Cartomancy

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The two men slowly started their horses forward again, moving them into green grasses that grew up beside a silver river flowing with sweet water. Little bugs skittered over the mirrored surface, and fat fish rose after them, apparently unmindful of the fact that the river flowed into nothingness a few yards further downstream.

  Upstream, however, the river broadened and flowed through a massive gate made of crystal. Both the gate and the crenellated wall surrounding the entire city were a deep, pure amethyst. At the gate, onyx cobblestones paved the way through a collection of buildings, twisting off through countless paths. Sometimes the roadway split for a small building, and at other times ran through tunnels piercing larger buildings. At points it even rose to an elevated roadway that linked two buildings before sloping back to the ground.

  Though their course seemed without direction, and neither man steered their horses, both knew they drew closer to their destination with each passing moment.

  Borosan, clearly awed, gaped at his surroundings. Even the thanatons appeared to be dazed. They sped up and slowed, slipping side to side, then darting forward or back. Whatever information they’d be collecting to map the city would be worthless, and it occurred to Ciras that one of the city’s greatest strengths might be that it was unknowable.

  And those who come here and do not have sufficient cause to win the Empress’ support are doomed to wander forever.

  Though that prospect would have been enough to daunt him, another aspect of the city overwhelmed him. The buildings had been shaped of crystal. Some were ruby and others emerald, citrine, topaz, or diamond. While other, more colorful stones—like opal—decorated many buildings, those that were shaped out of a single stone all had one thing in common. They resembled mausoleums—sometimes with just one occupant, often with more. Men and women—clad in armor and clutching their weapons, lay on biers as if sleeping, preserved forever in their crystalline graves.

  Ciras caught himself, because he knew, somehow, that these warriors were not dead, but sleeping. They would rise to the challenge the Empress set before them. Just as they had set out with her to keep the world safe, they would return to the Empire to save it once again.

  Regret flashed through him. For that moment, it seemed better that they wait forever than have to leave peaceful sleep and endure warfare again. There might be some who gloried in it, but he suspected far more of them had seen quite enough of war. Even so, they would answer the call because they were heroes.

  How odd it is that we are willing to fight for peace, and yet we know that the greatest of warriors never has to fight. That paradox surprised him, because he had never been overly philosophical. He had concentrated on perfecting his skills with the sword so one day he could become a Mystic. And now, having reached that threshold, he looked beyond the skill to the consequences and responsibilities of jaedunto.

  Which is exactly the sort of thing Master Tolo had tried to make me realize throughout our journey together. The swordsman smiled and bowed his head back to the southeast, toward the cave where his master lay. Your wisdom has made itself manifest. I trust it is not too late.

  The horses took them around a hematite building and into an onyx courtyard. A diamond fountain in the shape of a dragon dominated the center. The water flowed from nine wounds pierced in the dragon’s side, though the dragon appeared to be in no distress.

  Beyond it, dominating the far end of the rectangular courtyard, rose a small ruby tower. Though built on a modest scale, it matched the images of the Imperial Palace in Kelewan. It rose four stories, and though the stone was dark enough to deny clear sight of the inside, Ciras was fairly certain he detected an interior room with a throne and something, perhaps golden, glinting from within.

  Further speculation on what that was became moot as a man turned from the fountain. Water dripped from his hand and mouth. He wore armor marked with a dragon, and appeared to be only a dozen years older than Ciras’ master. White had crept into his dark hair, but only as a forelock. His pale eyes, though flanked by dragon’s feet at the corners, remained quick and intelligent. He wore two swords, but made no movement toward either.

  He drew himself up and bowed respectfully, holding it longer than Ciras would have expected.

  The swordsman slipped from the saddle and bowed lower and longer. He reached out to steady Borosan, then they both straightened up. “I am Ciras Dejote of Tirat, and this is Borosan Gryst of Nalenyr. We have traveled all this way to speak with the Empress.”

  The man nodded solemnly. “Welcome, travelers. I bow in respect for all you have done to get here. You are the first visitors we have had in a long time.”

  Ciras looked about. “You seem quite alone.”

  The man laughed. “I am the one who has sentry duty.” He opened his arms wide. “I have many comrades, but this is why you are here, isn’t it?”

  “That will be for the Empress to decide.” Ciras nodded toward the ruby tower. “May we speak with her?”

  “It is possible. Eventually.” The man shrugged. “I am but one soldier. I will awaken those who can make such a decision, then it will be made. Until then, avail yourselves of the peace Voraxan offers. If you prove worthy, it could be yours forever.”

  Borosan’s eyes widened. “And if we do not?”

  “It will be yours forever.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

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

  10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th year since the Cataclysm

  Tsatol Pelyn, Deseirion

  Dawn brought the first group of refugees to the ruins of Tsatol Pelyn, west of Felarati. The sun came up slowly, shrouded by the black smoke that rose from the city. The smoke began to settle, covering the landscape, but it could not hide the thin line of survivors escaping to the west. Throughout the next several days the survivors continued to swell the population at the ancient Imperial outpost.

  Keles found it rather ironic that their flight took them to Tsatol Pelyn, as it had been his first planned way station on the escape route from Felarati. He’d chosen it because of the tributary of the Black River that provided water. Shepherds regularly grazed flocks in the area, and those flocks had suddenly been converted into food for the hungry refugees.

  Had he just been with the Princess, and if they’d had horses, he would have struck further west, then turned south. The refugees destroyed any plans for escape, however. They looked to the Princess and Grand Minister and Keles for salvation and leadership. Part of Keles would have been willing to abandon them because they were from the nation whose leader intended his permanent imprisonment, but he knew that wasn’t their fault.

  They are every bit as much prisoners of their birth as I am.

  Princess Jasai would not have left no matter the inducement. Despite her feelings about her husband, she accepted the responsibility the people had thrust upon her. She offered comfort and encouragement where she could. More important, she put pressure on the Grand Minister, forcing him to follow her example and get his hands dirty.

  Because of his dream, Keles knew the invaders had come for him. His grandfather had sent them to find him in Felarati and that meant Keles really had spoken to his sister in that dream. He’d never before been able to reach her that way and could only get glimmers of his grandfather and brother—letting him know they existed and little more. He couldn’t understand this new and strong contact with his sister, and it unsettled him.

  The new refugees did bring information from Felarati and it gave the others a bit of hope. The soldiers who had been doing the searching had repeatedly been referred to as “the Eyeless Ones,” which quickly got shortened to blinds. The half-handed blinds were searching the city, and it seemed the smoke confused them. Keles suggested they were tracking him by scent.

  They tested the theory by collecting his urine and clothes and depositing them at various points on the plains between Tsatol Pelyn and Fela
rati. Scouts reported that the blinds functioned very much like ants. They continued their scouting patterns until they hit something with his scent. Then they headed straight back to the city. In their wake came more soldiers, and a new search pattern spread out from that point.

  The inevitability of his discovery escaped no one. Keles had offered to head away and draw the invaders off, but since there was no guarantee that the others would be able to escape, that plan foundered. It mattered little because the refugees had other plans.

  Keles didn’t see what they were doing at first, but when he did, it made a curious sort of sense. People came up to him, begged his pardon, and asked if he thought moving stones from one part of a midden to another would strengthen their position. Others would ask if clearing debris from what once had been a moat would be a good idea. Still others asked if digging a canal to flood that moat would work.

  Keles stood at the fortress’ highest point and watched the people work. They had been terrified the night of the attack, and exhausted by their flight. Yet despite their exhaustion or age, they began to work, shifting rocks, digging, making mud for mortar, fetching water for workers.

  Jasai joined him and stroked his back with a hand. “They had been reshaping Felarati for you, and now they will rebuild Tsatol Pelyn.”

  “They’re working for you, Princess.” He took one of her hands in his and turned it over. Her palms had cracked and dirt lay caked beneath her nails. “They follow your example, and that’s forced the ministry clerks to do the same. Some take to it, and some are plotting revenge.”

  Jasai shook her head as she looked east. Fifteen miles separated them from Felarati, but already the inky stain of invader search parties spread over the dusty landscape. “Any idea how many?”

  “Tyressa could tell you; I can’t.” Keles sighed. “You and she should get away from here. The people would understand, and we’d sell ourselves dearly to make certain you did survive.”

  “The people would lose heart if I left.”

  “No, they’d love you even more for the chance to make sure you and your child live.”

  She turned and faced him. “What about you, Keles? What would your motivation be? Would it be that you, too, love me? Or is it that you love my aunt and want to see her safe?”

  Keles’ mouth dropped open. “Highness, I don’t think the answers to those questions really pertain.”

  “Of course they do, Keles.” She laughed lightly. “I grew up learning that men are easy to control. Flatter them, stroke their egos—stroke other parts of them—and they can become yours. There are exceptions. My husband is one. I am not certain what he loves, but it is not me. You are another, but not for the same reasons. You are capable of love.

  “I will admit, Keles, that I did try to make you fall in love with me. I needed your help to escape. Making you love me was the fastest way. Please don’t think harshly of me for this, but it’s the truth.”

  Keles shook his head. “You needed me to escape, and I needed you.”

  “But don’t let yourself think I don’t have feelings for you, because I do. In the months I have known you, I have come to admire and trust you—both of which are things I do not do lightly.” She smiled. “And, I will also admit, that I found your resistance to my charms rather frustrating. I knew we were partners in escape, but I did wonder why you did not accept the invitations I offered.”

  He started to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

  “And then I saw your reaction when Tyressa appeared. I’ve seen men infatuated with the Keru before, but there we were, in a city under invasion—flames flaring, smoke swirling—and you looked as surprised and happy as it was possible to be. And I remember thinking, ‘Someday a man will look at me that way.’ ”

  Keles nodded and looked down toward where Tyressa was levering a large stone block into place in a makeshift wall. “She was assigned to ensure that I didn’t get killed in Ixyll and there was, at first, some of the Keru thing there. I couldn’t help it, being raised in Moriande.”

  Jasai nodded. “You know the Keru find it amusing, don’t you, all the little boys looking at them all moon-eyed with fantasies?”

  “I’m glad, because if they found it annoying, there would be a lot of dead little boys.” Keles grinned. “On the trip, she took care of me. She spoke with me, she nursed me to health when I was sick. And, at the end, when one of your husband’s agents shot her and I thought she was dead . . .”

  A tightness rising in his throat strangled his words.

  Jasai stroked his arm.

  He swallowed hard. “Back in Moriande, I’d been engaged to someone who saw me as a means to an end. When my grandfather sent me out to Ixyll, I was happy because it took me out of the capital and out of her sphere. I wasn’t even looking for anything, then Tyressa was there.”

  “And you couldn’t let yourself imagine you had feelings for her because you knew the Keru never married, never had children?”

  “Why open yourself to being hurt?”

  “Because you don’t always get hurt.” Jasai smiled. “Being chosen to join the Keru is an honor for a Helosundian woman. She sacrifices a great deal to accept that honor. But she does not sacrifice everything, Keles. She does not remove her heart.”

  He glanced down at Tyressa again. “She doesn’t have feelings for me.”

  “Can you imagine duty alone being sufficient motivation to travel with a Viruk across a continent, to enter an enemy nation, penetrate the capital, and enter the Prince’s palace to steal a prisoner away from him?”

  He smiled. “You know your aunt. She’d do that for sport.”

  “True, but she didn’t. Not in this case.” Jasai nodded toward her. “She watches you while you sleep. People ask her if they can approach you. She may not know exactly what she’s feeling, but the others see it. I see it.”

  “So you’re saying that she wouldn’t leave here either, even if it was the only hope you had for a future?”

  “I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.” Jasai looked back east. “Of course, ‘future’ is a relative term. How long until they arrive?”

  “At their rate of advance, a couple of days. Rekarafi thinks he can sneak through their lines with more urine and make them think I’ve gotten behind them. That might slow them up for a while. And by the time they get here, we’ll have makeshift fortifications. But unless a lot of the folks down there are Mystics in disguise, the battle isn’t going to last very long.”

  “They will do all they can.”

  “I know. They might win if Tsatol Pelyn were again what it once was.” He pointed toward the east, then around along the dim line of the moat. “This was a classic Imperial outpost. The garrison would have been a battalion, perhaps two, but it could have easily housed all the people we have. Down beneath us would be storerooms full of arms and supplies. The moat . . . Well, folks are pulling rocks out of it now, but are barely down a couple of feet. It would have been nine feet deep, eighteen across, and every bit of stone in there would have been part of the walls. The walls themselves would have been eighteen feet tall, with a tower rising to twice that. Main gate to the east, and there, to the northwest, a second, smaller sally port for cavalry. It was a beautiful thing, all gone to waste.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not gone to waste, Keles. It may not protect people the way it once did, but it is giving them hope and purpose. How many people ever have that in life?”

  “Too few, I imagine.”

  She nodded, then kissed him on the cheek. “I think you should go talk to Tyressa.”

  “What am I going to say to her?”

  “By your own estimation we’ve got two days to live. I think she might like to know she’s more than a spear-carrier. Being Keru, doing your duty, these things are important, but they’re not the only important things in life. Given that we’ve got little of that left, focusing on the important things should come first.”

  Keles descended from the tower ruins and found Tyressa
helping to dig another large stone from the moat. “Tyressa, do you have a moment?”

  She looked up, swiped her forearm over her forehead, smearing dirt, then nodded. She straightened up, her spine cracking. Smiling, she began to walk with him, but the moment they got out of earshot of the work crew she’d been with, she rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “My niece has been talking to you, hasn’t she?”

  He nodded.

  “I take it you told her this sort of thing just isn’t going to happen?”

  “I, ah.” Keles frowned. “I think maybe I’m confused.”

  Tyressa turned him to face her, resting both hands on his shoulders. “She wants us to get away. She knows I won’t leave her, but I have my duty to you, so I’d be forced to go. She wants me out of here because I’m her blood kin, and she wants you out of here because of her feelings for you.”

  “Now I’m really confused.”

  “Keles, can’t you see she cares for you? You were her only hope for escape, and when things started going very badly, you came for her. There’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t have fallen for you. You can be a rock in the midst of disaster, and you don’t even see it. The people here are taking heart just because you’re confident in their efforts. It’s just like you were at the pool in Dolosan. You didn’t hesitate to act.”

  “Yes, but you know that was just me being naïve and foolish.”

  “No, that was you being you, Keles. I’ve learned that.” She squeezed his shoulders. “She loves you and, from what I’ve seen, you love her. I’m pleased.”

  “But she said . . .”

  “She was lying to save you.”

  Keles’ head began to spin. Jasai had him convinced that she didn’t love him and that Tyressa did. Tyressa was being just as convincing in the opposite direction. The possibilities inherent in who was lying to whom—including themselves—began to unfold in a legion of permutations that threatened to overwhelm him.

  He reached up and grabbed Tyressa’s wrists. “Stop, please. I have to say something.”