“I thought as much.” Nelesquin shook his head. “She is a hero.”
“Yes. She saved the Empire.”
“But she was the one to split it into the Nine Principalities, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, but only to prevent the power-hungry from tearing everything apart while she was away.” Nirati frowned. “Is this not true, my lord?”
“In some ways I suppose it is, Nirati, for any tale that survives the generation that lived it becomes the truth. It is not what I remember. It is a story that masks a monster, and it is against that monster your grandfather and I will strike.”
Nelesquin turned his head from her and gazed northwest, toward the land once known as the Empire. “Cyrsa has, no doubt, been counted as one of the last emperor’s many wives. He did have quite the harem, for along with a love of peace, he loved women and spirits. He was, by all accounts, weak-willed. Still, we hoped, he would someday be able to pick an heir from among his many sons. I eventually attained that position, but that is somewhat beside the point.
“Cyrsa was not one of his wives of long standing. She was a common whore, gifted to him by a noble who sought his favor. She infatuated him and distracted him at a time when distraction was the last thing we needed.”
Nelesquin’s eyes narrowed and his expression darkened. “When the Turasynd invaded, we all beseeched the Emperor to act. We were ready to gather an army, but with each report of their attacks, the Emperor withdrew a bit more. He knew what fighting them would do to the Empire and could not bring himself to order such destruction. Yet his good intentions doomed the Empire.
“Cyrsa acted. She murdered the Emperor in his bed and was found naked and blood-spattered by Soshir. He should have slain her outright, but he did not. He wanted to be her consort, clearly, so he supported her claim that she was now the Empress. She issued orders to gather an army and head west. She sundered the Empire, looted it, and fled the capital.”
Nelesquin looked at her, his expression opening. “I tell you in truth, dear Nirati, that I was prideful in my youth, but I was not stupid or untalented. The whore’s division of the Empire made me the Prince of Erumvirine, the Crown Province. Perhaps that should have satisfied my ambitions, but it did not. I gathered my loyal retainers and went with her. I suspected treachery, and was rewarded with it. I died in Ixyll because of her. She was so afraid of the esteem in which I was held that she split my army off and offered me as a sacrifice to the Turasynd.”
Nirati closed her eyes tight as memories of pain washed over her. She drew her legs up and hugged them to her chest. Then she slowly opened her eyes. “But if you died, how is it that you are here now?”
Nelesquin, gaze focused distantly, shook his head. “I do not know, but the how of things does not concern me. It is the why that intrigues. And from our conversations, from what I have learned from your grandfather, I think I know the answer. If I am correct, the world may face a challenge yet greater than the Time of Black Ice.”
“How so?”
“Consider this. Cyrsa was never a stupid woman. She knew the sort of catastrophe her battle would unleash. She had no idea if the world would survive or not, but she was certain it would be devastated. She planned, therefore, to deal with the world after it had been healed. She planned her return then, when things would be closest to what they were when she departed.”
“But how would she know when that time was?”
He smiled grimly. “It is simple, Nirati. She created a sanctuary in Ixyll, where she could wait out the years of wild magic. The Turasynd have a different understanding of it than we do, and she captured and tortured enough of their shaman to learn their secrets. She creates her sanctuary and waits, like a spider tucked safely in her web. When the wild magic has receded enough, explorers will come. All she has to do is capture them, learn from them, and plot her return.”
Nirati’s eyes grew wide. “But my brother, Keles, is bound for Ixyll.”
“I know. Your grandfather has told me this. Still, it could have been worse. If Qiro had succeeded in finding her earlier, Anturasixan would not exist. We would have no base from which to fight her.”
“Can we fight her?”
“Oh yes, most assuredly.” His smile warmed. “With my help, your grandfather is preparing an army that will oppose her. His initial efforts have had modest results-he learns quickly, but has no background in warfare. But the mountains he raised today are full of iron, and I have shaped creatures that will mine and refine it, creating steel for armor and weapons. In other provinces we will raise warriors worthy of the name, whose skill at combat will be finely honed. We will be ready.”
“But Ixyll is a long way from here.”
“Agreed, but we have our second purpose to consider, as well as the first. We will need a base of operations, so our armies will first return to me my birthright. I shall be Prince of Erumvirine again. After that, we shall consolidate our position and wait for her arrival.”
“And your second purpose?”
Nelesquin smiled softly and drew her into his lap. “Do you not remember my telling you that you would be avenged, Nirati? I know what they did to you there. I don’t know who did it but I know there is punishment to be meted out, and unruly princes to be brought to heel. Order shall be restored to the lands of the Empire, so we may face Cyrsa with a united front. To do otherwise would be foolish.”
“Yes, my lord.” Nirati reached up, sinking fingers into his black hair. “And once she is destroyed, we can go home again?”
“Yes, Nirati.” Nelesquin nodded solemnly. “I shall return the world to the perfection that was the Empire, and together we will make the world into paradise.”
Chapter Six
12th 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
Nemehyan, Caxyan
For at least the third time that day, Jorim Anturasi wondered if all the gods had gotten their start this way. He sat on a circular stone platform set in the bottom of a bowl-shaped room. It had been buried in the lower reaches of the largest ceremonial pyramid in Nemehyan. A star-shaped stone had been fitted into the ceiling about twenty feet above him. The Amentzutl maicana-the ruling magician class-had shaped and set the stone with magic. They’d pierced it with tiny holes, so the stone wept. Its tears poured down on him.
The water soaked him, pasting the golden robe with the black dragons embroidered on it to his body. He found its clinging an annoyance, but on this, the fifth day of his ritual cleansing, at least he would actually get clean. He’d endured one ritual for every day of the Amentzutl creation story, with each rite centering on that day’s symbolic element-although the sequence ran in reverse. The first day, he dwelt in a tree because the rain forests were the final bit of creation. The third day, for earth, he lived in a cave. He’d survived that and the ordeal of fire, which brought him to water.
The relentless dripping was enough to drive him mad, so he did his best to shut his mind to it and concentrate on his predicament. By agreement with Anaeda Gryst, the Stormwolf’s captain, Jorim had communicated nothing of his discovery to his grandfather. No one in Nalenyr knew where the expedition was or what it had discovered. Besides, in his most recent attempts to reach his grandfather, he’d been unable to make mind-to-mind contact. He knew that his grandfather was out there-and his brother as well-but both of them were distracted enough that he couldn’t even be certain they noticed his attempts to reach them.
It would not have mattered much if they had, because he still could not have gotten across the whole of his experience. As part of the Stormwolf expedition, he’d sailed on Nalenyr’s largest ship into the vast Eastern Sea. At its far edge they’d discovered a continent no one in the Nine knew existed. The people who lived there called themselves the Amentzutl, and believed Jorim was the incarnation of their god Tetcomchoa, who had returned to save them in a time of dire peril.