Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

And recognition of the crest prompted recognition of the man he was attacking. The size, the shape, the length of his hair. Ciras even knew the man had a scar on his left side that matched the cut perfectly.

He looked down at the blade. “Why would I see you plunging into my master’s back?”

Neither the blade, glinting red and gold in the firelight, nor the sigils slithering through shadow, provided him an answer.

7th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Thyrenkun, Felarati

Deseirion

Prince Pyrust sat in the very chair Keles Anturasi had used as he listened to the Mother of Shadows report. The fire blazed at his left hand, snapping and popping. He stretched his legs out, forcibly ignoring the heat.

“This report is difficult for me to hear, Delasonsa. From here, I can see the great work Anturasi has accomplished. Returning this much land to cultivation will not solve our food shortage, but it will help. He’s guaranteed Felarati can continue to grow beyond my lifetime. His value to me is considerable.”

The crone bowed her head. “This I understand, Highness. But his conduct with your wife is unacceptable.”

“To whom?”

Her head came up. “To me-for one, and it should be to you. She carries your child.”

Pyrust’s eyes half lidded. “Her child will be born as my heir. She knows this. We all do, and there is nothing she can do to make things otherwise. Even rumors of the child having been fathered by Anturasi will not matter. Besides, you tell me they have not slept together yet.”

The old woman’s grey cloak closed and shrouded her form, making her seem smaller than before. “It is not for your wife’s lack of trying, Highness.”

“Then the fault is hers.”

“But she cannot be slain. Anturasi can. Our people found him in Ixyll, very ill. They did all they could for him, but he succumbed to some illness. We can return his body, or burn him and return his ashes. We could even send Prince Cyron the heads of the fools who did not get him here quickly enough.”

“Those are plans that shall be held against the future.” Pyrust rose and turned his back to the fire. “My ambitions aside, my purpose is to make my nation stronger. Anturasi aids that. As for my wife… he is never leaving Deseirion. He may have her all he wants as long as she gives me another child or three. I know this is a matter of honor for you, and I appreciate your devotion to my family. But recall that the children are my blood, and to them goes your allegiance.”

Delasonsa’s head came up, her eyes hot. “Beware her frustration, Highness. You may see her as a broodmare, but she sees herself differently. She could do you harm.”

“And this is why you will continue to watch her. You will also find someone else to seduce Anturasi.”

“Done and done.” The old woman held his stare as a web holds a fly. “And if they seek to escape, do I kill them?”

“Her, certainly. Anturasi is too valuable to let go so easily.”

“As you desire, Highness.”

“Thank you.” Pyrust clasped his hands behind his back. “Now, my Grand Minister reported to me on the state of international affairs, and I have noted a curious lack of information about Erumvirine. He suggested couriers have been delayed by bandits in Helosunde. I’ve heard no other reports about bandits. You would have told me of them, wouldn’t you?”

“If they existed in more than your minister’s imagination, of course, Highness.” The Mother of Shadows shook her head slowly. “Something is happening in the south. Cyron is moving Helosundian mercenaries and Naleni Dragon Guards south to the Virine border. He’s raising troops from the inland counties to hold the north. This works well for us as our agent has been fomenting revolution among the same, and Cyron has just given them reason to draw closer to the capital while fully armed.”

Pyrust arched an eyebrow at her. “ ‘Something is happening in the south’? That is hardly your usual precision in reporting, Delasonsa.”

“True, Highness, but it is also the truth. My Virine assets are unusually quiet. There is enough limited communication that I know they still exist, but they have no credible information to offer.”

The fire roared for a moment, then a log exploded into a shower of sparks and embers that scattered well past the Prince’s vacated chair. The two of them jumped back, then stepped further back as the sparks began to spin, sweeping the embers into their tight embrace. Fire whirled into a column, then congealed into a humanoid form with the head of a wolf. The fiery creature appropriated the chair, dragging it closer to the hearth as it sat.

Pyrust stared for a heartbeat at the creature, then dropped to a knee and bowed deeply. “Greetings, Grija, Lord of Death. You honor me.”

“I do no such thing, Pyrust. I give you an opportunity. You are bound to my realm-all mortals are-and the only question is how many of your fellows you have sent to me. Your dead shall be your slaves in my realm.”

Delasonsa, who had remained standing, snorted. “The Prince is too wise to be seduced by your lies. Thousands may slave under him, but he will slave beneath the one who slays him. What is the benefit of a few or many?”

Grija laughed lightly, jaws agape. “I shall enjoy continuing this discussion in my realm, Mother of Shadows. You shall not.” A fiery hand flicked in her direction and Pyrust’s assassin collapsed.

“You do right to value her, Pyrust, for she defends you as a hawk would defend her own young. Yet she thinks she could defend you from me, which is foolishness. She would prolong a discussion that is best brief.”

The Prince nodded. “When you spoke to me before, you said I would drive many through the gates of your realm.”

“That was true then, and will be more so now. I have seen great things from you but the circumstances have shifted. Two who were meant for my realm have eluded me. They have died, yet they live in defiance of all that which is ordered in the heavens. This is an omen that heralds the arrival of a tenth god.”

Pyrust, who had never given too much thought to the gods, found that prospect surprising. “Can there be a tenth god?”

“You might as well ask if there can be ten more or ten fewer. There have been countless gods. The Viruk had their gods, and the Soth the same. Even men have different gods. We warp mortals, and they change us. It is all the stuff of endless and tedious discussions among priests-and I restrict it to the Sixth Hell.”

The flaming god leaned forward. “It is also immaterial to you, Pyrust. All that matters is this: two people meant for my realm have eluded me. They have accomplished this because the tenth god is invading heaven. And, as go the heavens, so goes the earth-for the tenth god’s terrestrial forces are invading Erumvirine.”

The Desei Prince slowly stood. “And this is why no news flows north.”

“And why the Son of the Dragon Throne throws his troops south. His intent may be good, but his means and timing are not.” A flaming tongue licked flickering fangs. “The initial invasion sent many to my realm, and perhaps was meant to distract me from those who are missing. Now a second wave has come, and Virine defenses cannot hold it.”

Pyrust’s jade eyes narrowed. “Where are they attacking? Show me.”

“Show you?”

“Yes, damn you. You’re a god. You conjured a body; conjure me a map.”

Grija lunged up, then reached an oversized hand back into the hearth. He scooped up fire as if it were sand and let it pour over the floor, where it puddled inches away from Delasonsa’s limp form. The flames became incandescent fluid, then dark lines ran through them marking the rivers and borders. Flames danced up for mountains, then, on Erumvirine’s eastern edge, the flames died completely.