Nelesquin nodded. “It will be good to fight together again, won’t it?”

Pravak did not immediately reply. He stared past Nelesquin and slowly stood, drawing his swords.

Nelesquin turned and followed Pravak’s gaze to the east. Something huge and black rolled along the river-a wheel of incredible size. Trees cracked and fell as it rolled closer. People and livestock ran from beneath it, then turned and stared as it rolled past.

The wheel slowed, then stopped at the foot of the furthest dock. The man in the center of it descended, drifting to the ground. Nelesquin caught the tingle of magic. Pravak clearly felt it, too, and straightened up as if newly energized.

Nelesquin recognized Qiro, but there was something different about him. He, too, seemed rested and years younger. He comes as if joining his equals.

Qiro bowed, but hardly deep enough, and certainly not long enough. As he came up, he nodded to Pravak. “It seems forever since we met, but it cannot have been more than fifty-four years. I am Qiro Anturasi.”

Pravak’s face grew animated. “I would not know you, save for your voice. This is Prince Nelesquin, my master. Highness, Qiro Anturasi played a big part in your return.”

Nelesquin held a hand up. “I already know Master Anturasi, thank you. Qiro, I had not expected you to come here.”

“Circumstances have changed, Prince Nelesquin. My presence is required.” Qiro smiled and his voice remained even. “You move to conquer Nalenyr. Without me, your invasion will fail.”

“Have you forgotten the troops we fashioned, my friend? The Durrani have already defeated a Naleni and Desei force.”

Dockside commotion stopped Qiro from answering. The earth beneath the stone wheel began to sink and the wheel tipped. It hung in the balance for a heartbeat, then it went over. The wheel toppled, smashing the dock into kindling and exploding an old fishing boat. It splashed into the river, sending tall waves washing over the banks, which lifted the vanyesh boat and deposited it on the end of its dock.

Nelesquin frowned. “The wheel blocks half the river. Please move it.”

Qiro nodded. “Of course, Highness.”

The cartographer turned and slipped a foot out of his sandal. With his big toe he drew a straight line, then an oxbow curve, then another straight line. About six inches closer to the river he drew the same figure paralleling the first.

Magic crackled through the air. Blue fire played over Pravak’s silver bones. Some of the somnolent vanyesh jerked and thrashed as if they’d been dashed with a bucket of cold water. The magic raked stinging nettles over Nelesquin’s flesh. He dug fingernails in his own palms to fight the urge to scratch.

The Green River, four hundred yards wide and thirty deep, shifted in its bed. The water quickened, carving through the southern bank. The ferry dock tore away. Warehouses collapsed and debris began to flow downstream. People scrambled from houses mere seconds before the river consumed them. The water boiled black with mud. Fish floated to the top, flopping weakly before being sucked back down.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, the river changed course. What it inundated to the south, it left dry on the north. The vanyesh boat slipped off the dock and came to rest amid flopping fish and mud-covered pilings a good ten feet below the level of the dock. Children ran out, heedless of their parents’ cries, to pull fish from the river and search for lost treasures. Here and there lay bones of men and horses or other beasts that had been washed away in spring floods, or tossed into the river to hide murders.

Finally, the water slid past the stone wheel and continued east to the ocean. The river calmed itself. Fish were able to swim again as the silt settled. On the far bank, one more warehouse collapsed, but the river nibbled away no more land.

Qiro turned back to the Prince and slipped his sandal back on. “You should have them make a garden here. The dirt will be rich and the garden will prosper.”

Nelesquin shook his head slowly. “I merely wanted you to move the wheel.”

“I know.” Qiro smiled. “But I wished to move the river.”

“Whatever for?”

“It is simple, Prince Nelesquin. Yours is the Empire, but mine is the world.”

“That could be taken to mean, Master Anturasi, that you no longer serve me or my cause.”

“Hardly, Prince Nelesquin.” Qiro laughed easily. He walked over to a pair of puddles and gouged a channel with his heel that linked them. “There, I do you yet another service. You may not think so now, but you will see.”

The cartographer’s smile broadened. “Now, let us discuss this invasion of yours, and how I shall make it succeed.”

TheNewWorld

6th 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

Wentokikun, Moriande

Nalenyr

The last thing I wanted to do was to appear before the Empress at the head of a defeated army. The battle had not been mine to lose. My troops and I could not have salvaged it-I knew that, and so did they. Even so, I still bore responsibility.

Deshiel Tolo, Pasuram Derael, and Captain Lumel took charge of our force. They reorganized it, rounded up deserters, and deployed our meager cavalry as scouts. They ranged south to check on the enemy advance. For whatever reason, the kwajiin did not seem interested in pressing their advantage, but none of us were inclined to trust appearances.

Just over a hundred miles separated them from Moriande. They could be there in a week. There weren’t enough kwajiin to surround and isolate Moriande, so the siege would be nasty. Their very presence would cause a panic. It was easy to imagine streams of refugees heading north.

Messengers had been dispatched to Moriande with the dire news. Out of the forty-four thousand warriors we’d had at Tsengui, only a third survived. Desei line troops had taken the majority of casualties. The survivors-primarily cavalry-might well have been dead. Their prince had fallen. Though they never could have saved him, they all imagined they might have and that gutted their morale.

If there was going to be any hope for Moriande, we had to rebuild that morale. I focused them on vengeance. I told them that if Prince Cyron thought they’d been broken, he’d send them home. They’d never get their chance to avenge their beloved Pyrust. I also played on their contempt for soft southerners, using it to rekindle their pride. They would show us all how true warriors fought, and they would gain immortality because of it.

The Desei conscripts were little more than cattle. Most abandoned weapons and armor as they fled. They’d been reduced to exhausted, terrified wretches marching north through enemy territory. Their spirits had been completely broken. The surviving Hawks had nothing but contempt for them. And shunned by their own people, they had nothing to live for. They just wanted to go home.

Only I couldn’t let them do that. Once we got to Moriande they’d be rearmed or used as forced labor. A handful might see Deseirion again, but war’s voracious appetite made that doubtful.

The Virine and my xidantzu were in the best shape of all. They’d fought the kwajiin before and survived. They didn’t share contempt for the other. I culled the troops from Tsatol Deraelkun for officers and imposed them on the Desei conscripts. This created sufficient structure that desertion dropped off and the conscripts’ morale began to pick up.

I selected a valley about eight miles out from Moriande to house the army temporarily, then rode ahead to meet with the Empress. Resupplied, clad, and fed, they would look much better coming into the capital.

Tired though I was, just catching sight of the White City lifted my spirits. It gleamed, its tall towers unbroken. I reined my horse in and stared-wondering what Nelesquin or the kwajiin would make of the view.