“I understand, my lord. I think your kingdom will lose Noldoron, for I may be forced to bow to Guinira, if only to save my people.”
Erygan nodded. A politician, not a warrior, he knew what Guinira’s attack on Noldoron would mean. The situation could not be avoided though. “Use the Garuthen Trade Route. It will take you straight to the city, and you won’t have to fight a war that you can’t win for the bridges.”
With that, Gelida turned her horse and rode southwest. Thirty thousand Noldorin common soldiers followed her.
Erygan watched as Gelida rode away. The girl had practically grown up in his court, away from her own father, but she so closely resembled him. Tall, but unbent from the smith craft that Dalasin had practiced. Her grey hair had grown darker in Torridesta, but it was still far lighter than any shade to be found within his country. As she disappeared from sight, she raised her hand as a goodbye. It was her right hand, and on that arm was an elbow-length leather glove. In the whole time he had known her, she had never taken it off. He wondered what might be underneath, but he also wondered what would happen to her in Noldoron. Not even Guinira would dare to deny her the Steel Throne. That would turn the country of master smiths against her and Anaria beyond any doubt. No, the reason he watched her go was far more personal. Though Dalasin had only sat as Morschcoda for five years, for the last fifty years, Gelida had served as Noldoron’s ambassador to Torridesta and as an advisor on Erygan’s council. He had come to see her almost as his own daughter, and in many ways, she acted like one. She had always been stiff and formal with Dalasin the few times that the young Morschcoda had come to Toredo, but she had opened up to him, and even more to his wife. He briefly pondered what might come of nudging his son Eildar in her direction, but he discarded that idea. His own marriage had been one of stability. He had desperately needed the good will of the Merchant Clans, and Rashti Dalrey opened the door to numerous new trade agreements with Meclarya. Erygan did not want that for his son, or for Gelida. Aloud, he turned his thoughts away from that line. “So fate and time weave together, and not even those who have power themselves can stop their inexorable march.” Gelida should not have had to take her father’s place for many years yet. “General Cadrick,” he said, returning to himself and his surroundings. “Send a messenger to Agrista. Tell Marrdin that if he promises not to fight for what he has lost, our march ends here.”
“It shall be done, my lord.”
* * * * *
Daken and Marrdin leaned over opposite ends of a table, looking at a map of Rista and a larger map of what had once been Anaria. “Is there any news, Daken?”
Daken pointed to various places on each map as he spoke. “My Riders report that Guinira, Ranny, and Xari have marched against Noldoron. As far as I know, the bridges are holding, and many of the Rayed Sun have fallen. But, Dalasin could have pulled all of his men into the city by now, and if he has I don’t think he will hold it long. Within the last few hours, Dragon Riders watching Erygan’s army reported that thirty thousand Noldorin regulars have turned around. I suspect that they will march to Galzeen, but I don’t know which route they will take.”
“The Garuthen road, most likely, but even if we did know by which route the Noldorin would return home, we can’t intercept them. We don’t have the men, and they have a long lead.”
“Guinira will understand that we can’t hold two lines. She has enough men to overrun Galzeen, but the Tall Dwarves won’t give ground easily.”
Both men were silent for a time, staring blankly at the maps in front of them. Occasionally one or the other would move the flags representing their armies, but they could think of no way to halt the Torridestan advance.
“I refuse to give Erygan Agrista. I held it from the Deshika, with help, and I will hold it from Erygan.”
“Again, with help” replied Daken with a long groan. The Dragon Hearted he had with him did not have the supplies to keep fighting for much longer, and Erygan’s armies were too close to the road from Airachni for a convoy to get through unnoticed. Agrista was close enough to the coast to be able get supplies and soldiers from ships, but once again, he dared not risk it. The Ristan coast was treacherous, surrounded by shoals and reefs, with hidden shelves of rock and ice nearer to the land. There were few merchant captains or even pirates that dared the waters off of the northern shores. He could hire Drog ships and captains, but even they had fallen prey to the dangerous passages of Rista’s shore, and Torridesta’s shore was worse, so there was almost no chance of relief from the sea. But it was the only way Daken could think of to get more of the Dragon Hearted to Agrista in time to fight.
“My lords” said one of Marrdin’s guards, entering silently. “There is a Torridestan messenger here. He requests an audience on behalf of King Dalrey.”
Marrdin nodded his head wearily. The border war between Erygan and Marrdin had been dragging on for three years, and Marrdin was nearing his breaking point. The heavy bags under his light blue eyes attested to months on end of sleepless nights. He ran his fingers through his untidy hair. Several minutes passed before a tall Torridestan man, dressed entirely in black armour, entered and knelt. “My lords. My king, Morschcoda Erygan Dalrey, wishes for there to be no further war between our countries. He wishes this war to be over, as he believes that you undoubtedly do as well. His message is that if the lords of Anaria will not contest the land he has already taken under his banner, he will not continue his attack on the land of Rista.”
Marrdin laughed humourlessly without turning around. “Does your lord think he can convince us to surrender with one messenger and so much of our land unfought? I will die before I see-” he paused, stunned, and turned around. “What did you say?”
“I said that if the lords of Anaria will not contest the banner of Torridesta, it will advance no further into Ristan territory.”
“Hm. Wait outside.” The man bowed and left. “What do you think, Daken?”
Daken looked up from the map that he had continued to study. “All Erygan has taken is a long stretch of the ice fields. It’s uninhabited, except by the dead. I would agree, Marrdin. Most of your country is intact, almost everyone who calls themselves Ristan, save for the dead, still do. The road is still open southward. Nor do I think that Erygan will agree to move his new border back. Whatever he wants it for, we made him pay dearly for that land.”
“It only makes sense,” agreed Marrdin, nodding. “I can’t in good conscience fight a war I am convinced that I will lose, especially when a reasonable alternative has been provided.” Calling the messenger back in, he said “Tell Erygan that we agree to his terms. Rista will not contest his claim on the land he has already taken, as long as he takes no more.”
A short Dragon Rider entered and bowed as the Torridestan left. The Torridestan man and the Meclaryan woman nodded at each other, acknowledging something between them, quite the opposite of the reaction that the two Morschcoda might have expected had they been still watching. “My lords,” both Morschcoda looked up. “Queen Guinira and her forces have succeeded in breaking the gate of Galzeen. Both Stone Warriors and Tall Dwarves are attempting to hold the line, and though they are being driven back, they are forcing her to pay dearly. But her majesty believes that this weakening of the Rayed Sun will give Morschcoda Garrenin cause to strike at Ra-Diavere while it is undefended.”
“What does she want me to do about it?”
“She believes that her attack on the city will draw off Noldoron’s armies from Morschcoda Dalrey. With that force weakened, she believes that the Ristan Army should be able to hold the line alone. She wishes for as large a Meclaryan force as can be mustered quickly to be sent to Ra-Diavere as soon as possible, to prevent Drogoda from taking the country while it is vulnerable.”
“Tell Queen Guinira that Erygan and I have formed a treaty already. As for what the Meclaryan army will do … Daken?”
“The men I have with me will return to Airachni for badly needed rest. They have had a long fight, and are as
tired as I am sure our Ristan counterparts are.” Marrdin nodded, sagging into a chair he had found along the wall. “However, any force I can spare will be marching for Caladea as soon as it can. On your way to take that message to Guinira, fly by way of Airachni and tell Chief Rider Tendornin to marshal the Dragon Hearted, on my orders. Then return to Guinira with my reply.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Enemies, Old and New
Taren stood at the pinnacle of the Tower of the Sun, the highest point in Ra-Diavere, as he watched the sun set far to the west. He had been working towards this point for almost three hundred years, since before Ranny Marsharin had even been born. That she had taken the Morschcodal Throne in Dishmo Kornara at the young age of one hundred and four had only helped his cause. His agents, spies, assassins, and even merchants had all brought him closer to his goal of one day controlling the vast country, and more important to him and the rest of Drogoda, Caladea’s long coastline. The tiny coast that Drogoda controlled, no more than twenty or so leagues with only one good harbour, had always pained him. He believed, as did many of the powerful voices that spoke against him in his land, that a country of Ringlords who could control the waves should have waves to control. And now they did, and his detractors on the Mordak Council and in the Merchant’s Conclave had already grown far less vocal. From where he stood, almost nine hundred feet in the air, he could not see the ocean, over eighty leagues eastward, but he knew it was there, even as he knew when the sun shone with his eyes closed. Finally, he turned away from both the sun and the sea, and descended from the tower. He would soon have other, more important business. Galzeen had fallen, and Ranny had attempted to return to Caladea through Dothoro. A clever ambush by Dothrin soldiers once led by Atalin Danalath had led Ranny into the waiting trap of the full might of Drogoda’s Brotherhood of the Mordak, which had grown significantly in the five years since the breaking of the Anarian Treaty. Taren had been training many more Mordak Riders than the Treaty allowed him to have for centuries, but, when he was confronted with it, he found a hole in the treaty, with the help from the then Storinean Morschcoda, Kallin’s grandfather, Barish Revdark. The treaty only limited the size of Drogoda’s elite force, The Brotherhood of the Mordak. It did not prevent him from offering the same training to more than that number. And now that the treaty was broken, he had twenty thousand Mordak Riders trained for combat under the banner of the Brotherhood. And now, most of that force was escorting Ranny Marsharin and what had once been the proud and powerful Army of the Sun back to their home of Ra-Diavere.
Taren had had the throne room rearranged after he had taken the country, which had been surprisingly easy. With five thousand of the Brotherhood, he had marched on Ra-Diavere, while the rest of his Riders went to Dothoro. There were few soldiers left in all of the country, since Guinira had emptied it, so he had sent most of those Riders who had come with him back to Dothoro. Makret was still in Dothoro, and had taken personal control of the country while Daliana’s loyalty was still questionable. The Brotherhood was escorting Ranny’s army through Taren’s lands, but they were rapidly drawing close to the city. The changes that Taren had made to the throne room were small, but he knew that they would have a large impact. An exact copy of his throne in Alquendiro, carved out of blue stone in such a way that it appeared to be water flowing downwards, even as a stream would, had been brought and set up where the Sun Throne had been. The Sun Throne had been moved forward and to the side, so that the Flowing Throne of Drogoda, a copy of it anyway, was clearly visible as one entered the throne room. The meaning could not have been clearer. And so Ranny saw it when she was escorted into the room where formerly, she had been unquestioned. She did not bow.
“So, now I am simply a part of the power your empire wields.”
“Only if you are willing to be.”
“What does that mean, Taren Garrenin, he who would be king of the world?”
“It means that I haven’t forgotten the attacks of the Deshika only five years ago. It means that I can’t afford to march against them when, not if, they return while I leave behind countries whose leaders refused to bow, or worse, were forced to.”
“So, this was your plan all along. From the time you took the Morschcodal Throne in Dishmo Kornara, you have been planning to unite Anaria by the sword.”
“You were not born until almost four hundred years after I took Drogoda’s throne. You have no right to comment on what I planned to do back then.” Ranny could not meet his relentless stare. “But you aren’t wrong. Uniting Anaria, peacefully or by the sword, is why Erygan and I needed to break the Anarian Treaty. It stood in the way of our nations being truly united under one banner. I will not see The Kindler re-emerge and take the world a second time.”
Ranny stood stunned, but her instinct made one motion, so old that it was automatic. She drew a circle around her heart. The Kindler had been the one who, at the dawn of time, had raised the Deshika against the Morschen and, ultimately, Lasheed. Of course, this had not been known at the time. The first Morschen had believed The Kindler was Lasheed himself, and in that time, the Armandans were most ready to his cause. Many Morschledu had disappeared, and then the Deshika had come for the first time. There were many who believed that The Kindler had tortured the Morschen he had captured, especially the Eschcotans, because of their size, and turned them into Deshika warriors. It was not as difficult a stretch as some might have believed, but long after was proved to be impossible. The Deshika were far larger than any Morschen, even the giants among the Eschcotans, and they were short lived. The oldest Deshika did not live to be two hundred, but they reproduced like rabbits. It was only after three of the countries, Drogoda, Rista, and Torridesta, had rebelled against The Kindler that the truth was discovered. The three countries of darkness had stood for the light against the light. Other countries, especially Eschcota, turned against The Kindler, and he was finally revealed to be one of the Seven Devils. El Bendro Dakoia was long and bloody, until a final confrontation between The Kindler and the lord of Torridesta. The two fought long and hard, with swords and magic, but The Kindler had the victory, until he saw the battlefield. His Deshika had been routed. Hundreds of thousands were dead upon the field, thousands more running for their lives. Only one lord still stood before him, the lord of Drogoda. The two locked eyes, and then Morschen and fallen god fought. The name of that lord of the Morschen of Drogoda, no tale that she had heard remembered, but it was known that though his magic failed him, and his armour was all but destroyed, he still managed to land what would have been a death blow on any other being. The Kindler was defeated. At least, according to legends that she had ready to mind, or thought she remembered well.
All of this went through Ranny’s mind. Kallin would have been able to remember more, but she did not need it. “You honestly think that The Kindler will return?”
“You just went through everything you have ever heard or think you know about The Kindler and El Bendro Dakoia, and you still ask me that?” Taren looked skeptically at Ranny. “Yes, The Kindler will return, Ranny. He may have already.” Taren stood, walked past her, and out into the city.
Ranny stood where Taren had left her, all but unable to move. What troubled her more than the fact that Taren seemed so certain that The Kindler would return was the fact that he had so easily read her mind. Mind reading was a common ability, there were few of even the Ringless Morschen who could not open their minds to others, but she had thought none were strong enough to read her mind without fighting for every detail. And none had ever been able to mask their presence from her before. She had just turned to follow Taren when two Drog women, both Tai-Aren Coda, she could tell by the way they moved, walked over to her and started steering her away from the doors. “What is going on here?” she asked. They did not answer. They just keep walking, until they found another woman. “Who are you?”
“Spear Captain Edya Reeshnar, my lady. And I am sorry about this, Morschcoda Marsharin, but my lord has left specific instructi
ons. You are to be confined to your rooms until you bow to King Taren of your free will. Until such time as that is, I am to take control of Ra-Diavere and begin bringing the rest of Caladea under the Drogodan banner.”
* * * * *
Two weeks after Taren had taken Ra-Diavere, the Meclaryan army was preparing to enter the city to defend it. In his command tent, Daken heard a sentry gave a cry as a dragon appeared high in the air above the camp. “Rider approaching.” The cry went up from the southern edge of the Meclaryan camp, where Daken, fifteen thousand Meclaryan soldiers, and twelve Dragon Riders were waiting for news from the city. The cry was sounded twice more, both on the north side, where another two Riders descended. All three immediately made their way to the command tent, where Chief Rider Galeth Tendornin was waiting with Daken.
“Well?”
The Rider who had been spying on Ra-Diavere looked to the others to go first. A short, slender woman, the same woman who had gone to Agrista to give Daken Guinira’s orders, stepped forward. “Chief Rider, Prince of Dragons, I can report beyond any doubt that Noldoron, or Galzeen at least, has fallen to Queen Guinira. Also, Dalasin Mectar is dead. Guinira intended to execute him, naming him a traitor, but he freed himself and forced her into single combat. Rumour is that Xari Gundara interfered in the duel, but I can’t confirm that. Also, I did scout to the north, along the Garuthen Trade Route, and roughly ten days from the city was the force of Noldorin soldiers that left King Erygan in Rista.”
“Ten days from when?” asked Galeth. Daken remained silent. These were Galeth’s Riders, not his.
“Ten days from today, Chief Rider. A full week’s march still, after an already long trek through the mountains. That concludes my report.” Galeth nodded, but asked no questions.
Rising Vengeance (The Anarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
