The New World

Chapter Fifty-seven

4th day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Rat

First Year of the Restoration of the Imperial Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Quunkun, South Moriande

Imperial Nalenyr

The magic that pulsed through the city drove Ciras to his knees. Moraven Tolo sagged forward, his head down, almost as if bowing to Prince Nelesquin. Kaerinus staggered back, and Qiro Anturasi sagged against the wall, slowly slumping to the floor.

Those who did not know jaedun remained unaffected and even appeared shocked as the others recoiled. The magic echoed in Ciras’ head like a high, piercing shriek. He clawed his flesh-and-blood hand through his hair as if to brush the sound away, then a new sound invaded.

Laughter.

Nelesquin sat on the throne and looked at his right arm. His fingers came away red. He held his hand up, studying the blood, rubbing a thumb over his wet fingers, and he laughed. “I’m bleeding, Kaerinus! My soul has returned. I’m whole again.”

The big man stood, roaring. He pumped his left fist in the air and clearly sought to bring his right arm up, but it failed to move. Alarm registered on his face, but only the left half. The flesh of his right cheek remained immobile and began to blacken.

“What’s happening?”

Kaerinus pulled his cloak about himself. “The toxin in Prince Pyrust’s ring. You sealed the wound, but you did not neutralize the poison.”

“Fix it.”

“No, my lord.”

“What?”

Moraven lifted his head. “You thought the Empress had one spy in your vanyesh. She had more.”

“No. NO! ” Nelesquin plucked the sword from his right hand and raised it in his left, charging at the kneeling swordsman. “I will see you in Hell, Virisken!” He whipped the blade down.

Ciras caught it in his metal hand. “Not with my sword.” He tightened his grip and wrenched the blade to the left.

Nelesquin looked down, contempt registering on the left half of his face. “You are nothing.”

“Fitting last words.” Ciras slammed his fist into Nelesquin’s breastbone. The sternum snapped as the punch crushed the Prince’s heart. Ciras pulled back and jerked his sword from the dying man’s grasp.

Nelesquin wavered for a moment, then pitched over backward. Gold bones clanked on the ground, poking at odd angles through his robe. He lay there, staring sightlessly at a mural that depicted him as a god.

Before the Prince had even begun to collapse, Ciras rotated his wrist and transferred the vanyesh blade to his left hand. He reversed it, holding it tight along his forearm. The tip extended past his elbow. He raised his arm, catching the first kwajiin ’s cut easily, then jabbed metal fingers into the man’s throat.

Ciras spun and parried, then stabbed back with the vanyesh blade. Sparks flew as a blow glanced from Borosan’s handiwork. A stab ignited fire in his thigh. Another parry, a lunge, then a twist, narrowly avoiding a crosscut slash. The sword’s pommel crushed a face. A slash sent a head spinning. Before it bounced the second time, the last of the kwajiin clutched at a pulsing wound in his groin, then stumbled back, tripping over Nelesquin’s body.

Kaerinus knelt beside Moraven Tolo. Purple light played and the swordsman gasped. The vanyesh laid a hand on each broken arm. More magic flowed and the limbs straightened, but the hands clutched weakly at nothing.

Ciras slashed the chain binding Prince Jekusmirwyn to the throne. “You are free, Highness.”

The man still cowered. “Is he dead? Are you sure?”

“Poisoned. Heart crushed. He’s dead.”

Jekusmirwyn crawled forward and picked up a kwajiin sword. He tested its edge against his thumb. Apparently satisfied, he sawed away at Nelesquin’s neck. “I’ll take his head. Just to be sure.”

Ciras recovered his scabbard and slid the vanyesh blade home. He joined Kaerinus and Moraven. “How are you, Master?”

“I’ll be fine. I need time to recover.” Moraven smiled.

Ciras nodded and looked at his metal hand. “Master Gryst will be proud his work killed Prince Nelesquin.”

“As well he should be. He’s a wise and clever man.”

“One of several it has been my privilege to know.” Ciras hooked his metal hand beneath Moraven’s armpit and stood. “Come, Master, let’s find a way home again.”