“What of the Serpent?”
“Bring me his head.” The captain left, his lips pulling apart in a gruesome smile.
Guinira’s army had split into several groups. Hers was one of the largest, at five thousand. Two of her generals each led forces of the same size, while another twenty thousand men were dispersed in a wide ring to prevent any escape. Another ten thousand were divided between two points along the road. She had planned on El Darnen’s band being only five thousand strong, at most, and with Gelida’s thirty thousand regulars, she could not see needing more than what she had to deal with both of these threats in one attack. What she did not plan on, however, was that El Darnen would be ready for her. The second her three armies left the shelter of the woods, arrows were falling on them, accurate and deadly, aimed with skill. The line held and made it into the camp, where they began to destroy everything they could. More fell to arrows, and some to swords as those in the camp organized themselves.
Even as the camp burned, Guinira could not shake the feeling that it was too easy. Gelida’s Noldorin were nowhere to be found, and while she had lost men, El Darnen was supposed to be a great military leader. Not one of the same caliber as Taren Garrenin or Makret Druoth, but a great leader nonetheless. “That is why it is too easy” she said out loud to herself. “Fall back,” she suddenly screamed. It was already too late. Her ring of soldiers was being pushed into the camp by Gelida’s soldiers from the north and east. Her soldiers from the road were running into the camp, some without weapons, many wounded, and all covered in blood, chased soon after by the soldiery of El Darnen Greshida, far more numerous than she had expected. To the south, the standard of a coiled serpent had been raised, and many archers were clustered around it, bows at the ready, willing and able to unleash another punishing wave of arrows into the Armandan ranks, but they did not fire. Either discipline or fear kept their hands on the strings. Guinira knew which one she felt. The camp was theirs, but El Darnen had won. Still, Guinira refused to go down without a fight. Ordering her men, she was determined to sell her life dearly. She would not let El Darnen take her to Taren as a prize. The archers around the banner separated around a tall man in black armour painted with blue rings. He continued to walk forward, undaunted by the still living Armandans.
“Guinira Estaleth, you are surrounded and diminished, in a camp not your own, in mountains you do not know. Will you yield?”
She gave another look around her. She knew that if her men broke, there was little chance that even if they escaped, any would make it out of the mountains. Either El Darnen would hunt them down, or they would starve to death in the unfamiliar land. “I will speak with the Serpent, but I do not yield.” Quieter, in a defeated voice, she added “yet.”
A small tent was set up, about halfway between the camp and the line of trees. Only Guinira’s two Tai-Aren Coda were with her. El Darnen came alone, with Gelida and the guards she had brought.
“Well, Guinira?”
“Well what? I assumed you were the ones presenting the terms of surrender.”
“We are, but we are not unreasonable. We were wondering if you had any terms that you would either not accept, or were necessary to get you to surrender peacefully.”
Guinira was taken aback. She had not expected to be allowed to name the terms of her own surrender. She also had not expected that El Darnen would be arrogant enough to come unprotected. He had a reputation for almost excessive bravery, but this was beyond even Taren or Erygan. Even Norrin, reputedly the bravest member of the former Morschcoda Council, would not come to a negotiation without at least one of the Mountain Guard for protection. ‘He is not without protection’ thought Guinira, trying to comfort herself. ‘He has the entire strength of El Darnen Greshida with him, just not in this tent.’ Returning to the physical world from the deep and dark paths her thoughts often walked down, she stated the most obvious terms she could think of quickly. “My soldiers go free and keep their weapons. You keep anything belonging to fallen soldiers, except in the case of the Morschledu Rings. My army returns to Galzeen unfought, and we do not march on you here again.”
El Darnen sat in silent contemplation for several minutes. Gelida was obviously working hard to keep her rising anger under control, and she was managing to do it. That impressed Guinira, in an odd way. She thought how different Gelida was from the other Morschcoda she knew. Finally, El Darnen answered. “If it were me that you had to negotiate with, I would be only too happy to agree to those terms. It is an unfortunate circumstance, but your attack was not on me, but the woman you knew was here. It is, therefore, not my place to negotiate, but to mediate. It is Gelida you must appease, Guinira.”
“And since I must be appeased, I will make some of my terms known. All Morschen who bow to the Anarian Throne must withdraw from Noldoron. Second, Guinira must make it known throughout all of what once was Anaria that she, as Queen, recognizes the sovereignty of Noldoron as an independent country.” At this point El Darnen nodded in agreement. “These are terms that must be accepted in order for there to be any form of peace here today.”
“I don’t think that either of these sounds unreasonable. Do you have any objections, Guinira?”
“I want your term ‘Morschen who bow to the Anarian Throne’ clarified. Technically, all Morschen in Noldoron bow to me, willingly or not.”
Gelida thought quickly for a moment. “All Morschen who entered the country in force of war under the banner of either Armanda or Caladea will leave Noldoron.”
“I think that I can accept both of those terms, provided that the terms I laid out are also honoured.”
“Your men will be given three days to leave Galzeen after they leave these mountains, if that is agreeable too both parties.” Both women looked at each other and nodded. “Excellent. I will make the arrangements myself.” He stood up and left.
After an awkward, if short, silence, Guinira spoke again. “I didn’t kill your father, and I didn’t particularly want him dead.”
“El Darnen told me that you had plans to execute him for treason. Why should I believe you?”
“I guess I can’t expect you to, but the truth remains. Your father and I fought, long and hard, in single combat in the throne room of the palace in Galzeen. Your father knew he could not win, and so, rather than bow or submit, he took his own life. He sheathed the sword in his own body.”
“That sounds like him, from what I have heard about him in the last few years. I didn’t know him well, though.”
“You have spent many years in Torridesta, but almost no time since the Council’s fall in your own land. Why not return Noldoron to its former allegiances?”
Gelida sighed. Guinira thought she seemed old, even older than she herself was, though that was still quite young. Then she began quietly. “I’ve been in Torridesta for a lot longer than just since the Council’s fall. But, sooner or later, Taren will turn his attention westward. Erygan can’t fight Taren, he knows that, but he will still try to hold land he sees as his. I don’t want to cause further conflict and bloodshed for one country. It’s not worth the price, even if I could afford to spend the lives that would be lost defending Noldoron.”
“And what about me?”
“You surrendered Dothoro to Taren so that you could try to take Noldoron. You have less strength to fight him that Erygan does.”
“You sound far too sure of yourself to be from Noldoron, Gelida. Are you sure you’re Dalasin’s daughter?” Guinira had meant it as a joke, but it made Gelida angry.
“Yes, I am. I may be Noldorin, but I grew up in Erygan’s court, surrounded by spineless nobles and scheming merchants. Noldoron forges weapons like my father. Torridesta forges politicians like Erygan, and now like me. I know what I want, and I don’t want to fight a war that I know I can’t win, especially against Drogoda.”
“Well, at least one Morschcoda has enough sense to understand that there’s no need to stand against me,” said Taren, as he walked into the tent, with two mem
bers of the Spear of Drogoda behind him. El Darnen was not in sight. “No, neither of you have to worry about me attacking your armies. We will have other enemies, and we will need every soldier we can find, and more. But whether that lies a decade or a thousand years into the future, or the day after tomorrow, it is beyond my sight. So, neither of you need fear for your men or your lives. I am here only to talk and to listen. If I have heard correctly, Gelida, you want to make Noldoron into an independent nation. I can accept that, but my mission is to unite Anaria, so Noldoron’s sovereignty would last so short a time that it would hardly be worth remembering in the history books. You have said yourself you won’t fight me. Why not join me now? Your agreement with Guinira still stands, except instead of independence from all ties, you gain that plus allies, all united under the Banner of the Warship.”
“I will consider your proposal, Morschcoda Garrenin, once I have set Noldoron in order again. It has only been barely one month since my father’s fall, but I would have him buried properly, and see my country once more able to stand by itself after an invasion and a change of leadership, not once, but twice.”
“You already speak with the wisdom and authority of a seasoned ruler,” said Taren, almost reverently. “I now see how fully I was wrong during your father’s first and last sitting as Morschcoda, five years ago. I have learned I was wrong about him. I see now that I was wrong about you.”
Gelida was almost speechless. She had not even imagined that Taren Garrenin would know who she was even five years ago. She had only turned ninety eight just before summer. “Thank you,” was all she managed to say.
Guinira got up to leave, saying “This negotiation is over. I must now honour such agreements as I have made. I must see my men back to Galzeen, and from there back to Armanda. Taren, will you open the border of Storinea for my armies to pass through?”
“I already have. Your generals carry written orders from me to guards and patrols along the main roads to let them pass.”
“Thank you. And now, I take my leave.”
“I think not, Guinira” said Taren, as his two guards blocked the way out of the tent. Guinira’s Tai-Aren Coda drew their swords, but she ordered them to stand down.
“What is the meaning of this, Taren?”
“Suffice it to mean that I am taking you prisoner, and the ransom I am demanding is to be acknowledged as the ruler of all lands still under the rule of the Anarian Throne.”
“But you said the agreement between Gelida and I would be honoured.”
“Yes, I did. And in all of your short deliberations, you never made any provisions that pertained to you personally, or that could not be easily interpreted to exclude you from them. Everything you said was in regards to your soldiers or your men. The treaty is honoured, and you are my prisoner.”
Guinira sat down again, disgusted with herself for making such an obvious mistake. But she directed her anger towards the dangerous man who blocked her exit. “How do you live with yourself, Taren?”
“I see it as my duty to unite Anaria under one banner, mine, and I will see it done. If I must resort to the sword, so be it. But the Deshika are coming, and The Kindler will return.” Gelida made the motion. Guinira merely stared. “Those attacks five years ago that placed you on the throne of my ancestors were a warning; a test that we barely survived. I don’t intend to be caught in the same position again. That is how I live with myself, Guinira Gundara, daughter of Xari.”
What to do
Guinira thought back to that confrontation with Taren, over two months ago now. She had been taken to Alquendiro after that, and there she was now. Taren had planned it somehow, and planned it well. Even more than just capturing her, he had made known that the one thing that he would accept as a ransom was something only she could give. She thought to herself. ‘Xari might join Armanda with him, but would Marrdin yield Rista for my sake? No, he won’t.’ Only she could save herself. “It is not strictly what one might call saving, is it?” she said out loud to no one, though her guard looked at her curiously. She did not care if the woman or anyone else heard her ranting to the air or the stone walls or anything else in the bedroom prison that Taren had placed her in. Nor was she even really a prisoner. Taren was treating her well. Better than many people, especially other prisoners, she suspected at least. She was not confined to her rooms, though she was guarded ceaselessly by Drogodan Tai-Aren Coda, like the woman who stood a little to the left of the door. Not members of the Spear, she had managed to learn through observation. They did not bear the silver spear broach that Taren’s elite guard wore. They did not refuse to speak with her, but they avoided direct questions as to what was happening throughout Taren’s now larger empire. Another question that they avoided was where exactly she was. Only one ever answered her, though hers was more a riddle than anything else. “Look out of the window, and you will see.” Well, she had looked. She had stared until she could feel her eyeballs rolling backwards in her head. But, she could not spend all of her time staring, searching for she knew not what. Taren had had her present, though hidden, when both Gelida and Daliana had come to bow to him and join their respective countries with the Drog Empire. Taren had also told her that he controlled Ra-Diavere and the whole coast of the country. Ranny was wavering. She did not have the will to stand against him for much longer. She would bow to him soon. Guinira also gathered from Taren that he did not think that Ranny particularly wanted to oppose him. She just wanted to ensure a peaceful transition for her people, and maybe by her people. The Caladrim were proud, and if they felt like their Morschcoda was merely handing them over, things would not end well. Taren might have to send in the Brotherhood to maintain order, and that would certainly lose him the country. Taren had also, with the help of Galeth Tendornin and the Dragon Riders, established complete control over Meclarya. Daken still ruled the country in name, but Galeth had been hopeful that Daken would bow before the end of the third month. That was approaching quickly. And yet, despite everything she could think of, despite everything she was permitted to do, and perhaps because of all the meals Taren requested her presence at, Guinira kept returning to one thing in her mind. How had Taren known who she really was? Guinira was not an uncommon name. It was certainly not as rare a name as Taren. In Drogoda, then name Taren had been used only twice in recorded history. The Morschcoda who led Drogoda in El Bendro Dakoia had been a Taren, and now his descendant was one also. “Why did I keep my first name? I thought it was safe enough to hide behind. Taren must know now, but did he when he guessed?”
At that moment, Taren walked in. “I didn’t know when I guessed, but I no longer doubted that I was right.”
She was not surprised to see him. Nor was she surprised when the guard bowed and slipped out through the door that he had left open. “How long have you suspected that I am Xari’s daughter?”
“For far longer than you might imagine. I suspected you were hiding your true family name since I heard the one that you claim now.” When she indicated that this did not help her, he elaborated. “When your fame as a Flame Weaver started to spread outside of Armanda, about one hundred years ago. That is when I first guessed you were not who you said you were.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sat, indicating her to do the same. She remained standing. He spoke anyway. “Estaleth was an Armandan Great House before I was born. They owned most of the land in between the Miadonga River and the River Estal. They were the Morschcodal House of Armanda before Gundara ascended to power, but they died out shortly after I was born. What was left of their property was all but destroyed and left to rot after both rivers flooded about three hundred years ago. Nobody wanted the land, in case it flooded again, so it remained their land, though they were all dead. And now, your people believe that the land they owned is haunted. Only rebels, traitors, and sheep herders go there anymore.”
“How do you know any of this? We Armandans are not secretive, but we are hardly open about our past. Not to outsiders, and
especially not to Drogs.”
An amused half smile pulled the right corner of Taren’s lip upwards. “I was the Drog Ambassador to Armanda before the Drog Civil War. So what is ancient history for you is only a lifetime ago for me. I was ambassador when the first Morschcoda of House Gundara sat on the Throne of Fire in Dishmo Kornara. I was close with Nemira Gundara, who would have been the second Gundaran Morschcoda. She died young, however. And so, in nine generations of Gundaran Morschcoda, only your mother has sat on the Throne of Fire for more than fifty years. That is how I knew you were not an Estaleth.”
“So you had me watched. You needed to know if I was the missing daughter heir to the Throne of Fire.”
“My arm is long, even in Armanda, and especially with those who remember I was once one of them, if not by birth. Spies were easy enough to place around you: servants, friends, fellow Flame Weavers ... lovers. I was actually impressed with your mental strength when we met, formally, for the first time. Your secrets were hard to pry from you. Even my mental probe of you the night before you ascended Eliish Del Anaria failed to reveal your true parentage.”
“But you still suspected me. And why were you considered one of us?”
“I did suspect you, yes.”
“Why?”
“I mentioned that I was close to Nemira Gundara. That is one way of saying it. Another way is to say that we fell in love, and we married. I suspected you because by law and marriage, I am your uncle. There are seven generations of Armandan Gundaras between us, but we are kin, you and I. I knew you were no Estaleth, that House had died out too long before you claimed the name, and since you ran away, no Armandan has named a daughter Guinira. And, though you may hate to hear this, you are the image of your mother when she was your age ... And of your grandmother, and your great-grandmother, and every other female member of House Gundara that I have ever known.” He settled back into his chair, crossing his right leg over his left knee and placing his hands behind his head. “I didn’t know, but I no longer had any doubt.”
Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 16