Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

Consina nodded. “We are not without our own plans. We will erect many banners and light many fires, making them think we are ten times our number. That will slow them down.”

“That’s a good idea, to be certain.” I turned and studied the other armor and the tapestries, drinking in the history of the place. “I think, this time however, it’s not the right tactic.”

I turned and looked at her, smiling broadly. “I think, in fact, this time we will defeat them by appearing weaker than they could ever hope we are.”

8th 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

Voraxan, Ixyll

Ciras Dejote and Borosan Gryst resumed their trek northwest once they quitted Tolwreen. Even though that had been the direction they’d been traveling when they found the vanyesh stronghold and, therefore, would seem a logical course for the vanyesh to take in pursuing them, it still seemed the best possible choice. Northeast, which would have taken them toward the Turasynd Wastes, seemed a bad idea, and retreating along their previous passage would have been worse. They also still had their mission to find the Empress, and the alliance between the vanyesh and the Turasynd-as well as the vanyesh claim that Nelesquin was soon to return-made their mission’s successful completion vital.

Ciras scratched at the back of his neck. “What if the story of the Sleeping Empress is just that, a story?”

“It can’t be.” Borosan spurred his horse along a narrow trail that snaked up a cliff side. “If she’d been destroyed-if the place where she’s been waiting had been destroyed-the vanyesh would have mentioned it.”

“That’s if they did it.” Ciras looked back to make sure the packhorses and thanatons were following. “Besides, she might never have survived.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Borosan shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Rekarafi told us where we would be going and what we would be doing. He travels through Ixyll without any protective clothing, and can absorb the wild magic and use it. I think he knows she’s out here.”

Ciras frowned, not liking the fact that he’d missed that clue. “But if that’s true, why didn’t he tell us exactly where to go?”

The inventor laughed. “In this land? The chaotic magic constantly switches everything around, so no landmarks stay the same.”

“Still, that is no guarantee we will find the place.”

“True, but I think there might be something else.”

“What?”

Borosan sighed loudly. “I think you can find her sanctuary if you want to find it.”

“I’m not certain I follow you.”

“We found Tolwreen because the vanyesh saw you fight grave robbers. They left you the vanyesh sword and watched. I think that if they’d decided we were not meant to be at Tolwreen, we’d never have gotten there. Similarly, our path may lead to Cyrsa, but those who are her enemies can never find her.”

“You mean to say that the vanyesh and the Empress could exist very close to each other and not even know about each other?”

Borosan shrugged. “I think the fact that one has not destroyed the other bears this out.”

Ciras was about to protest that having hidden the Empress’ sanctuary so completely would take a lot of magic, but he stopped given where he was. “So if what you are saying is true, couldn’t we have found a more direct route?”

“Perhaps the journey is not just about direction, Ciras.” Borosan turned in the saddle. “If you look back at your life’s journey, is it a direct line?”

The swordsman thought for a moment, then smiled. “Any path looks direct in hindsight, but there are many choices made along the way.”

“Exactly. I think maybe we can’t really want to find the Empress until we know we need to find her. Before we saw the vanyesh and knew they were allied with the Turasynd, our mission was to find her and ask her to help prevent a war within the Nine. There have been plenty of battles between principalities before, so how would this one be different?”

“You’re saying she could not have been found until the need was urgent?”

“Yes.”

“But urgency is in the mind of the seeker. What is urgent to us might not seem so to another, and what is trivial to us might seem earth-shattering to someone else.” Ciras frowned. “Do you think others have found her in the past?”

“It could be. Probably so.”

“But she did not return.”

“Rekarafi did say we’d have to be convincing.”

The swordsman nodded. “I wonder what has happened to those who found her and could not convince her to return?”

“I don’t know, my friend.” Borosan stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes with a hand. “I think, however, we’re going to get our chance to find out very soon.”

They rode hard to the northwest, moving down into a desert valley and along it. Ciras felt confident they’d found a portion of the old Spice Route and, from the look of it, the site of the battle that triggered the Cataclysm. His flesh began to itch as they descended to the valley floor and the land itself changed minute to minute, from hard-edged stone to a fluid putty that shifted up and down before it solidified again. At times, Ciras was certain that he saw the forms of men moving beneath the red rock surface, like children beneath a blanket, reliving bits and pieces of the battle fought there.

Fortunately for them, their path skirted the actual battlefield, for Ciras’ impression had been correct. Stone armies rose and fell, shrouded by magic and the passage of years. Chariots wheeled in unison, carving swaths from infantry formations. Turasynd cavalry charged and Imperial infantry lowered spears to fend them off. Warriors stepped from the lines on either side to challenge each other, exchanging blows until one or both melted away.

At first, Ciras found the battle thrilling. Though muffled in stone, the warriors fought hard. He could not hear the sounds of steel ringing on steel, or the thunder of hoofbeats, but the fluidity of action could not be mistaken. In the duels, swordsmen matched skill with speed that defied the stone’s ability to keep up. Any number of times he wished the red rock veil would part so he could admire the swordsmanship displayed.

For a moment or two he thought it might have been simply marvelous to go through eternity fighting, but the endless repetition mocked both heroism and glory. There, moving through the rock, was a living testament to the futility of battle. This had been the greatest battle of history, fought to save the world from destruction, but all it had done was to destroy the world. Even war lived past it, and still threatened mankind.

Even the evil that spawned this battle survived it.

He had spent his life learning the way of the sword. He sought skill and knowledge because he wanted to be a guardian against the evil that spawned war. Even so, his actions could set into motion events that would cascade beyond control and might result in another war. And that war would lead to more wars.

Try as he might, he could see no end to the cycle.

They rode on in silence. The roadway remained stable, but the land to the south rose and fell disturbingly. Having been raised on an island, Ciras had spent a certain amount of time on a ship. The heaving landscape reminded him of mountainous waves in a storm, which he found curiously comforting.

Borosan, on the other hand, averted his face and went visibly pale. As the road rose, the land became more solid and Borosan haltingly reiterated his thoughts that magic had to flow like water and collect in the low places.