The New World (24 page)

Then three men stepped from the forest. Not even a year previous I’d stopped in the same spot.

Back before all this had begun.

Back before I knew who I was
.

The largest stepped to the fore. “There’s a toll on this road, friend.”

“Blood or gold?”

“I’m sure you’d rather be paying gold instead of blood.”

I shrugged and shifted in the saddle. “I’ve killed your like on this road—in this spot—since before the Time of Black Ice.”

Two of them laughed, but the third slowly clasped his hands at the small of his back.

I glanced back over my left shoulder. “In half a week an army will be coming up this road, to lay waste to Moriande. Now you can go to Moriande and be useful, or you can die here.”

The leader laughed again and looked at his two comrades. One laughed with him, but the other kept his hands behind his back. The leader frowned at his companion. “What’s with you?”

“My mother lives in Moriande.” The goldfish crest on his robe shimmered as he shifted from foot to foot. “If what he says is true . . . ”

“He’s lying to save his skin.”

“But we saw the army head south.”

“That was Pyrust, and good riddance to him. Let him rule in Kelewan. He’s never coming back this way.”

I straightened up and looked at Goldfish. “Come to Moriande. Find me through
Serrian
Jatan. I’ll give you honest work.”

The other underling, who wore a crest of a seated dog—probably stolen from a Helosundian deserter—looked up. “Me, too?”

“Hurry.” I smiled at the leader. “Coming to Moriande, or do we make the road a little less thirsty?”

His companions stepped away, isolating him. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“The quiver in your voice suggests otherwise.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for my mother.” He brought his head up. “S-she lives in Moriande, too. I think.”

“Good. Wait here for my army. Ask for Ranai Ameryne. She will bring you into Moriande. Dunos will take you to
Serrian
Jatan. I’ll find you there.”

The three of them straightened into a line and bowed. I returned the bow and rode on. I would see two of them again. This gladdened me, but only for as long as it took them to disappear into the woods. A month from now, none of them would be alive.

I doubted, a month from now, that Moriande would be alive.

Prince Cyron greeted me in Wentokikun’s throne room. He looked different than when last I’d seen him, and it was not just the half-empty sleeve. He’d lost weight and had that haggard look of a man with too little sleep. Yet his blue eyes still possessed an inquisitive quickness that marked the sharpness of his mind.

He waved me forward and came halfway down the red carpet to welcome me. “I know it’s not me you wanted to see, but I needed to see you. Are you prepared to direct the city’s defenses?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“I have no skill at defending against a siege, Highness. I will be on the walls fighting the
kwajiin
, but if I had any skill at resisting sieges—or any inclination toward that art—I’d have died in Kelewan.”

Cyron stared at me. “But you were the leader of the Emperor’s Bodyguard.”

“You’ve forgotten. He died. Not much of a recommendation.” I smiled. “I sent you the best man for the job. Count Jarys Derael.”

“Yes, but he’s . . . ”

“Crippled?” I frowned. “His body’s hurt, but not his mind. You
must
have an appreciation for that situation.”

Cyron’s face flushed crimson. “Point well made. I
have
been sending him information. Humoring him, really, since you sent him. I thought . . . but, never mind. I will consult with him.”

“And act on his plans?”

The Prince laughed. “Yes. No need to twist the only arm I have.”

“He’ll know how to defeat them.”

“What of Pyrust?”

“Dead, probably. I don’t know. I sent a messenger offering to ransom him.”

“And Vroan?”

“He survived. I did not like him, so did not extend the same courtesy.”

“Pity. We could have spared a bucket of warm horse piss.” Cyron sighed. “I had planned to monopolize you to go over facts and figures, but I shall leave that for Count Derael.”

“I am interested, but . . . ”

The Prince nodded. “She waits for you in my sanctuary. She hopes you won’t be angry with her.”

“Why would I . . . ?”

“There are some things, Master Soshir, that only the Empress knows.” Cyron smiled. “Best not to keep her waiting.”

The palace’s sanctuary made it easy to forget the horrors to the south. Lush plant life filled several acres, drawn from throughout the Nine. Flowers clung to trees, and sweet fruits I’d not seen in eons hung from branches. The thick vegetation deadened sound from beyond the walls. The yowls of exotic animals echoed through the jungle, and if not for the white stone pathways, I might have thought myself in the depths of Ummummorar.

The scent of one flower,
paryssa
, conjured memories that carried me further away. I smiled and drifted deeper into the sanctuary. Lost in memories, I saw little of it. Wrapped in enchantment, I really didn’t care.

I first saw Cyrsa in Kelewan, at an elegant brothel called the House of the Jade Maiden. The big, rectangular building possessed an interior courtyard garden very like the Prince’s sanctuary. I’d spent the night with a woman Nelesquin had recommended—his taste in women had always been exquisite. I had awakened and stepped into the garden very early, before the sun had evaporated the dew. From deeper within I heard girlish giggles and the clacking of sticks.

The garden path opened onto a crushed marble circle. Two young women played at sword-fighting. Paryssa had red hair back then, and her silver eyes flashed brightly. She circled the other girl, stalking her, then struck quickly.

Her foe shrieked, then ran past me, sucking on her fingers. I could only smile, amazed, as Paryssa saw me, bowed, then struck a pose meant to be fourth Tiger. How odd it seemed, her being trained for pleasure when she could fight skillfully.

I had been taken with her immediately. In free moments I would school Paryssa in the way of the sword, indulging her, praising her. She incorporated what I taught into a dance, which delighted warriors. They, like me, came to enjoy her company in all ways.

And then, at Nelesquin’s urging, I bought her and gave her to our father, the Emperor, as a gift.

I entered a marble-strewn clearing and my guts tightened. She stood still, her back to me, bearing a willow switch. I allowed the stones to crunch beneath my feet, but she did not turn. Her head sank just a little, then she looked back shyly—again the young girl even though we had known each other for eons.

“Do you think, Master Soshir, you can come to love me again?”

I bowed to her deeply, as befitted the Empress, and remained low as befitted the one who had long since captured my heart. I slowly straightened.

“Your question presumes I stopped loving you.”

She turned to face me. She wore a white robe trimmed in green. Black thread had been used to embroider crowns on the breast, back, and sleeves. The same thread tiger-striped the hem, and worked hunting tigers onto the ends of her sash. Her open gaze searched my face. The slight narrowing of her eyes betrayed concern.

I waited, not reacting, leaving myself open to examination. I had no idea what she was looking for, but she seemed not to find it. She smiled and idly twirled the switch in her hand, then turned away from me and began to walk deeper into the sanctuary.

A twitch of the willow branch invited me to follow.

“How shall I address you, Highness? Do you answer to the name my father gave you, or . . . ”

“Or have I taken to changing my name as you warriors often do?” She spun and lashed me playfully with the switch. “Here you may address me as you wish, but formality shall be observed at court. And how shall I call you?”

“I think a return to Virisken Soshir will most discomfit our enemy.”

“Then it
is
Nelesquin?”

“I saw him at Tsatol Deraelkun.”

“Has the grave taught him anything?”

I caught the switch on its next pass and tickled her nose with the tip. “He is as ever he was: arrogant and confident. He also appears to be somewhat wiser. Years in the grave have made him more dangerous.”

Again she studied me for a heartbeat, but the smile did not leave her face. “We prevailed against him once.”

“And we shall again.”

I offered her my hand. She dropped the switch and took it. I drew her to me and luxuriated in her warmth. “Prince Cyron said you feared I would hate you. Is that because you knew who I was but never told me?”

She laid her head against my breast. “I knew who you
had been
. Who are you now? Virisken Soshir?”

“It’s a name.” I frowned. “It’s one of the people I’ve been. Who am I? I don’t know. By the time this is over, I certainly hope I will have found out.”

She kissed my throat and said something softly, but the raucous cry of a creature flying overhead stole her words. A large, cold shadow passed over us.

I thrust her behind me and filled my left hand with steel.

One of Nelesquin’s flying beasts, stinking of carrion, landed heavily in the stone circle. A
kwajiin
rode at the base of its neck. Behind him sat a mad artist’s conception of a human-Viruk hybrid, rendered as a silver skeleton. Two tentacles unwrapped a canvas-shrouded package and unceremoniously tossed it clear of the beast’s furling wings.

“There is your general, dead by Prince Nelesquin’s hand.”

I recognized the voice. “Pravak Helos. You’ve looked better.”

“Virisken Soshir.” The metal man threw his head back and laughed—a haunting sound that elicited angry growls from the sanctuary’s other animals. “I’m glad you’re alive. Had I leave from my master, I’d harvest your head.”

“Step down. We have a nice little circle here.”

“You dishonor yourself, tendering an offer you know I must refuse.”

“Another time, then, after the puppet master has cut your strings.”

The monster’s silver face closed. “Is that the little whore who led us to ruin hiding behind you?”

The Empress stepped from my shadow. “You followed Nelesquin into ruin. It’s an error you compound.”

“We will undo what you did.” The
vanyesh
tapped the
kwajiin
beastmaster on the shoulder. “We shall meet again, Master Soshir, and I will kill you.”

“And I, Master Helos, will melt your bones and give the silver to beggars.” I bowed respectfully.

He did not.

The beast spread its wings and beat skyward. The blast of air staggered us. I slipped an arm around Cyrsa as the creature faded into a dark spot against the sky.

She snorted. “Some of the
vanyesh
have survived.”

“Nelesquin wants us to fear their return.”

“I do.”

“Wise woman.” I hugged her close. “There is no good to come of it.”

Chapter 26

C
iras Dejote laughed happily. “When Rekarafi found us, he told us you were alive. I scarcely believed he was able to find you, but I never should have doubted.”

“He tracked me from Ixyll to Felarati.” Keles coughed. “Such as it is, I
am
alive. Barely. My travels have not been kind.”

The swordsman nodded, keeping his true feeling hidden. When they first met, Keles Anturasi had been a quiet man. He had endured the hardships of traveling in the Wastes without complaint. He’d even accepted a bit of sword training from Ciras, despite the slender likelihood of ever needing it. The expedition had toughened Keles up some, but he had still been soft.

No more. Where there had once been hints of fat, bones were easily visible. His hands were not healing quickly. His body bore bruises. Wrinkles radiated from the corners of his bloodshot eyes. The cough, though dry, never really stopped. Where his flesh was not purple, brown, or yellow, it was grey. Strands of white shot through his brown hair.

Even Prince Eiran looks better than he does
.

Scoan had wounded the Prince, but not mortally. The blade had to slice through the Prince’s knotted silk sash, his silk robe, and the garment beneath. Only the tip had caught flesh. The wound had been a handbreadth long, but had not run deep. No internal organs had been damaged. The wound had been stitched and, against his protests, Prince Eiran had been forced to travel on a stretcher borne by two of Borosan’s
gyanrigot
soldiers.

The pink of Eiran’s cheeks compared favorably with the pallor of Keles’ flesh, but both men needed rest. Getting through the mountains was not going to be easy, especially if the Council of Ministers had more hunters in the passes.

Ciras squeezed Keles’ shoulder. “Rest, my friend. We will see you safely to Moriande.”

Keles smiled weakly. “And you, Master Dejote.”

Ciras slipped away, threading through the camp. Tyressa nodded in passing. Keles had always been her charge, but her manner toward him had changed. Ciras would never have thought gentleness was a Keru trait, but Tyressa softened when she dealt with Keles.

I wonder if he knows how lucky he is?
Ciras shook his head.
How lucky we’ve all been?

The soldiers who had been under Scoan’s command quickly professed undying fealty to Prince Eiran, his sister, and the nation of Helosunde. They immediately offered up all they knew about plans for the fugitive’s capture and suggested routes for escape.

The various factions—Eiran’s rebels, the Voraxani, Jasai’s Desei, and the newly loyal Helosundians—made camp nearby and planned to travel to the Valley of Rubies in the morning. Borosan spent his time compiling all the geographical data he’d collected for Keles in Ixyll. Warriors set watches and an odd sort of normality settled over the camp.

Ciras sought out the Viruk and bowed. “Master Rekarafi, I would ask of you a question.”

The Viruk, who crouched with his back against the trunk of a huge oak, nodded. “You wish to know if I was aware of Voraxan’s location.”