan to do? But they can’t.’ His thoughts followed this line until one old sailor stopped right in front of him. The man was old, with a thick grey beard and long scraggly grey hair. He used a cane to walk, but he still looked strong and confident of his legs. The boy wondered what the old man wanted, but found out as the cane jabbed him hard in the stomach.

  “Well, whatever other strange things are happening these days, you’re not one of them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you were dead. Everyone heard you were dead.” The old man shook his head and pulled out a flask. “You should give an old man some warning before you go turning up after being dead for two years, Reg.”

  “I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

  “You hear that, everybody? Reg thinks we have no idea who he is. But he’s flesh and blood. I made sure of that. You can all come out now.” Slowly, doors all along the main street opened up as curious people poked their heads out. Suddenly, they slammed shut again. Loud horns were blown, badly to the boy’s ear, north of the town, but they were coming closer. “Someone, get him inside. Can’t let him be caught out here by Deshik scum. They still remember Reg, I don’t doubt.”

  A lady that the boy could tell was from his own islands ran out and pulled him into a tavern called the Mermaid’s Rock. “Now, you go into the back, past the bar. If they search here, which I doubt they will, they won’t look back there.”

  “Why are you hiding me?”

  “If the Deshika find you, you won’t live out the day.”

  “Who do you think I am?”

  “You’re Regath Encarthian, or the image of him. And they have hanged men for less. Now, into the back, quickly. Beinra, show him the way. Don’t stay with him. If they don’t see you working, they’ll know something’s wrong. Hurry.”

  The barmaid pushed him along in front of her, telling him to keep moving. Finally, they reached the very back of the tavern and she opened a small trapdoor.

  “You have to go down there. I need to put a barrel on top so that the door is hidden. Don’t make any noise, or they will find you.”

  “Wait. Before you go, do you really believe that I am who they say I am.”

  “The old man who poked you with his stick, he was once a Mordak Rider. He served with Regath Encarthian at Emin-Tal. He would know if that was you.”

  “I’m not Regath Encarthian.”

  This took the girl by surprise. “Then why are you hiding?”

  “Because everyone seems to think that I am him.”

  “Then stay hidden, because the Deshika keep coming back, always looking for Regath Encarthian. No one knew why, until today. Now, get down there. I think I hear something.”

  Four Deshika broke through the back door. An Armandan man walked in behind them. “You did.” He smiled at the girl, then slapped her hard, the ruby of his Ring cutting deeply into her cheek. He pointed at Regath, still standing in the hole.

  Two of the Deshika grabbed Regath and pulled him out. They pushed him through the tavern. Another grabbed Beinra and dragged her along. Outside, the Armandan in charge yelled to has commander. “Sir, we found him.”

  A tall man dismounted from a black horse and walked over. His knee-high boots were polished to perfection, and his black armour shone like a mirror in the morning sun. He was clean shaven and pale skinned, making his black hair and attire look even darker. Regath Encarthian the Second had never seen one of the Seven Devils before, but despite that, he knew that that was what he looked on. When he spoke, the voice of Vorteez was deep and rich and powerful, a born speaker. He sounded like he was standing in a great hall, addressing lords of equal stature, not in a street of mud and dirt speaking to a prisoner. “So, Regath Encarthian, you did indeed survive. How, after my lord crushed you, I am not sure, but I will find out. You will not survive me, I assure you.” He walked over to the Deshika who held Beinra. He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. He caressed the cut on her cheek with his thumb, gentle and soft, drying the small trail of blood with a muttered word. His words came out almost as if he was speaking to a lover, but Regath could hear the poison behind them. “What a pretty young thing you are. Such a shame, but examples must be made … So intent on hiding him for whom I searched so hard. You will be charged with High Treason against this new order we are establishing. I wonder how long you will survive in my dungeons. Or maybe I can find some other uses. The dungeons would be such a waste.”

  “Wait!”

  Vorteez turned on Regath. “Did you just try to tell me to do something, slime?” Regath hung his head. “That is much better. Accept your fate, and it will not bother you so much.”

  “But…”

  “Again? You must have something of importance to say.” Regath went silent. “Well, what is it?” He drew a long sword from his side and held the point to the girl’s neck. “Tell me, or she dies now. Not the way I prefer to do things, of course, but you Morschen are so hasty.”

  “I am not Regath Encarthian.” This took Vorteez back. “I’m his son.”

  Vorteez’s face broke into a gruesome smile. “Take him.”

  “But …”

  “My word is law here, boy. You are the son of a very dangerous man. Your fate shall be the same as your father’s.”

  “I can help you.” Regath tried to back away a step, but the Deshika had closed in on him and he couldn’t move far in any direction.

  Vorteez walked over to him with a slow, measured pace, but the menace in his eyes and voice made him seem as though he was stalking the young Drog islander. “You will help me anyway. Learn this well, boy. You will not die until I am done with you, no matter how much you beg. Your gods have no power to help you while you are in my keeping.” He swung his sword towards Regath and the barmaid Beinra. “Bring them both.”

  The old man with the cane wasted no more time. He drew a sword and threw aside Distorting Depths. The unleashing of the magic caused a bright flare, but it soon passed, and eight Deshika and their Armandan Captain were dead in the road. The man was not old. He was young, and strong, and his blade coated with Deshik blood.

  “What have we here? A Ringlord?” Vorteez laughed, oblivious to the death around him. “No matter. You too shall understand the true meaning of pain.”

  The man just laughed. “There are not enough Deshika in the world to take me alive, Rishtckal.”

  “We shall see.” Deshika from all across Grathen Harbour began to move towards the man. One by one, he cut down each one that came too close. But their fear of Vorteez was greater than their fear of any Drog, and no other Morschen would stand with him. “I want him alive,” was Vorteez’s oft-repeat
ed statement. The Deshika though, had another problem. It was obvious that whatever their master’s wish, they could not take him. He was too fast. He kept moving so that the bodies could not trap him. His sword was too well trained. He was too disciplined to waste either time or energy on any one opponent, dispatching each one with only a few short strokes. They were fighting an Arms Master, and the Deshika knew it. Finally, Vorteez hefted his own sword and waded through the growing number of bodies to join the fray.

  “Ah yes, it is you I want, Rishtckal.”

  “I will take great pleasure in your screams, mortal.” But the Drog was not listening. He drove at Vorteez with deadly ability. Finally, Vorteez made a critical mistake. Misunderstanding his enemy, he spoke. “How does it feel to have failed?”

  “You are the one who failed.” With that, the man threw himself forward, running himself through on Vorteez’s sword. Vorteez stared in shock that someone would end their own life so pointlessly. Every Morschen stared in disbelief. They had not known that a Morschledu had been walking among them. And now, it was too late. He was dead.

  Vorteez pulled his blade out of the dead Ringlord, staring apathetically down at the man. “Burn the body, but bring me his Ring.” Deshika rushed to carry out his order. “Bring this one and the girl. They will make good sport.”

  *

  It was not until the Deshika had left the city far behind that Regath dared to speak again. “You’re wasting time.”

  “Time spent on something one enjoys is never wasted. And I will savour your screams for mercy. To me, they are a delicacy of the highest order; one which only a select few appetites are worthy of sampling.”

  Regath tried to steady his voice, pretending strength of will he knew he lacked. “You seem to think that torture can break me.”

  Vorteez laughed, but did not look down at him. “I have broken stronger mortals than you, boy. I consider it a pity that my Lord and brother killed your father. I have no doubt that what he could say would have meant something. He would have been a prisoner worth torturing.” Vorteez did look down at Regath then. “You, though, are barely an exercise for the most undisciplined of my dungeon masters. Be honoured that I choose to take such an interest in your existence.”