New World Book Three in the Age of Discovery

Chapter One 4th day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron's Court 163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty 737th Year since the Cataclysm Voraxan Ciras Dejote sighed and wished that the peace of Voraxan might once again infect him. Instead he wandered the empty onyx streets, passing between buildings carved from ruby and emerald, topaz, lapis, and citrine, and felt nothing. The architecture reminded him of the grand palaces of the Empirerelics of a time when heroes walked and epic tales were born. He had grown up listening to such stories and had dreamed of someday becoming a hero. He knew the path to such immortality would require achievingjaedunthe magic that transformed an ordinary warrior into a Mystic. Through diligent study and practice, he could become a superior swordsman. But as a Mystic, he would besupernaturallygifted. He had set out with his master, Moraven Tolo, on a quest into the Wastes, where wild magic still warped the land. Then his mission had changed. He and the inventor, Borosan Gryst, had set off deep into Ixyll, to find Voraxan, the resting place of the Sleeping Empress. They were to awaken her and bring her army back to the very Empire she had sundered over seven centuries before. Ciras paused beside a small emerald building. He ran his fingers over the characters gently carved into the lintel:Shan Tsiendao. Within the building he could see her recumbent form, sleeping, dreaming, waiting to be summoned once again to war. Thoughhefelt drawn back to the Nine Principalities, he regretted the necessity of awakening any of these warriors. His quest to be a hero had brought him to this grand city of the dead, with tombs carved of gems, styled to be homes. It was not, however, a place of misery and remorse. The streets and buildings all combined instead to make it into a peaceful haven. Given that the warriors resting therein had fought the greatest battle in the history of the world, it seemed appropriate. Ciras walked on, wending his way back toward the onyx courtyard of the ruby palace that had been the Empress' resting place. Trapped between the palace and a diamond fountain, Borosan Gryst sat tinkering with one of his magical machines. Despite the hardship of their journey together, the man remained overweight. He wore no sword and had neither martial skill nor sense. In Ciras' world, those deficiencies would have made the dark-haired man beneath contempt. And yet, on the journey, Borosan had proven himself clever.Almost too clever. Ciras' shadow fell over Borosan. "I cannot believe you hid the fact that Empress Cyrsa had already left this place." He opened his arms wide to take in the gemstone city. "We traveled across the known world, through strange lands and countless perils, and yet you kept that hidden from me." Borosan smiled indulgently. "It was not a matter of trust, Master Dejote. I had been given a secret mission by the Empress. I did not tell my father. I would not have told Prince Cyron, had he asked. You should not feel betrayed." The slender swordsman crouched beside his thickset companion, though he remained beyond the reach of the spiderlikethanatonon which Borosan worked. "I understand secrecy. Delivering the message to the people of Voraxan was very important. What would have happened if you had died on the way? The call would not have gone out." Borosan shrugged. Both arms were elbow deep in the inner workings of thethanaton's spherical body. "I would imagine I was not the only person the Empress sent with her message. I'm just the first one to make it. And . . ." Thegyanridin's right hand emerged from the magical machine's bowels and tossed Ciras a small, yellowed ivory cylinder with delicate script carved on it. "Stackpole, Michael A. is the author of 'New World Book Three in the Age of Discovery', published 2007 under ISBN 9780553382396 and ISBN 055338239X.