Chartomancy

Chapter Thirty-two

23rd 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

Kunjiqui, Anturasixan

Nirati was certain she’d never seen her grandfather so happy before, and this scared her. She’d seen him pleased in the past-by a new discovery or, more usually, someone else’s misfortune. Often enough, Qiro had even been the cause of that misfortune. She’d even seen him tenderly pleased, as when she had brought him a picture or a sweetcake-things she had done as a child.

But no matter the cause of his pleasure, it had always been an adult pleasure-self-satisfied and controlled. Now, however, he exhibited a boyish glee that bordered on madness. In fact, she was fairly certain that he had become unhinged. This realization, which had been growing in her mind as Nelesquin had given Qiro more and more work, shook her to the core. Qiro had always been constant and strong. While he could be impulsive-especially when meting out punishment-decorum had established some boundaries beyond which he did not stray.

She looked at him, sitting there on a muddy flat at low tide, mud caking him and streaking his hair and beard. He reached down with a filthy hand, scooped up mud, spat in it, mixed it up, and shaped it into strange little creatures. He added new mudmen to the crews on the little boats he’d shaped from reeds.

He has utterly lost his mind.

From where she stood, his little armada looked nothing like Nelesquin’s fleet. The Durrani had marched onto their ships in good order, whereas her grandfather’s troops sagged and slumped against each other. The Durrani had all been tall and strong, clean of limb and keen of eye, whereas these creatures had little definition at all.

And when the tide comes in, they will be washed away forever.

Qiro looked up from his place in the mud, then struggled to his feet. “Oh, Nirati, you’ve come. Good, excellent. If it wasn’t for you, I could not have done this. Tell me you approve.”

She blinked back her surprise and felt Takwee cling to her back a bit more tightly. Grandfather asking for approval? “I think it’s wonderful, Grandfather. But I have to ask. What is it?”

The old man laughed warmly-an alien sound from his throat. “This is your brother’s salvation, silly girl.” He nodded toward the west and the area from which Nelesquin’s Durrani kept launching more ships. “I would not bother Prince Nelesquin with such a trifling matter. I can handle it myself. Smaller task, smaller fleet, but nonetheless effective.”

He waved her forward and began walking at the water’s edge, as if a general reviewing his troops. He pointed to several boats jammed with globs of mud that looked like little more than lumps to her. “These are my Neshta. They’re small, but quick, with claws and fangs. Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps-they are the first wave. They are like your Takwee there, but her darker, bellicose cousins, bred for war.”

She nodded. “Ah, very good.”

“And here, these larger ones-hence the larger boats-are my Provocs. They’re as big as Viruk, but have four arms, not just two. When they begin to fight, there will be no standing against them. Oh, the havoc they will wreak!”

Nirati forced herself to smile. “And these here, Grandfather, the ones with golden sand sprinkled on their heads?”

“Clever girl, I knew you would notice.” He clapped grimy hands, his fingernails black. “They are the Dernai. Half-handed, all of them, but with fierce claws, strong bodies, and a conqueror’s will. They know no fear.”

“It is an impressive army, Grandfather.” Nirati pointed to one last boat, a boat that had a lone figure in it. Unlike the others, this one had been shaped of clay and worked with care. Obviously female, she’d been armored and provided with a seashell shield and a quill from a spinefish for a spear. “Who is that?”

Qiro knelt beside that last figure. “This is Lystai. She is my general and will lead my army. But there I need your help again.”

“What do you need, Grandfather?”

He beckoned her to kneel beside him, then reached up and caressed her brown hair. “This will hurt for a heartbeat, but I must…” With a quick yank he plucked a single hair from her head, then daubed the root with mud and affixed it to Lystai’s head.

“There, now she can find your brother and bring him to me.”

Nirati frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You probably think I don’t remember, but I do. You said you dreamed of him, of Keles, and that he was in Deseirion. We can’t have him there, trapped in Pyrust’s court. My army will attack Felarati and free him.”

“Oh, yes, Grandfather, very good.” Nirati kept the smile on her face and looked down at the army baking in the sunlight. Her grandfather had absolutely lost his mind. Prince Cyron’s grandfather had been said to learn how to fight battles based on games played with toy soldiers. Her grandfather, in retreating to his childhood, imagined he, too, could wage wars with toys.

She reached over and took her grandfather’s hands in hers. “I know Keles will welcome his freedom and praise you for freeing him.”

Qiro closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You know, I have not forgotten the past. I know that I have been a horrible taskmaster for your brothers, my brother, your father. I knew the potential in all of them. I had to drive them and drive them hard or they would have squandered it.”

He opened his eyes again and looked out at his army. “Toys. Now I squander my talent.”

“Hush, Grandfather. You’ve done great things. You’ve…” She looked around the landscape. “You’ve shaped all this. It is a miracle.”

“No, Nirati, it is not.” He smiled at her softly, freed a hand, and caressed a cheek. “Out of love, I shaped a place where I could defy the gods. In doing so I released forces that I cannot control.”

“You make it sound as dire as if you’ve triggered another Cataclysm.”

“Sweet child, in some ways it is.” He slowly got to his feet and helped her up. They walked up the beach to warm golden sand, then sat again and watched the tide slowly roll in and float his tiny ships away.

“It’s not a Cataclysm, Nirati, but could trigger another.” He shook his head. “But the world needs purging of its evils, and there is more work to be done before the purge is complete.”