“Possess it? Not I.” Nelesquin bowed his head. “Inside a week, you shall be in your home again. The wrongs of the past shall be made right again, and a brilliant future shall be ours to enjoy.”
Chapter Thirty-one
25th 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
Moriande, Nalenyr
This year, Moriande would host no Harvest Festival. Crops that could be taken early had been. Though premature, the harvest had been generous. Storehouses bulged with grain. Cattle, sheep, and swine had been slaughtered.
And to the south, in the stubble-and chaff-ridden fields, Nelesquin and his vermin had taken up residence. They had taken their time setting up. Nelesquin always had liked a parade and spectacle. He put on quite a show for us, though few in Moriande truly understood their peril.
His army did look impressive from atop South Gate. The kwajiin made up the bulk, but he also employed human regiments from the south and even Nalenyr’s western provinces. The Free Naleni Regiment fought beneath Count Linel Vroan’s banner, which surprised no one. Prince Cyron had exclaimed that the man was hardier than a cockroach. There wasn’t a warrior on the walls who hadn’t boasted he’d be the one to crush him.
Nelesquin’s slow advance allowed us to complete most of our siege preparations. Pilings had been driven deep into the river and vast chains stretched between them to bar all passage. We’d also sown the known channels with stout spikes that would stave in hulls. Where channels were too wide for that, we’d scuttled a ship or two.
Under Count Derael’s direction, the river’s edge had become fortified. Barricades covered both approaches to the nine bridges. The ferries had been cut off. Streets leading up from the river had also been blocked. He stationed soldiers at key points in case the vhangxi were infiltrated through the river.
Children had all been issued nets and sticks, and been trained how to smash the winged toads. Derael suggested the best way to combat fear was to give people something to do. Only the helpless truly feel afraid. I marveled at little gangs of feral children marching in good order, patrolling their neighborhoods. I wished their parents would take soldiering as seriously.
Our defensive plan had three components. The first and most important was the defense of the walls. Keeping Nelesquin’s troops outside the city would be best for all. We were prepared to defend them, but chances were the walls would be breached. We had to assume they would be.
From the walls we would fall back to the towers. Three of the city’s nine provincial towers lay south of the Gold River. From west to east, they were Kojaikun, Quunkun, and Wentokikun. Initially it was assumed that we would surrender the Dragon Tower only after every defender had been slain, but Prince Cyron demurred. He’d already evacuated the animals from his sanctuary to the north end, housing them in the gardens adjacent to Shirikun. While we were expected to defend his palace, the plan was simply to bleed the enemy and buy time so people could escape north across the bridges.
After the towers, we’d hold the bridges’ southern ends, then get driven back to the north ends. We already had catapults, ballistae, and trebuchets ranged and sighted for sweeping the long archways. If Nelesquin’s troops got that far, the slaughter would be horrible.
“Master, I should like to say…”
I turned and smiled. Ciras Dejote stood before me in a full suit of armor. A flame had been painted on the breastplate in yellow and orange. The armor’s lacings likewise alternated those two colors. He wore a pair of swords, one long, one short, and a fierce armored mask hung by its lacings from his shoulder.
I clapped him on the shoulders. “Ciras, I am no longer your master. You traveled to Voraxan and came back with the Empress’ loyal retainers. It was an act that shall be sung of for a long time.”
“Only if we win, Master. If not, we shall be sung of as the vanyesh are now.”
I nodded. “Then we cannot let that happen.”
“Master Tolo-I do not know if I call you that or Master Soshir…” Ciras frowned and slid the long sword, scabbard and all, from his sash. “This blade belonged to Jogot Yirxan. There is some indication that I may be him, reborn. Using the sword, out there in Ixyll, I had visions. And one of them was…”
I held up a hand, then extended it. He laid the blade’s hilt in my palm and it was as if ice encased me. My vision blurred and night came on fast. I knew I was me-Virisken Soshir-but my body felt alien. It was as if I were wearing a costume, pretending to be someone I was not.
Nelesquin’s camp in far Ixyll had been laid waste. My brother’s body stretched out in front of me. I tangled fingers in his hair and lifted his severed head. I held it high, laughing. He had thought to oppose me. He had thought himself my better.
I spat in his face, then kicked his head into the darkness.
I don’t know how I knew he was there. A sense? Jaedun, perhaps. I think it may have even been deliberate on his part, a tiny sound, just a hint of warning. Not that it availed me much, because his sword-the sword connecting me with Ciras-connected the two of us. It bit through me, carving into my left side from spine to breastbone.
My hand fell from the sword. I found myself on my knees. The scar ached as it had not in a long time.
“Master, are you…?”
“I’m fine, Ciras.” I got to my feet, steadying myself against the wall. “You had a vision of almost cutting me in half.”
Ciras could not meet my gaze. “It dishonors me.”
“It should not, no more than the scar does me. Jogot and I had been as brothers-truer brothers than Nelesquin and I had ever been, or so I thought. When he joined the vanyesh I felt betrayed. I did not realize why he had gone.”
I looked past him, north, to Shirikun, where the Empress had taken up residence. “When first I saw her again she looked for something. She wanted to believe she could trust me, but I had broken her trust before.”
Ciras shook his head. “You never would have done that.”
“I am afraid I would have.” I pointed to the sword. “I saw Nelesquin as my rival for Imperial power, not hers. I’d struck him down, just as I would strike down anyone who stood between me and the throne. She knew that. She sent you to kill me. You did.”
The blood had drained from Ciras’ face. “But in a most cowardly way, Master. I struck you from behind.”
I shook my head. “Not cowardly. Prudent. Your vision ended after you struck me down?”
“Yes.”
I reached out and tipped his chin up, exposing his throat. “I was a very dangerous man then, Ciras. You paid dearly for your fidelity to the Empress.” I hesitated. “There was just enough life in me to take your head.”
Ciras swallowed hard. “This explains many things. If you demand satisfaction of me, Master…”
I let his chin fall again. “Do not be silly. I know better than to want to tangle with you.”
He blinked.
“If you wish me to say it, I will. I fear you, Ciras Dejote.” I laughed and he joined me, albeit slowly.
“Fear me? I would think you hate me.”
“Hate you? No. You acted bravely for the Empire. And that’s good to remember, now that we’re here, fighting a war we thought we had fought eons ago.”
Ciras leaned on the wall and peered south. “You could challenge Nelesquin to combat in the circle and be done with it.”
I shook my head. “He’d not accept.”
“He fears you would kill him.”
“Nelesquin fears nothing, which has always been a problem.” I shrugged. “I have had many more years of practice at this point, but he has his magic. It would probably be an even fight.”
“Then why refuse the challenge?”
“His war is with the Empress. Killing me is for later.” I chuckled and patted Ciras on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you ready to fight. They will come tonight, just after the sun has gone down.”