Devil's Dominion Read online

  * * * * *

  “The price on Druoth is set, my lord.”

  “Good. Eschcota is our next priority. The country must be crushed, but more importantly, Norrin Shrevneer must die.”

  “He won’t willingly leave Dishmo Kornara.”

  “No, he will not. That is the problem. What can we strike at in his own country that would cause him to march to war?”

  “That is difficult, because even if we were to attack Braldish itself, if he knew that the city was certain to fall whether he marched to aid it or not, he wouldn’t go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He is a blunt man, my Lord, but cautious. I have known him to refuse to march into battle if there was a way to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

  “So, let us assume that Braldish is the only place we can march on in Eschcota that Shrevneer would be willing to defend personally. If we send too few men, the city will stand regardless, but if we send too many, Norrin will know the city will fall with or without him, and will not come.”

  “Exactly. But he may not go himself anyway. With the Remnant in Dothoro, and Noldoron closed to us, the Remnant may march instead of the Eschcotans. And that wouldn’t help us take either Eschcota or Dishmo Kornara.”

  “Though Norrin undoubtedly would have the most cause to march to the aid of Braldish.”

  “Not if any other Morschcoda with strength of arms is near enough to tip the battle. But … aside from Erygan Dalrey, Norrin Shrevneer is really the only Morschcoda who still has an army of any size.”

  The Kindler tented his fingers and touched them to his lips as he spoke. “Obviously, Shrevneer will not come himself unless his commanders at Braldish are outmatched. What, or maybe who, is likeliest to draw out the Morschcoda?”

  “Someone who is valuable to our cause in this war. Someone who is an important leader. Someone …” Guinira’s voice faded out as she understood who would have to go.

  The Kindler smirked. “Someone like you, Guinira?”

  “I don’t agree. There must be others who are capable of leading this attack.”

  “You are the only one, Guinira. There is no Deshik War Chief I trust to succeed, and there are no tried Morschen among our ranks. You have lead armies before, and as Queen of Deshik Anaria, you would be very valuable to our enemy. Valuable enough to draw the only remaining substantial army left on this side of the ocean out of its hiding place in Dishmo Kornara.”

  “Of … Of course, my Lord Kindler. I will make preparations immediately.”

  * * * * *

  Makret had not really expected to get out of the cell blocks, let alone out of the city, especially since telling Guinira that the way she could best serve her people was by having her master kill her. He had had help, though, he was certain of it. Nasheem’s doing, he did not doubt. The second of the Seven Devils wanted Makret alive, and wanted him to help end the war that The Kindler had started. Still, it came as a surprise when, as he stopped to take stock of his situation, he found himself already out of the desert. Alone, on foot, with no supplies, he had somehow covered eighty leagues. That he had done it at all was staggering, but Guinira must be searching for him. That was where his suspicions that his escape was not unaided began. He suspected that Nasheem had been moving him along at night, Travelling with him, but never enough for Makret to be certain. As for why he went the way he did, towards Caladea, he had no explanation. It felt right, so that was the direction that he walked. Since he recognized where he was, it seemed that Nasheem at least did not disagree with his choice. As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, small and far away, Makret rolled to his feet, a maneuver he would be more accustomed to using on the battlefield, and began walking. All the time Makret walked, he wondered if Guinira would even bother trying to find him. After all, he could be anywhere, and he could disappear into the faceless Morschen crowds that clogged all Anarian cities, so long as he never went home.

  “That’s my one regret,” thought Makret out loud, not caring that no one was there to hear him. “If Taren survived Agrista, I have to find him. He’s the only person who can convince the Remnant that I’m not a threat to them.”

  “Reeshnar believes you, Druoth. And so does Marcarry.” Makret ducked and rolled forward as he heard the voice, coming back to his feet as he turned face to face with Nasheem.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I have been waiting for you to speak out loud for the past while now. You seemed determined to ignore my presence though.” Makret looked skeptical, but as he thought, he could recall the nauseating feeling of one of the Devil’s Black Power going back even to the night before.

  “Well, now I have. So what do you want, Nasheem?”

  “You are alone and friendless in a land not your own. Your only allies, whichever side you really serve, are leagues upon leagues away. The only thing you possess in all the world besides the clothes on your back is your Ring. And despite all that, you choose to seek a fight with one of the Seven Devils.” Nasheem drew himself up to his full height, and gathered together a formidable store of magical energy. Makret could feel it, pulsating like a living heart, even where he stood ten feet away. Rather than be drawn into a fight he knew that he could not win, he simply turned away and kept walking. Only long years of training and well-honed battlefield instincts kept Makret’s head attached as Nasheem drew a long sword and leapt towards the Morschen man twenty feet away, swinging the blade in a powerful cut as he landed just behind Makret. Makret dove forward and rolled, the same as he had done when Nasheem first spoke, and threw a ball of water at Nasheem. To Makret’s surprise, it struck the Devil in the head, bowling over his bearded opponent. Makret was equally surprised when Nasheem laughed as he got to his feet.

  “Oh yes, there is fight in you still.” He smiled. “I could use your strength, Makret.”

  Though surprised that the Devil had used his first name, which he had never done before, Makret still wanted nothing to do with him. “Whether there is fight or not, I no longer belong to either side. I’m not even welcome in my own country. I’m a relic, Nasheem. I don’t belong to this time. The future will judge me and my past, whether I was hero or villain. I will have no more say in the matter. It is over for me.”

  “Only because you choose for it to be.”

  “Do I have any other choice?”

  Nasheem did not say anything. He merely vanished. In his place was Makret’s armour and sword.

  Makret stared at the pile of metal for a long time before deciding on anything, but he took only two things from the pile: his sword, which he would need, and his helmet, which he had refused to get rid of even after becoming Guinira’s High General. It was the helmet of a member of the Spear of Drogoda. Since he was the only Spear he knew of who had survived Emin-Tal aside from Edya, he felt it was both his right and duty to take it. From his pocket, he removed a tiny silver broach, shaped like a spear, and pinned that onto his shirt. And then he started walking. He turned back very quickly, and took the chainmail shirt also. He did not go back again.

  * * * * *

  Four Hunters stood patiently at the far end of the room where Guinira had her private audiences. They were arguing amongst themselves, as Guinira had altered the original bounty on Makret. He was still worth twenty-one thousand paroes alive, but she had decided that one Hunter alone could not bring him in, so three were being sent after him. The only trouble was deciding which three, and what bothered her most was that only one was Anarian, and she was not one whom Guinira was inclined to pick. She had already chosen two of her Hunters for certain. One was an islander from somewhere far beyond Anaria’s shores. He towered at over seven feet tall and had a large selection of weaponry strapped about him. Two swords and a large war bow hung across his back, and his boots contained hidden daggers. A Dothrin Anshawl slapped his left thigh whenever he moved, which he did with deadly grace that accented his prowess in both armed and unarmed combat. He also had several Dothrin Wolfheads, often used on ships to se
cure ropes, tucked into his belt. The second was a Hunter with a long reputation. She had thought when she first saw him that Gorshcki Coptulo wore a strange kind of armour that gave him the look of a lizard. The Kindler had informed her that that was his natural state. Far to the south in the lava fields, there was a tribe of lizard-humans known primarily to the world because of Hunters. He was armed only with a bow, but he had sharp claws which he used in close quarters combat. It was the other two that she did not know about. Both had earned the Right to Hunt, however, so it was up to Guinira to choose which one would be going. She was spared the trouble. Gorshcki came over, tasting the air with his long tongue before he reached her.

  “We have decided.” His voice was rough and hissing, rather like she expected from a lizard, lingering on s’, and not dissimilar to a Deshika’s voice. He spoke Morschen Basic much better than a Deshika did, however. “Vr’dro Car Thr’gis and I agree that we want both of them.”

  “Why?”

  His tongue flicked out again, near to Guinira’s face. “You want Druoth. We want to live to get paid. The Storinean has told us about him. We want both her and the Cartarin Hunter, Grrwa.” The Kindler had also explained that the Cartarin were a tribe of cat-like humanoids from somewhere north of the lava fields. The eight-foot-tall female that resembled a white leopard needed no other weapons than her long teeth and sharp claws, but she had them anyway. She clutched a long throwing spear in her paw, and another was strapped in a sling across her back. The other could fit there as well, and likely would eventually go back, as the Cartarin would run on all fours when chasing prey. The Storinean woman, Veena Coush, rounded out the group. She was the odd one out, certainly, but she had the same intense look in her eyes as the other three did. Guinira nodded. Whatever the woman looked like, she was a Hunter, and she had enough weapons to prove it. Underneath her scholar’s robes, an Anshawl was strapped to her leg. Torridestan Blood Moons, curved throwing knives shaped to look like a crescent moon, were sheathed behind her neck. She had also produced five Ink Spears, from her native Storinea, out of various pocket sheaths. The weapons were perfect for assassinations because they were razor sharp, the blade was often coated in poison, and they were no bigger than a pen. With her scholar’s robes on, none of her weapons could be seen. Guinira was genuinely impressed with her, but she doubted that Druoth would be. If he had gone the direction Guinira believed he had, a Storinean would stick out almost as much as a giant, a lizard, or an eight-foot-tall Cartarin female. “Very well. All four of you. I will amend the price on Druoth. Twenty-eight thousand paroes if he is alive. Twelve thousand if he is dead. My spies report that someone who may have been Druoth was seen near the Caladean border with Armanda one week ago.”

  The four Hunters nodded as Gorshcki replied. “We will begin the Hunt, then.”

  * * * * *

  Grrwa looked back at An-Aniath once the four were out of the city. “She will kill us if we do not bring him back.”

  “She won’t.”

  “You think so Gorshcki? She does not understand the rules of our kind. No reward is worth dying for.”

  “I agree that we don’t need to get killed, but rules?” Comprehension dawned on the lizard’s bony face. “Ah, you’re a Guild Hunter.”

  “I look out for myself. Guild rules help me do that.”

  The lizard nodded, but remained silent.

  “She isn’t wrong, Gorshcki.”

  “You agree with her Veena?”

  “I know a bad deal. We’ll get seven thousand each if we bring him back alive. We won’t bring him back alive though.”

  “Three thousand is not poor consolation.”

  The giant, Car, did not say anything, but he stopped to listen to the argument. He shook his head at Gorshcki’s statement.

  “Makret Druoth is the biggest name I’ve ever seen a bounty on. That’s because people like Druoth aren’t worth sending Hunters after. If we were smart, we’d each be getting twenty-eight thousand just to risk our necks hunting him.”

  “I think you’re paranoid Veena.”

  “I think you’re an idiot, Gorshcki.”

  “Enough. Makret has a long lead, so we have far to run just to catch up. Bringing him in alive is the greatest challenge any of us will ever face, but we need to find him first.”

  Gorshcki and Veena exchanged glances at the way the giant Cartarin female said Makret’s name, but she and Car had already started moving again, so, one by one, they fell back into line.

  * * * * *

  Back inside the city, Guinira had just returned to The Kindler to report her hiring of the Hunters.

  “Do you think that these four Hunters will be up to the task?”

  “Druoth is dangerous my Lord. But against four Hunters … Even he can’t fight forever.”

  “I want Druoth alive.”

  “They may have to kill him just to prevent him from escaping.”

  The Kindler touched a pen to his tongue, and then to the map he stared at, silent in his thoughts. “So be it. Alive would be preferable, but dead is better than him escaping to stand against us.” He motioned for her to stand beside him at the table he was examining. On it was a map of Braldish as well as a larger map showing the city and several leagues in every direction. “Now, the city has three gates, and unfortunately, you will likely have to assault all three at the same time.” The Kindler moved the tip of the pen from the map, leaving no mark on the paper.

  “I know Braldish better than you do, my Lord. It is impossible to get to the Western Gate from outside of the walls unless you come through the Garuthen Mountains. As for assaulting the other two gates, that will require a large army, as well as competent commanders that I can trust to do what they are told.”

  “Even with that, you will undoubtedly have trouble. Three gates without proper siege equipment is two gates too many. The Deshika do not make siege engines, and I have seen no design for such machinery in Armanda.”

  Guinira for the first time did not feel any shame as she answered her master. “War is more of a tradition than a real thing amongst the Morschenic races. Battles are fought on open fields. True-Arms Masters require the presence of others of their kind just to be willing to fight. Ringlords who are trained as battle mages don’t use their abilities before the dawning of the second day of battle. I don’t remember the last time a walled city in Anaria was ever actually attacked in a true war by a Morschen army. It must have happened during the Loyalty Wars, about twenty thousand years ago, but it has not since then.”

  “So, there is no siege equipment. Without that, even taking the two gates you can get to will be a challenge. And the third gate will be the shatter point in the plan, which is already weak enough. You will miss Druoth badly during your campaign, I do not doubt. Because it faces the Garuthen Mountains, it must be held. There are too many Morschen in the mountains for it to be ignored. And if the city falls, those important to the Remnant who are inside the city will flee through that gate in an attempt to get into the mountains, where they will simply disappear. Braldish is already closer to those mountains than I wish to send my army.”

  “The Northern Gate is basically an iron door underneath a cliff. I can’t send men to assault it. They wouldn’t have the room. And the Western Gate, as I’ve said, is only accessible through the Garuthen Mountains, and only exists for merchants travelling along the Garuthen Trade Route.” Guinira looked up into her master’s bearded chin. “My Lord, even on a map, this mission seems suicidal, at best. Give me enough men and I will only lose more before taking the city. If we don’t draw Shrevneer out of Dishmo Kornara, the whole point of the attack is gone.”

  “Shrevneer will come. It is your duty to ensure that. As it is, I have marshalled your army already. You have fourteen War Chiefs reporting to you. Two hundred thousand Deshika are already marching. You will lead another fifty thousand warriors yourself, as well as half of the loyal Flame Weavers. They are waiting for your command outside of the city. Gather any Ringlords yo
u think will be of use to you, but be marching within the hour. If you require them, there are camps of Deshik warriors throughout the Morieden Plains. Use them for reinforcements. Your boy, Volkure, should be close to Braldish. You’ll meet him there.” She bowed and turned to leave, but The Kindler stopped her. “Oh, and Guinira. Do not fail me this time. You will not survive if you disappoint me again.”

  The Lords of the Vault

  Erygan and Eildar were sitting in the Morschcoda’s tent, discussing whether it was worth continuing to chase Vorteez’s Deshika when General Mredick entered and bowed.

  “The last scouts have reported in, my Lords. The Whip Crackers were still in full retreat at the Eschcotan border, but they made camp as soon as they reached the Baan-Taar River. They may be regrouping, or they may be waiting, but despite their losses to the Living Shadows, I doubt that they will keep running.”