The New World

by Michael A. Stackpole

  What Pyrust found most agreeable was the way others reacted. The core of his cadre were all xidantzu—independent, strong, and talented individuals. Despite that, they were clearly ready to die for him. Even the boy with the withered arm looked as if prepared to cut Pyrust down at the flick of Soshir’s finger.

  Pyrust had come south to the Plains of Tsengui with most of the troops he’d brought into Nalenyr. He’d deployed on the plains with two armies of his best-trained Desei troops in the center. An equivalent force made up of Naleni troops occupied the left flank. Count Linel Vroan took up the right flank with an army of troops drawn from Nalenyr’s rebellious western provinces. The Prince held two armies of Desei militia in reserve, ready to reinforce as needed.

  As the Prince stood with Soshir and Vroan on a hill in twilight, the xidantzu’s displeasure with the arrangement became evident.

  “What is it you disapprove of, Master Soshir?”

  “The position won’t hold.”

  Linel Vroan, tall and arrogant, snorted with disgust. “The Plains of Tsengui have seen many battles. The Prince has stationed our troops upslope of the stream running through the center. We’ve dammed it at the eastern edge to flood the lands near the escarpment. This doubly wards our flank. It also allows us to concentrate our troops here, astride the road, to block the passage.”

  Soshir looked up at the Prince. “Your placement of troops is flawless. Turning the battlefield’s edge into a marsh is likewise good. Were you fighting a conventional force, they would think twice before engaging you. The kwajiin will not. They will break through your lines.”

  Disgust filled Vroan’s words. “Do not think our men cowards simply because your troops broke and lost Tsatol Deraelkun.”

  Soshir slowly turned his attention on the Naleni lord. “You assume many things, my lord. You are a fool. You believe Tsatol Deraelkun was unassailable. For it to be lost, therefore, betokens a failure of the troops defending it.”

  Vroan’s eyes narrowed. “You deny this is what happened? You had defeated a force twice the size of that which broke the fortress. How else does one interpret what happened?”

  Pyrust raised his half hand. “I believe, Count Vroan, Master Soshir wishes us to consider the possibility that the enemy we face was able to accomplish with an army and a half that which had never been accomplished before. These are some remarkable circumstances, after all.”

  Vroan laughed. “Yes, war-moles and giant, stone-throwing apes. Nightmare creatures to explain away cowardice.”

  Soshir pointed off to the right flank. “If that is what you believe, Count Vroan, then you should move your troops. It’s the Virine forces that retreated from Tsatol Deraelkun which hold your flank.”

  “I don’t need them.” Vroan spat. “Let them go north with Count Derael and the Virine princeling. They can all cower in Moriande.”

  Where you would no doubt be happy, Count Vroan, had you supplanted Prince Cyron. Pyrust extended his hand. “Please, my lord, calm yourself. I believe, Master Soshir, you can understand Vroan’s discomfort. We were hoping to invest our forces in Tsatol Deraelkun to stop the invasion. Instead, when we met your scouts, we stopped here and made the best of our situation. Historically this has been a good position.”

  “I do not argue that point, Highness. It is just that, historically, no one has ever faced a force like this.” Soshir shook his head. “You should pull the main bulk of troops back to Moriande.”

  “And surrender half the nation?” Vroan threw his arms wide. “We cannot concede that much territory to them.”

  Soshir ignored his protest. “You will force them to lay siege to the city and stretch their supply lines. You can keep forces in the field to attack their supplies. Laying siege to a city like Moriande will require an incredible force, and even if they field it, they have to feed it. You can bleed them. You can raid into Erumvirine. You can force them to focus elsewhere. Nelesquin will tire of his war when things slow down.”

  Pyrust frowned. “You truly believe Prince Nelesquin—the Prince Nelesquin—has returned from the grave to lead this force of kwajiin?”

  “I have seen him with my own eyes. I’ve spoken with him. Yes, Count Vroan, you can mock me if you wish. I shall not challenge you since this force needs your troops. But I pray Grija does not take you, because I shall demand an accounting of your affronts later.”

  Vroan sneered. “Your flesh will be more easily pinked than your vanity.”

  “No, that is where you confuse my motivations with your own, my lord.” Soshir gestured off to the south. “I don’t care what your opinion of me or my troops is. We’ve shed enough blood; for good or ill, your opinion is of no consequence. What makes me angry is the appalling stupidity that locks you into believing you know your enemy, your battlefield, and history well enough to decide this is the place where you will be the victor.

  “You say battles on these plains have brought victories to Naleni forces, but you do not ask yourself who actually fought here. A hundred and twenty years go, I was here and fought to defend Nalenyr. Before the Cataclysm, I was here again and so was Nelesquin. We fought together here and won a great victory. I know this ground better than you, and so does he. Just as he shaped a plan to take Tsatol Deraelkun, so he has a plan for defeating an army here.”

  Pyrust stroked his half hand over his chin. “What do you think it is?”

  “I would be lying if I told you I knew. Come.” Soshir turned and entered the tent that served as Pyrust’s command center. He crossed to the table, where a map of Nalenyr had been laid out. He tapped a finger against their current position.

  “He knows there will be a force waiting for him here. It makes sense. So, he sends a force in that will engage your troops. He can take his time coming up through the mountains because your supply lines are stretched as thin as his.”

  Soshir pointed to the mountains on either side of the pass through which the Imperial Road ran. “There are other passes through the mountains. They’re small and scattered. Normally getting troops through them is ill-advised because linking back up to a larger force is difficult. Nelesquin, however, has flying creatures that can carry several men. He can use them to coordinate troop movements.”

  Pyrust nodded. “You’re saying he could infiltrate units all along the border? Do you think he would use them to disrupt our supply lines?”

  “I don’t know. I thought his loathing for tunnels would preclude anything like his giant moles. But perhaps he’s learned.”

  “Perhaps he’s not Nelesquin.”

  Soshir’s head snapped around. “If that is true, Count Vroan, we have an even bigger problem. You see, if it is Nelesquin, then we know he’s trying to consolidate the Empire. If it isn’t—if it is just someone pretending to be him, who has somehow garnered the power to create the kwajiin—then we have no clue as to his motivation. As nearly as we can tell, his troops slaughtered everything in the eastern half of Erumvirine. He has a foothold there. Could be he has colonized it and that’s where he gets new troops.”

  Pyrust shook his head. “It would take fifteen years at least to raise a new crop of warriors. Twenty would be better.”

  “I hope you’re right, but the fact is that we’ve no idea how many troops he’s fielded. His vhangxi are animals, but they’ve torn apart troops the equal of any we have in the field. The kwajiin are as fierce fighters as I have ever seen.” Soshir glanced at Vroan. “And you’d best not make any comments about my experience. I am jaecaiserr, and kwajiin swords have cut me more than once.”

  Vroan chewed his lower lip and said nothing.

  Pyrust traced a finger over the map. “If he did slip troops through the mountains, he could use them to harass our lines. Were I he, I might push a larger force through and go raiding through the western Naleni marches, into Ixun.”

  “I don’t disagree, but then we know more of Naleni politics than he is likely to.” Soshir folded his arms. “I would not blame you, Count Vroan, if you returned to Ixun to s
afeguard your home.”

  The slender man’s chin came up. “If Nalenyr falls, Ixun will go with it. The battle will be decided here.”

  Soshir shook his head. “You’re still not listening to me. Nelesquin knows how to fight this ground. It may not look it to you, but this is a trap. Withdraw. Strike at his flanks. Raid his supplies. Send troops into Erumvirine.”

  Pyrust listened. The urgency in Soshir’s voice underscored the wisdom of his words. They were facing a foe they did not know, who might well have superior troops—thousands of them. To take up a position and adopt a strategy in the face of so many unknowns was foolishness.

  “Understand something, Master Soshir. Your assessment of the enemy may be accurate—and I base this on your experience in Erumvirine alone, not your history with Prince Nelesquin. I shall even break one of my reserves down into regiments and send them east and west to find any troops Nelesquin has sent through the mountains. That said, I feel I must make a stand here. You may be correct that Nelesquin knows this site, but we both know there is no better spot between here and Moriande to oppose an army.”

  The xidantzu nodded reluctantly. “There is no arguing that point.”

  “I find myself, therefore, on the horns of a dilemma. If I act on what you have told me and it turns out that you have erred on the side of caution, withdrawal could jeopardize the whole of Nalenyr. While Moriande can doubtless hold out against the army for a while, if we are bottled up there, Nelesquin could pour past, take Helosunde and Deseirion, and then return for Moriande.”

  “If he shatters your force here, he’ll do that anyway.”

  “Yes, but he will have fewer troops with which to do it.” Pyrust shrugged. “There is another problem, of course.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Empress Cyrsa has commanded me to stop Nelesquin here.”

  Soshir blinked. “Then the Imperial crown on the unit banners was not to annoy Nelesquin? The Empress has returned?”

  Pyrust nodded solemnly. “She has.”

  Soshir looked toward the tent flap. “I saw none of the troops that have been waiting in Ixyll.”

  “I don’t know if those troops are myth or not.” The Prince rubbed his half hand over his jaw. “She said nothing about them.”

  The xidantzu frowned. “I had an apprentice who was traveling through Ixyll to awaken her. Did he succeed?”

  Pyrust shook his head. “I do not know. The Empress had long since left her sanctuary. She’s been here for eons, waiting and watching, creating her own intelligence network. You certainly knew of her: the Lady of Jet and Jade.”

  Soshir blinked with disbelief. “That cannot be.”

  Vroan nodded. “I confirm it. I met her before I left Moriande. She was the Lady of Jet and Jade. My first wife was once a student of hers.”

  Soshir rubbed a hand over his forehead. “How could I not have seen it? She was Paryssa.”

  Vroan nodded slightly. “You called her Paryssa, after the flower?”

  Soshir looked up, his expression open and unguarded. “It was after a scent she favored before she became Empress. When I later met the Lady of Jet and Jade, she burned paryssa incense. I called her that. Part of me may have remembered, but…”

  The man’s reaction to the news fascinated Pyrust, primarily because it revealed an unexpected side of him. Virisken Soshir, if camp gossip was to be credited at all, had a soul of iron armored in steel, and the combat skills to keep that armor untouched.

  And yet, at the mention of a woman, he has softened abruptly. Is that love? Pyrust thought fleetingly of his wife, Jasai, seeking a similar reaction. He certainly had felt something for her. Pride. Anticipation for the child she was carrying. He might have even labeled what he felt love, but it burned so much more coldly in him than it did in Soshir.

  “She’s in Moriande now. She stopped me from killing Cyron.”

  “And ordered you down here to destroy her enemy.” Soshir nodded. “Did she…?”

  “There doubtless would have been orders for you, had she known you were here.” Pyrust shrugged. “She likely thinks you in Ixyll with your apprentice.”

  “Of course. You’re right.” Soshir nodded. “Will you have your dispatch rider convey a message for me?”

  Pyrust nodded. “A rider will leave at dawn. A reply could come as early as the next day.”

  “Thank you, Highness.”

  Pyrust bowed his head. “Of course, your troops are welcome here. I trust they are eager to kill more of the kwajiin.”

  “As many as we are able, Highness.” Soshir’s eyes tightened. “This is not the place I would choose to die, but for killing, it will suffice.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  32nd day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat

  Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th Year since the Cataclysm

  Jaidanxan (The Ninth Heaven)

  Jorim gave Tsiwen as brave a smile as he could muster. “This will be for the best, sister. Thank you for convincing Grija.”

  She gave him a dark-eyed look. “This will get you back to the mortal realm, but it does not settle how you shall deal with your sister. What will you do?”

  He began pacing along his balcony, relishing the feel of cool stone. It didn’t matter that it was an illusion. “I do not know. Nirati might be convinced to go willingly into the Underworld to save reality.”

  Tsiwen frowned. “That would solve the immediate problem but leave Grija with another. Having a mortal in the Underworld—someone with her physical form intact—is trouble.”

  Jorim cocked an eyebrow. “This has happened before?”

  “Several times. Human heroes seeking to free a loved one from our brother’s clutches. They generally beat Grija into submission or trick him, and he lets the soul loose.”

  Jorim stopped and faced her. “A mortal has beaten Grija?”

  “It happened with some frequency until we hid the gates to the Underworld. Our brother accepted dominion over the dead because the dead are not likely to outthink or overpower him.”

  “But a mortal?”

  The goddess of Wisdom smiled. “Mortal life is a power unto itself. Mortals will often appeal to you or me for divine aid, but you have seen how swiftly time passes down there. By the time I might notice an entreaty, the time to intervene is long past. And yet, somehow, those mortals figure out a solution, or find courage in themselves. They attribute it to us and give us thanks and praise, but we did nothing. If they knew their power, they might mount a campaign to unseat us, just as we threw down our father.”

  Jorim rubbed a hand over his jaw. “You suggest that life itself is magic.”

  “No suggestion. It is the way of things. The birth of a child is as much creation as making a world. Shaping a bow or mastering a sword cut, all of these things are creations.” Tsiwen’s smile grew. “Every act of creation, no matter how big or small, changes reality. The consequences of a change are all but impossible to calculate, which makes our position a precarious one. Once someone decides the gods do not exist, we may, in fact, cease to exist.”

  The dragon god slowly nodded. “Those who create instead of destroy get used to expanding reality. There comes a time when their access to it expands. They gain control over it.”

  “True, but too many see themselves as limited. You and your brother may have wondered what it would mean to become a Mystic cartographer, but that was to study a cup of water when you were submerged in an ocean.”

  “So developing a skill is a means to an end, not an end in itself?”

  “Not if one is capable of pushing beyond.” Tsiwen walked to him and enfolded him in a hug. “Our brother comes to strip you of all I love. I recall only too well the pain of the last time, so I shall not stay.”

  Jorim lowered his head and kissed her brow. “Wait for me on the Stormwolf. I may need help navigating to Anturasixan.”

  “I shall be glad to be of service.�
� In the blink of an eye she shrank into the form of a bat. She flapped hard and circled him twice before diving from his heavenly palace to the mortal plain below.

  Jorim watched her go, only to turn and face Grija. Something looked different about him. He appeared less craven, more bold, but the difference was subtle and made Jorim wary.

  “We have agreed, have we not, brother, that I shall remain in my physical body for a normal span of years, then return here?”

  The god of Death nodded solemnly. “We have, brother. I will not cheat you of years, even though I know it is your intent to waste them in dalliance with the woman from the east.”

  “You almost sound jealous.”

  “Of the pleasures of the flesh? Never. Too fleeting.” Grija opened his hands. “Shall we begin?”

  “Please.” Jorim let his brother precede him up the broad ivory stairs to a bedchamber. “We have agreed my essence shall remain here until my return?”

  “I have already sworn there would be no trickery.”

  “I wish I could remember if you made that same oath last time.” Jorim lay down on the bed and shifted until he felt comfortable. He knew he needn’t do that, since his discomfort was also an illusion, but the shifting was something he had done as Jorim. “I am ready.”

  “Good.” Grija raised a finger and a long talon grew out of it. Light glinted from the edge. “Death is change. What I shall do is slice away all that is not Jorim Anturasi.”

  “I will remember nothing of being a god?”

  “You may retain some memories, but they will gradually fade. Once I’ve severed your divine essence, you will be unanchored. That piece of your soul which was shaped during your time in that identity will return to his physical form.”

  “My physical form, you mean.”

  “Meat, skin, and bones, yes, yours.” Grija’s eyes hardened. “Shall we begin?”

  Jorim nodded and closed his eyes. He willed himself to melt all the illusions. Gone was his sense of the physical, of heat and cold, of light. These things still existed, but they meant nothing to him. He sank into a dim void, then a rainbow of images danced before his eyes. One was a dragon, another was a Fennych. He saw himself as Jorim, and again as Tetcomchoa and the first Emperor, Taichun. All of the images floated around, connected by ethereal tendrils.