Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Trolly

  Guinira crossed her arms and sat down in another of the room’s chairs. “Just how long is your arm?”

  “I’ve been busy since winning the Drog Civil War. I engineered Galeth Tendornin’s rise to the position of Chief Rider. I ensured Daliana would be named the old Morschcoda’s heir so the line of Marcarry would continue. I found a way to ensure Atalin Danalath would be chosen as Lord of the Half-Elvin. With Erygan’s help, I forced seven generations of Gundaras to retire the Throne of Fire within three hundred years of the first sitting by the oldest of your line. And I came to certain arrangements with El Darnen, so that I, as the only means to control the Serpent, would quickly gain power among Morschcoda who were several hundred years my seniors.” He paused, and then added “I also took up drinking, becoming one of the largest single clients of the Brewer’s Guild, and used them and other merchants to place spies throughout the various Guilds across Anaria. That is how long my arm is.”

  “Why do you tell me all of this?”

  “I don’t lie. I only interpret, or allow others to interpret as they will. You asked for the truth, and so I gave it.”

  Guinira was skeptical of the frank answer. It matched what she knew of him, though, so she knew it was the truth. But now she was wondering something else. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation, Uncle?” She used the term uncle as sarcastically and full of contempt as she could manage, and far more than she believed was safe, but she felt that she had a right to be angry with him. Taren obviously agreed, for he lowered his head, as though he accepted the derision as his due.

  “I have invited Xari to Alquendiro. She doesn’t know you’re here. I’m planning to make a treaty with her. She enters the Drog Empire of her own free will, and she regains everything that she has lost since you became Queen.”

  “What has she lost?”

  “Her country, her power, and her credibility, to name a few things in an ever-lengthening list.”

  “And how are you going to win her loyalty? If I might ask.”

  “You may ask, and I will answer; by presenting you as her runaway daughter. She will believe me, as I have proof that I have not shared with you. That will break any hold you have on her.”

  “And what happens when I tell her all of the things you have told me. You forced seven generations of Gundaran Morschcoda off of the Fire Throne. How you engineered El Darnen. How you placed Daliana on the Throne of Leaves, or made Galeth Tendornin Chief Rider of the Dragon Riders. What happens then, he who would be king of the world?”

  “You haven’t considered the fact that it is entirely possible that most of the other Morschcoda already know or suspect much of what I just told you. That includes your mother. Detailed parts of the story are known to some of the Morschcoda, pieces to all of them, and the full story only to the one man who helped me to accomplish it.” With that, he turned and left the room.

  * * * * *

  All that night and the next day, Guinira considered how, if possible, she could escape before her mother arrived and saw her, the one-time Queen of Anaria. It was a daunting prospect. She was guarded ceaselessly by three Tai-Aren Coda, one of whom was inside of the room with her at all times. Without a weapon, there was no way she could even get out of her room, and she was deep within the palace, in the heart of Alquendiro, in the center of Taren’s power. Even if she could escape, only two of the countries that she had once ruled still remained to her. Rista was far to the north, and Armanda was near to the south. If she escaped, Taren would expect her to go south, to her own people. Yet, she could not enter her lands alone and claim that her guards had been killed by Taren’s soldiers; her armies had been given free passage across the Drog Empire. If she went north, to Rista, she could claim that her guards had been slain, but to escape Taren, she would have to enter into Erygan’s lands, and she suspected that she was as great a prize to him as she was to Taren. But to go north, she would have to cross Drogoda’s entire length. She was not confident she could run fast enough for long enough to outrun a Mordak. Rare was the Morschledu who could win a race against one of those majestic creatures, even with a healthy head start. She did not doubt that such a feat was beyond Marrdin Redernin himself, even with the head start of the Mordak running to Armanda before coming north, which would give him several hundred leagues. Continuing to search for a way, she looked out the window. As she started to turn away, something caught her eye. The fountain she had seen earlier was no longer there. She had to work hard to not to scream with sudden understanding. ‘The Mirror of the Deeps is being used to distort whatever I see so that I think I am where I am not.’ It was a good thing she had not said that out loud. Other things began to come back to her, things that she now understood. Slight movements she had observed Taren making, things she had never see him do before. He was probably an illusion too. Or more likely a person wrapped in the Mirror of the Deeps. She also now understood why her Tai-Aren Coda guards had always avoided direct questions about where she was. The oaths they took prevented them from lying, so the only one she had asked had always said look out the window and you will see. Well, now she saw. Taren and Taren alone could sustain an illusion of that size for that long. The concentration required was probably murdering him as she sat there. “He must be tiring” she mouthed out of the window. She had no reason to fear. Not even one of the Eagle Eyed could read her lips, not with her this high up, or more likely, looking at a blank wall just far enough away that if she reached out, she would not be able to touch it. She turned around, facing the door. Obviously the one guard had wanted her to find this. She had been able to tell Guinira that the answer could be found out of the window, so she had obviously believed Guinira could find it. It had taken a while, but it had been done. With that in mind, Guinira settled down to wait for the changing of the guard, and smiled.

  A Close Encounter

  “My lord!” the guard charged in. Taren’s sword was already drawn by the time the guard staggered to a halt. “My lord, the prisoner … Queen Guinira … she is …” he fell to his knees trying to catch his breath. Taren knelt down beside him and helped him up.

  “It is alright, lad. Take a deep breath.” The young man, more boy than soldier, thought Taren, relaxed slightly. “Now, what has happened to Guinira?”

  “My lord, she is gone.”

  Taren maintained his appearance of shock and outrage all the way down to the room Guinira had occupied. He had to keep himself from laughing out loud when he saw that the room was really empty. “I want everyone except Makret out of this room, NOW.” No one wasted time obeying the order. Once everyone was gone, Taren and Makret both fell against the wall laughing. “She really did it Makret.”

  “I didn’t think she could, either, Taren.”

  “The question is now, what do we do. It’s obvious that Guinira will go north, as much to escape the mother she believes is coming as to try to confuse us. She thinks that we will search southward first, since that is the direction the few who are still loyal to her are. She has no idea how close we actually are to Rista.”

  “I can call out the Mordak Riders to ‘search’ southward” said Makret, laughing again.

  “Yes, you had better make sure they do a thorough search. We wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

  “I know we wanted her to escape,” said Makret after the two had grown more serious, “but I still don’t know why.”

  “Guinira will run to one or the other of her remaining two countries, most likely Rista, because that seems like the less obvious destination for someone in her position. I want her to escape because an escaped captive will give me reason to march in force on Armanda because it makes sense that I would think she has gone that way. Send out your swiftest Mordak Riders to ‘search’ southwards, Makret. And then, marshal the Brotherhood. I’ve tolerated Armanda long enough.”

  * * * * *

  Twelve days after her escape, Guinira sat huddled behind two barrels that stood at the end of a small alley in a small town she had fou
nd earlier that day. She would have bypassed the town entirely, but she had been running for a week and she had no supplies left, nor any other way to get them. She would not be there now, either, if she had not almost been seen by two town guards standing watch and talking not ten feet from her. Suddenly, a member of the Brotherhood rode through the town, pulling his massive mount to a stop just a few feet from her hiding place.

  “Hail, Rider. What news?”

  “King Taren has called out the Brotherhood,” replied the Rider, dismounting stiffly. “Something about an escaped criminal or a rogue army. Maybe he has just had enough of tolerating Armandans crossing his borders.”

  “We’ve known for a while that Armanda exists at Taren’s pleasure. But why marshal the Brotherhood this far north?”

  “This far north” Guinira repeated under her breath. So, she had been right about not being in Alquendiro, but she had no idea where she was.

  “I can’t speak for General Druoth, but I think that by marshalling the Brotherhood in Morieden, they hope to avoid notice from Armanda, or even Anarian spies.”

  “Morieden?” Guinira was beginning to piece her captivity together. If she had been held in Morieden City, it meant that she had escaped either from Morieden Castle or from Valok-Shein. Though she wanted to believe it was Valok-Shein, just because of the alleged impossibility of escaping from the ancient prison, she knew that it had been too easy.

  “And what will happen to all of us, when the armies have all killed each other, and the Deshika return?”

  “You’re too superstitious, old man.” But the Rider’s voice faltered as he spoke. He was about to speak again when his Mordak started sniffing towards the barrels that Guinira was hiding behind. They would know an Armandan the second she stood up to run, and there was no way she could crawl fast enough to escape the Mordak. Chanting as quickly and quietly as she could, she blurred her image. If anyone looked at her now, they would see a thin and graceful Dothrin woman, as brown hair was much closer to her flaming red than the dark black of the Drogs of Morieden Province. Her brown eyes did not change easily to green, but they faded to a light hazel colour without too much difficulty. If anyone looked closely, though, they would see the slight smoky haze that was used to distort her appearance. That was why the power was known as Twisting Smoke. Maybe, since she appeared to be Dothrin, the Rider might mistake it for that people’s equivalent power, Veil of Leaves. And since they Brotherhood was commanded to search southward for her, they would not be looking for an Armandan this far north. She was going to be found anyway, so she stood and walked out of the alley, nearly running into the Rider that had been walking toward the barrels she had hidden behind.

  His hand went to his sword hilt. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

  “My name is my own, Mordak Rider.” He shifted, ready to draw his sword. “As for my business, I am a Dothrin courier carrying a message of importance from his majesty, King Taren Garrenin, to Morschcoda Marrdin Redernin of Rista. And-” the Rider cut her off.

  “King Taren uses Dragon Riders as messengers now that he has taken Meclarya. You are no messenger.”

  Guinira had to think quickly. She dared not reveal her power, not even in this seemingly remote village. “King Taren deemed it wise not to use a Dragon Rider to deliver this message, as that might make it seem like an attack was coming. Dothrin couriers are well known for our speed, which can rival a Mordak, at our fastest. Question me if you must but do not question our King.” She struggled to remain in control of her features as she said our king. Taren was not her king, but if it was ever proved that she had said those words, she could be forced to bow to Taren. Her words though, seem to have forced him to acknowledge her as a real courier, but he was still hesitant. “Where is your horse?”

  “It was stolen two days ago. I would be well north of here if not for that.”

  He turned to the guards, she thought to have her arrested, but all he said was, “give her a horse and enough provisions to last her to Agrista.” With that he turned, mounted his Mordak, followed the street south and rode away.

  One of the guards tapped her arm as she stared after the Rider. “This way, messenger.”

  So it Begins

  The yell came clearly to Taren’s ears. “Rider approaching.” Two members of the Spear rode out to see whether whoever it was would pose a threat to their king. They came back quickly, with another Mordak Rider between them. The Rider dismounted and bowed, before launching quickly into speech. “My lord, I have a report from the northern border. I don’t believe it was a coincidence.”

  “Carry on, Rider.”

  “My lord, I was in the village of Croften, nearly one week’s ride north of here, when my Mordak sensed something was wrong. A Dothrin courier emerged from a small side street. She had no horse, nor did she carry a message satchel, but she claimed to be carrying a message from you to Morschcoda Redernin of Rista.”

  “Where is the courier now?”

  “A week out of Croften, on horse.”

  “I see.” Taren retreated to his thoughts.

  Makret leaned sideways and whispered into Taren’s ear. “I know that look, Taren. What do you think?”

  Taren’s instructions also came as a whisper. “Makret, take four Riders and go to Agrista. You do not need to beat the courier, but you must make haste. You,” he said, starting to speak in a louder voice. “Rider, go to Airachni and tell Chief Rider Tendornin to send a Dragon Rider to Morschcoda Redernin, telling him that he must arrest that courier. The Brotherhood will continue on to An-Aniath,” he paused, and leaning back to his friend, whispered “where you, Makret, will bring her. You and I know that it’s Guinira, but Marrdin above all must not know who she is.”

  “You will likely have ‘the courier’ before that, my lord.”

  Taren nodded slowly. “You have your orders.”

  Makret chose four Riders and left quickly. They would ride straight to Agrista, Taren knew. The other Rider had gone well before Makret, headed for Airachni. Taren realized, though, that if Guinira was already past the border, she could travel as herself, not a Dothrin woman. “Nyjeta!” Turning to one of his captains, he gave quick orders. “Send another Rider after Makret. Tell him that he must get to Marrdin before that messenger does.” Lowering his voice, so that only he and the Rider could hear, he said “tell him also that the shark smells its own blood. He will know what it means and what he is to do.” The Mordak Rider, a youngish man named Regath Encarthian, rode off so quickly, Taren had barely finished giving him his orders. Yelling at another captain he said “and send another Rider to Airachni. Get a second Dragon in the air if you must. Ensure that Marrdin knows that Makret will take her, and if he interferes, that the Dragon Hearted stands ready for invasion. And the Rider that goes to Airachni needs to go to Daken and tell him to send the Dragon Hearted to the northern border.” When the captain did not move right away, he shouted “GO!”

  Brotherhood captain Edya Reeshnar left her king as quickly as she dared to give his orders. There was something different about her lord lately. His voice had always used to carry such weight and power. Now, it not only had that, but there was darkness to it, one that left implied threats even with the most pleasant of topics. ‘That was not there when we conquered Caladea, so …’ she allowed the thought to trail off.

  Taren watched Edya Reeshnar go to see his orders carried out. Ordinarily, the way she moved would have held his gaze in a different way. Now, he merely watched her, ensuring she did as instructed. Her walk was perfectly balanced, a powerful stride that betrayed a hidden grace and deadly ability with a sword. She was not yet Tai-Aren Coda, but she would be soon, quite easily surpassing the tests. From a young age, she had shown much more than basic skill with a sword. She had impressed Taren, and he had considered bending the law more than once, and taking her on as his own apprentice, teaching her the ways of the blade himself. He had decided that it would be better to ensure she learned conventionally, from a Tai-Ar
en Coda, rather than from himself. ‘Well, Makret decided for me.’ It was true that Makret had been convinced that Taren could not withstand the outrage of a Morschcoda taking on an apprentice who was neither of his blood nor nobly born. It was not the type of thing that could be hidden. So Taren merely watched the retreating form of a woman almost four hundred years younger than him. And then he turned away.

  * * * * *

  The march south went quickly, too quickly for Taren’s liking. Makret had not been heard from since he and his chosen Riders had left for Agrista. No Dragon Rider had come to bring messages from Makret, though that was not unusual. ‘We must continue forward without him. It is unfortunate. I almost feel incapable of leading this attack.’ His thoughts that he did not care about being overheard had often followed other such dark paths since the Drogodan border had been left behind over a week ago. The desert was still seven days ahead, at least, but he knew that Xari knew he was here already. In Guinira’s absence, she, as former Morschcoda, was in charge of the defenses of the country. So he found it surprising several days later when, instead of an army waiting for them at the edge of the desert, Xari herself with only a small guard awaited them.

  “Welcome Warship, to the land of Armanda. Though you come in force of war, it is unnecessary. With the fall of Queen Guinira, the pride and strength of the Flame Weavers is broken.”

  Taren tensed, expecting a trap. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then I will explain another way.” She dismounted and walked towards Taren, stopping just five feet from his Mordak’s nose. She bowed, a deep formal bow, with her right hand on her heart and her left hand, palm upward, stretched towards him. “Here, on the borders of the Ashnora Desert do I, Xari Gundara, Guardian of the Golden Flame, Morschcoda of the land of Armanda, pledge myself and my lands in service and fealty to Taren Garrenin the Second, the Warship, King of Drogoda and Lord of the South.”