“I think a return to Virisken Soshir will most discomfit our enemy.”

“Then it is Nelesquin?”

“I saw him at Tsatol Deraelkun.”

“Has the grave taught him anything?”

I caught the switch on its next pass and tickled her nose with the tip. “He is as ever he was: arrogant and confident. He also appears to be somewhat wiser. Years in the grave have made him more dangerous.”

Again she studied me for a heartbeat, but the smile did not leave her face. “We prevailed against him once.”

“And we shall again.”

I offered her my hand. She dropped the switch and took it. I drew her to me and luxuriated in her warmth. “Prince Cyron said you feared I would hate you. Is that because you knew who I was but never told me?”

She laid her head against my breast. “I knew who you had been. Who are you now? Virisken Soshir?”

“It’s a name.” I frowned. “It’s one of the people I’ve been. Who am I? I don’t know. By the time this is over, I certainly hope I will have found out.”

She kissed my throat and said something softly, but the raucous cry of a creature flying overhead stole her words. A large, cold shadow passed over us.

I thrust her behind me and filled my left hand with steel.

One of Nelesquin’s flying beasts, stinking of carrion, landed heavily in the stone circle. A kwajiin rode at the base of its neck. Behind him sat a mad artist’s conception of a human-Viruk hybrid, rendered as a silver skeleton. Two tentacles unwrapped a canvas-shrouded package and unceremoniously tossed it clear of the beast’s furling wings.

“There is your general, dead by Prince Nelesquin’s hand.”

I recognized the voice. “Pravak Helos. You’ve looked better.”

“Virisken Soshir.” The metal man threw his head back and laughed-a haunting sound that elicited angry growls from the sanctuary’s other animals. “I’m glad you’re alive. Had I leave from my master, I’d harvest your head.”

“Step down. We have a nice little circle here.”

“You dishonor yourself, tendering an offer you know I must refuse.”

“Another time, then, after the puppet master has cut your strings.”

The monster’s silver face closed. “Is that the little whore who led us to ruin hiding behind you?”

The Empress stepped from my shadow. “You followed Nelesquin into ruin. It’s an error you compound.”

“We will undo what you did.” The vanyesh tapped the kwajiin beastmaster on the shoulder. “We shall meet again, Master Soshir, and I will kill you.”

“And I, Master Helos, will melt your bones and give the silver to beggars.” I bowed respectfully.

He did not.

The beast spread its wings and beat skyward. The blast of air staggered us. I slipped an arm around Cyrsa as the creature faded into a dark spot against the sky.

She snorted. “Some of the vanyesh have survived.”

“Nelesquin wants us to fear their return.”

“I do.”

“Wise woman.” I hugged her close. “There is no good to come of it.”

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

Helosunde

Ciras Dejote laughed happily. “When Rekarafi found us, he told us you were alive. I scarcely believed he was able to find you, but I never should have doubted.”

“He tracked me from Ixyll to Felarati.” Keles coughed. “Such as it is, I am alive. Barely. My travels have not been kind.”

The swordsman nodded, keeping his true feeling hidden. When they first met, Keles Anturasi had been a quiet man. He had endured the hardships of traveling in the Wastes without complaint. He’d even accepted a bit of sword training from Ciras, despite the slender likelihood of ever needing it. The expedition had toughened Keles up some, but he had still been soft.

No more. Where there had once been hints of fat, bones were easily visible. His hands were not healing quickly. His body bore bruises. Wrinkles radiated from the corners of his bloodshot eyes. The cough, though dry, never really stopped. Where his flesh was not purple, brown, or yellow, it was grey. Strands of white shot through his brown hair.

Even Prince Eiran looks better than he does.

Scoan had wounded the Prince, but not mortally. The blade had to slice through the Prince’s knotted silk sash, his silk robe, and the garment beneath. Only the tip had caught flesh. The wound had been a handbreadth long, but had not run deep. No internal organs had been damaged. The wound had been stitched and, against his protests, Prince Eiran had been forced to travel on a stretcher borne by two of Borosan’s gyanrigot soldiers.

The pink of Eiran’s cheeks compared favorably with the pallor of Keles’ flesh, but both men needed rest. Getting through the mountains was not going to be easy, especially if the Council of Ministers had more hunters in the passes.

Ciras squeezed Keles’ shoulder. “Rest, my friend. We will see you safely to Moriande.”

Keles smiled weakly. “And you, Master Dejote.”

Ciras slipped away, threading through the camp. Tyressa nodded in passing. Keles had always been her charge, but her manner toward him had changed. Ciras would never have thought gentleness was a Keru trait, but Tyressa softened when she dealt with Keles.

I wonder if he knows how lucky he is? Ciras shook his head. How lucky we’ve all been?

The soldiers who had been under Scoan’s command quickly professed undying fealty to Prince Eiran, his sister, and the nation of Helosunde. They immediately offered up all they knew about plans for the fugitive’s capture and suggested routes for escape.

The various factions-Eiran’s rebels, the Voraxani, Jasai’s Desei, and the newly loyal Helosundians-made camp nearby and planned to travel to the Valley of Rubies in the morning. Borosan spent his time compiling all the geographical data he’d collected for Keles in Ixyll. Warriors set watches and an odd sort of normality settled over the camp.

Ciras sought out the Viruk and bowed. “Master Rekarafi, I would ask of you a question.”

The Viruk, who crouched with his back against the trunk of a huge oak, nodded. “You wish to know if I was aware of Voraxan’s location.”

“Yes.”

“I was. I helped them find it.” Rekarafi picked up an acorn and crushed it between thumb and forefinger. “I was with the Empress and her expedition.”

Ciras’ jaw dropped. “You fought with which side?”

“Neither side. This struggle between barbarians and civilized men has defined Men. You endure hardships because to surrender would somehow diminish the nobility of those who fought to protect you. This is nonsense. There was no nobility. Imperial forces and the vanyesh did as much to hurt one another as the Turasynd did; and even they had their squabbles between bands.”

“But the vanyesh were evil.”

“Perhaps, yes, but what does it matter to me? I am Viruk. I have lived since before Virukadeen destroyed itself. I remember a time when the Viruk could bear children. I remember a time when Men were our slaves-cherished, yes, but no more to me than a horse or a barn cat might be to you. Your ideas of good and evil are meaningless.”

Ciras’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

Rekarafi waved his comment away. “I would not waste a lie on you.”

“You lie to yourself.” Ciras pointed back toward the encampment. “You would not have gone to watch the battle if you had no feeling for those fighting. You were acquainted with Prince Nelesquin. You knew Virisken Soshir.”

The Viruk nodded. “The one you knew as Moraven Tolo, your master.”

The confirmation of what Vlay Laedhze had said surprised Ciras. “You knew, and you said nothing?”

“If he chose no longer to be known by that name, who was I to chain him to it again?” Rekarafi half lidded his eyes. “Perhaps I have lied to myself. I did care for the outcome. I grieved for the dead. I helped those who survived.”