The New World

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “Have you seen us here, now, together?”

  “No, which is why we can be here, now, together.” Ryn smiled. “I took the stone and used it as the heart of my timeship. I can use it to slip into places where there are no observers because once something has been seen, it exists. Your grandfather makes things exist by putting them on maps or imagining them in his head. I look for open places where I can venture. Since I last saw you, I have slipped in and out of time, working to balance Nessagafel’s influence.”

  “Couldn’t you have just gone back and prevented your father from becoming an agent? It happened when he traveled to the Wastes, yes?”

  “Yes, but that was before I was born. As tempting as it might have been to kill him then, I wouldn’t have existed.” Ryn frowned. “I was able to spend time with him on that trip. One night, in a teahouse in Sylumak. We were just travelers talking. He was so enthusiastic about his journey. He was a different man.”

  “Now he has become very dangerous.”

  “Nessagafel has regained a degree of freedom. He augments your grandfather’s power.”

  “Nessagafel created the stone?”

  “He or one of his minions. Had my father gotten his hands on it, disasters would have unfolded much faster.”

  Keles nodded, then glanced right. “The globe, it’s slowing. The lights, too.”

  Ryn pulled the blanket up around him. “It will be cold. We will be quite high.” His father tucked it in around Keles’ shoulders, then moved to the globe’s controls.

  The sphere faded completely and Keles grasped the arms of the chair. The platform hung many feet in the air. They faced the east, with the sun coming up. Its light had just touched the eastern shore, but already mountains north and south blazed with light reflected from snowcaps. Long rivers ran through lush valleys and emptied through sparkling deltas.

  “Do you recognize this place?”

  Keles leaned forward. “Nalenyr? But I don’t see Moriande. And there are forests everywhere.”

  “This is Nalenyr before there was a Nalenyr.”

  “I never could have imagined…”

  “But that’s what’s important, Keles. You have to study this. Your grandfather does imagine, and everything he imagines shifts what you see below.”

  Keles shook his head slowly. “This is incredible.”

  “Just wait.” Ryn worked two levers. “Look at this.”

  The timeship came around, putting Keles’ back to the sun. Before him, where the Dark Sea should have been, a massive mountain thrust its peak into the clouds. Snow girdled the base but, above, the mountain became alive with green plants and flowers and flocks of colorful birds. Islands with beautiful palaces orbited and small airships passed from one to another.

  Keles stood and staggered to the railing. “Rekarafi said Virukadeen was a paradise. He didn’t lie. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

  “And Nessagafel would have eliminated all of it. The Viruk fought him and ended up destroying it. That won’t be for eons yet. Here, they have just mastered magic. This is what the Viruk lost, and why they feel they deserve no more future.”

  Keles looked back over his shoulder. “They don’t deserve a future?”

  “They destroyed paradise, Keles. They have no more children, and build no more empires, because they can never again have what they lost.”

  “And that is what will happen to Men? That’s why you could not see a future?”

  “That’s why I’ve brought you here. To guarantee we have one.”

  Keles nodded. “Bring me lower. Let me study the world. Let me know how the land once was—how it is meant to be. I want to know everything. I can’t let Qiro change anything.”

  Ciras spun, ducking beneath the whistling blade of a gyanrigot warrior. He twisted his wrist and it clicked into place. He slashed up, severing a control wire. The gyanrigot’s sword arm went limp, but the weight of the arm spun the machine around in a circle.

  Two more cuts, parting similar wires where a man’s hamstrings would have been, and the soldier went down.

  Ciras leaped past him, blocked another sword blow, and stroked his sword over a gyanrigot’s stomach. It folded around the cut. Its sword clattered to the ground.

  A metallic scrape against the floor betrayed another attacker. Ciras whirled, bringing his sword up in a backhanded slash. The gyanrigot—an unconverted smith—caught the blade with tongs, then smashed a hammer on the swordsman’s blade. The sword spun from his grip.

  Both Ciras and the gyanrigot stared at his empty hand for a moment, then Ciras lunged. He stabbed his stiff-fingered hand into the warrior’s chest and came away with a handful of wires and tubes. Hot oil sprayed. The gyanrigot crashed to the floor in a horrible din.

  Ciras shook his hand, then let the oil drip from it. The black fluid drained away, revealing silver skin covered with lines of tiny script. He flexed his fingers. They did what he ordered them to do, and he could almost feel with them. Borosan had yet to work out heat and cold, but pressure functioned very well.

  And, at least, I do not feel pain. Ciras smiled. Neither in my flesh nor in my heart.

  Borosan lifted Ciras’ sword and wiped the oil from it. “I can make the grip tighter, if you want?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Ciras rested the metal hand on Borosan’s shoulder. “It works very well.”

  “There are some other improvements I’d like to make. I can put a compartment in the forearm that will open and shoot darts, just like the mousers.”

  “No, my friend, I am a swordsman. I am jaecaiserr. All I need is a blade. You’ve done enough already to make sure I’ll never be without one. I am happy.” He took the vanyesh blade from the inventor. “A strong arm and a good blade to wield. That is all I have ever really needed in life. I have them now, and my enemies, once again, have ample cause for fear.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  1st day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Rat

  Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th Year since the Cataclysm

  Shirikun, North Moriande

  Free Nalenyr

  She stood at her bedchamber’s southern window, so serene despite the turmoil in the city below. I wondered at her composure and drew strength from it. All Moriande did and I hoped she had enough to see us through.

  With the setting of the sun the biggest of the siege engines had come within range of the far shore with modest projectiles. Dozens of men hauled on lines, raising the counterweight, lowering the arm. Someone locked the arm into place, then others rolled an iron ball forward. They’d wrap it in a sling, then the engine’s captain would order the trebuchet levered to the left or right, as if an inch here or there could drop the missile on a specific target.

  He’d shout an order and the men would scatter. The captain would yank a lanyard. The weight would fall, the arm rise, and the sling would hurl two hundred pounds through the air. The ball arced over the river. Sometimes it would pound the river wall and sometimes it would fly over. The iron balls struck sparks and bounced through buildings.

  I had been down there, watching; but from her vantage point Cyrsa could see none of the hurried action. She’d just hear the shouts, might catch a flash of the weight falling, hear the distant echoes of stone striking stone.

  Though I had tried to be quiet, she knew I was there. Her long, dark hair covered the five-circle crest on the back of her robe. She shook her head and highlights shimmered through her hair.

  “This is what I hoped to prevent back then. I didn’t want a civil war.”

  “I know.”

  She turned, a tear on her cheek. “That’s why I ordered you killed.”

  “It was a wise choice.”

  The Empress smiled. “It was an unfair choice. I didn’t give you a chance to change your mind.”

  “I wouldn’t have.”

  She hesitated, then lowered her eyes. “Perhaps we
speak about different things.”

  “Perhaps.” I reached out and she placed a hand in mine. “I have not recovered all of my memories, but I know enough of them. I would have supplanted you. My desire was that great. I paid for that greed with my life.”

  The Empress brushed her other hand over my chest, smoothing a wrinkle. “Then you don’t remember. I knew what you desired. I knew what it would mean. I knew the decision it would force upon me. But I gave you a choice. I loved you that much.”

  “What choice?”

  “I asked you to marry me, to become prince-consort.”

  That sent a thrill through me. “You asked me to marry you even though you knew I wanted to overthrow you?”

  “It was the only way.” She rested her cheek against my breast. “You would have been Emperor in all but name when we returned. You loved me. I knew that. You loved the idea of being Emperor. I had to know which you loved more.”

  “What did I answer?”

  “You said you would tell me your answer when you returned with Nelesquin’s head.” She traced a finger down my cheek. “That meant no.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember. I couldn’t, but I could imagine it easily enough. The throne had to be mine, all mine. I could not accept it from her hand.

  I enfolded her in my arms. “Is it too late for me to give you my answer now?”

  Her fingers slipped into my hair and pulled my mouth to hers. We had kissed before, many times, but this was like the first kiss all over again. Soft and hesitant, questing and curious, and warm, so very warm. Our lips brushed past each other’s once, then returned more firmly. Her breath warm on my cheek, my arms tightening around her, pressing her to me.

  Our kisses became more urgent, tasting each other’s lips. I kissed her throat, then the hollow at the base of it. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I lifted her up, burying my face against her neck. Her tears splashed against my cheek. She hung on tightly and I carried her to the bed.

  We freed each other of our clothes, teasing and playful in the revelation, but ardent in exploration. We touched and tasted. My fingers tingled as they ran over her silken skin. Fingertips danced over her softly, then my nails traced the same path more sharply.

  Her touch was like fire, her breath ice. Her kisses inflamed me, her whispers seduced me and carried me down with her into a world where words ceased to have meaning. We became who we were before we existed, and what we would become after we were gone. Laughter became gasps, sighs became moans, heat and motion and emotion fused us together in more than flesh, more than soul and spirit.

  And then we lay together after, her nestled on my chest, a finger lazily tracing the scar. I brushed hair from her forehead and kissed it. I smiled against her flesh.

  “What?”

  “Paryssa. I smell it.”

  “It is who I am for you.” She smiled. I felt it against my throat. “Who will you be for me?”

  “Not Soshir. No longer Moraven Tolo.” I closed my eyes. “Someone else, someone new. Someone who would be your consort, your champion, your lover and friend. Someone you can always trust.”

  Her head came up. She studied my face. A smile slowly grew, then she kissed me. “That would please me very much. When shall we choose your new name?”

  I stroked her hair and cradled her head against my chest. “After I bring you Nelesquin’s head.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  4th day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Rat

  Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th Year since the Cataclysm

  Inn of Nine Fishes, North Moriande

  Free Nalenyr

  “You didn’t think we would let you go alone, did you?”

  I should not have been surprised at their presence. They’d each been through a great deal with me. Captain Lumel, Deshiel Tolo, Ranai Ameryne, and Dunos. Each wore an oilskin suit bound up tight, with robes in a watertight container, and similar sheathings for their swords. They stood between me and the stairs to the cellar.

  I smiled and bowed in genuine respect. “I did not expect you to meet me here.”

  Deshiel bowed. “We understand that, Master. Perhaps it was because you gave us another time and point of rendezvous by mistake.”

  The others smiled, and I bowed my head again. “It was because you have no intention of letting me go alone, and I have no intention of going accompanied. Deshiel, Captain Lumel, your archers are out there now trading arrows with the kwajiin. Neither they nor Moriande can afford to be without your services.”

  The Virine warrior shook his head. “They’ve fought well enough without me. This is important.”

  “As is the battle that will come.” I nodded to the woman. “And you, Ranai. They may have once been my xidantzu, but they answer to you now. As well they should. You are needed here.”

  “Master, you told me that I should be xidantzu for nine years. You said I should wander and entertain bandits. Is there a greater bandit than Nelesquin?”

  “No, but his entertainment is mine to provide.” I dropped to a knee and met Dunos’ unwavering stare. I caressed his cheek with a hand. “If I could take anyone, I would take you.”

  “I will get across the river. I can hold my breath real good. I’ve been practicing.” He sucked in a big breath and held it.

  “No, Dunos, don’t. I know you could get across. I know all of you could get across. I know all of you would fight like tigers on the other side, but that isn’t where the fight will be waged. We’ve traded shots for days and that will continue as the cities grow closer. If I fail, if Nelesquin lives, his invasion must be beaten back. You are the ones who can do that.”

  “But, Master, I will help you kill kwajiin.”

  “Yes, Dunos, you will. Knowing that is what gives me the courage to do what I have to.” I stood and studied all their faces. “Virisken Soshir would have found you here and thought you doubted his abilities. He would have thought one of you a traitor. He would have thought nine million things, but the one he wouldn’t think is what I think now. You are all friends who would fight and die with me. I would do the same for you, but here we must part company. It’s not going to be safe on the other side. This whole mission may have been betrayed.”

  Deshiel frowned. “What?”

  “How did you know when and where I’d be crossing?”

  “There were rumors, Master. We had you watched and when you headed this way, well, arrows travel faster than even the swiftest of runners.”

  “Arrows can cross the river, too. Nelesquin may be expecting me. If we have traitors giving him information, we may have already lost the battle for Moriande.”

  The line parted and they bowed. I returned their bows, then began my descent of the stairs. I heard a step behind me and turned. “No, Dunos, you can’t come.”

  “Master, if you go without me, you will die.”

  A shiver ran through me. “Dunos, I won’t die.”

  “Master, please. I feel it. I know it.”

  I went to a knee on the stairs. “I won’t die, I promise you.”

  The boy shook his head and a tear splashed on my face. “You can’t make that promise.”

  “I can and have. You will have to help me keep it.” I glanced past him to Ranai. She rested her hands on his shoulders and gave me a nod.

  “Farewell, my friends.” I smiled bravely and started down.

  Dunos shouted. “No!” He didn’t come after me, but ran out of the Inn.

  “I’ll find him, Master.”

  “Thank you, Ranai.”

  I descended into the Inn’s basement. A rusted grating stood open above a round brick hole. I climbed down, finding corroded steps with my boots. Twenty feet later, I splashed through sewage and entered a taller pipe slanting downward.

  My fingers located a thick rope tied off just below the surface of the dirty brown water. I took several deep breaths in rapid succession, exhaling quickly, the
n drew in a normal one. Ducking my head beneath the water, I pulled myself along the rope as quickly as I could.

  Figuring out how to get into South Moriande hadn’t been easy. I finally settled on the idea of passing from one sewer pipe to another. It was only two hundred yards, and with practice I’d been able to make the journey. Getting the rope in place was going to be a bit more difficult, but Borosan Gryst’s thanatons had no problem. One was sent across with the cable and anchored itself on the south side.

  Once free of the pipe, I had to fight the river. The current wasn’t that strong, but the occasional arrow that had fallen short sank past me. I pulled myself along as quickly as possible. My lungs were on fire by the time I entered the far pipe.

  I broke the surface and breathed as quietly as I could. The first impulse was to gasp and gulp air, but I couldn’t afford to make that much noise. If traitors had revealed my place of crossing, I’d be dead well before I got a chance to dry off.

  Breathing more normally, I squeezed past the thanaton. I climbed up the sewer pipe to the storage cellar of another inn on the river’s south side. I looked about before I emerged, but darkness reigned. I came up and lowered the grate back in place, but just before it lay flat, one rusty hinge squealed like a murdered cat.

  “Don’t worry, Master, there is no one about to hear.”

  Crouched, with one sword already drawn, I faced the shadows from which the voice had originated. “Ciras? How?”

  “Master Gryst told me about the thanaton’s task.” He unshuttered a small lantern, revealing himself in dark robes with the flame pattern as his crest. He picked the lantern up with his right hand, and enough light reflected from it to reveal its true nature. “And I came over early to guarantee there would be no surprises waiting.”