Miro suddenly saw a wide ditch yawning ahead of him, the bottom lined with steel spikes. It was thirty paces wide, as long as five men were tall. He saw the men about him leaping like birds. He took a breath, timing it to his chant, and jumped. The air whistled past his ears, he landed with a thud and kept running.
Runebombs were being dropped from dirigibles — the bladesingers made for easy targets. Gouts of flame and smoke tore up the ground. Explosions sounded again and again. Not far from Miro, dirt spewed out of the ground, tossing a bladesinger into the air. He kept singing though, and landed deftly on his feet.
Miro heard the clash of arms as battle was joined, and veered off.
He tested his chant for every activation sequence, checking every inflection. His breath coming strong and even, his legs pacing out, he decided he was satisfied. He put his song to the corner of his mind and entered Tovitch Forest.
The trees here were different from the trees he was used to in the Dunwood. The Dunwood was wild and untamed, this was more planned. The evergreens were evenly spaced a few paces apart and he had no trouble weaving through them.
He slowed his run to a ground-eating lope, but thoughts were rushing through his mind. Miro knew the importance of what he was doing. Prince Leopold only saw the immediate, only thought one step ahead. But there were many who knew there was some strange force at play, questions that needed answering.
The moon passed across the sky. Miro ran through the night. As the trees of Tovitch Forest thinned, he saw the glint of water ahead and gave up his chanting. Plunging into the icy water of the Sarsen, he waded to the other side, then stood on the bank for a moment, panting, his breath coming in steam. The water ran down his black silk; at least he had that comfort.
Miro regarded Veznan lands for a moment, and then entered.
It was a new forest — that much was clear. The trees were even more planned than those before, grove upon grove of every species carefully given its own space and separated from the others.
As he penetrated deeper into the forest, the species grew more and more strange. Soon he saw trees with two trunks, each at an angle to the other like legs. The big gnarled branches looked like arms, each the size of a man. They were still trees though, sleeping, unmoving.
The questions came clearer now.
Who was leading the Black Army? What motive brought their enemy together in war, a war that meant only death and disaster? What strange force was taking away the houses’ independence?
He was about to find out.
33
We need to always ensure there are safeguards against the Tingaran Emperor seizing control of Stonewater. Reader, you may think this a strange note of caution, coming from me, but this new balance is an effective one. We are like a three-legged table. Each leg is balanced by the other two — the Houses balance the Assembly of Templars, the Assembly balances the Imperial House, the Imperial House balances the Houses. If the Imperial House were to control the source of essence the Houses would become powerless. The Emperor would be a leader no more. He would be a tyrant.
— Memoirs of Emperor Xenovere I, 205-3, 381 Y.E.
VEZNA’S capital of Rosarva could not really be termed a city. It was more like an organism, but an organism that, like many things Veznan, was planned in detail.
Inhabitants were allowed to apply for a permit to move their dwelling, perhaps to be closer to work or family. If the permit was granted, the four trees that made up the dwelling’s supports, walls and ceiling walked to a different part of Rosarva and replanted their roots.
Rosarva’s avenues were broad and lined with carefully pruned hedges to separate one flow of traffic from another; walking on the wrong side was a punishable crime. Still, the many rules that governed a Veznan’s life were necessary— in a place that changed with the seasons, where services changed location from month to month, the regulations provided a much-needed sense of order.
There was an area though that hadn’t changed in centuries.
The Borlag.
It was an island, separated from the rest of Rosarva by a wide moat. People didn’t loiter near the Borlag. They entered, conducted their business, and quickly left with their eyes downcast. Intruders weren’t tolerated — the seemingly innocuous lily pads floating in the water needed regular feeding.
The Borlag was only accessible via the Juno Bridge — a narrow, living bridge that needed to be replanted at regular intervals after the essence worked its way through the bridge’s system and killed it. An activation sequence, known only to a select few, had to be spoken to be allowed on the Juno Bridge. If any other tried to cross the bridge, giant thorns came out of the wood, bristling and impaling the man instantly.
Uninvited guests were not tolerated in the Borlag.