Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Trolly

  * * * * *

  “Thank you for coming, Kallin.”

  “I wouldn’t have come if I believed that I had a choice to be here, Ranny.” Even in the short time that he had sat on the Throne of the Heavens, he had come to hate the political maneuvering and the desperate plots that the other Morschcoda seemed to revel in, and that Ranny especially was guilty of weaving.

  Ranny did not catch, or chose to ignore, the veiled sarcasm, instead taking it as a slight compliment. She allowed herself a smile. “I cannot force another Morschcoda to do anything. I may have influence, but not that much.”

  “It is good you know your place on the Council, Ranny. But I was not referring to you when I said I had been given no choice.”

  Ranny was taken aback for a moment, her smile vanishing, but then she regained herself. “Well, it matters not why you came, only that you are here. We three” she said, gesturing at Xari, Daliana, and herself “have discussed at length who it is that we believe should sit on Eliish Del Anaria after so long lacking an occupant. We have reached our decision, but we would welcome your thoughts on the subject.”

  Kallin thought for a moment. He could feel the trap that Ranny was weaving about him, and despite his debating skill, and his recent arguments with Taren, he was not confident that he could avoid that trap. Though so often to each other, the men who sat on the Morschcoda Council laughed at Ranny’s attempts to manipulate them as a whole, alone, they knew that they were far more vulnerable to her machinations. He looked down, as if thinking, dry swallowed once or twice, and then said “Well, Taren and I have also long discussed who it is that could sit on the throne, and there are few names that we could agree should be candidates, and fewer that we thought should actually sit on Eliish Del Anaria.” He looked up at her as he finished, trying to gauge her reaction to what he had said. Physically, she betrayed nothing. She was used to hearing such phrases as his, but he felt something. The mental trap he had felt her weaving, so structured and dangerous, was beginning to fray. He had thought that invoking Taren’s name would free him from this situation, but it had seemed risky. Now, he felt Xari starting to weave a trap of her own. He knew that Taren’s name alone could not save him this time, so he simply readied himself for a mental duel that, one way or another could only lead him into Xari’s trap.

  Daliana said and did nothing as Xari wound her web ever tighter around Kallin. She needed no help, and though Daliana knew that they needed Kallin’s support, she did not want to be present while Xari was getting it. And then the growing tension in the room snapped like a dead branch. Kallin said nothing about who he would support for Eliish Del Anaria, instead saying, “Taren wants to name Atalin Danalath.” Daliana could feel the trap Xari had been weaving slacken. Kallin had cut the one thread that would not pull the whole thing down on him, but, judging from Xari’s expression, he would still be lucky to escape with his life. It had been a clever stroke, though. He all but declared, then and there, his allegiance to Taren and that he would abide by the Water Lord’s decisions. Reaching out with her mind, Daliana searched for Taren. The concentration required for such a search taxed her to her mental limits, but she found him at last. All she was able to say was “Caladean rooms, quickly.”

  * * * * *

  Taren felt a mind brush up against his. Tightening his focus instinctively, he did nothing until he could tell whose mind it was. He let his guard down just enough so that Daliana would know she had found him and heard her say, “Caladean rooms, quickly.” He knew something was wrong. Though all Morschcoda could communicate with their minds, few were disciplined enough to maintain the required concentration for more than a few minutes. He knew that Daliana was not one of those few, so for her to search for him as long as she had, it could be few things besides a life or death situation. Looking around him, he saw a small fountain of water. Looking again to see if anybody was within sight, and seeing nobody, he leaped and dove into the fountain. Swimming quickly through the underground lake that fed Pentailia Morschcoda and all of Dishmo Kornara, he emerged in another pool just outside of the Caladean rooms. No one saw him, except Daliana, who was looking out of the window, and he surfaced silently, so no one heard him either. He crossed the small yard to the arched window and waited in the shadows. He did not have to wait long. The argument between Kallin and Xari was rapidly getting violent. Finally, Kallin crossed the point of no return. Xari’s sword cleared its sheath and was already descending towards Kallin’s head before he even had a chance to react. In fewer than two seconds, Kallin Revdark would have been dead, had Xari’s red sword, Galdren, Flaming Steel, not met the immovable blue barrier that was Taren’s Mishdonkar, the Fountain of Death.

  “To draw a blade on another here in Pentailia Morschcoda is a crime that has ever only had one penalty, Xari Gundara. And death would you earn had you finished what you started.”

  “You cannot threaten me, Taren. Tai-Aran Coda you may be, but I am a master of the Dance of One Thousand Blades. I have no equal among the Morschcoda.”

  Though it seemed to the others that Taren was or should have been amused by this, his voice and his face remained deadly serious. “I honestly pity your ignorance of those beyond your borders, Xari Gundara. I have known for three centuries now as much as there is to know about you, House Gundara, the Flame Weavers, and Armanda in general. I have long known that you are one master of the Dance. But consider this Xari. I have over three hundred more years of experience with a blade than you do. And five hundred years ago, I perfected the art of Blade Dancing. Fight me if you dare.” The whole time Taren spoke, Xari had been trying to force the blue blade to move. It had remained motionless. And now, with little more than a flick of his wrist, Taren had pushed Xari’s sword out of his way, and Mishdonkar was at her throat. They fought.

  For over an hour, Xari fiercely hammered away at Taren. She threw herself into her attacks, desiring nothing more than to end her increasing frustration with him. She could not mark him. The closest her sword had come was passing through space only barely evacuated by Taren’s head or arms. But she knew, or assumed, that Taren had to be at least as frustrated as she, for he had not touched her either. Just as that thought entered her head, Taren changed tactics. He had been fighting almost solely defensively, making Xari believe that although she could not hit him, she was controlling the fight. Taren blocked one last cut, and then attacked so swiftly and forcefully that Xari, who before had slowly forced Taren backwards almost to a wall, was now being pushed not so slowly backwards herself. His sword was flying almost faster than she could see, yet she still managed to throw up a defense against every cut and slash. This lasted until Taren, with a twist of his wrist in a form that she did not recognize, one that left him facing the other way, ripped Galdren out of her hand. “To be a master of the Dance of One Thousand Blades is one thing, and a most impressive one, Xari,” he said, straightening and returning Galdren to her. “To be its creator is another.”

  A Throne Divided

  The Council Chamber was tense with anticipation the next morning. Taren’s talk with Kallin had left him with a clear understanding of what he had to do. His duel with Xari had changed the boundaries between them also. Before, she would have been arrogant, or resistant at least. She would have opposed him to her last breath and died happy for it, but Taren did not feel the normal animosity coming from her. He looked along to his left at the Armandan Morschcoda, but Xari would not even meet Taren’s gaze. With his mind caught between Xari and Eliish Del Anaria, he let out a long sigh, for though Taren knew what he had to do, and though he could not deny that he had wanted it for a long time, he was still unsure. He had debated long with Kallin before the younger Morschcoda had been won over, but even then his support was questionable, as it ever was between Morschcoda, and then there was still Erygan to consider. For the long time Lord of Shadows had always thought along much the same lines as Taren, about many things, though they had ever seemed to oppose one another in the Council Chamber. Still there was
no telling what he would do. Old prejudices could not be relied upon during such a meeting of the Morschcoda, just when everyone would like them to work as they always had. They all understood that Anaria had to unite under one banner, but what that banner was to be was causing more disunion than any other ten points that had ever been debated at The Councils before. Finally, Marrdin opened the discussion. “We adjourned two days ago to determine which leader of the Ten Nations’ Great Houses most of us would be willing to call our King or our Queen. The time has now come for us to name those, and choose which is to stand above us.”

  “I name Aleishi Mandrath” said Ranny quickly. She believed that if she spoke first, she would be more likely to win, since the person she had chosen would be first to cross her fellow Morschcoda’s minds. Behind her, a short but graceful woman wearing yellow armour looked with renewed interest into the circle. Taren did not recognize this Aleishi Mandrath, being far away from the battlefields where they had met more than once. She was elegant, almost decorated, nearly matching her Morschcoda’s attire, though with clear effort to stay more subdued. She likely had guessed correctly that Ranny would never stand for her if she had outdone her Morschcoda’s dress before even taking the throne.

  Kallin spoke almost as quickly. “I name Galeth Tendornin.” At this, there was audible shock. Galeth was, as Taren had said, hardly powerful, but since Kallin had spoken for him, the other Morschcoda would have to consider the man carefully. If any of the Demosira spoke highly of someone, few people would dare to speak against them. A taller man leaned forward in his chair. Long hair that hung down both sides of his face swung forwards as he did so, but he kept his face blank, with his fingers tented in front of his eyes. Taren spared a glance towards the Chief Rider of Meclarya’s Dragon Riders. He looked terrible. He was not normally part of Daken’s entourage. The Prince of Dragons must have sent for him when the Council had first adjourned. Taren wondered how the man could move at all after flying as fast as he must have to be in Dishmo Kornara in time. Taren raised an eyebrow. Galeth noticed, and grimaced in response. None of the others noticed the exchange between the two men.

  Xari, unsurprisingly, spoke next. “I name Guinira Estaleth.” Nobody spoke for almost ten minutes after Xari, but one of the Flame Weavers behind her began to glow, attracting several people’s attention, though the Morschcoda kept their practiced neutral faces. She was not a tall woman, maybe the same height as Xari, the shortest member of the Council, but she was clearly a woman used to power and authority, and one who knew that she would be nominated. While the other two had drawn attention to themselves in a subtle way, barely distinguishing themselves from those on either side of them, Guinira forced everyone in the room to acknowledge her presence. Taren silently applauded the move, though outwardly showed no sign of allowing her to notice that he cared at all.

  Finally, Taren broke the silence that had extended after Xari’s proclamation. “I name Atalin Danalath.” Once again, everyone tensed. Taren knew what he had done. His speaking for Atalin was almost certain to turn the rest of the Morschcoda’s minds to the Dothrin lord, though it would not necessarily mean that he would have their favour. Taren’s plan, so far, was working. Perhaps it would even win a few votes for his real choice. Erygan raised his eyes from Taren, across the room, and looked at the wall behind and to the left his chief opponent, where the tall, handsome, almost cruel looking Dothrin General sat at the extreme edge of Daliana’s entourage, leaning sideways to speak quietly with Makret Druoth. The two had great respect for each other as generals, and commanded wide respect on battlefields across Anaria. Atalin however, did nothing to make anyone else notice him, not that he needed to. As Dothoro’s High General, his Acorn banner was as widely known and almost as widely feared as Makret’s Armoured Fist, though the former was seen far less often.

  “Well,” said Marrdin, after a long pause. “Since all those who seem to want to say anything have said it, shall we get on with the vote?” Everyone agreed, though now no one seemed anxious to begin.

  Finally, Daliana began the vote, which would go around the circle to her left. Taren would end it. “On behalf of Dothoro, I vote for Guinira Estaleth to be our new Queen.” There was quiet outrage behind her, some muttering at the apparent betrayal, but others across the room noticed the relief that spread across Atalin’s face when she spoke.

  “On behalf of Caladea, I vote for” Ranny paused then continued quickly “Guinira Estaleth to be our new Queen.” Again, there was the quiet outrage. Aleishi did not seem as pleased to be passed over as Atalin had.

  “On behalf of Meclarya, I vote for Guinira Estaleth as our new Queen.” Daken received several curious glances. He shrugged them off and clutched at his satchel. Across from him, and with each of the three votes already in her favour, Guinira began to glow more brightly. Galeth did not seem surprise that Daken had voted for Guinira. He tried to smile, but was too sore from his flight.

  “On behalf of Eschcota I vote for Atalin Danalath as our new King.” At Norrin’s gruff voice, Guinira’s glow diminished. Others also noticed that Atalin was no longer so happy with the way things were turning out.

  “On behalf of Torridesta, I vote for Atalin Danalath to be our new King.” Erygan did not particularly want Atalin to take the throne, but he wanted an Armandan on it less. Atalin was the only one who could stop Guinira now. Atalin was frowning, and Guinira’s glow had all but disappeared.

  “On behalf of Noldoron, I vote for Guinira Estaleth to be our new Queen.” Dalasin spoke quickly, as though uncertain of his choice, so that once he said it, he could not take it back.

  “On behalf of Armanda, I vote for Guinira Estaleth to be our new Queen.”

  “On behalf of Storinea, I vote for” here, Kallin paused. If he did not say Galeth, he would be seen as impulsive. If he did, he would stand alone. There was no point to his squandering the vote, however. “I vote for Atalin Danalath to be our new King.” There was a sharp hiss of in-taken breath, especially from Ranny, but nobody challenged him, as nobody had challenged Ranny, Daken, or Daliana before. Taren looked pleased.

  Marrdin hesitated before casting his vote. He knew that if he cast as he wished to, he would make powerful enemies. “On behalf of Rista, I vote for Atalin Danalath to be our new King.”

  Taren smiled. He now wielded immense power, as usual. He could make Guinira Queen with his vote, or he could tear Anaria apart. ‘Into a thousand bloody shreds only remembered on old maps’, as Kallin had said, or something like that, thought Taren. “Much as it goes against my heart to say this, on behalf of Drogoda, I name Guinira Estaleth the new Queen of Anaria.”

  * * * * *

  That night, after much drinking of potent ales and wines, and all other manner of celebration, especially among the Armandan people in the city, Taren and Erygan met in the Torridestan district at a small out of the way tavern near the dark, all but deserted palace. “Well, everything is going as planned.”

  “I had my doubts about how tonight would go, Erygan. I’ve lost few of those I had about tomorrow.”

  “They can’t stop us, old friend. And they would be fools to try.”

  “What we plan to do is technically treason. Do you think any will stand with us?”

  “Norrin stands by me, as he has throughout the long years. Dalasin will stand with me as well, when the time comes.”

  “Norrin’s loyalty I do not doubt. Dalasin though? I doubted that he would stand for Guinira. I’m not sure what he will do now.”

  “I made him do that. I knew which of the Morschcoda would name her already, and there had to be one more. The plan would not have worked if Atalin became King. He would have been too strong, too well liked, by both the Council and the common people. We needed someone like Guinira to take Ellish Del Anaria.”

  “Hm. It would have been nice to have a strong leader. Especially now, with the Deshika apparently not extinct.” Taren pulled the flask out of his boot. In a back room of the tavern as they were, it was not as impro
per as it might have been. “But you couldn’t tell me about Dalasin?”

  “I know how you must feel, Taren, but I did what I had to. You change your mind often and you change it quickly. I didn’t have time to react properly, so when I saw the vote begin to stand for Atalin too much, I knew that if we did nothing, the Anarian Treaty would be broken irreparably.”

  “It still may be. Armanda is hardly neutral, and there was almost a rebellion behind me when Daliana cast the first vote and it wasn’t for Atalin. She belongs to a proud people. I wonder what the rest of the Dothrim will do when they hear that one of their own almost held Eliish Del Anaria.” He paused to take a drink.

  “Atalin was a little too happy about not having to be king. He will not force his people to do anything. And knowing even what little I do of Guinira, what the Dothrim think will be of little consequence. As for Atalin, the first time he speaks against Guinira, I would not bet against a broken arrow that he lives out the month.” Erygan paused as he pulled out his ever present pipe. “We have worked together for six hundred years to bring the other Morschcoda to this point, Taren. Six hundred years. We can’t go back on what we plan to do.” He clamped his pipe, freshly filled with Ristan leaf, between his teeth and lit the course weed. Taren wondered, not for the first time, how he could stand the harsh Ristan weed when with his wealth, he could fill storehouses with the highly acclaimed pipe weed from Dothoro’s southern plains, or even Taren’s preferred supply, from Cantora Island in El Redro Delshoi, a group of coastal islands that had divided loyalties between Caladea and Drogoda.

  “Over half of a lifetime spent on this one dream. You can’t go back on it, maybe. But while I am strong, I stand alone. I don’t have allies in what we plan to do next. And I’m a little too close to Armanda to be entirely comfortable.”