Secrets of the Sorcery War

Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“I know of their abilities,” Ruarnon continued.

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

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

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

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

Ruarnon shook their head.

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

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

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

“You could have done that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” they said softly.

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

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

Kahorn nodded solemnly.

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

“You tried to help them?” Ruarnon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruarnon detected disapproval in the set of his jaw.

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

Mocco smiled.

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

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

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

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

And it appeared the bulk of the weight to achieve it would be carried on Ruarnon’s shoulders.

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

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

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

“Yes,” said Mocco.

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

Ruarnon’s brows rose, but Mocco slowly smiled.

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

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

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

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

“Fortune be with you!” said Mocco.

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