Michael Stackpole: The New World

“A new beginning for you and your family, too?”

“Yes. Ulan will remain here. The House of Anturasi will still create the finest maps and charts in the world. The Empire will not lose that.”

The Empress smiled. “We just lose the ability to shape the world.”

“Hardly, Majesty.” He turned around and pointed south toward the cranes lifting rocks into place to rebuild the nine bridges. “People are already shaping the world.”

“But you could do all that work by imagining it.”

“Yes, I could impress my sense of reality on everyone, but I won’t do that.” He shook his head. “They need to build their world. If they do not sacrifice, it will have no value for them. If they know I can save them, then they will not work to save themselves. People who do not look to the future really have no future. They’re just waiting for the rot to set in.”

She arched an eyebrow. “But the power you possess, do you not find it tempting to use?”

“I’ve seen what that power can do to the world. I’ve seen what it did to my grandfather.” He looked down at his hands. “I know it can be used for good, but I also know that I am not smart enough to figure out every single consequence of using it. For that reason, I won’t.”

“Not even if using it to make a single flower blossom would put a smile on your wife’s face?”

“No. I have done too much already. I wish to go to Anturasixan with my family. I will care for my grandfather until he dies, then enjoy my grandchildren.”

“The gods may have other plans for you.”

“If it pleases them.” Keles smiled. “I remember when two of them were human-one of them my twin. They have been kind to me so far, and I hope they shall remain so in the future.”

32nd day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Rat

8th Year of the Jade Dynasty

6th Year since the Turasynd War

Imperial Road South, Nalenyr

The nearly blind old man leaned heavily on his walking stick as he crested the hill. “There it is, Moriande, the grandest city in the world.”

“I know, Grandfather. We live there now, remember?”

Matut nodded. “Of course I remember, Dunos. I remember many things. You may think me just a doddering old fool, but I remember coming this way with you and your father. And I remember a swordmaster, looking something like yours, but not as grand. Empress’ consort and all.”

“No, Grandfather.” Dunos looked back to where Moraven and Ciras were helping a carter push his wagon up the final bit of the hill. “I’m sure he wasn’t as grand as my master-as any of them.”

“And I remember this place.”

“Yes, Grandfather, the bandits.” Dunos looked north again, as three figures slipped from the wood to block the road.

Matut squinted. “You shouldn’t have said it, Dunos. You gave the gods ideas.”

The centermost of the bandits, wearing a robe that had once been white with a red bear rampant as the crest, rested hands on the hilts of both his swords. “Welcome to the Imperial road. I and my companions keep it open and free of bandits. I am sure you wish to show your appreciation.”

Dunos stepped forward and bowed. “I am xidantzu. I wish harm to come to no one. These people have traveled with my masters and me. They are under our protection. It will cost you nothing to walk away.”

The bandit laughed and his scruffy companions joined him. “You’re a boy with a withered arm. I’m not afraid of you. I’m Turren Xandao. I’m ranked Superior, so you and your masters should just run off. I’ll let you pass, but not the others.”

“I am Dunos Ameryne, of Serrian Jatan. If you wish to fight, name your terms.”

“To the death, pup.” The man laughed and drew both his swords. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Not yet.” Dunos slowly bared his blade. “Draw a circle.”

TheNewWorld about the author

Michael A. Stackpole is an award-winning novelist, game designer, computer game designer, podcaster, and scriptwriter. Raised in Vermont, he moved to Arizona in 1979. In his spare time he enjoys playing indoor soccer and dancing (swing and salsa).

To learn more, please visit his website at www. stormwolf. com.