“Eildar, do you know when Guinira’s reinforcements might be getting here?”
His son did not respond, but pulled out a telescope and pointed it southward. The telescope was an expensive artifact; it had been a gift from a powerful Merchant Prince to Erygan’s great-great-grandfather. Even one that was poorly crafted, so long as it worked, commanded prices of over one hundred gold paroes. One as well made as Eildar held would cost a small fortune to craft, and a much larger one to purchase. A gift of such extravagance could not be refused, not even with all of the implications and expectations that came along with it. Erygan had borne the telescope in his time, and now, so did Eildar.
Erygan watched as his son directed the glass southwards, sweeping it from west to east in a long, slow circle. What the piece’s range was, Erygan had never tested, but through it, he had beheld the stars and the moon like one who walked beside them, so he knew for himself its power. Eildar’s lips tightened in a grim frown as he gazed almost straight towards Airachni. Slowly and carefully, he placed the telescope back in its pouch on his belt. “I don’t think that they’ll take long, father. But something’s wrong. They aren’t The Kindler’s Deshika, and they aren’t Nasheem’s.” He withdrew the telescope and handed it to his father. “They bear the Whip of Vorteez as their standard. The Master of Pain has arrived in Anaria.”
Erygan did not bother to raise the telescope to his eye. He could now see the Deshika without it, like ants, just barely visible, creeping over the horizon. He knew that his son would not mistake The Kindler’s Candle or even Nasheem’s Curling Feathers for the Whip of Vorteez. “Take two thousand men on horseback and ride hard for Rista. That might draw enough of them off.”
“What about you?’
“If they’re here for me, then you’re right. They’ll have to divide their army …”
“Because they won’t know which force you’re leading.”
“I should warn you, I think that more will follow you than will stay here. Guinira thinks of me as a pawn of the Merchant Conclave, who will do everything possible to save his own skin. The harder you ride, the more will follow you.”
“I’ll drag them through the three hells if I must. I’ll ride for Agrista. The ruins are defensible.”
“You may find more than just ruins there. Marrdin has been busy throughout Rista, trying to avoid The Kindler’s eye.”
Eildar walked slowly to the stairs, but stopped at their head. “If none of the Deshika follow me, don’t stay here. This town may have held against small armies, but Vorteez’s soldiers won’t go out of their way to keep this village intact. They will burn it.”
“I have my own plans for them, Eildar. I’ve been waiting for this army for over one month now. I am prepared for them.” Eildar turned to go, but Erygan said one more thing. “If you make it to Marrdin, tell him that nightfall comes soon.”
Eildar stormed down the stairs and passed the guards at the large barn door. He called loudly for his commander, who appeared quickly. Almost too quickly, thought Eildar, but he shrugged it off. “The old man wants to wait for this army, and meet them in honest battle, as if there is such a thing. He has no strategy, no skill of command, nor depth of deception. I am not going to sit here and wait for death’s tide to roll over us. Gather as many men as you can, and all of the horses you can find in the next hour. I want to be gone before my father knows what’s happened.”
“But sir, if there is to be a battle …”
“There will be no battle. Vorteez wouldn’t send a force that this army has any hope of defeating, and my father knows it. All he wants is some sort of heroic last stand, like Regath Encarthian. He was a lord such as the Morschen need now, but all my father will be doing is wasting lives. I ride for Rista. Any who want to not die are welcome, so long as they can keep the pace. With Vorteez’s hordes behind us, we won’t have the luxury of waiting for stragglers.”
*
Months before, even before the betrayal of Makret Druoth and the discovery of Domrar Cadrick as a spy in her court, Guinira had decided that she no longer trusted non-Armandans. That decision, as well as her desire to find a replacement for Druoth, led her to make a controversial appointment. She had found a ninety-two-year-old Armandan pureblood named Hialed Volkure. He was a Ringlord who had chosen to remain loyal to her instead of following Xari into exile. He was inexperienced, he held neither rank nor office in the Armandan army, and most importantly, he was young. Ninety-two meant nothing to most Ringlords, or ordinary Morschen. It was not even a respectable age among the Deshika. But his age had an upside, and Guinira found that to be more important. She could mold him into the man she needed. He was not distinguished, so no one would follow him if he betrayed her. But she doubted that too. The man was a zealot. He was one of her Morschledu Hunters, willing to track down and kill even his own kin if they were traitors to the Armandan Throne. If he proved himself capable of command, and survived, then he would be named Guinira’s High General. If he was incompetent, he would likely not live long enough for her to learn of his failure. Nasheem had ‘borrowed’ forty-nine thousand warriors so that Volkure could have someone to command. The warriors that Nasheem took were those Vorteez normally sent to raid the Morieden warrior clans of northern Drogoda, or when hunting wild Mordak and Dragons. Vorteez did not trust Nasheem, a rift that had widened since the Dread Commander’s soldiers had failed to take Dothoro under Druoth’s command. But, Vorteez’s warriors needed a commander, and Hialed Volkure needed a test. Guinira could give him no advice about hunting down his quarry, for she had never marched against Torridesta itself, either as Queen of Anaria, or as Queen of Armanda. Hialed Volkure would have to discover a way of killing Morschcoda Erygan Dalrey on his own.
*
Hialed Volkure’s eyes burned as he stared at each of the War Chiefs in turn. Each of the seven War Chiefs stared back, not quite sure what they should think about their ‘General.’ They had never served under an Anarian, though they had killed many of them. But, despite the boy’s young age, they could see that fire burning. He wanted power, and now, he had it. Nobody before him had managed to win a battle against Erygan Dalrey. Few had managed to find him to fight one, but now, Hialed Volkure had found the old Torridestan. Within a few hours, he was confident he would claim victory over Torridesta as well. Just as he withdrew his gaze from the last War Chief and was about to start giving orders, a Torridestan slipped into the tent and bowed his head.
“General. Your arrival is unexpected, but welcome.”
Volkure ran his eyes over the Torridestan. He didn’t seem impressed with what he saw. “Guinira did not tell me that she had spy in Torridesta’s army. What is your report?”
The man would have answered, but he looked horrified at the mention of Guinira’s name.
“You said her majesty’s name? But … How dare …?”
Volkure’s red eyes flashed with fire at the challenge, and flames began to dance around his fingertips as he prepared to answer. “I am in command here. I do as I wish. Now, do you have a report or not?”
The man was shaken, but answered. “Yes, my lord. Um, Morschcoda Dalrey is intending to make a stand where he is.”
“Is that it?”
“No sir. Eildar Dalrey has denounced the Morschcoda as an old man with no military skill. The land that he intends to hold has no value, economically or strategically, so Eildar Dalrey has taken as many men as could find a horse and fled the camp, riding hard towards Rista. Apparently, Morschcoda Redernin has returned to his homeland and has begun fortifying it. Two thousand Torridestan Knights would be a significant aid in holding that country.”
Hialed did not think long. “I was ordered to find Erygan Dalrey, engage him in battle, and end the threat to Guinira’s northern borders. The son does not figure in to those orders. All troops will prepare for immediate head on assault. I want Dalrey’s head before the day is finished.”
“But sir!”
“General—” The oldest War Chief and the
Torridestan spy both tried speaking at once. Hialed held up his hand, and the Torridestan went silent. A glance from his fire-filled eyes was enough to silence the War Chief.
“I take that to mean that you both oppose.”
“If Eildar Dalrey is riding towards a fortified Rista, then we cannot allow him to reach the border. If your orders were to end the threat to Armanda’s northern bounds, then that is at least as significant as Morschcoda Dalrey. Possibly even more so, now, due to how many soldiers he has taken with him eastward.”
Hialed took in the spy’s words in quiet. “And why do you think I should not crush Dalrey now?”
“We do not know if the Torridestan King is in the camp anymore. This may be a trick, and he could have disguised himself, leaving a lesser lord in charge.”
“That is not a pitifully, hopelessly moronic suggestion, War Chief.” Hialed stood up and walked over to the spy. “Is Dalrey still in the camp?”
“With the Morschcoda’s powers, not even I could be certain.” Hialed nodded once and turned around. Then, he drew his sword in one swift motion and cut off the spy’s head. It fell to the floor, followed a half second later by its body.
“Guinira did not tell me that she had a spy in Dalrey’s camp, because there was no spy in Dalrey’s camp. This was an attempt to divide our forces, to push us in the wrong direction. And it almost worked.” He turned towards his War Chiefs. “If any one of you hears any Morschen even say the word ‘Morschcoda’ you are to kill him or her on sight as a traitor. Now, prepare the men. We march as soon as possible, with everything. Also, one of you, collect that head and take it to my tent. It’s my eighteenth. I need to preserve it with the others so that I can present them all to my lady.”
Erygan watched as the forty-nine thousand Deshik warriors assembled in ranks along the brow of the hill south of the village. With his horses gone, he could not counter attack before his enemies were ready, but it also meant that he could not run. Even with the small protection offered by the village’s buildings, he doubted that he could hold the village for any length of time against so many Deshika.
When his scout did not return, and the Deshik ranks were still forming, Erygan knew that something had gone wrong. Eildar had not been able to tell him which, if any, of Guinira’s Morschen Generals would be leading the renewed invasion of Torridesta, but Erygan suspected a new leader; most likely Armandan, and judging from the head-on tactic, a young one. From the aggressive nature of the offensive, he guessed that whoever it was would end up being a man, one that he knew sooner or later, he would meet face to face.
Eildar stopped just out of sight of the village. He knew the plan, but he doubted that a head-on charge would have the effect that his father wanted. He turned towards his commanders and gave orders.
“The Deshika look as though they are going to march head on through the village. If they reach the houses before we attack, we will die, our brothers in the village will die, and Torridesta will fall.”
“What if we rode back, charged through the roads, and attacked them head on.”
“No. They have the advantage in size, even with our horses. Their four arms will let them kill us before we are even close enough to do any damage.”
“What about a southern charge. The ridge of the hill will hide our movements, and if we travel slowly enough, the Deshika will not feel our charge until we are cutting into their backs.”
Eildar thought. “If we ride too slowly, they will have reached the houses. We have to keep as many as possible outside of the village.”
“What about an illusion?” All of the commanders looked at the young man who spoke. “Place shadows in front of the village, make our force seem stronger. It might keep them back from the village long enough, especially if they aren’t sure what they are truly fighting.”
Eildar knew that he did not have the time to waste, but he could not make up his mind. He kept repeating one word that his commander had said. “Shadows … Shadows?” Finally, he understood. “We don’t have the strength as we are to fight the Deshika head on. But … You all know what it is I am suggesting?” His men nodded. “I want them to be volunteers. They know as well as we do that no one who stands in front of the Deshika, whether we win or we lose this fight, will not be coming back.”
“My lord, all Morschledu know what it means to channel their Elemental Forms. I will not be surprised if they all volunteer.”
Hialed watched as three hundred horsemen rode back to stand between his advancing Deshika and the worthless village that hid Erygan Dalrey. To his Morschen sight, they were inconsequential. Three hundred, even on horseback, was no challenge for Vorteez’s First Battalion. He had heard other Morschen call them the Whip Crackers. He did not know if there was a Deshik phrase to match, but he doubted it. The Deshika were a very serious and traditional sort of people. He liked that about them. They did not see the need to take erroneous titles. He gave the order to attack.
As the Deshika drew closer to the line of houses, Hialed looked closer at the three hundred horsemen. They bothered him, and he thought he knew why. The spy had told him that two thousand had abandoned Erygan. Obviously these three hundred had a collective backbone, as well as some measure of loyalty to their soon to be dead Morschcoda. Not even before the return of the Seven would Hialed Volkure have acknowledged Erygan Dalrey as a King.
Volkure was about to order the Deshika to charge when something happened that even he considered interesting. The three hundred Torridestans each grew in size, but lost any defining features. Their armour did not shine in the midday sun, their drawn swords no longer mirrored the grass and huts and sky like his own blade did. He could not explain it, until, even from over half a league away, he saw one of the Torridestans turn sideways and disappear. “By all the gods …” He knew what was coming, and a part of him wanted to run as far away as he could, but it was too late. He could not even get the order to retreat out of his mouth. Three hundred Living Shadows charged the advancing Deshik line.
Erygan watched with wary interest as the three hundred horsemen took up a position about two hundred yards from the southernmost house. ‘Eildar, what are you doing?’ He could not bring himself to voice the question, dreading that one of his commanders might have an answer for him. What he dreaded more, though, was that the answer might make sense.
He did not have to wait long for the answer that he did not want. He felt the surge of magic. He knew what they had done. The Pure Elemental State was one that any Morschledu could reach. It involved transforming one’s body into a being of pure elemental energy, bound together by magic. Erygan bowed his head at the sacrifice his men were making. The Pure Elemental State ended exclusively with death.
The three hundred Living Shadows were weapons of a kind the Deshika had never faced before. Their prowess was unmatched, but they did not need swords, or any other weapon. The Living Shadows wielded mystery and terror, and being shadows, no Deshik weapon could truly harm them. All the Whip Cracker’s swords did was slow the Shadows down, and maybe quicken the rate of magical exhaustion. When Morschledu transformed themselves into pure energy, they died when that energy ran out. There was no return to the flesh-bound world.
Hialed had never seen anyone so devoted to a cause that they would transform themselves into living energy to fight on its behalf. ‘And they call me a zealot?’ It was his only thought. The devotion of the Living Shadows, he knew, went far beyond what he would do for his Queen. But now, all he could do was watch as the finest Deshik warriors in all of Anaria, possibly even the world, were slaughtered.
Occasionally, one of the Shadows would die, but he knew that nobody could take any credit for it. The Shadows, though, had carved a long and strangely bloodless swath out of his first ranks, and many of the rearmost Deshika were turning away from the battle so that they did not join their comrades in death. It was bloodless because the Shadows did not bleed, and because while they used their swords, they had a weapon even faster. Living Shadows possess
ed the power to reach inside of a being and rip out their soul. Some Demosira argued that by ripping out another’s soul, the Living Shadow gained more energy or power, and could survive longer. Hialed watched in silent horror as rank after rank of Vorteez’s finest fell over lifeless without a scratch. He finally got the word out in one loud screech. “RETREAT!”
Shards of the Past
“My lord, we’ve just caught a civilian trying to enter the forbidden reconstruction area.” A Crystal Sword bowed to his Morschcoda, and then winced as a shrill voice started shouting behind him. Marrdin winced too, recognizing the noise. He groaned when he understood the words.
“I demand,” the voice put special emphasis on vowels, “to see my husband. At once.”
Marrdin, annoyed but not intimidated, nodded to the guard. A woman, dressed head to toe in white silk and fur, with a white fur hat studded with diamonds and tall white leather boots, also trimmed with white fur, pushed her way past the guard and brushed her long, strikingly black hair away from her forehead and sapphire blue eyes. She stood there, staring at Marrdin for about five or ten seconds, raised her lips in an attempt at a smile, and walked over to him. He put his hand on her elbow and kissed the cheek that she offered him.
“Husband.”
“Shenya. What are you doing here?”
Shenya rolled her eyes. “Ugh. There’s no need to sound so pleased to see me, Marrdin. I only came to see if any of my wives or my other husband had returned to the capital, now that you’re trying to rebuild it.”
“Our wives, you mean. Dreya and Emeda are married to both of us.”
Shenya tossed her head. “Emeda was my wife before she wanted to marry you. And she would have left me if I didn’t take you as my husband and Dreya as my wife.”
“And we had to take Shenned as our husband because you married him for his money when you were seventy-three.”
She put her hand to her chest, offended. “Because an exceptionally beautiful, High-Blood woman can’t marry an aging, rich man just because she’s in love with him?”
Devil's Dominion (The Anarian Chronicles Book 2) Page 9
