Devil's Dominion

by Stephen Trolly

  El Darnen sat back down. “Oh? What things?” He did not sound convinced.

  “There’s trouble brewing between the Seven Devils. He didn’t say what kind of trouble or when it might come to blows between them, but he warned me to be prepared to take advantage of it. He also said something about the quest of Kallin’s father not being in vain, but that he wouldn’t return. We would have to find him. Do you know anything about that?”

  El Darnen stared at her for a long time before he answered. He began by heaving a long sigh of exhaustion. “Garneth Revdark abdicated the Morschcodal Throne of Stars and gave it, technically, to Kallin. Kallin wasn’t Demosira yet, so he could only hold the title; he could not officially bear it. Garneth gathered some Demosira skilled at languages and led them west. For two years, they travelled in lands just beyond our borders, looking for signs of new peoples to make allies out of, sending messengers back regularly, every month or so. Twenty messengers in total. They disappeared out of known lands about fifty-five years ago, near the far edge of the western wastelands. Dragon Riders sent after them either didn’t come back or came back half alive with no news of Garneth. Galeth Tendornin himself went the last time to see if he could find Garneth or some sign of him. The old man came back almost two years later, half-starved and more than half-dead. He had been from the Icto-Rista to the Southern Lava Fields. He had flown over swamps the size of Drogoda and craters deeper than the Garuthen Mountains are tall. He did not see a sign of one single intelligent being, living or dead, in that whole time. When he tried to go out again, with more Riders and for a longer time, the Dragon Council stepped in and told him that if he wanted to go alone, he could, but he wasn’t allowed to take other Riders with him, unless they volunteered. And even if they did, he would not remain Chief Rider of the Dragon Riders if he insisted on going. He stayed here, and no one has seen or heard from Garneth Revdark in fifty years or more. That is all I know, though Kallin undoubtedly could tell you more.”

  She absorbed his soliloquy silently, simply staring at his face in quiet disbelief. “How did I not know this sooner?”

  “Even the other Morschcoda, as you do know, knew nothing about Garneth’s reasons for abdicating. All he said in the Council Chamber was that it was time for Storinea to have a new Morschcoda. I know why he left because before he actually set out, he invited me to Dorok-Baan. He asked me if I knew anything about the lands across the mountains. I couldn’t tell him anything worth knowing.”

  ‘How does he know what Garneth said in his final sitting? He doesn’t have access to El Kardi Morschcoda.’ She did not voice that question. Instead, she asked El Darnen another. “And what about this ‘artifact’ that you have long watched over? What does that mean?”

  El Darnen sighed again. “It means that either you have spies that I haven’t found or you really were visited by a ghost. Nobody outside of the Greshida, and very few even inside of it know about that which we guard in our mountain hold. I suppose that Kallin or Erygan might have heard of this thing’s existence, but it’s a stretch even to name them. I suspect that Taren knew. The Garrenin’s kept more records and journals than a Demosira could hope for.” Daliana began to look excited. “No, it isn’t Donkar-Hesta, nor is it the First Garrenin’s Ring.” Her face fell. “I don’t know what it is, though I have suspicions. I believe that it is beyond value - and old. So very old.”

  “Well then, we have to go to the mountains to see it.”

  “Yes, we will. And we’ll have to take Kallin with us. He should know what it is that I have guarded for so long. It’s likelier that he will than Erygan, and Taren is dead, so we can’t ask him.” Daliana thought that there was something strange in El Darnen’s voice as he mentioned Taren’s death, but she could not place it. It felt like the Serpent did not quite believe what he was saying, but she knew that Taren was dead. She could feel it in her heart that her father was not coming back.

  As the two stepped outside, it was Gelinia Eshtarin who sat minding the fire. Aleishi had gone in to take a turn watching over Edya, and the young Ristan sat, absentmindedly poking the fire with a stick that she was holding in her left hand. Daken had retired to his own tent. It was strange for Daliana to see the woman, who was maybe one quarter of her own age, look so tired. Though she had only recently ascended to the title of Lord General of the Crystal Sword, Daliana remembered Gelinia often accompanying Marrdin Redernin to The Councils at Dishmo Kornara. That woman had been full of life, and laughed and smiled more than most other people that Daliana had met, either at Dishmo Kornara or in her state visits to other countries. Without knowing what prompted her, Daliana walked over to her and sat.

  “Has there been any news about Eildar?”

  “Only that he’s not dead, and that the healers don’t expect that to change.”

  “That’s some good news, then.”

  “We’ve had a reasonable amount of good news today. We know now that we can at least fight Armanda. Or, we can fight Deshika led by uncommitted generals like Makret.”

  Daliana nodded, unconvinced. “How’s Edya?”

  “Still out. She woke up once or twice, but by the time I had even noticed to think about summoning a healer, she had drifted off again.”

  “Do any healers have opinions about what is wrong with her?”

  “You seem overly interested. Why?”

  “I …” She had no response ready, but she knew her answer. She just did not know the words to say it. “Taren was my father. He looked out for Edya all of her life, and with him gone, it feels like she, with so many other seemingly more important things, has fallen to me. I feel like Taren would want me to do this. And I feel that taking care of Edya, or looking out for her, is at least something that I can actually do.”

  “You feel an obligation to continue in all of your father’s footsteps.” Gelinia lowered herself off of the log she sat on and leaned her back against it. “Don’t you think that Taren’s Drogodan boots might be too large for your Dothrin feet?”

  “You understand why I’m worried then.”

  “I’ve asked myself a question very like it for four or five hundred years. Actually, I forget when I first started asking it.” This caught Daliana by surprise. She had thought Gelinia was much younger. “I come from a long line of Drog-Ristan half-bloods. Every man in my family was recruited into either the Brotherhood of the Mordak or the Crystal Sword. When I was born, six hundred years ago now, the only child of a family of long military history, and a girl, it was widely believed that the last Eshtarin had already claimed their place in Anaria’s bloodier histories. But even though I refused to believe that, I had three older generations of soldiers still living in my family to prove wrong. It was only when I took the position as second in command of the Crystal Sword that I felt like I had done it. So, yes, I know what it is to feel … inadequate.” She stretched her back, cracking it several times and letting out a contented sigh as she lowered herself back down.

  “If I wasn’t afraid to lose my only sympathizer, I might say something about how I have had the Garrenin lineage heaped on my shoulders. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  Gelinia stared into the fire. “You’re the heir to a name that stretches back to beyond antiquity. That is the beginning you seek.”

  “And how do I end?”

  “By doing something none of your ancestors ever did.”

  “One hundred thousand men and women have borne this name over five ages. It’s the only Great House that still exists which can be traced throughout the entire history of our people, all the way back to The Eternal War. I doubt that there is anything left to be done, except die childless and break the line.”

  “You might think so,” said El Darnen in a quiet voice, as he sat down on the log Gelinia leaned against, “but not one single Garrenin has lived to be one thousand.” Gelinia swatted his leg and murmured something about how that was not the best approach to Daliana’s problem. It was only then that Daliana thought about why she had sat
down in the first place.

  “Well, maybe I’ll be the first to die of old age, but what about you, Gelinia?”

  The Ristan’s pale blue eyes narrowed and her body tightened. “What about me?”

  “Will you live long enough to die of old age? Every time that I look at you today, you’ve seemed dead on your feet.”

  Gelinia relaxed, leaning back into the log. “It’s the wound that I received at Agrista. Though that was two years ago … Sometimes it feels nearly healed, and other times, it seems as though I can feel it draining my strength as my body works to repair the damage.”

  El Darnen put a hand on her shoulder and started rolling up her sleeve. Gelinia tried to pull away, but the Serpent’s grip on her shoulder was firm, and she barely had the strength to fight him off anyway. When the sleeve reached her elbow, she started to pull harder, but El Darnen still held firm. When the sleeve finally was pulled back above the wound, Daliana made the sign of the circle around her heart. El Darnen was more direct.

  “Nyjeta!” Gelinia flinched as he shouted the pungent oath near her ear. “Why didn’t you show this to someone?”

  Gelinia looked down at her left arm. There was still a large chunk of flesh missing, and the skin around the crater in her arm was either a bloodless white or black streaked with burning red veins. “It was worse when it first happened, and there was too much to do after that, many who were more seriously injured. And after…” She did not get a chance to finish. El Darnen’s yell had drawn several healers, among others, who believed that Edya was in some danger. One man, an ancient warrior with a grizzled grey beard, vomited when he caught a glimpse of Gelinia’s arm. Others of the same sort either cursed audibly or made the sign of the circle, as Daliana had. The healers, however, wasted no time on such indulgences. There were five of them, and between them, they had no trouble in forcing Gelinia towards the tent where El Darnen and Daliana had had their discussion. Daliana wondered why they would use El Darnen’s tent, but then she noticed that the Serpent was no longer sitting on the log, but had run ahead to his tent to remove his pack, his maps, and clean the small pile of various items off his cot, which would undoubtedly be needed by Gelinia. He emerged a moment later and walked over to the tent where Edya still slept and stepped inside. The flap moved again, but it was Aleishi Mandrath, not El Darnen, who had pushed herself through the canvas doorway.

  “What happened out here?”

  “Gelinia’s apparently been injured since Agrista. El Darnen just forced her to show us the wound. It’s … not small.”

  “Was it really that bad? I mean, I heard El Darnen, and then I heard a few others, and then I heard—”

  Instead of answering, Daliana projected an image of Gelinia’s arm into Aleishi’s mind. The younger woman looked sick and gagged, but did not vomit. She regained some composure and stood straighter, but then her eyes rolled back into her head and she blacked out. Daliana caught her as she fell, and sat her down leaning against the log where Gelinia had been sitting. She came too after a minute.

  “Did you really have to do that?”

  “You did ask if it was bad.”

  “I was hoping more … Edya bad.”

  “How is she?”

  “She seems to be sleeping now, not just unconscious. El Darnen said that he would stay with her the rest of the night in case she woke up or needed anything.”

  “So I guess that means that I am stuck here for a while.”

  “Most likely, your majesty.” Aleishi laughed at the face Daliana made, not knowing it was the reference to her position and not whether she would be leaving the forest or not, that provoked the reaction.

  * * * * *

  As soon as the trees and their Morschen defenders had been left behind, Makret had ordered the camp broken and the battle weary Deshika to march southwards. By the time that the ghost of Atalin Danalath had been to Daliana, Makret and his army had moved far away; their fear kept them marching. Though Makret was as tired as any of them, having lost several nights of sleep due to his need to speak with Daliana and Edya personally, there were certain things that he could not say through a messenger. He had even refused to give those secrets to Daken, Gelinia, or Aleishi, and he had not managed to deliver half of his messages anyway: things concerning Taren, or the plans of Guinira and The Kindler, or the names of Ringlord spies in Dothoro or the Garuthen Mountains. Certain ones of those things did not need to be said in person though.

  When his army came to a stop for the night, weary and footsore, Makret, though in equally bad shape, stayed up in his tent late into the night, writing out a detailed letter. His seal, a sword raised in salute beside an armoured fist, pressed the folded paper together. He stepped out of his tent and wandered through the camp, stopping occasionally to talk with one of the guards on patrol, keeping an eye out over his shoulder. When he was sure that no one could see him and he would not be followed, he slipped out of the camp and far enough up the road to be out of sight of the camp. He knelt down, whispered three words over the bit of paper, and shoved it under a rock with a hole in it roughly shaped like a mouth. Though he believed that the spell would lead Edya to it as soon as it could, he pulled the blue stone out of his belt and left it standing upright at the edge of the hole. Edya would know because of the stone that the envelope was meant for her. Knowing that he had just done one more service for the Morschledu Remnant, he ran back to the camp, slipping in unnoticed, and made it back to his tent before, he hoped, any of the War Chiefs had become suspicious and checked whether or not he was in his tent.

  The next morning, he discovered that he was very fortunate. One of the War Chiefs had looked in to speak with him, but one of the night guards told the Chief that he had seen Makret near the encampment’s southern edge. By the time the War Chief had returned, unable to find Makret where the guard had said he was, Makret had returned to the camp and spoken to the guard, so he knew the story that he would have to tell.

  Breaking the Mirror

  Guinira, though she still believed that she had almost three Morschen weeks to find Makret’s replacement, had not been idle. Almost as soon as Makret had left the country, Guinira had begun to marshal her loyal Flame Weavers. She had hoped that her new General might come from among Armandan ranks, but many of the most experienced commanders and greatest warriors who might have stood with her had perished at Emin-Tal, and the few Ringlords of real strength from her home country were unpredictable. The rest were either far too young or simply incapable of commanding an army. So she looked elsewhere. Though such a replacement would be by far the best, Drog Generals were in short supply, both in Armanda and Anaria at large. Regath Encarthian, whom she had met several times, had been crushed by The Kindler at Emin-Tal, but even if he were still alive, Guinira knew that he would not serve her. Edya Reeshnar was now the Morschcoda-in-exile of Drogoda and the leader of the Morschledu Remnant. Barthen Grosht, a Master of the Brotherhood of the Mordak from the days of her twice-great-grandmother, was now in command of Drogoda’s Imperial Navy. Aside from Erygan Dalrey’s rampage through the north, Drogoda’s navy was the most direct challenge to her power. Any other living Drog that might suffice was guarding the island of Alquendiro with unceasing vigilance, so that she and her Deshik armies could not take the ancient city. She knew that soon, she would have to turn her attention to the Drogodan capital, no matter that she knew the price in lives for Alquendiro would be higher than she could afford. And Makret Druoth, the warrior from beyond legend, the commanding General of so many victories, he was the man that she was trying to replace. “So no,” she said out loud, not caring if anyone heard her. “Not a Drog. So where can I find a General? Which of the Ten Anarian Nations understands warfare half so well as Armanda or Drogoda?” The easiest answer was Dothoro. But Guinira had executed the only leader of note, soldier or otherwise, to be found under the leaves. Atalin Danalath could not march against her now. Daliana Marcarry was no real threat to Armanda. The Dothrin people would not march in force outside
of their forest. Her thoughts turned northward, to Torridesta. She understood why in a heartbeat. ‘If I place a Torridestan at the head of all of my armies, then the loyalties of that country would be made more secure. A Torridestan would know how to fight Erygan and win, eliminating that threat.’ The thought of a Torridestan civil war was a pleasant one. Eildar Dalrey, Erygan’s son, was rumoured to have been seen several times in Storinea and Western Armanda, but the boy didn’t belong to her, and she didn’t have time to both capture and turn him. But there were a few Torridestans in her service, and she sent one of her servants to bring one whose name she knew.

  * * * * *

  “You summoned me, your majesty?” said the man as he entered and knelt.

  “You are Doman Cardrick?” He nodded slowly. “I did.”

  “How may I serve you, my lady?”

  “I need a new General. It has to be someone who is capable of leading an army on the battlefield, but more importantly, it has to be someone … flexible. Willing to take orders.” Guinira leaned forward. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, your majesty.”

  Guinira nodded, believing she had chosen well. “I am giving you a chance to prove yourself worthy of the command of my armies.”

  “What of General Druoth? Surely he is more capable than any of leading your armies.”

  “Yes, and of leading them to victory, which is more troubling.” Doman remained silent. “I do not trust Makret Druoth. He is arrogant and solitary, with a far-too-impressive military career. If he decides to betray us, then many of my people will follow him, if only because they don’t want to choose the losing side. Numbers mean nothing in a battle against him.”