When Captain Amar arrived at the stronghold, the train of people were already meandering out of the eastern gate. They were escorted by the palace militia. Kanna tried his best to organize everyone. Captain Amar bowed. “Baroness Jea, I have been ordered to accompany you and your party safely to Au”.
Jea watched horse drawn wagons and carts taking the couturiers and their belongings. “Thank you, captain.” She shook her head. “They are moving too slowly, like a rabble.”
“Allow me to stop and organize the march.”
Amar halted the procession and brought them into a single file for easier protection. He inspected the wagons and carts and, in spite of Kanna’s instructions, found cloths, furniture, paintings, statues and strong boxes. Lady Zedo had commandeered two wagons for her finery and made her servants walk beside them, slowing the procession. People complained and cried as the garrison troops threw all the extra baggage to the ground. He placed his horse soldiers to either side and to the rear of the column. The militia were interspersed with the garrison troops. He and Jea took up the head of the column. They moved out at four times the pace they had before.
Jea’s plan was to travel east to the edge of the swamps and then turn north along the Uta Mountains for four days until they reached the Rascalla docks where they would take galleys to Au.
They came to the swamps sooner than Jea expected. All the while, she had glanced behind to search for signs of the Barasha. Amar rode steadfastly at her side. Non spoke. Amar and his troops turned the column north. The space between the cliffs of the Uta Mountain range and the swamp was narrow. At places, only a dozen people would be able to ride side-by-side. The swamp encroached west into the space to make the ground wet and spongy in places.
The sun began to sink and cast deep shadows next to the cliffs. Amar called for a halt to prepare supper. People stepped out of wagons to stretch their legs and rub sore muscles. Cooks lit fires and prepared food. People milled around and spoke in soft voices. Kanna brought hot kan to Jea. Captain Amar returned from a patrol. “There is no sigh of pursuit, Baroness, yet I fear an attack.”
A flash of light exploded ahead of them. Screams fill the area. In a ghostly light they saw three Barasha priests mounted on horses and a force of fifty tall, southern Sinkaraka in Carandir uniforms. At their head rode Baroness Luja.
She gave a twisted smile. “Leaving so son, Jea? I had hoped you would stay and welcome me as the new lady of Rascalla.”
Lula held her gaze. Jea said nothing.
The Sinkaraka charged, slashing with swords and stabbing with polearms. People fled screaming back to the south. Some ran madly into the swamp. Some stood numb, unable to move. Jea threw back her cloak to reveal the scabbard of a sword sewn into it the same as Mirjel’s. Captain Amar drew his blade. They both charged.
Amar’s troops formed a wall between the civilians and the attackers. Though the Sinkaraka outnumbered the Carandir soldiers and Rascallan militia, they we no match for a highly trained, battle hardened force and gave back. The Barasha sat motionless.
As Jea and Amar ran for the front lines toward Luja, two of the mounted Barasha priests rode forward and grabbed one of the servants. The man struggled and tried to break free. The third Barasha dropped powder on his head, spoke a chant and drove a dagger into the terrified man’s throat. He gave a horrid cry. Overhead, clouds gathered in the nearly black sky. The air was suddenly chilled. A blast of wind shot down onto the Carandir and Rascallan troops. Instantly, they were encased in thick ice. Luja pointed to Jea. “Take her.” The Sinkaraka moved forward.
Jea said, “Quickly. Into the swamp. It’s our only hope.”
Jea and Amar waded onto the swamp that consisted of shallow channels, deep pools and small land masses pushing up above the water. These were covered in moss, bushes and trees. Ten paced out and they were lost to site, though they heard the splash of the Sinkaraka.
They ran through water and over land, trying to be as silent as possible. The growth was dense and Jea could not see the stars, so she had no way to gauge in what direction they were going. She caught a glimpse of movement through the foliage and pointed it pointed it out to Amar. He nodded his head. They both drew their swords.
A boat scraped against the small island they stood on. They readied for battle. Instead of their pursuers, they found a short, olive skinned Sinkaraka. He spoke in the native tongue of his kind. “Baroness Jea. What brings you here?”
Jea let out a sigh. “Horatello, my friend. Thank Ilidel you found us. We are pursued by the Barasha and Sinkaraka from the south.”
Horotella said, “We must consult Alakana. The elder will know what to do.”
Amar looked quizzically to Jea. He spoke very few words in the Sinkaraka language and could only make out the word elder. “What is he saying?”
Jea smiled. “We have found help.”
They boarded Horatello’s flat bottomed boat and he pushed the craft forward through the swamp for at least a span until they came to his village. It stood on a large outcropping of earth that consisted of buildings made of stone. Several fires burned in pits. Sinkaraka could be seen walking about, talking and night fishing. One hut stood on stilts in the water just off shore. It was made of wood and dried brush. A ladder extended down to the water. Horatello poled the boat to the ladder and they climbed up.
Inside, an aged Sinkaraka woman sat on a mat. Her hair was sparse and her teeth nearly gone. She rose at Jea’s entry and bowed. “May the dragons bless and protect you.”
Jea bowed in return. “And for you and your household.”
They sat on mats and Jea told Alakana all that has happened. Of all the baronies in the east, Rascalla had the closest ties to the Sinkaraka. Dek’s ancestors had asked permission of Alakana’s people to settle near their lands, where other Carandirians entered the swamps with disregard to gather turtle eggs or purchase them the Sinkaraka.
Alakana sat silently for a moment before standing and looking out a window. “We have heard rumors from the south that some of our people had formed ties with evil men.”
Jea said, “We will leave at once. Our presence endangers your village.”
“You cannot out run them. They must be directed.”
“We are heading for…”
Alakana raised her hand. “Do not tell me. I cannot betray you if I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. “To the south is a special place. We will go there.” She smiled at Captain Amar. “Do you understand?” She pointed to her ears.
Amar returned a sheepish smile. “Speak I little, honored one.”
Alakana laughed. “It is a good try. More than most wild make.”
Horatello poled them to a mount of dry ground south of the city. They carried torches in the near pitch night. A single tree stood there, it’s roots extending down into the water.
Alakana led them to one of the roots. She placed her hands on the bark and murmured words to the tree. When she stepped back, A portion of the trunk opened like a door. Inside a stone stairway descended in to the base of the tree. Along the walls were set globes that gave off a soft light the same as in the Kyar’s vaults.
Alakana said, “This is a gift from the dragons for our help in the Dragon Wars. It is a place of refuge that my ancestors used when the Barasha came. It cannot be detected, nor can anyone waiting inside. Wait here until the Barasha pass. There is food and water within.”
Jea said, “Thank you for your help and long friendship. I would have never thought of this.”
Alakana raised an eyebrow. “Well, we are the people of the root.” Both women laughed.
Jea and Amar descended and the root closed.
Inside there was indeed food and water aplenty. The room could have held the entire Sinkaraka village. The each found alcoves and fell fast asleep.
As they ate a fine breakfast, the root opened and Alakana stepped down. “All is well. I told the Barasha that you had come to our village, which they would be able to detect, and that you had traveled sout
h. All true.”
“I’m afraid I must impose on you once more. To reach our destination, we need a boat and provisions.”
“They have already been brought here. Safe trip and may the dragons protect you.“
Violent waves pounded against the beaches of. A stone tower stood near the shore. Inside, Jarat, the last wizard, stirred from meditation.
Though she was old beyond mortal memory, her appearance was of a young woman with ebony skin, brown eyes and dark hair that was thick with tight curls. She sat on the stone floor with her legs crossed. Once, she had walked among the races of humankind. In that time, Jarat smiled often and those around her felt the sky was brighter, the air fresher. There was no smile on her face now.
The wooden door to the meditation room opened and Jarat heard Nissor’s clawed feet scrape across the floor. She turned to find her impish companion standing apologetically at the door. Its long sad eyes looked down its yellow beak as the green, scaly fingers held the latch. The garat gave an inquiring coo as its tail moved nervously. The wizard waved her familiar into the room. “Yes, my friend, I felt it too.”
For millennia, Jarat had waited for the sign, a sickening wave that moved slowly through her body. The Barasha had returned. When Baras had been subdued, the rest of the wizards had been convinced the sorcerers were destroyed. Jarat had wanted to believe. Yet an unsettling sense of dread remained.
Once, she had stood victorious against the servants of Baras with Kare and Senta and Fra and Lo and Pel by her side, wizards all, men and women, high and mighty. Now, they were gone. Unlike dragons, wizards were mortal, though their lives were measured not in years but in eons. Jarat was the last of all the wizards that ever were or ever would be and this call, she feared, was her final task.
BOOK III
The palace at Meth
Three years later
CHAPTER NINE
Mirjel sat passively in the left hand throne of the audience hall and watched Craya pace in front of the crown.
The Minister of the Treasury stood before him with a bound ledger in her hand. “Highness, we simply cannot raise taxes.”
Each time a Minister reported, Craya demanded that Mirjel attend. She assumed he wished to play at being king by having her sit as if she were queen. Her observations were not welcome, only her presence.
Craya waved his hands in the air. “Does Carandir not have lands? Ships? Merchants?”
“We have all in abundance, Highness. But, with three years of drought the land lies barren, the ships at anchor. I cannot collect taxes from wealth that does not exist. We can no longer afford to support this new army of foreign mercenaries who demand payment in advance.”
There had been almost no rainfall since the disappearance of the dragon key. Major rivers were now mere trickles and many lakes were reduced to mud holes.
Through the servants, Mirjel heard of parched fields and starvation. What food there was did not always find its way to the hungry. Much was siphoned off by corrupt officials placed in power by the Barasha or appropriated by a military now composed largely of mercenaries.
The Minister said, “Highness, please. You must reduce the size of the army. Carandir will be crushed beneath its weight.”
Craya seized the ledger and threw it across the floor. “Enough. The army is needed to search for traitors. If you do not want soldiers knocking at your door, find the taxes I need.”
The Minister retrieved the book and fled the hall.
Mirjel closed her eyes. Her days now floated from one to the other like a fogged nightmare that gave no promise of ending. In the beginning, she thought she might influence Craya and guide him to protect his subjects. This hope soon died. Except for her presence in the throne room, the only contact he desired was in his bed to produce an heir as the Barasha commanded. Her only conciliation was her mistaken belief that Ryckair was safe on an island, for neither Craya nor Yetig had told her about the lost Star Fire.
When Craya’s guards brought her to his chambers she tried to imagine it was Ryckair’s touch upon her skin while Craya ran his eager hands across her. She never opened her eyes, even when he screamed, even when he slapped her.
In the throne room, Craya watched her turn her head away to stare blankly at a wall. This was not how he imagined it. He knew Mirjel would not forget Ryckair easily. Still, he had hoped that, over time, she would at least come to respect him, if not love him. Instead, her scorn grew daily.
On their wedding night, his blood raced as he took her virginity. She had kicked and clawed and bitten. He remembered laughing as he enjoyed the sport of conquest. The joy soon wore off. Sometimes, he wanted nothing more than to put her on a horse and send her into the wilderness after her father. Reshna would not allow it. The sorcerer demanded an heir with Mirjel.
He knew he had to be rid of Reshna. Only the crown could do that. All of his thoughts were focused on finding Ryckair and the dragon shaped key. He stared at the crest through its crystal encasement. He had considered stories of magic to be children’s tales before the demon had slaughtered the soldiers under his command in the swamp. The mist demon had driven all doubt from his mind. Reshna was powerful in a way he had never considered, but he found it hard to believe the Barasha were such fools as to think he was going to actually hand the crown over to them. Once Ryckair was eliminated in their wretched ceremony he would use the key to open the case. Then, with the crown upon his head, Craya, King of Carandir, would expel the Barasha forever. The people would love him. Even Mirjel would love him.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. “You are smirking again.”
Mirjel tilted her head languidly towards the crystal ceiling. “My Lord is mistaken.”
“You are laughing inside.”
“I am thinking of days gone by.”
He slammed his fist on the throne. “I am king.”
She turned and stared at him. “Then, where is your crown?”
He raised his hand. Mirjel sat unmoving, her eyes riveted to his. Slowly, Craya dropped his arm. “Do not mock me. I rule Carandir. Never forget that.” He pointed to a guard. “Summon Narech Yetig.”
Yetig entered and bowed before Craya. “Highness.”
The prince smiled. “You see, my dear. Yetig knows who rules here. Narech, what word is there of the traitor, Dek?”
“No new reports have been received, Highness.”
“Then let us hear the old tales. We do so enjoy reliving our victories.”
Yetig looked to Mirjel. He wished there was a way to avoid repeating the story but knew Craya would not let him. “His lands have been seized as you ordered and given to Baroness Luja who now rules. Many members of his household who tried to flee were put to the sword. Baroness Jea has not been found but patrols scour the swamplands.”
From talk passed through servants, Mirjel had learned of the wholesale butchery. She could only hope that her mother found safely. Still, many she had known since birth lay slaughtered. Mirjel held her emotions closely in check.
What she did not realize was that Yetig’s control over what was left of the Carandir army and navy was slowly eroding. Much of the nation’s forces had been on parade at the palace when the demon mist attacked. Some reserve troops were at outposts, mostly in the east and the south, and a few ships had been out on patrol. These comprised almost a third of the Carandir forces, but many had renounced Craya and joined Baron Dek rather than serve the Barasha. Three barons and a baroness had been killed by the mist demon. Yetig was forced to rely on troops controlled by five of the western barons who now supported Craya. These soldiers looked to their own Lords before following Yetig’s orders.
Yet, even these proved inadequate in the search for Ryckair and the key. Against Yetig’s advice, Reshna recruited mercenaries. The hired soldiers came from lands to the east and south. There were even detachments of Karakiens who now wore Carandir uniforms.
Yetig wondered how much longer he could control the army and navy.
Craya ran his hands over the crystal sphere. “Did Baron Dek try to rescue those in his stronghold?”
“There are no reports of Baron Dek returning to Rascalla. He continues to raid army columns and supply caravans before retreating into unknown hiding places.”
Craya gave Mirjel a look of mock pity. “Did you hear that, my dear? Your dear father abandoned his home as he abandoned you.” He laughed. Mirjel sat stoically.
Craya said, “Narech, dispatch a detachment of soldiers after Dek. I want him brought back for trial.”
“I counsel your Highness to wait in pursuing the baron. His forces are well secreted. It is in your Highness’ best interest for our army to search for Prince Ryckair and the lost key.”
“You mean it is in Reshna’s best interest. Who do you serve Yetig, Carandir, or the Barasha?”
“I meant no disrespect, Highness. I merely wished to suggest alternatives. As always, I render loyalty only to your Highness.”
“Then dispatch the soldiers to hunt down Dek They are to return the Baron to me alive. I don’t care what they do with the rest of his foul company.”
“The soldiers shall ride immediately, Highness.” Yetig bowed his head and left the room.
“There, my dear. Now you see who …” Craya turned around and stopped short. Mirjel had left the hall.
Reshna sat impassively on his throne. The red smoke of braziers curled through the oppressive air. In the background, low chanting reverberated from the walls. Yetig stepped forward and knelt. “Prince Craya has demanded the army hunt for Baron Dek.”
Reshna looked up slowly. “Send no troops. They are needed elsewhere. What of the Kyar?”
“We can find no trace of them.”
“They are near. I feel the echo of their power.” He stopped and threw powder into one of the glowing braziers. It hissed and gave off a choking white smoke. “They are less than a day’s journey from here. Scour Meth and the surrounding forests.”
Dragons Unremembered Page 13