Pravak took great pains to explain this history when he invited Ciras to visit him. The vanyesh’s chambers were, as to be expected, oversized and generously appointed. Though Pravak was nothing more than a gilded skeleton, he had thick carpets in his rooms, plush and heavily upholstered furniture and tapestries that, while having no images Ciras could discern, displayed an interesting weave of colors.
The giant wore thick leather bracers to protect his furnishing from the edges of his forearms. Lounging back on a daybed, he held his right hand up and watched, bemused, as the tiny gyanrigot Borosan had fashioned for him as a gift leaped from finger to finger and back again.
“It is rather like a kitten, despite looking very much like a spider.” Pravak’s metal mask twisted into a smile. “I had forgotten the simple pleasure of watching such creatures cavort. We brought no cats with us on the campaign, and those that somehow made it into the city ended up in some wildman’s belly.”
Ciras sat in a large chair, feeling as if he were five years old and listening to his mother’s brother explain about trade with the mainland. “Here you’ve fed us both mutton and beef, yet I see no creatures ranging about.”
Pravak lifted a finger to point up at the mountain, and the little mouser promptly pounced on the tip. “There are mountain meadows. We have your horses there as well. Some of us are good at bhotri, so keeping the grasses growing year-round is not difficult. The sheep produce a lot of wool-again a by-product of magic-and the wildmen have become adept at spinning and weaving. They are not much for pictures, but they love color.”
“So Tolwreen is self-sufficient.”
“Largely. We do get some things in trade, but for a long time we were isolated.” The vanyesh let the mouser climb up along his arm and begin to play with his knotted-filament hair. “Likely about the time your father was born we had a visit from the east and were finally able to put into place the beginnings of our master’s plan. A Naleni explorer became our agent. Kero Anturasi, I believe.”
“Qiro?”
“That was it. Do you know him?”
Ciras heard no guile in the question, so smiled. “Just of him. He is famous the world over for exploring. I have heard no mention of Tolwreen, however.”
“Our master would not have permitted it. Knowing the correct order of the universe, our master has been very careful in his plans. You may not realize it, but you are a part of things. We expect more like you to come to Tolwreen in the next months or years. Many will be trained, as will you, and when all is ready, we will be summoned.”
“But I have been trained.”
“Indeed, you have, but you need more.” Pravak’s hands came together with the muffled clash of cymbals. “People come to the vanyesh in two ways. You and I were warriors first, who have touched jaedun. Others have recognized our value. They will show you what Emperor Taichun taught his most trusted companions: how to wield magic. Jaedun of the sword is a portal to working jaedun in life.”
Ciras managed to suppress a shiver. “And the others?”
“Oh, they were apprenticed to masters of magic and have learned to manipulate jaedun directly. We try to train them in more practical ways, like jaedunserr, but they resist it. Their magics can be powerful, and will help us once we take control again, but it will be warrior-sorcerers such as you and me that will make our Master’s dream possible. He needs heroes, and we are they.”
Ciras smiled, masking his true thoughts. The vanyesh seemed to define heroes as those who used magic in service to Nelesquin. Ciras saw heroes as those who served the common good, shielding the unfortunate from evil and ambition, not keeping them down so the ambitious might soar. They make heroes a part of their evil.
Ciras let his expression become wistful. “I wonder if I will be worthy to return to Tirat as its lord.”
The vanyesh giant laughed. “If that is all your ambition wishes, I can guarantee it. You, my friend, are capable of so much, I should think that anything you desire will be yours.”
“You are too kind.”
“No, just aware of how generous our master is.” Pravak nodded solemnly. “And soon you shall see that for yourself.”
From the moment they had been told that the vanyesh still considered Nelesquin their master, both Ciras and Borosan knew they had to escape. Their mission had been to find the Empress Cyrsa and awaken her to conditions in the Empire. That her enemy still lived and was plotting to destroy what she had left behind made their mission all the more urgent. Moreover, the vanyesh and their mastery of magic would be something the Nine would be hard-pressed to defeat.
So, they set about gathering food and water against any opportunity to escape. Ciras learned which tunnels led up to the meadows, and while he hated being predictable, he knew they would need their horses. Ciras even located and set about repairing their tack, noting to any of the vanyesh who asked, that to neglect even the most simple thing was to abandon the discipline that made him worthy of the honor they had bestowed upon him.
The most difficult part of escaping had been finding an opportunity. When they explored, either together or singly, wildmen watched them constantly. They didn’t think the wildmen were spying on them, but just found them a curiosity. And when wildmen were not dogging their footsteps, one of the vanyesh would find them and offer his hospitality. Some still took food and drink, though none seemed to enjoy it, and the two of them were offered enough food that they concluded the vanyesh were living vicariously through them.
Finally, as planting season began, they received a visit from one of the vanyesh who told them that they must remain in their chambers until summoned forth again. While there was no punishment noted or even implied, their acquiescence seemed assumed. Their visitor did assure them that all would be explained shortly, but that for the moment they needed to remain hidden.
As the vanyesh departed, having taken with him the gift of a tiny mouser, Borosan swept spare parts into a leather satchel with his arm. “I think we go now.”
Ciras nodded. As much as he wanted to know why they were being restricted, he figured there would be no better chance to get away. “If we are caught, we say we decided the best way to be unseen was to go outside the city and tend our horses.”
Borosan looped the satchel over his shoulder, then pulled another device from a similar leather bag. A foot long, not quite so wide, and edged with wood, the flat tablet had a surface made of the silver-white metal. Odd characters etched themselves into the surface, then the inventor nodded.
“I’ve given out a dozen of the mousers. A number of them are converging in a subterranean room. The Prince’s Hall, I would bet.”
“Welcoming another of the vanyesh?”
“Better than Nelesquin.”
Ciras gathered up his swords and two satchels laden with dried meat and waterskins. He followed Borosan and his large thanaton into the silver ball. His companion selected a blank key and used a thaumston stylus to etch a word on it. He slid it into the slot as the door closed and then the door opened again. They emerged in the northwestern quadrant, near the tunnel leading up to the horse meadow.
Ciras looked around. “No wildmen.”
“Fewer chances of our passing being revealed.” Borosan settled the satchels over the large thanaton’s broad back, then took Ciras’ burdens from him. “Just in case you need to deal with something.”
The swordsman nodded and led the way. He moved quietly and soon got used to the ticking of the thanaton’s metal feet on the stone. The tunnel meandered somewhat, but had been carved wide and tall enough that, had they wanted to, they could have easily ridden their horses two abreast through it. Though quite steep, it leveled out as it reached the meadow.