I kept pace with her. “How many troops are here?”

“Not counting yours, there are roughly five thousand.” Consina kept her voice even but quiet. “Three are our house troops, and we may get more as the lords you brought in send for their households. The other two are militia-poorly trained but well led. We pair them with more established units or give them support duties. Harassing the enemy gives them experience without much chance of being overwhelmed.”

“There is a value to that. What is the ratio of archers to swordsmen?”

She smiled. “All of our soldiers can do both, Master Tolo. We have a regiment of archers who are our sharpshooters.”

We descended a circular stairway that went from new construction to old, then older. It let us into the foundation of the tower. She took a torch from a bracket on the wall and lit it, then conducted me along a dark corridor. We paused before a round door built as a plug into the wall. Taking a key from around her neck, she unlocked it and, surprisingly, the door swung open easily on well-oiled hinges.

“Originally this room served as the Emperor’s treasury when he visited, and it is the only room that has survived every siege. The Derael family converted it to their own treasury, then a museum.”

She set the torch in a bracket beside the door, then took up a small taper and went before me, lighting small lamps hung on chains from the ceiling. As light filled the room, a chill ran down my spine.

Eons of treasures filled the room. Tapestries depicting great battles and momentous events lined the walls. Banners, some bloodied, burned, cut, torn, and yellowed with age, hung from the ceiling. Broken carriages of siege machines and one whole ballista had been rebuilt in the center of the floor, and marble statues representing heroes surrounded them. In another circle that filled the room to the walls, weapons and armor hung on wooden trees, memorializing Derael warriors and others who had fought at Deraelkun.

Consina paused next to a suit of armor that looked untouched. Behind it, standing tall, a spear almost touched the ceiling. I joined her, admiring the armor.

“This is his, as well you know. It’s not like most of the others, with cut strings and dents and even bloodstained holes. By the time Jarys took command, Tsatol Deraelkun’s reputation defended this place more than any soldier.”

She glanced down. “It was always his dream that he would be able to prove his worthiness as a warrior and have his armor installed here, but no one ever came to test him. And now, when someone is coming, he’s not able to defend Deraelkun.”

I smiled. “The best warrior is one who defeats his enemy without ever having to fight.”

“I have told him this many times, and while he acknowledges the right of that wisdom, it eats at him that he can no longer fight.”

“It will take more than Jarys’ donning his armor and picking up his spear to defend this place.” I ran a hand over my unshaven jaw. “You say we have five thousand. By the time they come we might get twenty percent more, but they will still outnumber us five to one. If they use the tactics they did at Kelewan, they will hurt us before we begin a formal battle.”

Consina nodded. “We are not without our own plans. We will erect many banners and light many fires, making them think we are ten times our number. That will slow them down.”

“That’s a good idea, to be certain.” I turned and studied the other armor and the tapestries, drinking in the history of the place. “I think, this time however, it’s not the right tactic.”

I turned and looked at her, smiling broadly. “I think, in fact, this time we will defeat them by appearing weaker than they could ever hope we are.”

Chapter Forty-eight

8th day, Planting Season, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Voraxan, Ixyll

Ciras Dejote and Borosan Gryst resumed their trek northwest once they quitted Tolwreen. Even though that had been the direction they’d been traveling when they found the vanyesh stronghold and, therefore, would seem a logical course for the vanyesh to take in pursuing them, it still seemed the best possible choice. Northeast, which would have taken them toward the Turasynd Wastes, seemed a bad idea, and retreating along their previous passage would have been worse. They also still had their mission to find the Empress, and the alliance between the vanyesh and the Turasynd-as well as the vanyesh claim that Nelesquin was soon to return-made their mission’s successful completion vital.

Ciras scratched at the back of his neck. “What if the story of the Sleeping Empress is just that, a story?”

“It can’t be.” Borosan spurred his horse along a narrow trail that snaked up a cliff side. “If she’d been destroyed-if the place where she’s been waiting had been destroyed-the vanyesh would have mentioned it.”

“That’s if they did it.” Ciras looked back to make sure the packhorses and thanatons were following. “Besides, she might never have survived.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Borosan shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Rekarafi told us where we would be going and what we would be doing. He travels through Ixyll without any protective clothing, and can absorb the wild magic and use it. I think he knows she’s out here.”

Ciras frowned, not liking the fact that he’d missed that clue. “But if that’s true, why didn’t he tell us exactly where to go?”

The inventor laughed. “In this land? The chaotic magic constantly switches everything around, so no landmarks stay the same.”

“Still, that is no guarantee we will find the place.”

“True, but I think there might be something else.”

“What?”

Borosan sighed loudly. “I think you can find her sanctuary if you want to find it.”

“I’m not certain I follow you.”

“We found Tolwreen because the vanyesh saw you fight grave robbers. They left you the vanyesh sword and watched. I think that if they’d decided we were not meant to be at Tolwreen, we’d never have gotten there. Similarly, our path may lead to Cyrsa, but those who are her enemies can never find her.”

“You mean to say that the vanyesh and the Empress could exist very close to each other and not even know about each other?”

Borosan shrugged. “I think the fact that one has not destroyed the other bears this out.”

Ciras was about to protest that having hidden the Empress’ sanctuary so completely would take a lot of magic, but he stopped given where he was. “So if what you are saying is true, couldn’t we have found a more direct route?”

“Perhaps the journey is not just about direction, Ciras.” Borosan turned in the saddle. “If you look back at your life’s journey, is it a direct line?”

The swordsman thought for a moment, then smiled. “Any path looks direct in hindsight, but there are many choices made along the way.”

“Exactly. I think maybe we can’t really want to find the Empress until we know we need to find her. Before we saw the vanyesh and knew they were allied with the Turasynd, our mission was to find her and ask her to help prevent a war within the Nine. There have been plenty of battles between principalities before, so how would this one be different?”

“You’re saying she could not have been found until the need was urgent?”

“Yes.”

“But urgency is in the mind of the seeker. What is urgent to us might not seem so to another, and what is trivial to us might seem earth-shattering to someone else.” Ciras frowned. “Do you think others have found her in the past?”

“It could be. Probably so.”

“But she did not return.”

“Rekarafi did say we’d have to be convincing.”

The swordsman nodded. “I wonder what has happened to those who found her and could not convince her to return?”