“If I might ask…”
“Anything, lord.”
“Have you heard much from the Virine?”
Her eyes half closed. “Very little comes from the south these days. Warriors are heading east quietly so no alarm will spread, but the army is being mobilized. They seem to be moving so quickly that families and camp followers cannot keep up. Many have been warned to move west.”
He nodded slowly. “And of the east?”
She plucked the fallen petal from the table and brushed it against her cheek, then set it back down again. A single tear glistened there.
Worse than I could have imagined. He felt a sudden urge to tell her what little he knew of the invasion and his precautions against its spread. Given how she had suggested he deal with Count Turcol, she might well have guessed at some of what was going on. While everything had been kept very quiet, soldiers ordered to move south would have bid farewell to their loved ones, and doubtless that news had made its way back to her.
He looked at her and his fingertips tingled with the memory of how soft her flesh was beneath his touch. He nodded slowly, then smiled.
She returned the smile. “My lord?”
“I choose to trust you.”
“Is this wise, Highness?”
“Wise and necessary. You have eyes and ears where I do not, and you have a mind capable of understanding and communicating subtlety. I need you. Nalenyr needs you.”
“You do me great honor with this trust, Highness.”
“And I give to you a great burden.” In low tones, Cyron explained all he knew about the invasion. She, in her subtle way, provided him with more information. When he noted that the invaders had reached at least as far as Muronek, she gently corrected him. “I believe, your Highness, you meant to say ‘Talanite.’ ”
She took his recital of facts well and seemed no more alarmed than she would have been if he suggested it would rain that evening. When he finished, he looked at her and fell silent. He drained his cup and returned it to the table.
She refilled it. Setting the pot down again, she rested her hands on her thighs and faced south, as if she could see all the way to Kelewan.
“The Virine, Highness, have ever been secure in their history as the Empire’s capital province. They have more people, more crops, more of everything save the spirit which the Naleni possess. For a long while I resided there, in the Illustrated City, but I moved north seeking the future. Their complacency will be their undoing. They may already have been undone.”
Cyron’s stomach began to tighten. “Then the invasion will take us, too?”
“I am not a fortune-teller. Your precautions are wise. They must be taken in stealth, lest panic reign.” She slowly rotated her cup a handful of degrees. “There will come a point where the news will spread, and you must be positioned to respond. This is reminiscent of the Turasynd invasion: all must be called to service, and you must guarantee that no Cataclysm will follow.”
He blinked. “Is that a claim I can make?”
She shook her head. “No, but does it matter? The Cataclysm may kill, but the invaders will kill. The dead will not hold you to account, and the survivors will praise your name that things were not worse.”
“For someone who says she is not a fortune-teller, this is a dire prognostication.”
She fixed him with a stare that made him shiver. “A fortune can be ignored. My warning cannot. Accept that and act accordingly, or the Komyr Dynasty will not live out the year.”
Chapter Twenty-one
6th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Princes’ Road East, Erumvirine
When the Soth Gloon and the one-armed boy first sought to join the caravan of refugees my warriors were shadowing, voices had been raised against them. Their addition did bring the group’s number to twenty-seven, which should have been seen as auspicious. But those who feared the Gloon said that he should not be counted and that the boy wasn’t even half a man. Urardsa made hopeful pronouncements, and he even sounded sincere-though I was not certain if he believed what he was saying or if he was trying to command me to make it come true.
Moraven had known Pavynti Syolsar before, but her new name, Ranai Ameryne, suited her much better. Her time at Serrian Istor had given her a direction and purpose, and Dunos’ presence had reinforced it. He had remembered her, and she distantly recalled him. She had set about training him to be a swordsman, though a long knife was all he could wield at the moment. Despite that, he’d done much damage in the skirmishes we’d fought, and was able to creep about silently enough to be vrilridin.
Swordsmanship’s loss would be a gain to the art of assassins.
The other person I’d rescued from the hill had immediately prostrated himself before me when he learned who I was. He’d called himself Deshiel Tolo and told others he was a cousin of mine. He begged forgiveness and I granted it-he was a very skilled swordsman and welcome to the name. When not on his belly, he stood as tall as I did, though he was lighter. His long black hair and grey eyes contributed to our similarity, and it was easy enough to believe we could be mistaken as cousins or brothers. The crest he wore, the leopard hunting, and his penchant for the southern dialect, marked him as someone from the Five Princes.
Given his skill with a sword and our needs, I forgave him.
The knot of refugees did find themselves very lucky. Though they made as much haste as they could, the Princes’ Road was not meant for speed. Most commercial traffic passed up the river because the road twisted a scenic path between the capital and the coast. The Virine Princes traveled to the coast on it each year before the monsoon season, so they had beautified it. In places they had hills created, streambeds shifted, and even forests planted for shade. It had been an ambitious project, which had killed many of the peasantry in its making, and now was killing more.
As fast as the refugees tried to travel, they could not outpace the enemy. This suited us well, for we used them as bait. The enemy would send out scouts to locate stragglers-though they attacked them more out of hunger than any apparent desire to halt word of their advance.
Along the Princes’ Road, their scouts disappeared.
The three of us were not alone, and before the fight at the Singing Creek, we actually outnumbered the refugees. My scouts gathered the hale and hearty regardless of their combat experience. I did not bother to learn their names, which saved me the bother of forgetting them when they died, but a couple of our number were worth the effort.
As dusk fell on the sixth day I knew the balance of things had begun to shift. Four people fleeing east joined the group, numbering them at thirty-one. Try as I might, I could not manipulate numbers to discover any sign of good fortune. Then came the first reports from my scouts that a group of the vhangxi approached. They appeared more numerous than the other scouting cadres and in better order, leading me to believe they had become more intelligent or cautious. I wanted to believe the latter, but any commander who bases plans on his enemy’s stupidity is himself a fool.
We watched and waited in a grove of flame-leafed trees as our party made camp. The refugees who had joined them had reported no sign of the enemy to the west, and our bait took that as a good sign. So instead of taking up defensive positions, they all gathered to gossip and exchange news.