Michael Stackpole: The New World

“To keep the knowledge you possess from our enemies, yes.” Tyressa nodded, then held out a hand. “Will you allow me to finish dressing your wounds?”

Keles shivered. When he’d thought Tyressa dead, he’d realized how much he cared for her. When he learned she had traveled with a Viruk warrior over the length of the continent to rescue him, he’d fallen in love. He thought she’d felt something, too. Learning that her feelings were all that stopped her from killing him was disorienting, but still welcome.

“These orders from the Prince, do you consider them still in force?”

She closed her eyes. “No.”

“Because…”

Her blue eyes opened again, but remained slitted. “Because I’ve seen what you have done here.” She opened her arms to take in the expanse of Tsatol Pelyn and the armored warriors therein. “You resurrected this fortress from a midden, and you turned a rabble into an army. It is magic on a scale unseen. Not only is it paramount to get you back to Nalenyr, but it would be an abrogation of my responsibility if I killed you.”

Keles frowned, but Tyressa did not let him ask the question forming in his mind. Instead, she took one of his broken and bruised hands and again began to wash away encrusted blood. “Keles, you have to understand the impossibility of any love between us. I am bound in service to the crown of Nalenyr. You are bound in service to your family, and they are likewise bound to the crown. In fact, your only chance at escaping the gilded cage that entraps your grandfather is for you to marry my niece. You could become the Prince Consort of Helosunde and have greater bargaining power over your position.”

Keles sighed. “The problem being that your niece already has a husband. While I’m sure Prince Pyrust will be thankful that I’ve built this fortress back up, the troops coming after me have razed his capital. I think that might anger him.”

Tyressa smiled. “There cannot be enough discomforts in Prince Pyrust’s life.” She dried Keles’ hands and applied unguents to the abrasions. He’d broken them in frustration at his inability to save those who had followed him from Felarati when the Eyeless Ones came searching for him. He’d had an odd dream prior to the invaders’ arrival, which suggested they’d been sent by Qiro Anturasi, his grandfather. Yet that was impossible, because creatures like the Eyeless Ones and their allies simply did not exist anywhere in the world. But even as he tried to take comfort in that, reality melded with the dream and made him think they had come from his grandfather.

And only my sister knew I was in Felarati. I dreamed of walking with her in a strange land. Was it a dream, or…

He hissed as Tyressa began cocooning his hands in silken bandages. “My hands are throbbing.”

“They will for a while, but should heal well.” She gently knotted a bandage off at his wrist. “Keep them clean and dry, if you can.”

“I’ll try.” Keles sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“This place. These people.” At the height of a storm, as the short, savage Eyeless Ones had closed on the ruined fortress, Keles had not only rebuilt the fortress, but had transformed the refugees. The eldest shed years, and children pulled them on. Armor and weapons had materialized, and the garrison could have fended off another assault. But they had no supplies. They could easily be starved out of the fortress.

“You should have filled the storerooms with rice and wine while you were rebuilding.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You jest.”

“I do, but I was also hopeful.” She tied off the other bandage. “Could you not do that now?”

Keles shrugged. “I could if I knew what I had done. Rekarafi says this was the second time I did something like that. The first time I moved the cavern in Ixyll, but I have no real memory of that. Last night I felt urgency and frustration, and yet…”

“And yet, because it was not the same in Ixyll, you doubt that emotion has anything to do with it?”

He nodded. “I know of jaedunto. Moraven Tolo was a Mystic swordsman. The few times I saw him fight, he was almost emotionless. Since what I did last night required magic, I have to assume I reached a level of jaedun. In Ixyll that made sense: I drew a map because I’m a cartographer. But, last night? True, I had been working as an engineer in Felarati, but I have no significant formal training.”

Tyressa dumped the bowl of water she’d used to clean his hands. “Not knowing what you did makes it difficult to repeat.”

“There have to be common elements between the two situations. Both times I was singularly focused. I pictured things in my mind with incredible clarity.” He shrugged. “That must be one piece to using magic, but I have never heard of anyone being able to do something like this.”

“True.” Tyressa looked around, then frowned. “If only you could conjure supplies. We cannot stay here. I need to get you back to Nalenyr, and I need to get Jasai away from Deseirion. Plus, we need to keep ahead of the Eyeless Ones. The sooner we can move out, the better. Don’t you think?”

Keles thought for a moment, then realized Tyressa was asking him for permission to organize the survivors. “I trust your judgment. You have my support. How long?”

“By noon. We’re in good shape. If the water supply holds, we’ll be okay for a couple of days. There are villages we can hit for food. Once we get into Helosunde, we’ll be among friends.”

“I like the idea of being in Helosunde.” Keles stood and offered Tyressa a hand. She took it gingerly and applied no weight or pressure as she stood.

“I will talk to Jasai about organizing the people. They are devoted to her.”

“Good idea.” He bowed to Tyressa and she returned it. As she walked away, various people approached her. They shot covert glances in his direction. A variety of them had drawn circles on their armor, or donned circular amulets.

To ward off magic. Keles shuddered and wandered toward the fortress’ open gate. Over seven centuries ago, magic had caused a cataclysm known to all as the Time of Black Ice. Waves of chaotic magic had swept over the world, killing many and transforming others. Since then, any undisciplined use of magic was considered an abomination.

The people’s reaction didn’t surprise Keles. Right now they were all thankful for the transformation that had allowed them to defend themselves. Soon enough, however, they’d fear the power he had used. They would wonder if he could take away what he had given and why he hadn’t returned them to their former selves.

But they were not alone in their fears.

He, too, feared what he had done. He could not control it. He couldn’t even identify it. It was possible that he could accidentally do something even worse. He could become as bad as the vanyesh.

Stop it! Keles frowned as he walked down to the edge of the muddy moat. His whole life had been centered on learning how things worked, and yet here he was convinced he could never figure out how to control magic. Mystics respected discipline and training-both of which would sharpen a person’s mind, free him of inconsequential thoughts, and allow him to concentrate on what needed to be done.

I need a task I can focus on. He squatted at the moat’s edge and scooped up mud with his fingertips. He ran his thumb over it-something didn’t feel right. It was cool and gritty, but not as rough as he would have expected. Not at all like the sand the Desei mixed to make concrete. It was the residue of the Eyeless Ones that had dissolved in the moat.

It didn’t matter. Keles concentrated and recalled a memory of playing in the mud on the banks of the Gold River. His father had been there. Along with his sister, Nirati, he had been making castles out of the mud. While he and Nirati scooped out shapeless mounds, his father somehow transformed it into straight walls and tall towers.