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 Felarati. 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.”