Secrets of the Sorcery War: An Epic YA Fantasy

by Elise Carlson

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy; Young adult; YA Epic Fantasy; YA LGBT & Pride; portal fantasy; Portal Fantasy Adventure; Fantasy series; epic fantasy; young adult fantasy; ya fantasy; fantasy LGBT; fantasy adventure

Synopsis

Secrets lie across the seas.

With the damars vanquished, Heir Ruarnon thought they’d secured Umarinaris’ eastern seas. But Nartzeer’s murderous creatures are back, their handlers are more worrisome and both bar Ruarnon’s path to allies needed to recover their abducted parents.

The handlers are Linh’s chance to confirm her gateway home (to Australia) —and that sorcerers able (and hopefully willing) to operate it— lie in Umarinaris’ dangerous West.

Pursuing allies and answers, Ruarnon and Linh clash with evolving, ever more dangerous damars. They learn magic is still wielded on Umarinaris, some of the Sorcery War’s deadliest weapons survived and Nartzeer has plans for them.

Friendship and teamwork become crucial to their success and place them in ever greater danger.

Release date: April 12, 2023

Publisher: Faraway Fiction Press

Print pages: 361

Content advisory: Mental health, moderate battle scene violence.

Sample

Chapter 1

The Urai -Ruarnon

Regent Ruarnon strode down a red carpet lined with bronze armoured guards, who bowed helmed heads to them as they moved towards the dais. Sculpted bronze imitated sun rays emanating from absent Father’s and Mother’s thrones. Ruarnon sighed at the elaborately carved travel throne beneath. It was time to sit where late Uncle Omah had sat. To make new memories of the throne they associated with their late mentor, uncle and friend, as they welcomed the first Urai ambassador Tarlah had received in living memory.

Ruarnon turned, placing the past behind them, and sat, following Omah’s parting advice to act decisively by facing whatever the future brought. They inclined their head to their aunt and two advisors as the three entered the throne room, bowing their heads in return and taking their places at Ruarnon’s right hand.

“Mocco, son of the Urai King Kahorn and Ambassador of the Urai,” a crier announced from the entrance.

Mocco entered, his deep brown eyes fixed on Ruarnon. He was tall, his skin a shade darker than Ruarnon’s, his eyes the same warm brown and almond shape, his lips similarly full. Only his black, finely braided hair and kilt woven from leaves differed. Every feature they had in common set Ruarnon apart from many Tarlahns, and it was a breath of fresh air.

Ruarnon smiled as they rose and said, “Welcome to Tarlah, Ambassador Mocco.”

Ambassador Mocco bowed his head.

“Come.” Ruarnon led Mocco to a sitting room right of the dais. They sat in a gold gilt chair, gesturing Mocco into a bronze gilt chair.

Mocco frowned, then sat. “The Council of Elders approve of your Benevolence’ Peace with the Zaldean Realm,” Mocco said in flawless Timbalen. “They have observed your legal reforms in the Realm and Tarlahn labour compensating for shortages in the absence of the Zaldean Army.”

Ruarnon tried not to grimace. The Zaldean army’s absence made it possible to occupy the Zaldean Realm. And Ruarnon’s army dispatching the damars overrunning the Realm made many Zaldeans grateful to be occupied. But the missing army, its commander Ruarnon’s uncle, Ruarnon’s parents and Companions Pamoran all appeared to lie in the hands of the damars’ creator, Narz. And Companion Noma’s western expedition had just reported an eyewitness account of men casting magical fires on the shores of Narz’s lands, obliterating an entire forest. It was the second claim that Narz’s people could wield magic. If so, Ruarnon had no idea how to counter Narz to recover their captured family members and Lenaris’ father.

“I am sorry,” they replied. “My parents are also missing and your mention of the army reminded me of an additional obstacle to their recovery.”

Mocco fidgeted with a ring on his thumb. “I am not sure I would be here today were it your father sitting on the throne. We know of his involvement in the rebellion that gained Tarlah’s independence and in the Sea Wars. To you he may be the warrior Tarlah needed to defend itself, but our Council of Elders didn’t trust his reliance on might. They suspect he would have executed the Zaldean governors.

“But you let them live. You let them keep their positions. You have taken risks with your own safety to ensure the Zaldeans work with you in maintaining Peace between Tarlah and the Zaldean Realm.”

“Only while their army is still missing,” Ruarnon replied. “Governor Syenne herself told me all bets would be off then. But I was pleasantly surprised to secure the Zaldean Realm for so long.”

“The Council of Elders believe you have done so in a way that parallels how our Urai tribes and Elders work together for the good of all Urai. You have earned my father’s respect and caught the Council’s attention. That is why Father has sent me, with the Council’s blessing, to invite you to Aracia, our capital in the heart of the jungle.”

Ruarnon’s mouth dropped open. Their own actions had prompted the Council of Elders to end the Unspoken Agreement by sending an Urai ambassador to Tarlah City? How many times had they listened to Mother play her Urai flute and dreamed of meeting the people her side of the family was descended from? People rumoured to have the greatest knowledge of this continent’s plants and native animals and to have medicinal knowledge well beyond Tarlah’s.

This wasn’t just a childhood dream; it was a chance to advance Tarlahn knowledge of healing and secure access to Urai remedies. It could even create a new alliance, one that may aid Tarlah’s defence in future… If Ruarnon presented to and negotiated well enough with the Council of Elders.

Ruarnon’s lips split into a broad smile. “I would be honoured to accept their invitation.”

They hesitated. Before they visited the Zaldean Palace for the first time, Companion Tor, their former tutor and father’s best friend had schooled them in Zaldean etiquette. But when it came to the Urai, they were ignorant of far more than etiquette, ignorant enough to cause a diplomatic incident. They suspected the Urai knew exactly why the Unspoken Agreement had come about, making it taboo for Tarlahns to enter the jungle, whereas Tarlahn history Ruarnon had studied always danced around it. But they knew the Urai hadn’t fought in The Wars between Tarlah and the Zaldean Realm. They suspected that would be part of the answer.

“Your people never fought in the Wars?” Ruarnon asked.

“Under our laws, disputes unresolved by other means can be resolved by duelling, but duelling to the death is forbidden and killing is reserved for slaughtering animals for food.”

Ruarnon frowned. “The Zaldeans keep invading us and North Landers pay them tribute. Surely the Zaldeans attacked your people too? How did you defend yourselves?”

Mocco’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?”

“Our records include fanciful tales of travel through the jungle and imply that the Unspoken Agreement involved our ancestors committing some great wrong and that your people have an aversion to fighting. That is all.”

Mocco rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Perhaps shame stilled the historian’s hand. There was a great wrong and the Wars were the ultimate cause. With the end of the Wars and the arrival of the damars, my father believes it is time to end our seclusion, but the Council of Elders are not so sure. That is why he has invited you to stay with us at your earliest convenience.”

At the edge of Ruarnon’s gaze, Advisor Monin’s silver brows furrowed at the implication he would have little time to prepare Ruarnon for this visit. But Companion Tor and Aunt Telena’s eyes shone with anticipation.

“We would be delighted to visit you next week,” Ruarnon told Mocco.

 

A week later, Ruarnon’s best friend Lenaris approached them in Tarlah Castle’s main courtyard. She wore an embroidered, sleeveless travel tunic and sandals, and stood tall and stately, with neatly braided Tarlahn blonde hair, blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. 

She smiled at Ruarnon. “What did my grandfather make of the Urai contacting us again?”

Ruarnon smiled. “It was a shock to Monin. I’m not sure he thinks there’s much value in restoring relations with them, but Tor assures me he’s bitter they never supported us in the wars against the Zaldeans. And the generals say the Urai are excellent trackers. They can help us track down escaped damars in the wilderness and I know how much their remedies and alliance would help us.”

“Your mother would be delighted to hear we are returning to the jungle,” Companion Tor called from beside the carriage waiting in the courtyard. He stood tall and proud, fully recovered from the wound he had taken in the battle on Death Belt Desert, though his braided light brown hair glistened with more silver now. Tor’s blue-eyed gaze was steady, his voice calm, as it had been when he was Ruarnon’s tutor, and continued to be now he was Ruarnon’s Companion and Advisor.

“Corina might not have shown it to you,” Tor continued, “but her family have always regretted and missed the relatives they left behind in the jungle when the Unspoken Agreement began. She still knows some Urai but has precious few Tarlahns to speak it too.”

Ruarnon bit their lip. Mother treasured her Urai flute, now safely stored in the chambers she should be living in. She had played it often and always believed the Urai still thrived. There was no telling when Ruarnon could bring her back to Tarlah, but they could create a Tarlah in which friendship with the people their mother and they were descended from was restored.

“I’ll do my best,” they said.

Tor smiled, inclining his head, and stepped up onto the platform of one of three waiting chariots.

“And your best to prove to my grandfather that you can handle diplomacy as well as war,” Lenaris added with a wink.

Ruarnon fought back a laugh. Advisor Monin was their eldest and hardest to please advisor and Lenaris seemed to delight in supporting Ruarnon in exceeding her grandfather’s high expectations. Ruarnon suspected her father, Companion Pamoran, might have encouraged them similarly, if more subtly, had he not also been abducted by Narz.

Lenaris stepped onto the chariot ahead of Tor’s, but Ruarnon paused.

Their four Australian friends stood with Aunt Telena, on the left side of the courtyard. The Australians had grown restless since agreeing it was too dangerous to accompany Companion Noma west. Now they, like Ruarnon, were waiting to learn more about Narz’s homelands from Companion Noma’s expedition.

Ruarnon hoped to learn enough to inform a recovery expedition likely to succeed in freeing their family, Pamoran and the Zaldean soldiers. The Australians hoped to learn if western magic wielders could operate the archways that had brought them to Umarinaris and would send them home to Australia. Only armed with that information could Ruarnon reasonably launch a recovery expedition and the Australians actively pursue their way home in a state that resembled safety.

Ruarnon said their goodbyes, grimacing with guilt. A visit to the Urai would be a great distraction for the four Australians, but Advisor Monin was adamant that a diplomatic mission to restore a bond that had been broken generations ago was not appropriate for foreigners from another world, who spoke their minds too freely. Ruarnon privately agreed, but they would miss their friends.

They stepped onto their chariot beside their driver, nodding to Captain Arleath in the lead chariot to depart. The chariots rolled through the castle gates, into the usual bustle and hum of conversation in Tarlah City. Golden or dark haired Tarlahns on foot stepped aside, children saluted and Ruarnon returned the double-armed salute: Tarlah stands and the Zaldean Realm stands. 

The chariots took them along stone paved streets reflecting hot sunlight, past mud-brick apartments, beyond the clink of tools, chattering schoolchildren carrying satchels and bronze armoured guards, through the open city gates. Green fields and dusty cart tracks in which children played drifted by. East of Tarlah City, the fields gave way to ferns, bright flowers, trees rising to great heights, and a shady canopy under which insects roared.

The horses and chariot wheels trampled ferns along an overgrown track winding around tree trunks into the Urai jungle. Small stumps suggested seedlings had been cut and the track cleared periodically. But most signs of the Urai were above, where a maze of wooden ramps and plank bridges linked buildings constructed on branches. One ramp spiralled down a nearby forest giant, circling under itself until it reached ground level and a walled stone enclosure.

It had been generations since Tarlahn eyes had gazed at this city. Since their mother’s ancestors had left it. She would have loved to be here. Perhaps one day, having safely recovered her from the west, Ruarnon could bring her.

Mocco stepped out of the walled enclosure. The carriages halted before him and Ruarnon climbed out first.

“Welcome to Aracia, home of the Council of Elders and the Craft Tribes. Come,” Mocco added, turning to a wooden ramp up a nearby forest giant. Ruarnon followed, keeping a cautious hand on the rope railing as they spiralled higher and higher above the leafy forest floor.

At the end of the ramp, a plank and rope bridge spanned between trees. Bridges and ramps spread in all directions, linking small wooden buildings built against the trunks of forest giants. Urai moved along the ramps, most with dark skin, but the shade varied, as did their hair and eye colour. Ruarnon blinked. By the time of the Unspoken Agreement, Ruarnon’s mother’s descendants had married Tarlahns, so they remained in Tarlah. Apparently some Tarlahns had married Urai and remained in the jungle, severing ties with their people. What had divided families so?

Ruarnon stepped onto the bridge. Air shifted around them as it swayed in the breeze and their heart missed a beat. Mocco strode across confidently and Lenaris followed him with a contented smile, so Ruarnon tried to keep pace with her, keeping one hand on the rope railing on their left. People on bridges nearby eyed them curiously, a group of children pointing and waving. Ruarnon inclined their head at the children, who smiled and waved more enthusiastically.

A man waited at the far end. He wore a fine gold circlet of floral cut gemstones and a linen kilt brightly dyed with swirling oranges and yellows. Mocco introduced him as Kahorn.

“Welcome to our home,” Kahorn said in confident Timbalen. “Please, come inside.”

He led them into a small sitting room with large cushions around its walls and two small tables in the middle, with bronze cups of purple juice on them. They settled onto well-stuffed cushions and Ruarnon noted that everything was made of rich brown timber. It was smaller than expected, with only the silk cushions hinting at rank.

“I hear your castle is different,” Kahorn said to Ruarnon.

“Your people seem to have little need of defence,” Ruarnon replied.

“There have been serious conflicts between tribes,” said Kahorn. “That is why the Council of Elders came to be and why this city became our only permanent dwelling, at the centre of all tribal lands. It is a neutral territory where the Council resolves disputes and presides over the Institute of Learning and the trade of master crafts people’s goods with the North Lands. Their central governance of some things has reduced and ended conflicts between tribes.”

“You trade with the North Landers?” Ruarnon asked, intrigued that the two reclusive peoples were in contact and remembering that fear of sorcery had deterred the Zaldeans from attempting to take the North Lands by force.

“Yes.”

“I know of their abilities,” Ruarnon continued.

Companion Tor shot them a warning look, while Lenaris frowned. It might be too soon to ask but Ruarnon was immensely curious.

“I was wounded in Zaldeaa City and healed by a North Lander Healer. I know why they keep to themselves and the Zaldeans did not conquer them by force. Is the same true of your people?”

Kahorn’s eyes widened and Mocco’s jaw dropped.

“We have not their power,” Kahorn replied. “Do you know how the bond between our peoples was broken?”

Ruarnon shook their head.

“During the Wars, the Zaldeans expected us to fight alongside you. They attacked us first. But when their arrows and spears fell to the ground and an invisible barrier stopped them from entering the jungle or attacking us, they fled, fearing sorcery. They have feared us and respected our sovereignty ever since.”

Ruarnon stared. The war between Tarlah and the Zaldean Realm had raged south and north across Death Belt Desert for decades. And all that time, reclusive neighbours of both had kept their distance, secretly wielding magic…

“Consider how the Wars would have looked if we shielded Tarlah City in the first siege,” said Kahorn.

“You could have done that?”

“Only crucial areas. A breached wall, for example.”

In the first siege, Zaldeans had forced entry to Tarlah City by ramming the northern walls and Tarlah had fallen because of it. Ruarnon began to see the problem.

“So there was conflict,” Tor said quietly, his gaze distant. “I assumed as much, but the reasons were unclear to me until now.”

“The North Landers paid tribute to the Zaldean Realm and had acknowledged the Zaldean king as their High King by then,” Kahorn continued, “but Zaldeans had not yet dared recruit them into military service. If we aided you with magic, and the Zaldeans feared our sorcery enough to press the North Landers to fight, Prophetess Lylah feared magic would be wielded on both sides. She feared another Sorcery War.”

Lenaris gasped, while Ruarnon’s mind grappled with the idea, though its logical implications were clear. “And your people understood Lylah’s concerns, whereas mine did not?” they asked.

“The Sorcery War was not such a distant legend in those days. Your people viewed conflict involving magic with fear, but many were more frightened of the Zaldeans. A few days before the northern walls of Tarlah City were breached, a band of Tarlahns escaped to the jungle to demand aid and were so aggressive that a frightened ambassador blocked them with shield magic. They attacked his shield in desperation, until the strain of maintaining it killed him.

“We refused to aid your people. Tarlah city fell to Zaldeans ruling by the sword. They executed many Tarlahns and Tarlahns entered the jungle demanding to know why we had abandoned them. Fights broke out and people were killed on both sides. Then a Tarlahn woman’s last surviving child was killed by the careless blow of a Zaldean soldier. She blamed my ancestors for letting the city fall to Zaldeans and poisoned one of our streams, killing an entire tribe. Guilt and shame became stronger than grief and the Council of Elders and the Tarlahn king closed the borders. Entering the jungle became taboo for your people, in what you call the Unspoken Agreement.”

Ruarnon shivered. They understood their Ancestor’s desperation during the siege, having lived through a siege themself. But blaming the Urai for the city’s fall and the executions afterwards had merely killed Urai. It was as wasteful and cruel as the succession war Ruarnon had cut short in the Zaldean Realm. And their Ancestors had been responsible. It made Ruarnon’s stomach lurch. The Ancestors had been a source of hope and inspiration throughout the Wars. That must be why memory of the murders wasn’t preserved in Tarlah.

Tor shook his head, his features a mask of solemnity, confirming to Ruarnon that their former tutor had known little more.

“I am sorry,” they said softly.

“It is in the distant past,” Kahorn replied, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “We will judge you by your actions. I tell you because as long as some of our people could wield shield magic, and that ability was desired in The Wars, the Council of Elders decided it best for our people to remain in the jungle and for ties with Tarlah to remain severed.”

Ruarnon nodded. “Now, we have power slings and power bows that your shields may not withstand for long. And against damars, traditional shields are defence enough.”

Kahorn nodded solemnly.

“The Zaldeans did not realise that,” Mocco said bitterly, shoving his cushion into shape. “We sent scouts, but their panic was so widespread that they would have assumed we sent the damars had they seen us. We could hardly aid them when they were likely to fight us, so we left.”

“You tried to help them?” Ruarnon asked.

“I was elected King during the damarian invasion,” Kahorn replied. “The creatures posed a threat to all peoples on this continent and the circumstances called for a single leader with the authority to make swift decisions. The Council of Elders were highly reluctant to risk pitting our shield magic against damars, but I insisted on investigating the possibility.”

His gaze narrowed. “It was not only conquest that brought you to the Zaldean Realm; was it Ruarnon?”

“I wanted the damars destroyed,” Ruarnon replied. “They attacked Timraith Island and wiped out some of my subjects before I knew of the monsters’ existence. I was determined to save what could be saved.”

“Your love of people is stronger than hatred of your enemies?”

Ruarnon blinked. “Tarlahns and Zaldeans are all my concern now, as my subjects.”

Kahorn smiled. “I believe the Council of Elders will see in you what I see, given the opportunity. Relations with our Urai Tribes will be their decision. But I should like to see us think beyond our borders again. And my sister, her brother and my nephew would also be happy to see that.”

“Mawana will join the first Urai delegation to Tarlah if he can help it,” Mocco added.

Ruarnon detected disapproval in the set of his jaw.

“He takes after his father,” Kahorn replied. “Not all of us can be kings or Elders.”

Mocco smiled.

“You want to be an elder?” Ruarnon asked.

“I am an apprentice elder,” said Mocco. “Becoming an Elder takes many years of supervised experience. I hope it may one day bring me back to Tarlah. It is so different and I have seen too little of it.”

Ruarnon smiled at their Urai acquaintances being as curious about Tarlah as Ruarnon was about the Urai.

“Maybe the rumours in the castle will prove true,” said Lenaris. “And this will be a new age.”

And the bulk of the weight to achieve that age would be carried on Ruarnon’s shoulders, again.

“If you meet the full Council, there will be seven of them,” Mocco explained, while Kahorn departed to arrange an audience for Ruarnon with the Council of Elders. “One elected by each tribe. They are… less receptive to change than Father.”

Ruarnon bowed their head, appreciating the warning. Hopefully all seven didn’t resemble Monin too much.

“Is it true some of the Council Members are women?” Lenaris asked.

“Yes,” said Mocco.

“Then it is better than Tarlah,” she replied.

Ruarnon’s brows rose, but Mocco slowly smiled.

“We may benefit as much from conversation and exposure to Urai attitudes as the Zaldean Realm does from your Benevolence’s legal reforms,” said Tor.

“It may not be easy,” Mocco cautioned. “Here, any decision that could change the fate of the Urai must be approved of by all seven Elders.”

Fireflies fluttered in Ruarnon’s stomach, and they were reminded of their first Royal Council Meeting during Uncle Omah’s regency, in which they had been painfully aware of being a child at the table. The Council of Elders were even more likely to see Ruarnon as such, especially if they were as wizened as their name suggested.

“They will be ready for you when we reach them, if we leave soon,” said Kahorn as he re-entered the room.

“Fortune be with you!” said Mocco.

Ruarnon wondered how the man knew the Tarlahn expression for wishing people well. They suspected the Urai remembered more of Tarlah than Tarlah did of them, which did not position Ruarnon well with the Elders. But Advisor Monin, Aunt Telena and Companion Tor had spent a week preparing them for today and it was time to seize their chance to restore relations.

Ruarnon followed Kahorn over several wooden plank bridges, around small wooden buildings, to a quiet corner containing a single building. It was slightly larger and distinguished by an archway elaborately carved to resemble intertwined branches. Inside the archway, a pair of doors were carved with Urai jewellery, weapons, plants or creatures: seven objects, presumably representing each tribe.

The fireflies stirred again in Ruarnon’s stomach as they stepped through the arch. They resisted the urge to clutch the hilt of the short sword they always carried for reassurance in case it looked hostile and tried to smooth their expression into an open and pleasant one. The Elders were grey or silver-haired, their skin lined, yet each sat on silk cushions on the floor with cross-legged dexterity that surprised Ruarnon.

“Welcome Ruarnon, Regent of Tarlah,” the woman on the far left intoned. “We are well aware of Kahorn’s intentions, but we are not so certain of his ideas.”

The fireflies in Ruarnon’s stomach fluttered in a frenzy. Ruarnon took a deep breath, followed their instincts and Advisors’ guidance and said, “I assume you want what’s best for your people. Perhaps you believe that is what has served you well in recent decades.”

One of the men before them shifted, while a woman leaned forwards with interest. The Elders seemed surprised at where Ruarnon was taking what they assumed was the woman’s invitation to speak, but Ruarnon embraced their instincts and continued.

“But the world is changing. The Zaldean army is missing, murderous creatures have been shipped to our continent from the far side of the world, and I am sorry to inform you that the Zaldeans have designed power bows and power slings that can penetrate even your shield magic. I wonder if anyone can shut out the world in this age.

“The Zaldeans were arrogant and complacent in their military might because they have always been the dominant power over Tarlah. But the damars and the Zaldean army’s disappearance laid them low. If we have more contact with Narz, if he is still a threat to our lands, I would have everyone on this continent stand united against him. Your people have the skills to track damars. Mine have effective tactics to fight them. Together we stand stronger than apart.”

“The damars’ arrival was a shock to our continent, yes,” said a wizened man on Ruarnon’s right. “But there is no evidence to suggest they will return and that our people are in any way disadvantaged by our continued seclusion.”

“There was no evidence the Zaldean army could be swiftly bested and made to disappear, or that Tarlah would suddenly gain the ability to rule the Realm,” Ruarnon countered. “Yet both happened and no one saw them coming. I would rather act to prevent foreseeable threats, then drown when the river floods.”

The woman on the left’s eyes lit up at Ruarnon’s inclusion of an Urai saying in their argument.

“The damars who tried to reach our people died crossing the desert,” the same man asserted. “They are yet to be a threat to us.”

“No one knows why they landed on Zaldean shores,” Ruarnon countered. “Nor do we know where Narz may strike next, or why. What I do know is that your people lack fortifications to defend against the damars. Should they land on your shores, you would need our tactics to rally and destroy them before they overrun your tribes.”

The woman on the left nodded. “I think we can agree that in the event of the damars returning, an alliance with Tarlah would be wise. We know your campaign against them in the Zaldean Realm was highly successful and that your tactics against them achieved what the Zaldeans could not. But what of our relations in ordinary times?”

Ruarnon swallowed nervously. They wanted to recover Uncle Karmarn and the lost Zaldean army. But they couldn’t lie about what that would mean. And Zaldeans in one of Governor Syenne’s provinces, the one formerly governed by the warmongering, traitorous Governor Kerlan, already chaffed at Tarlahn rule of the Realm.

“Tarlahn military supremacy is not sustainable,” Ruarnon replied. “Even if I fail to recover my uncle and the Zaldean army from the west, all it would take is for the current and next generation of Zaldean boys to grow into men and become soldiers for my army to be dangerously outnumbered. And you must know that while the Timbalens are currently keen to maintain a presence in these seas and to expand Timbalen sea trade, their aid is not to be taken for granted. A generation from now, there are no guarantees that Tarlah and the Zaldean Realm will not be at war again. I will do everything in my power to prevent it. But as ruler of Tarlah, I must be prepared to defend my people in all circumstances.”

Ruarnon sighed, discomforted by the other thing they had to say.

“I know shield magic has kept you safe, but if it is the only magic you wield, and if physically pushing magic shields can break them… I fear Zaldean power bows and power slings could pierce your magic. Should the Zaldeans realise that you may be vulnerable to invasion after all. And I doubt the Zaldeans would trade medicinal plants with you if they can take them by force.”

Several Elders shifted. They had sat steadfastly so far, but these ugly ideas had penetrated their masks of wise, calm, unshakable rulers.

“Unless you possess magic I’m unaware of, I fear your people are at least as vulnerable to Zaldean mistreatment as mine.”

“You are sincere in wishing to safeguard both peoples against the worst we know this world can throw at them,” said the woman.

“Have we heard enough?” She asked her companions.

Several eyed Ruarnon, some sternly, others sadly. One by one, they nodded.

“Thank you for telling us your intentions,” she said to Ruarnon. “We will take some time to consider, but we will likely wish to speak to you again this afternoon.”

Ruarnon inclined their head and the eyes of the man opposite them widened.

Kahorn opened the door for Ruarnon and they took several deep breaths as the door closed behind them. Then Kahorn led them towards a nearby balcony on which Mocco waited with Tor and Lenaris.

“They liked Ruarnon,” Kahorn reported.

“How could you tell?” Ruarnon asked. “I found them unreadable.”

“I suspect they wondered if you would possess the arrogance of the first Timbalen settlers our people encountered. I wondered as well. But you showed them respect as our governing body. If anything, you bowed to their positions.”

Ruarnon’s brows furrowed. “Is that not right? In their meeting chambers, in the Urai Capital?”

Tor’s eyes shone with pride. “I doubt any Timbalen Emperor would defer to any governing body or individual, be it at the seat of their power or not. They may appreciate the respect, and I hope they admired how you countered their doubts rationally and calmly, taking nothing personally.”

Ruarnon heard what Tor wasn’t saying in the presence of the Urai, “As I as your tutor and others have taught you."

Kahorn smiled. “I suspect they did.”

Mocco raised a tray, offering everyone goblets of fruit juice. The drinks were a brief respite, and then Kahorn and Ruarnon were called back into the chamber.

“You possess the foresight we prize on our Council,” said the woman on their left.

Ruarnon flushed at her praise.

“I wondered, when I heard of your youth, if we would hear words your advisors had put into your mouth when you spoke. But your conviction and sincerity suggest that much of what you said came from you. That what matters most to you may not be your advisors’ highest priorities. You have a genuine regard for your own and our people. And possess none of the arrogance of your forebears, as we had hoped from the first Tarlahn ruler with Urai heritage.

“We would like to invite you, Kahorn and two advisors of your choice to join us in negotiating the resumption of relations between our two peoples.”

Ruarnon’s smile split into a broad grin.

Negotiating trade and travel agreements took several days. Ruarnon learnt more about Mocco’s training as apprentice Elder and met his cousin Mawana, who captured animals for the Institute of Learning to study. Mawana took them on several jungle expeditions, grinning at leopards in a way that made Ruarnon twinge with guilt at leaving their Australian friends at home. Then the agreements were signed, and it was time to return to Tarlah. Ruarnon, Tor and Lenaris shared a last morning meal with Kahorn and Mocco, at which they were interrupted.

“A coastal messenger wishes to speak to you, your Majesty,” a young woman said to Kahorn. “He says there are dangerous creatures on ships sailing nearby.”

Ruarnon tensed and their heart skipped a beat.

“Damars?” Kahorn asked.

“I do not know what else it could be.”

“What would they be doing south of the jungle?” Lenaris asked.

“Your Australian friends encountered damars on Timraith Island,” Tor replied. “Perhaps these damars have the same purpose as the ones the Timbalens cut down.”

Ruarnon shivered. No one knew why those damars had been shipped east of the mainland when all others had landed on the west coast.

“They must have stayed beyond sight of the Zaldean west coast,” Companion Tor added. “Otherwise the Zaldean governors would have warned us.”

“And they have left our western coast untouched,” Kahorn added.

“Leaving Tarlah as a possible target, if it is damars,” said Ruarnon.

“Then you had best come with us to investigate,” Kahorn invited.

Ruarnon nodded, following Kahorn and Mocco back down the ramp to the jungle floor, where they mounted borrowed horses. Ruarnon rode in tense silence, gazing ahead as Mocco led them through the trees until the trail ended among sandhills. Then everyone followed Mocco on foot, along a rocky point stretching across the water, towards a broad-shouldered man.

“We have seen ships approaching from the West, your Majesty,” the man reported without preamble. “They are south of here and their current course will take them just within sight of our southern coast as they sail east. Some creatures broke out of a damaged cage and dove overboard. They attacked a passing shoal of fish but were unable to swim and drowned.”

Ruarnon closed their eyes and asked, “Were they short, grey-skinned, with pointy teeth and yellow eyes?”

“You have seen them,” the man replied.

“How long will it take them to pass our coast, or reach it, if that is what they intend?” Kahorn asked.

“Two or three days before they reach the south-easternmost point.”

“Then I shall station lookouts on land.”

“We will keep a lookout at sea. The coastal Elders have agreed to suspend sea trade until the creatures move on or are dealt with.”

Kahorn nodded his approval. Ruarnon shivered. Narz had an unknown interest in Tarlah, but he had only used Zaldeans to capture Ruarnon’s parents and Companion Pamoran. Was he moving directly against Tarlah now