“I don’t disagree, but then we know more of Naleni politics than he is likely to.” Soshir folded his arms. “I would not blame you, Count Vroan, if you returned to Ixun to safeguard your home.”
The slender man’s chin came up. “If Nalenyr falls, Ixun will go with it. The battle will be decided here.”
Soshir shook his head. “You’re still not listening to me. Nelesquin knows how to fight this ground. It may not look it to you, but this is a trap. Withdraw. Strike at his flanks. Raid his supplies. Send troops into Erumvirine.”
Pyrust listened. The urgency in Soshir’s voice underscored the wisdom of his words. They were facing a foe they did not know, who might well have superior troops-thousands of them. To take up a position and adopt a strategy in the face of so many unknowns was foolishness.
“Understand something, Master Soshir. Your assessment of the enemy may be accurate-and I base this on your experience in Erumvirine alone, not your history with Prince Nelesquin. I shall even break one of my reserves down into regiments and send them east and west to find any troops Nelesquin has sent through the mountains. That said, I feel I must make a stand here. You may be correct that Nelesquin knows this site, but we both know there is no better spot between here and Moriande to oppose an army.”
The xidantzu nodded reluctantly. “There is no arguing that point.”
“I find myself, therefore, on the horns of a dilemma. If I act on what you have told me and it turns out that you have erred on the side of caution, withdrawal could jeopardize the whole of Nalenyr. While Moriande can doubtless hold out against the army for a while, if we are bottled up there, Nelesquin could pour past, take Helosunde and Deseirion, and then return for Moriande.”
“If he shatters your force here, he’ll do that anyway.”
“Yes, but he will have fewer troops with which to do it.” Pyrust shrugged. “There is another problem, of course.”
“Which is?”
“The Empress Cyrsa has commanded me to stop Nelesquin here.”
Soshir blinked. “Then the Imperial crown on the unit banners was not to annoy Nelesquin? The Empress has returned?”
Pyrust nodded solemnly. “She has.”
Soshir looked toward the tent flap. “I saw none of the troops that have been waiting in Ixyll.”
“I don’t know if those troops are myth or not.” The Prince rubbed his half hand over his jaw. “She said nothing about them.”
The xidantzu frowned. “I had an apprentice who was traveling through Ixyll to awaken her. Did he succeed?”
Pyrust shook his head. “I do not know. The Empress had long since left her sanctuary. She’s been here for eons, waiting and watching, creating her own intelligence network. You certainly knew of her: the Lady of Jet and Jade.”
Soshir blinked with disbelief. “That cannot be.”
Vroan nodded. “I confirm it. I met her before I left Moriande. She was the Lady of Jet and Jade. My first wife was once a student of hers.”
Soshir rubbed a hand over his forehead. “How could I not have seen it? She was Paryssa.”
Vroan nodded slightly. “You called her Paryssa, after the flower?”
Soshir looked up, his expression open and unguarded. “It was after a scent she favored before she became Empress. When I later met the Lady of Jet and Jade, she burned paryssa incense. I called her that. Part of me may have remembered, but…”
The man’s reaction to the news fascinated Pyrust, primarily because it revealed an unexpected side of him. Virisken Soshir, if camp gossip was to be credited at all, had a soul of iron armored in steel, and the combat skills to keep that armor untouched.
And yet, at the mention of a woman, he has softened abruptly. Is that love? Pyrust thought fleetingly of his wife, Jasai, seeking a similar reaction. He certainly had felt something for her. Pride. Anticipation for the child she was carrying. He might have even labeled what he felt love, but it burned so much more coldly in him than it did in Soshir.
“She’s in Moriande now. She stopped me from killing Cyron.”
“And ordered you down here to destroy her enemy.” Soshir nodded. “Did she…?”
“There doubtless would have been orders for you, had she known you were here.” Pyrust shrugged. “She likely thinks you in Ixyll with your apprentice.”
“Of course. You’re right.” Soshir nodded. “Will you have your dispatch rider convey a message for me?”
Pyrust nodded. “A rider will leave at dawn. A reply could come as early as the next day.”
“Thank you, Highness.”
Pyrust bowed his head. “Of course, your troops are welcome here. I trust they are eager to kill more of the kwajiin.”
“As many as we are able, Highness.” Soshir’s eyes tightened. “This is not the place I would choose to die, but for killing, it will suffice.”
Chapter Seventeen
32nd day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Jaidanxan (The Ninth Heaven)
Jorim gave Tsiwen as brave a smile as he could muster. “This will be for the best, sister. Thank you for convincing Grija.”
She gave him a dark-eyed look. “This will get you back to the mortal realm, but it does not settle how you shall deal with your sister. What will you do?”
He began pacing along his balcony, relishing the feel of cool stone. It didn’t matter that it was an illusion. “I do not know. Nirati might be convinced to go willingly into the Underworld to save reality.”
Tsiwen frowned. “That would solve the immediate problem but leave Grija with another. Having a mortal in the Underworld-someone with her physical form intact-is trouble.”
Jorim cocked an eyebrow. “This has happened before?”
“Several times. Human heroes seeking to free a loved one from our brother’s clutches. They generally beat Grija into submission or trick him, and he lets the soul loose.”
Jorim stopped and faced her. “A mortal has beaten Grija?”
“It happened with some frequency until we hid the gates to the Underworld. Our brother accepted dominion over the dead because the dead are not likely to outthink or overpower him.”
“But a mortal?”
The goddess of Wisdom smiled. “Mortal life is a power unto itself. Mortals will often appeal to you or me for divine aid, but you have seen how swiftly time passes down there. By the time I might notice an entreaty, the time to intervene is long past. And yet, somehow, those mortals figure out a solution, or find courage in themselves. They attribute it to us and give us thanks and praise, but we did nothing. If they knew their power, they might mount a campaign to unseat us, just as we threw down our father.”
Jorim rubbed a hand over his jaw. “You suggest that life itself is magic.”
“No suggestion. It is the way of things. The birth of a child is as much creation as making a world. Shaping a bow or mastering a sword cut, all of these things are creations.” Tsiwen’s smile grew. “Every act of creation, no matter how big or small, changes reality. The consequences of a change are all but impossible to calculate, which makes our position a precarious one. Once someone decides the gods do not exist, we may, in fact, cease to exist.”
The dragon god slowly nodded. “Those who create instead of destroy get used to expanding reality. There comes a time when their access to it expands. They gain control over it.”
“True, but too many see themselves as limited. You and your brother may have wondered what it would mean to become a Mystic cartographer, but that was to study a cup of water when you were submerged in an ocean.”
“So developing a skill is a means to an end, not an end in itself?”
“Not if one is capable of pushing beyond.” Tsiwen walked to him and enfolded him in a hug. “Our brother comes to strip you of all I love. I recall only too well the pain of the last time, so I shall not stay.”