Authors: Michael A. Stackpole
The New World (52 page)
I bowed. “Praise to thee, Tsiwen.”
The goddess of Wisdom returned the bow. “You will go to Anturasikun and rescue your companion. There you will see a map of the world. Master Dejote already knows of the Helos channel. The land north of it is being overrun by the Turasynd. You will lead an army of
xidantzu, kwajiin
, and Imperial soldiers to repel them. In gratitude, the
kwajiin
will be given Deseirion.”
“And after that?”
Tsiwen smiled. “I have found it the height of wisdom not to ask what the future holds, but to venture forth and discover it. There is a new order in Heaven, and on the earth. This does not mean, however, that the need for heroes has vanished, nor that villainy has disappeared. The new world, you will learn, has much in common with the old.”
Chapter 61
K
eles listened to what the god Cyron had said and felt magic wash over the world. He still retained the sense of reality he’d had when traveling with his father, but it seemed as if a thin veil had been laid over everything. Cyron had been a Prince in Nalenyr, but Keles seemed to remember that the Prince had been named for the leader of the gods.
He fought to retain his memory of the world as it had been. The Gold River had been wider. Virukadeen had not always been there. Nirati had been his sister. These were facts, and should have been immutable, yet the world seemed to want him to remember things differently.
The door to his chamber opened and the Empress Cyrsa walked in. “I am glad to see you awake. I thank you for what you did.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled. “Mystics are always attuned to
jaedun
. You dragged the moon from the sky.”
“I had to make the world right again.”
“And yet, you sense the changing, too?”
“Cyron is now a god and no longer a Prince. My dead sister is now the goddess of Death?”
“There will be many more changes.” Cyrsa smiled easily. “When I returned to the Nine, I paid the finest minstrels to write songs vilifying Nelesquin and creating a certain picture of who I had been. The truth of what happened back then no longer mattered. People acted on what they
believed
happened.”
She gestured toward where Cyron had stood astride the river. “By the time you have grandchildren, the story of the world will have changed. Nelesquin will be remembered, but only as a dissident Virine noble who sought to overthrow the Empire. He was, of course, insane. He claimed he was the Nelesquin of legend.”
“This will become the new truth because you will spend money to make it so?”
“In part, yes; and I do not regret the expense. Consider me vindictive if you will, but my efforts will really not amount to that much. You have been trained to observe. You pay attention; but for many people the world extends no further than their daily travels take them. Though they know the Five Princes exist, show them a map and they could not locate them. What does not immediately affect their lives does not matter. It comforts them to assume that things have always been the way they are now.”
Keles shook his head. “You’re telling me that the illusion is more important than reality.”
“Only because so many people are incapable of handling reality.” The Empress opened her hands. “Here is a question philosophers ponder: if the world was created just this moment, and you with it, complete with your memories, what part would the past play in your daily life? How much would the past matter?”
“Well, there is no past, so it cannot matter. I would be acting based on my memories of the past.”
“Which are false.”
“Yes.”
Cyrsa smiled. “And if all memories were one hundred percent accurate, this would not be a problem. They are not, nor are they
facts
. Yet people trust rumors, memories, and dogma more than fact. This means, whether it pleases you or me, perception becomes reality.”
“But not if I enforce facts.” Keles touched a hand to the book of maps at his bedside. “I have the world here, cataloged. This is fact. If I show it to others, if I educate them, they’ll know reality.”
“No, Keles, they will know
your
reality. They will make it their own, and it will have weight and momentum that will shape the world.” Cyrsa shook her head. “You are a creature of precision and logic. Those who are not will create their own worlds and live within them. And, in many ways, that will be best, since they are incapable of handling what we know to be true.”
Keles hugged his knees to his chest. “You sound as if you will acquiesce and join them.”
“The gods do offer powerful inducements.” Cyrsa rubbed a hand over her stomach. “I am pregnant. It will be a boy. His name shall be Pyrust.”
“Congratulations.” Keles’ throat suddenly grew thick. Thoughts of Tyressa and his mother and Nirati flashed through his mind. “The gods have been kind to you.”
The Empress nodded. “And kind to you, Keles.”
She opened the chamber door and, smiling, waved two people in. “Please forgive me for monopolizing him.”
“Nothing to forgive, Highness.” Siatsi Anturasi laughed aloud as she swept into the room, her husband in her wake. “A little waiting won’t kill us.”
Only as the skewer impaled him did Pelut Vniel recover full memory of his death. He’d driven the dagger deep into Cyron’s chest. He’d watched the life go out of the man’s eyes. Blood dribbled from Cyron’s mouth, then the one-armed man collapsed.
Pelut had spun, his arms wide, ready to accept the accolades of the ministers for his act of salvation. Prince Eiran, enraged, eclipsed his view. The Helosundian grabbed him by the armpits and, in one motion, pitched him from the tower. He fell, arms flailing, and dashed his brains out on the street below.
Men he didn’t recognize bound his hands and feet, then lifted him into the fire. His flesh sizzled. Pain came in waves, ever increasing. He spun and grew dizzy. He shut his eyes and found he could not open them again.
Then he began to moan. “Why me? Why me? Why me?”
“Because, Pelut Vniel,” answered the man roasting beside him, “you were ambitious and you failed.”
Pelut shook. “Prince Nelesquin?”
“Emperor Nelesquin, you fool.” The man hissed as the sound of a knife being sharpened filled Pelut’s ears. “That’s right, cut deep. Those who are here shall feast well now.”
Four days of his mother’s fussing over him had Keles feeling well enough to stand on Moriande’s walls and watch the Expeditionary force heading north. The Keru and other Helosundian warriors joined them, while noncombatants remained in Moriande and prepared for their journey. Desei troops went as well, leading the way for Naleni and Durrani troops. Even the Voraxani went along on their metal mounts, and a great many
xidantzu
rode north with them. The warriors were united to drive the Turasynd back into their wasteland, and they were hopeful that Viruk might come up from the south and aid them in their mission.
Keles smiled. Princess Jasai stood beside him, looking radiant. At the Empress’ order Jasai and Keles had married. Bards had already begun to sing of their romance and the harrowing escape from Deseirion. In the song they’d been fleeing the Turasynd. Warriors had already promised to chase them back to the Wastes in their name.
The Princess, deep in conversation with his mother, didn’t notice him looking at her. The two women were already as thick as thieves. Jasai’s child would be Siatsi’s first grandchild, and nothing would be too good for him. Somehow the identity of the child’s father had gotten lost, though the songs gave Keles full credit.
Ryn Anturasi, standing on the far side of Siatsi, was speaking with Borosan Gryst. The two of them shared a fascination with
gyanrigot
and had begun to collaborate on a number of projects.
A minister approached Keles. “The Empress requests a word with the Prince.”
Keles turned and kissed Jasai on the cheek. “I shall return.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I will miss you.”
He slipped his hand from hers and walked along the wall to the watchtower. The
gyanrigot
guards parted. He jogged up the wooden steps, then bowed. He held it a long time, certainly longer than required of a noble before the Empress.
She returned the bow and held it just as long. She straightened up and smiled. “I received your missive last night. I’ve read it and burned it. Obviously I concur with your plans, though I am reluctant to allow you to leave the Empire.”
“It is the only way it can be, Highness.” Keles stepped beside her and studied the army columns. “The channel north of the Helos Mountains has become a river fed by Virukadeen. It’s right where a river should be. In a generation or two, no one will remember it wasn’t there.”
“This is especially true since you are taking the Helosundians to Anturasixan.”
He nodded. “Tyressa never liked her people pining for what they had lost. They always were victims, now they will be in a new land that will allow them to shape their own destiny. I will take Desei there, too, and others who lost much in the war. They can all start over. A new land for a new beginning.”
“A new beginning for you and your family, too?”
“Yes. Ulan will remain here. The House of Anturasi will still create the finest maps and charts in the world. The Empire will not lose that.”
The Empress smiled. “We just lose the ability to shape the world.”
“Hardly, Majesty.” He turned around and pointed south toward the cranes lifting rocks into place to rebuild the nine bridges. “People are already shaping the world.”
“But you could do all that work by imagining it.”
“Yes, I could impress my sense of reality on everyone, but I won’t do that.” He shook his head. “They need to build their world. If they do not sacrifice, it will have no value for them. If they know I can save them, then they will not work to save themselves. People who do not look to the future really have no future. They’re just waiting for the rot to set in.”
She arched an eyebrow. “But the power you possess, do you not find it tempting to use?”
“I’ve seen what that power can do to the world. I’ve seen what it did to my grandfather.” He looked down at his hands. “I know it can be used for good, but I also know that I am not smart enough to figure out every single consequence of using it. For that reason, I won’t.”
“Not even if using it to make a single flower blossom would put a smile on your wife’s face?”
“No. I have done too much already. I wish to go to Anturasixan with my family. I will care for my grandfather until he dies, then enjoy my grandchildren.”
“The gods may have other plans for you.”
“If it pleases them.” Keles smiled. “I remember when two of them were human—one of them my twin. They have been kind to me so far, and I hope they shall remain so in the future.”
Epilogue
T
he nearly blind old man leaned heavily on his walking stick as he crested the hill. “There it is, Moriande, the grandest city in the world.”
“I know, Grandfather. We live there now, remember?”
Matut nodded. “Of course I remember, Dunos. I remember many things. You may think me just a doddering old fool, but I remember coming this way with you and your father. And I remember a swordmaster, looking something like yours, but not as grand. Empress’ consort and all.”
“No, Grandfather.” Dunos looked back to where Moraven and Ciras were helping a carter push his wagon up the final bit of the hill. “I’m sure he wasn’t as grand as my master—as any of them.”
“And I remember this place.”
“Yes, Grandfather, the bandits.” Dunos looked north again, as three figures slipped from the wood to block the road.
Matut squinted. “You shouldn’t have said it, Dunos. You gave the gods ideas.”
The centermost of the bandits, wearing a robe that had once been white with a red bear rampant as the crest, rested hands on the hilts of both his swords. “Welcome to the Imperial road. I and my companions keep it open and free of bandits. I am sure you wish to show your appreciation.”
Dunos stepped forward and bowed. “I am
xidantzu
. I wish harm to come to no one. These people have traveled with my masters and me. They are under our protection. It will cost you nothing to walk away.”
The bandit laughed and his scruffy companions joined him. “You’re a boy with a withered arm. I’m not afraid of you. I’m Turren Xandao. I’m ranked Superior, so you and your masters should just run off. I’ll let you pass, but not the others.”
“I am Dunos Ameryne, of
Serrian
Jatan. If you wish to fight, name your terms.”
“To the death, pup.” The man laughed and drew both his swords. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Not yet.” Dunos slowly bared his blade. “Draw a circle.”
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