Devil's Dominion

by Stephen Trolly

  From Daken’s viewpoint, about one league away from the city, it looked like all but one of Criarr’s Dragon Towers had been razed. What made Daken curious, though, was that he could see at least three guide fires burning in that one tower.

  “Maybe not so curious,” he thought out loud. “If Vorteez wants to exterminate the Dragons, what better way to attract them and their Riders than to keep the fires lit …” The guide fires were what a Dragon Rider would aim for when attempting to land at a tower. Being able to see the fire meant that nothing was between the Dragon and the landing platform.

  Daken’s night vision was no comparison to Erygan’s, or that of any Torridestan, but it was good enough to allow him a reasonable guess at the size of the Deshik force defending Criarr. Daken crawled backwards and went back to his men at the bottom of the hill.

  “At least one Dragon Tower is still standing, and several of its fires are lit, which I thought was strange. Likely, though, it’s a trap for any Dragons and Riders still living. Maybe they’re trying to make it look like Meclaryans have already retaken the city.”

  “Could you make a guess at defending forces, my Lord?”

  “If I were higher up, I could be more certain, but I think I have a number.”

  “How many, my Lord?”

  “None.” Daken shook his head. “I may be wrong, but as far as I can tell, Criarr is deserted.”

  Daken’s statement, and he himself agreed to the assessment, was believed to be impossible. It was decided that several Tribesmen would go and scout the city from closer vantages to help determine how the army should proceed.

  They returned later that same day. “The Dragon King’s eyes don’t fail him. Unless this is a trap, which isn’t impossible, the city is deserted.”

  Everyone looked suspicious, but Daken had other questions. “What about the fires in the tower?”

  “How they were set and why they still burn, I cannot answer, Dragon King. But I entered the tower, and saw nothing alive. The tower is filled with nothing but stone and silence.”

  An older Meclaryan man sputtered his objection. “But the Deshika can’t have abandoned Criarr. They just can’t have.”

  “Why not, commander?”

  “With all due respect, my Lord, it makes no sense. It has strategic position, it’s their capital ...”

  Daken held up a finger. “We believe it to be their capital. It doesn’t mean that they do. And the city is well behind their lines, lines that no Morschen army has succeeded in breaching or driving back as of yet. Criarr is safe enough, and they don’t have civilians to protect like we do.” Daken looked at a map and at the list of movements that Norrin had given him in Dishmo Kornara. “Vorteez has gathered his armies for a march south. Right now, we’re so deep in uncontested territory outside of a city that it doesn’t make much sense for us to target it in the first place. Likely, he has decided that Airachni is our only conceivable target, and that it is what should be defended. Other cities ... he doesn’t need to leave the men behind to guard them because what’s the point.”

  * * * * *

  In the morning, Daken decided not to gamble that Criarr was completely deserted and only sent in one hundred Tribesmen under the command of five of the Dragon Hearted. The group would split into five smaller groups and thoroughly search the city. If it truly was deserted, they would begin to establish modest defences while the news was sent to the main force.

  News didn’t take long to reach Daken. Whatever the reason, aside from a small band of Mid-Ocean pirates looking for easy plunder, Criarr had been completely abandoned.

  Though Daken believed the report, he still entered Criarr warily. The city’s broken western gate was still hanging by its hinges, and burned into the wood were the symbols of each of the Seven Devils. The Kindler’s Candle was the most prominent, but only slightly smaller was the coiled whip of Vorteez. Surrounding the other two were the Mirror of Venda, Mredic’s Sword, the Bleeding Eye of Sheerva, Estrin’s Hammer and Anvil, and Nasheem’s two spiraling feathers.

  Daken thought about those symbols as he rode through the gate. Venda was known as the Pale Enchantress, and for her, the mirror was an apt symbol, and a practical one. During the Eternal War, she had cast enchantments on many of her enemies so that if they saw their reflection in a mirror or anything else, their soul would become trapped in that object.

  Mredic was known as the Sword of Alega, deadly in combat and reportedly the greatest swordmaster to ever live. Daken, who had seen Taren Garrenin wield a blade, was not convinced that the Devil’s reputation still held true.

  Estrin was historically recognized as the smith who had discovered how to forge Dwarven Steel, and despite his status as one of the Seven, many Noldorin still worshipped him in secret.

  Sheerva had been an assassin, according to ancient legend. She was known to be a skilled marksman, and while Daken doubted the report, she was credited as being able to hit a target as small as an eye from a mile away with a projectile no larger than a pin, so long as she had a clear line of sight.

  Vorteez’s symbol struck Daken as the most practical: a whip, for a sadistic beast who loved to torture anyone and anything. The sight of it marring yet another part of the land that he loved enraged Daken.

  As practical or apt as he thought the first five symbols were, the remaining two baffled the Dragon Lord. The Kindler’s Candle? Perhaps it made sense as far as the name of the Lord of the Seven. Daken did not know enough about The Kindler to speculate deeper meaning. And Nasheem’s spiraling feathers? Daken could only shake his head in confusion as he left the arch of the gate and started down Criarr’s main road. Makret seemed to trust Nasheem, from what Daken remembered from the Battle of the Cardor. That made Daken believe that that one Devil might be somewhat practical. If anything though, that only made his symbol more mysterious.

  * * * * *

  Criarr was much as Daken remembered it: small stone houses huddled close together alongside of wide roads, surrounding large landing fields that opened up every few hundred yards. Dragon Riders didn’t always have time to land at one of the towers.

  One unreported fact about the city, that maybe the Morieden had thought unimportant, was that in almost every one of the fields was a massive pile of broken bones. Daken knew what they were without needing to take a second look: Dragon Bones. Daken had not known well any of the Criarr Dragon Riders, but their obviously violent, torturous deaths angered him beyond words. As did the callous disrespect for the Dragons. Many of the bones had been deliberately shattered in a way that was obviously not random savagery or the accident of falling out of the sky. Dragons were creatures of magic, and even in death, it took strong magic to affect something as strong as Dragonbone.

  * * * * *

  “We can’t honour the Dragon’s properly. We don’t have the men, the means, or the time.” Daken’s various Meclaryan commanders all nodded in agreement with that statement.

  Daken, however refused to accept it. “I can’t and won’t just leave them like this. Vorteez has turned Criarr into a graveyard, one that he has returned to often to desecrate. It is the deepest disrespect to the Dragons if we do not attempt to properly bury them, according to our own laws and traditions.”

  The oldest Meclaryan, a General three hundred years older than Daken, responded. “My Lord, I understand your position. I do, and if it were up to me, I would take the same stance. But, my Lord, how many dead Dragons are there here? One hundred? Two hundred? As it is, we’re lucky that Vorteez doesn’t yet know we’re here. We start trying to bury two hundred Dragons, someone is going to notice us. That Armandan bastard, Volkure, he’s camped on the Baan-Taar. Vorteez could come back north, or he could send word to Airachni ...” the General smiled. “And have them march.”

  Daken nodded with his General. “I wish this could be just about the Dragons and honouring them properly, but you’re right. We don’t have the men, means, or time to bury them all properly. But, if by starting the work, we can force
someone to take notice and make Airachni march, we could then free the city while it’s relatively undefended.”

  The Shape of Fear

  El Darnen and Edya were the strongest two of the four who had gone to the mountains, but the pace that they were setting was proving too much for even them. El Darnen was the only one of the four who knew what it was that they were running from, but Daliana could see that even his fear of what may have been chasing them was not enough to keep the Serpent going.

  “El Darnen, we must stop.”

  “No.” He spat the word out, trying not to waste breath he did not have. “Not until we are deeper into the mountains, and preferably somewhere defensible. A cave would do very well, assuming they don’t beat us to any close enough to get to.”

  “What is chasing us, El Darnen?”

  “If they come, and I am sure they will, you may live long enough to find out.”

  “I thought you said the Garnothen hunters would not bother us …”

  “If we had nothing more dangerous than Garnothrim to worry about, I would still be asleep at our first camp. But I would rather fight a dozen Deshik Death Stalkers with my bare hands than allow what may be behind us the chance to catch up.”

  Kallin, though, had had enough of the relentless pace. “Then tell us quickly. We all need the break anyway, and none more than me, I can assure you. I promise not to ask questions.”

  El Darnen, now that he had stopped long enough to catch his breath realized that no matter how firm his will, his knees would not bend again for some time. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue, and I know you need the rest. There are giant cats behind us.”

  If she had not seen his deadly serious expression, Daliana would have burst out laughing.

  “All this time, we have been running from cats!?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Daliana’s amusement got the better of her. “Do you have something against cats, El Darnen? Because I rather like them.”

  He growled at her. Daliana was shocked, but El Darnen’s voice was hard, and his stare was relentless as he walked over to her and answered. Daliana had to look up at him, because he was standing so close to her, angry at her amusement. “I don’t mean little house cats that hunt mice and purr and play with yarn. I mean giant cats: lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars; cats that exist to hunt and kill. And these are bigger than even the biggest tigers you have seen in Anaria. They can run on their hind legs and all fours, either way far faster than we can. Small ones are still above eight feet when standing upright. The biggest are nearly twice as tall as me.”

  Daliana shrank back under El Darnen’s intimidating response. She tried to shake off the effect that he had had on her, but she could not. She quickly tried another question, one that she hoped would make El Darnen believe she was taking the giant cats seriously. “Are they just cats, or are they … intelligent?”

  “Intelligent? I would say so; primitive certainly, but more dangerous for it. They make spears, but few use them. They mostly rely on their teeth and claws. I’ve seen them before. They can communicate with each other, though I would hardly call it speech. Grunts and growls, and roars, mostly.” Kallin started to ask something else, but El Darnen cut him off before he got out the first word. “No more. You said no questions, and I’ve answered two. I want to be well up this stream and preferably on the other side of it by nightfall.” El Darnen turned eastward and began to follow the stream deeper into the mountains, the three Morschcoda following him at an easier pace than the one he had set before.

  High above the four Morschen, two Cartarin scouts watched the conversation. Because of their far better hearing, they made out every word that El Darnen said. One was standing on his hind legs. He was coloured like a panther. “The tall one thinks he knows something about us.”

  The other was crouched down. With the colouration of a tiger, he would have been more easily spotted against the backdrop of the mountain in the meadow’s short grass. “Yes, he does. But why does he know it? If he had learned it himself, he would be less hasty, and concentrate on where he is going, not how fast he is getting there.”

  “Hrrtarr will not be pleased that those on the other side of our mountains know that we still exist. If the six arms come looking for us, we have no strength to stop them.”

  “We should bring these four to the chief. That way, we can see how many know about us.”

  The panther nodded. “Run back to the pack and tell them to send hunters to the Chipped Tooth. If these four have made it further than that by the time you arrive, we will track them. The only two who look like they have weapons are the taller male and the shorter female. We should take them easily.”

  * * * * *

  Though Daliana was the most aware of dangers posed by large predators in their own territory, she was the one who demanded that they stop. “It will do us no good if we kill ourselves trying to outrun these cats. I would rather die in a battle with them than die of exhaustion.”

  “Daliana, there will be no battle. If they catch us, which they will …”

  “They haven’t yet, and we’re far away from where we started. We have to rest, even if we move on again tonight.” Kallin looked up suddenly, rather dismayed at the thought of moving on again, but he had no breath to complain with. Edya was on Daliana’s side, though.

  “El Darnen, if they’re hunting us, they’ll catch us no matter how far we go or how quickly we get there. If we can’t fight when they do catch us, then our mission is guaranteed to fail, if it hasn’t failed already. If we were anywhere near Gelida’s encampments, and we knew how to get to them, I would say go on, but not like this.”

  El Darnen, though he agreed with Edya, only snorted. He went and climbed a tree that was standing a little away from the group. Edya and Daliana started to make a fire. Kallin fell over and went straight to sleep. He looked thinner than Daliana could ever remember seeing him. To her, he almost looked like a man, and not a ball. She turned towards the fire that Edya was crouched over and preparing to light. “Edya, do you think that El Darnen knows more about these creatures than he’s telling us?”

  “I think he must.” She balanced on her toes as she looked up at her Queen. “But I also don’t think it would be the safest thing to ask him.”

  Daliana accepted that with a small laugh, but grew more serious quickly. “Why do you think El Darnen is pushing us so hard, Edya?”

  Edya knew the answer, but she concentrated on lighting the fire first. Once she had it lit and burning to her satisfaction, she stood up and stretched. “Fear does strange things to a person. I’ve watched Mordak Riders charge into battle alone against ten, sometimes twenty, men because it was there duty to protect Taren. And then I have seen those same men and women faint at the sight of some wound like Gelinia’s, even if they would just ignore it if it happened to them. No one is without fear. Not even El Darnen.”

  “What is your greatest fear?”

  “That is somewhat … personal, Daliana.”

  “Kallin is asleep.” She pushed Edya off balance, and laughed as the younger woman tripped and fell on her side. Edya threw a piece of firewood at Daliana, which the older Morschcoda caught with incredible ease. “Edya, Taren practically adopted you. In my eyes, that makes you my sister. I promise not to tell anyone.”

  Edya groaned. “Fear was never something I really gave much thought to. After my brother died, I lost all fear of death for myself. I suppose my greatest fear is never having a family of my own. My brother and I were close, but because I was a member of the Spear, I only left Alquendiro when Taren did, and Erdic was only in the city a few times a year, so we hardly ever saw each other.” Edya stopped talking and tended the fire for a minute. Without prompting though, she began to speak again. “My life has never been my own, Daliana. I grew up an orphan in one of the poorest parts of Alquendiro. Soldiers patrolled every street to make sure that nobody was murdered for whatever he had in his pockets at the time. The only place I could find work was
the army, and while women aren’t prevented from becoming soldiers, even in Drogoda we aren’t exactly encouraged to do so. So, a family is, I guess, a means of taking control of a life that I have never been able to do what I wanted with. And now that I am Morschcoda as well as High General?” Edya shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll live to see any children I might have had. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know what my greatest fear is. I suppose that I am afraid that we will never be able to defeat The Kindler, but that seems like such a small thing from this far away. The thought of death used to bother me, but, if we can’t defeat The Kindler, death would be preferable to living in an Anaria under his control.” She paused and looked up at the sky. “I suppose that my greatest fear is not being able to live up to the legacy of the Garrenins that has been placed upon my shoulders. Especially Taren’s legacy. Gelinia said something about my Dothrin feet being too small for his boots.” Daliana let her answer drift off.

  Edya shifted uncomfortably. “Is the Garrenin name really something you want to live up to?”

  “What do you mean? House Garrenin has always been one of the most powerful Great Houses in all of Anaria. They have influence, they have money, most Drog Morschcoda, and so far all but two Anarian High Queens have held the name Garrenin: Guinira ... and me. Why should I not want to live up to that legacy?”

  “Because what that very biased and much-shortened telling of the Garrenin legacy leaves out is a history of bloodthirsty warfare and family hatred. When El Darnen told you that no Garrenin has ever lived to be one thousand, it’s because their siblings or their children have the House Master assassinated. The greater ones, like Taren, die in battle. There have been five civil wars in Drogoda just fought between the Garrenins. Younger siblings who wanted to be first in line. Heirs who ignored their parents and tried to start other wars, so the Morschcoda stepped in. All they wanted was sole power over the Flowing Throne and so be regent and heir to the Throne of Lasheed. The Garrenins have started more wars than any other country in Anaria has been a part of, and I don’t mean petty border disputes that go on for years between skirmishes that are only fought by one or two companies of soldiers. I mean wars, with multiple battles of armies comparable in size to any of the Morschen armies at Emin-Tal. The longest period of peace in all of Anaria was after Garisha was removed from her throne, because then Garrenins held neither the Flowing Throne of Alquendiro nor Eliish Del Lasheed.”