Devil's Dominion

by Stephen Trolly

  * * * * *

  Three Deshik hunting parties had left when Vorteez gave the order to hunt down the Drog assassin. A tattered mixture of all three returned, pulling a bloodied man wearing torn leather armour. A few more Deshika limped in after those with the Drog, carrying the rest of his armour and weapons. Vorteez was sitting in his chair, leaning back, sipping wine. Slowly, he stood and held up the arrow.

  “An impressive shot, Drog. How far away?”

  The Drog didn’t answer more than to spit out blood.

  Vorteez crouched down in front of him. “How far? One mile? Two?”

  “One league. Water-sight carries far.”

  “A very impressive shot. Tell me, what did you hope to accomplish?”

  “I was told that the islander needed to die, so I killed him.”

  “But why? Who ordered this man’s death?”

  The Drog spat at Vorteez’s feet. “Druoth.”

  “Did he think that it would stop me from hearing of his treachery?”

  “The islander was the traitor. Traitors die.”

  “How many Drog deaths did Makret Druoth cause? And he still lives?”

  “His life isn’t mine to take.”

  “But the islander’s was?”

  The Drog shrugged, but continued to meet Vorteez’s amused, but relentless, stare. “I am a soldier. I follow orders.”

  “So devoted, aren’t you.” Vorteez straightened and cracked his knuckles one by one. “But now, your life is mine to take, or to not take. Did you think that through? Your fate will be decided by the Master of Pain. Does that frighten you?” The Drog stared up into Vorteez’ red eyes. Defiance and hatred flowed through his stare. “It seems to not. Good. Stronger people are much more entertaining in the torture chamber.” Vorteez took the bow. He held it up to his eyes, and ran his hand along it, caressing it. He took a deep breath and let out a small laugh. “Yes, I remember you. You feel as alive as you did three hundred thousand years ago. Simple and elegant, beautiful and deadly.” Vorteez’ voice was soft, calm, almost as though he was speaking to a lover and not a weapon. “Few weapons were ever crafted that were the equal of the Drog War Bows. Such simple, raw power. I always envied the Drogs’ magic.” He stopped and placed the bow reverently on the table, then picked up an arrow. “This is the arrow you used to kill the islander. Aimed with skill, guided by its own magic.” Vorteez licked his lips, and in one smooth motion, snapped the arrow in half. “This wood is from an ancient tree, which no longer exists.” He picked up another arrow and held it up to his eye, inspecting the perfection of its craftsmanship. Then, he broke it in half. “I was envious of the Drogs control of war magic, so I found every grove of these trees and burned them.” He broke a third arrow. “The birds are extinct too.” The shards of a fourth arrow fell to the floor. “I broke into the cave where the Drogs hid them, and I slaughtered them all.” A fifth arrow joined the others.

  After the shards of each arrow fell to the floor, the Drog crumpled a little more. Vorteez leaned over him, his cruel smile broadening. The Drog listlessly ran his hands over the pieces of arrows, lifting them one at a time, cradling them in his arms. Vorteez was about to start gloating again when the Drog yelled. Tightening his grip on the arrow pieces, he drove them into Vorteez’s arm. The Devil roared in pain, sending out a wave of magic.

  The dust that had once made up a Drog warrior fell slowly to the earth.

  The Silence of the Trees

  El Darnen and Edya walked backwards, their swords in front of them, holding back the Wyrm that snarled and prowled after them. Daliana and Kallin walked forwards, Kallin with the torch watching ahead for more danger, and Daliana dividing her attention between what might be in front, and the Wyrm behind.

  Edya whispered as quietly as she could. “Kallin, what do you know about Wyrms?”

  “Less than anyone else here.” Kallin’s response was also whispered. The only universal knowledge of the Dragon’s lesser cousin was its reaction to noise.

  Daliana stopped and turned towards the Wyrm. “It’s only curious, not hungry.”

  “And that helps us … how?”

  El Darnen answered. “If it was hungry, it would have tried to eat us by now.”

  “It could still kill us.”

  “No. We’re leaving its territory. That seems to be enough for it.”

  El Darnen wasn’t impressed. “You say that like you trust this thing.”

  “I’ve trusted you for the past two years without knowing your past or your intentions. I can actually communicate with animals, El Darnen. I have as much reason or more to trust this Wyrm than I have to trust you.”

  El Darnen half-turned, but didn’t turn away from the Wyrm, cautious in case Daliana was wrong.

  Ahead of them, Kallin sneezed.

  Whether the Wyrm could hear and had not been threatened by their whispers had been debateable. But Kallin’s sneezed echoed up and down the tunnel, until it sounded more like a challenging roar than the small burst of air and mucus that it had been.

  Loud as Kallin’s sneeze seemed after hours of silence and careful whispering, the Wyrm’s answering roar was deafening: deep and reverberating.

  Daliana’s mind flashed to the Lurnax that El Darnen had not so long ago chastised her for ignoring. Now, she had to restrain herself from spewing the same at El Darnen.

  Kallin stepped further up the tunnel to put himself out of the way of the group’s warriors. He knew nothing, as he had stated, about Wyrms, and less about sword craft.

  Edya and El Darnen raised their swords higher. The formality that was the challenge roar had been observed. There was no choice now but to fight.

  The Wyrm reared up. Edya rolled to try and get behind it, slicing out with her sword and scoring a shallow cut on top of the scales of its leg. El Darnen stayed in front, trying to keep the creature’s focus on himself. He dodged one sweeping claw and jumped over another. He barely avoided the Wyrm’s snapping jaws as he threw himself against the tunnel wall.

  Edya raised her sword above her head and chopped down on the Wyrm’s back, trying to end the fight. Her sword bounced off, but she distracted it from El Darnen long enough for him to kneel and strike upwards with the pommel of his sword, punching the Wyrm in the chin.

  The Wyrm roared again, louder and angrier.

  Daliana drew her sword and swiped at the open mouth, cutting the inside of its cheek. The Wyrm backed up, stepping on Edya’s foot. She screamed as a claw punched through her leather boot, her foot, and the rest of her boot all the way to the stone floor. The Wyrm wheeled around towards the scream, ripping Edya’s foot. She fell, unable to place any weight on that leg, just in time, as the Wyrm snapped at her. It missed and its head hit the wall of the tunnel. It shook its head, then returned to El Darnen.

  El Darnen ducked and rolled to Edya’s side, slicing at the foot that was about to step on her again. The Wyrm roared in pain once more, and that was it. It started back down the tunnel, stopping and roaring every few feet. El Darnen roared back once, and the Wyrm was gone.

  Kallin helped Edya take off her boot, then he assessed the wound. “It isn’t poisoned. Good. Overall, just very messy. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Hurts like hell.”

  El Darnen pulled out an oiled cloth and wiped his sword, very slowly. He was careful with his movements. He passed the cloth to Daliana and rubbed his right ribs, wincing. “You were stepped on by an adult Wyrm. A big one, too. I’d guess nine hundred pounds. You’re lucky you still have a foot.” El Darnen winced again as he stretched his right side. Daliana suspected that he had at least one broken rib from how hard he’d thrown himself against the tunnel wall. She also noticed that a claw had torn his pant leg, and that his calf was bleeding. He’d be in pain soon.

  “Almost wish I didn’t right now.”

  “We need to get moving. We’re close to the exit by now. We have to be.”

  Kallin supported Edya as they began to walk again. Edya couldn’t stand the silenc
e anymore.

  “Kallin, how could Garneth have made a portal?”

  Kallin thought for several minutes, wanting to be careful with his answer. “If El Darnen’s accusations are correct, and I agree that there are reasons why they appear to be so,” he added before El Darnen could start, “then he used magic discovered by the Seven, likely passed down through the generations by the Black Star. However, if my father is not the evil man of El Darnen’s belief, made questionable by his leaving instead of answering the accusations, then it makes some sense to me that he could make a portal. Storinean magic and Torridestan magic have enough similarity that any Storinean of appropriate strength could produce portals, assuming they had the correct spells and the knowledge. I do not know what my father’s strength as a spellcaster is, but he has always been adept as a spellsmith, creating new enchantments.

  “So, do you agree that he is Black Star?”

  “It seems plausible enough that your accusations, El Darnen, are worth pursuing. When we return to Anaria, we should make it known that Garneth Revdark has returned and that he is, at the very least, worthy of the Remnant’s suspicion.”

  “That Wyrm seemed to give up easily, didn’t it?”

  “It was more concerned with us leaving than with us being its dinner. When Kallin sneezed, it sounded like a challenge. We were leaving, and then we weren’t. We injured it enough, and we were close enough to the end of its territory, that it wasn’t worth prolonging the fight.”

  “El Darnen, how much longer will we be down here, and where will we be when we get out?”

  “Hopefully, only another hour. This tunnel isn’t actually very long, because of where it is in the mountains. As for where, we’ll be close to Galzeen.”

  “How close to Galzeen?”

  “Inside the Chimney.”

  “So how does no one in Noldoron know about this tunnel?”

  “I never said they didn’t. El Ernoch Natri is under the protection of the Steel Throne. Not many people know about it, but some do.”

  “Gelida?”

  “She sits on the Steel Throne, so yes. Dalasin knew about it as well, as did every other Noldorin Morschcoda that you can name. It is a carefully guarded secret, but less so than other secrets that the Serpents have been trusted to protect.”

  * * * * *

  As far as anyone could tell, El Darnen’s prediction of an hour had been correct. A wooden door began to appear in front of them in the distance, and no one was unhappy to see it.

  Five Tall Dwarves and five members of the Greshida were guarding the other side of the door. They all jumped when they heard the knock, and they had weapons drawn as one of them took out the key to open the door.

  “El Darnen?”

  “Ezh isn craa.”

  The key clicked and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. El Darnen and the three Morschcoda emerged. One of the Tall Dwarves noticed that Edya was injured and went to arrange a healer. He also came back with a spare pair of boots that fit her reasonably well.

  Two of the Greshida started to prepare a meal for them: chicken and roasted potatoes. It was nothing fancy, but they hadn’t eaten hot food the whole time in the tunnel, so whatever food was offered was wonderful.

  As soon as they had eaten, and the healer had come and gone, Daliana was anxious to leave. “We need to get back to Dothoro.”

  El Darnen nodded. “Kallin and I are still going into the mountains. On foot, this time.”

  “Very well. But I’m willing to risk a portal, if there is one.”

  * * * * *

  Ranny looked up from the book she was reading at the portal forming only a few feet from her. She was happy to see Daliana and Edya walk through it.

  “My Lady. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “It feels like it. What’s happened?”

  “A lot. Daken had marched on Meclarya. The Morieden Tribes have arisen. Erygan has announced that he has stepped down as Morschcoda. Eildar has been named in his place, and Erygan is now just the King of Torridesta … How much do you want to know?”

  “How much more is there?”

  “There is one thing I need to tell you, at least. Makret Druoth is preparing to fight for Ra-Diavere. I need to go.”

  “You’re safer here.”

  “This isn’t about safety Daliana. A Drogodan traitor is preparing to fight and die for my people and my city. I am the Morschcoda of Caladea. I can’t do any less.”

  “Ranny,” Daliana was about to start, but Edya put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Go with our blessing, Ranny. Fight well.”

  The Battle of Ra-Diavere

  Makret’s plans were ready. The Deshika and the Burning Suns were still nervous of each other, doubtful about their abilities to work together to defend the city, but there had been no open hostility. They knew Vorteez was coming in strength.

  Makret had been staring at a map of Ra-Diavere for so long, he could recreate it down to the narrowest alley. “Unless we can hold the walls, we won’t hold the city. That Hunter wouldn’t have known that the Deshika will defend the city. If they leave to march with his armies …”

  “No, General. We will not even look to serve the Master of Pain. Not anymore. We are the Lady Venda’s. We will stand here with the Morschen.”

  Makret stifled a groan, forcing himself not to treat these War Chiefs the same as the ones he had deliberately led to their deaths. These were his allies now, not his servants. “I admire your loyalty, War Master, but loyalty will not win this fight. The Veterans are the most disciplined and respected Deshik army in Anaria. More than that, you’ve fought with me the longest. Of all the Deshik legions I’ve commanded, the Veterans know me best. Vorteez isn’t going to be able to resist having that knowledge in his army. And then, you’ll be able to tear his hordes apart.”

  The War Chiefs all grinned, but Makret’s newly appointed second in command, Carrod Horshen, disagreed. “If we keep them inside the walls, the other Deshika won’t know what to expect. It will be safer for all of us. Morschen on the wall, Deshika at the gates and through the city.”

  “We don’t need safety. We need victory. As for holding the gates … Vorteez is coming from the north. That is the only gate we need to worry about.”

  “The Western Gate is—”

  “The Western Gate” Makret cut in, “is heavily fortified and Vorteez doesn’t have the equipment for a siege.” Makret was going to continue, but Deshik war horns cut him off. “They’re here. Too soon.”

  “No sooner than we expected.”

  More horns sounded. Makret and the War Chiefs heard the difference. “Those horns belong to The Kindler’s War Master.”

  “So, Guinira came too. At Vorteez’s request?”

  “No.” Makret shook his head and blinked, but some noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “She was coming for me long before Vorteez was.”

  * * * * *

  Guinira was surprised to find Vorteez’s army already camped outside of Ra-Diavere. She held Caladea as her land under The Kindler, so, for Vorteez to march in force was ignoring her authority.

  She waved one of her generals over to her. “Send a message to the Lord Vorteez. His armies must withdraw. We have too much to deal with with Makret Druoth, and I won’t have time to ignore the Master of Pain properly.”

  “At once, my Lady.” He turned to leave, but Guinira called him back.

  “Also, order our Deshika to put themselves between Vorteez’s army and the city.” She clenched her jaw and spoke through her bared teeth. “Makret is mine.”

  He turned so that he could both face her and observe the plain before the city. “Do we send our Morschenic warriors with them?”

  Guinira looked up at the top of the wall above the North Gate. She thought she saw a flare of silver and blue: Makret. “No. Keep them in reserve, closer to the gate. We’ll need them more than we need the Deshika.”

  * * * * *

  Vorteez looked at the missive that the now dead Armanda
n had given him. “So, Karvieck’s toy wants me to leave Ra-Diavere to her. Do we have a response ready?”

  Regath Encarthian the second stepped up to his master’s side, looking south at the city, ignoring the Armandan army and The Kindler’s Deshik legions in between them. “I can have something appropriate sent to her. I would be more than happy to perform her assassination myself, my Lord, if you so command.”

  “No, I will take care of that. There is a small hill just outside of her camp. Have her meet me there.” Vorteez thought for a moment. “We entered Caladea with how many?”

  “Four hundred and twenty thousand Deshik warriors, my Lord.”

  “How many of those are on this battlefield?”

  “Druoth only had maybe five thousand Morschen. Even if the Deshika would fight for him—”

  Vorteez’s Master of War, standing at the door of the tent, facing Vorteez and Regath, interrupted the Drog. “Which they won’t. Not against one of the Seven.”

  Regath bowed slightly to the War Master and continued with his answer. “If they were to fight for him, he would only have at most twenty thousand. Seventy thousand was thought to be more than enough to take the city from him.”

  “You seem to disagree.”

  Regath took a deep breath and stepped over the corpse of Guinira’s messenger to face his master. “My Lord, we do not face some common mortal General. We face Makret Druoth. The man is undefeatable, not undefeated. Many have tried. Legends in their own right have fallen as if they were nothing. Seventy thousand, without the First Battalion and against strong, well-defended walls is too close a battle against Makret Druoth. I dare not think of what he could do if he had the men.”

  Vorteez looked through both of his military advisors. “We have the men to surround the city, if necessary. Druoth doesn’t have the numbers to defend all of it for long.”

  “That is only if Guinira knows that Druoth is a traitor. I do not believe she does, or Druoth would never have been allowed to take the city so easily.”