Secrets of the Sorcery War E-Book

Elise Carlson

• Herausgeber: Faraway Fiction Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

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.

Leseprobe

Secrets of the Sorcery War is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locales and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. 

Content Warning:mental health themes (paranoia), moderate fantasy battle violence.

First published in Australia by Faraway Fiction Press

Text © Elise Carlson, 2023

Cover illustration and interior art © Elise Carlson, 2023

Moral rights of the illustrator Judah Lamey ([email protected]) have been asserted.

Cover Design, map and illustrations by Judah Lamey

No part of this book may be re-produced in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN 978-0-6454633-4-7 Ebook

ISBN 978-0-6454633-7-8 Paperback

By Elise Carlson

Ruarnon Trilogy

Manipulator’s War

Secrets of the Sorcery War

War in Sorcery’s Shadow

Sythe Series

Walking the Knife’s Edge (mid 2025)

Countering the Hands of Crime (2026)

Skirting the Fires of Revolution (2027)

Waging Wars Beyond All We Knew (2028)

Dramatis Personae

Tarlahns

Heir Ruarnon (they/them)

King Urmillian (Ruarnon’s father)

Queen Corina (Ruarnon’s mother)

Prince Omah ((Ruarnon’s uncle)

Princess Telena (Ruarnon’s aunt)

Lenaris (Ruarnon’s best friend, she/her)

Companion Pamoran (Lenaris’ father)

Companion Tor (Ruarnon’s tutor, he/him)

Companion Noma (Tor’s sister)

Advisor Monin (Pamoran’s father)

Captain Arleath (of Ruarnon’s bodyguard, he/him)

Aza (First General, he/him)

Takanis (Second General, she/her)

Zaldeaans

King Kyura (deceased)

Companion Karmarn (Ruarnon’s Uncle)

Governor Armar (he/him)

Governor Syenne (Kyura’s sister)

Governor Iomar (he/him)

Governor Iagl (Iomar’s twin, he/him)

Governor Derlan (the twins father, deceased traitor)

Australians

Linh (Year 10 student, she/her)

Fiona (Linh’s best friend, she/her)

Troy (becoming Linh’s friend, he/him)

Michael (new friend, he/him)

Urai

Mocco (apprentice elder, he/him)Mawana (Mocco’s cousin, he/him)Kahorn (elected Urai King, he/him)Mirata (Mocco’s mother)Tither (Mawana’s father)

Timbalens

Nuard (scholar, he/him)

Familon (archer and Nuard’s daughter)

Commander Imphin (he/him)

Captain Doorna (he/him)

Boormar (soldier, he/him)

Emperor Yarath (he/ him)

Creator Gods

(All absent since creation.)

Mijora (earth goddess)

Esla (sea goddess)

Esira (sun god)

Erhmun (wind god)

Chaos (god of sorcerers)

Chapter 1

The Urai -Ruarnon

Regent Ruarnon strode down a red carpet lined with bronze armoured guards, who bowed helmed heads as they moved towards the dais. Sculpted bronze imitated sun rays emanated from the empty thrones of their absent Father and Mother. Ruarnon sighed at the elaborately carved travel throne before therm. 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 ebony skin multiple shades 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan Army.”

Ruarnon tried not to grimace. The Zaldeaan army’s absence made it possible to occupy the Zaldeaan Realm. And Ruarnon’s army dispatching the damars overrunning the Realm made many Zaldeaans grateful to be occupied. But the missing army, its commander Ruarnon’s uncle, Ruarnon’s parents and Companion 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 Zaldeaan governors.

“But you let them live. You let them keep their positions. You have taken risks with your safety to ensure the Zaldeaans work with you in maintaining Peace between Tarlah and the Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 were 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 in a broad smile. “I would be honoured to accept their invitation.”

They hesitated. Before they visited the Zaldeaan Palace for the first time, Companion Tor, their former tutor and father’s best friend had schooled them in Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaans keep invading us and North Landers pay them tribute. Surely the Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaans. 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 they could visit the Urai together, 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 Zaldeaan soldiers. The Australians hoped to learn if western magic wielders could operate the archways that had brought them to Umarinaris and were willing to 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 Zaldeaan 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 atop his black braided hair and a linen kilt brightly dyed with swirling oranges and yellows contrasted against his dark skin. 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 Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan 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, Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan Realm and had acknowledged the Zaldeaan king as their Prime Ruler by then,” Kahorn continued, “but Zaldeaans had not yet dared recruit them into military service. If we aided you with magic, and the Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaans. 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 Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan soldier. She blamed my ancestors for letting the city fall to Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaans 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,” 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaans have designed power bows and power slings that can likely penetrate even your shield magic. I wonder if anyone can shut out the world in this age.

“The Zaldeaans were arrogant and complacent in their military might because they have always been the dominant power over Tarlah. But the damars and the Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan Realm was highly successful and that your tactics against them achieved what the Zaldeaans could not. But what of our relations in ordinary times?”

Ruarnon swallowed nervously. They wanted to recover Uncle Karmarn and the lost Zaldeaan army. But they couldn’t lie about what that would mean. And Zaldeaans in one of Governor Syenne’s provinces, the one formerly governed by the warmongering, traitorous Governor Derlan, 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 Zaldeaan army from the west, all it would take is for the current and next generation of Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan power bows and power slings could pierce your magic. If the Zaldeaans realise that, you may be vulnerable to invasion after all. And I doubt the Zaldeaans 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 Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaan west coast,” Companion Tor added. “Otherwise the Zaldeaan 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 Zaldeaans to capture Ruarnon’s parents and Companion Pamoran. Was he moving directly against Tarlah now?

Chapter 2

A New Threat -Ruarnon

Ruarnon sat at the head of the table in the Golden Meeting Hall, surveying the Royal Council’s reactions to their report on damars being sighted in nearby seas again.

“What do you think?” Ruarnon asked.

“Narz is no longer interested in the Zaldeaan Realm,” replied scarred, silver-haired Advisor Monin, sitting alert and upright, as he must have been when he defended Tarlah as its leading general. “The Zaldeaan army was what he sought there.”

“The fleet points towards Cauldron Island,” said Companion Tor. “But Timbalen expedition records say that island is ringed by steep cliffs and consists mostly of barren, uninhabitable plains and I can think of nothing that may interest Narz there.”

“I wonder if Narz is pursuing whatever he sought in Tarlah,” said Lenaris, “his reason for having their Benevolences and my father abducted.”

“Sending damarian ships against us would be foolish,” said General Aza, sitting on the edge of his seat, his posture suggesting he may leap to his feet at any moment. “The damars’ greatest strength was the shock of their existence and their savagery, which are no longer a surprise to us.”

Ruarnon frowned. General Aza was right. But if damars were the only force Narz could spare for invasions across the sea, would he pursue his interest in Tarlah with them regardless?

“We assumed Narz had sound reasons for having our King and Queen and Companion Pamoran abducted and for invading the Zaldeaan Realm with damars, and that ignorance was our greatest barrier to understanding his motivations,” said Companion Tor, his voice calm, belying the circles under his eyes. “But as he is still a threat, I think it is time to acknowledge we might have been mistaken.

“Narz’s use of damars in the Zaldeaan Realm was ruthless cruelty, more mass murder than invasion. All it achieved was death —not conquest. And sailing halfway across the known world to abduct an army from a foreign land, risking that army mutinying, killing his soldiers and stealing his ships? To me, that policy suggests he is not rational.”

Postures stiffened around the table and Ruarnon bit their lip.

“Abducting an army and transporting them halfway across the known world involves an terrible level of risk,” General Aza agreed. “I half expected Companion Karmarn to break free, defeat his captors and sail his fleet home by now. The fact he hasn’t makes me wary of the ruthlessness I suspect keeps that army captive, and wary of Narz’s ships sailing near our waters once more.”

“We must assume the fleet is aimed against Tarlah to ensure that we are properly defended against it, but it may strike anywhere,” said Advisor Monin, sitting in his usual upright position of authority.

“Ensuring the defence of Tarlah against damars means killing all and any damars that enter our waters,” Ruarnon asserted. “On land, they spread too swiftly. But we know they cannot swim, so engaging those ships in deep water is the best way to protect our coast.”

“That is aggressive policy,” Monin cautioned. “If we are not Narz’s target, it may make us his target.”

“Confronting them with anything less may end in disaster,” said General Aza, “as it did for the Zaldeaans. The only way to protect yourself against damars is to destroy them at the first opportunity, not give those ships time to manoeuvre near our shores. But what made the Zaldeaan army surrender? And in countering the damars, do we leave ourselves vulnerable to a threat even the Zaldeaans could not vanquish?”

Ruarnon’s chest tightened. They couldn’t risk anything like what happened on the Zaldeaan western coast occurring on Tarlahn shores. But what chance did Tarlah stand against whatever convinced the mighty Zaldeaan army to sail off, letting damars ravage the Zaldeaan Realm in its absence?

“There is more to consider,” said Advisor Monin. “Narz has only targeted islands inhabited by humans and has left the west jungle coast untouched, so if Tarlah is not his target, the next most likely target is the Timbalen Empire. We are yet to sign a renewed treaty with them. We are not bound to defend them. If the Timbalen Empire is the damars’ target, I propose allowing the damarian fleet to sail by.”

Ruarnon’s mouth dropped open. At first they saw disloyalty in Monin’s words. But Companion Tor didn’t seem surprised.

“General Takanis notes that our soldiers are still recovering from seeing bodies of people of all ages scattered in the damar-ravaged parts of the Zaldeaan Realm,” General Aza reported on behalf of the Second General, whom Ruarnon had sent to South Harbour with reinforcements.

General Takanis tended to notice and boldly state different things to the men in the room and Ruarnon regretted her absence, but rank and tradition said if both generals couldn’t attend the Council, the senior should attend.

“Takanis says letting the fleet sail on would give the soldiers more time to heal,” General Aza continued. “If this fleet sails beyond our waters, she is confident that a bird carrying our warning and knowledge of effective tactics to our allies will enable them to defend themselves.”

Ruarnon slumped. She was right. The Timbalen army was a far greater force. With advance warning and tactical advice, it should crush shiploads of damars. But letting those ships sail near Tarlahn waters, unaware of the fleets’ destination and thought of those creatures roaming Tarlahn coastal villages made Ruarnon’s skin crawl.

“Can I remind the Council that Companion Noma’s report confirms Governor Armar’s report about sorcery coercing the Zaldeaan fleet to sail west, and that we have no other logical explanation for it sailing away?” Lenaris asked. She was a little paler than usual, probably at thought of challenging the Council not long after joining it in her new role as Ruarnon’s first Companion of roughly their age.

“I know it sounds like preparing to confront villains from a child’s tale,” Lenaris continued, “but I feel we should discuss the possibility that whoever is transporting damars may be able to wield magic.”

Monin gaped at his granddaughter speaking boldly about something he still held reservations about the existence of.

“General Takanis and I have considered it,” General Aza replied.

Ruarnon’s eyes widened. Experiences in the Zaldeaan Realm had changed those two. They were more open-minded and seemed to be working more closely together in their roles as First and Second General now.

“We see no need for anyone who can wield magic to accompany the creatures to these seas. If they are transported in cages, as the Urai eyewitness report suggests, we think it likely the cages are designed and transported in a way that ordinary humans can unleash damars from their ships, without endangering themselves. We suspect that if anyone in this day and age can wield magic, they will be highly valued. And with Narz’s previous expedition having ended in disaster for him, and this entire continent on high alert against his ships’ return, we feel it is unlikely Narz will risk his sorcerers to achieve means he has sent few ordinary humans to pursue.”

“Precisely,” said Monin, recovering from his shock at a speed that reminded Ruarnon of his extensive experience. “It is merely a question of whether Narz’s damars target Tarlah or not.”

“The failure of his previous mission and his clear intent to pursue its goal now may also be reason for Narz to send greater force against us this time, to ensure his success, if there is something here he desperately wants,” Tor asserted. “And if Narz’s methods are not entirely rational, that becomes more likely.”

Silence met his assertions. Ruarnon was quite certain that both their generals and Monin were deeply reluctant to consider how Narz may achieve his goals if he wasn’t limited by rational thought. Ruarnon suspected that scared their advisors more than the possibility of magic wielders being on those ships. But whether Narz was in his right mind or not, whether sorcerers stood on the decks of his approaching ships or not, it all boiled down to did Ruarnon engage those ships?

“What does the Council think of our ships being loaded with soldiers, fitted with arms and stationed ready to defend our waters?” Ruarnon asked. “Of them keeping their distance and not engaging unless it becomes crystal clear we are Narz’s target?”

Tor inclined his head. “I think that is the only practical course.”

General Aza his inclined head, followed by Lenaris.

“I won’t argue to leave our waters undefended,” said Monin. “But I should like to discuss clear terms in which we shall consider those ships to be aimed against us, to avoid unnecessary injuries and loss of life.”

Ruarnon supressed a smile. Monin was always last to agree and strongest in his opinions. But this was agreement enough. And waiting and watching to see whether damars would hunt Ruarnon’s subjects would be as tense as confronting damars in the Zaldeaan Realm. But they would have to put the possibility of confronting whatever abducted the Zaldeaan army out of their head, because it was unlikely they could do anything about it.

The discussion turned to preparing soldiers and the distance the damarian fleet could be from Tarlahn shores for Ruarnon to have time to reposition their ships to defend Tarlah. But Ruarnon’s shoulders tightened with tension as the discussion went on. General Takanis’ observations made them realise they hadn’t spent enough time with their soldiers since securing the Zaldeaan Realm. They should have guessed that if they woke in a sweat in the middle of the night, the screech of dead damars still ringing in their ears, so would some of their soldiers.

Many soldiers were battle weary and many Tarlahns wanted to believe these were the days of Peace. That the days of fear, insecurity and sacrifice were over. They may not respond well to potential battle so soon, especially against the damars. And Ruarnon feared Tor may be right. Narz’s goals may not be rational. His methods may not be rational. And what if he had stationed a magic wielder on one of his ships?

Uncle Omah’s most important lesson had been to act decisively in dangerous times, but whether Ruarnon’s decision was to attack or ignore the damarian fleet, they feared their decisive action could go terribly wrong.

Chapter 3

Look and Leap -Linh

Linh stood on a grassy terrace in Tarlah Castle’s gardens, oblivious to orange, pink and yellow flowers bobbing in the gentle breeze rustling branches around her, as Ruarnon updated her, and her lost Australian friends, Fiona, Troy and Michael.

“The damars are back,” Ruarnon said. “The Urai are tracking them at sea, and we don’t know what their target is. I’m preparing ships to defend Tarlah, and the Urai are readying ships in case Cauldron Island, off our east coast and where some of their people are camping, is attacked. 

“The Urai have confirmed that human handlers are on board the ships to release the damars from their cages. And the Urai will help defend Tarlah if we are attacked, or else sail on to defend Cauldron Island. They are your best chance to ask westerners to confirm if archways leading to your homeland, and sorcerers capable of operating them are in the west. Mocco has offered to let you sail with him.”

Linh’s jaw dropped, as she gazed unseeing across terraces of flowering trees. After months of dead ends and Tarlahns, Zaldeaans and North Landers being unable to help them, they could finally access confirmation of how to get home. The problem was, at Timraith Island humans had unleashed damars from their cages at sea and hadn’t gone ashore. That suggested the best way to speak to westerners now was to set sail. But at sea, the westerners would be battling Tarlahan and or Urai ships. Yet if Linh and her friends waited safely on shore, they had no way of knowing whether the Urai or Tarlahns would successfully capture live westerners for questioning.

“I should warn you,” Ruarnon added, “Lenaris is concerned that magic wielders may be present on the western ships, to control the damars. We have no way of confirming that.”

Linh clutched the nearest tree branch. Six months after obliviously stumbling through an archway and finding themselves stuck on Umarnaris, how were they back to the same decision they’d made on Myleth Island: travel into certain danger, or remain ignorant of how to get home? 

Linh didn’t notice Ruarnon leave. Or hear Michael speak, until Fiona nudged her and nodded at Michael.

“Let me get this straight,” said Troy, as he paced across a grassy terrace on Linh’s right, his chaotic brown curls flapping about his flushed bronze face, his usually warm brown eyes alight with anxiety. “We didn’t sail west with Companion Noma because the Tarlahns have no idea where anything is in the Far West, and for all we know, it’s overrun with Narz’s sorcerers and damars. But now we’re considering sailing with Mocco’s ships, when we haven’t even met Mocco yet, and we could end up fighting damars and possibly magic wielders?”

He turned and continued pacing across the terrace. His green Tarlahn tunic was short enough to show his stocky calves and arms. He was still round in the middle, but travel, weapons training and pursuit of distractions from being stranded in another world had slimmed his limbs and hardened his muscles. Knowing what had caused the weight loss, Linh missed the rounder Troy, who was more prone to laugh, smile and yes, drive her up the wall with his antics. That had been a happier Troy. And she’d tolerate a reasonable amount of cheek from him to have that Troy back. It used to be her who worried most, but Troy’s anxiety was eclipsing hers.

She suspected Michael would have a good reason for boarding Mocco’s ship —he usually had very good reasons. Michael stood aloof too, gazing between the trees and their bunches of leaves and flowers. He was nearly Troy’s height, with black hair, hazel eyes, a broad nose and a dark brown face. But the features Fiona said were attractive were taut today. And those hazel eyes burned with passion.