“I cannot let them know the threat we are under from the south, because they would use that pressure as a bargaining chip. You can see that, yes?”

“Plainly, my lord.”

“Good. I am then given two other choices. One is to confide in Pyrust. He might be convinced to send troops to aid Erumvirine, but that is unlikely. He does not have the shipping needed to convey them there quickly. Like me, he will look to his southern border, which means a push to my northern border and, if it is seen as weak, a further push to the Gold River, which is the next logical line of defense.”

The minister nodded. “And your other option is to tell him nothing?”

“Exactly. I tell him nothing and hope he learns nothing until it is too late for him to profit by the news.”

Vniel closed his eyes for a moment. “The latter choice is the only viable one.”

“I agree, but its success hinges on maintaining the secret.” Cyron stared hard at his minister. “You cannot allow this news to leave Nalenyr. You cannot allow it to leave Moriande. There is to be no informing the network of bureaucrats. I know you have skills at hiding information, but now you must hide it from others of your kind.”

Vniel’s lips quivered. “But, Highness, to do so undermines the stability of the world. If the bureaucracy fractures, all is lost.”

The Prince sighed. “You’re a fool, Vniel. The bureaucracy is already fractured. You don’t know what is going on. Even with your agents in the south, you’re still blind. What will you do when your Virine brothers beg you for help-help you know will do nothing to save them? Will you send it, or will you keep it to arm and armor our people and save Nalenyr?”

“I serve our nation, Highness.”

“Don’t give me the answer you think I want to hear. Think. Know in your heart what you would do.”

Vniel lowered his head. “I would save Nalenyr.”

Cyron nodded, having heard the truth from the man for the first time. “Do you expect your brethren in Deseirion and Helosunde will react any differently? You may all work to preserve the power of the world, but when the world is being devoured, you will fight to save your piece of it. That’s not a vice, but a reality. You must pledge to me, on your life and those of your children and their children, that you will do whatever is needed to keep knowledge of the invasion a secret for as long as possible. If you do not, all will be lost.”

Vniel nodded solemnly. “It shall be as you desire, Highness.”

“Good. Go now, bring me all reports you have on the readiness of my people to deal with an invasion. And I want real numbers, not figures intended to make me happy. I’d rather shed tears now before I defend my nation, than shed them in its ruins.”

Chapter Twelve

28th 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

Nemehyan, Caxyan

Jorim Anturasi stood alone in the dark as the heavy gold door closed behind him. It shut out all light, leaving him blind in the subterranean chamber. Even when it had been opened, the weak light coming through had let him see little more than the end of the walkway a dozen feet into the room.

He moved forward, cautiously, feeling for the edge with his toes. He could hear water splashing and echoing through the cavern, but the faint sound did not help him navigate. Instead, the dripping reminded him of how the chamber had been formed and, while the Amentzutl had clearly worked portions of it, they had left most of it untouched.

His toes reached the edge of the walkway. One more step and I am on the path to becoming a magician. That very thought sent another chill through him, but in its wake ran a thrill. He had always been an adventurer and explorer, and now he would be the first man from the Nine to explore magic. It might have ruined men like Nelesquin and his other vanyesh, but the Viruk clearly used it, as did the maicana. Or in a more controlled manner, every Mystic.

All the terror tales of the vanyesh crowded into his mind, but then he remembered Kaerinus. He had survived since the Cataclysm. He now resided in a prison in Moriande, and during the Harvest Festival conducted healings. If that is not a good use of his power, what would be? His sister Nirati had even been healed in the last Festival, and while he saw no obvious change in her, she had been happier afterward than he’d seen before.

He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, then took a step forward into the darkness. His left foot hit something solid where nothing should have existed, and this surprised him. He took another step and, this time, his right foot encountered emptiness and he began to fall.

Upward.

Panic arced through him as he ascended faster and faster. He pulled himself up into a ball, utterly confused, then his body splashed into water, headfirst. Cold and bracing, it closed around him. He started to sink, but it still felt as if he was rising, which was impossible. Without light, he had no way to orient himself.

Then, ahead of him, a golden spark blossomed and began to grow. He stretched out and started swimming toward it. As he grew closer he could see it was light pouring down from above. But it’s coming from a direction that should be below! Still puzzled, he struck for it and twisted himself through a narrow tunnel that ended in a heavy wooden grate.

Jorim gathered himself beneath the grate and braced his arms and legs against the tunnel’s sides. He pushed up, ignoring the burning in his lungs, and slowly the grate began to rise. Kicking hard, he rose through it, feeling the edge scrape down along his back.

The light from above vanished, but Jorim swam hard for where it had been. He broke through to air again far more quickly than he had expected, and his feet found solid purchase at the tunnel’s edges. He stood there for a while, head and shoulders above the water, catching his breath.

He remained in the darkness until his breathing returned to normal. Then he looked around and, at first, could see nothing. Then, off to his left, a soft green glow began. He turned toward it and found the light growing to illuminate three individuals-two men and a woman. They all wore loincloths and golden masks. Though he could not see their faces, he recognized them as three of the eldest maicana by the serpent images on their masks.

The woman, who stood flanked by her companions, raised both hands to shoulder height. “In your birth into this place, you have experienced all of the elements. It is through them you reach mai. The recovery of what you entrusted to us, Tetcomchoa, shall begin here.”

Her companions likewise raised their hands, then all three brought them together, quickly, in the same motion one might use to strike flint against steel. And as if their hands were made of such, sparks flew. They danced in the air as if rising on a column of smoke, then congealed into one spark that arced over Jorim’s head.

He spun to see where it landed. A small flame began to burn in an earthenware lamp. It rested on a small island in the lake, created by concentric stone disks, stepped like the pyramids the Amentzutl raised. On the uppermost, on the opposite side from the flame from him, a slender young woman knelt, her hands on her knees, her head bowed, her long, dark hair hiding her breasts.

Nauana. Jorim smiled, not having seen her during his ritual purifications. What he knew of Amentzutl beliefs came from her. She had served as his liaison with the maicana, and through her the orders needed to destroy the invading Mozoyan had been issued.

He turned back toward the elders, but their light had already vanished. Given no other alternative, he slowly approached the island and mounted the steps. Water dripped from his beard and hair, down his lean body. He did not hesitate as the water exposed him, for the Amentzutl did not share his people’s taboos concerning nudity. Reaching the penultimate step, he slid to his knees on the top platform and faced Nauana.