Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Trolly

  “So you’ll come?”

  “Some might. Me? No. Not for all of the pipeweed in Dothoro.”

  Daliana walked back to the cave and waited for Gelida and El Darnen to finish. If all went well, the only thing she would have to do was offer El Darnen and the Greshida amnesty. For allies, it was the least she was willing to do. She looked at Gelida as the two came into sight at the near edge of the camp, and knew things were not going as well as the younger woman had hoped.

  “No” said El Darnen, as soon as he had gotten back to Daliana.

  “How can you say no? We need your help.”

  “It’s actually quite easy, Morschcoda Marcarry. It’s only two letters.”

  “But you know what we face in Makret Druoth. How can you stand there and tell us that you won’t help?”

  “Among the Drogs, I was merely a nuisance. To the rest of Anaria, mine was possibly the most feared banner many of you thought to see in this lifetime. I know well what I did, on Taren’s orders as often as not. I’m all too aware that he is dead. As for Makret Druoth, I met the man only once, before you, Gelida, were even born. I heard of him, but Taren never brought him here. For good reason it seems.”

  Gelida tried another tactic. “You owe my father.”

  “Your father is dead. Buried, Gelida Mectar, because of me and my men, and that debt is buried with him.”

  “So you won’t leave the mountains.”

  “Some Drogs have the gift of foresight. I’m one, occasionally. The threads of the future that I can read are currently woven in such a way that shows Anaria falling. The mountains alone still stand against him, because of my vigilance. He fears the mountains. He won’t send more of his army into them, because he has lost so many already.”

  “That could be one thousand years from now. We need allies in this life.”

  “Then you need to look elsewhere.”

  “What of those who answer to you? Will you decide for them as well?”

  “You may speak to the Greshida if you wish, but remember that it’s largely because of the Morschcoda that many of my men and women are with me.”

  * * * * *

  Daliana and Gelida left the mountains with two hundred former Mordak Riders. Despite the old man’s assurances, Daliana had managed to convince almost half of them to fight. Gelida decided to return to the Greshida alone and see if she could convince El Darnen. Daliana was skeptical, but wished her luck.

  Grathen Harbour

  Edya had no desire to go Grathen Harbour and give orders to the Admirals of the Imperial Navy, especially Grand Admiral Tarick Jreshti, whom she knew only by reputation, but Daliana had given her specific instructions. The navy was to sail to the Dragon’s Claws and destroy any Deshik ships that they encountered. The guards looked suspicious, but she was riding a Mordak, as were her four companions, so they did not dare stop her. They also no doubt noticed the medal for valour she had earned, as well as the High General’s insignia on both her chest and shoulder. Riding through the town, which was larger than she thought it would be, she looked side to side, as though expecting an attack. Everyone here carried swords, and they all seemed suspicious of her. She doubted, though, that anyone would be stupid enough to attack five Mordak Riders of the Spear, one of which was clearly Drogoda’s High General. She stopped at a tavern called the Mermaid’s Rock, which looked less rundown than most other places, and went inside. The air inside was thick with smoke and heavy with the smells of tobacco and rum. It was loud, too. Many of the patrons had formed a large circle, pushing the tables against the wall. They were singing, swaying drunkenly, and watching several barmaids dance. The music, coming from two men and a woman along the far wall, was offensive to her court-trained ears. “Probably to get whoever comes in here to drink more,” she said out loud to Regath Encarthian, whom she had appointed her second in command. Drinking was the only thing that would make the noise they called music bearable. The tavern, and most of the people inside, looked ready to fall over, but she needed information, and a tavern was a better place than most to get it, especially in a harbour town. The bar, little more than a barrier between the patrons and the drinks, looked like it had once been a wall that had collapsed after one too many drunks had fallen, or been thrown, against it. The owner, Edya could tell because she was the only one who looked sober, soon walked over to them.

  “Can I get you anything?” Though she spoke basic Morschen, her accent was definitely not Drog, or any Anarian accent she had heard before.

  “I’m looking for Grand Admiral Tarick Jreshti.”

  A louder than normal burst of song forced the owner to wait to be heard. “What d’you want with him?”

  “Orders from Alquendiro.”

  “Figured. Only time we see soldiers from out west is when Garrenin wants us to do something.” She stopped talking, staring at Regath. “Reg?”

  Regath took a minute to recognize the woman. “Doma?”

  Doma started laughing and gave him a hug. “’T’s been a long time Reg.”

  “Not that long.”

  “You’ve nay been near my pub in two hundred years, if it’s been a day. But I ne’er forget a favourite, especially not someone who used to come through those doors as much as you did.”

  “Has it really been that long? Ah well, Taren and his wars. You understand.”

  Doma laughed again, but Edya was getting impatient, and coughed at Regath to get him to move along. Doma got the message. “Sorry. Old habits of an old pub keeper. You’ll find Tarick at the Broken Rudder. Spends half ‘is time drunk, an’ the other half complaining about not being drunk. Don’t think he’ll be much good to you.” She finished speaking just as the musicians in the corner began another song, clearly a favorite of the patrons, who all began to sing loudly.

  Hoy, Hey

  Heave away

  Hoist the colours

  Out to sea

  Looking back towards the dancers with distaste, Edya asked “Where do I find the Broken Rudder?”

  “Up the street, nearer the docks. My daughter will show you the way.”

  “I know my way around Grathen Harbour, Doma.”

  “T’s been two hundred years since you were last here. We’ve grown a bit since you left for Alquendiro with those recruiters.” She whistled, and a youngish girl came out of the back. She looked much like her mother: high cheekbones, long brown hair that she wore in a braid, and a slim figure, but she carried herself with strength and authority. “Beinra, this is an old friend of mine. Regath Encarthian, my daughter, Beinra. Show ‘em around the city if they want to see it, but get ‘em to the Broken Rudder alive.” Doma winked at Edya, who was distracted by Beinra. She could tell that the girl only took orders from her mother. Doma turned and walked away. She looked over her shoulder, pointed at the dancing girls with her thumb, and added “Don’t worry. This kind of thing only happens in most o’ the taverns.” She did not say whether or not the Broken Rudder was one of them.

  Edya looked at Regath, and then walked out of the building with Beinra almost flouncing along behind them. Her three men had drawn a crowd, which moved off when they saw her. Mounting quickly, she looked for the girl, who was already well down the street, and waiting for them to follow. Edya reined her Mordak after the girl, while her Riders fell in behind her.

  “Reg?”

  He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I used to be a pirate under Tarick Jreshti. The navy caught us, but Taren offered us a deal. Join the Imperial Navy, or die in prison. It was only three years before Tarick had proven his skill and Taren named him Grand Admiral.”

  “And who is Doma? She seems to get what she wants, if her daughter is anything to judge by.”

  “I had no idea that the girl existed, but Doma is … Doma. She’s respected by everybody in Grathen Harbour. Here, even more than in Alquendiro, a name and a reputation mean everything. And she comes from an important family in this area.”

  “Do I dare ask what that means?”

  “A
ctually, Doma is a member of Taren’s court. Taren recognized her as the Princess of Grathen Province, but he still appointed a governor. She refused to leave her pub to become some noble.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea why she’d want to stay in that hole she calls a tavern, but I can see why she wouldn’t want to be one of Taren’s courtroom butterflies. She is of noble blood though. She’s descended from the first Morschcoda not of Garrenin blood, Vecktar Grathen. The town was named after him because he was responsible for Drogoda’s turn towards economic dominance instead of military.”

  Edya still did not understand, but Beinra was clearly not waiting for them. She was standing in front of another old building, much closer to the docks. It was a derelict place, leaning heavily to one side, supported by another building leaning the other way, against it. She dismounted and thanked Beinra, who quickly ran back to the Mermaid’s Rock. Regath dismounted to follow her, but this time she ordered him and her other three men to wait outside. Regath followed her anyway.

  The Broken Rudder was nicer inside than appearances suggested, having not only clean tables, but a clean floor as well. That being said, it smelled the same as the Mermaid’s Rock: heavy with tobacco and rum, thick with smoke, though not quite as much, and saltier, which she attributed to being closer to the docks and the ocean. Most people in the Broken Rudder had the look of seasoned seamen of rank, as if mostly officers frequented it. Most of the patrons wore heavy clothing. Oilskins for rain and seawater hung on a number of pegs near the door, and as often as not, the men had bare feet, though the rest wore tall boots. A group of women, clearly mercenaries, likely ship captains of one pirate fleet or another, with long swords or heavier cutlasses crossed on their backs, caught her eye for a moment. One woman with two longswords seemed especially interested in Edya, and Edya returned the woman’s scrutiny. They were all watching her intently, knowing from instinct that she would be a dangerous enemy if it came to a fight. Several people, men mostly, looked more respectable, merchants possibly, or ship captains. Quite a few were heavily armed with cutlasses and knives hanging from leather belts wrapped around their torsos. Once again, the owner was a woman with an accent she could not identify.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I am looking for Grand Admiral”

  As soon as she said ‘Grand” the woman turned and shouted “Tarick!” A man in the back that she had not noticed before, dressed in the blue and green of Drogoda’s navy, looked up. “That be him.” She turned and walked away.

  Edya walked over to the table and studied its one occupant. The two men he had been drinking with had edged away as soon as they had seen Edya making her way over to the table. The man, Tarick Jreshti, she had to assume, had a dark tan, and looked like a seasoned sailor. The tarnished gold knot on his shoulder, which blended well into the dusty brown wall behind him, marked his as an Admiral. The elaborate colour scheme formed by various medals and other insignias that decorated his jacket’s right breast meant he was in charge of Drogoda’s entire fleet. He did not wait for Edya to say anything. He merely placed his foot on the front of the chair across from him and pushed it out.

  “What d’you want?” As with the two tavern keepers, he had an accent she could not place, though his was more noticeable, as if he was newer to Drogoda than the women, and sprinkled with the salty language of a seaman.

  “Are you Grand …”

  “Aye, I’m Tarick Jreshti. Who’re you?”

  “I am High General Edya Reeshnar.”

  “Well, then ‘High General’,” he placed an elaborate emphasis on the title, “I think I should warn ye about catching the eye of that group of females over there.” He pointed with his mug. Several of the women looked over. Two or three of them smiled at Tarick, who winked back and mouthed a private message. “Nasty bunch, them.” He added a wink in her direction after he said this, followed by a drink, only slightly smaller than his first. “Especially the one you locked eyes with. Carde ’as killed people for less. Though, she do nay seem to mind a few people.” Tarick laughed, which Edya took to mean that he was one of those few. But she had never heard the name before.

  “Who?”

  “Carde Deithara.” He pointed with his mug. “She with the two swords crossing her back. Mercenary Captain o’ the good ship Vengeance. I’d o’ thought even in Alquendiro her name would be known.”

  Edya did not doubt that there were many people in Alquendiro who were interested in all of the doings of the Vengeance and its Captain; Merchant Princes, most of them. She had avoided all of her country’s Merchant Princes, and lesser Merchant Clan Lords, with the same passion that many other Drogs did. “I’m recently ascended to the position of…”

  “By the gods woman, I can tell that.” Here he took a long draught from his mug. “What happened to that other one? Druoth.”

  “Makret Druoth is no longer a member of the Drogodan Army.”

  “Dead is he? Good. Never liked ‘im. Always sticking ‘is nose in to our business, telling us how to do our jobs.” He took another long draught from his mug, clearly not filled with rum that most other patrons seemed to be enjoying in smaller quantities. “So, what d’you want?”

  “I have orders for you.”

  “Not you. Only time a soldier of any rank comes this far east into Grathen Province is to give the Admiralty orders from Garrenin.” He pointed behind Edya, at Regath. “I meant you, Reg. You’ve been gone a few hundred years. Heard you were killed a few times. Not entirely sure I can’t say I’d have been sorry to hear it.”

  “Well, from you, Tarick, that almost passes for a compliment.”

  “What drove a decent sailor like you inland, Reg?”

  “Better pay.”

  “So, nothing to do with Doma? I heard rumours …”

  “You heard rumours about me being dead.”

  “Heard them from outlanders. Not Drogs, and not soldiers either. These rumours started a good bit closer to home than that. Just up the street, you might say.”

  Edya, though she was intrigued by the rare glimpse into Regath’s former life, was annoyed at the delay the two old sailors were creating. “Admiral Jreshti, I have orders for you.”

  “Only Garrenin gives me orders.”

  “Morschcoda Garrenin is dead.”

  “Well, isn’t that just too bad. I guess ye can take those orders back to Alquendiro with ye and throw ‘em in a fire.” He took a hearty swig from his mug then slammed it down on the table. Then he laughed and pointed her to the far wall. “Or save yourself a trip an’ do it here.”

  Edya was getting frustrated. “These orders come from Taren’s heir.”

  “An’ who’s that. You?” He laughed again at the thought.

  “His daughter, Morschcoda Daliana Marcarry.”

  “She’s Dothrin,” he said, spitting on the floor for emphasis as he leaned his chair back to place his feet on the table.

  “She is the daughter of Taren Garrenin. Now, you will follow these orders, or I will rip that knot off of your shoulder here and now?”

  He turned his head so that he could admire the tarnished knot on his shoulder, and then gave a drunken sigh. He stretched out his right hand, which bore a Morschledu Ring and a Signet ring that she did not recognize. “Alright, let’s have ‘em then.”

  Edya handed over the paper carrying Daliana’s seal, an oak leaf in the center of a thick vine which formed a circle. Tarick looked them over.

  “And why, in the name of Caltia, may she forgive me for invoking ‘er name in such a place,” he gestured around him, swinging his arms around wildly, “am I to command my sailors to go to the Dak Starba Shne?”

  Edya was unfamiliar with most of the lesser deities worshipped by the Morschen, having distanced herself from religion, but she did know that Caltia was supposed to bring luck and good weather to sailors. She did not believe in luck.

  Lowering her voice so that only he could hear her, and cursing Daliana for not putting that informa
tion in the orders she carried, she answered him. “The Deshika have returned to Anaria, Admiral. We’ve had news of a large fleet sailing for our shores to reinforce an army that’s already here. We believe that they’re going to make landfall near the Dragon’s Claws sometime within the next week, if they aren’t there already.”

  “That changes things,” he said, turning pale. He drained what was left in his mug to fortify himself after her unexpected explanation. And then, standing up, staggering up, most might say, he addressed the room. “Gents, listen up.” The mercenary captains and merchants in the room pointedly ignored him, but they lowered their voices before continuing their discussions. Obviously, Tarick was a respected man, although from what Edya had seen so far, it might easily have been from his drinking prowess instead of his rank. “Orders from out west. We’re sailin’ north at first light. Prepare the ships, and I want all of ye sober come time to weigh anchor. Spread the news up and down the taverns.” The Broken Rudder was empty of navy sailors within minutes, though the mercenary captains and merchants had not moved. Anywhere else, Edya would have said that the men did not take the order seriously. Here, she had to forgive them their exaggerated care in getting up. Each of these men probably consumed more alcohol in two days as she and most of her friends did in two months, though she had seen others, Taren especially, drink sailors like these under the table and be little worse off for it. Sitting back down, he lowered his voice and spoke to Edya for another minute. “I can’t be at the Claw in one day.”

  “I don’t expect you to be, Admiral.”

  “Just how big is this fleet I’m risking me ships against?”

  “It’s rumoured that it carries as many as four hundred thousand Deshik warriors. If their ships are comparable to a Dreshna …” She paused and made a few estimates. “Over four thousand ships, Admiral.”

  He looked like he had been hit in the face. “If I didn’t need to be sober, I’d need a drink on hearing that.” Just then a barmaid walked over and, with a wink at the Admiral, refilled Tarick’s mug. “Bloody hell, I’ll have one anyway.”