The Blasted Lands (3 page)

Sometimes the gods are kind.

Chapter Two

The Guntha told stories of massive black ships crewed by demons. The demons were allegedly horrible to see and impossible to kill. They were, according to the Guntha, the main reason that the island people had attacked Roathes again and again.

Each time island-dwelling Guntha had been repelled until, finally, there had been a sort of peace for the last three years. No one expected them to try again after their last trouncing.

Then the Guntha started amassing their troops as they had in the past along the finger of land called the Blade of Trellia once again. They always gathered there first, for Trellia was one of their earliest queens and she had declared that strip of land sacred long ago.

This time when Marsfel had asked for assistance from the Emperor the result was different from times past. Instead of weeks of correspondences and requests, the long time enemies of Roathes were killed in one simple attack by a handful of strangers sent by the Emperor as a favor to King Marsfel.

Marsfel had expected a few soldiers to come along, look at the gathering forces and send word back to the Emperor that, yes, troops were needed to reinforce the meager army of the Roathians. That was what always happened in the past. The troops had to be paid, the Empire sent money, Marsfel skimmed a bit of currency and everything went on as it had before.

Only not this time. This time the Guntha were massacred. This time Marsfel sent a small group of mercenaries to detain the eleven people who had allegedly slaughtered over a thousand of the islanders, and his mercenaries never returned.

To be fair, their remains were found on the king’s highway. The eleven got away. According to Lanaie, Marsfel’s emissary and daughter, the man who had led the eleven was now in charge of the entire Imperial Army.

Could it get worse? Marsfel had asked himself that question after reading the latest news from his daughter. The answer was yes. Of course it could get worse. It already had. The Guntha were no longer a problem. That would have possibly been good news but the reason they were no longer a problem was because at least one of their islands had exploded.

Fire erupted from the sea and the islands were buried in flaming rock and the Guntha were burned to ashes as their islands merged into one massive, growing land mass. The islands had once been tiny specks on the horizon, but now they were one large pillar of flame and ash that covered most of the skies above. The waters of the Corinta Ocean were cloaked in black clouds that rained gray ashes down upon all of Roathes as far as he could tell.

The ashes covered the land, the people, the buildings and the water alike. Hideous clouds of black ash came in from the waters, stinking of death and worse. The plague-winds had come to his kingdom and the people he ruled were succumbing to them. Some grew sick and recovered. Some simply grew weak. Others died, and there was nothing to be done about it. Even kings cannot force the winds to blow the opposite direction.

The tides that rolled in were greasy and stank of dead fish and rotting meat. The waters were too hot, and the air was hotter still. Roathes was cooking away, stewing in its own juices and he was powerless to make it stop. The raging storms over the growing land mass out there had not abated and roaring hot winds were washing in regularly, tearing apart the shoreline and washing away anything that was too close to the waters. The Blade of Trellia was already gone, submerged or washed away. Who could say? The waters were too hot, and the fish that had long been a staple for the area were either dead or had fled. Fishermen aren’t much use without fish.

And reports kept coming in of vast, black ships on the horizon. Ships large enough that they could be seen even against the backdrop of the fiery island and the falling ash and lightning storms. If they were really out there and not merely nightmares, they were supposedly filled with demons.

The ships had not come in from their distant location yet. That was the good news for Roathes. The only good news.

Most of the boats in Roathes were for fishing. There were a few naval ships and they were being readied, but really, there weren’t nearly as many warships as Marsfel had claimed for a very long time. There hadn’t been much need, after years of peace. Corinta had the closest naval fleet and they really never came this far north.

The absolute worst news? Well, he had asked for help from the Emperor after being caught in a lie and the man who would ultimately decide whether or not he needed assistance was a man he had attempted to capture or kill.

Marsfel considered all of these things while he waited for word from Lanaie. She was still in the Summer Palace, because the Emperor was dead, assassinated by gray-skinned strangers from the Blasted Lands.

He had never been to the Blasted Lands. He never wanted to go to the Blasted Lands. He could not understand why anyone would willingly go to the hellish place to begin with. All he had ever heard of the desolate ruins was that they made the raging storms coming in from the sea seem relatively calm. That was a horrible notion.

And yet the Emperor had sent emissaries for some insane purpose and so now he was dead. Was there a connection? The people from the Blasted Lands were gray-skinned. They came from the same direction as the black ships.

He might well have continued on that thought process, but instead he stopped when Turrae showed up, shaking his head and running. He was not normally a nervous man, one of the reasons that Marsfel chose him as a steward.

“The ships are coming closer, Majesty.” Turrae’s voice was weary.

The ships? “The black ships? From near Guntha?”

“Yes.” His voice shook. “Majesty, they are so much larger than we thought.”

Marsfel shook his head. “Show me.”

Turrae led quickly and climbed the stairs to the highest level of the stone keep Marsfel had lived in his entire life. There a dozen soldiers were standing together and arguing over who got to look through the spyglass that was a permanent fixture on the side of the tower pointing toward Guntha, or rather where Guntha used to be.

“Leave us!” Marsfel roared the words and the soldiers vacated as quickly as they could while maintaining their dignity.

Without the glass there were a few distant specks that might be ships in the distance between the flaming island and the shoreline. He used the cylindrical contraption that had been one of the treasures of his people for as long as anyone could remember and looked around at the waters carefully. The specks were indeed still there and as his steward had warned, they were ships. They were indeed much larger than he’d expected.

The ships were as black as iron and bloated. They sat low in the waters and their sails were drawn tight as the winds from behind them pushed them toward the shores. It was hard to count how many of them might be on the waters, but with an effort he made out fifteen of the vessels. Fifteen ships cutting closer to the land. Very large ships, if he was guessing correctly without the benefit of any reference points.

Marsfel sighed and shook his head. “Call to arms. Prepare for battle.”

“What if the ships are merely investigating?”

“Then they will see our forces preparing for them. There is no way around that.”

“Yes, Majesty.” He heard the regret in the man’s voice and felt it in his own heart. They were not ready for a war.

“And Turrae?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Send word to the capital. We need help. We need it as soon as possible.” He did not expect an answer, and certainly not a positive one, but it was all he had left.

***

How long does it take to bury a man? How long to give his spirit rest?

In the case of Wollis March it had not taken long. His spirit had gone on and in the traditions of his people his body had been burned and the ashes collected. When his wife and son finally showed themselves they would be presented with the ashes, which would then likely be scattered to the winds with the appropriate ceremony.

In the case of an Emperor, however, there was a great deal more involved. There were kingdoms to notify, you see, and they in turn had to send emissaries to present themselves before the Imperial Family and then, likely, there would be declarations of regret and more promises of fealty and, of course, there was the matter of replacing the deceased with the next in line to rule the Empire.

It was a statistical nightmare and for well over a month the Summer Palace was as tempestuous as the skies above the Corinta Ocean.

Merros Dulver left most of that to the people who took care of such affairs. He was busy enough without having to consider seating arrangements and who had to make offerings to whom.

There was a war getting ready to happen and it seemed he was in charge of preparing the city for any possible attacks.

For over a month he made himself known to the soldiers in Tyrne, and they in turn made themselves as ready as they could for the rage of their new commander.

His anger was not as great as they believed. He was merely loud and more than ready to be louder. He bellowed out of necessity. He leveled orders and he watched with hard eyes to make certain that the men under his command met his demands. From the highest-ranking officers to the greenest recruits, he made himself seen and known.

There were walls around the Summer City that needed reinforcement and there were watchtowers that had gone into disrepair that needed to be mended as well. The structures were solid enough, but the long years of peace had led to a lack of readiness. Buildings that should have housed guards were instead storing supplies and on one case – he would eventually track down the culprits responsible by all the gods – housing a brothel.

Soldiers who had grown relaxed and soft were soon put to work at fixing those problems and more and woe to the foolish that suggested that workmen might be better equipped to handle the matter.

The City Guard were drafted to handle more work than they were used to, and while there were a few protests, they did not last long.

At first a few men tried to desert. Merros Dulver put an end to that quickly enough. Had they run in combat they’d have been killed. Instead of death they were given options after meeting with the general. Most chose one of the less extreme punishments he offered, especially after the first would be deserter attempted to call his bluff of being hanged. It seemed that the new commander of the Imperial Army did not believe in bluffing.

While the people of the Taalor Valley made their ways home and prepared for what was coming, Merros Dulver did the same. A few claimed he did all that he did out of fear of the Sa’ba Taalor. A small number of soldiers who knew him from before his meteoric rise to power believed he did what he did out of grief for the loss of a man who was very nearly a brother to him.

Most just did the best they could to follow orders and stay well out of his way. In the long run, they were the wisest of the lot.

***

The body of Emperor Pathra Krous was presented before the royal family of Fellein and from there he was carried to the wagon waiting to take his mortal remains to the waiting barge on the Freeholdt River. The royal family had a very large crypt and he would be buried with the rest of his family in Canhoon despite his love of Tyrne and the summer palace. Some laws cannot be changed on a whim.

The First Advisor to the Emperor and the legendary sorcerer Desh Krohan walked beside the casket carrying the body the entire way to the river, keeping pace. He had been there for the birth of Pathra Krous and he said his farewells to a man he’d called his friend on more than one occasion. From the river the Sisters would stay with the Emperor’s body until he was placed within the tomb and they would seal the great building to insure no one foolhardy or greedy enough to try for the alleged riches within the tomb would succeed. Pella, Goriah and Tataya were his most trusted allies and he was going to be far too busy seeing to the ascension of the next ruler of the Fellein Empire to consider making the trip himself.

The women stood before him, their heads lowered and their cloaks in place. The air was passably warm but along the river and heading toward the proper seat of the Empire, it would get colder. Spring was fully upon the land but the cold winds from the north and from the Blasted Lands weren’t quite done with the area yet. Desh knew that better than most.

“Be safe and be alert.” He made a point to look at each of them. They nodded their heads. “This is not a good time for any of us but now in particular there are plenty who would see me dead and gladly eliminate the three of you in the process of trying help me reach that state of being.”

Krohan looked at the elaborate coffin one last time and touched the wood, muttering unheard words in the process. The body would remain unmolested. Of that he was absolutely certain.

Without waiting he turned and started the long walk back to the palace. The hood covering his face kept anyone from seeing the worried expression he wore. Most would have backed away in fear if they could have caught a glimpse of his anger.

After a dozen paces Tega met with him. Tega was young and blonde and had caught a few eyes, despite the fact that she dressed in simple enough clothes. The blossom of youth was still with her and that made a difference he supposed though he had not been young in a very long time.

“Are you well, Desh?”

He looked at the girl and managed a smile. “I’m horrid. My back hurts, my head hurts and in an hour’s time I’ll be having a meal with over half of the royal families in Fellein. It would be all of them if the rest were done traveling here.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the ground.

“Calm down, Tega. I’m not the least bit angry. I’m just being truthful. And even if I were angry, it wouldn’t be you who had to face my wrath. You’ve done nothing you shouldn’t have.”

That made the poor girl breathe a little easier. He wished her relaxed state would last longer.

“You called for me, Desh?”

For the first two years they’d known each other she had called him
Master Krohan
, not because it was the title he preferred but because he wanted her to know her place as his apprentice. Reflecting on the practices he had seen some of the sorcerers use on their apprentices he considered himself positively mild in comparison. These days she was allowed to call him by his first name because she had learned her place very well and because she was an excellent student. She had earned the right to call him by his first name and she had long since proven herself worthy of being his apprentice.