Secrets of the Sorcery War

Chapter 4

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, Nartzeer. And Companion Noma’s western expedition had just reported an eyewitness account of men casting magical fires on the shores of Nartzeer’s lands, obliterating an entire forest. It was the second claim that Nartzeer’s people could wield magic. If so, Ruarnon had no idea how to counter Nartzeer 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 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 face 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 blue 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 advisor to please 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 Nartzeer.

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 Nartzeer’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 school children 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 if Ruarnon did well today, and they succeeded in the west, they could bring her here.