Chapter Thirty-one

21st day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Nemehyan, Caxyan

“Jorim Anturasi, you cannot stay in the dark forever.”

Jorim turned toward the sound of the voice. “I can, Captain Gryst, and I fully intend to do so.” He kept his voice low enough that it barely echoed within the subterranean chamber. Water no longer dripped from the ceiling, and he’d been left alone save for food, which was slid in on a gold plate once a day. He didn’t know how many days he’d been there, and he did not care. When you are never leaving, time is unimportant.

Up on the catwalk above him, Anaeda Gryst opened the shutter on a lantern. Blue-white light filtered into the room, and she gasped audibly. “You’re sick. You have to get out of here now.”

Jorim raised his hands to protect his eyes. “No, Captain, you don’t understand.” He knew what she’d seen: his skin was coming off in chunks, peeling off the way it would after a savage sunburn. His hair had been bleached white as bones. His eyes remained blue, but when he looked at them in a bowl of water, they had a corona undulating around them in gold and red. Worse yet, his pupils had taken on a lozenge shape, more like a serpent or a dragon. And while she might see him peeling normally, he saw his skin coming off in scales.

“I’ve heard the stories, Jorim, I know what happened at the Blackshark.

“No, you don’t, Captain.”

“I thought we had an agreement, Master Anturasi. You don’t defy my orders.”

“With all due respect, Captain, and I mean that sincerely, I don’t think I’m part of your command anymore. I’m a god, remember? I use magic. I am a danger to anyone I come near.”

“That last is nonsense.”

“Is it?” He looked up at her through narrowed eyes. “Why aren’t you as smart as the Fennych? Shimik saw. Shimik knows. He is terrified of me. The rest of you should be, too.”

“How can I or anyone else be terrified of you when you saved a ship and part of the crew? You destroyed enemies that had overrun a village and killed everyone in it. You saved the warriors who were with you in the jungle and surely would have died had you not acted.”

“Because, Captain, no one knows how I did it, and no one knows what else I am capable of doing.”

Anaeda shook her head. “You know, Jorim.”

He pounded his balled fists on the stone where he sat. “That’s just it. I don’t know!”

She laughed. “That’s what has you bothered?”

“How can you laugh?” He pointed toward the harbor. “Didn’t you see the footprints I left on the deck? Those were dragon’s feet.”

“And counted as a good omen! You had a skeleton crew to sail her back here and yet everyone says the Blackshark never sailed so sweet.”

Jorim stood and held his hands up. “No, you just don’t understand.”

“Jorim!” The commanding tone in her voice brought his head up. “You have gone places no civilized man has ever gone, and you have explained mysteries no one else could. Either this is something truly beyond you, in which case you better figure it out and fast, or it’s something you don’t want to look at. And if it’s the latter case, be warned. If you don’t understand it or come to control it, it will be worse than you can imagine.”

“Fine, you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you.” Jorim pointed at the lantern. “Put that out first.”

Anaeda folded her arms across her chest. “Do it yourself. You know how.”

“Oh, so you accept I can work magic? Do you think this is just a collection of conjurer’s tricks to terrify children? I can do things that would have made the vanyesh envious. All the stories of them never approached what I did.”

He spun on his little stone island and pointed off north. “The Mozoyan, the new ones, were already swarming over the Blackshark. They were coming in toward the beach. I didn’t know what to do. Magic is about balance and states of being. I wanted to shift the balance to make the ocean boil, but I couldn’t. Then I saw the sun as Wentiko—it is the month when the sun rises in his constellation after all. I linked myself to him and drew on the sun’s nature.”

He balled his fists and held his arms out as he had when flying. “At first, I just looked at the Mozoyan and made their eyes boil. I made their brains boil. I remember doing that consciously. Then suddenly I was flying. I didn’t do things to them, my presence did it. I could see them melting, and with a casual gesture, I burned their transport black.”

“And in doing so you saved many lives.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking at all.” He shook his head. “The crew was hiding. If they had looked at me, they would have died, too. You can’t tell me that is not true. Tzihua told me of the birds and monkeys from the forest who looked upon me and died.”

“Perhaps, Jorim, you were killing things that were not human.”

“But I didn’t kill the plants.” He laughed lightly, then scratched a patch of flesh from his nose. “Some of them blossomed and bore fruit that afternoon.”

She frowned at him. “I’ve yet to hear anything that should make me fear you.”

Jorim looked up. “How much different from a bird or a monkey do you think you are? I killed them without even thinking about it. What if the next time I am seeking to kill everything that isn’t male, or isn’t tall, and you or Nauana get caught?”

“Then the issue is not about what you can do, but how much control you have over it. You can learn control.”

“Are you certain? The vanyesh played with magic and almost destroyed the world. I could be better at it than they were.”

“They’re all dead.”

Jorim looked down. “Maybe I will be, too.”

Anaeda cocked her head. “Is that it?”

“Look at me, Anaeda. I had the radiance of the sun pouring out through me. My flesh is coming off. My eyes have changed. My hair is white. I’ve aged a generation or two.”

“Jorim, you have two issues you are dealing with here, and somehow you’ve decided there’s one solution that will handle both. But it’s not the best solution.”

“I’m not certain I understand you.”

She sighed. “Let’s look at the first one. You fear you’re dying, or that magic might kill you. Your skin is peeling, but let me ask you, does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Does your skin hurt the way a bad sunburn does?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No bloody lesions?”

“No.”

“And the skin is healthy beneath?”

Jorim shrugged and rubbed a patch bare on his left wrist. “It seems to be.”

“You said your eyes have changed. Perhaps the rest of you has, too.” She smiled. “You know the tales of gods taking the form of men to walk among us. Who knows what the transformation is like?”

“That’s not reassuring.” Jorim frowned. “But I’ll accept, for the moment, that I might not be dying.”

“Well, also accept that if you were, your use of magic might reverse your slide.”

“Yes, and drinking will cure a hangover—until it kills you.”

“This brings us to your second problem.” Anaeda picked at a fingernail. “You’re afraid of using magic because you know you can do serious harm. But as I said before, that is just a matter of control.”

“What if I can’t control it?”

“You can. You just have to learn how.”

“What if I fail?”

“No, Jorim, I’m not giving you that out. You’re an Anturasi. You’ve never been given a challenge you did not meet. Your grandfather may not have handed you this one, but you will meet it. It is not in your nature to fail.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You hook me with my vanity. Very good, Captain. But maybe this is a challenge I will let pass.”

“Why?”

Jorim opened his hands and looked down at the lanternlight dancing over the water surrounding his island. “Would you want to be a god?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, it’s not a mantle I would accept.”

“Then why should I?”

“Because, Jorim, you may be like the Empress Cyrsa. You may be late come to your true talent.”

Jorim waved that idea away. “I’ve had my talent since I was born. I’m an Anturasi and am a cartographer and explorer. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever wanted to be.”

“And that has nothing to do with your talent.” Anaeda smiled. “Don’t I remember you telling me that your mother is a bhotcai? Her talent is for dealing with plants.”

“Yes.”

“Then why would the Anturasi talent run any more strongly in your veins than her talent? Could it be that you just chose to develop your cartography skills, but the other talent is there, too? Remember, the plants thrived when you shone on them.”

“And animals died.”

“And how many of those same sorts of animals have you killed in your explorations so you would have samples to study? Perhaps your emerging talent, your god-talent, amplifies what you already have.”

Jorim closed his eyes. The things she was saying made sense, but he didn’t want them to. If she was right, then he was a god, or was becoming a god, which meant the power he had handled before was a fraction of what he might handle in the future. The results could be a disaster.

Especially if you do not learn to control that power.

“Captain, this is not idle speculation, and not something borne of this incident.”

“No, it’s not. You’ll recall that I told you that Borosan Gryst is my cousin. He’s skilled at tinkering with things. It’s the Gryst talent. My mother, on the other hand, comes from a family of mariners. While I am a ship’s captain and work hard at it, I also know how things work and how to fix them. This is why, during your time in the dark here, I have been able to maintain the chronometer, which allowed you to calculate longitude.”

“I had forgotten about that.”

“And your negligence has been noted in my log. There will be consequences for that, Master Anturasi.”

Jorim shook his head. “You’re rejecting my argument that I’m no longer under your command?”

“God or no god, I am responsible for you, Jorim. Not only are you a valuable asset for my fleet and mission, but you are a friend.”

“So, being a ship’s captain is like being a god?”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Gods are limited by their aspects.”

“Yes, I guess they are. Their aspects, or their fears.”

“I’ve been checking. Tetcomchoa knows no fear.”

Jorim scratched at his forehead and more dead skin fell away. Before he could comment, Nauana came through the doorway, holding Shimik. The Fennych’s fur had gone completely white.

Anaeda looked at the Amentzutl sorceress. “He may be at a point to listen to reason.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Nauana set the Fenn down and Shimik sat, clutching his legs to his chest. “Has she convinced you to emerge, Tetcomchoa?”

“More like she’s convinced me there is no purpose in hiding anymore. I . . .” He raised his arms toward her, then slowly let them drop away. “If Tetcomchoa knows no fear, then I am not Tetcomchoa.”

Nauana smiled quickly, then shook her head. “The translation was not clear. It is not that Tetcomchoa knows no fear, it is that he does not show it.”

Jorim snorted. “Well, hiding down here for . . . however long it’s been, that’s a pretty good show of fear.”

“It has not been seen as such, my lord.” Nauana smiled. “You are the snake, and you have been shedding your skin. All have heard; all rejoice.”

“All except Shimik.”

At the sound of his name, the Fenn’s head came up. “Jrima smart again?”

Anaeda looked down at the Fenn. “The best we’re going to get for a while.”

“And it will get better.” Jorim brushed his arms off and watched a blizzard of dried flesh fall away.

Nauana nodded. “It must. You are to begin a series of purification rituals.”

“Why?”

“News of your transformation has reached the highest circles.” She pressed her hands together at her breastbone. “When you are ready, you will meet the Witch-King, and through him you will receive the remainder of that which you left behind when you last walked among us.”

 

Chapter Thirty-two

23rd day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Kunjiqui, Anturasixan

Nirati was certain she’d never seen her grandfather so happy before, and this scared her. She’d seen him pleased in the past—by a new discovery or, more usually, someone else’s misfortune. Often enough, Qiro had even been the cause of that misfortune. She’d even seen him tenderly pleased, as when she had brought him a picture or a sweetcake—things she had done as a child.

But no matter the cause of his pleasure, it had always been an adult pleasure—self-satisfied and controlled. Now, however, he exhibited a boyish glee that bordered on madness. In fact, she was fairly certain that he had become unhinged. This realization, which had been growing in her mind as Nelesquin had given Qiro more and more work, shook her to the core. Qiro had always been constant and strong. While he could be impulsive—especially when meting out punishment—decorum had established some boundaries beyond which he did not stray.

She looked at him, sitting there on a muddy flat at low tide, mud caking him and streaking his hair and beard. He reached down with a filthy hand, scooped up mud, spat in it, mixed it up, and shaped it into strange little creatures. He added new mudmen to the crews on the little boats he’d shaped from reeds.

He has utterly lost his mind.

From where she stood, his little armada looked nothing like Nelesquin’s fleet. The Durrani had marched onto their ships in good order, whereas her grandfather’s troops sagged and slumped against each other. The Durrani had all been tall and strong, clean of limb and keen of eye, whereas these creatures had little definition at all.

And when the tide comes in, they will be washed away forever.

Qiro looked up from his place in the mud, then struggled to his feet. “Oh, Nirati, you’ve come. Good, excellent. If it wasn’t for you, I could not have done this. Tell me you approve.”

She blinked back her surprise and felt Takwee cling to her back a bit more tightly. Grandfather asking for approval? “I think it’s wonderful, Grandfather. But I have to ask. What is it?”

The old man laughed warmly—an alien sound from his throat. “This is your brother’s salvation, silly girl.” He nodded toward the west and the area from which Nelesquin’s Durrani kept launching more ships. “I would not bother Prince Nelesquin with such a trifling matter. I can handle it myself. Smaller task, smaller fleet, but nonetheless effective.”

He waved her forward and began walking at the water’s edge, as if a general reviewing his troops. He pointed to several boats jammed with globs of mud that looked like little more than lumps to her. “These are my Neshta. They’re small, but quick, with claws and fangs. Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps—they are the first wave. They are like your Takwee there, but her darker, bellicose cousins, bred for war.”

She nodded. “Ah, very good.”

“And here, these larger ones—hence the larger boats—are my Provocs. They’re as big as Viruk, but have four arms, not just two. When they begin to fight, there will be no standing against them. Oh, the havoc they will wreak!”

Nirati forced herself to smile. “And these here, Grandfather, the ones with golden sand sprinkled on their heads?”

“Clever girl, I knew you would notice.” He clapped grimy hands, his fingernails black. “They are the Dernai. Half-handed, all of them, but with fierce claws, strong bodies, and a conqueror’s will. They know no fear.”

“It is an impressive army, Grandfather.” Nirati pointed to one last boat, a boat that had a lone figure in it. Unlike the others, this one had been shaped of clay and worked with care. Obviously female, she’d been armored and provided with a seashell shield and a quill from a spinefish for a spear. “Who is that?”

Qiro knelt beside that last figure. “This is Lystai. She is my general and will lead my army. But there I need your help again.”

“What do you need, Grandfather?”

He beckoned her to kneel beside him, then reached up and caressed her brown hair. “This will hurt for a heartbeat, but I must . . .” With a quick yank he plucked a single hair from her head, then daubed the root with mud and affixed it to Lystai’s head.

“There, now she can find your brother and bring him to me.”

Nirati frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You probably think I don’t remember, but I do. You said you dreamed of him, of Keles, and that he was in Deseirion. We can’t have him there, trapped in Pyrust’s court. My army will attack Felarati and free him.”

“Oh, yes, Grandfather, very good.” Nirati kept the smile on her face and looked down at the army baking in the sunlight. Her grandfather had absolutely lost his mind. Prince Cyron’s grandfather had been said to learn how to fight battles based on games played with toy soldiers. Her grandfather, in retreating to his childhood, imagined he, too, could wage wars with toys.

She reached over and took her grandfather’s hands in hers. “I know Keles will welcome his freedom and praise you for freeing him.”

Qiro closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You know, I have not forgotten the past. I know that I have been a horrible taskmaster for your brothers, my brother, your father. I knew the potential in all of them. I had to drive them and drive them hard or they would have squandered it.”

He opened his eyes again and looked out at his army. “Toys. Now I squander my talent.”

“Hush, Grandfather. You’ve done great things. You’ve . . .” She looked around the landscape. “You’ve shaped all this. It is a miracle.”

“No, Nirati, it is not.” He smiled at her softly, freed a hand, and caressed a cheek. “Out of love, I shaped a place where I could defy the gods. In doing so I released forces that I cannot control.”

“You make it sound as dire as if you’ve triggered another Cataclysm.”

“Sweet child, in some ways it is.” He slowly got to his feet and helped her up. They walked up the beach to warm golden sand, then sat again and watched the tide slowly roll in and float his tiny ships away.

“It’s not a Cataclysm, Nirati, but could trigger another.” He shook his head. “But the world needs purging of its evils, and there is more work to be done before the purge is complete.”

 

Chapter Thirty-three

25th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Ministry of Harmony, Moriande

Nalenyr

Pelut Vniel tugged back the sleeves of his blue robe and poured Viruk Tears tea for Koir Yoram, Helosunde’s Minister of Foreign Relations. He really didn’t want to be so hospitable, for the man had been difficult in the past. He promised to be so again, but Pelut had chosen to follow one of Urmyr’s dicta and grant mercy and grace to the doomed.

Yoram already looked as if he’d ridden halfway through the Hells, and the fact that he had come immediately to the ministry without bathing or changing his soiled robe marked his sense of urgency. While Pelut was certain Koir meant to use his condition to emphasize the message he bore, he’d not taken the necessary steps to make Pelut feel obligated to him. Yes, his robe had been torn and he’d been mud-splashed; bits of leaves remained in his black hair; but nowhere did he bear a scratch of a thorn, nor did he have any broken bones.

You endured no pain for your cause, so I shall cause you pain. Even before Koir spoke a single word, Pelut knew what he would be asked, and also knew he would deny the request. Their ranks within the bureaucracy demanded the meeting happen, and Koir likely suspected the outcome already. Still, the game had to be played, and if Koir could present an advantage for Pelut, the foregone outcome might change.

Pelut smiled. “You’ve ridden far and fast. Have you come all the way from Vallitsi?”

“No, I came from Moryne directly and I bear dire news. Four days ago, the Desei attacked and defeated one of our armies, scattering it. Now they advance on Vallitsi.” The man’s blue eyes were sunken in dark pits in his face. “There are reports of thousands of Desei pouring south. Solie is under siege. Pyrust is pushing for the complete conquest of Helosunde, and Nalenyr must stop him.”

Pelut marshaled all his strength and kept his reaction from his face. When Koir had arrived in such a state, he expected that the Desei had pushed into Helosunde again. For them to have already secured Moryne, which had only ever been nominally in their control, meant the Desei had secure lines of supply into the heart of Helosunde and, therefore, could stage for movement south. That they were pressing on to Vallitsi indicated that Pyrust was further stabilizing his power in the region.

And all this just at a time when our own best troops have gone south.

“Drink your tea, please, and eat something.” Pelut waved a hand at the bowl of rice and fish on the low table before his guest. “I would not wish to be seen as inhospitable to a man bearing such grave news.”

Koir, never one for the civilities, fixed him with a hard stare. “Which means you are not going to help.”

“I think, Minister, you misspeak. Fill your mouth with food instead of inanity.” Pelut poured himself some tea and sipped it, ignoring his guest for a moment. He savored the rich, dark tea. It was from the island of Dreonath and said to be flavored with the tears of the Viruk.

After his visitor had surrendered and sipped some tea, Pelut lowered his own cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Though you are well aware of it, Minister, you will recall that my Prince recommended against the ill-fated attack on Meleswin. Pyrust retaliated in the New Year’s Festival and retook his city.”

Our city.”

His city, and you know it.” Pelut shook his head. “You lost a city, you lost a general, you lost valiant troops, and you lost a princess.”

“She was a duchess.”

“And he made her a princess when he married her. He was wise enough to leave you a prince. Had he not, your Council of Ministers would have garnered more power by playing nobles off against nobles.”

Koir’s head came up. “And you do not do this?”

The Naleni minister’s expression hardened. “What do you mean to suggest, Minister?”

“It would not be possible for Count Turcol to conceive of or execute a plan to assassinate Prince Cyron without your complicity.”

Pelut slowly smiled. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Count Turcol died defending his Prince against bandits. The Prince himself was wounded, and the wound is not healing well.”

The Helosundian laughed. “You play the game very well, but there are things you do not know. For example, in searching for assassins, Turcol first approached some of my people. He was clumsy in his attempts, and we deemed the effort doomed to failure, so we rejected it. He did not care. He simply found others to do what needed to be done—and he was not even smart enough to kill those of my people he’d approached. Curious about how things would turn out, and determined Prince Eiran would not die at the same time, my people saw everything.”

Not possible. The Prince told me the Lord of Shadows had uncovered the plot. I confirmed Turcol had spoken with me but not about the depths of his treachery, just how to extend the invitation.

“Fascinating information, Minister. I shall tell the Prince about it immediately.”

Koir shook his head. “No, you will not. I, on the other hand, will convey that information to Count Vroan, and couple it with an accusation that you betrayed his son-in-law to the Prince. You will have to admit that it plays well, since it allowed you to do the Prince a favor—and to rid yourself of the most-difficult-to-control of the westron lords.”

Pelut allowed himself a little chuckle. “Well played, but you miss the point, Minister. You, in fact, don’t know if I betrayed Count Turcol or not. I may well have, for reasons well beyond your ken or care. Of greater interest to you might be the fact that I have enough information to destroy the westron rebels whenever I desire.”

Koir bowed his head for a moment, then smiled as he looked up. “But you have not, because you need them to unsettle Cyron. You wanted him to die because you knew Turcol would be unable to administer the nation without you. Cyron, prince that he is, could do your job and do it well. He’s exceeded you in his program of exploration, in fact. And were I to tell Prince Eiran of your complicity in the assassination attempt, he would tell Cyron, and you would be dead.”

Fear trickled into Pelut’s stomach. He drank more tea, but it had turned sour. He could easily deny what Koir told Prince Eiran and claim that the Helosundians were trying to blackmail him into betraying Prince Cyron because Pyrust was pressing them. Doing that, however, would force Cyron to acknowledge Pyrust’s progress south. He might pull troops back from the Virine border, which would leave his nation open to invasion, or call up more troops from the interior to stop the Naleni. That option would increase westron anger, further ripping the nation apart, and would leave Nalenyr open to conquest from the north.

The horror of Desei conquest shook Pelut, but only for a moment. He looked past it because of one of Koir’s other comments. He’d been correct: Cyron could administer the nation without Pelut. While that did make him an impediment, it also made one other thing perfectly clear: Cyron was no general. Pyrust was, and the threat from the south was an invasion. The Desei Prince could defeat it.

Cyron could not.

If Cyron continues to rule, all is lost.

Just for a heartbeat Pelut pitied Prince Cyron. Time and circumstance, the gods and fate had put on the Dragon Throne the leader most capable of completing the healing of the world. Cyron had sent grain north to Pyrust to buy the Desei leader off, but also because he didn’t want the Desei people to starve. Such compassion, while laudable in a time of peace, was weakness in a time of war.

Pelut set his cup down. “What is it you desire, Minister?”

Koir smiled graciously. “We want our mercenaries returned north so they may march against the Desei. We want all grain shipments to Deseirion to stop. We want a Naleni fleet to set sail for Felarati and burn it in punishment for what Pyrust has done.”

Pelut bowed his head. “Ambitious and impossible. You know that. There will be no fleet. Grain shipments will slacken, though the Desei likely liberated a great deal of rice from Moryne. We will move troops north again.”

“And attack immediately.”

Pelut shook his head. “Pyrust is overextended. Cyron cannot allow him to have Moryne, and Moryne cannot be held without supplies. We will cut it off and strangle it. This is the best I can offer.”

“It’s more than I expected.” Koir nodded slowly. “Your position is safe.”

“Thank you.” Pelut poured him more tea. “I hope you like this.”

“It is excellent, especially after such a hard ride.”

“It does fortify one.” It shall also be the last tea you ever drink, so I am glad you are pleased.

Though Koir tried to be gracious, he planned to betray Pelut—not because he had to, but because he could. Koir had never accepted that Helosunde had ceased being a true nation and that he would never be treated as an equal in court. He would destroy Pelut and hope that the next Naleni Grand Minister, by some miracle, would not see him in exactly the same light.

Pelut read all that in the expression that passed over the man’s face, and knew he had to prevent Koir’s plan from succeeding. He could do it easily by having the man assassinated and the blame put on a known Desei agent. Pelut would then tell the Prince that the Desei had killed him to keep the news from the north silent. And Pelut would delay that news long enough that the only reaction Cyron possibly could have would be to call up more troops, then Pelut would deal with Count Vroan personally.

And perhaps it is time to deal with Junel again. While it was too soon to introduce the Desei into the Vroan household, using him as a liaison would work to position the man for later use.

In Helosunde, Pyrust would be victorious. Vroan would rebel, either seeking Desei support or rising to oppose the Desei. Either way it did not matter, since both would weaken the nation enough for it to be taken. Pelut himself would be able to negotiate a peace that would not ruin Nalenyr, and Pyrust would head south to stop the invasion.

And Pelut, having shown a genius for coordination, would rise to be Grand Minister of all three nations. Four. Doubtless Pyrust will take Erumvirine, too.

Imperial Grand Minister. Pelut liked that.

He raised his cup to Koir Yoram. “To your health, Minister, and that of our nations.”