Authors: Michael A. Stackpole
I think Ranai’s words had been prophetic. I imagine the
vhangxi
had been sown in the water as eggs or tadpoles. They remained there until blood tainted the water. They grew quickly—with a speed somehow augmented by Nelesquin’s sorceries—and it was this newly spawned horde that emerged to feast on the militiamen.
The
vhangxi
erupted in the midst of our militia. They burst up out of the water, taking off legs and arms. They slashed with claws, raking off faces, then appropriated weapons from the fallen. They never paused in the attack that crushed our left flank.
Only idiots and tavern-bench generals would fault the militia for breaking. They were merely conscripts who had marched nearly four hundred and fifty miles in under a month’s time. They’d had no real training. Their rations were barely enough to keep them alive. Some in the rearmost ranks did not even have weapons, and the
vhangxi
were far better at scavenging than they were.
The militia broke. While the
vhangxi
hit them in the flank, the
xonarchii
hurled stones toward where the militia linked up with the Hawks. Death lurked at either side of their formation, so their only escape was to the rear. Those too slow were trampled or cut down. Fleeing men churned the swamp into a muddy froth.
Far too many died there.
The
kwajiin
surged forward into the gap and hammered the Desei Hawks’ flank. Pyrust’s warriors fell back, but set themselves and repulsed the first drive. The
kwajiin
pressed hard, forcing the Hawks to give ground. The Desei held the line, every one of them knowing that once the
vhangxi
left the swamp, they would be overwhelmed.
Their only chance at survival came with reinforcements. Unfortunately, the fleeing militia headed straight for the militia reserve. The retreating troops infected the others with panic. The reserves’ ranks evaporated. They flung down their arms and raced north toward Moriande. The way they were going, I expected some would not stop until they’d reached Felarati again.
Had the cavalry been back on our side of the stream, they could have stopped the
kwajiin
advance. But out of position as they were on the far side of things, they could do nothing. The advantage they hoped to exploit never materialized.
Fans flashed and I waited to read orders to advance. None came. Drums called for retreat. The Hawks and the Naleni Dragons withdrew, but Vroan’s Ixunites never managed to disengage. The
kwajiin
punched into that gap. The cavalry had come around and tried to plug it, but neither they nor the handful of militia regiments on that wing could stem the
kwajiin
advance.
The Naleni troops, hard-pressed, broke next and ran. The
kwajiin
overwhelmed the westrons. With the Ixunites laying their arms down, the
kwajiin
pressed on and slowly surrounded the Desei Hawks.
The last I saw of Pyrust, he had drawn his sword. He waved it at me—my signal to go—then he saddled up and rode down to be with his troops.
Ranai had been right. Before noon the swamp had become a lake of blood.
Too much of it belonged to the troops who might have been able to save Moriande.
Chapter 20
K
eles hunched forward and coughed as quietly as he could. His stint in the damp Vallitsi dungeon had done him no good. In the two days since his rescue, his bruises had gone from a livid purple to a slightly softer brown, with a curdled yellow at the edges. The burns had scabbed over, but the wounds remained red despite the variety of poultices he applied to them. Worst of all, his lungs had become congested and his ribs ached from coughing.
It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by plants that could produce a tea that would soothe him; the refugees had little time to rest and no chance of making a fire to boil water. He did manage to chew up some leaves and roots and pack them inside his cheek. The bitter taste sent shivers through him. He managed to keep water down, but even thinking about food turned his stomach.
Prince Eiran’s rescue had infuriated the Council of Ministers. They’d immediately sent messengers out to gather what forces they could to pursue Eiran and his sister. While there were those Helosundians who were more than happy to defy the Council and give the refugees aid, the band was too big for anyone to hide. The fact that over half of them wore Desei arms and had the look of battle-hardened veterans put off many sympathizers.
Though Prince Eiran claimed that he never intended to make for the Dark Sea coast, the ministers cut that avenue of escape off very quickly. That started the refugees angling southeast into the heavily wooded Zyarat Hills district in which Eiran and Jasai had grown up.
Jasai’s pleasure at being home again mocked the danger of pursuit. She traveled close to Keles, ignoring warning that a pregnant woman should shy away from magic. She told folktales rich with the region’s traditions. For the first time in their long association, she was truly happy.
That came as no surprise. She’d been reunited with her brother after believing him dead. The Council, working in accord with Prince Pyrust, had ordered his execution, but they’d given the job to a man whose sympathies lay with Eiran. Jasai’s brother decided that disappearing would be a good way to grant him time to figure out the political landscape. He’d already gathered a small force of loyalists when he’d learned of Jasai’s capture and decided to save her.
The Prince rode up on Keles’ left side. “The sun will be down soon. We’ll find a spot to rest, then push on.”
Keles peered off to the south. “Is it me, or do the Helos Mountains appear further away?”
“Trick of the light, Keles.” Jasai gave his arm a squeeze. “Eiran, can we make it to the Valley of Rubies?”
“That’s where I’d like to go, but I’m not sure we’ll make it. We have to cut west again. Rekarafi and Tyressa are scouting ahead, but I’m not sure that way will be open.”
Keles coughed again. “I wish I felt better. If I could concentrate I could tell you where our enemies are.”
Eiran laughed and the road led down into a small, bowl-shaped valley. “Don’t worry, Master Cartographer, we know this area well enough. We used to drive cattle through the Valley of Rubies on our way to higher pastures. Steep, but good water; we could hold off an army there.”
Jasai snorted. “You always dreamed about holding off an army there, but the only thing that invaded were our cattle.”
“I’d think a valley of rubies would be invaded constantly.”
“No, Keles, you’re thinking of a place where the wild magic changes flowers into rubies. But this isn’t Ixyll.”
The Prince grinned. “You forget, sister, that stories are told of the year when all the red flowers did have ruby petals—real rubies.”
“That’s a silly story, and you know it.” Jasai shook her head. “People tell how, that year, the flowers blossomed with gems. People ran to the valley, trampled the plants and each other. There were fights and murders. Then the plants died and the cattle had no fodder, so they died.”
She gave her brother an exasperated glance. “It’s all just a story to remind people that all the wealth in the world doesn’t matter when money isn’t what you need.”
“Well, it is a very pretty place.” Eiran smiled.
“I’m sure it is.” Keles returned the smile. “Everything I have seen of Helosunde is beautiful. I understand why you continue the fight to win it back.”
“It’s more than just the land.” Jasai pointed toward the mountains. “The land and our experience here has shaped us, but people must be connected to the land. It’s like the story of the Valley of Rubies. How do children learn the true value of things if they don’t have stories and traditions? A tree cannot become mighty if it has nothing to be rooted in.”
Keles nodded. “But that story works even if you are not from here.”
“But for how long, Keles?” She shook her head. “I know that the story is probably made up. At best it’s a gross exaggeration of some minor historical incident. That being true, whenever I think about the valley, I can feel the cool grass under my feet and smell the flowers, and that makes it all real. Anyone can tell you the evils of greed. Objectively we all understand it, but I
feel
it because I can relate the story to a
real
place.”
She stroked a hand over her belly. “What will my child
feel
? If he is connected to nothing, can anything have value for him? If he knows no hardship, can he have sympathy for those who are hard-pressed to survive? Can a man who has never known combat be a good general? Could you be a good cartographer without experience of the world?”
“No, probably not; but experiencing something doesn’t always make it beneficial.” Keles arched his back and pops rippled up his spine. “Tyressa and I had a conversation once. She said she hoped your people could move on and find a home, not just keep fighting over this one. She said the struggle for Helosunde was what defined all of you.”
“I’ll grant she might be right, that being rooted here in Helosunde has warped some people.” She looked over at him. “The Council’s agents did not treat you the way we welcome guests and friends.”
“I don’t believe I was seen as a guest or friend.” Keles coughed again. “Ieral Scoan saw me as a
xingnadin
. He wanted me broken. I don’t think he’s that different from anyone else in the Nine.”
“You may have a point there.”
“And your point is also well-taken, Princess.” Keles shrugged. “The political climate in Helosunde shaped those who now chase us. The Council feared Prince Pyrust for a long time. Now they curry his favor by trying to capture you.”
“This means that both Jasai and Tyressa are right.” The Prince nodded firmly. “People need a place whence strong traditions can grow; and it would appear that Helosunde in its current state is not that place. Whether we find another, or reshape Helosunde, the task that awaits us will not be simple.”
It seemed the Prince had more to offer on the subject, but the pounding of hoofbeats coming up the road from the south cut him off. Tyressa reined a well-lathered horse to a stop beside them. “There’s a company of cavalry ahead of us. Scoan is leading them.”
“How did he get south of us?”
Jasai waved away her brother’s question. “How did he find so many horses?”
“They’ve been ridden hard, and no one has a spare mount that I saw. They must have paralleled us, then come east to cut us off when we didn’t make for the coast.” Tyressa leaped from the saddle and drew a sword. “Everyone into the woods. We’ll hold them off while Keles gets Jasai out to the west.”
Jasai shook her head. “No. These people are exhausted. I’ll not have them die now so I can be caught ten miles from here.”
“Jasai. Rekarafi can get you out of here.” Keles looked around. “Where is he?”
“He was scouting to the west. He may have already run into them.” Tyressa grabbed Jasai’s reins. “Do not defy me, Jasai. Get out of here. Take Keles and your brother. Go.”
Eiran slid from his saddle and grabbed Tyressa’s wrist. “Let her stay.”
“You can’t do this, Eiran. You abandoned her once in Meleswin. You’re not turning her over to him.”
Eiran hesitated as Tyressa’s words sank in. He ran a hand over his mouth, then looked up at his sister. “I was a coward then. I didn’t know my own limits. I have a better idea of them now.”
The Prince drew his sword and stepped further down the road. The thunder of approaching riders became unmistakable. The Desei warriors and Eiran’s loyalists blocked the road, with Tyressa beside the Prince. A few people kindled torches and Eiran’s wavering shadow weaved side to side over the roadway.
A mounted warrior burst from the dark forest tunnel. His sword hissed from the scabbard. The rider came on hard, his sword raised. It flashed down. Eiran’s sword rose, caught the slash and turned it aside. The rider jerked his reins hard, spinning his horse around. Hooves gouged the earth but before he could make another pass, Tyressa darted forward and yanked him from the saddle.
The man yelped. Tyressa silenced him with a knee to the face.
Ieral Scoan drew rein. His men spread out. “Caught at last.”
Eiran settled into a fighting stance, his sword raised by his right ear. “Not yet caught.”
“Said as if you were the one who had unhorsed my man. I am not impressed.”
“I don’t care if I impress you or not, Ieral Scoan. My only concern is for true sons of Helosunde, not some creature given to obeying its Desei masters.”
“I’m not the one consorting with the Desei, Duke Eiran.”
“
Prince
Eiran, duly voted to that post by those you serve. Their failure to kill me did not remove that title.” Eiran jerked his head back toward those behind him. “Desei these may be, but they are in service to my sister.”
Ieral laughed. “And she is a Desei Princess, carrying Pyrust’s child.”
“But she’s here, isn’t she? A daughter of Helosunde, returning to her home to give birth.” Eiran’s head came up. He looked around at those who had ridden with Scoan. “How many of your mothers made the same journey so you could be born north of the mountains? How can you dishonor those brave women by stopping my sister?”
A few of the riders looked away, embarrassed. Ieral raised a hand to silence murmuring. “The world has changed, Eiran, and better you were dead than see it. We are Helosundian and are stronger for our unity with Deseirion. The Prince wants us to take custody of his wife and the Anturasi.”
“So, it
is
Pyrust’s bidding you do. The Council no longer even pretends to be Helosundian. What did he tell you? That you were riding after criminals? That you were stopping a Desei invasion? He dared not tell you the truth. No true son of Helosunde would join him in this foul task were the truth known.”
Ieral slipped from his saddle and drew his sword. “I take offense at your words.”
“I take offense at your actions.”
“Very well, then we shall settle this here and now—provided you wish your sister to see you die. I am a swordsman of
Serrian
Tsuxai. I am of the eighth rank.”