Devil's Dominion

by Stephen Trolly

  Makret was slightly put off by this speech by the son of his former friend. He had known the lad existed, but had expected him to be more like his father. Regath had been a good man, noble and honest. He would have died unbroken. His son clearly did not have the same mental strength that he had possessed, but Makret knew just how few people did. Makret had also heard too much about Vorteez. The reputation that the Master of Pain had acquired for breaking even the most disciplined mind was formidable, to say the least. The Whip was no frivolous symbol; it had been earned over many lifetimes of torture and sadism. “General Trag, I will not permit you to go out on maneuvers with the Burning Sun. Order them back to their barracks. I believe that we have trouble brewing along the coast, and we will have need of them to help us subdue it. Dismissed.” Trag bowed his head and left, not daring to argue in the presence of not one but two representatives of two different Devils. Makret turned to the shorter Drog, but did not stand up. “Now, as for you, boy, whether you are Vorteez’s dog or his right hand, I take orders only from The Kindler himself. Not even Guinira gives me orders that I am required to follow. So, I would suggest that you rethink your way of going about obtaining my cooperation.” Makret found a mug of Gafve that a servant had brought him hours before. It was cold, but it still served the purpose of punctuating his statement. The drink tasted much better cold, in his mind.

  “I have written instruction …”

  Makret took the letter and tore it in half. Then he put the halves together and tore them. He did the same thing several times until no piece of Vorteez’s letter had more than one or two whole words on it. He then dumped the scraps onto the floor. “I don’t care about your written instruction. The Drog Imperial Navy is the lowest on a long list of my priorities for the Deshika: Erygan Dalrey rides through the north, the west is mostly unconquered, and Alquendiro stands. The world where I agree to raise a fleet to sail who knows where to fight Drogs at sea is not this one.” He drained the mug.

  “It will be Lord Vorteez’s armies that sail against the Drogs. And Lord Vorteez is the one authorizing this, not you.”

  “Were Vorteez capable of authorizing you to do anything, you would have done it by now. Vorteez has no authority in Caladea. This is The Kindler’s land. And I am The Kindler’s High General, and the High General of all Deshik forces in Seven-controlled Anaria. You need my cooperation before you can ‘authorize’ anything and, for the moment, I am not inclined to give that to you.”

  “On behalf of the Lord Vorteez, I order you to cooperate.”

  Makret rubbed his eyes. “You are persistent, if more than a little deaf. I don’t take orders from anyone other than The Kindler: not from the others of the Seven, not from Guinira, and certainly not from you. Ra-Diavere is my city, boy, so if you want my help, you will learn respect, something that I know your father would have taught you.”

  “My father is dead. Whatever he taught me is meaningless now.”

  “Get out of my sight, boy.”

  “I have …”

  “I don’t care right now. Get out of my sight until you understand that there are more powerful people in the world than you, and that sometimes, getting things done, even with written authority, means waiting for those people to decide that they’re willing to help you. Nothing moves in Caladea without me knowing. No sword is drawn but by my order. No guard moves anywhere I haven’t ordained. No ship sails without my consent. Do you understand, boy?”

  Regath drew himself up straight and leveled a calm gaze at Makret. “Very well, High General Druoth.” Regath offered a bow in mockery of Makret, then turned on his heel and left. Makret called to him before he left the room.

  “Boy, if you leave this city without my permission, I’ll see to it that any ship you attempt to take sinks before it leaves the shore.” Regath simply kept walking and let the doors slam shut behind him without looking back. “Captain.” Carrod Horshen stepped away from the wall. “Have him followed, and issue orders throughout all the harbour towns in Caladea. No ship is to sail at the command of Regath Encarthian unless I personally say so.”

  “If he keeps yelling about those orders from Vorteez, there will be some harbour masters not anxious to refuse him.”

  “As long as some do, and without the papers, some captains will be hard to convince. For now, I need to warn the Drogs, quickly. And the Remnant needs to know that we have a new enemy.”

  “I will take a ship myself and warn the Drogs in El Redro Delshoi.”

  “No. I need you here. But choose three men, and have them go in separate ships. Tell them not to sail straight for the islands. If they know that they’re being followed, go elsewhere. One of them should get through. As for me … I’ll need to stay in the city much longer than I had hoped. If word gets back to An-Aniath that I’ve taken command of Ra-Diavere, then The Kindler’s armies will descend on us here. Ready those you know will stand with the Remnant, Carrod. We’re going to have a battle on our hands. Possibly very soon.”

  Fire and Water

  Lady Elshay Cabrinda fell exhausted into her chair in the throne room of Alquendiro. The Mordak Council was set to meet by the fourteenth bell. They had been left in charge of the city since most of the country’s Morschledu had vanished into the heart of the Dothorin forest, or been captured and enslaved by Guinira. The largest problem they faced with their rule was that almost half of the Mordak Council had died at Emin-Tal or had retreated into the forest with most of Drogoda’s decimated army, and the living members did not have the authority to name new ones. Only the four territorial governors, Elshay herself being one, and the representative of the Merchants Conclave, the Merchant Prince Ren Enschiva, remained in Alquendiro. Drogoda’s last High General, Regath Encarthian, had died at Emin-Tal, as had all five of the Masters of the Brotherhood of the Mordak. Morschcoda Edya Reeshnar had fled to the forest, the representative of the Grand Admiral was hiding with the rest of the fleet, and the last Prince of Morieden, her own lover, Elich Garrenin, had died two years before the New Deshik Wars began. Taren had never named another heir, and Elich had had no children. The affair of Elshay and Elich had been no secret, but it had produced no child and the throne of Castle Morieden was vacant. And so, she and the other governors had had to change. As she was the Governor of Alquendiro, the others looked to her to lead them, and so she had changed most of all. The long, elegant dresses had been traded in for pants and a shirt. Her quick tongue had been replaced with a quicker sword. She now wore boots in place of the dainty shoes that had only been suited for a dance floor. Arming herself was her first act every morning, and the few nights she did not sleep armed, removing her weapons was the last thing she did. She knew that the governors were the same way.

  As the other four members of Remnant Drogoda’s ruling council filed into the throne room, Elshay studied them. Verdrick Billith of Grathen Province, made up of eastern, southern, and coastal Drogoda, had been a very prosperous Merchant Prince. He had bought his seat on the council by funding several of Taren Garrenin’s more legally dubious campaigns. He liked to be in a position of influence, but Taren had always ignored the man, only naming him Governor to ensure that the man’s vast fortune was always at the Morschcoda’s disposal. He looked terrible, like he had not slept in a month. Elshay did not doubt that she looked worse.

  Comni Hargd of Morieden towered over the other four council members. Had Edya not been the reigning Prince’s Champion from a tournament that had not been held in almost fifty years, and as such the legal heir to the Morschcodal Throne, Comni would have had a strong case to take the throne herself. Drogoda’s Morschcoda, even the comparative few who were not Garrenins, had always come from the Morieden Clans. It had been Comni who had trained Elshay to use a sword, and it was Comni who was responsible for the little that was left of Drogoda’s armies. But the last living members of the Spear were in Dothoro, the Riders and the wild Mordak were being hunted, the Tai-Aren Coda had all but been destroyed at Emin-Tal, and the Morieden Clans were being pac
ified. There wasn’t much of an army for Comni to command.

  Garva Tagro did not look much like a noblewoman, but she was one. Taren had needed someone with a strong personality, but who could also restrain themselves towards Armandans crossing the border, to govern the plains of Western Drogoda, and he had found that personality in Garva Tagro. She was not tall, nor broader than the other women, but she was a determined and fierce woman despite her stature. And as she had managed to avoid starting a war with Armanda before the New Deshik Wars began, they all knew that they could trust Garva’s judgement.

  Ren Enschiva came from Grathen Province, like Verdrick. Unlike Verdrick, Ren had not made a fortune as a Merchant. He had made several. Textiles, jewelry, tobacco, alcohols like Eschcotan Whiskey and Storinean Wines, and the overseas trade to human lands in Alega and Acrosa had all played their parts in Ren’s rise to power as Drogoda’s most notable Merchant, and one of the chief members of the Merchant’s Conclave. He wore clothing similar to what the other four all wore, sombre and practical, but Elshay did not doubt that Ren’s idea of sombre and practical cost significantly more than her own did.

  Even though they were all already seated, they still waited for the fourteenth bell to begin their discussion. They found the custom comforting, if nothing else.

  Elshay knew that she was the only one who really had anything to say, so as soon as the bell rang she spoke, deciding not to waste time that her people might not have. “The True-Arms Masters are being hunted down, so we must train more. Comni, are there any left in the city?”

  “There’s me, but most died at Emin-Tal. More died at Grathen Harbour when the Whip Crackers tried to catch the navy as it was evacuating anyone who could get out.”

  Elshay shook her head. It was just more of the same bad news to which she had grown too accustomed. “Have any Tai-Aren Coda still in the city begin training any man or woman who owns a sword or can find one. Have smiths increase production of arrowheads and spearheads. More people know how to use a bow than a sword, and the spear is easier to train with.”

  Verdrick groaned and yawned, despite the late morning hour, leaning to his left as he covered his mouth. He then slouched and rested his chin on his chest. “We don’t have the time to train a new army, Elshay.”

  “I know, Verdrick. But Alquendiro has stood for hundreds of thousands of years, and it has only ever been conquered twice, both times by Garrenins. I will not be the one who let this city fall undefended. Your own people have brought news that Guinira herself is marching to war. She can only be coming here. We have no Mordak and no Riders, but we have time, for now. Everyone who can’t fight, especially the children, needs to get out of the city. I would prefer to send them to Dothoro, but we can’t. If we can get them to the Miashny Islands, they will be safe enough. Use anything that floats so long as there are no children in this city by the time Guinira gets here. I doubt that any save the Drogs even remember those islands exist, so they will be safe.” Elshay stifled a yawn herself. Verdrick was as useful as a sword made of gold: good for presentation, but soft and easy to bend. He didn’t have to hold the city together.

  Garva had a surprisingly soft voice for a woman of her stature. “Elshay, Guinira is marching at the head of a trained army, over two hundred thousand strong. If she is coming here, then she will take Alquendiro. More than just the children should leave. We do not have any real defence against the Deshika. If they breach the walls, the city will fall.”

  “But they have no way onto the island since we destroyed the bridges. I’m not saying that that’s a sure defence, but if they attempt to cross the channel, they will pay a high price. If we had a trained army, or can train one before she gets here, that price might be made high enough to make Guinira turn around. If we could get word to Morschcoda Reeshnar in Dothoro, any reinforcements that we might get from the forest could mean we hold the city.”

  Verdrick, Comni, and Ren all agreed with Elshay that they either needed an army or reinforcements, but Garva did more than just disagree with them. “For that army to be effective right after the Deshika cross the channel, they would have to be outside of the city walls. If the crossing was easier than we believe it should be, we would then have no defence against the Deshika. Guinira would raze the city.”

  Elshay hung her head in thought. She knew that Garva’s point was valid, and that the Governor would not have brought it up unless she believed it was possible, or even probable. “That may be a risk we have no choice but to take, Garva.”

  The councillors left their hall by various doors. Comni and Verdrick went out through the main door into the Great Hall, which in Taren’s time would have been filled with guards standing at attention, officers running through orders, and servants trying to stay out of the way. Lords and Ladies such as Elshay would have been decorating the cold stone halls with colourful ensembles trying to catch the eyes of each other. Though those days were only two years gone, they felt like ancient history to Elshay. Comni would be going out into the city to militarize it even further. Verdrick would be sending out messages to loyal servants throughout Grathen Province. Garva went through a smaller door leading out into the palace’s Royal Gardens. Elshay felt like a walk in the Gardens herself. They had always been her favorite part of the city; the only part of the palace that did not feel like a war camp ready to meet challenges everyone knew would not come. The Royal Gardens had always been bright and colourful, full of life and beauty. It had surprised her to know that it had been Taren himself and not the Merchant Princes who paid for the upkeep of the gardens. Not even Anyana Garrenin, Taren’s sister, had been involved with the delicate flowers, one of the only patches of colour in the drab grey city beside the cold grey sea. And despite all of his various and impressive reputations, his sole upkeep of the Royal Gardens was the only thing she could bring herself to admire about the older brother of her dead lover. Elich had been smaller, less deadly than Taren, not so forward in arms. But he had also been gentler, less arrogant and more caring, nothing at all like Taren, or the other two, Garret and Dreth. Elich had gotten his mother’s temperament. With a sigh, Elshay turned away from the garden door, and instead turned towards the outer city.

  Eventually, she found herself somewhere she had not expected ever to go. She was standing at the door of the Topmast, the Great Tower of Drogoda, one of the tallest towers in all of Anaria. Without knowing what prompted her, she entered and climbed to the top of the massive column of stone.

  The climb would have been beyond her before, but her training with the sword had conditioned her body as well as her mind. Still, the twelve-hundred-foot climb taxed her, but the view from the top was well worth it.

  To the north, as far as she could see and further, the inland Sea of Drogoda stretched, cold and grey, dark and powerful. Across the narrow channel to the east, south, and west, the empty grass plains swept away in all directions. She could just see, tiny and far away, the northernmost of the cities that Verdrick represented on the Mordak Council. She made herself believe that she could see Guinira’s army marching closer, but even from that height, the border of Armanda was well beyond even Meclaryan sight. Finally, her eyes looked upwards. The Topmast extended for another fifty feet above her, and on the spire that grew out of the top of the tower was flying the largest flag ever woven in Anaria. The great Warship of Drogoda was hard to make out from directly underneath, but she knew intimately every detail of its proud stitching.

  “I wasn’t expecting company.” Ren said as he walked around the spire to her side. The tall Merchant Prince joined her in looking up. “It is a magnificent sight, really.”

  Elshay shuddered a little. “In my heart, I can’t help but wonder if the Warship’s days are numbered.” She turned away from the flag above her and looked down, out over the city and the thousands of lives that were her responsibility.

  Ren shook his head as he joined her in looking down. “Elshay, why would Guinira come here?”

  “Why would she go anywhere else,
Ren? Alquendiro,” she gestured around them, “the standing testament to the Garrenins, The Kindler’s greatest foe. That flag above us was the last to stand firm at Emin-Tal, which I doubt that the Seven will forget willingly. It flies defiantly over this city as it ever has, but the city below it has changed. We are weak, and I can’t see us surviving if The Kindler has turned his armies toward us.”

  “Well, I wish I could say that my own thoughts were not as dark as yours, but I can’t. At the same time though, I have access to information from outside Alquendiro. You are wise to order the evacuation of those who cannot fight as a precaution, but I think that we are not so large a threat to Guinira and The Kindler as our pride would have us believe. When all else is conquered, we too shall fall, but even weakened, Guinira would know the folly that marching against Drogs on their own island would be. She knows she would pay far more dearly than she can afford for the crossing of the channel.” Ren stopped and looked back up at the giant flag. “No, my guess is that Morschcoda Dalrey is far more of a threat than our tiny rebellion here.”

  “And what about the Torridestan Merchant Clans? Yours is not the only ear that the outside world brings news. My own intelligence tells me that they are wavering in their allegiances. If they reach the brink, then I don’t doubt that the doors of the Vault will open for the Seven.”

  “The Vault is harder to enter than you might imagine, and its secrets and riches not available to many. Erygan Dalrey is the first Torridestan Morschcoda in many generations to be invited up in to the topmost levels of Torridesta’s Great Tower. The home of the Merchant’s Conclave is more secure than the barracks of the Brotherhood of the Mordak ever were. Unfortunately, in a war, information brings as much profit, or more valuable ones, than trading goods does. And my friends in the Conclave seem very certain that this is no longer Morschen Anaria. That said, even the hardest man has a breaking point. And Vorteez is the greatest torturer that Morschen nightmares have ever known.”