The New World (23 page)

The only recognizable thing about him was his face. A metal mask replaced his flesh but moved with a fluid reality. The creature smiled and slowly stalked forward. When he reached a respectful dozen paces from Nelesquin, he dropped to a knee and bowed deeply, holding it for a very long time.

Nelesquin smiled. “Rise, Pravak Helos. Be welcome in Kelewan.”

The metal man’s head came up. “You are the dawn after a terrible night, Highness. We came as quickly as we could.”

“And I am pleased to have you here.” Nelesquin looked past him at the ship bobbing quayside. “How many of you are there?”

The giant lowered his head again. “Seventy-two. We had numbered more, but some did not survive the journey.”

Nelesquin glanced at Kaerinus. “See what you can do for them.”

“It has been a long time, brother.” Pravak gave Kaerinus a smile. “Many will need bearers. If you take them to the circle outside the city, they will get better. In our form, we need the wild magic.”

Kaerinus smiled, then headed back toward the gate to order bearers and other helpers.

Pravak stood and looked longingly at the small stone circle near the city gate. “If I could trouble you, Highness?”

Nelesquin smiled and led the way to the stone circle. Pravak stepped over the white stone rim and smiled with the satisfaction of a man entering a warm bath. “We stopped at a few small towns on the way downriver, but they have little enough magic trapped in their circles to help. We almost put in at Dreonath, for magic lingers there, but we could not countenance a delay.”

“You anticipated my need.”

“Circumstance forced our action. You won’t remember Tolwreen, Highness, though you have been venerated there as a god for eons. We worked hard to maintain our number so we could rejoin you when the time came. We kept to ourselves but Turasynd Black Eagles found us. Since you had allied with them in the past, we forged our own alliance. Barely a month and a half ago we concluded an agreement. The Black Eagles and their allies already maneuver to attack Deseirion.”

Nelesquin frowned. “At what cost?”

“They want Deseirion.”

“Ha! I would never give them part of the Empire. Did you agree to this?”

“Yes, Highness.” Pravak’s metal flesh flowed into a smile. “We never had any intention of allowing them to keep it. Prince Pyrust, as near as we have learned, is the most capable military leader alive. We wished to distract him.”

The Prince nodded. “Pyrust
was
the best. He’s dead now.”

Pravak shook his head. “The Black Eagles could not have reached Deseirion yet.”

“He did not die in Deseirion. He died here. I killed him myself.” Nelesquin rubbed a hand over his beard. “But, tell me, how did you learn of Pyrust and the state of affairs in the Nine?”

“There are wanderers in the Wastes who tell us much. We’ve used them in your service before.” Anger etched deep lines onto Pravak’s face. “One such was a man named Ciras Dejote. He bore the sword our brother Jogot Yirxan carried. We welcomed him and he told us much of the outside world. We thought him Jogot’s reincarnation and believed his arrival was a sign that your return was imminent. Then he betrayed us and almost destroyed our alliance with the Black Eagles. Worse yet, we believe he and his companion were searching for Empress Cyrsa.”

Nelesquin rested a foot on the circled edge, then leaned forward on his raised knee. “Cyrsa is in Moriande. Pyrust was her general. My troops defeated him and are on their way to lay siege to Moriande. I shall be leaving in a week and you shall join me. All who can travel will join me.”

Pravak shook his head. “How did you . . . ?”

Nelesquin reached inside his robe and pulled out a black leather sack. “The stones warned me. They warn me of many things.”

The metal man laughed. “And I used to think you relied on them too much. They have served you well.”

Pravak looked back at the barge and Nelesquin followed his gaze. Two of the
vanyesh
—one hopelessly slender and the other with a human torso grafted to a metal scorpion’s body—carried a large wooden box off the ship. The scorpion bore it on his back while the other flitted to the left and right, steadying it. The nervous one calmed considerably once they reached solid ground and the box could not fall into the river.

Nelesquin’s mouth went dry. “That is it, then?” Without waiting for an answer, he shook the stones in the pouch, then opened it and peered within. “Almost. Almost.”

“As you wished, Highness.”

The Prince nodded and forced a smile onto his face. “Kaerinus, see that the box gets to the palace, in the place we have prepared.”

Kaerinus bowed deeply. “As you desire, my lord.”

Pravak frowned and lowered his voice. “Kaerinus looks odd, Highness.”

Nelesquin nodded. “He has spent much time away and has picked up some odd habits. He is yet as loyal as ever. Now how is it that you were taken in by the one who bore Yirxan’s sword?”

“He and his companion slew some looters who were despoiling graves for corpse dust. They showed respect for the dead. We tested him and he
is
Jogot reincarnated. We had no means of knowing he would betray us.”

“No, of course not.” Nelesquin smiled slowly. “He returns and repeats the betrayals of before. We’d known there was a spy in our midst, Pravak, and now we know who it was.”

“I would not have thought it was Jogot. I questioned him and never suspected.”

“Kaerinus did as well, and so did I. He was good, but he failed to destroy me then, and has failed to destroy our cause this time.” Nelesquin patted his comrade on the shoulder. “Think no more on it. You are here now. We have no more worries.”

The two
vanyesh
smiled at each other and turned to watch their surviving comrades leave the ship. So many of them could barely move. Nelesquin was struck by the number who could be carried in a child’s arms, hanging limply as rag dolls. These men had once been a proud company of sorcerers and warriors who feared little. Magic had become their way of life and now, for so many of them, it
was
life.

But when I employ them in battle, they will vanquish all they face. Cyrsa has nothing like them. They will crush her troops and my empire will be returned to its rightful owner
.

Nelesquin nodded. “It will be good to fight together again, won’t it?”

Pravak did not immediately reply. He stared past Nelesquin and slowly stood, drawing his swords.

Nelesquin turned and followed Pravak’s gaze to the east. Something huge and black rolled along the river—a wheel of incredible size. Trees cracked and fell as it rolled closer. People and livestock ran from beneath it, then turned and stared as it rolled past.

The wheel slowed, then stopped at the foot of the furthest dock. The man in the center of it descended, drifting to the ground. Nelesquin caught the tingle of magic. Pravak clearly felt it, too, and straightened up as if newly energized.

Nelesquin recognized Qiro, but there was something different about him. He, too, seemed rested and years younger.
He comes as if joining his equals
.

Qiro bowed, but hardly deep enough, and certainly not long enough. As he came up, he nodded to Pravak. “It seems forever since we met, but it cannot have been more than fifty-four years. I am Qiro Anturasi.”

Pravak’s face grew animated. “I would not know you, save for your voice. This is Prince Nelesquin, my master. Highness, Qiro Anturasi played a big part in your return.”

Nelesquin held a hand up. “I already know Master Anturasi, thank you. Qiro, I had not expected you to come here.”

“Circumstances have changed, Prince Nelesquin. My presence is required.” Qiro smiled and his voice remained even. “You move to conquer Nalenyr. Without me, your invasion will fail.”

“Have you forgotten the troops we fashioned, my friend? The Durrani have already defeated a Naleni and Desei force.”

Dockside commotion stopped Qiro from answering. The earth beneath the stone wheel began to sink and the wheel tipped. It hung in the balance for a heartbeat, then it went over. The wheel toppled, smashing the dock into kindling and exploding an old fishing boat. It splashed into the river, sending tall waves washing over the banks, which lifted the
vanyesh
boat and deposited it on the end of its dock.

Nelesquin frowned. “The wheel blocks half the river. Please move it.”

Qiro nodded. “Of course, Highness.”

The cartographer turned and slipped a foot out of his sandal. With his big toe he drew a straight line, then an oxbow curve, then another straight line. About six inches closer to the river he drew the same figure paralleling the first.

Magic crackled through the air. Blue fire played over Pravak’s silver bones. Some of the somnolent
vanyesh
jerked and thrashed as if they’d been dashed with a bucket of cold water. The magic raked stinging nettles over Nelesquin’s flesh. He dug fingernails in his own palms to fight the urge to scratch.

The Green River, four hundred yards wide and thirty deep, shifted in its bed. The water quickened, carving through the southern bank. The ferry dock tore away. Warehouses collapsed and debris began to flow downstream. People scrambled from houses mere seconds before the river consumed them. The water boiled black with mud. Fish floated to the top, flopping weakly before being sucked back down.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, the river changed course. What it inundated to the south, it left dry on the north. The
vanyesh
boat slipped off the dock and came to rest amid flopping fish and mud-covered pilings a good ten feet below the level of the dock. Children ran out, heedless of their parents’ cries, to pull fish from the river and search for lost treasures. Here and there lay bones of men and horses or other beasts that had been washed away in spring floods, or tossed into the river to hide murders.

Finally, the water slid past the stone wheel and continued east to the ocean. The river calmed itself. Fish were able to swim again as the silt settled. On the far bank, one more warehouse collapsed, but the river nibbled away no more land.

Qiro turned back to the Prince and slipped his sandal back on. “You should have them make a garden here. The dirt will be rich and the garden will prosper.”

Nelesquin shook his head slowly. “I merely wanted you to move the wheel.”

“I know.” Qiro smiled. “But I wished to move the river.”

“Whatever for?”

“It is simple, Prince Nelesquin. Yours is the Empire, but mine is the world.”

“That could be taken to mean, Master Anturasi, that you no longer serve me or my cause.”

“Hardly, Prince Nelesquin.” Qiro laughed easily. He walked over to a pair of puddles and gouged a channel with his heel that linked them. “There, I do you yet another service. You may not think so now, but you will see.”

The cartographer’s smile broadened. “Now, let us discuss this invasion of yours, and how I shall make it succeed.”

Chapter 25

T
he last thing I wanted to do was to appear before the Empress at the head of a defeated army. The battle had not been mine to lose. My troops and I could not have salvaged it—I knew that, and so did they. Even so, I still bore responsibility.

Deshiel Tolo, Pasuram Derael, and Captain Lumel took charge of our force. They reorganized it, rounded up deserters, and deployed our meager cavalry as scouts. They ranged south to check on the enemy advance. For whatever reason, the
kwajiin
did not seem interested in pressing their advantage, but none of us were inclined to trust appearances.

Just over a hundred miles separated them from Moriande. They could be there in a week. There weren’t enough
kwajiin
to surround and isolate Moriande, so the siege would be nasty. Their very presence would cause a panic. It was easy to imagine streams of refugees heading north.

Messengers had been dispatched to Moriande with the dire news. Out of the forty-four thousand warriors we’d had at Tsengui, only a third survived. Desei line troops had taken the majority of casualties. The survivors—primarily cavalry—might well have been dead. Their prince had fallen. Though they never could have saved him, they all imagined they
might
have and that gutted their morale.

If there was going to be any hope for Moriande, we had to rebuild that morale. I focused them on vengeance. I told them that if Prince Cyron thought they’d been broken, he’d send them home. They’d never get their chance to avenge their beloved Pyrust. I also played on their contempt for soft southerners, using it to rekindle their pride. They would show us all how
true
warriors fought, and they would gain immortality because of it.

The Desei conscripts were little more than cattle. Most abandoned weapons and armor as they fled. They’d been reduced to exhausted, terrified wretches marching north through enemy territory. Their spirits had been completely broken. The surviving Hawks had nothing but contempt for them. And shunned by their own people, they had nothing to live for. They just wanted to go home.

Only I couldn’t let them do that. Once we got to Moriande they’d be rearmed or used as forced labor. A handful might see Deseirion again, but war’s voracious appetite made that doubtful.

The Virine and my
xidantzu
were in the best shape of all. They’d fought the
kwajiin
before and survived. They didn’t share contempt for the other. I culled the troops from Tsatol Deraelkun for officers and imposed them on the Desei conscripts. This created sufficient structure that desertion dropped off and the conscripts’ morale began to pick up.

I selected a valley about eight miles out from Moriande to house the army temporarily, then rode ahead to meet with the Empress. Resupplied, clad, and fed, they would look much better coming into the capital.

Tired though I was, just catching sight of the White City lifted my spirits. It gleamed, its tall towers unbroken. I reined my horse in and stared—wondering what Nelesquin or the
kwajiin
would make of the view.