Ciras nodded. “Gilded, every inch of it, save for the skull, which was missing.”
“Show me, please.”
Vlay and a handful of warriors accompanied Ciras up to the Prince’s Hall. Tall, narrow, and deep, the chamber seemed even more forbidding because it lacked the reflected light from the vanyesh ’s golden robes. Tiered seating rose on either side. Entering, the hall appeared as if it had been abandoned for eons.
Three weeks, and already decay has set in.
Hand on sword hilt, Ciras marched beside Vlay. They stopped just shy of the purple strip of carpet leading to a massive stone throne.
Vlay nodded. “It’s the Celestial Throne, the one Nelesquin coveted.”
Ciras drew his sword and pointed at the purple garment discarded across the throne’s arms. “The skeleton had been wearing that robe.”
“It looks like the one we buried Nelesquin in.” The ancient warrior shook his head. “We’d placed his tomb at a crossroads so he’d not know which way was home. That precaution, apparently, was insufficient.”
TheNewWorld
Chapter Eight
23rd 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
Helosunde
Keles dropped to a knee on the forest trail. He could sense the others behind him, but they had learned to keep quiet when he raised a hand. He pressed his right hand to the damp loam, rubbed a bit between finger and thumb, and concentrated.
The world flowed away from his consciousness. He focused on the cool, wet soil staining his fingers. He caught an immediate sense of decayed leaves and dirt churned by deer hooves. Men had passed this way, too. But that impression was fleeting and unreliable; it could have been yesterday or two hundred years before.
His sense spread out from the soil and sped across the surface of the earth. The world unfolded in his mind, spreading out like thick oil. Awareness surged over hills and down through ravines. It poured over rocks and flowed into streambeds. It grew thin at fords, and eddied where water curled around smooth stones.
Experience helped him read the land. He knew woodlands well. They were heading south across rising land, so the ravines tended to run to the north and east. Their runoff would eventually trickle into the Black River.
He pushed his senses further into the land and felt a tingle at the base of his scalp. There, off to the east, up and around a steep-sided ravine, lay a forest clearing. It was big enough for the refugees to camp. A bit further east was a stream from which they could draw water, and the forest had enough windfall to provide firewood.
Keles opened his eyes and smiled as Rekarafi appeared in front of him. “Over there, about a quarter mile. A clearing?”
The Viruk nodded. “There was a small one. Will it be bigger when I scout it out again?”
“It’s big enough.” Keles rubbed a hand over his forehead, smearing it with dirt. “You seem to think that I make a decision and the world changes. It’s not like that.”
“I have seen the changes you have wrought. I have felt the magic.” The Viruk squatted and carved a symbol in the ground with a talon. “You must understand what you do so you may claim it as power.”
“Perhaps it is a power I don’t want. And yet, if I do not master it, my grandfather can destroy the world.”
“Think, Keles. Tell me how the power works.”
Keles closed his eyes. “I don’t impose my will on the land. I simply see things the way they are supposed to be. At least that’s what it feels like. I just see what is meant to be there.”
“Meant by whom?”
The cartographer opened his eyes. “I don’t know. Me? My grandfather? The gods? Maybe the land itself. All I know is that I see what feels right. Do you suppose that is possible?”
“ Possible? ” The Viruk rose and pointed off toward the clearing. The group’s scouts led the people past in a serpentine procession that disappeared into the growing dusk. “Did it feel right to remake the people?”
“Maybe, in a way. The children became the adults they would have been, and the elders regressed to the people they had been. The minister and his guards became idealized versions of themselves-every bit the heroes they imagined themselves. Only you, Tyressa, and Jasai remained unchanged, because you are the people you were meant to be.
“The land, though, I wonder…In Ixyll, the magic changed the land in many ways, but there were basics that did not change. A valley might grow living metal flesh, but it was still a valley. Rocks might have been transformed into giant fruits, but they still rolled downhill. Is it possible that the world itself has a magic that can resist magic? Is reality too difficult to change on so vast a scale?”
Rekarafi’s ivory teeth glowed in the twilight. “I have lived for many years, Keles Anturasi. I saw the Viruk Empire collapse. I saw the empire of Men collapse. There are constants. This idea of the land possessing its own magic is not without merit. Perhaps you need to concentrate on finding what exists and perfecting it.”
Keles smiled. “Flow with the river, not against it?”
“It makes it less likely that you will be destroyed by the current.” The Viruk waved him on. “Let us see if what you thought matches what I remember seeing.”
The refugees had already begun to make camp and establish guard positions by the time they arrived. They organized on a standard plan, with the warriors occupying an outer ring and Princess Jasai’s shelter constructed in the middle. The guard stations pushed out into the woods. Given the nature of the Eyeless Ones and how they hunted, the company would need ample warning of their approach.
Fortunately, the sour weather that had kept them soaked for much of their trek south had also limited their pursuit. Rekarafi had estimated that they had gained a day over the Eyeless Ones, and their monkeylike companions had not been seen for a week.
Keles smiled at the Viruk. “Is it what you remember?”
“You only changed it a little. Bigger. Better drainage.” The Viruk shrugged off the baggage he’d been carrying. “Next time, bring the deer yard closer.”
As Rekarafi dashed off to hunt, Keles picked up his gear and carried it over to where Jasai sat before a small fire. He pulled off his own pack, then sat. He rolled his shoulders around and felt a series of pops ripple up his spine. He groaned, and she smiled as she fed a small stick into the fire.
“Keles, you really must let me carry something when we head out again.”
“You are carrying enough, Princess.”
The blond woman stroked a hand over her stomach. “Yes, I know, the future of Helosunde-a child to unite my nation with Deseirion.”
“It doesn’t matter whose child it is. It’s enough that you’re carrying a child.” Keles looked around at the others preparing their shelters and lowered his voice. “And you are the leader of our expedition. These people are loyal to you, not to Deseirion.”
Golden firelight could not melt the ice of her blue eyes. “They are my husband’s subjects. He had them so cowed they would follow me to the Mountains of Ice and through the Gate to the Underworld. They are suspicious of everything here. They see themselves as enemies in a foreign land.”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
She snorted, anger tightening her eyes. “I should. The Council of Ministers chose my brother to be Prince, then convinced him to attack Meleswin. They abandoned him there, and Pyrust took me to wife and to bed. The only reason they will be happy to see me is to use me as leverage over Pyrust.”