Michael Stackpole - The New World

She rose and backed away from the cliff’s edge. Where the wheel had slammed into the ground, a rift had opened. Copper ants were pouring from it.

Already they were devouring the dead fish.

The pain began to fade and the blood to dry, but the impression of Jorim that seeped in intensified. The pain was his pain. She wanted to scream for him, but she couldn’t. This frustrated her, but she knew it was for the best. If she gave voice to his agony, it would drive her mad.

But as Nirati stepped away from the cliff, a thorned vine caught at her ankle. The vine grew thicker, then tightened. Thorns pierced her flesh.

Takwee leaped from her back and uprooted the plant, tossing it away, but the vine stabbed its roots back into the earth and began to grow toward Nirati again. Takwee squealed in terror, extending bleeding paws to Nirati. The woman took the creature into her arms, stroking her fur, refusing to panic.

“This is my place. This is my paradise.”

She drew a crescent-shaped line through the air with a finger. The section of the cliff described by her gesture broke away and slid into the ocean. It swept away the copper ants and the vine. It took everything save for the sense of her brother’s pain.

Nirati looked off in the direction her grandfather had gone. “You didn’t feel Jorim’s pain because you cannot, Grandfather. I am closer to him now. I am dead. I belong in the Underworld, and this is where Jorim is trapped.”

She turned from the ocean and began walking. It took her no more than a dozen steps before she turned to the right and arrived at her destination. Takwee leaped free, hooting delightedly. The creature crept up to the edge of the spring-fed pool and watched as little fish flashed gold and silver beneath her shadow.

Takwee circled the pond so she would not have the sun at her back, but Nirati remained, her shadow stabbing across the glassy surface. “From these depths Nelesquin emerged. I doubtless came to Kunjiqui through this portal as well.”

She stared into the shimmering water and the pond began to drain. The water eroded a tunnel through the earth. Fish flopped. Springwater trickled down one wall. The tunnel opened out and spiraled down into darkness. A fetid breeze rose, smelling of things worse than dying fish.

Takwee backed slowly away from the tunnel’s mouth.

Nirati smiled. “I want to go down there even less than you, but I have no choice. My brother suffers. I cannot allow this.”

Takwee drew another step back.

Nirati laughed. “I understand what I am doing, Takwee. Though I may be dead, I am not stupid. We are off to lay siege to the Nine Hells, and we shall not go alone.”

4th 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

Kelewan, Erumvirine

It occurred to Nelesquin, as an afterthought, that leaving the crucified soldiers high on the city’s walls might not give his visitors the correct impression of Kelewan. Yet, if any of the vanyesh noticed, they gave no sign. They had sailed across the Dark Sea and down the Green River, arriving at the quays with little ceremony. Dockworkers had known something was amiss when a ship came down the river faster than the current could have taken it, yet without oars, sails, or draft animals in sight. Most of them fled, making the sign of a circle to ward off magic, but one brave soul brought word of the ship’s arrival to the palace.

Nelesquin made for the docks immediately, but without apparent haste. It would not do for him to seem anxious-though, in truth, he was. Kaerinus appeared unchanged despite the years. Nelesquin wondered how time had treated those who had waited with him in the Wastes.

The first of the vanyesh bounded from the ship, vaulting over the wales to land on the docks in a crouch. He appeared to be nothing more than a skeleton, his bones wrapped in silver. The metal had been etched with fine sigils and symbols. The creature-Nelesquin could hardly think of it as a man-rose to eight feet, and a second pair of whiplike arms uncoiled themselves from around his spine. A knot of fine silvery filaments rose from his skull like a warrior’s topknot, and a pair of long swords crisscrossed at his back.

The only recognizable thing about him was his face. A metal mask replaced his flesh but moved with a fluid reality. The creature smiled and slowly stalked forward. When he reached a respectful dozen paces from Nelesquin, he dropped to a knee and bowed deeply, holding it for a very long time.

Nelesquin smiled. “Rise, Pravak Helos. Be welcome in Kelewan.”

The metal man’s head came up. “You are the dawn after a terrible night, Highness. We came as quickly as we could.”

“And I am pleased to have you here.” Nelesquin looked past him at the ship bobbing quayside. “How many of you are there?”

The giant lowered his head again. “Seventy-two. We had numbered more, but some did not survive the journey.”

Nelesquin glanced at Kaerinus. “See what you can do for them.”

“It has been a long time, brother.” Pravak gave Kaerinus a smile. “Many will need bearers. If you take them to the circle outside the city, they will get better. In our form, we need the wild magic.”

Kaerinus smiled, then headed back toward the gate to order bearers and other helpers.

Pravak stood and looked longingly at the small stone circle near the city gate. “If I could trouble you, Highness?”

Nelesquin smiled and led the way to the stone circle. Pravak stepped over the white stone rim and smiled with the satisfaction of a man entering a warm bath. “We stopped at a few small towns on the way downriver, but they have little enough magic trapped in their circles to help. We almost put in at Dreonath, for magic lingers there, but we could not countenance a delay.”

“You anticipated my need.”

“Circumstance forced our action. You won’t remember Tolwreen, Highness, though you have been venerated there as a god for eons. We worked hard to maintain our number so we could rejoin you when the time came. We kept to ourselves but Turasynd Black Eagles found us. Since you had allied with them in the past, we forged our own alliance. Barely a month and a half ago we concluded an agreement. The Black Eagles and their allies already maneuver to attack Deseirion.”

Nelesquin frowned. “At what cost?”

“They want Deseirion.”

“Ha! I would never give them part of the Empire. Did you agree to this?”

“Yes, Highness.” Pravak’s metal flesh flowed into a smile. “We never had any intention of allowing them to keep it. Prince Pyrust, as near as we have learned, is the most capable military leader alive. We wished to distract him.”

The Prince nodded. “Pyrust was the best. He’s dead now.”

Pravak shook his head. “The Black Eagles could not have reached Deseirion yet.”

“He did not die in Deseirion. He died here. I killed him myself.” Nelesquin rubbed a hand over his beard. “But, tell me, how did you learn of Pyrust and the state of affairs in the Nine?”

“There are wanderers in the Wastes who tell us much. We’ve used them in your service before.” Anger etched deep lines onto Pravak’s face. “One such was a man named Ciras Dejote. He bore the sword our brother Jogot Yirxan carried. We welcomed him and he told us much of the outside world. We thought him Jogot’s reincarnation and believed his arrival was a sign that your return was imminent. Then he betrayed us and almost destroyed our alliance with the Black Eagles. Worse yet, we believe he and his companion were searching for Empress Cyrsa.”

Nelesquin rested a foot on the circled edge, then leaned forward on his raised knee. “Cyrsa is in Moriande. Pyrust was her general. My troops defeated him and are on their way to lay siege to Moriande. I shall be leaving in a week and you shall join me. All who can travel will join me.”