The New World

What Nelesquin had not quite expected was the density of the crowd on the river’s northern side. People of every stripe had crowded together and even pushed their way onto the Dragon Bridge. They huddled in windows and lined rooftops. The northern breeze tugged at a few ba

No matter. They will learn.

The flatboat bumped against the barge. Durrani boatmen steadied it. The Prince disembarked and crossed to his position at the barge’s heart. Little more than a wooden stage linking two flatboats, it had been covered in rice mats and red carpeting ringed with purple. To Nelesquin’s amusement, Qiro stepped onto it with no hesitation, while Kaerinus employed magic to float a handspan above it.

Nelesquin bowed to Cyrsa for a respectful amount of time, though the bow could have been deeper. Cyrsa returned the gesture, but the duration again seemed a bit short. Doubtless some minister of Protocol could tell him that she held it long enough to honor a prince or a master potter, but not the Emperor. A transgression, yes, but one he was inclined to let slip, since she had many more for which she would pay fully.

The two of them settled to their knees and smoothed their robes. Their courtiers remained standing.

“We are pleased, Prince Nelesquin, that you have come today.”

“You have forgotten, Cyrsa, that I invited you. You have come to me.”

She smiled. “We six know this, but to the people watching, you came to me.”

Nelesquin chuckled. “Still full of games. And deceit. You deceived my father.”

“No, I murdered your father. I did so to save the Empire.”

“Had you succeeded, we would not be here now.”

“And had you succeeded, Nelesquin, there would be nothing here now.”

“More games.” Nelesquin shook his head. “I am not here to play games, whore. There are many things that should be evident. I look past your shoulder and I see people. If you look past mine, you see the machines that will kill those people. You ca

“Toward what end?” She glanced up at the bridge arching above them. “Will you crucify me at its highest point?”

“I might have to, to make a point. My preference is to strangle you with my own hands.”

Cyrsa’s voice shrank to a whisper. “If death at your hands is my destiny, what do I care if others suffer?”

“I can ensure you will not suffer.”

She laughed. The sound raked claws over his flesh.

“You have forgotten my talent, Nelesquin. I will never suffer.” Her expression hardened. “If you brought us here to trade insults, you have wasted your time.”

“That was not why I brought you here.” Nelesquin stood in one flowing motion and opened his arms. “People of Moriande, I am the Emperor Nelesquin. I have reunited the Empire. I have restored the order lost when this woman murdered my father and usurped his throne. I now offer you that which she denies you: a chance at life. You see my army. You see my war machines. You know the havoc they have wrought. They shall only come north if you support her. She offers death. I offer life and, beyond that, riches and glory. It is yours if you will but hail me as your rightful ruler.”

Hoots and hollers, jeers and other rude noises began sporadically, then built. People laughed at him. Stones and half-gnawed food splashed in the river. People began to chant all ma

Cyrsa looked up at him. “Had you expected a different outcome?”

“No. This was exactly what I expected.” He raised a finger and brought it down again.

The dari rams marched forward, turned left, then sprinted toward the end of the bridge. They reached the footing and tore apart the barricades. Ballistae shot, but most of the bolts rattled harmlessly off their metal hides. Men shouted orders and reloaded, waiting.

The rams remained on the south bank, having pulled back after clearing the path. They could have easily reached the next line of defense, and the one after that. They could have burst free and killed thousands.

And the crowd knew it. People screamed and fled. A few pitched over the bridge’s side and plunged into the river. People vanished from windows, pulling shutters closed. At least one man tumbled from a rooftop. The milling mob hampered the arrival of a company of Naleni Dragons.

Nelesquin’s eyes narrowed. “There, Cyrsa, now your people know what awaits them. You do, too. You could take that bridge down, but I would just ford the river and lay siege from the north. If you want me to be generous, now is the time to speak, because when I leave this barge, we will speak no more.”

Before she could reply, a man on the bridge shouted down at them. “No! You shall not win. I shall not allow it.”

Nelesquin looked up. The man stood on the bridge’s railing. Two soldiers tugged at his legs to pull him back, but they might as well have been trying to shift stone.

Qiro and Cyron both shouted at the same time. “Keles, get down!” The Prince begged, the grandfather commanded, but each had the same luck as the soldiers.

“You’ve destroyed too much. No more.”

Keles bared a silver blade with a flick of his wrist. The scabbard spun through the air like a falling autumn leaf. He stroked the knife over his left wrist. His hand tightened. Blood spurted.

Red rain spattered the river.

Magic pulsed with each heartbeat, each wave of it stronger than the one before. A million scorpions scuttled over Nelesquin’s flesh. Vast amounts of magic surged through him, shocking him.

A red mist rose from the river, stinking of copper. It washed over the barge, infusing blood into the white parts of the Prince’s robe. Nelesquin staggered, crashing to his knees. Kaerinus and Qiro fell with him.

The mist swept past them and thickened. It swirled up into the clouds, then pulled them down as well. The clouds took on the red-brown of dried blood. Nelesquin expected lightning as the clouds descended on the River Road, but none flashed.

And the only thunder was that of the poles crashing through and sinking Nelesquin’s elevating platform.

The clouds lifted again, then parted, allowing a shaft of sunlight to sweep the southern shore.

The dari armor had vanished.

Virisken started forward. Kaerinus interposed himself between the swordsman and Nelesquin. “There is yet a truce here.”

Virisken nodded and righted the Empress. Behind them Cyron gained his feet.

She remained kneeling, but began speaking before Nelesquin had time to gather himself. “Your advantage is gone. Do you wish these fraudulent negotiations to continue, or shall we speak of something substantive?”

Her offer tempted him, and he might have agreed to an arrangement, save for two things. He did know her art, and knew she could be quite persuasive. No doubt she would take any advantage she could.

The other thing, however, was the note of unease in her voice. She had not known what Keles was going to do. None of them had. It surprised them, and the sheer power of it frightened them. She might pretend to be in a strong position, but he had taken Tsatol Deraelkun without dari. So the rest of Moriande would fall.

He levered himself into a kneeling position. “This changes nothing. A week. I give you a week to consider surrendering the rest of Moriande. It is half a city against an empire. If I am forced to take it, Moriande will be destroyed and, like you, will be forgotten well before my Imperial reign ends.”

TheNewWorld