The New World Page 15

  Prince Eiran’s rescue had infuriated the Council of Ministers. They’d immediately sent messengers out to gather what forces they could to pursue Eiran and his sister. While there were those Helosundians who were more than happy to defy the Council and give the refugees aid, the band was too big for anyone to hide. The fact that over half of them wore Desei arms and had the look of battle-hardened veterans put off many sympathizers.

  Though Prince Eiran claimed that he never intended to make for the Dark Sea coast, the ministers cut that avenue of escape off very quickly. That started the refugees angling southeast into the heavily wooded Zyarat Hills district in which Eiran and Jasai had grown up.

  Jasai’s pleasure at being home again mocked the danger of pursuit. She traveled close to Keles, ignoring warning that a pregnant woman should shy away from magic. She told folktales rich with the region’s traditions. For the first time in their long association, she was truly happy.

  That came as no surprise. She’d been reunited with her brother after believing him dead. The Council, working in accord with Prince Pyrust, had ordered his execution, but they’d given the job to a man whose sympathies lay with Eiran. Jasai’s brother decided that disappearing would be a good way to grant him time to figure out the political landscape. He’d already gathered a small force of loyalists when he’d learned of Jasai’s capture and decided to save her.

  The Prince rode up on Keles’ left side. “The sun will be down soon. We’ll find a spot to rest, then push on.”

  Keles peered off to the south. “Is it me, or do the Helos Mountains appear further away?”

  “Trick of the light, Keles.” Jasai gave his arm a squeeze. “Eiran, can we make it to the Valley of Rubies?”

  “That’s where I’d like to go, but I’m not sure we’ll make it. We have to cut west again. Rekarafi and Tyressa are scouting ahead, but I’m not sure that way will be open.”

  Keles coughed again. “I wish I felt better. If I could concentrate I could tell you where our enemies are.”

  Eiran laughed and the road led down into a small, bowl-shaped valley. “Don’t worry, Master Cartographer, we know this area well enough. We used to drive cattle through the Valley of Rubies on our way to higher pastures. Steep, but good water; we could hold off an army there.”

  Jasai snorted. “You always dreamed about holding off an army there, but the only thing that invaded were our cattle.”

  “I’d think a valley of rubies would be invaded constantly.”

  “No, Keles, you’re thinking of a place where the wild magic changes flowers into rubies. But this isn’t Ixyll.”

  The Prince grinned. “You forget, sister, that stories are told of the year when all the red flowers did have ruby petals—real rubies.”

  “That’s a silly story, and you know it.” Jasai shook her head. “People tell how, that year, the flowers blossomed with gems. People ran to the valley, trampled the plants and each other. There were fights and murders. Then the plants died and the cattle had no fodder, so they died.”

  She gave her brother an exasperated glance. “It’s all just a story to remind people that all the wealth in the world doesn’t matter when money isn’t what you need.”

  “Well, it is a very pretty place.” Eiran smiled.

  “I’m sure it is.” Keles returned the smile. “Everything I have seen of Helosunde is beautiful. I understand why you continue the fight to win it back.”

  “It’s more than just the land.” Jasai pointed toward the mountains. “The land and our experience here has shaped us, but people must be connected to the land. It’s like the story of the Valley of Rubies. How do children learn the true value of things if they don’t have stories and traditions? A tree cannot become mighty if it has nothing to be rooted in.”

  Keles nodded. “But that story works even if you are not from here.”

  “But for how long, Keles?” She shook her head. “I know that the story is probably made up. At best it’s a gross exaggeration of some minor historical incident. That being true, whenever I think about the valley, I can feel the cool grass under my feet and smell the flowers, and that makes it all real. Anyone can tell you the evils of greed. Objectively we all understand it, but I feel it because I can relate the story to a real place.”

  She stroked a hand over her belly. “What will my child feel? If he is connected to nothing, can anything have value for him? If he knows no hardship, can he have sympathy for those who are hard-pressed to survive? Can a man who has never known combat be a good general? Could you be a good cartographer without experience of the world?”

  “No, probably not; but experiencing something doesn’t always make it beneficial.” Keles arched his back and pops rippled up his spine. “Tyressa and I had a conversation once. She said she hoped your people could move on and find a home, not just keep fighting over this one. She said the struggle for Helosunde was what defined all of you.”

  “I’ll grant she might be right, that being rooted here in Helosunde has warped some people.” She looked over at him. “The Council’s agents did not treat you the way we welcome guests and friends.”

  “I don’t believe I was seen as a guest or friend.” Keles coughed again. “Ieral Scoan saw me as a xingnadin. He wanted me broken. I don’t think he’s that different from anyone else in the Nine.”

  “You may have a point there.”

  “And your point is also well-taken, Princess.” Keles shrugged. “The political climate in Helosunde shaped those who now chase us. The Council feared Prince Pyrust for a long time. Now they curry his favor by trying to capture you.”

  “This means that both Jasai and Tyressa are right.” The Prince nodded firmly. “People need a place whence strong traditions can grow; and it would appear that Helosunde in its current state is not that place. Whether we find another, or reshape Helosunde, the task that awaits us will not be simple.”

  It seemed the Prince had more to offer on the subject, but the pounding of hoofbeats coming up the road from the south cut him off. Tyressa reined a well-lathered horse to a stop beside them. “There’s a company of cavalry ahead of us. Scoan is leading them.”

  “How did he get south of us?”

  Jasai waved away her brother’s question. “How did he find so many horses?”

  “They’ve been ridden hard, and no one has a spare mount that I saw. They must have paralleled us, then come east to cut us off when we didn’t make for the coast.” Tyressa leaped from the saddle and drew a sword. “Everyone into the woods. We’ll hold them off while Keles gets Jasai out to the west.”

  Jasai shook her head. “No. These people are exhausted. I’ll not have them die now so I can be caught ten miles from here.”

  “Jasai. Rekarafi can get you out of here.” Keles looked around. “Where is he?”

  “He was scouting to the west. He may have already run into them.” Tyressa grabbed Jasai’s reins. “Do not defy me, Jasai. Get out of here. Take Keles and your brother. Go.”

  Eiran slid from his saddle and grabbed Tyressa’s wrist. “Let her stay.”

  “You can’t do this, Eiran. You abandoned her once in Meleswin. You’re not turning her over to him.”

  Eiran hesitated as Tyressa’s words sank in. He ran a hand over his mouth, then looked up at his sister. “I was a coward then. I didn’t know my own limits. I have a better idea of them now.”

  The Prince drew his sword and stepped further down the road. The thunder of approaching riders became unmistakable. The Desei warriors and Eiran’s loyalists blocked the road, with Tyressa beside the Prince. A few people kindled torches and Eiran’s wavering shadow weaved side to side over the roadway.

  A mounted warrior burst from the dark forest tunnel. His sword hissed from the scabbard. The rider came on hard, his sword raised. It flashed down. Eiran’s sword rose, caught the slash and turned it aside. The rider jerked his reins hard, spinning his horse around. Hooves gouged the earth but before he could make another pass, Tyressa darted forward and
yanked him from the saddle.

  The man yelped. Tyressa silenced him with a knee to the face.

  Ieral Scoan drew rein. His men spread out. “Caught at last.”

  Eiran settled into a fighting stance, his sword raised by his right ear. “Not yet caught.”

  “Said as if you were the one who had unhorsed my man. I am not impressed.”

  “I don’t care if I impress you or not, Ieral Scoan. My only concern is for true sons of Helosunde, not some creature given to obeying its Desei masters.”

  “I’m not the one consorting with the Desei, Duke Eiran.”

  “Prince Eiran, duly voted to that post by those you serve. Their failure to kill me did not remove that title.” Eiran jerked his head back toward those behind him. “Desei these may be, but they are in service to my sister.”

  Ieral laughed. “And she is a Desei Princess, carrying Pyrust’s child.”

  “But she’s here, isn’t she? A daughter of Helosunde, returning to her home to give birth.” Eiran’s head came up. He looked around at those who had ridden with Scoan. “How many of your mothers made the same journey so you could be born north of the mountains? How can you dishonor those brave women by stopping my sister?”

  A few of the riders looked away, embarrassed. Ieral raised a hand to silence murmuring. “The world has changed, Eiran, and better you were dead than see it. We are Helosundian and are stronger for our unity with Deseirion. The Prince wants us to take custody of his wife and the Anturasi.”

  “So, it is Pyrust’s bidding you do. The Council no longer even pretends to be Helosundian. What did he tell you? That you were riding after criminals? That you were stopping a Desei invasion? He dared not tell you the truth. No true son of Helosunde would join him in this foul task were the truth known.”

  Ieral slipped from his saddle and drew his sword. “I take offense at your words.”

  “I take offense at your actions.”

  “Very well, then we shall settle this here and now—provided you wish your sister to see you die. I am a swordsman of Serrian Tsuxai. I am of the eighth rank.”

  Eiran tightened his grip on his sword. “I claim no sword school.”

  “Then why do this?”

  “Because I shall fight in his stead.” Tyressa moved forward. “I am Keru.”

  “Keru? I am not afraid of you.” Ieral waved her forward. “If you wish a spear, I will provide you one.”

  Eiran grabbed his aunt’s shoulder. “You’re not taking my place.”

  Jasai spurred her horse past both of them. “And neither of you acts as my champion.” Her head held high, she reined up short of the ministers’ man. “What price safe conduct for my companions? They mean nothing to you. I am the prize.”

  Ieral shrugged. “In exchange for you, the Desei can return home. The Anturasi, the Keru, they come with us. That is the only bargain that can be struck.”

  “And my brother?”

  Ieral shook his head. “The Council has ordered his death.”

  “Why?”

  The question caught Ieral off guard. “It is not my place to question their orders.”

  “But you know the answer, don’t you?” Jasai shook her head. “Prince Pyrust pulls their strings, and they pull yours.” She reined her horse around, showing him her back. “I withdraw my offer. I surrender to no puppet.”

  Eiran looked up at Ieral’s men. “You allow him to pull your strings?”

  “I don’t pull strings, I cut them.” Ieral Scoan flowed forward through the shadows. His sword rose and flashed liquid lightning. It swept down, passing in an arc beneath Eiran’s parry. The blade came back up as Ieral spun. The leaping-dog crest on the back of his robe grew taut, then the blade fell again in a cut that trimmed a light brown lock of Eiran’s hair.

  The cut would have taken the Prince’s head off, save that he’d stumbled forward with the momentum of his failed parry. His robe’s sash, neatly cut across the knot, fluttered to the ground. The Prince pitched face forward onto the road. His sword bounced once, then spun, tracing curved lines in the dirt.

  A booted foot stopped it.

  Ieral shifted his stance and leveled his sword at the newcomer. “Who are you?”

  The interloper hooked a toe beneath the hilt and kicked the sword into the air. Firelight gleamed from the lazily spinning blade. A hand plucked the sword from the air. He whipped it around, then snapped it forward with such force that the blade quivered.

  He smiled. “This will do.”

  Keles’ jaw dropped. It can’t be…

  “Xidantzu?” Ieral raised his head. “Begone, wanderer. You want no part of this.”

  “I am late of Serrian Foachin. I have apprenticed with Moraven Tolo.” Ciras Dejote stepped from the shadow of the mechanical horse at the woods’ edge and the Viruk standing beside it. “I have just seen a man claiming to be serrcai cut down a man who claimed no rank at all. This offends me.”

  “Your presence offends me.” Ieral stepped back to allow Ciras onto the road. “Come, if you are so quick to embrace death.”

  “Draw a circle.”

  Even in the wan light of torches, there was no mistaking how the blood drained from Ieral’s face. “You are jaecaiserr?”

  “Is the circle done yet?”

  “But this is not fair.”

  Ciras pointed the sword at Eiran. “You reap what you sow. The circle. Now.”

  Ieral lowered his sword. “I will not.”

  Keles dropped from his saddle and sank to one knee. He pressed his hand to the ground. The earth rippled. Pebbles danced. Stones erupted through the roadway and rolled into place. They formed a perfect circle, encompassing both swordsmen and the Prince.

  Ieral pointed his sword at Keles. “There, swordsman, there is what you should kill. Xingnadin. Jaecaixingna.”

  Ciras bowed his head. “Thank you, Keles.”

  The Helosundian swordsman’s shoulders slumped for a moment, then he raised his blade again. “At least I shall die with honor.”

  Ciras shook his head. “The time for that is well past.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  2nd day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

  Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th Year since the Cataclysm

  Kelewan, Erumvirine

  Prince Pyrust could not blame the people of the Illustrated City for lining the streets to jeer at him. The carnage surrounding the city, the ruin of the gates, and the hollow expressions on their faces marked them as defeated. While the Virine had never been particularly martial, they had not been useless either. Proud beyond reasoning, perhaps, but they claimed an Imperial legacy that every other of the Nine wished for itself.

  Pyrust had never been favored in Erumvirine. Spies had reported that the Princes and populace feared him. He read that fear in their eyes now along with anger. Had I come as a liberator, they would have welcomed me with flowers.

  He trudged along with others of his command. Count Vroan and his surviving Ixunites had entered the city triumphantly. Trampled flowers marked their passage. Vroan had pledged his fealty to the kwajiin quickly, and the Ixunites had even guarded the Desei fighters for Nelesquin’s troops.

  It would appear, Cyron, that someone else will have to rid you of that traitor.

  The heavy chains linking Pyrust’s wrists and ankles clanked with each step. It was not their weight that slowed him, but the short length of chain from wrist to ankles forcing him to shuffle stooped and subservient.

  I am forced to walk as if conquered.

  Pyrust felt anything but conquered. Exhausted, certainly, and bruised. Three horses had died beneath him in that battle. He’d gone down only after his sword had broken and the ax he’d appropriated got lodged so deeply in a kwajiin chest that he could not pull it free. He’d certainly been defeated, but conquered?

  No.

  “Not so proud now, are you?” A madwoman, with one eye wide and the oth
er squeezed shut, broke through the edge of the crowd. She grabbed his chains and yanked. Spittle flecked her lips as she screamed. “We’ve an emperor here! You’re a fool to defy him.”

  Pyrust shoved her away. “Then your duty is to the Empire, isn’t it? Get out of my sight.”

  More of the crowd cheered her and jeered him. Virine warriors—old men, mostly—wearing blue sashes on their robes, forced the woman back. Someone in the crowd threw a rotten piece of fruit. Handfuls of mud, stones, and night soil followed, pelting Pyrust and the eighty warriors who were being paraded through the streets.

  They have no idea what they are doing. Mud and feces missed the intended targets and instead splashed against the city’s walls. The beautiful murals that had given the city its name added new stains to the blood that had dripped over them. They destroyed out of fear, and from that fear there was no recovering.

  Pyrust raised his head. Cyron had warned him against destroying too much. Pyrust had not thought that possible. Kelewan showed him that it was. Out of fear the people cursed those who would have freed them. Men collaborated with their conquerors. Pyrust did not doubt that any armies marching north to lay siege to Moriande would have units drawn from the Virine and the Five Princes. Fear would unman the greatest of heroes, and surrendering to fear, in some ways, was the greatest of sins.

  The old woman had understood that. To all others she had been a madwoman, but Pyrust had recognized her. Delasonsa, the Desei Mother of Shadows, had come in disguise. Others had seen her yank his chains, but she’d managed to slip a small garnet-and-silver ring onto his smallest finger. The talons clasping the edge of the garnet were sharp and poisoned. A casual scratch at his throat, and he’d die inside a minute.

  Painlessly, too. She would not have me die an ignominious death.

  She’d have rescued him, too, were that possible. Pyrust knew better than to think it was. Any effort to rescue him would doubtless kill loyal Desei agents. He would not reward their fidelity thus. With his comment to her, he’d turned Delasonsa over to Empress Cyrsa, to serve her as faithfully as the assassin had served him.