The swordsman loosened his robe and exposed his left hip. Sunlight shone on the wound. Ciras had definitely been cut, but there wasn’t any blood. Moreover, the wound’s edges weren’t clean. It looked as if an ax had been taken to wood.
Keles dropped to one knee. “May I touch it?”
Ciras nodded, but did not watch.
Keles probed the wound. The flesh was warm and somewhat supple, though it had the texture of a callus. The splintering definitely resembled wood, but the edges felt more like fingernails. Even so, within the wound, the flesh felt perfectly normal.
Keles stood. “You thought you were rooted like an oak?”
Ciras closed his robe. “It was more than that. I pictured the transformation. My body was the trunk, my skin was bark, my arms were limbs.
“He should have killed me, Keles, but it was as if I were oak.”
“But you weren’t really rooted in place. You couldn’t be here if you had been.”
Ciras nodded. “Out in the Wastes, at Opaslynoti, we saw many odd things. In Ixyll, too. Magic had changed things. A mid the vanyesh, I saw even many stranger sights. The vanyesh had long ago surrendered their humanity.”
Keles nodded. “And you figured that, because of what I did with the trees, I might know what happened to you?”
“Do you?”
The cartographer folded his arms. “Magic can change people. It’s not easy, but it can be controlled. Magic emphasizes the true nature of things.”
Ciras frowned. “But I’m not an oak tree.”
“No? Oak trees are strong and hard. They’re dependable. Durable, noble even. You have those same qualities. You were using magic, and defined yourself as an oak. The magic flowed through you. In that place and moment, you became an oak.”
“Is that possible?”
“Your flesh splintered. You’re alive. It’s possible.” Keles smiled. “You may have been an oak for a heartbeat, but you’ve already begun to reject that notion. And see what has happened? Your body is no longer wooden. Your flesh has taken on the nearest normal equivalents, even though a callus on the hip is something I’ve never seen.”
“I don’t understand your point.”
“You have the mental strength magically to transform yourself both into an oak and back again. You use magic in a way that has nothing to do with your training.”
Ciras frowned. “I didn’t think that possible.”
“Everything we were raised to believe says it isn’t.” A tingle ran down Keles’ spine. “But magic is more complicated than we imagined, and far more powerful. The vanyesh already know that. If we don’t find a way to master the magic we do command, we will be helpless before them.”
Chapter Thirty-four
27th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Dientan Hills, south of Moriande
Nalenyr
“I have no tolerance for bad news today.” Nelesquin tugged a robe closed over his golden exoskeleton. “Vex me, and there will be repercussions.”
Kaerinus opened his arms, displaying an ephemeral jet-and-emerald webbing between his robe’s sleeves and body. “I believe all parties understand this, Highness, but each believes the other will suffer beneath your ire. Despite the conflict, progress has been made.”
“Very well.” Nelesquin sighed. “My father had the patience for this sort of nonsense. I do not. We are at war!”
He led Kaerinus from the tent and stalked toward Qiro’s hill. The tent remained atop it, and the pennants flapped in a breeze that was felt noplace else. The gaiety with which they danced did not lighten Nelesquin’s mood.
The Prince could not shed his ire. Nelesquin had not expected his first assaults on Moriande’s walls to succeed. He’d simply been probing, seeing what the defenders would do. He’d learned a great deal—in fact, he had learned all he needed to guarantee the city’s conquest.
But the vulnerability of his moles and the xonarchii had surprised him. He’d not expected the moles to bring the walls down, but the simple efficacy of the countermeasures had gone unanticipated.
The vulnerability of xonarchii riders had been obvious, but he could always train more riders. He’d not expected a single arrow to kill one of the beasts, and this led him to rethink his weaponry.
The bright spot in the whole operation had come when one of Moriande’s mechanical warriors emerged from a tunnel and attacked the camp. It had been relatively simple for Durrani with polearms to disable the device. The vanyesh had recognized it, so Nelesquin set them to the task of finding a way to replicate it.
Kaerinus paused at the base of the hill. “It would be best, Highness, if you were to calm yourself before proceeding.”
“Yes, of course.” Nelesquin drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. He did his best to purge himself of anger. Qiro’s realm concentrated and accelerated time. He could exhaust himself fairly easily.
I tire too quickly these days.
He nodded, then stepped forward, piercing an invisible shell and entering the heart of the hill.
Steel chains encircled his chest. His eyes bulged. Unseen forces crushed in on him, sheathing him in steel, then the heat began. His flesh started to burn and itch. If he lifted a hand to scratch, he’d peel his skin off. Millions of glass needles burrowed into him, impaling flesh and bone.
He staggered through and dropped immediately to his hands and knees. Cool green grass brushed his cheeks, caressing away the pain. He gasped, finally able to breathe. A wave of fatigue passed over him. His arms buckled, but he held himself up on his forearms. I will not pass out.
“Welcome, Prince Nelesquin.”
Nelesquin looked up, at first seeing only Qiro’s sandal-clad foot and the hem of his white robe. The fabric shifted from homespun wool to embroidered silk and back, as if the breeze were changing it. The tingle of jaedun undulated with the robe’s transformations.
A shadow covered Nelesquin, then strong arms slipped beneath his and raised him up. “Thank you for coming, Highness.”
Nelesquin patted the silver bones that held him. “Thank you, Pravak.”
The giant vanyesh steadied the Prince, then withdrew. Nelesquin forced a smile onto his face. “I have not come because of reports of discord. I wish to see progress.”
Pravak laughed. “We have done much in the months here.”
Qiro smiled, but Nelesquin ignored him. “I see the building there, belching smoke. Show me what you have done.”
“I am honored, Highness.”
They began walking to the distant black building, but reached their goal only after a handful of steps. Nelesquin could feel Qiro’s smile grow, but his ability to manipulate time and space no longer amazed Nelesquin. Qiro had created a whole world inside a hill so modest as to go unnoted on any map. Given that starting point, how could anything else be truly surprising?
Pravak opened the factory door. Metallic clanking and clanging filled the whole building. The red-gold glow of molten iron gushing from furnaces lit the interior. Vanyesh labored, channeling heat from the liquid metal back into the furnaces. Mechanical creatures hammered and shaped the metal; others hauled the various pieces away to assemble weapons.
Pravak’s silver smile twisted his thin lips. “In Tolwreen, these mechanicals shaped many things, but we had not made them autonomous. Borosan Gryst appears to have made that possible. We were able, in the first month, to decipher what he had done. Then we surpassed it.”
Nelesquin frowned. He’d not been informed that they had gone beyond creating automatons. Annoyance surged through him. He could still guide the project. Even if this meant it took years in the pocket world, the citizens of Moriande would only have won a week or two of respite.
“Show me, please.”
Pravak led the way through the factory. “It was your brilliance, Highness, that allowed us
to make this breakthrough. You see, Borosan Gryst inscribed instructions for the automatons on thaumston-alloy slates. Thaumston provided the magical energy and channeled it into specific tasks. The automatons, however, were limited in their actions because they had a limited number of strategies to choose from.”
“I understand, but I had nothing to do with that.”
“No, Highness, your brilliance was in how you created the Durrani. They cannot use magic as we do, but it is as if they are living thaumston.” Pravak pushed another door open. “And with all they know, they are able to do much more than any automaton.”
The door opened onto an enormous arena. Below, on the sandy arena floor, two dark steel bears circled, fully three times Pravak’s height when they reared up. Metal flesh moved fluidly over muscles, and paws blurred as they flicked out toward an enemy.
Nelesquin forced himself to breathe calmly. Never have such weapons walked the earth. “Explain what these are.”
“Your Durrani have called them dari. The Durrani drive them from within, fully protected and very powerful.”
“Dari, of course. It means fierce in their tongue.” Nelesquin’s eyes narrowed. “What determines the shape?”
“It is what we have chosen, Highness.” Pravak smiled. “We chose to honor Quun and Erumvirine.”
“Splendid.” Nelesquin glanced at Kaerinus. “What do you think?”
“Impressive, though they lack in one regard.” The vanyesh opened a fist and a butterfly rose from it. It beat its wings twice, then disintegrated into jeweled dust. “They’re not terrifying.”
“You’re right.” Nelesquin pointed at the bears. “They need to be nastier. Make them man-shaped, with animal’s heads and paws.”
Pravak nodded. “You are wise, Highness.”
“Craft for them suitable weapons. Clubs and axes.” Nelesquin frowned. “How vulnerable are they?”
“They are not invulnerable, but neither are they easy to kill. Sink one in a river, the pilot will drown. A ballista can drive a bolt through him or a big stone will crush him. Fire will roast the man inside.”
“Yes, yes, all risks to be avoided.” Nelesquin smiled. “Can others use them?”
Pravak’s face darkened. “It is possible. Within them we have placed many cards and tablets, each of which allows a warrior to invoke a spell. A few of the vanyesh have found it possible to operate one of them, but…”
“What?”
“Several of them have vanished within the machines. We open the dari and there is no trace of them.”
Nelesquin frowned. “You will test more. Use conscripts. And you will train more. Create nine armies of these dari. We will burst Moriande wide…What is the problem?”
Pravak sank to one knee and bowed his head. “Master, I have sought to create one army, but Master Anturasi tells me this is impossible. He says we cannot create more than a handful.”
“What?” Nelesquin spun on Qiro. “Why do you thwart me?”
The old man’s eyes blazed. “I have done everything you ask. I create this place. I make time move faster. I facilitate the creation of these gyanrigot. I have done everything, and I get nothing in return. I have asked only to be given my workshop again, but do I have it? No!”
Nelesquin pointed to the bears wrestling below. “Do you not see that these are the means to attain what you desire?”
“Do you not see that you don’t need an army of them to end this siege?” Qiro waved off Nelesquin’s concern. “You can have a company of them. It is enough.”
“How dare you tell me what I can and cannot have?” Nelesquin lunged for Qiro, but the older man backed away. Kaerinus grabbed Nelesquin’s belt and held him back. The Prince spun, slapping the vanyesh’s hands away, but it was enough to vent his anger. He snarled, then turned slowly and regarded Qiro carefully.
“This is not, Master Anturasi, about what I need. It is about what you can provide, isn’t it? You have created this world, but you did not anticipate the need for iron.”
Qiro’s chin came up. “I was led to believe you wanted to breed more of your creatures.”
“Fair enough. Neither of us anticipated this windfall, but it should not be a problem.” Nelesquin brought his hands back together. “Create us another world, one with enough iron.”
Qiro’s nostrils flared. “I cannot.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“Do not use that tone with me. I told you that I needed my tower, my workshop. I told you another controlled it and that limited me. When I created this place, I was able to make it a microcosm of Nalenyr. I drew upon the riches of this nation to shape this place. Had I wanted to, I could have dragged all the iron in the world to this place as if I were a magnet.”
Nelesquin spoke through clenched teeth. “And now you are prevented from doing that?”
“Yes. Whoever controls my tower has anticipated me. He has found a way to define the lands, locking them. Because I created this place before he worked his mischief, it remains largely unaffected.”
“But once I return you to your tower, you can undo this meddling?”
“And I shall undo it.”
Nelesquin ran a hand over his face. The coolness of the gold felt good. It provided him a moment’s respite. The brush of metal over his face also gave him an idea.
He peeked out from between golden fingers. “Iron is not the only metal you have here. We have gold and silver, tin and copper. Lead, too, I suppose, but that will never do.”
Qiro nodded. “I have all those things.”
“Good. Pravak, you will create these machines of whatever metal you can find. We will use salvage. I want two regiments. Use wood if you must, and bones. Grow me many xonarchii and harvest them for their bones. I will equip two regiments of my best Durrani with these things and let them open the city. I will get you your tower, Master Anturasi.”
“This is all I have asked, and all I require.”
Nelesquin shook his head. “No, you require one more thing.”
Qiro raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“The death of the one who opposes you.”
Surprise lit Qiro’s face for a split second, then vanished as his expression sharpened. “Yes, yes, I do.” He eyes rolled back in his head and he swayed. His eyes snapped back down and he smiled. “It is Keles.”
“I will have him destroyed. But you need to provide Pravak with the tools for our success.”
“Of course, Highness.” Qiro stepped back and waved a hand toward the arena. The earth shook, toppling the combatants, and almost upsetting Nelesquin. The sand at the arena’s heart boiled, then a dagger of iron thrust up through the earth. Around it, bursting through the stands, came another of gold and one of silver. A tin spike shattered rock and was, in turn, blunted by it. And copper leaked up through all the rents and pooled in a rising lake.
The bears, looking more like animals than warriors, scrambled up the iron plinth and leaped to the golden spike. They traveled along it to safety, their claws leaving curls of gold in their wake.
Nelesquin wanted to curse, but even thinking about it sapped his strength. So much power used so cavalierly. Does he not realize how powerful he is, or does he merely bide his time?
The smile slithering over the lower half of Qiro’s face suggested he served only because it amused him. He would continue to be a problem—more so than he had been already.
Perhaps killing Keles is not the wisest choice. Nelesquin let weariness swallow his smile and the appearance of weakness hide his thoughts. Yes, Keles might be a problem, but he was a problem for Qiro. Nelesquin was certain Keles had no more love for his grandfather than he himself harbored. Perhaps we shall have to see if the dictum that the enemy of my enemy is my friend holds true. If so, Keles Anturasi will be very valuable, and his grandfather will cease to have any value at all.
Chapter Thirty-five
27th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Mungdok, The Seventh Hell
Talrisaal and Jorim emerged from the depths of the pool and dried off almost instantly. The landscape shifted, swallowing the pool. A dark, apparently well-trodden, road appeared beneath their feet.
Mungdok itself felt very small, as if it existed no further than they could see in the darkness. With each step along the road, Jorim imagined the shadows gobbling up reality behind them.
The Viruk squatted and sniffed the air. “Something is cooking around the bend.”
“Maybe that’s the nature of this Hell—we’ll be hungry and the meal will always be around the corner.”
“Given the nature of the people sent here, I do not think it is a suitable punishment.”
“Good point.” Jorim led the way down the road and shortly rounded a bend. The landscape opened into a widening valley dotted with thousands of lights. Each light marked a building, and each building was a public house. The structures varied, from dugout hovels roofed with scrap to incredibly ornate places easily mistaken for a prince’s palace.
The Viruk pointed at the first few places. “They have a path, but no door.”
Jorim rubbed a hand over his chin. “Perhaps we’re not welcome there. Maybe we won’t be welcome anywhere.”
Talrisaal laughed. “The only people who have never felt predatory hunger would be unwelcome here. I wish I could say I did not belong, but I have taken advantage of others.”
“By that measure, I definitely belong.” Jorim sighed. He’d used his status as Qiro’s grandson to get cousins to do his work. And, more than once, he’d let his family’s status bedazzle a woman into his bed. On a scale where the most heinous acts were murder and torture, his offenses might barely register, but he certainly was not innocent.
He shivered. “Was anything you did sufficient to keep you here?”
“I hope not.”
“Good.” Jorim smiled. “The faster we get through, the more I’ll like it.”
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