Michael Stackpole - The New World

“Of course, Imperial Highness.”

“So, I shall be direct with you.” The Prince’s expression hardened. “I want Prince Cyron dead. Make that happen, and you shall find a high place in my Empire.”

Dunos giggled. He’d never seen a butterfly quite like the one walking up and down his left arm. It was black and green. The geometric designs on its wings shifted shape with each beat. That wasn’t what made him laugh, though. Its journey up and down his arm-over the top of his robe and ring mail- tickled.

“Dunos?”

The boy smiled and held his hand up. “Hi, Ranai. It tickles.”

“What tickles?”

“The butterfly, see?”

“I don’t see it, Dunos.”

He glanced at his arm. The butterfly had gone, though he could still feel the tingle of its steps. “Well, it was here.”

“I’m sure.” The swordswoman smiled and joined him at the river wall. “What are you doing here?”

Dunos shrugged. Her voice had that mother tone to it, so he knew he had to answer. “Well, Master Tolo told me to find Master Dejote. I saw him here a couple of days ago. He’s not here. I decided to wait. And then there was the butterfly.”

“I didn’t see the butterfly, but I think it’s a good thing you’re exercising your arm. Does it feel better?”

The boy shrugged again. “I guess.” He brought his hand across his belly to the dagger at his right hip. “Easier to draw. My grip is tighter. We don’t have to tie the dagger into my hand anymore.”

“Well, we might still do that, just in case.” Ranai squatted down. “I remember you from the road, you know.”

“When you were going to rob me and my father and my grandfather?”

“Yes. You were the only one willing to step up to fight my companions and me.”

“And Master Tolo.”

“And Master Tolo.” Her eyes grew distant, as if the memory was years old, not months. “You remember he sent me south, to study at Serrian Istor?”

“Yes. And he sent me to Serrian Jatan with the robes of the man you’d killed.”

“True. The reason I ask is this. At Serrian Istor, I helped train boys just like you.”

Dunos’ face lit up. “You want to train with me? You’ve never wanted to before. We can do it right here. I’m good at Tiger and Dragon, you know.”

She held her hands up. “Slow down. Yes, I will train with you, but not just now.”

Dunos frowned. If she didn’t want to train with him right then and there, why mention it?

“Dunos, do you remember before the invaders came?”

He nodded. “Like when I found the glowing rock and it hurt my arm?”

“Yes, but not exactly.” Ranai went to a knee and rested her hands on his shoulders. That meant she was serious, so he had to listen. “Do you remember playing with friends and, you know, just having fun?”

She jerked her head in the direction of the Dragon Bridge. A half dozen ragged children capered and shrieked as Naleni Dragons made faces and roared at them. A couple of the boys started wrestling, and two of the girls whispered to each other.

“I remember.”

“Don’t you sometimes just want to go and have fun?”

Dunos’ eyes widened. “I have fun all the time. I really like killing vhangxi. It’s like cleaning fish, sort of, but they’re stinkier.”

“Dunos, killing is not supposed to be fun.”

Oh, this is going to be one of those talks. “I know that, Mistress Ameryne. It’s not fun. It is satisfying.”

That didn’t wipe the concern from her face. This puzzled Dunos, because the word “satisfying” usually worked with adults. She wanted some other answer, but she wasn’t very good at telling him what it was. Most adults were. If he said the right things, they would go away happy.

“Dunos, when I was your age, I didn’t worry about fighting and killing. I had fun. Just like those kids over there.” Ranai studied his face. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t you ever just want to have fun?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders so she had to listen. “Yes, I want to have fun. I remember the days before. Before the invaders, before I hurt my arm. I had fun. I ran around like them.” He smiled at the playing children. “I had lots of fun.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“But, Mistress, I also had work to do. I hauled water. I swept up. I cared for horses and mules and oxes.”

“Oxen, Dunos.”

“Oxen. I collected eggs from our chickens. I fed the hogs. I helped butcher one once. That wasn’t fun. I did lots of things to help my family. Some of those were fun. But I still had work, just like I do now.”

“But this is butchery, Dunos.”

“It’s work, Mistress, and it must be done. If we don’t do our work, no one can have any fun.”

A sharp cracking cut off any reply. Dunos spun. Even in the twilight there was no missing the puff of dust as mortar split on the Dragon Bridge. Soldiers hurried to where a piece of stone railing had shifted. More mortar crumbled and a piece fell into the river.

Ranai stood and peered over the river wall. She gasped.

Dunos leaped up and caught the edge with his good arm. His feet scrambled against the stone and he got his belly on top of the wall. He balanced there, staring down at the river.

Something was not right. His left arm itched, and that didn’t feel anything like tickling. “There are little waves everywhere.”

“There are. And there’s a tingle. Xingna, a trickle of it.”

He looked up at her. “What does it mean?”

“Faster water.” Her eyes slitted. “The river is narrowing.”

He slid back to the ground. “I’ll go find Master Tolo. There will be a lot of work for everyone now.”

35th 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

Shirikun, North Moriande

Free Nalenyr

Cyron knew the answer the second the piece of paper touched his hand. “The rate of closure is constant, then. Eight feet an hour.”

Prince Eiran, who had slipped seamlessly into his role as Cyron’s deputy, nodded. “Prince Nelesquin gave the Empress a week. In nine days the river walls will touch. We’ll be fighting everywhere.”

Cyron closed his eyes. In three days, the largest ballistae and trebuchets would be able to shoot across the gap. In six days, archers could exchange arrows. In a week, warriors would be sword to sword. He could see it all, including the fires, the wounded, the dead.

He set the paper down and raked a hand through his hair, scratching where his scalp tingled. “This changes everything. Tonight, in darkness, have a work crew slip out and undercut the river’s north bank just west of the city. I want the river flooding the western approach. The increased flow means they won’t find a ford downstream. Send another team east. I want every bridge cut and every ferry on the north side of the river.”

A clerk blew on a sheet of rice paper, bowed, and hurried from the room.

“They’ll be building siege towers.” The image appeared in Cyron’s head. The towers would be solidly constructed, but out of material salvaged from the south. Beams from buildings, pieces of furniture, planking from floors or bits of wagons would be hammered together. At best, they’d have ramps that extended twenty-four feet, so the kwajiin could cross three hours before the river walls touched.

“I want the range from the river wall to each siege engine paced off exactly. Get Borosan Gryst to measure the distances with his gyanrigot. I want ranging shots taken so we know where those stones will land.”

Eiran frowned. “Wouldn’t barrels of oil be more effective? It would burn up the towers.”