Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

Ciras smiled. “And that battlefield got a very good soaking.”

They topped the rise and both men reined back, because the image before them could not possibly be there. Borosan had seen the hint of a flash in the distance, then the roiling land. Ciras thought it might be a piece of metal or a mirror. Yet, at the same time, I knew it was our goal. Had he thought about it for a moment, he would have dismissed what he felt for what he knew, but his feelings had won out.

He looked at Borosan. “The reason the vanyesh have not found this place is because they can think and know, but they’ve left behind feeling. They know what is possible, and what is impossible, and refuse to believe in the impossible.”

Borosan nodded. “And they believe that finding this place is impossible, so they will never find it.”

The two men slowly started their horses forward again, moving them into green grasses that grew up beside a silver river flowing with sweet water. Little bugs skittered over the mirrored surface, and fat fish rose after them, apparently unmindful of the fact that the river flowed into nothingness a few yards further downstream.

Upstream, however, the river broadened and flowed through a massive gate made of crystal. Both the gate and the crenellated wall surrounding the entire city were a deep, pure amethyst. At the gate, onyx cobblestones paved the way through a collection of buildings, twisting off through countless paths. Sometimes the roadway split for a small building, and at other times ran through tunnels piercing larger buildings. At points it even rose to an elevated roadway that linked two buildings before sloping back to the ground.

Though their course seemed without direction, and neither man steered their horses, both knew they drew closer to their destination with each passing moment.

Borosan, clearly awed, gaped at his surroundings. Even the thanatons appeared to be dazed. They sped up and slowed, slipping side to side, then darting forward or back. Whatever information they’d be collecting to map the city would be worthless, and it occurred to Ciras that one of the city’s greatest strengths might be that it was unknowable.

And those who come here and do not have sufficient cause to win the Empress’ support are doomed to wander forever.

Though that prospect would have been enough to daunt him, another aspect of the city overwhelmed him. The buildings had been shaped of crystal. Some were ruby and others emerald, citrine, topaz, or diamond. While other, more colorful stones-like opal-decorated many buildings, those that were shaped out of a single stone all had one thing in common. They resembled mausoleums-sometimes with just one occupant, often with more. Men and women-clad in armor and clutching their weapons, lay on biers as if sleeping, preserved forever in their crystalline graves.

Ciras caught himself, because he knew, somehow, that these warriors were not dead, but sleeping. They would rise to the challenge the Empress set before them. Just as they had set out with her to keep the world safe, they would return to the Empire to save it once again.

Regret flashed through him. For that moment, it seemed better that they wait forever than have to leave peaceful sleep and endure warfare again. There might be some who gloried in it, but he suspected far more of them had seen quite enough of war. Even so, they would answer the call because they were heroes.

How odd it is that we are willing to fight for peace, and yet we know that the greatest of warriors never has to fight. That paradox surprised him, because he had never been overly philosophical. He had concentrated on perfecting his skills with the sword so one day he could become a Mystic. And now, having reached that threshold, he looked beyond the skill to the consequences and responsibilities of jaedunto.

Which is exactly the sort of thing Master Tolo had tried to make me realize throughout our journey together. The swordsman smiled and bowed his head back to the southeast, toward the cave where his master lay. Your wisdom has made itself manifest. I trust it is not too late.

The horses took them around a hematite building and into an onyx courtyard. A diamond fountain in the shape of a dragon dominated the center. The water flowed from nine wounds pierced in the dragon’s side, though the dragon appeared to be in no distress.

Beyond it, dominating the far end of the rectangular courtyard, rose a small ruby tower. Though built on a modest scale, it matched the images of the Imperial Palace in Kelewan. It rose four stories, and though the stone was dark enough to deny clear sight of the inside, Ciras was fairly certain he detected an interior room with a throne and something, perhaps golden, glinting from within.

Further speculation on what that was became moot as a man turned from the fountain. Water dripped from his hand and mouth. He wore armor marked with a dragon, and appeared to be only a dozen years older than Ciras’ master. White had crept into his dark hair, but only as a forelock. His pale eyes, though flanked by dragon’s feet at the corners, remained quick and intelligent. He wore two swords, but made no movement toward either.

He drew himself up and bowed respectfully, holding it longer than Ciras would have expected.

The swordsman slipped from the saddle and bowed lower and longer. He reached out to steady Borosan, then they both straightened up. “I am Ciras Dejote of Tirat, and this is Borosan Gryst of Nalenyr. We have traveled all this way to speak with the Empress.”

The man nodded solemnly. “Welcome, travelers. I bow in respect for all you have done to get here. You are the first visitors we have had in a long time.”

Ciras looked about. “You seem quite alone.”

The man laughed. “I am the one who has sentry duty.” He opened his arms wide. “I have many comrades, but this is why you are here, isn’t it?”

“That will be for the Empress to decide.” Ciras nodded toward the ruby tower. “May we speak with her?”

“It is possible. Eventually.” The man shrugged. “I am but one soldier. I will awaken those who can make such a decision, then it will be made. Until then, avail yourselves of the peace Voraxan offers. If you prove worthy, it could be yours forever.”

Borosan’s eyes widened. “And if we do not?”

“It will be yours forever.”

1st day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Tsatol Pelyn, Deseirion

Dawn brought the first group of refugees to the ruins of Tsatol Pelyn, west of Felarati. The sun came up slowly, shrouded by the black smoke that rose from the city. The smoke began to settle, covering the landscape, but it could not hide the thin line of survivors escaping to the west. Throughout the next several days the survivors continued to swell the population at the ancient Imperial outpost.

Keles found it rather ironic that their flight took them to Tsatol Pelyn, as it had been his first planned way station on the escape route from Felarati. He’d chosen it because of the tributary of the Black River that provided water. Shepherds regularly grazed flocks in the area, and those flocks had suddenly been converted into food for the hungry refugees.

Had he just been with the Princess, and if they’d had horses, he would have struck further west, then turned south. The refugees destroyed any plans for escape, however. They looked to the Princess and Grand Minister and Keles for salvation and leadership. Part of Keles would have been willing to abandon them because they were from the nation whose leader intended his permanent imprisonment, but he knew that wasn’t their fault.