Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

I stared at him hard enough that he took a step back. “Every time one of them thinks of leaving the road, he will remember the screams of the men who had their legs trapped. He will remember their flesh rent and bloody, and he will hesitate. Every time one of them sees the stump of a fresh-felled tree, or wood chips or leaves which are wet where others are dry, they will imagine a trap. If we knock down another bridge, they will fear another slaughter.”

Golti met my stare. “But they will not be dead.”

“We don’t have to kill them; we just have to guarantee they will not fight. Every day they must eat and sleep and drink, but if they have no food, no water, and no rest, they cannot fight. And all that they seek to threaten will be free. And we shall be alive to enjoy it.”

I gave him a cold smile. “But rest assured, Lord Golti, there will come a day when we will meet them in combat. If that is the day you desire, I will keep you alive until then, and place you in the front line so you can kill to your heart’s content.”

The man stood straighter. “I won’t shrink from that assignment. I am not a coward.”

“None of you are. Nor are any of them.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But by the time we face them in open combat, they will know hunger, thirst, fatigue, and fear. They will come to the battle knowing they will lose. That will be our victory.”

3rd day, Planting Season, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Tolwreen, Ixyll

Ciras Dejote had to keep reminding himself that the vanyesh were evil, because once they had honored him in the Prince’s Hall, they all turned out to be terribly nice. Intellectually he knew they were malignant creatures who had clung to life awaiting the return of Prince Nelesquin. Nelesquin would again raise them to glory, restoring them bodily, and would lead them back to Erumvirine, where they would remake the Empire and rule over a jaedunki.

Besides, they made a very good case for the need for an empire run by sorcerers. They traced their history back to Taichun and said he’d intended the mages to rule over the Empire. Not only was it in keeping with the social system of the Viruk, but it made sense. Since mages could work miracles, they needed to be supported by the people and feel an obligation to them. Taichun had created the bureaucracy to administer things so mages would not be bothered by the trivial. They could spend their time refining their art so they would be ready when they were to be called upon to act.

Pravak took great pains to explain this history when he invited Ciras to visit him. The vanyesh’s chambers were, as to be expected, oversized and generously appointed. Though Pravak was nothing more than a gilded skeleton, he had thick carpets in his rooms, plush and heavily upholstered furniture and tapestries that, while having no images Ciras could discern, displayed an interesting weave of colors.

The giant wore thick leather bracers to protect his furnishing from the edges of his forearms. Lounging back on a daybed, he held his right hand up and watched, bemused, as the tiny gyanrigot Borosan had fashioned for him as a gift leaped from finger to finger and back again.

“It is rather like a kitten, despite looking very much like a spider.” Pravak’s metal mask twisted into a smile. “I had forgotten the simple pleasure of watching such creatures cavort. We brought no cats with us on the campaign, and those that somehow made it into the city ended up in some wildman’s belly.”

Ciras sat in a large chair, feeling as if he were five years old and listening to his mother’s brother explain about trade with the mainland. “Here you’ve fed us both mutton and beef, yet I see no creatures ranging about.”

Pravak lifted a finger to point up at the mountain, and the little mouser promptly pounced on the tip. “There are mountain meadows. We have your horses there as well. Some of us are good at bhotri, so keeping the grasses growing year-round is not difficult. The sheep produce a lot of wool-again a by-product of magic-and the wildmen have become adept at spinning and weaving. They are not much for pictures, but they love color.”

“So Tolwreen is self-sufficient.”

“Largely. We do get some things in trade, but for a long time we were isolated.” The vanyesh let the mouser climb up along his arm and begin to play with his knotted-filament hair. “Likely about the time your father was born we had a visit from the east and were finally able to put into place the beginnings of our master’s plan. A Naleni explorer became our agent. Kero Anturasi, I believe.”

“Qiro?”

“That was it. Do you know him?”

Ciras heard no guile in the question, so smiled. “Just of him. He is famous the world over for exploring. I have heard no mention of Tolwreen, however.”

“Our master would not have permitted it. Knowing the correct order of the universe, our master has been very careful in his plans. You may not realize it, but you are a part of things. We expect more like you to come to Tolwreen in the next months or years. Many will be trained, as will you, and when all is ready, we will be summoned.”

“But I have been trained.”

“Indeed, you have, but you need more.” Pravak’s hands came together with the muffled clash of cymbals. “People come to the vanyesh in two ways. You and I were warriors first, who have touched jaedun. Others have recognized our value. They will show you what Emperor Taichun taught his most trusted companions: how to wield magic. Jaedun of the sword is a portal to working jaedun in life.”

Ciras managed to suppress a shiver. “And the others?”

“Oh, they were apprenticed to masters of magic and have learned to manipulate jaedun directly. We try to train them in more practical ways, like jaedunserr, but they resist it. Their magics can be powerful, and will help us once we take control again, but it will be warrior-sorcerers such as you and me that will make our Master’s dream possible. He needs heroes, and we are they.”

Ciras smiled, masking his true thoughts. The vanyesh seemed to define heroes as those who used magic in service to Nelesquin. Ciras saw heroes as those who served the common good, shielding the unfortunate from evil and ambition, not keeping them down so the ambitious might soar. They make heroes a part of their evil.

Ciras let his expression become wistful. “I wonder if I will be worthy to return to Tirat as its lord.”

The vanyesh giant laughed. “If that is all your ambition wishes, I can guarantee it. You, my friend, are capable of so much, I should think that anything you desire will be yours.”

“You are too kind.”

“No, just aware of how generous our master is.” Pravak nodded solemnly. “And soon you shall see that for yourself.”

From the moment they had been told that the vanyesh still considered Nelesquin their master, both Ciras and Borosan knew they had to escape. Their mission had been to find the Empress Cyrsa and awaken her to conditions in the Empire. That her enemy still lived and was plotting to destroy what she had left behind made their mission all the more urgent. Moreover, the vanyesh and their mastery of magic would be something the Nine would be hard-pressed to defeat.

So, they set about gathering food and water against any opportunity to escape. Ciras learned which tunnels led up to the meadows, and while he hated being predictable, he knew they would need their horses. Ciras even located and set about repairing their tack, noting to any of the vanyesh who asked, that to neglect even the most simple thing was to abandon the discipline that made him worthy of the honor they had bestowed upon him.