From behind Pyrust came the rumble of thunder—though he was certain no one in the battle heard it. To the right and left of his hill came the Silver and Iron Hawks. Quartets of horses pulled massive war chariots, with two archers on risers behind the drivers. Sword blades four feet in length had been welded to each axle. They spun and glittered in the morning sunlight as the chariots came around the hill and into the battle.
Arrows ate into the Helosundian flanks, then the chariots grazed past. The blades cut men down horribly and their screams sparked panic in their fellows. Each man on the flank knew he was next, and few willingly faced death. Many fought to get deeper into the formation, which destroyed any pretense of discipline or order. Others just broke and ran—and this tactic was rewarded by an arrow in the back.
Chaos reigned among the Helosundians. Their back ranks turned and ran. The flanks buckled, which allowed his wings to push forward, inverting the battle line. While there were valiant and fierce warriors among the Dogs, they were rebels and did not merit honorable treatment. If they managed to kill his warriors in even combat, squads of Shadow Hawks would order the others back and shoot them.
And, curiously enough, he found no valiant warriors among the Helosundian leaders.
Pyrust watched the rebel force disintegrate, then retrieved his fan, raised it, and snapped it closed. His order slowly filtered through the troops, and they returned to camp, save those set out as pickets, those designated to dispatch the grievously wounded, and those sent to look for prisoners who might have information or be good for ransom.
He studied the field, then shook his head. As Urmyr has said in The Dance of War, with an understanding of weakness and strength, an army can strike like a millstone cast at an egg. The Helosundian force had been smashed and its yolk lay red and writhing on what once had been a green field.
“Yours is a great victory, Highness.”
Pyrust tucked his fan into his left gauntlet. “So it would seem, Mother of Shadows. Then again, a millstone should crush an egg, should it not? We shall see how things go when we meet another millstone.”
The crone pointed south toward Nalenyr. “The millstone waiting you there is small and brittle. Prince Eiran commands a Naleni force made up of westron troops. They will not stop you.”
“Do they know we are coming?”
“Not yet. Your Black Hawks and Stone Hawks have cut the road south, so refugees will flee toward Vallitsi. They will have things to tell the Council of Ministers.”
Pyrust nodded. “News from home?”
“All is well, though work slows because of those being drawn into the military. No alarm has gone out. The Hyreothi ambassador thought to send a message, but his courier died.” The assassin’s eyes narrowed. “I do have more news from the south, Highness.”
“Yes?”
“The reason the westrons are under Helosundian command is because Count Turcol of Jomir is dead. He was riding with Prince Cyron when bandits ambushed the royal party. All of the westrons died and Cyron was grievously wounded.”
“Wounded? How badly?”
“Rumor has it he may lose his left hand.”
Pyrust looked down at his own left hand, his half hand. “That could be dangerous. Losing half my hand made me twice as smart as I’d been before.”
“Four times an idiot is still an idiot, Highness.”
“As is twice an idiot, Delasonsa.”
She bowed her head to him. “I did not mean it as an insult, Highness.”
“I know, but I also know you are too intelligent to dismiss Cyron so lightly. Those were not bandits. Was it Turcol who wanted him dead, or were the assassins sponsored by someone else?” Pyrust’s expression tightened. “They were not ours, were they?”
“No, Highness, else they would be dead now. So would the Prince have been. The agent I have in position believes Turcol hatched the plan on his own. But this does not preclude others choosing the same tactic, Highness—even yourself.”
The Desei Prince firmly shook his head. “No. It shall not be an assassin of mine who kills Cyron at this time. I reserve that option for one of my troops, or myself.” He smiled, imagining the look of surprise on Cyron’s face when he pinned him to the throne with his sword.
“I shall let that be known, Highness.”
“Very good.” Pyrust pointed back toward the battlefield. “There will be survivors. See what they know. Save nine of the most hearty. Blind three, cut the ears off three, and cut the tongues out of three. Send one of each on to Moryne, Vallitsi, and Solie. Let them show their brothers what the fate shall be of all who resist us. Worse will come to their families.”
“Your will shall be done, Master.”
“And, Delasonsa, let them know that those who choose to fight for the honor of Princess Jasai shall be welcomed as brothers, feted as champions, and showered with glory as heroes.”
The crone raised an eyebrow. “Linking their fate with hers, Highness, might not be the most wise course. You will make them think they are men.”
“You’re doubtlessly right, but they shall be the millstone I cast south, and south again. Better I learn how to fight whatever I face over their bodies than those of my Hawks.”
The Mother of Shadows remained still for a moment, then nodded. “There will be war enough to consume them all.”
“And dead enough to choke Grija.” Pyrust raised his head. “And with a proper knowledge of weakness and strength, we shall not be among them.”
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.”