The militia broke. While the vhangxi hit them in the flank, the xonarchii hurled stones toward where the militia linked up with the Hawks. Death lurked at either side of their formation, so their only escape was to the rear. Those too slow were trampled or cut down. Fleeing men churned the swamp into a muddy froth.

Far too many died there.

The kwajiin surged forward into the gap and hammered the Desei Hawks’ flank. Pyrust’s warriors fell back, but set themselves and repulsed the first drive. The kwajiin pressed hard, forcing the Hawks to give ground. The Desei held the line, every one of them knowing that once the vhangxi left the swamp, they would be overwhelmed.

Their only chance at survival came with reinforcements. Unfortunately, the fleeing militia headed straight for the militia reserve. The retreating troops infected the others with panic. The reserves’ ranks evaporated. They flung down their arms and raced north toward Moriande. The way they were going, I expected some would not stop until they’d reached Felarati again.

Had the cavalry been back on our side of the stream, they could have stopped the kwajiin advance. But out of position as they were on the far side of things, they could do nothing. The advantage they hoped to exploit never materialized.

Fans flashed and I waited to read orders to advance. None came. Drums called for retreat. The Hawks and the Naleni Dragons withdrew, but Vroan’s Ixunites never managed to disengage. The kwajiin punched into that gap. The cavalry had come around and tried to plug it, but neither they nor the handful of militia regiments on that wing could stem the kwajiin advance.

The Naleni troops, hard-pressed, broke next and ran. The kwajiin overwhelmed the westrons. With the Ixunites laying their arms down, the kwajiin pressed on and slowly surrounded the Desei Hawks.

The last I saw of Pyrust, he had drawn his sword. He waved it at me-my signal to go-then he saddled up and rode down to be with his troops.

Ranai had been right. Before noon the swamp had become a lake of blood.

Too much of it belonged to the troops who might have been able to save Moriande.

TheNewWorld

2nd day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Zyarat Hills, Helosunde

Keles hunched forward and coughed as quietly as he could. His stint in the damp Vallitsi dungeon had done him no good. In the two days since his rescue, his bruises had gone from a livid purple to a slightly softer brown, with a curdled yellow at the edges. The burns had scabbed over, but the wounds remained red despite the variety of poultices he applied to them. Worst of all, his lungs had become congested and his ribs ached from coughing.

It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by plants that could produce a tea that would soothe him; the refugees had little time to rest and no chance of making a fire to boil water. He did manage to chew up some leaves and roots and pack them inside his cheek. The bitter taste sent shivers through him. He managed to keep water down, but even thinking about food turned his stomach.

Prince Eiran’s rescue had infuriated the Council of Ministers. They’d immediately sent messengers out to gather what forces they could to pursue Eiran and his sister. While there were those Helosundians who were more than happy to defy the Council and give the refugees aid, the band was too big for anyone to hide. The fact that over half of them wore Desei arms and had the look of battle-hardened veterans put off many sympathizers.

Though Prince Eiran claimed that he never intended to make for the Dark Sea coast, the ministers cut that avenue of escape off very quickly. That started the refugees angling southeast into the heavily wooded Zyarat Hills district in which Eiran and Jasai had grown up.

Jasai’s pleasure at being home again mocked the danger of pursuit. She traveled close to Keles, ignoring warning that a pregnant woman should shy away from magic. She told folktales rich with the region’s traditions. For the first time in their long association, she was truly happy.

That came as no surprise. She’d been reunited with her brother after believing him dead. The Council, working in accord with Prince Pyrust, had ordered his execution, but they’d given the job to a man whose sympathies lay with Eiran. Jasai’s brother decided that disappearing would be a good way to grant him time to figure out the political landscape. He’d already gathered a small force of loyalists when he’d learned of Jasai’s capture and decided to save her.

The Prince rode up on Keles’ left side. “The sun will be down soon. We’ll find a spot to rest, then push on.”

Keles peered off to the south. “Is it me, or do the Helos Mountains appear further away?”

“Trick of the light, Keles.” Jasai gave his arm a squeeze. “Eiran, can we make it to the Valley of Rubies?”

“That’s where I’d like to go, but I’m not sure we’ll make it. We have to cut west again. Rekarafi and Tyressa are scouting ahead, but I’m not sure that way will be open.”

Keles coughed again. “I wish I felt better. If I could concentrate I could tell you where our enemies are.”

Eiran laughed and the road led down into a small, bowl-shaped valley. “Don’t worry, Master Cartographer, we know this area well enough. We used to drive cattle through the Valley of Rubies on our way to higher pastures. Steep, but good water; we could hold off an army there.”

Jasai snorted. “You always dreamed about holding off an army there, but the only thing that invaded were our cattle.”

“I’d think a valley of rubies would be invaded constantly.”

“No, Keles, you’re thinking of a place where the wild magic changes flowers into rubies. But this isn’t Ixyll.”

The Prince grinned. “You forget, sister, that stories are told of the year when all the red flowers did have ruby petals-real rubies.”

“That’s a silly story, and you know it.” Jasai shook her head. “People tell how, that year, the flowers blossomed with gems. People ran to the valley, trampled the plants and each other. There were fights and murders. Then the plants died and the cattle had no fodder, so they died.”

She gave her brother an exasperated glance. “It’s all just a story to remind people that all the wealth in the world doesn’t matter when money isn’t what you need.”

“Well, it is a very pretty place.” Eiran smiled.

“I’m sure it is.” Keles returned the smile. “Everything I have seen of Helosunde is beautiful. I understand why you continue the fight to win it back.”

“It’s more than just the land.” Jasai pointed toward the mountains. “The land and our experience here has shaped us, but people must be connected to the land. It’s like the story of the Valley of Rubies. How do children learn the true value of things if they don’t have stories and traditions? A tree cannot become mighty if it has nothing to be rooted in.”

Keles nodded. “But that story works even if you are not from here.”

“But for how long, Keles?” She shook her head. “I know that the story is probably made up. At best it’s a gross exaggeration of some minor historical incident. That being true, whenever I think about the valley, I can feel the cool grass under my feet and smell the flowers, and that makes it all real. Anyone can tell you the evils of greed. Objectively we all understand it, but I feel it because I can relate the story to a real place.”

She stroked a hand over her belly. “What will my child feel? If he is connected to nothing, can anything have value for him? If he knows no hardship, can he have sympathy for those who are hard-pressed to survive? Can a man who has never known combat be a good general? Could you be a good cartographer without experience of the world?”