Cartomancy

  “Fighting us or those chasing you?”

  I smiled at her question. “Them, preferably.”

  She nodded. “Come. The count will welcome you and will listen eagerly to what you have to say.”

  “How is he?”

  “Better.” The countess allowed herself a small smile. “News of the disaster in the south has enlivened him.”

  Moraven had first met Count Jarys Derael when the count was just a young boy. I’d seen him in the years since grow up, grow older and, in the last few years, watched a wasting disease slowly destroy his life. Luckily for him, he had married very well, and his children had inherited the strength of their parents, as well as a deep pride in the family tradition.

  We reached Deraelkun after only two hours’ ride. My troops were given billets in the lower circle, while I rode on to the main keep with the Prince and a handful of Derael vassals. The nobles were sent to clean up, while the countess took me directly to the count’s chambers. The warning look in her eyes prepared me for what I would see, although keeping my reaction from my face was not an easy matter.

  Jarys Derael had always been quite vital. Very tall and slender, he favored the spear to the sword, and had learned from some of the best naicai in the Nine. He’d used his reach and speed to great advantage and had he not been called to duty after his father’s premature death, he might well have become jaecainai.

  Not that his being a Mystic would have necessarily saved him from disease. I had no idea what it was, but his body had begun to atrophy and he had lost control of his large muscles. I found him still quite quick of mind, but for someone so strong to fall victim to such weakness was a curse that can devour the spirit. In recent years, he had become a recluse within the family tower, and I was the first person who was not blood kin or a close friend of long standing to be admitted to his presence.

  He clearly had been positioned for our interview, as the high-backed chair in which he sat had behind it a south-facing window. The sunlight glowing through it backlit him enough that I could not get a good look at his face. Even so, it wasn’t hard to see that his once-thick shock of red hair had thinned and turned grey. A blanket hid him from the waist down, and I could not tell if he’d been belted into place or not. He held a stick in his left hand, and it pointed at a map of the countryside, but I didn’t expect him to move it.

  And his voice had a watery sound, as if he were half-drowning.

  “Please, Decaiserr Tolo, be seated.”

  I accepted his invitation and slipped into the chair facing him. “I appreciate the time you are able to give me, my lord.”

  “And I appreciate the information you will give me. Did you see Kelewan fall?”

  “No, but it could not have taken long.” I outlined the situation as I’d seen it, then gave him a report on the nature of the enemy—starting with my arrival in Erumvirine, but declining to mention how I got there. I even showed him the scar on my right forearm and upon seeing that, he fell silent for a moment.

  Even with the backlight, I could see the intelligence burning in his eyes. “The kwajiin were not present in the first battles your people reported?”

  “You may ask them if you wish, but until I fought the first one on the road to the capital, none of us had seen them. Still, it is possible they were directing things behind the scenes.”

  “But they did not show up in the ranks until the battle with the Iron Bears?”

  “Again, not to my knowledge—but they could have been traveling along the river and I just never saw them.”

  With great effort, he shook his head. “It would make no sense to divide a force that way. Having your troops under discipline is the best way to win. And the way they sent bestial creatures against Kelewan suggests the kwajiin are not averse to sacrificing their unruly comrades.”

  I nodded. “I see no reason to doubt your analysis. I’m not certain, however, that they want to destroy them foolishly. The kwajiin seem anything but foolish.”

  “To assume they would use them poorly is to assume the enemy is stupid.” His voice faltered for a moment and he swallowed hard. “If you are correct, however, we have to wonder why they are coming here to Deraelkun.”

  “Three possible answers come to mind, my lord.” I smiled easily. “The first is to clear the way to invade north. The second is to close the avenue for an attack from the north. And the third is to have the honor of destroying Deraelkun.”

  “I’ll believe the first two, but the third is not a consideration—not if I want to believe them a worthy foe.”

  “To discount it, however, you discount their having a knowledge of Deraelkun, which suggests they will bring insufficient force against your position.”

  The count’s head canted to the right, and I believe it was a deliberate motion. “That is something to consider, certainly. I have had scouts out. The kwajiin have slowed their advance since you ambushed them. Given the rate at which new troops have been joining them, and the speed of their advance, I anticipate a siege force of twenty-five thousand within a week.”

  My stomach tightened. “That would be the siege force from around Kelewan, which means the capital has fallen. It also means they’ve brought in many more troops to pacify the country they’re leaving behind.”

  “That, or they have killed everyone.”

  I wasn’t certain which prospect sounded worse. The idea that they had murdered everyone in Kelewan revolted me, but made the number of troops in Erumvirine manageable. If, on the other hand, they had brought more troops up, we were looking at fifty thousand invaders at a minimum. If all of those were kwajiin, the invasion would not stop at the Virine border.

  “Which would you prefer?”

  “Neither.” The stick in his hand rose slightly, then flopped back down. “I have much thinking to do. Please take your time and review the defenses here. Perhaps, between the two of us, we can come up with a way to stop the invaders.”

  “Of course, my lord.” I stood, bowed, and withdrew.

  The countess met me in the corridor outside as servants moved silently past and into his room. “He’s not the man you remember, is he?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “He’s been worse.” She led the way down the corridor. “Come, I want to show you something before we look over the defenses. It’s something you’ve not seen before. Few have, who are not of Derael blood.”

  I kept pace with her. “How many troops are here?”

  “Not counting yours, there are roughly five thousand.” Consina kept her voice even but quiet. “Three are our house troops, and we may get more as the lords you brought in send for their households. The other two are militia—poorly trained but well led. We pair them with more established units or give them support duties. Harassing the enemy gives them experience without much chance of being overwhelmed.”

  “There is a value to that. What is the ratio of archers to swordsmen?”

  She smiled. “All of our soldiers can do both, Master Tolo. We have a regiment of archers who are our sharpshooters.”

  We descended a circular stairway that went from new construction to old, then older. It let us into the foundation of the tower. She took a torch from a bracket on the wall and lit it, then conducted me along a dark corridor. We paused before a round door built as a plug into the wall. Taking a key from around her neck, she unlocked it and, surprisingly, the door swung open easily on well-oiled hinges.

  “Originally this room served as the Emperor’s treasury when he visited, and it is the only room that has survived every siege. The Derael family converted it to their own treasury, then a museum.”

  She set the torch in a bracket beside the door, then took up a small taper and went before me, lighting small lamps hung on chains from the ceiling. As light filled the room, a chill ran down my spine.

  Eons of treasures filled the room. Tapestries depicting great battles and momentous events lined the walls. Banners, some bloodied, burned, cut, torn, and yellowed with age,
hung from the ceiling. Broken carriages of siege machines and one whole ballista had been rebuilt in the center of the floor, and marble statues representing heroes surrounded them. In another circle that filled the room to the walls, weapons and armor hung on wooden trees, memorializing Derael warriors and others who had fought at Deraelkun.

  Consina paused next to a suit of armor that looked untouched. Behind it, standing tall, a spear almost touched the ceiling. I joined her, admiring the armor.

  “This is his, as well you know. It’s not like most of the others, with cut strings and dents and even bloodstained holes. By the time Jarys took command, Tsatol Deraelkun’s reputation defended this place more than any soldier.”

  She glanced down. “It was always his dream that he would be able to prove his worthiness as a warrior and have his armor installed here, but no one ever came to test him. And now, when someone is coming, he’s not able to defend Deraelkun.”

  I smiled. “The best warrior is one who defeats his enemy without ever having to fight.”

  “I have told him this many times, and while he acknowledges the right of that wisdom, it eats at him that he can no longer fight.”

  “It will take more than Jarys’ donning his armor and picking up his spear to defend this place.” I ran a hand over my unshaven jaw. “You say we have five thousand. By the time they come we might get twenty percent more, but they will still outnumber us five to one. If they use the tactics they did at Kelewan, they will hurt us before we begin a formal battle.”

  Consina nodded. “We are not without our own plans. We will erect many banners and light many fires, making them think we are ten times our number. That will slow them down.”

  “That’s a good idea, to be certain.” I turned and studied the other armor and the tapestries, drinking in the history of the place. “I think, this time however, it’s not the right tactic.”

  I turned and looked at her, smiling broadly. “I think, in fact, this time we will defeat them by appearing weaker than they could ever hope we are.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  8th day, Planting Season, Year of the Rat

  10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th year since the Cataclysm

  Voraxan, Ixyll

  Ciras Dejote and Borosan Gryst resumed their trek northwest once they quitted Tolwreen. Even though that had been the direction they’d been traveling when they found the vanyesh stronghold and, therefore, would seem a logical course for the vanyesh to take in pursuing them, it still seemed the best possible choice. Northeast, which would have taken them toward the Turasynd Wastes, seemed a bad idea, and retreating along their previous passage would have been worse. They also still had their mission to find the Empress, and the alliance between the vanyesh and the Turasynd—as well as the vanyesh claim that Nelesquin was soon to return—made their mission’s successful completion vital.

  Ciras scratched at the back of his neck. “What if the story of the Sleeping Empress is just that, a story?”

  “It can’t be.” Borosan spurred his horse along a narrow trail that snaked up a cliff side. “If she’d been destroyed—if the place where she’s been waiting had been destroyed—the vanyesh would have mentioned it.”

  “That’s if they did it.” Ciras looked back to make sure the packhorses and thanatons were following. “Besides, she might never have survived.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Borosan shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Rekarafi told us where we would be going and what we would be doing. He travels through Ixyll without any protective clothing, and can absorb the wild magic and use it. I think he knows she’s out here.”

  Ciras frowned, not liking the fact that he’d missed that clue. “But if that’s true, why didn’t he tell us exactly where to go?”

  The inventor laughed. “In this land? The chaotic magic constantly switches everything around, so no landmarks stay the same.”

  “Still, that is no guarantee we will find the place.”

  “True, but I think there might be something else.”

  “What?”

  Borosan sighed loudly. “I think you can find her sanctuary if you want to find it.”

  “I’m not certain I follow you.”

  “We found Tolwreen because the vanyesh saw you fight grave robbers. They left you the vanyesh sword and watched. I think that if they’d decided we were not meant to be at Tolwreen, we’d never have gotten there. Similarly, our path may lead to Cyrsa, but those who are her enemies can never find her.”

  “You mean to say that the vanyesh and the Empress could exist very close to each other and not even know about each other?”

  Borosan shrugged. “I think the fact that one has not destroyed the other bears this out.”

  Ciras was about to protest that having hidden the Empress’ sanctuary so completely would take a lot of magic, but he stopped given where he was. “So if what you are saying is true, couldn’t we have found a more direct route?”

  “Perhaps the journey is not just about direction, Ciras.” Borosan turned in the saddle. “If you look back at your life’s journey, is it a direct line?”

  The swordsman thought for a moment, then smiled. “Any path looks direct in hindsight, but there are many choices made along the way.”

  “Exactly. I think maybe we can’t really want to find the Empress until we know we need to find her. Before we saw the vanyesh and knew they were allied with the Turasynd, our mission was to find her and ask her to help prevent a war within the Nine. There have been plenty of battles between principalities before, so how would this one be different?”

  “You’re saying she could not have been found until the need was urgent?”

  “Yes.”

  “But urgency is in the mind of the seeker. What is urgent to us might not seem so to another, and what is trivial to us might seem earth-shattering to someone else.” Ciras frowned. “Do you think others have found her in the past?”

  “It could be. Probably so.”

  “But she did not return.”

  “Rekarafi did say we’d have to be convincing.”

  The swordsman nodded. “I wonder what has happened to those who found her and could not convince her to return?”

  “I don’t know, my friend.” Borosan stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes with a hand. “I think, however, we’re going to get our chance to find out very soon.”

  They rode hard to the northwest, moving down into a desert valley and along it. Ciras felt confident they’d found a portion of the old Spice Route and, from the look of it, the site of the battle that triggered the Cataclysm. His flesh began to itch as they descended to the valley floor and the land itself changed minute to minute, from hard-edged stone to a fluid putty that shifted up and down before it solidified again. At times, Ciras was certain that he saw the forms of men moving beneath the red rock surface, like children beneath a blanket, reliving bits and pieces of the battle fought there.

  Fortunately for them, their path skirted the actual battlefield, for Ciras’ impression had been correct. Stone armies rose and fell, shrouded by magic and the passage of years. Chariots wheeled in unison, carving swaths from infantry formations. Turasynd cavalry charged and Imperial infantry lowered spears to fend them off. Warriors stepped from the lines on either side to challenge each other, exchanging blows until one or both melted away.

  At first, Ciras found the battle thrilling. Though muffled in stone, the warriors fought hard. He could not hear the sounds of steel ringing on steel, or the thunder of hoofbeats, but the fluidity of action could not be mistaken. In the duels, swordsmen matched skill with speed that defied the stone’s ability to keep up. Any number of times he wished the red rock veil would part so he could admire the swordsmanship displayed.

  For a moment or two he thought it might have been simply marvelous to go through eternity fighting, but the endless repe
tition mocked both heroism and glory. There, moving through the rock, was a living testament to the futility of battle. This had been the greatest battle of history, fought to save the world from destruction, but all it had done was to destroy the world. Even war lived past it, and still threatened mankind.

  Even the evil that spawned this battle survived it.

  He had spent his life learning the way of the sword. He sought skill and knowledge because he wanted to be a guardian against the evil that spawned war. Even so, his actions could set into motion events that would cascade beyond control and might result in another war. And that war would lead to more wars.

  Try as he might, he could see no end to the cycle.

  They rode on in silence. The roadway remained stable, but the land to the south rose and fell disturbingly. Having been raised on an island, Ciras had spent a certain amount of time on a ship. The heaving landscape reminded him of mountainous waves in a storm, which he found curiously comforting.

  Borosan, on the other hand, averted his face and went visibly pale. As the road rose, the land became more solid and Borosan haltingly reiterated his thoughts that magic had to flow like water and collect in the low places.

  Ciras smiled. “And that battlefield got a very good soaking.”

  They topped the rise and both men reined back, because the image before them could not possibly be there. Borosan had seen the hint of a flash in the distance, then the roiling land. Ciras thought it might be a piece of metal or a mirror. Yet, at the same time, I knew it was our goal. Had he thought about it for a moment, he would have dismissed what he felt for what he knew, but his feelings had won out.

  He looked at Borosan. “The reason the vanyesh have not found this place is because they can think and know, but they’ve left behind feeling. They know what is possible, and what is impossible, and refuse to believe in the impossible.”

  Borosan nodded. “And they believe that finding this place is impossible, so they will never find it.”