Children had all been issued nets and sticks, and been trained how to smash the winged toads. Derael suggested the best way to combat fear was to give people something to do. Only the helpless truly feel afraid. I marveled at little gangs of feral children marching in good order, patrolling their neighborhoods. I wished their parents would take soldiering as seriously.

Our defensive plan had three components. The first and most important was the defense of the walls. Keeping Nelesquin’s troops outside the city would be best for all. We were prepared to defend them, but chances were the walls would be breached. We had to assume they would be.

From the walls we would fall back to the towers. Three of the city’s nine provincial towers lay south of the Gold River. From west to east, they were Kojaikun, Quunkun, and Wentokikun. Initially it was assumed that we would surrender the Dragon Tower only after every defender had been slain, but Prince Cyron demurred. He’d already evacuated the animals from his sanctuary to the north end, housing them in the gardens adjacent to Shirikun. While we were expected to defend his palace, the plan was simply to bleed the enemy and buy time so people could escape north across the bridges.

After the towers, we’d hold the bridges’ southern ends, then get driven back to the north ends. We already had catapults, ballistae, and trebuchets ranged and sighted for sweeping the long archways. If Nelesquin’s troops got that far, the slaughter would be horrible.

“Master, I should like to say…”

I turned and smiled. Ciras Dejote stood before me in a full suit of armor. A flame had been painted on the breastplate in yellow and orange. The armor’s lacings likewise alternated those two colors. He wore a pair of swords, one long, one short, and a fierce armored mask hung by its lacings from his shoulder.

I clapped him on the shoulders. “Ciras, I am no longer your master. You traveled to Voraxan and came back with the Empress’ loyal retainers. It was an act that shall be sung of for a long time.”

“Only if we win, Master. If not, we shall be sung of as the vanyesh are now.”

I nodded. “Then we cannot let that happen.”

“Master Tolo-I do not know if I call you that or Master Soshir…” Ciras frowned and slid the long sword, scabbard and all, from his sash. “This blade belonged to Jogot Yirxan. There is some indication that I may be him, reborn. Using the sword, out there in Ixyll, I had visions. And one of them was…”

I held up a hand, then extended it. He laid the blade’s hilt in my palm and it was as if ice encased me. My vision blurred and night came on fast. I knew I was me-Virisken Soshir-but my body felt alien. It was as if I were wearing a costume, pretending to be someone I was not.

Nelesquin’s camp in far Ixyll had been laid waste. My brother’s body stretched out in front of me. I tangled fingers in his hair and lifted his severed head. I held it high, laughing. He had thought to oppose me. He had thought himself my better.

I spat in his face, then kicked his head into the darkness.

I don’t know how I knew he was there. A sense? Jaedun, perhaps. I think it may have even been deliberate on his part, a tiny sound, just a hint of warning. Not that it availed me much, because his sword-the sword connecting me with Ciras-connected the two of us. It bit through me, carving into my left side from spine to breastbone.

My hand fell from the sword. I found myself on my knees. The scar ached as it had not in a long time.

“Master, are you…?”

“I’m fine, Ciras.” I got to my feet, steadying myself against the wall. “You had a vision of almost cutting me in half.”

Ciras could not meet my gaze. “It dishonors me.”

“It should not, no more than the scar does me. Jogot and I had been as brothers-truer brothers than Nelesquin and I had ever been, or so I thought. When he joined the vanyesh I felt betrayed. I did not realize why he had gone.”

I looked past him, north, to Shirikun, where the Empress had taken up residence. “When first I saw her again she looked for something. She wanted to believe she could trust me, but I had broken her trust before.”

Ciras shook his head. “You never would have done that.”

“I am afraid I would have.” I pointed to the sword. “I saw Nelesquin as my rival for Imperial power, not hers. I’d struck him down, just as I would strike down anyone who stood between me and the throne. She knew that. She sent you to kill me. You did.”

The blood had drained from Ciras’ face. “But in a most cowardly way, Master. I struck you from behind.”

I shook my head. “Not cowardly. Prudent. Your vision ended after you struck me down?”

“Yes.”

I reached out and tipped his chin up, exposing his throat. “I was a very dangerous man then, Ciras. You paid dearly for your fidelity to the Empress.” I hesitated. “There was just enough life in me to take your head.”

Ciras swallowed hard. “This explains many things. If you demand satisfaction of me, Master…”

I let his chin fall again. “Do not be silly. I know better than to want to tangle with you.”

He blinked.

“If you wish me to say it, I will. I fear you, Ciras Dejote.” I laughed and he joined me, albeit slowly.

“Fear me? I would think you hate me.”

“Hate you? No. You acted bravely for the Empire. And that’s good to remember, now that we’re here, fighting a war we thought we had fought eons ago.”

Ciras leaned on the wall and peered south. “You could challenge Nelesquin to combat in the circle and be done with it.”

I shook my head. “He’d not accept.”

“He fears you would kill him.”

“Nelesquin fears nothing, which has always been a problem.” I shrugged. “I have had many more years of practice at this point, but he has his magic. It would probably be an even fight.”

“Then why refuse the challenge?”

“His war is with the Empress. Killing me is for later.” I chuckled and patted Ciras on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you ready to fight. They will come tonight, just after the sun has gone down.”

“We will show them no mercy.”

“Exactly. You’re already a hero, Ciras Dejote. Today you’ll become a legend.”

The assault came even later than I expected. I’d forgotten Nelesquin favored a short nap after his evening meal. I sat with my back against the wall, sharing a bowl of rice and some warm soup with Dunos, wondering what Nelesquin supped on. He’d always enjoyed the finer things. It surprised me that he’d limited his extravagances to the gold gauntlets I’d caught glimpses of.

When their drums began pounding, and some of their odd creatures started hooting, I sent Dunos off with our bowls. He protested being sent away, but I also gave him a message for Count Derael. That errand mollified him somewhat. He promised he’d return soon with an answer.

Trumpets answered on our side. Torches flared along the walls. Warriors-veterans and conscripts alike-donned circle talismans or drew ashen circles around their eyes to ward off magic. I couldn’t feel the tingle of jaedun, but the vanyesh were out there, somewhere. I couldn’t fault anyone taking precautions.

Melodies shifted. Our catapults launched oil-filled flaming urns. They streaked through the sky and exploded against the ground. None found a living target, but the burning pools cast enough light for us to see the enemy.

The xonarchii loomed forward and hurled boulders in high arcs. Several eclipsed the stars. Two or three landed well shy of the city. Others struck sparks from the stone and bounced off, gouging the walls.

One sailed completely over and collapsed a hovel into a pile of shattered kindling.

It had been hurled by the largest of the xonarchii. A massive beast, it had been painted with black stripes over its blue flesh, like a tiger-Nelesquin’s way of mocking me. It did make for a terrifying display. The driver turned the beast and it disappeared into the shadows to retrieve another rock.