Michael Stackpole - The New World

“This is why I came.” Ciras slowly rolled the map into a cylinder. “I had a most disturbing experience, and I would ask you about it. I don’t know if you can help me.”

Keles nodded. “I will do what I can.”

“While fighting last night, I invoked jaedun. A dying man grabbed my leg and I thought, to my horror, that I was rooted like an oak. Before I could do anything, another man tried to cut me in half.”

The swordsman loosened his robe and exposed his left hip. Sunlight shone on the wound. Ciras had definitely been cut, but there wasn’t any blood. Moreover, the wound’s edges weren’t clean. It looked as if an ax had been taken to wood.

Keles dropped to one knee. “May I touch it?”

Ciras nodded, but did not watch.

Keles probed the wound. The flesh was warm and somewhat supple, though it had the texture of a callus. The splintering definitely resembled wood, but the edges felt more like fingernails. Even so, within the wound, the flesh felt perfectly normal.

Keles stood. “You thought you were rooted like an oak?”

Ciras closed his robe. “It was more than that. I pictured the transformation. My body was the trunk, my skin was bark, my arms were limbs.

“He should have killed me, Keles, but it was as if I were oak.”

“But you weren’t really rooted in place. You couldn’t be here if you had been.”

Ciras nodded. “Out in the Wastes, at Opaslynoti, we saw many odd things. In Ixyll, too. Magic had changed things. A mid the vanyesh, I saw even many stranger sights. The vanyesh had long ago surrendered their humanity.”

Keles nodded. “And you figured that, because of what I did with the trees, I might know what happened to you?”

“Do you?”

The cartographer folded his arms. “Magic can change people. It’s not easy, but it can be controlled. Magic emphasizes the true nature of things.”

Ciras frowned. “But I’m not an oak tree.”

“No? Oak trees are strong and hard. They’re dependable. Durable, noble even. You have those same qualities. You were using magic, and defined yourself as an oak. The magic flowed through you. In that place and moment, you became an oak.”

“Is that possible?”

“Your flesh splintered. You’re alive. It’s possible.” Keles smiled. “You may have been an oak for a heartbeat, but you’ve already begun to reject that notion. And see what has happened? Your body is no longer wooden. Your flesh has taken on the nearest normal equivalents, even though a callus on the hip is something I’ve never seen.”

“I don’t understand your point.”

“You have the mental strength magically to transform yourself both into an oak and back again. You use magic in a way that has nothing to do with your training.”

Ciras frowned. “I didn’t think that possible.”

“Everything we were raised to believe says it isn’t.” A tingle ran down Keles’ spine. “But magic is more complicated than we imagined, and far more powerful. The vanyesh already know that. If we don’t find a way to master the magic we do command, we will be helpless before them.”

27th 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

Dientan Hills, south of Moriande

Nalenyr

“I have no tolerance for bad news today.” Nelesquin tugged a robe closed over his golden exoskeleton. “Vex me, and there will be repercussions.”

Kaerinus opened his arms, displaying an ephemeral jet-and-emerald webbing between his robe’s sleeves and body. “I believe all parties understand this, Highness, but each believes the other will suffer beneath your ire. Despite the conflict, progress has been made.”

“Very well.” Nelesquin sighed. “My father had the patience for this sort of nonsense. I do not. We are at war!”

He led Kaerinus from the tent and stalked toward Qiro’s hill. The tent remained atop it, and the pennants flapped in a breeze that was felt noplace else. The gaiety with which they danced did not lighten Nelesquin’s mood.

The Prince could not shed his ire. Nelesquin had not expected his first assaults on Moriande’s walls to succeed. He’d simply been probing, seeing what the defenders would do. He’d learned a great deal-in fact, he had learned all he needed to guarantee the city’s conquest.

But the vulnerability of his moles and the xonarchii had surprised him. He’d not expected the moles to bring the walls down, but the simple efficacy of the countermeasures had gone unanticipated.

The vulnerability of xonarchii riders had been obvious, but he could always train more riders. He’d not expected a single arrow to kill one of the beasts, and this led him to rethink his weaponry.

The bright spot in the whole operation had come when one of Moriande’s mechanical warriors emerged from a tunnel and attacked the camp. It had been relatively simple for Durrani with polearms to disable the device. The vanyesh had recognized it, so Nelesquin set them to the task of finding a way to replicate it.

Kaerinus paused at the base of the hill. “It would be best, Highness, if you were to calm yourself before proceeding.”

“Yes, of course.” Nelesquin drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. He did his best to purge himself of anger. Qiro’s realm concentrated and accelerated time. He could exhaust himself fairly easily.

I tire too quickly these days.

He nodded, then stepped forward, piercing an invisible shell and entering the heart of the hill.

Steel chains encircled his chest. His eyes bulged. Unseen forces crushed in on him, sheathing him in steel, then the heat began. His flesh started to burn and itch. If he lifted a hand to scratch, he’d peel his skin off. Millions of glass needles burrowed into him, impaling flesh and bone.

He staggered through and dropped immediately to his hands and knees. Cool green grass brushed his cheeks, caressing away the pain. He gasped, finally able to breathe. A wave of fatigue passed over him. His arms buckled, but he held himself up on his forearms. I will not pass out.

“Welcome, Prince Nelesquin.”

Nelesquin looked up, at first seeing only Qiro’s sandal-clad foot and the hem of his white robe. The fabric shifted from homespun wool to embroidered silk and back, as if the breeze were changing it. The tingle of jaedun undulated with the robe’s transformations.

A shadow covered Nelesquin, then strong arms slipped beneath his and raised him up. “Thank you for coming, Highness.”

Nelesquin patted the silver bones that held him. “Thank you, Pravak.”

The giant vanyesh steadied the Prince, then withdrew. Nelesquin forced a smile onto his face. “I have not come because of reports of discord. I wish to see progress.”

Pravak laughed. “We have done much in the months here.”

Qiro smiled, but Nelesquin ignored him. “I see the building there, belching smoke. Show me what you have done.”

“I am honored, Highness.”

They began walking to the distant black building, but reached their goal only after a handful of steps. Nelesquin could feel Qiro’s smile grow, but his ability to manipulate time and space no longer amazed Nelesquin. Qiro had created a whole world inside a hill so modest as to go unnoted on any map. Given that starting point, how could anything else be truly surprising?

Pravak opened the factory door. Metallic clanking and clanging filled the whole building. The red-gold glow of molten iron gushing from furnaces lit the interior. Vanyesh labored, channeling heat from the liquid metal back into the furnaces. Mechanical creatures hammered and shaped the metal; others hauled the various pieces away to assemble weapons.