“You know the Desei are a hard people. We survive on pride. We have always been a frontier people, eschewing the comforts of the south. The south is weak-this we tell ourselves again and again-and yet we harbor secret dreams that someday we shall know the pleasures of its existence.

“I am seen as a hard man-cruel to the point of barbarism. It’s convenient for the southern princes to characterize me thus. It serves me to let them. While none of them truly believes I can mount an invasion, they fear what I would do to an invading army. Their image of me keeps their ambitions in check, and this simplifies my life enormously.”

Pyrust walked to the hearth and passed Keles his cup of wine, then recovered his own. “The truth of the matter is less than the illusion. I have dreams, Keles, in which I see how my nation can change. All these things you pointed out-things you saw in an instant-haunt my nights because I feel the devotion of my people and yet find myself powerless to save them.”

He sipped wine, relishing the dry taste. “What you said of the southern shore is correct, but how do I deal with it? If there were a solution, I could implement it, but solutions elude me. If you were me, what would you do? What would you do if you could do anything at all?”

Keles blinked, then pursed his lips. “Anything?”

“Your fantasy.”

“I would return it to farmland. A mile to the south, in the hills, you could build housing and put a sewer system in place. An aqueduct could bring water from further upriver.”

“I would have to move the factories as well?”

Keles nodded. “They’re fouling the river. You could divert part of the river to feed a small lake. They could draw water from it. I’m not sure that would work, but it could be explored.”

Pyrust smiled. “Very well. It shall be done. I shall start tomorrow.” He pointed his goblet toward the balcony. “You’ll come back here tomorrow evening and you will see how your plan is working.”

“What? You can’t do that!”

Pyrust frowned. “Of course I can, my friend. This is my realm. What you have said will improve it. All of it will be done.”

“No, no, no. Wait!” Keles winced as he pointed to the south. “You would have to make sure drainage was right. You have to have a plan that will work with the land.”

“Ah, you see, Keles, that might be the way it would be done in Nalenyr, but there you have the luxury of having those who can draw such plans. If we had such people, do you not think we would have done this sort of thing?” Pyrust slowly shook his head. “This is why I brought you here, Keles Anturasi. You saw-the Anturasi charts would be worthless to my people because we could not profit from them. But you did the Gold River survey. You know how my city can be changed to benefit trade and the people. That was what I asked you about in Moriande.”

Keles’ head came up. “It’s true, you did.”

“Please understand, Keles, that my dream for Deseirion is not that it become the new Imperial capital, but that it becomes a nation the new Emperor would welcome in his Empire. The changes you have described bring me much closer to that reality. We may not have the skills to accomplish it as efficiently as you would in the south, but my people are strong and willing to endure hardship for their prince and their nation.”

“But if you do things quickly, without sufficient planning, it will make for unnecessary hardship. Can’t you see that?”

Pyrust shrugged. “I see the hawk fly, but I do not have wings. Therefore, I walk, even though my feet may complain. The journey, though swifter by wing, must begin regardless.”

Keles glanced into the fire, then up at Pyrust. “How long will you hold me here?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Then I’ll make you a deal. Four months. I’ll do some surveys, I’ll draw some plans, I’ll teach some people.”

“That’s what you offer me. What must I offer you?”

“You’ll abide by my plans and my timetables.”

“Are these things subject to negotiation?”

Keles nodded. “I won’t be unreasonable. I’ll give you my best estimates. You’ll return me to Moriande for the Harvest Festival.”

Pyrust raised an eyebrow. “And if your work is incomplete?”

“I will grant an extension of my time here. Another two months.”

Pyrust closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced down at Keles. “Can you transform my nation in six months?”

“I can blaze a trail. You’ll have to make the journey.”

“Done.” The Prince raised his cup. “You will have the best of my nation while you are my guest. If you have a need, it shall be fulfilled. If you have a desire, it shall be granted. And you will always have my nation’s gratitude.”

Keles smiled, raised his goblet, then drank.

Pyrust nodded to the servants who opened the door and brought in trays with cheese and rice. “Eat and drink, Keles. We wish you to feel very much at home.”

“Thank you, Highness.”

Pyrust smiled, hiding it behind his cup. Yes, enjoy our fare, Keles Anturasi. From this day forward, and for the rest of your life, Deseirion shall be your home. You give us your thoughts now, but soon you will surrender your secrets. This is how it must be.

Chapter Eleven

26th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Wentokikun, Moriande

Nalenyr

Prince Cyron sat on the Dragon Throne, making no pretense of polite pleasure as Grand Minister Pelut Vniel approached with shaved head bowed. The Prince had endured two weeks of meetings in which Vniel had told him there was nothing to worry about-a continuance of his previous behavior. Though the Prince pressed him for more details, Vniel had not been forthcoming. Then he surprised the Prince by asking for a meeting in the audience chamber.

This cannot be good.

The Prince had not donned formal state robes for the meeting. He couldn’t abide the suffocating folds of silk, and relished the freedom of more utilitarian garb. He had chosen black silk trousers and robe, with an overshirt of gold. Dragons had been embroidered on the robe and overshirt-in gold thread on the black, and the reverse on the gold. A gold sash held everything in place and the Prince had refrained from wearing a sword.

I might have been tempted to use it.

Vniel shuffled forward with his head lowered. His gold robes flowed out and obscured his body. The man could have been a snake slithering forward, but Cyron dismissed that image. It would have made Vniel too close to a dragon, and this Cyron would not grant him.

Finally, the man knelt-though coiled would have more accurately described his motion-and bowed deeply enough that his forehead touched the floor.

The Prince answered with a nod. “What is it you have to report? Have you come to the bottom of the embezzlement of grain shipments north?”

“Would that what I have to report were so trivial, Highness.” The man’s voice wavered, and that further surprised Cyron. He had no doubt Vniel could be a consummate actor, but he was also an egotist and fear was not a big part of his repertoire. “I have grave news.”

Does he know Qiro Anturasi is gone? “Tell me.”

Vniel’s head came up and he visibly paled. “News has trickled north from Erumvirine. The nation is under attack. Hideous creatures, worse than the demons of the Nine Hells, have launched themselves from the ocean. Poisonous toads that fly and odd ape-things have attacked. They are pushing inland from the coast toward Kelewan.”

Cyron’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Poisonous flying toads?”

“Your tone mocks me, Highness, but what benefit would there be in bringing you such a fanciful story were it not true?” Vniel actually sounded offended. “You have accused me of hiding information, so my credibility has suffered. Were this not true, my credibility would be utterly destroyed, and you would have me removed. And I would deserve it.”