“I’ve a notion … Tell that lad we took on in Carvea to hide himself somewhere.” The mate left and Elgred muttered into his beard as he walked out of his cabin and strapped on his sword. “Just in case.” If he was going to be taken, he was at least not going to give his ship away.
As he emerged on deck, he noticed that his men all had their own weapons strapped on to their belts and the lad was nowhere in sight. “’Ave we got anything new?”
“Definitely a pirate, Cap’n. We just had a good look at her colours. Two swords crossing a torch under a gold skull.”
Elgred nodded in understanding. “So, it be Deithara after us. How far aft is she?”
The mate did not reply. He merely pointed a little to stern and quite a bit to starboard. Elgred followed the man’s finger. The Vengeance was a little out of bowshot and pulling up even with them, but it was not closing. Men were running all over, but Elgred thought that there were some in uniform. One man in particular caught his eye, which was good, as that man was signalling for his crew to stand down and prepare to be boarded and searched. His mate followed Elgred’s stare. “Who gives a pirate leave to search a merchant ship? An’ who tells her she can nay do it?”
But Elgred had got the message. “It’s nay Carde in charge. The Drogs needed a fast ship, an’ I remember Carde being in Carvea the day we weighed anchor. Send signals telling them we’ll allow them aboard. An’ tell the men no swords are to be drawn.”
“Aye sir.”
*
“They acknowledge, Admiral.”
“Good.” Tarick turned away from the Foam Rider and towards his own men. A combination of his sailors and Carde’s mercenaries would be going aboard. Everyone had orders that nothing was to be taken except one prisoner. Tarick himself would be going across, as would Carde. Eck would stay behind. Neither Captain nor Admiral saw the need to threaten Captain Varga with the giant. ‘If he do nay cooperate, though, that be another thing.’ Tarick smiled with that thought as the two ships drew abreast and the gangplank was stretched across the gap from the Skimmer to the taller merchant vessel.
Captain Varga and his mate were waiting for them at the other end.
“Captain Deithara. When I saw yer colours, we were preparing for a good bit worse, so this be somewhat pleasant.”
“Not pleasure this time, Elgred darling.” Tarick coughed and raised an eyebrow at Carde’s tone. She sounded a little too happy to be on the ship. Then her tone changed to the one everyone was more familiar with. “But the next time you get a load of Cantora Island’s best leaf, it will be that that I come after. Or, at least the payment for it. In the meantime, allow me to introduce Admiral Tarick Jreshti, of the Drog Imperial Navy.”
“Jreshti … Jreshti. That be an island name. ‘Ave I heard o’ ye before?”
“Nay, unless Carde remembers more about me than she lets on.” Both men laughed.
“I remember ye now. You inspected us. Gave us leave to sail from Carvea.”
“I gave you leave to sail with the crew you had when I inspected you. You were not to go picking up dock boys just because they asked for a lift.”
“What boy? We’ve no boys on this ship, save my own lad, an’ even he’s more a man.”
“The one who left the docks an’ came back with a longsword, an’ then started hauling leaf into your cargo hold.”
“I don’t have time for this …”
“Do nay make me take this ship back to Carvea, Varga. Give me the lad an’ we can both go where we be headed.”
“Ye come on to my ship, accuse me o’ lying, and then tell me that ye’ll haul me back to the islands just because ye can. I do nay like …” He had meant to continue, but Carde had slipped back across to the Vengeance and told Eck that Tarick needed him. The giant stood head and shoulders above Varga, large though the Captain was. The rest of the boarding party followed after Eck. “What’s all this?”
“I know that the lad be on this ship. I had men watching ‘im for a week afore ye drew anchor. Give me ‘im, and I do nay ask my men to tear the Foam Rider apart trying to find ‘im. It be that simple Varga.” Tarick crossed his arms. When Varga said nothing, Tarick ordered his men to search the ship in pairs, one of Carde’s men with one of his own. As sometime smugglers, Carde’s crew would know all the tricks of hiding what nobody wanted found. And as seasoned pirates themselves, Tarick’s sailors knew how to catch even the best smugglers with their cargo.
Carde, who had come back across with the boarding party, stood beside Tarick and Elgred as the former sat on the gunwale with his arms crossed and the latter fumed about how his ship was being mistreated and how he was a respected Merchant Captain.
“Look, Admiral. I know that Merchant Prince Ren Enschiva wants this leaf as soon as I can get my ship across the water. And I think that he may be willing to … vouch for the lad, if ye take my meaning.”
“I happen to know Ren a bit better than you do, Varga. His name will not save ye here. I also know that Ren isn’t involved with the tobacco trade this season, and that he is a devoted member of the Morschledu Remnant, as ye should be. The lad is a traitor, which is why we came after ‘im. Give ‘im up, an’ ye be free to go. It’s that simple, as I said afore.”
Elgred Varga’s face darkened. He did not like the choices he was presented with, but he had to pick a side.
The Cardor’s Bloody Banks
Edya Reeshnar looked out over the walls of Eshtam-Nis. She could not see or hear any of the Dothorin people, but she knew that they were there. It was a feeling, more than anything else. Since the fall of the Morschcoda Council, Daliana Marcarry, with many of her people agreeing, gave over most of the larger settlements inside of the forest to the Drogs. The people of Dothoro dwelt out of sight, high in the trees they loved, and their cities got a new layer of defence, aside from the added protection granted by the presence of most of Drogoda’s remaining soldiers. Edya had had Ringlords create new lakes and rivers throughout the forest, surrounding every city and town. The Dothrin had accepted with the agreement that they be allowed to make pathways in the forest canopy over the waters so that they might take shelter inside of strong walls should Guinira march in force. Edya had been happy to agree.
As she circled the walls of Eshtam-Nis, she wondered if Makret had found the Anshawl that she had ordered be left behind. The sound of leathered feet running over bark high above her, and the Dothrin woman who leapt down twenty feet to land beside her, convinced her that he had.
The woman was panting hard, doubled over. She looked terrible. Branches had clawed her face and hands, and there were bits of bark and leaves sticking out of her hair and even her face. Edya recognized markings on the woman’s gear and knew that she had run from the edge of the forest, obviously not daring to slow down ever, in case she was too late. As soon as she had enough breath, she stammered. “Morschcoda … Druoth has come … Edge of the forest … Midday two days ago.”
Edya looked in shock and admiration at the small Dothrin woman. She had run fifty leagues in just over a day and a half. That was impressive, even for a Dothrin courier. “Go find something to eat, and get some rest. I’ll do whatever I can to hold the Deshika at the forest edge.”
She nodded, but did not go. “I met Morschcoda Marcarry. She’s taken two thousand Dothrin to where the Cardor leaves the forest. The trees aren’t as thick there. She believes that’s where they will strike first.”
Edya nodded and dismissed her for a second time. She looked to the southeast. Would Makret uphold their bargain? Or would she have to find some other way to get Morschcoda Daken Calmi out of An-Aniath?
*
Daliana Marcarry stood high above the ground among the branches of an ancient ash tree that grew close to the Cardor’s northern bank and looked across the Cardor into the Deshik camp, spreading for miles along the southern shore. It was a massive, sprawling thing, unorganized and dirty. Wagon trains that stretched for miles accompanied the forty thousand warriors, more than she had anticipa
ted. She had thought that the Morschledu Remnant was not so large a threat, especially with Erygan rampaging at will throughout northern Anaria, and Alquendiro still unconquered. But then she remembered Makret’s words from when he had come to Alquendiro as The Kindler’s ambassador. “And that is just the armies of one of the Seven Devils, and by many accounts, not the largest.” The number of Deshika that had poured into Anaria with the supposed fall of the Morschcoda Council was mind boggling. Over one million had come with Nasheem, the second of the Seven Devils. Others of the Seven were rumoured to have walked in Anaria, but their armies had remained behind, or had slipped in unnoticed amongst Nasheem’s more numerous warriors. Daliana shook her head. It did not matter if any others of the Seven had armies in Anaria. The Morschledu Remnant was small, with the thousands who had been slaughtered at Emin-Tal, and pressed together into the few remaining pockets of the land that Guinira had not yet conquered: the island of Alquendiro, the Garuthen Mountains, the forest of Dothoro, and the Kingdom of Torridesta. The thought that Erygan still ruled over at least some of his lands gave Daliana and others in the Remnant some hope, but such sources of inspiration were in short supply. In their current state, the Morschledu Remnant had almost no hope of defeating Nasheem’s hordes, let alone those The Kindler still held in reserve. Daliana couldn’t help but feel that she and the other Morschcoda were gambling with time they did not have. If Guinira, The Kindler, Nasheem, or any of the others of the Seven called their bluff, the Morschen world would end.
*
In the Deshik camp, Makret was doing his best to manipulate the War Chiefs. To his relief, he was succeeding. He had taken the stance that the most likely place for an ambush was along the river, so the War Chiefs took the position that they were there to destroy any rebels they could find. Makret argued that they would be slaughtered. They countered that there were not enough Morschen left in the world to do that much damage to them. Makret gave way, and allowed the War Chiefs to continue, breathing a sigh of relief when they left. Daken Calmi, still using Trick of the Wind, with which he had created the slight disguise he had worn in An-Aniath to fool Guinira, stepped into the tent.
“I’m risking a lot trusting you like this, Druoth.”
“You and I both know that there was no other way to get you out of the city.” Makret’s reply was hushed. He didn’t dare speak too loudly, in case any of Guinira’s chosen Ringlords could hear him. “Guinira knows that Meclarya, like Drogoda, was left almost non-existent after Emin-Tal. But unlike Drogoda, Meclarya fell in a matter of days, not months. So any Meclaryan, even the ones who serve Guinira, or pretend to serve Guinira, attracts suspicion. If you had left the city on your own, any Meclaryan outside of the forest or the mountains would have been dead before the Silver Moon.” Makret leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. He shook off a few broken strands and watched them fall to the ground.
Daken counted up the time on his remaining fingers. “The New Year is only three weeks away. I doubt that even Guinira could act that quickly.”
Makret stood and looked down at the shorter man. Daken looked up, unimpressed, staring into the cold blue eyes that had defied death itself. They were both stubborn men, and likely would have stood there until the world’s end if Aleishi Mandrath had not pulled aside the flap of the tent and stepped inside.
“General.” The tall, thin Caladean woman’s voice was high, almost shrill, and had a slight lilting quality that reminded Makret of the ocean. He remembered, and quickly discarded, that she, like his fallen former friend Regath Encarthian, was from El Redro Delshoi, but Regath’s accent had been far less noticeable then the Caladean woman’s. “The War Chiefs are ready to begin their march. Two of the Armandan Ringlords have asked permission to march with the first ranks.” Makret nodded slowly. Aleishi turned and left the tent. Makret watched her go, curious about her and the way she walked. He had seen her grace and skill in battle. He had fought her more than once, and trained with her after Emin-Tal, but he realized that he did not know or understand the woman. She moved with the awkwardness of a newborn Mordak, not the grace and perfect balance that he would have expected of anyone like her; a seasoned warrior and a master of multiple weapons. He would have to ask her later, though, if he wished to unravel that mystery. Now, he had an ambush to plan.
*
Daliana had descended from her perch high in the trees so that she could give her orders. She marked the two Morschen that rode at the front of the Deshik column, only about five thousand strong. The Deshika either did not fear or did not respect the Dothrin. The red hair of the two women told Daliana what she had already suspected: Armandan Ringlords. Makret had not come to negotiate. Though the Deshika could be dealt with at any point along their march, if Daliana gave the order to attack the Ringlords before they actually entered Dothoro and Remnant Anaria, she would officially be at war with Armanda as well as the Seven. She groaned as she thought that. ‘It isn’t like there’s much of a difference.’ But she knew that to attack Armandans before they were officially at war with her could cost her Xari’s trust, and that was something that she could not afford to lose. Though she doubted that Xari would take things the wrong way, the thought of the risk involved made her feel like a gambler holding too many cards. All of the Morschcoda had changed, and understood that they were at war. Daliana doubted that attacking any Morschen of any of the Ten Nations would incite war within the Remnant if those attacked were marching with Deshika. So instead, she discarded her habitual musings on politics and the dangerous reactions she would incur were the Council still in command of Anaria and she prepared to give her soldiers the order to attack. She had spearmen hidden on the southern bank, knowing that her enemy could not ford the river, and her archers, by far a larger force, were with her on the north bank, and in the trees above. She had no fear that any of their arrows would fell her own soldiers. An archer in Dothoro was the sort of person one could count on to hit what they aimed for. She was about to give the order to release when a man emerged from the forest and knelt beside her.
“Take the Ringlords alive if you can” he hissed in her ear. “They’re ones that Guinira was once close to. She wants them dead.”
Daliana could taste the venom and hatred in her own voice as she answered. “They are traitors to Anaria, Druoth. I want them dead.”
Makret shifted to a more comfortable crouch. “There are five more that you can take your well-deserved vengeance on, Daliana. These two don’t understand this war or their own part in it.”
She didn’t look at him. “Then you shouldn’t have brought them.”
Makret laid a hand on her shoulder, but almost immediately removed it as she shifted away. “Guinira ordered them to come. I didn’t want to bring any Armandans. They just complicate things. But they could give you information. They might even be turned.”
Daliana turned towards him. To him, she seemed angry at his general existence at that moment. “I’m already gambling, trusting you with Remnant lives, Druoth. I won’t trust your judgement with traitors’ lives too.”
“I did bring Daken.”
Daliana grunted, unimpressed. “You’ve done nothing more than what you promised. You’ve earned no favour from me or from the Remnant.”
“Daken is going to sneak away tonight, and tomorrow, the Torridestan I brought has orders to find his remains, like he wandered too far and was caught by a Lurnax.”
“Which Torridestan?”
“Too many lives hang on that information not being revealed for me to tell you.”
“The lives of my people are among those.”
Makret fought with himself for a moment. “A High-Blood Torridestan, who was nearly caught spying in Storinea. I won’t say more. It’s not my secret to reveal.”
Daliana, knowing Makret was telling the truth and would say nothing more, let the matter of the Torridestan’s identity drop, for the moment. “So Guinira will suspect nothing about Daken’s disappearance. Would she care anyway?”
“Nothing that she can prove, even if some of her own make it back. And no, she likely wouldn’t care. She thinks that he’s only some Meclaryan Ringlord who joined her to avoid dying. She has no idea who he really is.”
For the first time, Daliana softened towards her dead father’s long-time friend. “You could stay here too, you know. I may not trust you, but I do need you.”
“I wish that I could stay. But there are other members of the Remnant still in An-Aniath, and other Morschen who only stay because I stay. They’re more useful in An-Aniath, but if I leave, they will disappear. Then, Guinira’s Morschledu Hunters will be out in force. Almost all of them have reputations that involve taking heads, not captives. That’s not something that would be good for anyone. I couldn’t get enough people out to Xari before she was forced to retreat.”
Daliana understood, but she had half-hoped, no matter her personal feelings, that he would relent this time. ‘Maybe Edya would have better luck.’ Silently, she gave the order. Arrows rained down on the advancing Deshik line, scattering it in ruin, while her spearmen on the far bank charged and dealt with those that remained long enough to understand their mistake.
*
Makret had left as soon as Daliana had given her order to attack, but he still barely made it back to his command tent in time. One of the Armandans who had marched with the advance force stormed in, along with two of the War Chiefs. One of them had an arrow sticking out of his upper left shoulder. The other pointed at Makret with one of his four first fingers.
“You knew this would happen.”
Makret was facing the tent flap, but was leaning against his desk, staring down at the map spread over its surface. He did not look up. “If you’re going to accuse me of anything, War Chief, first remember that it was I who warned you against this attack.” Makret raised his head to stare at the accusing War Chief. “And second, if you must mangle this language, please do so as little as possible.” The War Chief lowered his hand and his eyes, cowed by Makret’s scorn and relentless stare. Makret turned to the woman. “What happened?”
Devil's Dominion (The Anarian Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
