Amazed by what he had just heard, Tristan looked over at Renjiro. “This is what you meant earlier, isn’t it,” he asked, “when you said that if we are to succeed in saving the craft and ourselves, we must first banish some of its applications and forever destroy the tools that have allowed those applications to flourish? That also means destroying the Tome and the two Scrolls.”
“Yes,” Renjiro answered. “And all such documents and research on this side of the world as well. Here in Shashida, the Tome and two Scrolls do not carry the great importance that you place on them. To us, they are little more than children’s craft primers, and they are not needed. The Vagaries Scroll was created by thePon Q’tar and left behind on the world’s eastern side so that future generations of Vagaries practitioners might find it and put its forestallment calculations to the same use as here. Failee found the Scroll, but it came into her grasp too late to help her win the Sorceresses’ War. The next time the Scroll surfaced it was in Nicholas’ hands. Then it came to be owned by Krassus, Wulfgar, Serena, and finally you and your Conclave. Although doing so went against our better judgment, we were forced to create a Vigors Scroll and leave it behind so that it might counterbalance the Vagaries Scroll. It also came into Nicholas’ grasp but was stolen by the orphans called Marcus and Rebecca and was later given to you. The Tome and the Paragon were also created by us and left behind for the same reasons. Because we feared that the Tome might fall into the hands of Vagaries practitioners, we were forced to make its revelations purposely obscure.”
Tristan looked over at Wigg and Tyranny. Tyranny still seemed stunned, but Wigg’s expression had become resigned, accepting.
“You agree with this plan, don’t you,” Tristan said.
Wigg nodded soberly. “Now that I understand it, I do indeed,” he answered. Lacing his long fingers together and placing his hands atop the table, Wigg looked at Mashiro.
“But I suspect that there is something more to your hopes and dreams than what you have told us,” he said. “And as you told Tyranny, it might be best summed up in two words.”
Mashiro smiled. The wizard has grasped it, he thought. “And what might they be?” he asked.
“Respectful tolerance,” Wigg answered. “The concept that all Vigors and the Vagaries practitioners have done the things they did because they were compelled to do so by the nature of their blood. And that if this concept can be universally accepted and all blood signatures made the same, each side can forgive the other. Then the healing can truly begin.”
“Well said,” Kaemon spoke up from the other side of the table. “Now you understand that your many struggles east of the Tolenkas were only the beginning. The real war is here, and you have become a part of it.”
Tristan suddenly felt a distant memory tug at his mind. It was a puzzling recollection whose meaning had long eluded him. At long last he had his answer.
“Krassus…,” he said softly.
“What of Krassus?” Wigg asked.
“It happened the day I awakened to find myself a slave on one of his demonslaver ships,” Tristan answered. “Before condemning me to the galleys, Krassus ordered me tied to a chair and he beat me. I defied him, and I told him that like Nicholas, he represented nothing but evil. Until this moment, his answer mystified me.”
“What did he tell you?” Wigg asked.
Tristan thought for a moment, trying to remember the Vagaries wizard’s words.
“Evil?” Tristan quoted.“He who has yet to be trained calls meevil? Don’t you know that there are no such things as good or evil, Chosen One? There are only the Vigors and the Vagaries. Tell me, dear prince, do you really believe that Failee was ‘evil’? Or was she simply doing what she was compelled to do? Given the undeniable call of her left-leaning signature, did she truly have a choice? Don’t you see, you fool? It is the same with me. I’m not ‘evil.’ I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”
Tristan looked at Mashiro. “You speak of tolerance,” he said. “Do you mean to say that all the Vagaries practitioners-no matter how vile-should be forgiven their terrible deeds because their blood compelled them to perform them?”
Mashiro sighed. “That is a question that has plagued us ever since the discovery of blood signature lean and the terrible realization that it easily induces us into vastly opposing actions and beliefs,” he answered. “Shashidan philosophers have spent aeons trying to learn the answer to that question but to no avail. I cannot say whether the Vagaries practitioners should be forgiven any more than we should be, for what they believe are the many transgressions that we perpetrated on them. But what I do know is that it calls into question the conflicting natures of ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ Perhaps this is what Krassus was trying to tell you. Can one exist without the other? I don’t know. But like the two sides of the craft, it seems that they at least need one another, if for no other reason than to justify their existence. Perhaps the true answer will only be found if everyone’s blood signatures are altered to the vertical. With the full and lasting return of free will, if people freely choose to practice the Vagaries and to hurt and enslave others, perhaps only then might they legitimately be pronounced ‘evil,’ and rightly punished for their deeds. But until that day, all this is simply a matter of semantics. Before our dreams can come true, Vespasian must be stopped. If not, we and the Vigors that we so cherish might well perish from the earth. Should we fail, at the least Rustannica’s ability to continue this monstrous war will be prolonged, perhaps interminably so. And because we believe that if one side of the craft perishes, then so too will the other, we fight from a unique perspective and for a far different goal than do the Rustannicans. Unlike them, we do not fight to destroy the opposite side of the craft, but to save both sides.”
“How do you plan to stop Vespasian’s advance?” Tyranny asked.
“Our forces are gathering to meet them as we speak,” another femaleInkai answered. “The only reason that we haven’t engaged them yet is because we learned that a reigningJin’Sai was finally crossing the Azure Sea. With you in our midst the entire nature of the battle plan must be changed. Now that you are here, our new plan can begin in earnest-provided, of course that you agree to help us defeat Vespasian. Contrary to what you might have guessed, so far we have purposely not provided his forces with much resistance.”
“Why not?” Tristan asked.
“Because the place from which he must take our gold is unique and also the best place in which to trap his forces,” she answered. “Vespasian surely knows this, but because he needs the gold, he has no choice.”
Tristan looked across the table at theInkai whom Mashiro had introduced as Haru of the House of Eagles. She seemed younger than the other elders, with dark hair that was streaked with gray. Her sky-blue robe bore white embroidered eagles. She was an attractive woman with piercing blue eyes.
Tristan gave Haru a curious look. “Why would your choice of a battle plan depend on my participation?” he asked. “I remain untrained in the ways of the craft. The powers of my Conclave mystics do not begin to rival yours, and my Minions are but a paltry few when compared with your reputedly immense forces. We will of course do all that we can to help. But how can such less powerful souls as we possibly make any difference in this struggle?”
Renjiro leaned forward and looked directly at Tristan. “You and Vespasian possess the highest quality endowed blood in the world,” he answered. “His blood is the full equal of yours. Your crossing paths this way is earth-shattering in its importance to the craft and the world that it governs. Had you not been born when you were, Vespasian and his forces would surely defeat us. It is highly unlikely that a confluence of such amazingly powerful opposing bloodlines will ever occur again. You two have the potential to become the world’s greatest leaders and warriors-you of the Vigors and he of the Vagaries. Thanks to Gracchus’ teachings, Vespasian will soon reach his full potential. But you have not had such training, and it will be our task to ready you at last. What follows will
surely be the final battle for dominance. Either we will win and both sides of the craft will flourish for the good of all mankind, or Vespasian and his forces will defeat us and the craft will cease to exist, plunging the world into never-ending darkness and chaos.”
His gaze growing sterner, Renjiro locked his dark eyes onto Tristan’s. “For you see, Jin’Sai, ” he said, “Vespasian has been carefully groomed and trained all his life by thePon Q’tar to serve only one purpose-to lead them to final victory over Shashida. We suspect that his blood holds gifts of which even he is not aware-gifts that hisPon Q’tar masters will unleash at the right moment. Vespasian believes that he is their ruler, and in some ways that is true. But he is also their puppet and their ultimate tool of war. If you agree, we will train you in the same fashion, for only you can lead us to victory against the human abomination that thePon Q’tar has produced. The result will be a battle between titans such as the world has never seen. In this way your fabled destiny will finally come to fruition.”
Shocked yet again by Renjiro’s words, for several moments Tristan sat in silence. Finally he found his voice.
“But Vespasian has had a lifetime to prepare for this struggle!” Tristan protested. “What you suggest seems impossible. How can you train me so fast?”
“By making you Vespasian’s equal,” Renjiro answered sternly.
“Buthow…?” Tristan asked.
“We must to do the very things that we have so come to dread,” Renjiro answered quietly. “Because of their supreme quality, only your blood and his are strong enough to survive what must be done to them to achieve ultimate power in the craft. Some among us consider our plan to be the ultimate abuse of the craft, but we have little choice if we are to survive.” Pausing for a moment, Renjiro gazed again into Tristan’s eyes.
“Just as thePon Q’tar did with Vespasian, we intend to imbue your blood signature with forestallments that have long been banned because they might literally mean the end of the world.”
CHAPTER XL
RISING FROM HER SEAT AT THE WAR TABLE, PERSEPHONE walked to the command tent flap and gazed outside. The day had grown late, but aside from the lengthening shadows, the view had changed little since Vespasian and Lucius had departed to inspect the battle zone. Gracchus had grown weary of waiting for Vespasian’s return and went to attend to other matters. Saying that she was tired, Julia Idaeus had gone off to rest in her private tent chamber. Persephone was glad to have some quiet time alone.
As she looked down the long slope, she saw that it was still blanketed with row after row of legionnaires marching to the front. This was the empress’s first foray into war, and although she took no part in the fighting, she believed herself to be an important part of this campaign. Vespasian wisely relied on the advice of all his counselors before making important decisions. But Persephone had always been his greatest confidante and most trusted friend, and in many ways he valued her opinion above all others. Although her experience afield was limited, her schooling in military tactics and the history of war was every bit as comprehensive as her husband’s. One look at a war map was all she needed to sum up a situation and give Vespasian a valid and well-conceived opinion.
But Vespasian valued Persephone’s advice for more than just her schooling, her intelligence, or her powerful command of the craft. Unlike Vespasian’s other advisors, she had no need to curry favor by agreeing with him when she might otherwise not, or by fawning loyalty so as to win a higher position in the government pecking order. Be her always frank advice welcome or unwelcome, Vespasian could rest assured that it came from her heart rather than from some ulterior personal need.
Walking back to the table, Persephone poured another cup of wine, then sat down and again consulted the many war maps lying there. So far the campaign was succeeding brilliantly. But like Vespasian and Lucius, she was concerned by their string of easy successes, and couldn’t entirely dismiss the feeling that their legions were marching into a Shashidan trap. But also like her husband and their trusted First Tribune, she believed that it was too early in the campaign for the Shashidans to suspect their ultimate goal.
There were valid reasons for optimism. The Rustannican forces were still too far away for theInkai to be sure of their enemy’s ultimate objective, and Vespasian’s invasion route into Shashida had been used several times before by other emperors whose purposes had been vastly different. From their current position, the Rustannican legions could turn in various directions, each one heading toward a worthwhile objective. It was hoped that only when the legions came far closer to the gold mines would theInkai realize the daring nature of the Rustannicans’ plan.
Moreover, taking the Shashidan mines had never been tried. Conquering Shashida’s gold supplies had long been considered by both sides to be reckless to the point of military insanity. The Shashidans knew that their mines were nearly unassailable and that any attempt by the enemy to take them would result in huge, perhaps devastating Rustannican losses, even if the mines were taken. Vespasian’s intelligence reports claimed that because of these beliefs, the Shashidans had grown complacent about protecting the mines and sometimes reduced the number of troops there to employ them elsewhere in the war.
Persephone was no fool, and she knew that Vespasian’s ability to convince the Suffragat was due to more than his well-known powers of persuasion. Much of the Suffragat’s agreement was because Rustannica’s economic woes had dramatically worsened and this attack or something much like it simply had to occur. The Suffragat could only hope that like the Rustannican general populace, the ShashidanInkai were ignorant of the desperate state of the Rustannican treasury. For if they knew the truth, the true motive behind this invasion would come to light too soon and perhaps spell an early defeat.
Because of the vast Borderlands separating the two nations, the Suffragat had long believed that the likelihood of Shashidan agents spying in Rustannica was small, lending strength to the hope that taking the mines was still a military secret. But even the Suffragat could not know for sure. Random blood signature examinations meant to ferret out Shashidan spies were regularly carried out by roving bands of centurions, but few such agents were ever found. And given the millions of people living in Rustannica, trying to randomly unmask enemy spies this way was haphazard at best. Even so, rumors of a Shashidan spy network called the League of Whispers persisted.
After putting down her wine cup, Persephone looked around the command tent. Although she was a lady through and through, she was no shrinking violet. She enjoyed the campaign’s noise, activity, and sense of urgency. In a way she even enjoyed the simpler but still comfortable surroundings in which she now lived.
This war tent and those adjoining it were large and ornately decorated. Many more colorful tents like it stood nearby, each one topped with red banner bearing the imperial eagle embroidered in gold. One dozen of these tents housed thePon Q’tar, another served as Lucius’ personal quarters, yet another as Julia Idaeus’ living area, and the fourth and largest held Vespasian and Persephone’s private rooms. The area in which the empress sat was the communal command tent, its spacious focal point connected by canvas corridors to the other tents. In this way the Femiculi, the emperor and empress, the First Tribune, and thePon Q’tar could reach the command tent without having to trespass through each other’s private quarters. This series of interconnected tents was an ingenious arrangement that the Rustannican war machine had used in the field for centuries.
Like her and Vespasian’s private areas, the central command tent was sumptuous and comfortable. Patterned rugs lay on the grass and tapestries hung on the tent walls. Supported by golden poles, the eight-part canvas ceiling rose to a high point in the center of the room. Upholstered chairs, sofas, and benches were placed about, and oil lamps hung at regular intervals from the golden roof beams. A long sideboard offered up food, wine, and other delicacies. Before a tray or pitcher could become empty or its contents stale, camp skeens immediately refreshed them. Watchful centuri
ons always stood guard outside the command tent and the connecting tents.
Tired of studying the war maps, Persephone rose from her chair and walked across the room to gaze into a full-length mirror. Although the dress she wore was simpler than something she might have chosen at the imperial palace, she looked lovely. The light blue silk highlighted her eyes, and her gold jewelry sparkled in the soft, warm light cast by the many oil lamps. As a matter of practicality while afield, she had collected her long blond hair behind her neck with a sapphire clasp, allowing it to fall along the graceful arch of her back. She was a beautiful woman, and despite her lofty position she carried herself without pretension or arrogance.
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