The New World

Ciras smiled. “I see you have made great progress with your machines. I fear I will be of little use to you, however.”

“No, you’re the perfect person.” Borosan nodded toward the other side of the river. “I have collected reports about the big gyanrigot. They have warriors inside them, guiding them like you do with the mounts, only more direct. They use thoughts the way you use the pressure of your knees.”

“It makes for formidable armor.” Ciras shrugged. “I doubt they are putting their halt and lame in the suits.”

“Probably not. What I want, what I need, is some measurements.”

“Of?”

“Your arm.”

Ciras’ eyes narrowed. “My arm?”

“Yes, I think I have a way to fashion a substitute arm for you. It would work just like your real arm.”

“My arm?” Ciras staggered back against the wall. “You would replace my arm with a gyanrigot device?”

“Yes, exactly. You would be able to fight again.”

Ciras turned away and hugged his half arm to his chest tightly. “No, Master Gryst. Ninety-nine times no. I have respected you. I have tried to understand you. I even have achieved an appreciation for your machines, but I will not become one of them.”

“No, Ciras, it is not like that…”

“Yes, it is!” Ciras turned back and threw the cloak off. He slipped his robe down, thrusting it aside with his cloth-swaddled stump. “You mock me, sir, in a most horrible way.”

“No, Ciras…”

“You know not the depth of the insult you have paid me.” Ciras shook his head adamantly. “Leave me, Master Gryst. It is out of respect for all you have done that I do not challenge you to a duel. Trouble me no further with your artificial warriors. I may be half a man, but I am still a man! And I won’t let you take that away from me.”

TheNewWorld

Chapter Forty-five

34th 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

Gold River, Moriande

Nalenyr

Deciding how he would get to the barge turned out to be the most difficult choice about the meeting for Nelesquin. The Naleni ministers had agreed immediately on the size of the barge and how it should be anchored in the middle. They proved most agreeable on details about the boats that would carry the delegations. They even allowed that no one would bring weapons, but that his golden armor would not be ruled a weapon.

Their concession on so many minor points meant that the north accepted their cause as lost. Cyrsa and Virisken could not have forgotten that, as a xingnadin, he was capable of killing them. That such exertion was momentarily beyond him was something they did not need to know. He’d gone so far as to make a great show of sparring with some kwajiin while keeping the northern ministers waiting. He’d done so to impress them with his strength, but he ended up enjoying the fights and continued the training even after the negotiations had been concluded.

It was remotely possible that Virisken would try to secrete a sword on the barge and kill him. That would surprise everyone-especially when Nelesquin didn’t die. To preclude that happening, Nelesquin had insisted that everyone be attired in formal robes which, with their oversized sleeves and long hems, hampered anything but the most slothful movements.

And this, then, was the source of his problem. He could easily use magic to float himself down, but if he had one of his spells, he’d land in the river. Soul or no, he’d die of embarrassment. Stairs were out of the question, even if they were carpeted. One misstep would have the same result. Ramps were only slightly better, but were too common and hardly suited to someone of his stature. His ma

So plans were made, and even though the day started cold, with grey clouds hovering just above the Dragon Bridge’s arches, no one present could possibly question his supremacy. Four of the dari bears bore an open palanquin upon which the Prince sat. He wore robes of red with the Erumvirine bear in white, rampant, crowned in gold. The same design had been worked on the chair, though white had surrendered to silver and gems sparkled from the points of the crown. The Durrani carrying the palanquin had drilled endlessly to keep it level at all times, which they did throughout his transit to the river.

South Moriande was not completely under Nelesquin’s power. Durrani warriors thronged to his route, and more lurked behind closed windows. The three routes to the river had been swept and occupied-the Prince used his scrying stones to choose the final route at the last minute.

The cast of the stones had not been particularly auspicious, but did not hint at anything as dire as assassination. The most generous reading suggested the negotiations would be difficult, but that was to be expected. The Empress would offer little and demand much. It would avail her nothing, for Nelesquin was not of a mind to concede her anything.

Nelesquin actually expected nothing from the negotiation. In offering to meet, he merely wanted to show the citizens of North Moriande that he had tried to save them. With the full might of his dari armor arrayed in ranks on the River Road, his victory would be obvious and inevitable. Given the chance, the forces in the north would revolt and turn that half of the city over to him. In fact, negotiations with dissident elements had already begun.

As his palanquin passed by, troops melted into the city to quell any unrest that might arise while he was on the river. The last thing he wanted was to see a group of misguided peasants attack his soldiers. He required complete peace in South Moriande and the Durrani would see to it.

The procession arrived at the River Road. Nelesquin did nothing to suppress a smile. His troops had arrayed themselves in good order, in twelve companies of one hundred. Nelesquin had decided to modify the standard organization of nines. One each of the legions still honored the gods, but the tenth, the bears, honored him.

The bears bore his platform to the edge of the river. Two more bears stood at river’s edge, holding long poles fitted with block and tackle. Ropes suspended a platform over the river. Two more bears were poised to turn the capstan to play the rope out.

Nelesquin stepped onto a platform inside the river wall, then onto the suspended platform. Kaerinus, wearing formal robes of black and green decorated with his butterflies, stood back and to the Prince’s left. Qiro Anturasi, wearing gold with purple bears on it, took up a position at the other aft corner. Slowly, and without a hint of sway, the platform descended.

Nelesquin suppressed a smile as he stepped onto the flatboat. Cyrsa waited for him on the barge. She wore purple, trimmed in red. Four circles of varying size trapped within a larger one formed her crest. It represented the sun, the world, and all three moons, proclaiming her Empress of everything. It was a bold choice, and he did admire the tiny woman for making it.

Virisken wore a black robe, trimmed in orange, with a gold crown embroidered beneath the hunting tiger. Though he had seen his half brother at Tsatol Deraelkun, it had been from a distance. He appeared to have weathered the years well but had lost the edge to his glare. The years had sapped something from him.

Prince Cyron occupied the third position on the barge. He wore purple robes trimmed in gold and wore the Naleni crest as his own. An Imperial crown had been added to it. Save for the emptiness of his left sleeve, Cyron would have been a handsome figure, and Nelesquin might have been inclined to keep him much as he had Prince Jekusmirwyn. He might yet consider it if Cyron gave good counsel.