Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Trolly

  Taren thought hard as he turned his back on the mausoleum. Was the prison different from what he had done? The quick answer was yes, but that was not strictly the right one. He had not locked his rivals up. But then he paused to consider how many of his political rivals were still alive. His father was over six hundred years dead, as were two of his brothers. His sister, as the next oldest living Garrenin, was technically his heir, but she was in Rista, married off to the Lord General of the Crystal Sword, well away from him and too far away to interfere. His one remaining brother, as Prince of Morieden, was a more distinct threat, with personal control over the main force of the Drogodan Army, but he still reported not only to Taren, but to Makret as well. ‘No,’ Taren almost said out loud. ‘Elich is as dead as any of them.’ He kept forgetting that Elich had died well over a year before, but he also shed no tears for his fallen brother. Emotions were only a weakness anymore. They meant nothing to him. And what Guinira had done in An-Aniath was almost exactly what he had done in the countries he had captured. He had kept those who had power away from the public until they were ready to bow to him. His thoughts slowly turned from power and maintaining his ever growing empire to the Commander in charge of the Spear of Drogoda in Makret’s absence. Being here in An-Aniath seemed to rekindle the fire of his spirit, the fire that had kindled when he first met Nemira Gundara. ‘But my marriage to Nemira would have been acceptable. A proper marriage, not for love, the world at large would have thought, but for power and stability.’ The thought left him cold inside, any emotional stirrings originating from Edya Reeshnar fading away into nothing. He knew what Makret would have said. ‘You’re being an idiot, Taren. You know that you can’t have her, which is why you feel the attraction. And you know that I’m right.’ Yes, that was exactly what Makret would say, and had said before. Just as his thoughts turned to Makret, what he was doing, if he would be returning to the south with the ‘courier’, Galeth Tendornin himself landed his dragon in the middle of the city.

  “My lord,” he yelled, dismounting too quickly and falling onto one knee, which he turned into a bow, a formality that Taren rarely expected from him.

  “Peace, Galeth. What brings the Chief Rider of Dragons so far south?”

  “My lord, High General Druoth has called out the full strength of the Dragon Hearted. He has launched a full scale invasion on Rista because of insults and threats.”

  “Makret, what in the three hells are you doing?” said Taren to himself, looking northward. “How long has it been since you left him?”

  “Almost two weeks, though I flew as fast as I could.”

  “How Marrdin will respond to this threat, I wonder. He isn’t stupid, but he has clearly done something Makret considers to be beyond forgiveness.”

  “Marrdin has already given his response. The new Torridestan border is much closer to Agrista than the old. The Black Guard is out in strength, believing that in Agrista, they will have a chance of holding the lines if the Brotherhood should be unchained to win the north.”

  “By all the hells!” Taren swore angrily. “Commander Reeshnar! You are in charge here. Take the Spear back to Alquendiro, and do not leave it. When you get to the city, you are to take full command of the Brotherhood of the Mordak as acting High General of Drogoda. If any of the five Masters disapprove, tell them that the shark smells its own blood. They will not question you. Send out messengers to all the other Morschcoda who answer to me, as well as to El Darnen. There are Mordak Riders who know how to find him. No one is to march at the command of General Druoth unless I say otherwise. Go.” He waited as the one hundred Mordak Riders of the Spear of Drogoda rode away before turning to Xari. “Torridestans kept Portaller Sects in every major city in Anaria. Is there still one here? Or did Guinira drive them away?”

  “You may be one of the luckiest men who ever lived, Taren. Not even Guinira could remove the Torridestan Portaller Sect from An-Aniath.”

  * * * * *

  Taren was rapidly growing frustrated with the short pale man in front of him. “I need to be in Agrista.”

  The Torridestan pulled a wad of chewing tobacco out of a pouch on his belt, placed it in his mouth with deliberate care, and crossed his arms as he looked up into Taren’s face. “I’m sorry, my lord, but the Portaller Sects don’t work for just anyone.”

  “I’m hardly just anyone.” The man did not budge. “Name your price.”

  “While that would be a welcome phrase from anyone else, my lord, I’m not inclined to open the Portal for you. Not even for one thousand paroes.”

  “I don’t have time to debate this. I need to be in Agrista before the sun sets.”

  “Considering you ‘ve just ordered a full scale assault of the north, I don’t see it as that important we comply.”

  “And, of course, I can’t threaten you, as that would strand me here as much as anything else.”

  “Quite right, my lord.” The man who barred his way grinned in a sarcastic way, increasing Taren’s frustration.

  “I’ll give you four thousand.” Taren watched the man try to hold his emotions back. Four thousand paroes was more money than most Morschen of this man’s status would see at any point in their lives. Greed was Taren’s ally. Or so he thought.

  “I’m … I’m sorry my lord. It is most generous of you,

  but-”

  “But there are Torridestans at Agrista.”

  “Yes. That’s why we refuse to allow you to go there. We don’t want to lose friends and relatives to a man of your power.”

  “I’m not going there to kill anybody.” This caught the Torridestans off guard. “I’m going there to see if I can prevent a war before it starts.”

  “You … you don’t want …?”

  “Why would I be going to Agrista otherwise? General Druoth is one of the most accomplished tacticians of this age. If I wanted him to lay siege to Agrista and take the north by force, I would have given him the whole Brotherhood to do it. Now, by Lasheed himself, get me to Agrista.”

  “Well then, for four thousand paroes, it shall be done, my lord.”

  * * * * *

  Erygan was lounging in a low, comfortable chair enjoying a glass of wine when Taren stepped through the portal from An-Aniath. He looked up lazily and spoke loudly.

  “Ah, Taren. I was just about to lay a trap for you in Alquendiro. This is more pleasant, though, you coming here to me.” Motioning to several Tai-Aren Coda, Erygan said “take him.”

  “You’re drunk, Erygan.”

  “Of course I am. Do you think I would have ordered my men to try and arrest you if I was sober? I’m not an idiot.”

  “Good. I already had to pay a fortune just to get here. I don’t have time to deal with you, Erygan.” Taren’s hand strayed oh so close to Mishdonkar’s hilt. “If you force me to, I will kill these men, but if you let me go, I can stop Makret before this turns into a war. All you have to do is stay out of my way.”

  “You are already far too late for that, Taren.”

  “Makret was not under orders to attack the city.”

  Erygan stood up, steadied himself, and looked down at his shorter sometime friend. “I don’t think that your orders matter much to him anymore.”

  “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “No, unfortunately. But hopefully that changes soon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Erygan, already pale, went whiter. “If you don’t know, you had better come and see.”

  Taren gave a small sigh of relief as Erygan guided him to the window. “At least the Brotherhood and the armies of the rest of my empire won’t be called into battle here without a reason” said Taren as he walked to the window beside Erygan.

  Erygan’s fur lined cloak billowed as he too turned to face the window. “We may need those armies, Taren.” He pointed out over the once white ice fields, now covered with a massive, sprawling camp. It was not the Dragon Hearted.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Look and see for yo
urself.”

  And Taren did. He turned to look out of the window, only to see innumerable banners of a single red candle on a black field. “But … those are …”

  “Yes Taren. The Deshika have come back. And it appears Makret arranged much of it. The Dragon Hearted arrived, and then the Deshika. Makret went out to meet with the leader, and then stood aside as thousands of the brutes attacked the Dragon Hearted. Two thousand survived.”

  “Dragon Hearted, or Deshika?”

  “It’s not a joke Taren. The Dragon Hearted wanted to hold the field. I had to send out cavalry just to round up the strays.”

  Taren turned from the window, and collapsed against the wall. “Makret can’t be … he just …” He could not find the words. He had lost his father and two brothers in a civil war long ago, by his own hands. “I‘ve killed so many that share my blood. I can’t kill the man who has stood so long beside me. He is more my family than any of the men I have killed were.”

  “I think that the man you knew is dead now, Taren. It is, as I said before, unfortunate that Makret still lives. He will be difficult to kill.”

  “And he knows almost everything there is to know about me. This is the real reason he came north. Not because I ordered him here, but because my sister, the one who will rule Drogoda when I am gone, she’s somewhere in Rista.” He had not told even Makret his greatest secret, and now, he was glad he had not. He still suspected that Makret knew that his heir was not his sister.

  “We need to find a way to kill Makret. If he dies, their hope of conquering Anaria without destroying everything in it withers to almost nothing.”

  “Even if we do kill Makret, and I’m not sure that even I can, we don’t have the strength to make a last stand here at Agrista. Erygan, Marrdin, I need you to get all the civilians out of the city. Take them to Alquendiro, or better yet, Dorok-Baan. I will buy you all the time I can.”

  “But Taren -” Marrdin tried to begin.

  “No, Marrdin. There are not buts. This must be done. Take El Kardi Morschcoda to Dishmo Kornara. And get the Dragon Hearted, what is left of them at least, back to Airachni. If there are more than five hundred soldiers left here in the city … well, I guess I won’t live long enough for you to experience my displeasure.”

  “Taren ...”

  Taren had not looked up from the ground since he had sagged against the wall. He did not look up even now. “Yes, Erygan?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Standing up slowly and stiffly, Taren looked the taller, pale, black cloaked Morschcoda in the eye. “I am sorry too, old friend. Sorry that Anaria will never be united under one banner, and sorry that that plan almost cost us our friendship.”

  Erygan nodded slowly once, using the motion to disguise blinking back the single tear that formed in his eye. “We’re going.”

  * * * * *

  Taren watched the armies of Torridestan and Ristan Morschen as they quickly abandoned the city. Within hours, there were fewer than three hundred Ristan Morschen and Morschledu to hold the walls, men and women who would not leave, who would not let their city fall without a fight. Their sacrifice, thought Taren, should and would be honoured above anything he himself had done with his life. Taren turned and walked to the gate, which he had ordered be opened for him. He would hold it alone. Others would only get in his way, and the only blood he wanted on his sword was Deshik blood, not the blood of heroes. Turning one last corner, he drew Mishdonkar, the sword that had earned its name so many times on so many battlefields. The sword had killed his brothers. The sword had ended his father’s life. Mishdonkar would drink the blood of the Deshika warriors more readily than any Morschen blood it had ever tasted. Standing alone in the centre of the gate, he waited. And as he waited, he sang softly to himself. It was a song he had composed the day that Nemira had been ceremonially burned in keeping with Armandan custom. He had sung it for the first time as Nemira was being placed onto her pyre. He had not sung it, or any of the other, less refined poetry he had once written, since that day. He had been a different man before Nemira.

  Oh Wife of mine, we hear the Heralds calling

  From camp to camp outside the city walls

  We know that soon now we must ri-ide forth to meet them,

  May our swords be sharp, our arms be strong now in our need

  Oh Wife of mine, we fear the Sleep Without A Waking

  When we you lay a-board a cold grey ship,

  With all our arms, and treasures piled round us

  It is more than our heavy hearts can stand

  Oh Wife of mine, look ever for my coming

  For sound of horns, and glad voices listen well,

  If I return, then with you I will tarry

  And go not forth, to meet with them again

  Oh Wife of mine, I hear the Heralds calling

  From camp to camp, outside the city walls

  I no more fear the Sleep Without A Waking

  For my heart knows, I’ll wake next to you again

  * * * * *

  “Sir.” The voices of the Deshika never failed to make Makret shudder, though he was slowly learning how to mask the spasm. They were low, hissing almost, like a snake, and they horribly mangled and abused the language that Makret knew so well. Still, he preferred that they abuse his language than he lower himself to the point of learning theirs. “General, the gate of the city is opening.”

  Makret looked toward Agrista, and yes, the gate stood open. But he could make out that the way was not clear. His eyesight, better than that of the Deshika he was now surrounded with, could make out one lone figure, with a long sword. “The gate is open, but the way is not clear.”

  “No army can stand against us.”

  Makret almost laughed. No army could stand against the Deshika? It was true from the Deshika’s point of view, but he put no trust in them. The Dragon Hearted had stood firm to a man, though they had been surrounded, outnumbered, and taken by surprise. And still, nearly half had escaped into the city. Those were probably at Airachni already, rationalizing their running by saying that they would make their last stand one of more importance on a greater battlefield, a last stand to endure through the ages as the greatest deed of the Morschen, thanks to the thousands of Torridestans who had arrived minutes before the attack on the Dragon Hearted. But Erygan had been smarter than to send his main army into the fray, though his cavalry had ridden through the mess, rescuing many Meclaryans. His main host would have lost. Erygan knew that well.

  “Send in a force to take the city. One thousand should be more than enough. I will lead it myself.”

  The War Chief bowed in his people’s peculiar way, with the two lower hands placed on the stomach and the two upper arms stretched outward. “As you command.”

  * * * * *

  Edya Reeshnar was surprised to see the banners of Torridesta and Rista before the gates of Alquendiro, but she had her orders. She did not believe that Taren would disapprove of her use of the Portaller Sects to move the Spear northward quicker. Still, she avoided the two large camps as well as she could. At least, until two heralds began riding towards the city, calling for whoever led Drogoda’s military to come forward and take council with Morschcoda Erygan Dalrey and Marrdin Redernin. The heralds were in front of her, so she waited until they turned around and began to ride back. “Yes?”

  “Are you a military leader of Drogoda?”

  “Not quite. I am recently appointed by Morschcoda Taren Garrenin as commander of the Spear of Drogoda, and acting High General of the armies of the Drogodan Empire. I have yet to take real command of the Brotherhood or the rest of the army.” The herald of Torridesta was about to say something, but a horn blew in the city, and the gate opened as the five Masters of the Brotherhood exited to meet with the heralds. The stopped a bit in front of Edya, more surprised to see her than she was to see them.

  “Commander Reeshnar. We believed you to still be in Armanda with Morschcoda Garrenin.”

  She knew what that meant. The
Masters of the Brotherhood believed that with the Garrenins and Makret out of the country, they could assume control over the Drogodan Empire. Only she was there, as Taren’s supporter, and Commander of the Spear of Drogoda. The symbolism of the Spear was even more important than their legendary abilities. Whoever they supported, the people and the rest of the army would as well. So, she found it hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice when she answered. “Well, Morschcoda Garrenin has gone north. He instructed me to take command of the Drogodan Empire personally, as acting High General in both his and General Druoth’s absence.” Her meaning was obvious. The five Masters were currently the most powerful people in the country, but she had just ordered them to mind their own business.

  “And how do we know that these orders come from his highness? Surely you have proof.”

  “The shark smells its own blood, Master Veened Coido. I do not have the time required to give you the proof you seem to need so desperately.”

  The five Masters looked at each other in shock. Veened Coido looked like he was going to be sick. The others did not look much better.

  Edya turned to the two heralds. “Now that I have taken the powers I was granted, I can say that I am the military leader of Drogoda at this time.”

  The heralds wasted no time. “You will come with us.” She raised an eyebrow, and the Torridestan herald sheepishly changed the order to something that could pass for a request. It was not necessarily any more easily refused.

  She reluctantly followed the two men into a small pavilion between the two camps. Both Erygan and Marrdin were there already.

  “Who are you?” asked Marrdin, coldly. He had been given good reason to mistrust Drogs as of late.

  “I am Commander Edya Reeshnar of the Spear of Drogoda. In addition to this, in High General Druoth’s absence, I am acting High General of the armies of the Drogodan Empire.”

  “I think you will find your station more permanent than you thought.”

  “What do you mean?”