I strode through them and mounted the red carpet edged with purple. I knew well how jealously princes regarded their traditions, but I needed to make an impression. For someone who was not a noble to step on the carpet without invitation could be a death sentence.

The Prince, who had been lounging somewhat indolently across the arms of the Bear Throne, instantly swung his legs down. I think he would have stood, save that the heavy robes of state wrapped around his legs and would have spilled him to the floor. His ministers, who knelt to either side of the carpet, shot me venomous glances, but not a one rose in challenge. They were as the ministers ever had been: willing to serve whoever sat in the throne until it served them to unseat him.

I stopped ten feet from the throne and bowed deeply. I held it a respectful amount of time, certainly appropriate for his and his dynasty’s years. I came back up but did not wait for him to bow, even if he were inclined to do so. I tossed the standard at him and he caught it awkwardly against his chest. He held it out and began to tremble.

I looked at him through the largest hole. “Your Iron Bears are dead, to a man. Your city will be forfeit. If you want to save your nation, you will abandon Kelewan now and head north to the mountains in the county of Faeut. Send your people to Nalenyr.”

He lowered the standard. “No, this isn’t possible.”

“It is very possible. I watched the Iron Bears die myself. Do you want to know how it happened? The enemy arrayed themselves in a strong line on a rise above the Bears. Your generals sent the Bears uphill against them, which was pure foolishness, bred from the tale about Morythian Tigers eons ago. The Bears did not face Morythians. These kwajiin are smarter, and their troops are fearless.”

I looked at the ministers, who stared back wide-eyed. “Even before the Bears engaged the enemy vhangxi, a black cloud of winged frogs swarmed over them. They are not powerful, but they have teeth and venom, and when several get to gnawing on a man, he stops.

“And that’s when the vhangxi countercharged. They ripped into the Bears-literally ripped into them. Men fell in pieces-many pieces, all of them small-then their killers fell to eating them. What’s left of your Bears are steaming piles of dung twenty miles east of here.”

The Prince narrowed his eyes and tried to appear hardened, but the sweat on his bald pate betrayed him. “If this is true, how did you come to have this standard?”

I rested a hand on the hilt of each sword. “I called to the kwajiin leader and challenged him to a duel. He drew a circle, and I killed him.” I pulled back the sleeve on my right arm and revealed a serpentine scar all livid and crossed with black thread. “He was not without skill.”

“But if their general is dead, then their threat is ended.”

I glanced at the minister who had spoken. “It is without generals that they got this far. The man I slew-they appear to be men, but are not-was not their greatest leader. They will come, they will take Kelewan, and they will kill everyone in the city.”

The Prince shook his head. “No, no, that is not possible.”

“Your denial does nothing to change the reality of what is coming.” I pointed back east. “The invaders have devoured the eastern half of your nation. Your troops are insufficiently trained to deal with the invaders. Pull back, give them time, and you might be able to stop them. If you do not, your nation is lost.”

Jekusmirwyn stood and pointed a trembling finger at me. “You have killed one of their leaders. I appoint you my warlord. Arrange the defenses of the city as you see fit.”

I laughed aloud, offending the ministers and the Prince alike.

“Do not mock me!”

I shook my head. “Silly man, if I could think of a way to save your city, would I come here and tell you to abandon it? It cannot be saved. Do what I tell you, and their victory will be the first step in their defeat.”

The Prince raised his chin defiantly. “And if I do not?”

I pointed at the blank wall behind his throne. “Paint yourself a pretty epitaph. It will be the only chance you’ll be remembered after the jaws of Grija snap you up.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

17th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Ixyll

To Ciras and Borosan the evidence seemed clear: their journey into the heart of Ixyll had brought them very close to the point where the great battle between the Empress’ forces and the Turasynd must have taken place. How they knew neither could say exactly, but they both agreed with their conclusion.

And their agreement, while satisfying on one level, left neither of them entirely happy.

Ciras felt a sense of dislocation. He turned to Borosan as they rode up a track along one of the foothills of a jagged line of mountains. “It feels as if everything is just a little bit off. I look at it and it seems to shift.”

The inventor nodded. “It’s akin to looking through a pane of glass. It’s refraction; everything shifts a bit.”

“But we aren’t looking through glass.”

“You’re right.” Borosan frowned and, despite his fatigue and the reddish dust on his face, he looked almost childlike as he concentrated. “I think the magic here is ingrained so deeply that it bleeds up, like heat from the rocks. We’ve seen heat mirages of water, and I think the magic here affects our senses the same way. It doesn’t stop us from seeing things, just from seeing them immediately.”

Ciras nodded, not quite certain he understood, but he had a glimmering of what his companion was saying. The swordsman pointed to a rock that he thought looked like a hooded monk in a robe. “Quickly, tell me what you see.”

Borosan looked, then shrugged. “A man in a cloak, huddled against the wind.”

“Close enough.” Ciras glanced again at the stone and a shiver ran down his spine. It had changed shape, twisting slightly, hunching its shoulders more. It did not move as he watched it, and he tried to convince himself he had not studied it closely enough the first time. But he knew that was wrong-his training had made him a keen observer, and his time with Borosan had only enhanced those skills.

Borosan smiled. “Of course, if magic is working here that way, I could have said it looked like the Lady of Jet and Jade, and you would have heard that it looked like whatever you thought it was. Or you might have thought it looked like something else, and my telling you what it looked like to me might have changed what you thought it looked like.”

Ciras held a hand up. “Enough. My head is on fire.” He hunched his shoulders for a moment, hoping just saying that would not make it come true.

Borosan smiled, but did not laugh. “I do have one worry here, and it’s not that our perceptions are being changed constantly. With so much magic here, I don’t wonder that it should be easy to use. I wonder if it becomes unconsciously simple to use.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Borosan sighed, then turned and pulled one of the round mousers from a saddlebag. He held it out to Ciras. “Please, I know you don’t like my gyanrigot, but hold it.”

Frowning, the Tirati warrior accepted the skull-sized ball. “Now what?”

“Stroke it. Pretend it has fur.”

Ciras raised an eyebrow. “Is it time for us to get out of the sun? We can find shade.”

“Just stroke it.”

Ciras pulled a glove off with his teeth, then stroked the bare metal shell with his fingertips. He stared, then did it again. “It feels like fur.”

“I know.”

Then the mouser purred.

Ciras tossed it back to Borosan and wiped both of his hands on his thighs. “What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything to it.” Borosan returned it to the saddlebag. “I have been thinking about it, however, even dreaming about it. I think of it as a mouser since that’s what I built it to do. Out here, I think just thinking about something may manipulate the wild magic and make things come true.”