Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Trolly

  Taren was not sure why Xari was doing this, but he responded. “And I, Taren Garrenin the Second, accept your fealty and service, Xari Gundara. Rise and take your place beside me. We have much to discuss on our way south.”

  The Brotherhood, on Taren’s orders, rode northwards, back to Alquendiro. Taren and the Spear of Drogoda, commanded by Edya Reeshnar in Makret’s absence, continued on to An-Aniath with Xari. Though he understood why Xari had surrendered, he did not understand the actions of the Flame Weavers. They were an ancient and dangerous force, with a noble and proud beginning. That the fall of one of their own could shake them was unnerving. The Flame Weavers of old had been the first to turn to The Kindler, yet they had been the first to see his betrayal of them and fought long and hard to undo everything that he had done, and that they had done in his name.

  “What would it take to rekindle the spent pride of the Flame Weavers?”

  “You almost sound as though you want that to happen, Taren.” Xari rode slowly beside her new master, keeping her eyes low as they rode through her lands. Her voice, proud and resilient before her men was now loaded with sorrow.

  “Believe me or don’t, Xari, but I do want that to happen. Regardless of what many of you younger Morschen think, I have not been nor will I be here forever. Someone must be able to step in when I set sail alone. I don’t want Anaria to crumble from within even as The Kindler marches on us from outside.”

  Xari sighed heavily. “If that is so, Taren, only Guinira, were she still alive, could rekindle the fires of their spirits.”

  * * * * *

  Marrdin thought long and hard about Taren’s ‘proposal.’ Surrender the courier, or face the strength of the Drogodan Empire. Marrdin had been caught between Taren and his prey several times, and they had never turned out well for Rista. Taren was just not the type of person one had the luxury of saying no to. Not if they expected to survive, at least. The Dragon Hearted, who not even one year ago had helped repel Erygan and his advancing borders, now stood poised to invade on Taren’s behalf. Summoning one of his own messengers, he spoke quickly and quietly. “How quickly could you get to Toredo, and how quickly could Erygan marshal his forces once you are there? The Black Guard could hold back the Dragon Hearted.”

  “You are only exchanging one empire for another, my lord.”

  Marrdin thought about the swords of Drogoda, especially the swords of the Mordak Riders Taren had sent north. “So be it.”

  * * * * *

  Marrdin stared blankly at the six Mordak Riders without really comprehending that they stood before him. He had to buy time for his messenger to reach Toredo, but that would take him at least three weeks, if he was lucky. So, he attempted to engage them in somewhat unpleasant debate.

  “Makret, you have a long reputation of honesty. I think we can speak freely, but I would also like to speak privately.”

  “Well I do not disagree that we can speak freely, I am here officially.”

  “To Hesta with formality, Makret. Walk with me.” Marrdin stood and walked out a side door. Makret considered not following him, but eventually did, alone. “You tell me that Taren wants this courier, and you also tell me that if I don’t hand her over to you, I will be made to.” He paused, to see if Makret understood what he was trying to say. It seemed he did, but Marrdin continued anyway. “I’m willing to hand over the courier. Lasheed knows I’ve tried arguing with Taren before, but you have to tell me something first. Why is she so important to Taren? Why is he willing to risk war because of one person?”

  “Taren marched on An-Aniath because he believed this woman was there. One of our own messengers reached us after the city had fallen to tell us that he had seen her in the north, and that she claimed to have a message for the Morschcoda of the land of Rista. Taren doesn’t want to invade another country so soon after taking Armanda, which is why he sent us. He will ride in strength, though, if you is force him to.”

  “Hence the motto of House Garrenin: Eckrit ar Morrind.”

  “Force when Necessary” interpreted Makret, nodding.

  “You explain much about Taren himself, but the real question is still unanswered. I will ask one more time, and you had better convince me. Who is this woman, and why is Taren so set on capturing her? You won’t leave this city with her until I am satisfied.”

  “You have no power to hold me, Marrdin. I answer to Taren, and to Taren alone. Any act against me or those with me will be perceived as an act of war, and the Drogodan Empire will answer accordingly. But, if you absolutely must know why Taren seeks this woman, she is a traitor to the Drogodan Empire. She was imprisoned in Valok-Shein, but she managed to escape. We don’t know how, but Taren is anxious that once we have this woman, she doesn’t do it again.”

  “You seriously expect me to believe that a Dothrin courier escaped Valok-Shein?”

  “We don’t publicize the fact, but it has happened before. Carde Deithara.”

  “I’ve heard of her. Drog noblewoman, rumoured to have had an affair with Taren and then attempted to assassinate him. Now she’s pirate. And Taren refuses to hunt her down.”

  “Well, she hasn’t tried to kill him in a long time.”

  “Your answer isn’t unsatisfying, Makret, but remember this. You may be Taren’s right hand, but I am lord of Rista. I answer only to myself, and to Queen Guinira Estaleth. And if you -” but Makret cut him off.

  “Guinira is dead Marrdin, so make up your own mind and stop hiding behind the skirts of a woman six hundred years your junior!” Makret’s shout caused the shallow pools of water throughout the courtyard they were in to erupt into geysers. Makret knew that Guinira was the courier that he had been sent after, but his spies had reported that many Armandans believed their Queen to be dead. It would not hurt Marrdin to believe the same thing.

  * * * * *

  Marrdin wandered through Agrista pondering Makret’s final act. He was not convinced that Makret believed Guinira was dead, and that the eruption of the pools was an attempt to make those watching believe Makret was merely frustrated. “It was certainly effective” thought Marrdin aloud. He had no doubt that some of his people, perhaps even most of them, believed Makret’s charade. And if they believed he was merely frustrated, and Marrdin was not in the castle … He did not finish the thought. He did not have the time to do so. His people would not, could not, release the courier without his approval. Without hesitation, he turned and ran back to the castle. None of the Ringless, and few even of the Morschledu, could keep pace with his full speed. He was proud of that, but there was now no time to gloat.

  Two of Taren’s spies in Agrista met Makret and his Riders. Disguising themselves as Ristans, they made their slow way to the room where the ‘Dothrin Courier’ was staying. They entered silently, and Guinira took little notice of them, except to speak to them without even looking over her shoulder.

  “You should drop your Ice Mist Veils, so that I will know who it is I have killed.”

  “We are not here to kill you” said Makret. “But we know that you are no Dothorin.”

  Guinira paused for a moment. “I know your voice.” She turned as she said it.

  “You should know it well” said Makret, as he dropped his power. Distorting Depths was the true name of the power more often referred to as the Mirror of the Deeps.

  “Makret Druoth. So Taren believes he can force me to come back as a prisoner.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then he wants to use my death to break Armanda.”

  “As you attempted to use Dalasin? No. Taren has more respect for the gift command than you do. He wants to use you to bring Armanda back to life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Taren has already taken Armanda. Xari surrendered to him. The Flame Weavers offered no resistance. He literally marched into An-Aniath with the Spear. Xari surrendered to him at the border of the desert.”

  “Why would the Flame Weavers not fight?”

  “They are broken. You
r ‘death’ has destroyed their pride. Taren would restore it.”

  “I do not believe you, Son of Carth. And you cannot expect me to believe that you know what is happening in Armanda while you are here in Rista.”

  “But Taren is in Armanda, and his Ring and my Ring are brothers. Bearing Brother Rings allows us to mind speak with each other, even when we are on opposite sides of the continent. You don’t have to believe me. You only need to come with me.”

  “And she will not be doing that either” shouted Marrdin, as he and five of his guards stormed into the room. “I warned you, Druoth. I told you that I would yield the courier in my own time, if at all.”

  While Makret’s tone had been humble, almost begging Guinira to go with him, it changed towards Marrdin. He spoke with authority and power. “And I told you, Redernin, that I would not be threatened, and that the Drogodan Empire would respond accordingly.”

  “This courier has nothing to do with Taren. She’s Dothrin for one thing, and-”

  “And as a Dothorin, she is a citizen of Taren’s empire. And as a courier associated with the Dothrin Army, she is under my command, as I am High General of the Armies of Imperial Drogoda.” Turning now to Guinira, who still wore her disguise, he said “so, I order you to return with me now to Taren.”

  Marrdin looked shaken, and Guinira looked pale. Because she was posing as a Dothrin courier, if she refused the order, she could be punished with insubordination. Likely, that punishment would involve nothing worse than imprisonment. If Makret was really angry, and if Taren was angered, she would have to endure a public flogging, designed in such a way as to break the illusion she wore. If she revealed herself, Marrdin would protect her, but he would have to fight off the crushing weight of both Taren’s and Erygan’s respective empires. She was a prize for both of them. Before she had time to think, though, Marrdin spoke again. “I offer this woman political asylum here in Rista. So long as she remains on Ristan soil, you can’t touch her.”

  Makret now was the one who was shocked. Political asylum was something rarely done, usually only for Merchant Princes or for war criminals who’s actions had benefited the nation they had fled to.

  Makret, who had been almost ignoring Marrdin, rounded on him now. He pointed a long finger into the taller Morschcoda’s face. “You have one week to reconsider your decision, Morschcoda. Other forces than the Dragon Hearted have been gathering on your southern border.”

  With that said, Makret pushed passed Marrdin, and he and his men left Agrista.

  Remembrance

  Taren walked slowly through the streets of An-Aniath. It had been six hundred and fifty years since he had first stood within its walls, a young prince, already laden with the cares of an entire country, for even then many had called for Garrick Garrenin’s removal as Morschcoda. It was the real reason Taren had been sent away to Armanda, so that he would be out of the way. It was not the whole reason Taren had gone, however. Taren had ignored many orders from his father. Being the Prince of Morieden, the largest of Drogoda’s three provinces, largely made up of the northern Plains of Moredo and the Morieden Tribes, he had enough power to challenge his father directly, but he was unknown and had no support outside of the country. Garrick had been even more adept at lying to the Morschcoda than Taren had been. So, he had gone to gain support for himself within Armanda. Nobody, not even Garrick, would have believed that a Drog would willingly ask an Armandan for help, but that had been exactly what Taren had done. He had asked Cereva Gundara for the Flame Weavers. She had refused, mostly for reasons of tradition, but also not wishing to start a war she was not confident of winning. Not even she had suspected just how deep the Drogodan people’s hatred of Garrick had run. But, something happened that Taren had not planned on. He had fallen in love. Cereva’s daughter and heir, Nemira Gundara, had been a beautiful woman, only three years younger than Taren, and Armandan women usually married far younger than women in other countries. She had been seventy nine, and Taren eighty two, but what they shared was not meant to last. After Nemira Gundara died in the third year of their marriage, Taren returned to Alquendiro and challenged his father for the Flowing Throne of Drogoda. And now, he stood within the walls of An-Aniath once again. The city in the desert was where his conquest of Anaria had truly started, but the city of centuries later was different from his memories of it. Many of the grandest buildings were unchanged, but the market had moved, or disappeared completely. A large prison dominated the space which had once been filled with merchant’s shops, street vendors, and exotic colours, the air heavy with southern perfumes, spices, and tobacco and filled with the noises of two hundred vendors competing for attention.

  He was almost speechless as he stared at the monolith of black and red rock. “What is this place?”

  Xari stepped up beside her new king. “Guinira had this prison built almost as soon as you declared yourself independent from Anaria. It was originally supposed to hold those suspected of spying before their trials, and those convicted afterwards.” She shook her head slowly. “It quickly turned into a prison for her political rivals. Practically anyone who denounced her publically ended up in there for a time. I never did, but it was not because she respected me. She mentioned more than one time that she hoped that even you and Erygan would find yourselves inside of its walls. Whether she would have really tried to arrest you or not, though … I’m not sure.”

  Taren accepted Xari’s statement without comment, but he turned away from the prison quickly. Threading his way through the half empty side streets and alleys, he made his way far more quickly through the city than most people knew how to. Xari ran to catch up with him.

  “How do you know all of these back ways? You have not been to An-Aniath in what? One hundred years?”

  “One hundred years? Maybe since I was last a guest in the city, but I have walked these streets many times, unknown and unmarked. I know An-Aniath as well as you know it, if not better.”

  “What is it that you are looking for? I am sure that I could tell you where it is, and how to get there.”

  “You could tell me the way that a Morschcoda or nobly born person should use to get where I’m going. That’s a safer way, yes, but it’s not as fast. And I’m not particularly in the mood for more Armandan company at the moment. You, I will allow to come with me, because I don’t think that you will let me go alone.”

  “I’m not exactly afraid of you getting hurt.”

  “But you will tell Flame Weavers to follow me, and the Spear will follow the Flame Weavers, and then I have two hundred guards when I wanted to share a secret with one person alone.”

  “What secret?”

  Taren did not answer, just walked in a twisting, complicated maze through the dark, narrow alleys, doing everything he could to not be seen by anyone. Finally, he stopped and looked up at the gated archway right across the street from him. “This secret. Follow me.” Rather than cross the street to the archway, Taren began to climb the side of the building that walled in the alley, parallel to the archway. Once he was high enough up the side, he pushed himself sideways, over the wide street, landing on top of the arch. He dropped down inside, and waved his hand for Xari to follow. She looked at the arch herself before making that decision. Something on the keystone caught her eye. The sign of the Golden Flame was clearly visible. On the stones on either side was inscribed a burning torch, the symbol of her own House Gundara. She understood where Taren had led her, if not why. But instead of following Taren’s route, which he had obviously practiced to the point of perfection, but was almost certain to break her neck, she walked across the street and opened the gate with a key she had tucked into her silk belt. With a gentle push, the iron gates of the Gundara Mausoleum opened without a sound, and Xari and Taren paced along the walkway into the building with a quiet, smooth, reverent stride.

  Xari had only once been to her family’s Morschcodal Mausoleum, when her own mother had been laid to rest within its vaulted halls. Now, she walked around, readi
ng all the names of her important recent ancestors. Various titles aside from Morschcoda were engraved upon the plaques of the different vaults. Of course, no bodies were actually in the hall. Only a single ash of the body of each person whose names were written in the stone of the crypt was preserved inside. While Xari lingered on each name, from the first Gundaran Morschcoda, Cereva Gundara, to her own mother, Miana, Taren walked straight to the back. Xari wondered how many times he had made this journey. How many people had known that Taren visited the House Gundara vaults? She could not say. Possibly not even Makret could. She thought that if she could not make Taren tell her why he had come here, she would have to ask the man’s other half if he knew the reason. But then Taren did something even more curious. He turned a corner that Xari had not known was even there. She followed him.

  “Behold the rest of your family, Xari Gundara. Almost every man born of House Gundara and every heir to the Throne of Fire that did not live to take their seat is remembered in this avenue. But I only came here for one of them.” Taren walked to the first vault. “Nemira Gundara, first daughter of Cereva. We shared many things in younger days, before I had a nation to rule, and an Empire to forge … Before I was me. Of everyone in Anaria who has ever lived, there is no one left who can tell you the many secrets that Nemira and I shared while I was the Ambassador from Drogoda. Morschcoda and Merchants would pay a fortune of fortunes for the knowledge of me that is represented in the single ash in this vault. And for that reason, Xari” he said as he turned towards her, “I always come here the way I do. Unseen, unguarded, it is the only way I can properly pay my respects to the only reason I stayed in An-Aniath for so long. But now, it is time to go.” Without waiting for her, Taren turned around the corner into the main hall and began to leave the tombs.