“No, no, no. Wait!” Keles winced as he pointed to the south. “You would have to make sure drainage was right. You have to have a plan that will work with the land.”
“Ah, you see, Keles, that might be the way it would be done in Nalenyr, but there you have the luxury of having those who can draw such plans. If we had such people, do you not think we would have done this sort of thing?” Pyrust slowly shook his head. “This is why I brought you here, Keles Anturasi. You saw-the Anturasi charts would be worthless to my people because we could not profit from them. But you did the Gold River survey. You know how my city can be changed to benefit trade and the people. That was what I asked you about in Moriande.”
Keles’ head came up. “It’s true, you did.”
“Please understand, Keles, that my dream for Deseirion is not that it become the new Imperial capital, but that it becomes a nation the new Emperor would welcome in his Empire. The changes you have described bring me much closer to that reality. We may not have the skills to accomplish it as efficiently as you would in the south, but my people are strong and willing to endure hardship for their prince and their nation.”
“But if you do things quickly, without sufficient planning, it will make for unnecessary hardship. Can’t you see that?”
Pyrust shrugged. “I see the hawk fly, but I do not have wings. Therefore, I walk, even though my feet may complain. The journey, though swifter by wing, must begin regardless.”
Keles glanced into the fire, then up at Pyrust. “How long will you hold me here?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal. Four months. I’ll do some surveys, I’ll draw some plans, I’ll teach some people.”
“That’s what you offer me. What must I offer you?”
“You’ll abide by my plans and my timetables.”
“Are these things subject to negotiation?”
Keles nodded. “I won’t be unreasonable. I’ll give you my best estimates. You’ll return me to Moriande for the Harvest Festival.”
Pyrust raised an eyebrow. “And if your work is incomplete?”
“I will grant an extension of my time here. Another two months.”
Pyrust closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced down at Keles. “Can you transform my nation in six months?”
“I can blaze a trail. You’ll have to make the journey.”
“Done.” The Prince raised his cup. “You will have the best of my nation while you are my guest. If you have a need, it shall be fulfilled. If you have a desire, it shall be granted. And you will always have my nation’s gratitude.”
Keles smiled, raised his goblet, then drank.
Pyrust nodded to the servants who opened the door and brought in trays with cheese and rice. “Eat and drink, Keles. We wish you to feel very much at home.”
“Thank you, Highness.”
Pyrust smiled, hiding it behind his cup. Yes, enjoy our fare, Keles Anturasi. From this day forward, and for the rest of your life, Deseirion shall be your home. You give us your thoughts now, but soon you will surrender your secrets. This is how it must be.
Chapter Eleven
26th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Wentokikun, Moriande
Nalenyr
Prince Cyron sat on the Dragon Throne, making no pretense of polite pleasure as Grand Minister Pelut Vniel approached with shaved head bowed. The Prince had endured two weeks of meetings in which Vniel had told him there was nothing to worry about-a continuance of his previous behavior. Though the Prince pressed him for more details, Vniel had not been forthcoming. Then he surprised the Prince by asking for a meeting in the audience chamber.
This cannot be good.
The Prince had not donned formal state robes for the meeting. He couldn’t abide the suffocating folds of silk, and relished the freedom of more utilitarian garb. He had chosen black silk trousers and robe, with an overshirt of gold. Dragons had been embroidered on the robe and overshirt-in gold thread on the black, and the reverse on the gold. A gold sash held everything in place and the Prince had refrained from wearing a sword.
I might have been tempted to use it.
Vniel shuffled forward with his head lowered. His gold robes flowed out and obscured his body. The man could have been a snake slithering forward, but Cyron dismissed that image. It would have made Vniel too close to a dragon, and this Cyron would not grant him.
Finally, the man knelt-though coiled would have more accurately described his motion-and bowed deeply enough that his forehead touched the floor.
The Prince answered with a nod. “What is it you have to report? Have you come to the bottom of the embezzlement of grain shipments north?”
“Would that what I have to report were so trivial, Highness.” The man’s voice wavered, and that further surprised Cyron. He had no doubt Vniel could be a consummate actor, but he was also an egotist and fear was not a big part of his repertoire. “I have grave news.”
Does he know Qiro Anturasi is gone? “Tell me.”
Vniel’s head came up and he visibly paled. “News has trickled north from Erumvirine. The nation is under attack. Hideous creatures, worse than the demons of the Nine Hells, have launched themselves from the ocean. Poisonous toads that fly and odd ape-things have attacked. They are pushing inland from the coast toward Kelewan.”
Cyron’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Poisonous flying toads?”
“Your tone mocks me, Highness, but what benefit would there be in bringing you such a fanciful story were it not true?” Vniel actually sounded offended. “You have accused me of hiding information, so my credibility has suffered. Were this not true, my credibility would be utterly destroyed, and you would have me removed. And I would deserve it.”
Cyron leaned forward, scrubbing his left hand over his jaw. “What proof is there?”
“Of the creatures? None other than stories from refugees. But something is happening in eastern Erumvirine. None of the wood harvested near Derros is reaching Kelewan. Market taxes from that region have not been brought to the capital. A squad of troops sent to determine what delayed them has not reported back.”
“Signs that something is wrong there, certainly, but is it an invasion? There are many other explanations. The eastern lords could be in revolt. There could be a plague…” Prince Cyron’s recital tailed off as he recalled a dream he’d had, in which a dragon lay shattered and a carpet of black ants devoured a bear as they made their way north to feast on him. The dragon was the Naleni national symbol, and the bear represented Erumvirine.
And the ants?
The Prince shivered. Qiro Anturasi’s map added a new continent, home to monsters. If they had launched an attack, they might have made landfall in Erumvirine. It would have made more sense for them to have sailed directly up the Gold River, especially if Qiro was bent on avenging his granddaughter’s murder. But while an error in navigation might have put them in Erumvirine, Cyron refused to countenance that as a possibility. There is no way troops associated with Qiro Anturasi could have ever made an error in navigation. Either they were not associated with him at all, or they had a purpose in taking Erumvirine first.
He glanced at the minister and saw hope blossoming in Vniel’s eyes. “You would know if it was a revolt because the bureaucrats would know. So, you really don’t know what it is, do you?”
Vniel slowly shook his head. “I only know what I have told you, Highness.”
Cyron sat back in his throne and felt as if a hundred quor of rice had just landed on his chest. As much as he had hated the bureaucrats, they had always protected society. No matter how depraved a ruler might become, they insulated the people in the same way they insulated the ruler. They provided stability and assured that when destruction came, it would only go so far.