Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

The palace’s tall towers thrust like spears into the sky, but drew no blood. They remained as ineffective as Virine spears often were, and that boded ill for Kelewan. We strode across the wide circle of white marble and mounted the steps, only to be stopped by smartly dressed warriors whose spear blades flashed silver in the sunlight.

A captain held up a hand to stop me. “You go no further without authority.”

I reached into my robe and tossed a piece of filthy fabric at him. He recoiled and let it fall to the steps. There it unfurled itself in all its tattered, bloodstained glory. Though it had been pierced and clawed, no one could mistake the insignia of the Iron Bears.

The captain knelt, touched the cloth, then picked it up. “Come with me.”

I followed him through the doors and waited for my people to join me. I moved slowly enough for them to take in the palace’s heart, which had struck men dumb with awe since before the Empire fell. We entered beneath a massive dome a hundred feet high. Before us and to both sides, stairways started up, then split three ways, crisscrossing in a dizzying webwork of catwalks. A dozen thick pillars supported the dome, and into each one had been carved the image of a god, emperor, or prince. Only one lacked decoration, having only an empty alcove. A statue of Nelesquin had been there, but had been pulled down and smashed in the Cataclysm’s wake.

The captain started up the western staircase and I followed him around to the north. When he continued on further, I cut up the northern stairs and ignored his calls to return. The others followed, becoming more alert than before, but they let him pass when I waved him forward.

He reached my side by the time I was halfway down the corridor to the Prince’s audience chamber. “You can’t go in there. We need to talk to the generals about the Iron Bears.”

I gave him a hard stare that drained the blood from his face. He kept pace with me nonetheless, and a certain resolution entered his step. The guards at the audience chamber door came to alert, but he waved them aside. When they hesitated, he snapped, “Leave here. Now.”

They withdrew reluctantly.

I made to step forward, but he restrained me with a hand. In an instant, he had Ranai’s sword at his throat and Dunos’ dagger poised somewhat lower. His eyes hardened as he looked at me. “If you are going to kill the Prince, kill me first, now.”

I shook my head.

He relaxed.

I reached up and guided Ranai’s blade away from his throat. “What is your name, Captain?”

“Ianin Lumel, first company, Jade Bears.”

I took the Iron Bears’ standard from him. “Remember that alive and smart is preferable to dead and stupid.”

“Thank you, Master.”

I nodded toward the doors and he opened them with Deshiel.

I strode through them and mounted the red carpet edged with purple. I knew well how jealously princes regarded their traditions, but I needed to make an impression. For someone who was not a noble to step on the carpet without invitation could be a death sentence.

The Prince, who had been lounging somewhat indolently across the arms of the Bear Throne, instantly swung his legs down. I think he would have stood, save that the heavy robes of state wrapped around his legs and would have spilled him to the floor. His ministers, who knelt to either side of the carpet, shot me venomous glances, but not a one rose in challenge. They were as the ministers ever had been: willing to serve whoever sat in the throne until it served them to unseat him.

I stopped ten feet from the throne and bowed deeply. I held it a respectful amount of time, certainly appropriate for his and his dynasty’s years. I came back up but did not wait for him to bow, even if he were inclined to do so. I tossed the standard at him and he caught it awkwardly against his chest. He held it out and began to tremble.

I looked at him through the largest hole. “Your Iron Bears are dead, to a man. Your city will be forfeit. If you want to save your nation, you will abandon Kelewan now and head north to the mountains in the county of Faeut. Send your people to Nalenyr.”

He lowered the standard. “No, this isn’t possible.”

“It is very possible. I watched the Iron Bears die myself. Do you want to know how it happened? The enemy arrayed themselves in a strong line on a rise above the Bears. Your generals sent the Bears uphill against them, which was pure foolishness, bred from the tale about Morythian Tigers eons ago. The Bears did not face Morythians. These kwajiin are smarter, and their troops are fearless.”

I looked at the ministers, who stared back wide-eyed. “Even before the Bears engaged the enemy vhangxi, a black cloud of winged frogs swarmed over them. They are not powerful, but they have teeth and venom, and when several get to gnawing on a man, he stops.

“And that’s when the vhangxi countercharged. They ripped into the Bears-literally ripped into them. Men fell in pieces-many pieces, all of them small-then their killers fell to eating them. What’s left of your Bears are steaming piles of dung twenty miles east of here.”

The Prince narrowed his eyes and tried to appear hardened, but the sweat on his bald pate betrayed him. “If this is true, how did you come to have this standard?”

I rested a hand on the hilt of each sword. “I called to the kwajiin leader and challenged him to a duel. He drew a circle, and I killed him.” I pulled back the sleeve on my right arm and revealed a serpentine scar all livid and crossed with black thread. “He was not without skill.”

“But if their general is dead, then their threat is ended.”

I glanced at the minister who had spoken. “It is without generals that they got this far. The man I slew-they appear to be men, but are not-was not their greatest leader. They will come, they will take Kelewan, and they will kill everyone in the city.”

The Prince shook his head. “No, no, that is not possible.”

“Your denial does nothing to change the reality of what is coming.” I pointed back east. “The invaders have devoured the eastern half of your nation. Your troops are insufficiently trained to deal with the invaders. Pull back, give them time, and you might be able to stop them. If you do not, your nation is lost.”

Jekusmirwyn stood and pointed a trembling finger at me. “You have killed one of their leaders. I appoint you my warlord. Arrange the defenses of the city as you see fit.”

I laughed aloud, offending the ministers and the Prince alike.

“Do not mock me!”

I shook my head. “Silly man, if I could think of a way to save your city, would I come here and tell you to abandon it? It cannot be saved. Do what I tell you, and their victory will be the first step in their defeat.”

The Prince raised his chin defiantly. “And if I do not?”

I pointed at the blank wall behind his throne. “Paint yourself a pretty epitaph. It will be the only chance you’ll be remembered after the jaws of Grija snap you up.”

17th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Ixyll

To Ciras and Borosan the evidence seemed clear: their journey into the heart of Ixyll had brought them very close to the point where the great battle between the Empress’ forces and the Turasynd must have taken place. How they knew neither could say exactly, but they both agreed with their conclusion.

And their agreement, while satisfying on one level, left neither of them entirely happy.

Ciras felt a sense of dislocation. He turned to Borosan as they rode up a track along one of the foothills of a jagged line of mountains. “It feels as if everything is just a little bit off. I look at it and it seems to shift.”