Authors: Michael A Stackpole
would have been addictive. It would have consumed them utterly, but the two of them had
the discipline of their art to fall back on. In the same way as it opened them to the
possibilities, it dictated how they were to avoid consumption.
Her fingers lingered on his face, then she slid them down to grab hold of his robe and laid
her face against his breast. “We both know why you have stayed away, and why I have
not come after you. On a night like this, however, a night to reward heroes, would it not be
more wrong for us to be apart than together?”
“Yes, it would, though my status as a hero may demand a few things more this evening.”
“Such as?”
He lifted his hand to her chin and tilted her face up. “Jatan told me of the rumors about the
Wastes. You clearly chose me to oppose Black Myrian’s champion to alert me to what is
going on. You and Jatan did not collaborate?”
“No, Moraven. I was led to believe that you visited him to be given your apprentice.” Her
grip tightened on his robe. “I did collaborate with Black Myrian. A favor was repaid, but I
would have demanded more had I known his man would try to kill you.”
“Black Myrian wanted to let everyone know what he could get, but did so before the
Prince, and on this night, to let Cyron know he could be counted upon to forestall trouble.”
“But for a price. His loyalty is for sale.”
“Prince Cyron knows that.”
The Lady of Jet and Jade kissed his throat. “Black Myrian has treated with many of the
inland nobles. The capital merchants grow fat with profits, but the provincial lordlings see
very little of that money. They were reluctant to invest in trade ventures initially, and the
merchants are now loath to reward them for withholding money in the past. The lordlings
want the spices and other goods that come in, but lack the gold to pay for them.
“On top of that, they feel the Prince is far too concerned with Helosunde and the Desei
problem. The harvest this year was quite abundant, but the Prince did not reduce taxes.
Had the lordlings kept more grain, they would have been able to trade more. Instead, the
Prince takes their grain, and still demands their troops to defend against Deseirion. There
are some who think a private army will keep them safe from the Desei, if they ever invade.
Others believe an army will be needed to overthrow the Prince if he does not become
more realistic.”
Moraven nodded slowly. “I imagine, in the city, there are also merchants who have not
profited as much as others and so feel a private army of their own would be useful to
disrupt the business of others. The only thing that keeps the tensions from soaring out of
control is the general prosperity that trade has brought?”
“Yes. The Prince is aware of the discontent, and is forcing some merchants to take on
rural investors if they want to use Anturasi charts. Those who don’t have had horrid luck—
to the point where several houses of cartography have been ruined. All it will take,
however, is a disaster with an expedition the state is mounting. The economy will crash,
and the knives will come out.”
“And that would be the
Stormwolf
expedition?”
She smiled up at him. “For one who has not been in Moriande for a long while, you
understand the politics well.”
“Moriande today, Kelewan ages ago.” Moraven frowned. “The difference then was that
swordsmen were being bought, so the forces gathering were easier to see. Here it would
be weapons and dust, which could hide an army in a warehouse with no mouths to feed
and no one the wiser.”
“Do you have a means to deal with this?”
“Not as yet, no.” He bowed his head and kissed her forehead. “There is much more to
learn, but I have a little time. The
Stormwolf
cannot fail before it is launched.”
“And you will spend some of that time with me?”
Moraven lowered his mouth to hers. “Could there be better use than spending it with you?”
6th day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
736th year since the Cataclysm
Shirikun, Moriande
Nalenyr
Prince Pyrust lifted the lid of the small ebony box on the table in his suite’s parlor. There,
nestled in a swatch of red velvet, he found nine metal figures, gaily painted save one, with
the tallest measuring two and a half inches. This one—the one painted black except for
the face and the white hawk emblazoned on the breastplate of the armor—he plucked
from the box and held in the light of the nearest candle. He turned it left and right,
marveling more at the artistry of the sculpting than the painting, for that had clearly been
done quickly.
He smiled. “They are more kind in their treatment of me this year than in the past. Is that
because I am here, or is it an edict from Cyron?”
The other person in the room sat in a corner, cloaked in shadow, a hood pulled up so
naught but a few wisps of long grey hair could be seen. Her voice, though quiet, crackled
with age. “This we are not certain, Highness. Cyron is not as given to issuing edicts as his
father was.”
Pyrust set his simulacrum on the table and pulled out Cyron’s piece. The robe he wore
had been painted with exquisite skill and looked even better than the garment worn at
their meeting. The gold of it would have been all but blinding in brighter light. The artisan
had taken great care to portray the hawk beneath the dragon as being in great distress,
with feathers flying.
“I find it curious to hold him in my hand so easily now, but to have difficulty controlling him in life.”
His guest slowly shook her head, but no light fell across her features. “Control is an
illusion. He thinks he controls you now.”
“Does he?” Pyrust set him down as well, taking minor satisfaction that his figure was taller
than that of the Naleni Prince. “His offer of food was not one I could refuse. Along with it
came conditions of behavior. I violate them at my nation’s ruination.”
“Do you, my lord?”
“Is it not obvious, Delasonsa? Your agents are the ones who have brought me an
accurate picture of the state of my nation. The bureaucrats hide things in statistics and the
manner in which they let reports filter to court. They dole out bad news in degrees.”
“It is their means of maintaining order, for bureaucracy breaks down in the face of chaos.
They see themselves as the real keepers of order in the world, the heirs to the Empire the
Empress abandoned so long ago. She split political power among the Nine Princes, but
the mechanism for maintaining the Empire fell to the bureaucrats. Save that it would be
the ultimate invocation of chaos, they would have supplanted the Princes long ago.”
She gestured, the tip of her finger with its long crooked nail barely escaping a heavy
sleeve. “You were not surprised Prince Cyron knew of the harvest. You supposed, not
incorrectly, that Helosundian agents brought him that news. Bureaucrats confirmed it,
however, as they sought to open negotiations on your behalf with his bureaucrats.
Information was flowing through those channels well before the harvest failed.”
With his maimed left hand Pyrust stroked his goatee. “Those same channels will convey
information about any invasion I was to make. It is those channels that tell him about my
attempts to hunt down the Helosundian rebels.”
“In part, yes, but we have been taking care of those problems.” Her hood shifted. “It is
both a blessing and a curse to have the bureaucrats. Yours are greatly efficient,
duplicating or triplicating every report, sending them on through different couriers,
demanding dated receipts so things can be tracked. When you desire something done, it
gets done.”
“Yes. I use the same system in the field with troops.”
“Of course you do, Highness, which is why your campaigns have been successful, and will
continue to be so in the future.”
“You need not flatter me, Mother of Shadows. I rely upon others for that.” Pyrust turned
back to the box and pulled out the figure of Qiro Anturasi. He held it up as he turned back.
“Here is the key to the future.”
“Would you have me slay him?”
Pyrust focused beyond the white-robed figurine to the huddle of rags in the chair. “You
have oft asked me to give you leave to kill him. What is this personal animosity you bear
him?”
“None, Highness.” She chuckled lightly. “It is the challenge. Anturasikun is as secure a
prison as Prince Cyron and his father could devise. Getting in is not simple, and getting
out is less so. For me to slip in, slay him in a manner that made it appear he died
naturally, and escape again is probably the hardest task imaginable.”
“Save escaping from the Nine Hells.”
“Or Nine Heavens. Yes, Master.”
Pyrust studied her for a moment. From his earliest memory she had appeared thus: an
aged crone shrunk by the weight of centuries. His father had said she had seemed the
same to him, so Pyrust doubted she truly looked like that. But still, it meant that she was
very likely
jaecaivril
—so masterful in the shadow arts that the merest touch could kill. She had long run the mechanism of state security in Deseirion—both the visible forces and
those that dwelt exclusively in the shadows, most of whom were of her blood. Generations
of them.
I do not doubt you
could
kill Qiro Anturasi
. He let the figure of the man slip into his fist and tightened his grip. “I hate denying you that challenge, but as long as he has his
vulnerabilities, he is more useful alive than dead. Besides, he is merely contributory to the
problem we face. His entire family would have to be wiped out, and all of their charts
destroyed, and even that would only slow Nalenyr, not stop it.
“Explorations bring trade to Nalenyr, and that results in gold with which the Prince can
train and maintain an army of Helosundian mercenaries to harass me and defend his
nation. It puts him in a position to hire an even larger army, if need be. Any assault I could
begin would be bogged down in Helosunde fighting mercenaries. He brings Naleni troops
up, and mine starve before we can win even a foot of Naleni soil.”
“Hence your financing expeditions into the Wastes and the study of
gyan
. If you can
recover enough artifacts or the machines can be perfected, you could create an army that
would overwhelm his. It becomes a race. He wants more gold; you seek the means to
take his gold from him.”
“I do not like such impasses.” He set Qiro down next to the other two figures in the set. “I
like them less than Cyron’s jerking a leash and my having to heel as if I were some cur.”
“There
is
an advantage to that, Highness.”
“Yes?”
The crone gestured vaguely in the direction of Kojaikun. “He believes himself a hero on
this night of heroes, and he believes you a cur secure at the end of a leash. He has told
you that if you are hostile, you will starve. Do you think he really cares if you continue your campaigns in Helosunde or not?”
Pyrust frowned. “True. His proxy war in Helosunde bleeds me but does not bleed him. It
can only be to his benefit if we continue fighting.”
“And if you continue fighting, he will assume you are stupid, since you risk cutting off the
grain heading north. You know he will delay shipments to you, but he dare not do that to
his allies. If you are successful in stealing their grain, he will divert shipments to them, but you shall be fed nonetheless.”
“This gets me nothing.”
“On the contrary, it gets you much.”
Pyrust’s head came up. “It shows him I am predictable and stupid.”
“Which he will be more than willing to accept. After all, he already believes you follow
dreams.” She pointed to the box of figures. “Draw out the two Guards figures: the Cloud
Dragon and the River Dragon.”
Knowing she had a point and assuming it would be of value, he turned to the box and
pulled out the two figures that represented the most elite of Naleni troops. Save for the
colors and insignia painted on their armor and shields, the pieces were identical. They had
been cast from the same mold and differed only in color.
“They are the same.”
“Indeed, they are. There is no way to tell them apart save for their uniforms.”
“Exactly, my prince. You have the Shadow Hawks and the Mountain Hawks operating in
Helosunde. They cross the river and strike at various points in punitive expeditions. What
if you used the same troops, but differed their uniforms? What if the bureaucrats still sent
the same reports, indicating where the units were, their strength and their disposition? You
would, in essence, free one unit from observation.”
“And one unit consumes half the fodder of two, so I can hoard some of what we capture.
This I understand. To what end, though?”
“I would have thought it would be simple, Highness.” Her laughter mocked him. “The
Naleni assume you will never defeat them because they can buy well-trained troops to
oppose you. You, it is assumed, need
gyan
-worked swords to equal them, or relics or
troops fueled with corpse dust and other unsavory things. As we have discussed in the
past, such troops would be useful at the start, engaging Naleni troops, pinning them so