The New World (2 page)

“And they will answer her call.” Ciras shook his head. “I wonder what she will ask them to do?”

Borosan stood and brushed his hands off. “We will see when we return with them.”

Borosan bowed past Ciras to a slender man with a bald head. Ciras stood immediately and bowed as well. “Greetings, Master Laedhze.”

The warrior returned their bows. “I have news to impart and a favor to ask.”

“Of course.” Ciras answered for the both of them. “Whatever you need.”

Vlay Laedhze waved a hand back toward the city. Throughout, people could be seen stirring within their jeweled homes. “We are waking our companions, and many are consenting to answer the call.”

Ciras arched an eyebrow. “ ‘Many’? I would have thought they all wanted to answer.”

The tall man brought his hands together and hung his head with resignation. “I have little doubt they all intended to answer when they first lay themselves down. Over the years a few of them have done their duty when wakened and have departed Voraxan. Others returned to their homes here, and embraced the peace of this city. You have partaken of this.”

Ciras nodded. During his time in Voraxan he had slept very well. He had not once dreamed of violence or warfare. In dreams, he’d journeyed to far Tirat and visited his family. They knew nothing of his sojourns, but he was able to watch them and see that they were happy. That warmed his heart in a way quite beyond value.

Laedhze smiled gently. “The dreams are very seductive, and some will not awaken. And, alas, some of our companions have expired in their sleep. We know they have gone to a better place. They will rest happily in Kianmang, awaiting the call of another time to fight again.”

“So how many will we have?”

“We have a battalion.” Laedhze nodded solemnly. “We may have a few more.”

Ciras’ stomach twisted in on itself. “Two hundred forty-three warriors? Granted, they are all Mystics, but only three companies. How is that possible?”

Borosan caught Ciras’ sleeve. “Ask him how many survived the battle.”

Laedhze’s expression became grim. “Just over four hundred.”

“Not possible.” Ciras tore his sleeve from Borosan’s grasp. “All the stories . . . Even this place . . . How could four hundred have created it?”

The warrior from Voraxan clasped his hands at the small of his back. “You have traveled past the battlefield. You have seen how the corpses continue to fight. Such was the violence of that day—the venom of each man, the strength of his will—that even death will not release them. Would you care to see the scars I bear from that day? To say we triumphed is an exaggeration—we barely survived. We were the Empress’ Bodyguard. There were two thousand of us held in reserve.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “We were but a tenth of our army, and a twentieth of the horde we faced. The
vanyesh
had already been broken, but had bled much of the Turasynd horde. By rights, the nomads should have retreated; but they believed the Empress had brought her treasury with her, so they came on. And came and came and came. And we killed and killed and killed.”

Ciras nodded, his anger ablated by the man’s sober tone. “But this place, four hundred of you, how could . . . ”

“You forget, Master Dejote, that this place was alive with wild magic. All of us were steeped in it. There were those of us who could work magic—not all the magicians belonged to Prince Nelesquin’s
vanyesh
. They and a Viruk companion of ours shaped the magic and made this place. They made it to be our haven. If what you tell me of Tolwreen is true, then
vanyesh
survivors have done the same thing.”

“But not as well.” Borosan shook his head. “This place nourishes you, but Tolwreen is just a shabby mausoleum.”

“I am certain they would just as soon call this place a mausoleum, too.” Laedhze looked up, his face again a pleasant mask. “It is not a mausoleum, however, and we have not all just lain sleeping. It is with this in mind that I need your aid, Borosan Gryst. You may come, too, Master Dejote.”

Ciras agreed with a nod, his mind still reeling. The trio set off, with Borosan’s
thanaton
pacing them. Its metal feet ticked loudly on the onyx road, reminding Ciras of the ringing of one blade against another. The peace of Voraxan was something he would know no more, and he felt certain none of those waking would ever return to it, either.

Laedhze led them into a bloodstone building and down a broad set of stairs. They emerged in what might once have been a natural cavern but had been shaped and carved into a stable of stone that extended into darkness. The nearest end had been transformed into a smithy, and though the fires were out, there was ample evidence that it had been very active throughout the ages.

Borosan gasped and drifted toward the nearest stall. “I don’t believe it. I have dreamed it, of course, but . . . ” He raised a hand and stroked a sleek metal muzzle.

The
thanaton
had wandered forward, and there was a clear kinship between it and the tall mechanical horse Borosan stood admiring. The
thanaton
had an insect’s simplicity, but the steed revealed intricate gearing and springs, support pieces and joints. All the mechanical beasts had been decorated with plating, making them as beautiful as they were sturdy.

Laedhze pointed off into the darkness. “When we awakened to rotate through sentinel duty, we each assembled at least one of these creatures. We were given plans for how they were to be constructed and examples of the pieces. The original plans have long since been lost, though each of us has memorized them. We know each beast is meant to be ridden, yet each is immobile. And we know no magic to make them work, though we are certain some must exist.”

Borosan moved into the stable and slowly made a circuit of the steed. He ran his hand over the flanks and along the neck, then reemerged at the head. He stared closely at it, then waved Ciras over. “Come here. I need your help.”

Ciras frowned. “Have you forgotten I want nothing to do with your
gyanrigot
?”

Borosan looked back at him, incredulous. “This isn’t mine. I mean, I dreamed it, but this is more refined. It . . . I can’t explain, but I need your help.”

Ciras approached reluctantly, and almost retreated when he saw himself reflected in the steed’s dead ruby eyes. “What do you need?”

“Up there, by the ear, there is a spring-loaded catch. Press down and in.”

Ciras did as he was bidden. Something clicked and he pulled his hand back fast, dropping it to the hilt of the sword at his waist. He reached out and tugged Borosan back with his other hand.

Borosan smiled, but did not laugh. “It won’t hurt us.”

With a hiss the faceplate tipped up near the ears and extended straight out, coming down near the muzzle. At the same time the steed’s head dipped, bringing the cavity behind the faceplate into clear view. The fact that the ruby eyes still stared at Ciras did not make him feel any better.

Borosan stepped forward and poked at five narrow slots in a flat plate. “Of course. Brilliant.”

The Voraxan warrior came forward. “What is it, Master Borosan?”

“The one useful thing I discovered in Tolwreen was an alloy of
thaumston
, which could store both the wild magic and directions for the operation of a
gyanrigot
. Made into command-slates and properly inscribed, they should power and direct one of these mounts. They work in the
thanaton
, so there is no reason they won’t work here.”

Ciras folded his arms over his chest. “I will not ride one of those things.”

Borosan smiled. “On our horses we can go maybe thirty miles in a day. What if these will take us sixty, and in half the time? In a quarter of it?”

Laedhze nodded solemnly. “And think of these mounts in combat. Just their weight alone will shatter an enemy formation in a charge.”

Ciras frowned. “And where is the heroism in that? It takes no skill and wins no honor.”

The ancient warrior pressed his hands together. “Our final battle was not a matter of skill. There was no honor to be won. It was a war of survival, and we did what we were required to do. We won
because
we survived.”

Ciras bowed. “I mean to suggest no dishonor.”

“And I did not think you had.” Laedhze smiled cautiously. “But the Empress has summoned us, and it is not to display skill or win glory. She summoned us because of dire peril. And so I will not hesitate to use whatever means are at my disposal to reach her side as fast as possible, and do her bidding with all the strength I possess.”

Chapter 2

K
eles Anturasi looked up at Tyressa. “Prince Cyron ordered you to kill me?”

The blond Keru warrior gave him a hard stare. “You are more valuable to Nalenyr than you could possibly imagine. You have knowledge of the world that would benefit
all
nations, including our enemies. I was tasked with keeping you safe.”

“But in the event that I was captured, you were to kill me?”

“To keep the knowledge you possess from our enemies, yes.” Tyressa nodded, then held out a hand. “Will you allow me to finish dressing your wounds?”

Keles shivered. When he’d thought Tyressa dead, he’d realized how much he cared for her. When he learned she had traveled with a Viruk warrior over the length of the continent to rescue him, he’d fallen in love. He thought she’d felt something, too. Learning that her feelings were all that stopped her from killing him was disorienting, but still welcome.

“These orders from the Prince, do you consider them still in force?”

She closed her eyes. “No.”

“Because . . . ”

Her blue eyes opened again, but remained slitted. “Because I’ve seen what you have done here.” She opened her arms to take in the expanse of Tsatol Pelyn and the armored warriors therein. “You resurrected this fortress from a midden, and you turned a rabble into an army. It is magic on a scale unseen. Not only is it paramount to get you back to Nalenyr, but it would be an abrogation of my responsibility if I killed you.”

Keles frowned, but Tyressa did not let him ask the question forming in his mind. Instead, she took one of his broken and bruised hands and again began to wash away encrusted blood. “Keles, you have to understand the impossibility of any love between us. I am bound in service to the crown of Nalenyr. You are bound in service to your family, and they are likewise bound to the crown. In fact, your only chance at escaping the gilded cage that entraps your grandfather is for you to marry my niece. You could become the Prince Consort of Helosunde and have greater bargaining power over your position.”

Keles sighed. “The problem being that your niece already has a husband. While I’m sure Prince Pyrust will be thankful that I’ve built this fortress back up, the troops coming after me have razed his capital. I think that might anger him.”

Tyressa smiled. “There cannot be enough discomforts in Prince Pyrust’s life.” She dried Keles’ hands and applied unguents to the abrasions. He’d broken them in frustration at his inability to save those who had followed him from Felarati when the Eyeless Ones came searching for him. He’d had an odd dream prior to the invaders’ arrival, which suggested they’d been sent by Qiro Anturasi, his grandfather. Yet that was impossible, because creatures like the Eyeless Ones and their allies simply did not exist anywhere in the world. But even as he tried to take comfort in that, reality melded with the dream and made him think they
had
come from his grandfather.

And only my sister knew I was in Felarati. I dreamed of walking with her in a strange land. Was it a dream, or . . .

He hissed as Tyressa began cocooning his hands in silken bandages. “My hands are throbbing.”

“They will for a while, but should heal well.” She gently knotted a bandage off at his wrist. “Keep them clean and dry, if you can.”

“I’ll try.” Keles sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“This place. These people.” At the height of a storm, as the short, savage Eyeless Ones had closed on the ruined fortress, Keles had not only rebuilt the fortress, but had transformed the refugees. The eldest shed years, and children pulled them on. Armor and weapons had materialized, and the garrison could have fended off another assault. But they had no supplies. They could easily be starved out of the fortress.

“You should have filled the storerooms with rice and wine while you were rebuilding.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You jest.”

“I do, but I was also hopeful.” She tied off the other bandage. “Could you not do that now?”

Keles shrugged. “I could if I knew what I had done. Rekarafi says this was the second time I did something like that. The first time I moved the cavern in Ixyll, but I have no real memory of that. Last night I felt urgency and frustration, and yet . . . ”

“And yet, because it was not the same in Ixyll, you doubt that emotion has anything to do with it?”

He nodded. “I know of
jaedunto
. Moraven Tolo was a Mystic swordsman. The few times I saw him fight, he was almost emotionless. Since what I did last night required magic, I have to assume I reached a level of
jaedun
. In Ixyll that made sense: I drew a map because I’m a cartographer. But, last night? True, I had been working as an engineer in Felarati, but I have no significant formal training.”

Tyressa dumped the bowl of water she’d used to clean his hands. “Not knowing what you did makes it difficult to repeat.”

“There have to be common elements between the two situations. Both times I was singularly focused. I pictured things in my mind with incredible clarity.” He shrugged. “That must be one piece to using magic, but I have never heard of anyone being able to do something like this.”

“True.” Tyressa looked around, then frowned. “If only you could conjure supplies. We cannot stay here. I need to get you back to Nalenyr, and I need to get Jasai away from Deseirion. Plus, we need to keep ahead of the Eyeless Ones. The sooner we can move out, the better. Don’t you think?”