Chapter One
The Western Voyage – Ruarnon
Sunlight glinted off the silver busts of former advisors on Regent Ruarnon’s right, in stark contrast to the grave faces of people gathered around the meeting table before them.
Battle scarred, former general Monin eyed Ruarnon with concern. “Benevolence, what could the soldiers possibly have learnt in the east that would equip them to recover seven thousand men from sorcerers in the west?”
“And can it withstand enormous strain on morale?” Companion Noma asked, slumped in her chair beside him, her young face pale after a prolonged, almost fruitless information gathering voyage west. “The soldiers who sailed home with me do not wish to assist the recovery expedition, not even to free the king and queen.”
“What I learnt in the east would have made me appear to have misplaced my mind, had I put it in writing,” Ruarnon replied. Their shoulders tensed, because their advisors questioning their grip on rational thought was still very much an option.
Ruarnon braced themself to utter truths Tarlahns had never known, even immediately after the Sorcery War, and made themself speak before their jangling nerves put them off.
“I learned that the only thing separating sorcerers from ordinary people is sorcerer’s extraordinary ability to overcome their fear and doubt about magic craft. The difference is their determination, motivation and persistence with it. Over generations, parents have taught children, which has led to younger generations crafting more magic to greater effect.
“We all doubted any of us could wield magic, because those rare times we survived in battle when we ought to have died were passed off as battle rush. Or divine intervention from the Ancestors. But it was magic. That is what we learnt in the east. How to craft defensive magic. And we have been practicing it for our entire homeward voyage, to prepare us for the western recovery expedition.”
Monin’s critical gaze sought his granddaughter, Companion Lenaris across the table, his brows scrunched in confusion. Lenaris merely sighed at his scrutiny. Monin turned to Companion Tor sitting calmly beside her and his eyes widened.
“That is an extraordinary claim,” said Companion Noma. “The soldiers who sailed west with me were terrified of the men we saw start the forest fire with sorcery. Those soldiers may be more frightened by the claim they too can wield magic.”
On her other side, General Aza surprised Ruarnon, smiling slowly across the table at General Takanis’ nod. He trusted Takanis’ judgement, and he alone seemed to have accepted magic was the only possible reason for Ruarnon’s change of heart and confidence about how many they could free from sorcerer-king Narz’s captivity in the west.
“Show us Benevolence,” Aza said.
Monin shook his head. “I have lived too long. First midlun heir of Tarlah, and you occupy the Zaldean Realm, win the co-operation of the Zaldean royal family and governors, re-establish relations with the reclusive Urai, then go racing off to the east to learn magic. You need to recover your father. I cannot spend my final days as advisor, the twilight of my years sprinting to keep up with you!”
Ruarnon smiled at the mix of exasperation in his gruff tone, the frown of his silver brows, and the spark of adventure in his wise old eyes, much like his son Companion Pamoran’s eyes, whom Ruarnon also hoped to rescue in the east.
Ruarnon inclined their head. They focused on the air above the table, mentally projecting. A mist-like, oval shaped shield appeared. Monin flinched back, silently staring. General Aza’s mouth opened in wonder and his eyes shone with hope. He reached forward carefully, until his deft fingers pressed against the shield. Ruarnon sensed the pressure of his touch, like a mental push, as Aza’s knuckles turned white. But Ruarnon easily held the shield in place, the magic within and without them tingling with power.
“As strong as iron,” General Aza declared, his smile broadening. “Are the soldiers as strong as you?”
Ruarnon hesitated.
“Few are as capable as their Benevolence,” General Takanis answered. “Though my skills, Tor and Lenaris’ are not far behind. And in numbers, for say, storming the cell in which Narz holds our king and queen prisoner, I like our soldiers’ chances, even against a few sorcerers. Our soldiers’ bronze shields and ordinary weapons, in numbers and force, proved effective against magic in the Timbalen Empire.”
Monin’s lips twitched. “So this is why your youngest companions sat this meeting out, so they didn’t see us gaping like fools.” Monin shook his head. “You are far too wise for your years Ruarnon.”
Lenaris beamed at her grandfather’s praise, but Ruarnon was bemused by their most senior advisor calling them ‘wise’. They had to push the thought away, much like they resisted Aza’s pressure on their shield, so they could update Advisor Monin, General Aza and Companion Noma.
“Lylah wanted us to meet her sisters,” they continued, “so Flariah could teach us to craft shield magic and Sryah could teach us sleep magic. It was just as well they did. When we reached our allies’ waters, they were under attack by sorcery wielding damars.”
Monin’s mouth fell open. Aza shook his head. “Those murderous fiends can craft magic? Ancestors preserve us!”
Ruarnon ignored their racing heart and the tension in the room, longing to be finished with unpleasant surprises. “They aren’t the only ones. The Elite Guards ‘special abilities’ were always magic. They all wield it as capably as sorcerers.”
Monin was staring into the distance.
“And they agreed to help us?” Aza asked. “The Timbalens are sending Elite Guard to help us free our royal family from Narz’s sorcerers?”
Ruarnon nodded.
Monin shook his head. “So our chances of successfully freeing your Benevolence’s family from under Narz and his sorcery-wielding underlings noses may be as possible as it was becoming impossible? I presume your Benevolence intends to proceed with intelligence gathering, raids and stealth operations in the west, to prepare the expedition?”
Ruarnon released their magical shield and nodded. “King Narz’s sorcerers are as powerful as the empire’s Elite Guard. We should engage them only if stealth fails us. But my plans have changed. I will not sit idle while all my friends and the bravest of my soldiers sail west to confront sorcery, free my parents, uncle, aunt, cousin and seven thousand of my subjects.
“I may not be as restless and energetic as Pamoran, but while the western expedition is under way, it will be my highest priority, and having dedicated everything to Tarlah and the Realm these past eleven months, now I would dedicate everything to recovering my parents, king, queen, family and subjects.”
Ruarnon paused. Even Aza’s mouth opened in surprise at the reversal of their decision. Companion Noma was staring blankly at them, but she had missed much while she was sailing west.
“The advisors when I was your great uncle’s companion,” said Monin, “lifetimes ago, would have called me a fool and had my hide if they suspected I would one day let the sole heir to the throne wander off into the west, pursuing their hearts desire, and leaving rule of Tarlah to someone else. Not even to royalty.
“But they did not witness Kyura standing in what he found to be an impossible situation, his father’s legacy of peace on one side, warmongers and mutinying soldiers on the other. They did not see him struggle to take control, betray his father’s peace and fail to protect his subjects from damars while he waged war with us. They did not see circumstances break him to such a point he felt his only way out was to claim his own life.
“The Zaldeans would say a leader who admits they cannot do something is weak. That a ruler should do whatever they must, even if they are terrible at it, or if it destroys them or others. The Zaldeans are wrong and ultimately self-destructive. Avoiding a situation that puts your feelings and desires at war with yourself, that could destroy you, is not weak. It allows you to preserve your strength. It is wise. To be clear, you suspect you will rule as effectively in peacetime as my son would have?”
Ruarnon blinked, then remembered Pamoran had defended Tarlah City during the siege from on the city walls, and that was how he had got himself captured. Getting that man to sit still and govern during a lengthy peace would probably require weighting his legs down with stone.
But Ruarnon remembered how helpless they felt sitting in safety while their friends’ battled sorcerers in the sewers of Imperial City. While those same friends risked their lives recovering Lenaris’ father and Ruarnon’s parents in the west, Ruarnon would hate the unimportant by contrast day-to-day rule of Tarlah at peace. They may even become as reckless as Pamoran.
Ruarnon inclined their head to Monin.
“If you are to stand aside during the expedition, how would you place us?” Monin asked.
“I would take Tor west as advisor, and my young Companions west. Leaving Companion Noma as Regent in Tarlah, and Advisor Monin as Regent in the Zaldean Realm. Should I not return, should my parents not return and my line end, I would have Companion Tor as regent if he were alive, and Companion Noma adopt Tor’s son Drake if he is not. Either way, I would have Drake as Heir, and co-regency begin once our deaths were known.”
Monin nodded slowly. “Drake is no war-time leader, but he is clever and sensible and would be good in peace. And with at least his aunt, uncle and mother to guide him, his chances are good. Better if his father makes it home. But we all know the best option is you dance with Chaos himself like you did in the Zaldean Realm, then finish what you started here.”
Monin didn’t smile, but there was fierce joy in those grey, wizened eyes.
“What of us?” General Aza asked.
“It is a long time since a general was abroad for an extended period,” said Ruarnon. “But I want one of you to accompany me west, while the other remains here to advise and support Regent’s Noma and Monin.”
Generals Takanis and Aza exchanged looks and each bowed their head.
“I would like to volunteer,” said General Takanis.
Ruarnon smiled. General Aza was an excellent leader and manager of soldiers, but General Takanis thought outside the box, and had proven against the damars the value of that. She had also sailed east with Ruarnon and was competent at shield magic and had experience managing soldiers wielding it.
Ruarnon, the Companions, Generals and Monin all inclined their heads in agreement.
“You may need to brief me on how Tarlah and this Council functions under Regent Ruarnon,” Companion Noma said to Monin. “It appears much has changed.”
“It would be my honour,” Monin replied.
“I would have all of this written up, and everyone at this table sign it,” Ruarnon added. “Should anyone go against it, the penalty will be banishment to the Timbalen Empire.”
Monin inclined his head. “I doubt we will bicker amongst ourselves like the Zaldeans, but measures against it are wise.”
Ruarnon exhaled with relief. They had doubted Tarlahn logic would allow their advisors to accept such a drastic departure from traditions governing Tarlah since its birth, but apparently they underestimated the council members who hadn’t sailed east.
Ruarnon summoned Drake to the Golden Meeting Hall, while a scribe laid the conditional succession documents on the table beside a stylus and ink. Ruarnon grit their teeth. This wasn’t the first time they had set sail away from Tarlah, but from this voyage, they may not return. Their expedition would contend with sorcerers. If it went wrong, their attempt to free the Zaldean army could enslave their expeditionary soldiers while their attempt to free their parents could land them in a cell beside their parents.
To risk all that, Ruarnon would walk away from duties that had shaped their life so far, placing both their kingdoms in their advisors’ hands, without knowing whether they or their father would return to take those duties back. It was daunting, yet Ruarnon’s four Australian Companions had faced uncertainty since they stepped from Australia to the Timbalen Empire over a year ago. Ruarnon smiled at memory of their friends’ resilience, stepped towards the greatest deviation from tradition in Tarlahn history, took a deep breath, and signed their name to it.
With a bow of his head, Tor took the stylus from Ruarnon’s hand. Monin followed, then Companion Noma. The generals signed swiftly, Lenaris following their lead. Then, with a reluctant bow showing acceptance of the future that awaited him if the worst should happen, Tor’s adopted son Drake signed. Ruarnon exhaled deeply. After eleven months of fulfilling other duties, it was time to pursue the desires of their heart.
A day later, Ruarnon entered the castle courtyard in their iron armour and leather kilt, with their enchanted, bronze-iron sheened sword buckled at their waist. Before them, captains issued orders. Line upon line of elite soldiers in full bronze armour formed up. They carried swords at their right hips or quivers at their left, bronze round shields and spears, or bows in hand. Most were veterans of the Damarian Wars, and all were volunteers. These were the bravest, most capable soldiers Tarlah had ever known and Ruarnon was proud to lead them.
Ruarnon’s friends and bodyguards rode into the courtyard, led by Lenaris, whose pale face was confident and proud, her blue eyes sparkling, her long blonde hair in a Tarlahn braid. Mawana rode beside her, tall and powerfully built, his dark, finely braided hair concealed by his bronze helmet. Both wore a gold chain at their right wrist, a symbol Lenaris had pledged to protect Mawana with her spear and Mawana had pledged to protect her with his, while each pledged their heart to the other’s keeping. The ceremony had taken place only a week ago, but the time to fulfil those vowels was near at hand.
Mawana’s cousin Mocco and their four youngest companions from a distant land called Australian; Linh, Fiona, Michael and Troy rode behind the couple. Mocco’s mouth was pulled into a tight line, probably the closest he came to showing nerves. Stocky, broad-shouldered Troy was talking to his smiling Australian friends, his brown curls bouncing as he walked.
Shy, freckled faced Fiona wasn’t saying much, but dark-haired Linh had plenty to say and dark featured, serious faced Michael chipped in, both likely tempering Troy’s wilder predictions of what would happen on the voyage. They were louder than usual and there was a nervous edge to their smiles. Because after many delays and so much preparation; it was time.
Ruarnon descended the steps, mounted the horse Captain Arleath brought them, and greeted their guards and friends. Then they healed their horse and led their friends around the expeditionary soldiers to broadly built Generals Aza and Takanis, who sat their horses in full bronze armour, and iron general’s helmets. Both generals bowed, as captains behind them raised their spears in salute, sunlight glinting off iron signalling each unit was ready.
With a clatter of hooves, and the soft tread of hundreds of leather sandals, Ruarnon led the column through Tarlah Castle’s outer walls down to North Road. Tarlahns with blonde and brown braided hair threw poppies on the road, showing support for the royal family. Solemn gazes met Ruarnon, some eyes wide with concern, others’ features pinched tight with nerves. Some men, women and midluns smiled sadly, accepting the danger, and knowing some soldiers who walked or rode before them today would not return.
Children wriggled to the front of the crowd, and a small boy saluted as Ruarnon passed. In their mind’s eye, a boy saluted from the back of an evacuating wagon before the siege. Ruarnon had ultimately commanded this city’s defence, ensuring it still stood for these children to return to, but now, Ruarnon was leaving both. They returned the salute with a sense of loss.
They rode on towards a gap in the crowd, around a large group of bearded men, Zaldeans. Tarlahns around them shifted uncomfortably, at the obvious reminder Ruarnon also sought to recover the Zaldean army.
“I am Arogar,” a man called loudly, “Speaker for the People. What says the King?”
Ruarnon smiled, halting the column.
“I go West, seeking a king, a queen, a princess, two companions and an army, seeking my people, who I would restore to their proper homes.”
“The army should be proud to have such a king,” Arogar replied with a bow.
“Long live the king! Long live the king!” the Zaldeans began to chant, as Ruarnon acknowledged them with a smile and led the expeditionary soldiers on, not provoking the Tarlahns by dismissing Zaldeans with a double salute.
The Tarlahn crowd looked on uncertainly, then several young men called, “Long live the Regent!” and more Tarlahns took it up, drowning out the Zaldeans, who smiled smugly. Both disliked that Ruarnon was the other’s leader, but their feelings mostly manifested as competition, and the fact Ruarnon ruled both would be easier to overlook in Ruarnon’s absence.
They turned down Middle Road towards East Gate. The road was lined by farmers in kilts and straw hats or linen dresses, throwing more poppies onto the road. Soldiers at East Gate saluted as Ruarnon approached, and Ruarnon returned their salute. Then they rode through the thick stone walls of Tarlah City, and exhaled deeply, as a great weight lifted off their shoulders. Companion Noma and Advisor Monin were regents now. Ruarnon was just Heir Ruarnon, Tarlahn Commander of the Western Expedition. They smiled and led the column through dappled sunlight, under forest trees, towards the eastern coast.
When the trees thinned, Ruarnon gazed over a band of golden sand to sailors’ and soldiers’ families lining the docks of Tarlah Harbour. Officials in silk tunics gathered on the decks of private ships around the Iylena, Uria, Meera and newly completed Saeron. The Iylena’s familiar decks shone in the sunlight, newly polished, while masts rising from fore, main and aft decks flew a red flag above their top sails. Her supplies had been loaded, the crew stood ready, and tanned, weathered Captain Dargeth stood by the helm.
Ruarnon led their column across the sand, and crowds on wooden docks parted for the column to move through. Ruarnon’s gaze was drawn over their heads, across the water to the east. The Timbalen fleet approached. Its ship’s generous decks rose high above the water line, each with three masts with main and top sails set, yellow flags flapping above them. Each prow was overshadowed by an intricately carved sea serpent’s head with open jaws, while serpents’ tails rose from each stern.
Ruarnon, their friends and guards dismounted at the end of the docks, leaving the horses with grooms. A small party of familiar faces awaited them, beyond which a horn signalled the approach of two Zaldean ships from the north, under Governor Iagl’s command. Behind Ruarnon, General Aza directed soldiers to begin boarding their ships. It was time to say goodbye.
Regent Noma, Aunt Telena, Advisor Monin and Drake all stood waiting for Ruarnon, while Mawana said goodbye to his parents and the Australians and Lenaris talked to Selenia and Mocco.
“Good luck with your regency,” Ruarnon said to Noma. “Ensure you treat Tarlahns and Zaldeans equally to reduce tension.”
Noma bowed her head, wishing Ruarnon well.
“You have grown so much Ruarnon,” Aunt Telena said softly. “You have proven that you can put your people first, but you deserve your parents. You will have to take risks to retrieve them. It will cost lives. I advise you to assess the risks and determine which ones you are willing to take, and to assess possible prices and determine what you are willing to pay, before you act.”
Something in Ruarnon longed to turn away from those stark realities, but she was right.
“Thank you,” they replied.
She embraced them and whispered in their ear, “I love you. Good luck sweetheart.”
Ruarnon held her tightly, aware she was the only living relative whose safety they were sure of. They took a steadying breath, composing themself as they let her go.
“Come back to us,” Monin added sincerely.
“I shall do my best,” Ruarnon replied.
“Please watch over my father and Lenaris,” Drake said, from beside his aunt Noma. “May fortune go with you.”
“And remain with you,” said Ruarnon.
Then they turned to Selenia.
“I will miss you,” she said with a smile. “Do not put yourself under additional strain by expecting too much of yourself.”
How had she seen that in such a short visit to Tarlah? Ruarnon smiled and replied, “Thank you. Whatever you decide about Flariah’s task, take care, and send word of your safety if you can.”
“I will sail with Urai merchants to make enquiries,” she said. “I want to understand who King Narz is in his homeland before I make my final decision, because Flariah’s task could end his reign.”
Ruarnon bowed their head in acknowledgement.
She stepped forwards and held them tightly. It was difficult to accept she was sailing alone, while most of Ruarnon’s friends accompanied them. But an Urai ship sailing solo would be more neutral and hopefully safer.
Ruarnon turned to Mocco. The voyage west would not be the same without his calm and steady presence.
Mocco smiled sadly. “I can only spend so much time galivanting around the world fancy-free, unlike my reckless cousin.”
He smiled at Mawana, who attempted to frown, but Mawana’s mouth was smiling, and his eyes looked sad.
“I missed the quiet and peace of the jungle too much to leave it so soon. And my studies. I don’t have our friends reckless, ceaseless love of adventure. And as much as I would like to support you all, this voyage won’t help my people make allies or involve trade agreements. It would be a private venture.”
Ruarnon bowed their head. “Mawana is a wild cat, but you are more a creature of habit and routine. All those times you were so quiet… for me, it means I am thinking, but for you, it was stress?”
Mocco turned away and nodded.
Their Australian friends had taken the news more easily than Ruarnon anticipated. Even Linh and Michael’s postures were relaxed as they waited beside Mawana, content to have his company on the voyage.
Mocco looked up again. “Keep everyone safe,” he asked quietly. “And keep Mawana out of trouble, and his wife,” he whispered.
Ruarnon smiled. “I shall do my best. I wish you well with your studies, my friend,” they added, hugging Mocco goodbye.
“We expect you to be sworn in as a full Elder by the time we get back,” Mawana added, maintaining a serious expression long enough that Lenaris quirked an eyebrow. Then Mawana seized Mocco in a bear hug. Ruarnon wondered if their own parents would hold them like that, sometime in coming weeks or months.
Then they took a deep breath, set their posture upright to show confidence to soldiers and crew, and led their friends, Companion Tor and General Aza up the Iylena’s boarding ramp, to her foredeck. The sea breeze ruffled the tunic under their iron armour, and salt filled their nostrils. Adventure, the unknown and the opportunity to be reunited with their parents all beckoned from across the sea, as the Iylena’s sails were set, and Ruarnon’s recovery expedition sailed out of Tarlah Harbour, towards the Western Ocean and the perils on its far side.
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