Daughter of War

by Brendan Wright

  "I'm trusting you, Lord Commander. You need to trust me too. Put the gun on the floor."

  Arthor felt an almost overwhelming urge to shoot the Crown just for suggesting such a thing.

  "How do I know you're not Mathys?"

  Laughter rang through the dark chamber, bouncing off the stone walls and receding into messy, inhuman echoes.

  "Oh Arthor, you are entertaining. I'm not Mathys, though I can see why you would assume as much. No, I'm someone you'd probably prefer to see even less than the Spectre of Ermoor. Put the gun on the floor; I won't ask again."

  His heart hammering, Arthor pulled the gun slowly from its holster. The trigger rested against his finger, beckoning with its slight resistance. First the Twelve, then Mathys, now possibly both at once; he was beyond trust.

  Suddenly the fact that he'd only seen one Crown at a time, and received only written instructions, struck a chord within his mind. He should have seen it before. It was Mathys. The whole thing was a trap. He'd assassinated the Twelve and was now trying to kill Arthor.

  He aimed at the Crown and fired. The chamber lit up suddenly, bright but pale yellow light burning his eyes and a crackling buzz exploding in his ears. He was thrown backwards, and his hand flared with a sudden and burning pain he'd never felt before. He hit the back wall of the chamber and crumpled to the ground, dazed and blind.

  "I didn't want to do that, Arthor. I need you. I won't hurt you again, but you need to trust me."

  Do as he says. You can trust him.

  "How do I know that?" Arthor said as he struggled to rise.

  His hand was destroyed; the gun had exploded while he held it. His pinky finger was still there, barely, but the rest of it was a mangled mess of flesh and bone. A white fog rolled over his sight, into his mind, and the ground beneath him felt suddenly soft, unsteady.

  "We have the same goal, as difficult as it may be for you to believe. We always have. You may not have agreed with my methods, but we were always aiming for the same result."

  "Wait..." Arthor grunted as he finally stood, swaying and delirious.

  "Riffolk?"

  The Crown lifted the hood off his head, and Riffolk's pale, smug face smiled at Arthor.

  "Ermoor is mine, Arthor. I want you as my Lord Commander, but you're not necessary to my success any more. Join me, or die."

  Mathys

  Behind the Copper Dragon, tied to a tiny pier hidden amongst the rocks on the water's edge, a tiny row boat floated, waiting. With their belongings safely stored in the Copper Dragon's cellar, Mathys, Isobel and Mara snuck through the dead of night to the tiny boat. Mathys hadn't wanted Isobel to come with them, thinking he'd put her in enough danger already, but they wouldn't be able to find the Cubby-house without her.

  Mara had never seen a boat, much less been in one. Her discomfort was apparent from the moment she saw it bobbing slowly up and down in the black water; even in the low light of the muted lamp Mathys carried, her face turned as white as bone.

  It took a while to get her into the boat; but once she'd finally stepped into it and sat down, she grabbed hold of the edges of the boat and stayed completely still. It suited him just fine. The less she moved about, the safer they'd be on the water. Isobel laughed seeing Mara's utter terror sitting on a boat, but otherwise remained thankfully silent.

  The ride itself was easy, but slow. They skimmed down the coastline to the west, Isobel and Mathys taking turns rowing. The weather was still, clear and cold. Mathys would have preferred fog to cover them, but no one would be looking in the poor districts for him anyway, let alone off the coast towards the swamplands.

  Silence followed them along the pitch black coast; only the sound of water gently lapping at their boat broke the utter stillness. After several hours, Isobel turned back in towards land. Mara hadn't relaxed for the entire trip, and despite himself, Mathys let out a low chuckle as they finally neared the shore.

  Another tiny pier stood waiting for them, hidden much better than the one outside the Copper Dragon; this one was made out of fire-treated driftwood, fashioned to look like washed up debris. After another ordeal getting Mara out of the boat and back onto solid land, they set out into the swamps. After maybe two dozen metres of slogging through gripping mud and twisting tree roots, a series of metal grates appeared, leading an easy path through the otherwise almost impossible terrain.

  From there, though the walk itself was easier, they marched for several hours. Every few minutes they would come to a fork where the grating split into two or three separate paths. At each one, Isobel picked a path without hesitation, strolling on without even looking at the other paths.

  "How do you know which to choose?" Mara said.

  Isobel smiled. "There's a trick to it, I'll teach you when we get to the Cubby-house."

  An hour later, Isobel stopped walking. In front of them, a group of strange vertical protrusions rose up from the swamp.

  "What are those?" Mara asked. She looked almost as terrified as she had on the boat.

  Isobel laughed again. "Those are dragon's nests. Very appropriate, don't you think?"

  Mara almost fainted. She looked at Mathys as though she wanted him to confirm that Isobel was insane.

  "Swamp Dragons are a kind of amphibious reptile, they build these odd nests that start with these towers above ground and spread all through the swamp as interconnected tunnels."

  "Why are we here?" Mara's voice was just a squeak.

  "One of these is a fake."

  With that, Isobel walked up to one of the towers and pulled at it with both arms. A section of it came away, swinging out on a hinge. There was enough space for a person to climb in. A deep growl suddenly rolled from somewhere nearby, clicking and echoing in the dark. Mara screamed, and Isobel waved them over.

  "Come on, the dragons are waking up."

  They stayed in the Cubby-house for two months. Despite being built out of a lizard's nest underneath a swamp, it was surprisingly cosy. Mathys had stayed before, of course, but to Mara the entire experience never really seemed to settle into her mind.

  The Cubby-house was mostly used to hide fugitives and anyone who needed to lay low for a while until the Ermoori guards stopped actively looking for them. Isobel also used it to hide smuggled goods and some valuables; though she had a second Cubby-house specifically to store goods, the location of which was unknown even to Mathys.

  Two small candles lit the space, which was cramped but comfortable. Isobel had given them two bedrolls and two tiny pillows, and they slept on the floor next to each other. The Cubby-house consisted of just the one room, so they had no privacy or space from each other. With no bathroom, they had to go in the swamp itself, which wasn't comfortable at the best of times. Mathys dealt with it, having lived in much worse conditions on the battlefield at Shanaken; Mara was mortified.

  Whenever they could, they continued training. Their tiny safe-house didn't allow for full sparring, but he continued to teach her techniques; focusing on close quarters and any moves which only used hands, fists or elbows. These they could do sitting down facing each other.

  They talked about everything, and Mathys, who'd never had a daughter, felt himself growing more and more protective of Mara. There was a strange mix of feelings; he wanted to train her to be as tough and as strong as possible, but he also wanted to keep her completely out of danger. For now, he resolved to focus on the training, as there was nothing else to do while they hid from Ermoor.

  Isobel visited every week or two with food and supplies, but only stayed long enough to hand over what she'd brought them; the journey to and from the Cubby-house took far too much of her time already, and she had plenty of other responsibilities. Mathys didn't blame her for the brief visits, but he did wish she could stay longer.

  Two months after they arrived, Isobel showed up with good news. Mara's belly had grown, their training had stopped, and they were both restless to leave Ermoor. Isobel was ecstatic, relaying the situation and that the manhunt for Mathys
and Mara was beginning to quiet down.

  "Most of their search efforts seem to be focused in Tarsium now, but even then they're starting to give up. The posters in the city are disappearing. They still have a huge price on your head, mind you, but the actual search is winding down."

  Mathys nodded. Riffolk wouldn't waste resources finding someone who'd fled. Arthor knew him better, and probably surmised he'd be back eventually.

  "What's it like in Tarsium?"

  "They've got soldiers there, and they've tried to put posters up, but they keep getting torn down." She winked when she said that, and Mathys laughed.

  "So, what's the plan, Isobel?"

  "I'll get your belongings onto a trading ship, then after it's left the docks they'll turn up the coast and drop anchor nearby, and I'll row over and pick you up. Two days from now, at midnight. Make sure you're at the hidden pier and ready. The ship will only wait so long."

  Travel by sea was never easy. Mathys had gotten used to it, after countless campaigns and journeys in his duties as Commander. Mara, on the other hand, took to ships about as well as a fish takes to walking. Added on top of the pregnancy sickness, she looked ragged and drained after only a couple of days.

  Through the trip, Mathys found himself taking on a parental role, taking care of Mara and making sure she ate enough for herself and the baby. It was strange, and terrifying, and wonderful. She filled a part of him that had been empty without him even realising it; before meeting Mara, he'd had absolutely no desire to settle into marriage or have children, despite constant mockery from his colleagues and friends.

  Still, a weight settled onto him, like a thick storm cloud looming overhead. One empty space within him had been filled, but a new one was growing at the same time. As Mathys stood on the creaking ship, hands on the rails, the familiar shape of Ermoor's south coast filled the horizon.

  He'd devoted his entire life to protecting that great city, and had been forced out in return. He vowed to himself then, staring at the country that had taken everything from him, that he would return.

  Elana

  Most of the trip back to Tarsium was a dark blur of delirious semi-consciousness. Someone, the Tarsi supervisor presumably, visited her several times to feed her and give her water. Occasionally she tried one of the regenerative spells to gain some energy, but her magic was still depleted. Her wounds were healing slowly without magic or potions to help. Every day was spent rocking, moving with the ship as she lay helpless on the floor of the dank storage room.

  After three weeks that felt like a year, she finally felt well enough to stand, though she wasn't stable on her feet. Not caring about manifests or repercussions, she looted one of the barrels mentioned by the Tarsi overseer, taking out some dried, salted luduk meat. It tasted horrible; luduk was only ever eaten fresh in Shanaken and she'd never eaten salted meat before. But she needed food and it was all she had.

  Almost a week after she could stand upright, the ship arrived in Tarsium. They arrived in daylight, and the combination of sunlight, solid ground, and the green grass and trees further inland brought her to tears. She rushed to the trees, limping, and threw herself to the grass, laying on her back. Shadow Magic, although deriving most of its power from darkness, was actually linked to life itself. So despite the dazzling sunlight and almost complete lack of shadow in the small field where she lay, she felt the life around her slowly filling her with magic.

  Eventually, soft footsteps approached, and she glanced up to see the Tarsi supervisor sit next to her. They sat in silence for a little while, both enjoying the peace.

  "You were quite injured, when I allowed you onto the ship," she said, "and exhausted, and starving."

  "I had an... interesting time, in Ermoor." Elana didn't know what else to say.

  "Do you remember our conversation before you boarded?"

  "Yes. You want payment for allowing me safe passage?"

  "But of course. Why else would I have helped you?"

  The words were harsh, but an amused twinkle filled the woman's huge eyes, and her expression was soft.

  "I have no money."

  "Oh, I never wanted money from you, child; money is easy to come by. We need your help."

  An intense discomfort filled her chest, bringing goose-pimples over her skin. What would a Tarsi supervisor want with a Kaizeluun? They had their own magic, their own secrets. She wouldn't have been surprised if the Tarsi knew how to use Shadow Magic as well; they were notorious for their secrets. They were able to use magic, she knew that, but almost nothing else was known about them, despite Tarsium being the cultural and trading hub of Pandeia.

  Shanaken maintained a mysterious reputation by utterly closing itself off to outsiders other than trade with Tarsium; the Tarsi maintained complete secrecy despite thousands of Shenza, Omati, Thearans and even Ermoori living on their land. Nobody knew what they did behind closed doors, nobody knew how they managed to enforce their strict no violence laws, and nobody knew anything about their history except for records kept about older communication between the countries.

  So knowing her help was required by the Tarsi made her spine tingle in a slow, cold wave. Knowing she couldn't refuse was even more terrifying. There were too many questions, and she wasn't sure she'd even get any answers.

  "What do you need from me?"

  Elana had fought in countless battles. She had defeated every enemy who fought her. She'd fought against beasts and monsters, guns, armour and technology. She'd even been made to kill a shadow viper as part of her initiation into the ranks of Kaizeluun; her final test. The fastest striking predator in the world had been bested by the speed of her blade. And yet, when she asked her question of the Tarsi woman, her voice was small and weak, full of fear.

  The Tarsi was gentle, quiet, almost loving as she laid a hand on Elana's forearm. Her tattoos tingled slightly. They stared into each other's eyes, the Tarsi unmoving and immensely confident, Elana nervous and growing fearful.

  "There is something awful on the horizon," the Tarsi said, "a war, the likes of which this world has not seen for thousands of years. Our enemies will destroy Pandeia if we do not stop them."

  "I know about the Ermoori's planned invasion," Elana said, "I believe I've slowed them down, and with some resources I know how we could stop them compl-" the Tarsi waved her hand, then shook her head.

  "The Ermoori are but pawns, child. Pawns who've lost the hand of their leader and now unknowingly follow another into certain doom. That is not the battle we need to win."

  Pawns? Elana frowned, thinking about everything she'd seen in Ermoor. If there was some more powerful person or people controlling them, she'd seen nothing of them. The scientist and the Lord Commander seemed to have all of Pandeia under their feet, between the two of them. They'd both mentioned something called the Twelve Crowns, but Hayne had spoken of them as though they were useless and the Lord Commander seemed to outrank them. She had no idea what the woman was talking about.

  "What other battle could there be? The Ermoori are invading every country, I witnessed their plans!"

  "You will know soon enough. Go to your Duulshen, tell them the Circle of Shadows is rising again."

  Hearing the name Duulshen come from the mouth of an outsider struck a cold bolt of terror straight through her heart. No one outside of Shanaken knew about the Duulshen. She'd never heard of the Circle of Shadows, but suddenly she was more scared than she'd ever been in her life. What have I gotten myself into? She thought.

  "What does that mean?" She said, but the Tarsi woman stood, a tiny figure silhouetted against the brilliant sky. She walked away without another word, leaving Elana to dwell on her words.

  Getting back to Shanaken was much easier than escaping Ermoor, and even that had been relatively easy thanks to her luck in meeting the Tarsi supervisor. But the more she thought about that meeting, and the conversation that followed, the less she was convinced luck had anything to do with it. The supervisor had been far too confident, far too cont
rolled, for the conversation to be happen-stance.

  Now, back in the forests of her home, her magic flowed through her again. Taking a couple of days to heal and regroup, she waited until she felt completely herself again before approaching the Duulshen. Despite the fear and confusion, she'd never felt better by the time she descended into the elder's chamber to report.

  Shadow Magic pooled in the chambers of the Duulshen; they were places of immense shadow and ancient life, combining to create perhaps the strongest concentration of Magic anywhere in Pandeia. Every time she spoke with them, the chamber left her head spinning, her entire body trembling with strength and magic.

  "Welcome back," one of the Duulshen said. The others nodded.

  "Thank you, great Duulshenza," she replied, "I have much to report."

  She described her time in Ermoor, leaving nothing out. The Duulshen listened without asking questions or interrupting. When she was done, they glanced at each other with some meaning she didn't grasp. She hadn't told them of the Tarsi overseer yet, or her cryptic message. Scared of what their reaction might be, she had to push herself into addressing them again.

  "Great Duulshenza, something happened after the completion of my mission that I believe may be of great importance to you, though I don't fully understand it myself. I was saved and helped to escape Ermoor by a Tarsi woman. When we reached Tarsium, she told me that something horrible is on the horizon, and told me to tell you that the Circle of Shadows is rising."

  Just as she feared, the reaction of the Duulshen was immediate and intense. There was uproar, visible distress, and worst of all, anger. When they quietened again, one of them spoke up.

  "She told you to speak to us, this Tarsi?" Elana nodded.

  "And she said the words the Circle of Shadows is rising? Those exact words?"

  She nodded again. They murmured amongst themselves, their words falling short of her ears. After a few moments, they turned their attention back to her.