The New World (15 page)

He touched the water and shifted its nature from fluid to vapor. The steam drifted through the dungeon and poured into the iron lock. Once vapor touched metal, the water condensed.

Keles pushed his sense into the lock. He could have touched the iron and, as he had with the stone, recalled it to a time when it was very hot, but that would take too much of his strength. Instead he concentrated on the water, making it eat into the metal. The water coursed through worn spots and tiny fissures, spreading like rusty ivy through the bolt. In no time at all, the bolt parted.

The door sagged, then the hinges, which had also rusted through, snapped. The dungeon door fell inward, then burst apart on impact. The door’s nails disintegrated into rusty stains. The din of planks rattling against the dungeon’s stone steps echoed loudly.

A wave of exhaustion staggered him.
Too sloppy. I have to be more careful. I don’t have that much strength
.

The door’s collapse brought shouts. Feet pounded along the corridor. The guardsmen’s shadows fell across Keles, eclipsing him. “What deviltry’s this?”

One guard dropped a hand to his sword. Keles touched magic and caressed more of the water. A fluid stream stabbed up into the man’s nostrils. He sputtered and choked, his hands flailing. He tried to scream, but more water choked him. Eyes bulging, he shoved himself back, slamming the other guard into the wall, then dropped to his knees. His face darkened as he noisily tried to suck in air, then fainted.

The other guard rebounded and went for his sword. Keles forced water into the wooden scabbard. The wood swelled, holding the sword fast. Confusion knotted the man’s brow, then gave way to rage. The guard pulled sword and scabbard free, then charged.

Keles took one step forward and stamped down. An oaken plank levered up, smashing the guard in the knee. Screaming, the man crashed face-first into the floor. His sword bounced from nerveless fingers. It rolled to a rest in the puddle and slowly dissolved into an orange stain.

Fatigue wrapped Keles in a leaden cloak. He wavered and caught himself with a hand. Pain arced up his arm, shocking him to clarity. He rested for a moment, then staggered forward, slowly picking his way up the steps. He stepped over the other guardsman and continued up the corridor.

At the guard’s station he stripped a rough woolen blanket from a pallet. He pulled it tight around himself, scratching his raw flesh. Shivering, he worked his way up the next flight of stone steps.

He stopped near ground level, peering through the narrow, barred window in the door. The guardroom doubled as a barracks. He couldn’t see any soldiers sleeping or sitting around the lone table. A fire still burned in a central pit, and a pot of broth bubbled there. Four bowls of steaming rice sat on the table. Whoever had been on duty had been recently called away.

Probably to attend the Council. Lucky me
.

But why they had left did not matter. A key ring hung on a peg set in the wall. His freedom depended upon getting his hands on those keys.

But how?

Then he smiled. A leaky bucket of water sat by the fire pit. He concentrated and pushed. A stave cracked. The bucket emptied, and Keles channeled the water to the wall beneath the keys.

Once the puddle had grown large enough, he shifted the water from fluid to solid. An icicle stabbed up and lifted the key ring from the peg. Caught at the pinnacle, the keys jangled discordantly.

Another push and the ice cracked at the base. It fell toward the door. Two more times the water melted and froze, raising the keys, then dumped them in a jangle. Finally, the ice lifted them to the tiny window and Keles unlocked the door.

Then, just as he emerged from the dungeon, the guardroom door opened.

Water flowed into Keles’ outstretched hand and froze into a short dagger.

The woman coming through the door glanced at him and smiled. “Your weapon is melting.”

“Tyressa?” Keles’ weapon shattered against the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you forgotten Prince Cyron made your safety my responsibility?”

“No.” He leaned heavily against the doorjamb. “We have to find Jasai and save her.”

“Already done.” She crossed to him and scooped him up in her arms. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“Put me down. I can walk.”

“We need to run.” Tyressa toed the door open and slipped into the night. She cut down an alley heading east. Other shadows detached themselves from buildings and moved with her. A sliver of light revealed Grand Minister Rislet Peyt—an ally. Keles relaxed and Tyressa laughed gently.

“My job was to find you after we’d freed our companions.”

“Now you go back for Jasai, yes? I can help.”

“No need.”

Tyressa slowed, then set Keles down in a small courtyard near one of the city’s eastern gates. It stood open, and several wagons waited near it. The Desei from Tsatol Pelyn held the gate and, at Tyressa’s signal, headed out.

“I don’t understand. Wagons? Supplies? How did you accomplish this?” Keles sagged against Tyressa’s shoulder.

The clatter of hooves on cobblestones echoed through the night. Riders were coming fast. Tyressa lifted Keles into the back of a wagon, then turned and drew her sword. The Desei warriors spread out, sinking back into shadows, ready to attack if required.

Riders came into view and Tyressa’s triumphant laugh signaled that no fighting would be necessary. Most of the riders swept past and out the gate, but one drew rein at the wagon. Tyressa plucked the woman from behind the rider and deposited her beside Keles.

“Jasai?” Keles wanted to say more, but the lump in his throat choked him.

“Yes, Keles.” The Princess leaned over and gave him a firm kiss.

That brought a laugh from the rider. “You’re the Anturasi she was on about.”

Jasai fell back as the wagon jerked and started through the gate. “He saved us at Tsatol Pelyn.”

“You have my thanks, then.”

“You’re welcome.” Keles peered hard at the rider. “Who are you?”

“Prince Eiran, at your service.”

“But you’re dead!”

“The Council of Ministers certainly intended me to be.” The Prince laughed. “While they’re all having a banquet to celebrate my sister’s capture, we’ve gone and stolen her away. I doubt that will help their digestion.”

Keles arched an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that concerns you terribly.”

“You’re right.” The Prince glanced back at the city and the open gate. “I’m more concerned about what they’ll do to get her back. I’m hoping we’ll get far enough away that we’ll never have to deal with the consequences.”

Chapter 16

P
rince Pyrust recognized Virisken Soshir as a kindred spirit the very moment he laid eyes on the man. Though Soshir appeared unkempt and harried, having retreated from the fall of Tsatol Deraelkun accounted for his condition. Rumors casting him as an ancient Mystic returned to help the Empress destroy her enemy intrigued the Prince—as any military experience was quite welcome.

What Pyrust found most agreeable was the way others reacted. The core of his cadre were all
xidantzu
—independent, strong, and talented individuals. Despite that, they were clearly ready to die for him. Even the boy with the withered arm looked as if prepared to cut Pyrust down at the flick of Soshir’s finger.

Pyrust had come south to the Plains of Tsengui with most of the troops he’d brought into Nalenyr. He’d deployed on the plains with two armies of his best-trained Desei troops in the center. An equivalent force made up of Naleni troops occupied the left flank. Count Linel Vroan took up the right flank with an army of troops drawn from Nalenyr’s rebellious western provinces. The Prince held two armies of Desei militia in reserve, ready to reinforce as needed.

As the Prince stood with Soshir and Vroan on a hill in twilight, the
xidantzu
’s displeasure with the arrangement became evident.

“What is it you disapprove of, Master Soshir?”

“The position won’t hold.”

Linel Vroan, tall and arrogant, snorted with disgust. “The Plains of Tsengui have seen many battles. The Prince has stationed our troops upslope of the stream running through the center. We’ve dammed it at the eastern edge to flood the lands near the escarpment. This doubly wards our flank. It also allows us to concentrate our troops here, astride the road, to block the passage.”

Soshir looked up at the Prince. “Your placement of troops is flawless. Turning the battlefield’s edge into a marsh is likewise good. Were you fighting a conventional force, they would think twice before engaging you. The
kwajiin
will not. They will break through your lines.”

Disgust filled Vroan’s words. “Do not think our men cowards simply because
your
troops broke and lost Tsatol Deraelkun.”

Soshir slowly turned his attention on the Naleni lord. “You assume many things, my lord. You are a fool. You believe Tsatol Deraelkun was unassailable. For it to be lost, therefore, betokens a failure of the troops defending it.”

Vroan’s eyes narrowed. “You deny this is what happened? You had defeated a force twice the size of that which broke the fortress. How else does one interpret what happened?”

Pyrust raised his half hand. “I believe, Count Vroan, Master Soshir wishes us to consider the possibility that the enemy we face was able to accomplish with an army and a half that which had never been accomplished before. These are some remarkable circumstances, after all.”

Vroan laughed. “Yes, war-moles and giant, stone-throwing apes. Nightmare creatures to explain away cowardice.”

Soshir pointed off to the right flank. “If that is what you believe, Count Vroan, then you should move your troops. It’s the Virine forces that retreated from Tsatol Deraelkun which hold your flank.”

“I don’t need them.” Vroan spat. “Let them go north with Count Derael and the Virine princeling. They can all cower in Moriande.”

Where you would no doubt be happy, Count Vroan, had you supplanted Prince Cyron
. Pyrust extended his hand. “Please, my lord, calm yourself. I believe, Master Soshir, you can understand Vroan’s discomfort. We were hoping to invest our forces in Tsatol Deraelkun to stop the invasion. Instead, when we met your scouts, we stopped here and made the best of our situation. Historically this has been a good position.”

“I do not argue that point, Highness. It is just that,
historically
, no one has ever faced a force like this.” Soshir shook his head. “You should pull the main bulk of troops back to Moriande.”

“And surrender half the nation?” Vroan threw his arms wide. “We cannot concede that much territory to them.”

Soshir ignored his protest. “You will force them to lay siege to the city and stretch their supply lines. You can keep forces in the field to attack their supplies. Laying siege to a city like Moriande will require an incredible force, and even if they field it, they have to feed it. You can bleed them. You can raid into Erumvirine. You can force them to focus elsewhere. Nelesquin will tire of his war when things slow down.”

Pyrust frowned. “You truly believe Prince Nelesquin—
the
Prince Nelesquin—has returned from the grave to lead this force of
kwajiin
?”

“I have seen him with my own eyes. I’ve spoken with him. Yes, Count Vroan, you can mock me if you wish. I shall not challenge you since this force needs your troops. But I pray Grija does not take you, because I shall demand an accounting of your affronts later.”

Vroan sneered. “Your flesh will be more easily pinked than your vanity.”

“No, that is where you confuse my motivations with your own, my lord.” Soshir gestured off to the south. “I don’t care what your opinion of me or my troops is. We’ve shed enough blood; for good or ill, your opinion is of no consequence. What makes me angry is the appalling stupidity that locks you into believing you know your enemy, your battlefield, and history well enough to decide this is the place where you will be the victor.

“You say battles on these plains have brought victories to Naleni forces, but you do not ask yourself
who
actually fought here. A hundred and twenty years go,
I
was here and fought to defend Nalenyr. Before the Cataclysm, I was here again and so was Nelesquin. We fought together here and won a great victory. I know this ground better than you, and so does he. Just as he shaped a plan to take Tsatol Deraelkun, so he has a plan for defeating an army here.”

Pyrust stroked his half hand over his chin. “What do you think it is?”

“I would be lying if I told you I knew. Come.” Soshir turned and entered the tent that served as Pyrust’s command center. He crossed to the table, where a map of Nalenyr had been laid out. He tapped a finger against their current position.

“He knows there will be a force waiting for him here. It makes sense. So, he sends a force in that will engage your troops. He can take his time coming up through the mountains because your supply lines are stretched as thin as his.”

Soshir pointed to the mountains on either side of the pass through which the Imperial Road ran. “There are other passes through the mountains. They’re small and scattered. Normally getting troops through them is ill-advised because linking back up to a larger force is difficult. Nelesquin, however, has flying creatures that can carry several men. He can use them to coordinate troop movements.”

Pyrust nodded. “You’re saying he could infiltrate units all along the border? Do you think he would use them to disrupt our supply lines?”

“I don’t know. I thought his loathing for tunnels would preclude anything like his giant moles. But perhaps he’s learned.”

“Perhaps he’s not Nelesquin.”

Soshir’s head snapped around. “If that is true, Count Vroan, we have an even bigger problem. You see, if it
is
Nelesquin, then we know he’s trying to consolidate the Empire. If it isn’t—if it is just someone pretending to be him, who has somehow garnered the power to create the
kwajiin
—then we have no clue as to his motivation. As nearly as we can tell, his troops slaughtered everything in the eastern half of Erumvirine. He has a foothold there. Could be he has colonized it and that’s where he gets new troops.”