The New World (5 page)

Their pursuers boiled through the rain forest. Fennych moved in a vast band, low to the ground, teeth flashing and claws rending vegetation. When he had created the Fennych, Wentoki had made them gentle—a clownish crossing of small apes and bears. He did, however, imbue them with some magic, and it allowed them to change shape to adapt to new situations. In winter their coats might lighten, or if they hunted in caverns, their eyes would grow wide to sharpen their vision.

But in the presence of the Viruk, they lost all pretense of humor and became hardy predators. Viruk magic could not stop them, at least not directly. Warriors could kill them, but not easily; Fenn claws could shred their flesh as if it were smoke.

One warrior fell, then another as knots of Fenn pounced and rent them. The furred carpet of muscular bodies would have muffled any scream had the warriors time to voice one. Blood gushed and the Fenn anointed themselves before bounding off to kill more.

The Fenn advanced in a crescent with wings extending past the lead Viruk and closed slowly. The Viruk burst into a clearing. The scout plunged on through, reaching the tree line, then stumbled back with a half dozen Fenn tearing out mouthfuls of flesh. The two in the rear guard never even made it to the clearing, leaving the last two warriors warding the youth, staring out at the luminous eyes blinking from the shadows.

Though the warriors tried to restrain the youth, he stepped forward and spoke in a clear voice with no detectable fear. He described a circle with a finger and a wall of fire burst into existence around the three of them. The flames rose to the height of Talrisaal’s eyes. The warriors hunkered down, waiting and watching.

The Fenn drew the scout’s body into the forest.

The youth stood there, not cowering, but slowly turning to stare back at the Fenn. Fear still lurked within him, but he refused to surrender to it. He sought to project courage, and praised Wentoki’s name with every breath. He wanted the Fenn to know he would not run or scream. Though they might kill him, they would never break him, and even the Fenn seemed to acknowledge that as truth.

Wentoki manifested in the clearing as a man. The Viruk stared at him. Talrisaal could not hide his astonishment at a Viruk god choosing to assume the form of a slave. The youth dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground.

“It gladdens my heart, oh Wentoki, that you would come see how your gift is spent.” The innocence of youth filled the words with sincerity. “I shall not dishonor your gift.”

Wentoki chose to ignore the warriors who still begged for his dog-brother’s intervention. “You’ve prayed for courage to die well, Talrisaal. You don’t need it.”

The Dragon god gestured and the flames vanished. Darkness fell, shot through with snarls and screams.

Then the flaming circle returned, smaller, with the youth kneeling at its heart. The blood of his companions had been splashed over him, but no other trace of them remained. The fire’s renewed light did not fill the clearing, and the Fennych had encroached to shadow’s edge.

“Do you test me to see if I will be unworthy of your gift?”

“You are days and weeks from home. You are alone. Have you sufficient wisdom to survive?”

The youth’s mouth gaped for a moment. “I do not even have the wisdom to know how to answer you.”

“Then you will pray to my sister, Tsiwen.” Wentoki opened both arms and the circle of Fenn parted. “You have no need for courage, but I should not hesitate to lend it to you if you did. Go now. Tell no one of our encounter; they would not believe you.”

The young Viruk got to his feet and, without looking back, began the long march to his home.

Wordlessly, Wentoki commanded the Fenn to escort him. Talrisaal traveled north in the company of forest spirits that guided him to freshwater, scared away predators, and watched over him while he slept. All of this Wentoki observed from afar.

Jorim blinked. “Talrisaal became a great sorcerer among the Viruk.”

Chado nodded. “When our father thought to remake the world, he chose nine of his Viruk to replace us. They were sorcerers all, well versed in the warping of reality. He revealed to them his plan to supplant the gods, and Talrisaal revealed the plan to you. With the courage you lent him, he rebelled. While our father was distracted fighting to preserve Viruk unity, we were able to strike and kill him.”

“But not destroy him completely.” Jorim glanced at Grija. “He was trapped in your realm, in a place of your creation, which was why he could not escape.”

“Not until your sister did.”

“How did she do that?”

Tsiwen gestured and the world spun beneath them. Out in the vast Eastern Sea loomed a new continent. “She is there, in a place called Kunjiqui, in the land of Anturasixan.”

Jorim stared down. “A continent named for my family. How?” He thought for a moment and pain radiated through his chest. “My grandfather, he has become a Mystic. He created this place and pulled Nirati into it instead of losing her.”

“Is that so hard to understand?” Grija snarled, baring his teeth. “You created human magic, and through it this place was created. We are barred from interfering there, but you are not. Go there, destroy her, and the threat of our father’s return can forever be ended.”

Chapter 5

P
rince Nelesquin dismounted before the walls of the Illustrated City. He would enter the capital of his empire on foot, unguarded. His new subjects might not believe he was
that
Prince Nelesquin, but as long as they knew he was both strong and fearless, that was all that mattered. Strong, because those who had conquered the city would bend their knees as he passed. Fearless, because he would walk through Kelewan’s streets unarmed.

The large man strode confidently toward the Violet Gate. It was the smallest of the city’s gates and only those of royal blood were allowed to pass. The massive purple doors slowly slid open and a dozen of his Durrani warriors fell crisply into ranks on either side. The dawning sun washed gold through their silver mail and lightened the blue of their flesh. The sharpened tips of ears appeared through thick, dark manes, and their amber eyes searched restlessly.

As he drew closer, the warriors dropped to a knee, hammered right fist against left shoulder, and bowed their heads. Not all at once, of course, but in sequence, so someone could always ward him. And beyond them, on the shadowed road, their commander waited, even more watchful.

Nelesquin’s blue eyes tightened. “If you are here to greet me, Keerana, then I assume Gachin is dead?”

The Durrani leader nodded once before dropping to a knee and saluting his master. He held that posture until bidden to rise again. As he stood, he drew his sword and presented the hilt to Nelesquin.

“What is this?”

Keerana looked up, meeting Nelesquin’s gaze without fear. “Had I not petitioned you for permission to pacify the Five Princes, I would have been the one assaulting Tsatol Deraelkun. I would be the one lying in state.”

Nelesquin threw back his head and laughed. “Tsatol Deraelkun has defeated the greatest of warriors. Even I was defeated there once.”

Keerana frowned. “How is that possible, my lord?”

Nelesquin beckoned his warlord to walk with him as he started through the narrow streets. The tall buildings choked off all but a bare glimpse of the sky, but it did not matter. Nelesquin only had eyes for Quunkun, the Bear Tower, and the palace that was meant to be his.

“It was not your failing, Keerana, that cost Gachin his life. He fell to a man who once defeated me on those plains. We were brothers.” Nelesquin shook his head. “Would that my blade had slipped and killed him then.”

The Durrani, trailing half a step behind and to the left, kept his voice low. “The man called himself Moraven Tolo. He took Gachin’s head, though he had the grace to let us recover it.”

“It does not matter what he calls himself. I know who he is. I will deal with him in time.” Nelesquin’s voice trailed off wistfully. He studied the buildings lining the street. Kelewan had been divided into a dozen cantons of varying sizes, and the Violet canton was home to nobility minor and major, as well as embassies from the provinces. They thought of themselves as nations, but Nelesquin refused to acknowledge them as such. Their birth had been as illegitimate as that of Gachin’s killer.

The colorful murals decorating the buildings earned the Illustrated City its name. He strode past one embassy—Moryth by the look of it—its layers of images celebrating historical high points. Lies and fantasies all, as near as Nelesquin could tell. He would order the walls whitewashed and repainted with more suitable work.

He would have issued an order to Keerana to begin the task, but he would not dishonor him. The Durrani had been created to be perfect warriors, and they were. Nimble, strong, fearless, and intelligent, they had spent generations fighting every challenge Nelesquin had thrust upon them. The Durrani who had sailed from Anturasixan had conquered most of Erumvirine with blinding speed, and had likewise pacified the Five Princes. That secured the southern border, so now all that remained was driving north into Nalenyr and beyond.

Soon, very soon
. Nelesquin smiled, turning onto an avenue that widened on its way to the heart of the city and the palace, Quunkun. The Prince paused and the Durrani came forward. Keerana dropped a hand to the sword at his hip, but Nelesquin’s grip on his shoulder restrained him.

“There is no danger, Keerana. It’s just that the beauty takes my breath away.”

Unlike the gaudily painted city surrounding it, Quunkun remained unadorned. The building had been clad in white marble. Nelesquin found it easy to imagine he’d been gone only a week, not seven centuries.

He glanced at his warlord. “They did not surrender the tower without a fight.”

“No, Highness.” Keerana looked up at him. “We rounded up masons and quarrymen and the damage was repaired as best as possible.”

“Very well done. It is as I remember it.” Nelesquin picked up his pace and, moving into the wide courtyard surrounding the tower, became aware of how much destruction had been visited upon Kelewan. While the Violet canton had been scoured clean, soot still stained other buildings. Empty windows stared back at him with shutters askew. People, gaunt and moving slowly, huddled in shadows or listlessly picked through middens for scraps.

“Have the people been much trouble?”

“Resistance collapsed with the military. Prince Jekusmirwyn was convinced to make a public statement which put an end to any other trouble. We control the storehouses, so people must come to us for food.” Keerana smiled wryly. “Each person is entitled to a fistful of rice a day, but our quartermasters give more to those who serve us.”

“You have dealt with this wisely. Have you also assumed the post of Dost, so you may properly lead your people?”

“Not unless you deem I should, my lord.”

“The position is yours, Keerana.” Nelesquin ascended the broad steps to Quunkun. He entered through doors that bore no sign of the battle for the tower. His boots clicked against the rotunda’s marble floor and again he paused. Beneath the dome had been placed a bier. On it lay a body, which he assumed to be that of Gachin. A tall, slender figure in an emerald-and-black hooded cloak stood beside the body, his extended hand wreathed in purple fire, which he passed forward and back over the corpse’s chest and head.

Keerana stepped forward, his sword coming to hand with a hiss. He moved without hesitation; Nelesquin marveled at how easily he stalked ahead—effortless and lethal. That he faced something he had not seen before did not daunt him.

“Keerana, wait.” Nelesquin smiled. “Friend, throw back your cloak so my eyes may confirm what I know in my soul.”

The purple fire died as the figure reached up and unclasped the cloak. It fluttered to the ground, revealing a man wearing a jet robe with a green dragon coiled breast and back. The slender man smiled, and delight played through his hazel eyes.

He dropped to a knee and bowed his head—though he held the bow neither as long as Keerana had nor Nelesquin liked. “Greetings, Prince Nelesquin. It has been forever.”

“At least you could mark the time, Kaerinus. This is a luxury unknown in Grija’s realm.” Nelesquin put aside his pique with minimal difficulty, then grasped his friend by the shoulders. “This has been a long time in coming.”

“As per your plans, my lord.” Kaerinus stood and nodded toward Gachin’s body. “He is too far gone for me to revive. His spirit and soul have fled. He is lost to you.”

“No matter.” Nelesquin waved the Durrani warrior forward. “This is Keerana, now Dost of the Durrani. And this, Keerana, is Kaerinus, one of my
vanyesh
. Certainly the most faithful of them. You were named in his honor.”

Kaerinus smiled. “You must feel the others out there as I do, my lord. They gather to your service.”

“I feel many things.” Nelesquin extended a hand toward the corpse and invoked a spell. He sought to confirm what he already knew. “It
was
Virisken Soshir who killed him. How is it that he still lives?”

“I do not know, my lord.” The wizard gestured vaguely toward the north. “I have spent my time in Nalenyr healing those who dare risk the touch of magic. We made it infamous. They blamed the Cataclysm on us. The
vanyesh
are seen as fell creatures whose return to the world is dreaded.”

Nelesquin laughed. “It is good we are feared.”

“But we were also anticipated. I felt Soshir again, dimly and distantly, last year at the healing. He did not know who he was then, but I think my magics may have helped him learn. He will be coming for you, of course.”

“Of course. It was to destroy him and his ilk that I shaped the Durrani. Keerana here would kill him with ease. Is that not correct?”

The Durrani warrior dropped to a knee. “As my lord desires.”

“That, and more.” Nelesquin smiled. “More ships are coming, and aboard them I have many weapons to crush Soshir and his army. You will choose for me a cadre of your best warriors—yourself included—and you will rise to heights you could not have imagined.”