The Shadow of My Vision: The Rosteval Saga, #4

By Michael R. Schultheiss

An endless enemy…
Danger stalks their dreams…
Has their god failed?

 

Rosteval and his forces are at the limit of their endurance, fighting a hopeless war against the ever-reincarnating hordes of an endless enemy.

 

When a foreign god seizes control of a potent weapon, Rosteval faces a choice between domination and destruction… even as a terrifying new danger stalks him and his beloved Ghaitta in their dreams. 

 

As enemies and rivals close in from every quarter, Rosteval, Ghaitta, and their friends face the greatest uncertainty of all: has their god failed them?

 

Dark secrets, dangerous foes, and demanding gods stalk Rosteval's path in The Shadow of My Vision, sequel to The Third Way of My God. Get it now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael R. Schultheiss
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985190496

Book preview

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DEDICATION

To R. Scott Bakker, for inspiration that moves the deep waters of my soul.

Copyright ©(2023) by Michael R. Schultheiss.

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by Lyamgallal Press LLC.

Cover designed by MiblArt.

Contents

List of Characters

The Series So Far

Maps

Author's Preliminary Note

1.Dialogue I: The Garden of Death

2.The Endless Enemy

3.Demands and Disputes

4.Portents

5.Unsettled Goddess

6.Goddess on the Gontugap

7.Toward the Gontuganti

8.The Reforged

9.Wheel of Four Faces

10.Runaway Goddess

11.Dialogue II: Oases of Memory

12.Negotiation Tactics

13.The Unburdening of Souls

14.The Golden Avatar

15.A Doom Foretold

16.The Vision of Our God

17.The Dreams of Idlun

18.Dreams and Danger

19.A Vital Connection

20.A Destiny Remembered

21.Dialogue III: The Path to Power

22.Well of Fresh Waters

23.By Shadow and By Day

24.Bring Your Weapons! Bring Your Gods!

25.Into the Eye

26.Passion and Violation

27.The Wound and the Workings

28.Siege and Sovereignty

29.The Forgotten Enemy

30.A Reunion in Sepparna

31.Dialogue IV: A Word From the Depths

32.Yadutheer Considered

33.Ardathil’s Revelations

34.Voice of the Mother

35.Riddles Upon Riddles

36.A Plan for Diyus

37.On the Offensive in Dream-World

38.An Offer at the Altar

Author's Note

The Adventure Begins...

Contact the Author

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List of Characters

Apshendarin: a Bright Zayastu of the Dyuza of Camraj-Kitta, allied with Rosteval.

Atazupar (called Ogre-Bane): a lord among the Ponteppatra, originally of the Isarpaday Tamnoolra. Son of Zanzupar the Glorious.

Aurvedan: son of Hamarvan, king of the Ketaryatra, and Hamarvan’s wife Farsiva. Grandson of Haldua.

Bardamal (Little Bardamal): a cousin of Rosteval’s, named after Bardamal the Elder, their great-grandfather.

Cat-Eye Pon (Ponteppesh): a Pellakesh warrior, holy man, and slave trader who mentored Rosteval and chose Cat-Eye Touhai to be his heir. Currently the ascended Rishva-god of the Ponteppatra, the People of Cat-Eye Pon.

Cat-Eye Touhai: priestess of the cult of Cat-Eye Pon, possessor of the Cat-Eye, and a key personage among the Ponteppatra. She was originally a young Fargand woman named Jaiyagan, who was enslaved by Cat-Eye Pon and chosen to be the heir to his power and the mother of his last child, a son named Tollibek.

Daryubal: a cousin of Rosteval’s, married to Shayasda.

Diyus (of the Depths): a Rishvant, Wielder of the Mantle of the Pale Lady; known as the Queen of the Dark Mysteries.

Etruvaltan: a prince of the Fargandra, has established himself with a war-band in the lands south of the Sebaiya Desert. Married to Lady Toqual, allied with Taskouros of Poraungha and Majakuru the Red Lion.

Ghaitta: Rosteval’s wife and queen of the Ponteppatra, Ghaitta originally hailed from the Itorovoya, a tribe in the Diyalla-land. She was a slave of Zanzupar the Glorious, the great Isarpaday Tamnool chieftain, until he died and his son Kurjayak sold her to Cat-Eye Pon, who in turn prepared her for Rosteval.

Haldua: a Rishvant or Returning Immortal who has variously fought against Rosteval and Ghaitta and allied with them in turn, Haldua is loyal to Hamarvan. He is also the father of Hamarvan’s wife Farsiva, and thus the grandfather of their son, Aurvedan. Currently the Wielder of the Silent Horn.

Hamarvan: king of the Ketaryatra, a formidable conqueror who has prevailed against a series of foes. He is also the grandfather of Rosteval.

Idlun: a cousin of Cat-Eye Pon.

Javairyu: paramour of Parsetya, son of Shalparyon the Elder and brother of Shalparyon the Younger and Sestanyul.

Jinsohaila: four-armed golden god, champion of Upparnod.

Kanavitar: a Bright Zayastu of the Dyuza of Camraj-Kitta, allied with Rosteval.

Kartash: originally of the Fargand Southern Army, now a commander among the Ponteppatra. Sympathetic to the Veyadians, Kartash has married a daughter of Vindotras of the Kelotzina.

Karyava: Rosteval’s mother; daughter of Hamarvan by a Jala-Luwahi wife.

Kurjayak: a powerful lord among the Ponteppatra, originally of the Isarpaday Tamnoolra. Husband of Lupraxa, son of Zanzupar the Glorious; also related to Cat-Eye Pon.

Lupraxa: a noblewoman among the Ponteppatra, originally of the Fargandra, wife of Kurjayak.

Majakuru (the Red Lion): a powerful lord among the Isarpaday Tamnoolra, the main chieftain of that people to still offer resistance to Rosteval. Allied with Etruvaltan and Taskouros.

Maralitu: a Bright Zayastu of the Dyuza of Camraj-Kitta, allied with Rosteval.

Orlatau: a Kaitaug of the Gontuganti, has successfully arranged for rebirth for herself and her people through the power of Quonjastra.

Parsetya: loyal to Rosteval and the Ponteppatra; Wielder of the Mantle of the Moon. She is the daughter of Hamarvan by a Jala-Luwahi slave-woman, and the sister of Varsellak.

Quonjastra: emotionally unstable goddess who styles herself the ‘Mother of Exiles.’ Under the joint custody and supervision of Orlatau and Haldua.

Ravardu: Rosteval’s uncle; has defected from Hamarvan to Rosteval. He is the full brother of Rosteval’s mother, Karyava, and a son of Hamarvan.

Rosteval: king of the Ponteppatra, husband of Ghaitta, formerly of the Barduvatra. Son of Bosvadal and Karyava, grandson of Hamarvan.

Sahulon: a Rigabara-land slave-girl owned by Rosteval who serves as his head slave-girl, masseuse, and bed-mate. Rosteval acquired her from a bath-house in Bulwandi.

Sestanyul: a Bladed Sister of the Daughters of Mahvos, also sister of Javairyu and Shalparyon the Younger, daughter of Shalparyon the Elder. Former instructor of Parsetya.

Shayasda: a lady among the Ponteppatra, wife of Daryubal, former slave-girl from the Satuvas-land in the Eastern Lohiman Kingdom.

Shentora: a Bright Zayastu of the Dyuza of Camraj-Kitta, allied with Rosteval.

Soltapyral: a Rishvant, known for his desire to end all conflict and opposition by immuring mankind in pleasurable conjurations as well as for weaving the Great Knot.

Taromede: a lord among the Ponteppatra, cousin of Rosteval, known for his musical ability and songs.

Taskouros: lord of Poraungha, styles himself king.

Tollibek: two-year-old son of Cat-Eye Touhai and Cat-Eye Pon.

Toqual: Veyadian noblewoman of House Kelotzina, currently married to Etruvaltan; formerly one of the wives of Janthur, king of Bulwandi. Full sister of Vindotras.

Upparnod: the wheel-form god represented by Jinsohaila.

Varsellak: leader of a faction of the Ashvasadra; defected from Hamarvan to Rosteval. Brother of Parsetya.

Vindotras: a lord among the Ponteppatra, originally a Veyadian nobleman of House Kelotzina; formerly king of Camraj-Kitta.

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The Series So Far

Summary of Book 1 of The Rosteval Saga, The Altar of My Fate:

Yearning for glory and adventure, Rosteval assembles a war-party and allies with the warrior and holy man Cat-Eye Pon—an alliance that also brings him Ghaitta, a beautiful slave-girl who provides him with access to the dream-world.

After a series of battles with the Fargandra, the two lead their forces across the Sebaiya Desert and contact Kurjayak and his Isarpaday Tamnool forces before conquering the city of Bulwandi. Meanwhile, Rosteval and his slave-girl Ghaitta are working toward bonding a white Rishva-shade, but their efforts draw the hostile attention of the Rishvant Haldua.

Rosteval and his allies next involve themselves in a conflict within the Western Lohiman Kingdom, supporting the weak king Yadutheer II against his uncle, Votharkas. They are victorious in battle, but must then face the threat of an army sent by Rosteval’s grandfather Hamarvan.

Aided by the Bright Zayastura, Rosteval and Cat-Eye Pon travel north of the Sebaiya to convince their former Fargand enemies to aid them. Cat-Eye Pon’s Fargand slave-girl Touhai stabs him to death and inherits his power before revealing that she was acting on his own orders.

After bonding the white Rishva-shade with Ghaitta’s help, Rosteval is ready to confront the army his grandfather has sent, an army that includes Prince Aurvedan, who has his own white Rishva-shade thanks to Haldua’s intervention. Rosteval springs a surprise attack on the enemy army, and with the white Rishva-shade and the timely intervention of the Fargandra, scores a victory.

In the aftermath of the battle, Rosteval frees Ghaitta, and subsequently ennobles and marries her.

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Summary of Book 2 of The Rosteval Saga, The Spiral of My Destiny:

Rosteval and Ghaitta face a new threat when they discover Soltapyral, a Rishvant, has returned and is controlling Prince Aurvedan and the Ketaryat forces. Ghaitta’s own abilities have put her at risk, and they must ally with their enemy Haldua and the haughty Daivomandians.

Fearing that Soltapyral will convince the Ketaryatra to make peace with their enemies in the east, Rosteval plans an invasion of Orestamar through the Jendoba-land to shore up the position of Hamarvan’s eastern enemy.

On the way, Rosteval and Ghaitta convince a Rishvant woman named Telupari to grant Ghaitta the use of a chimerical snake-woman spirit, the Serpent of Telupari, capable of envenoming complex Rishva-workings and spirit-beings.

Rosteval leads his forces into Orestamar, even as Soltapyral tries to turn all the land and their own slaves against them. Meanwhile, Rosteval, Ghaitta, Cat-Eye Touhai, and Haldua attempt to learn how to bond the Cat-Eye Pon Rishva-shade, leading to conflict with the Daivomandians.

Fleeing from the approach of a Ketaryat army led by Soltapyral, Rosteval still manages to inflict a defeat on it, buying time to put together a defense of the Western Lohiman Kingdom.

In the final battle, Rosteval, Ghaitta, and Cat-Eye Touhai complete the bonding of Cat-Eye Pon’s white Rishva-shade and his emanated war-god form and cause Haldua to ascend to godhood as well. They defeat Soltapyral, and Haldua convinces the Ketaryat army to stand down.

After the battle, Rosteval proclaims himself king of a new people, the Ponteppatra—the people of Cat-Eye Pon.

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Summary of Book 3 of The Rosteval Saga, The Third Way of My God:

Disaster looms for Rosteval and his people when Hamarvan sends an army to occupy Tekoro-Athu. Much to everyone’s surprise, a young woman named Parsetya, a daughter of Hamarvan, defects and convinces Rosteval to provide sanctuary for her and her paramour, Javairyu.

Rosteval and Ghaitta lead their people into exile even as Hamarvan and Haldua use the unstable fiery goddess Quonjastra to wage war against the Gontuganti, a menacing race of Shapers who are bent on conquering the world. Parsetya has a weapon called the Mantle of the Moon that may aid them, but they will need the rest of the Eight Wondrous Wields to win victory.

After contacting a mysterious figure called the Mantled One, who taught Cat-Eye Pon, Rosteval, Ghaitta, Parsetya, Javairyu, and Haldua voyage to the Gontugant city of Yuhoxai on the Gontugap, the dark cosmic ocean. They acquire another Wield, the Silent Horn, but Haldua betrays them and steals it for himself.

With the Mantled One’s help, Rosteval and the others liberate Soltapyral from the Rishvant Hall of Shades and use him as a bargaining chip to strike a deal with Haldua to help them return to Lyamgallal.

They receive another surprise when they discover that Parsetya has been manipulated by Orlatau, a crafty lady Kaitaug among the Gontuganti who wants to work with them in order to transmute herself and her people into a new kind of being. She has a strong hand: in addition to her own substantial military forces, she offers a powerful Wield called the Spear of Woe.

As per the terms of his deal with Haldua, Rosteval leads his forces east to Lyshura to help Hamarvan confront the Gontuganti. But Rosteval betrays Haldua when he, Ghaitta, Parsetya, Javairyu, and Soltapyral travel to the Rishva-altar so that Soltapyral can weave a Great Knot for Javairyu to wield.

Enraged, Haldua attacks them and nearly wipes out their army before Cat-Eye Pon stabs him with the Spear of Woe—but the Gontugant assault forces Rosteval and Haldua to once more work together. With a powerful combination of armies and Wields, Rosteval and his unlikely allies defeat the Gontuganti.

In the aftermath of the battle, Rosteval convinces Hamarvan to relinquish Tekoro-Athu. He leads his people back to their capital, where Parsetya finally tells him and Ghaitta that she is prepared to become a goddess for the Ponteppatra.

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Maps

The Ketaryat Realm

The Ketaryat Realm

The Sebaiya and Lohiman Kingdoms

The Sebaiya and Lohiman Kingdoms

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Author's Preliminary Note

The Shadow of My Vision , book four of The Rosteval Saga, is the first part of a story arc that continues and concludes in book five, The Circle of My Sovereignty .

Presenting the whole story in one volume would have required changing the formatting, and the author decided to use two volumes in order to keep the formatting consistent with previous installments of The Rosteval Saga.

With that said, dear reader, it is the author’s hope that you will enjoy this first volume.

1

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Dialogue I: The Garden of Death

Iawaken and find myself suspended by my wrists on the wall of a dim-lit cavern. The walls are dark, yes, and water glimmers below me.

You return to us.

A familiar voice, yes, a smooth, mocking voice I have heard many times before…

But even as I try to look toward him, straining against my bonds, I find I can see through only one eye.

My eye! I say, panic flooding through me as I try to free myself.

My left eye, it is gone from me. My eyelid closes over a hollow.

He laughs, a slow, mocking laugh, and at last I turn my head far enough to see him standing there, a sharp-featured man with long, night-black hair and beard. His pale, colorless eyes seem to burn with some hidden fire, and his thin mouth is set in a smirk that makes his face seem particularly malevolent.

Never will I tire, he says, of watching you panic as you discover that exact thing time and time again.

He is hovering over an expanse of water, dark and murky, but with streaks of pale light. His dark robes are patterned with silver filigree—robes fit for a prince, surely.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to see where I am.

I have been here before, yes, I say, and I look around me.

The cavern is a dim-lit place, the walls dark in color, but I think I can see bodies, corpses suspended on the walls even as I am.

Movement. I see movement off to my right.

My heart pounds within my chest, but I force myself to be calm.

I have to remember all of it: who I am, why I am here, and what I need to do next.

Every time, he says. You say that every time you return to us. Take a look around: I believe your memories will begin to return to you.

My right eye is adjusting to the pallid light, my mind returning to me from the slumber from which I have awakened. I have a flicker of memory, a memory of two sharp, stabbing pains.

So, I am suspended against the wall of a cavern filled with water. The sensation of the wall is rough, like the bark of a tree. There are bodies, the bodies of other men suspended on the walls of the cavern in the same fashion as I am, limbs spreadeagled… but their heads are all slumped forward.

I think they are dead… and that means I am hanging in a cavern full of dead men. Indeed, some have visible wounds, yes, and I see trails of blood on their flesh and in their clothes.

But why did I see movement?

Looking back toward the man, my enemy, I begin to guess something of his nature.

You are a god, I say, the words tumbling from my mouth. You are a great and terrible god.

His features contort. Yes, I am a god, and you may well call me great and terrible… but I would already be a greater god by far, if not for your actions, your… interference.

What I did… what did I do?

Fragments, pieces of memory come back to me.

There was a journey from a desert… the Sebaiya…

Or had that come later? I felt certain I had made many crossings of the desert.

There had been a slave-girl, a bare-breasted slave-girl with sultry eyes…

A blade in my hand… a blade as pale as moonlight and thin as a leaf…

Or had it been an iron blade, a blade with a serpent coiled about a spiral?

Have I fought this man before? Some part of me recognizes the night-black beard, the sharp features, the pale, colorless eyes.

My enemy cackles. Right now, you are as helpless as a newborn babe. I know this, because I can read your thoughts.

Another flicker of movement, this one on the other side of the cavern.

What is this place? I say, determined to find answers.

His eyes narrow. You are in my garden. To be more precise, you are part of my garden. Do you have no desire to know why I can read your thoughts?

He calls this place his garden. What kind of garden is full of corpses?

Because you are a type of god?

Just so, he says, and he sneers. I can read your thoughts because all that you are, you owe to me. You tried to cheat me once, tried to deny your master his due… but you are here because I am still your master.

A memory… this man, standing in the desert, the Sebaiya… a glint of gold in his hand… and the gold, I somehow know, is payment for me.

This man paid gold for me. Was I his slave? Some kind of apprentice?

Why am I hanging among corpses? I ask. What kind of garden is this?

His eyes are full of contempt. You are not surrounded by corpses alone. Look around. You have only one eye, but it is enough.

Turning to my right, I see another corpse, suspended about thirty feet away. His head is slumped toward his chest, and I cannot get a clear look at his face.

A trail of blood runs from the deep gash across his throat, down his chest and belly.

Looking beyond, I see other corpses above him and others beyond him, and…

Movement, the flash of fish-white limbs.

Dread, cold and clammy, grips my heart.

A hiss, a chorus of sibilant voices…

Who are they? I say, struggling against my bonds. What are they?

My wrists are still bound fast. I am stuck here.

You ask what kind of garden this is, he says. You are about to find out.

A faint sound, like feet padding very softly…

I turn my head sharply to the left, and my blood runs cold.

A pale figure is crawling toward me, white as bone or ivory, a figure with gigantic, pale silver-glowing eyes that bulge in its bony, gaunt face, and large, leaf-shaped ears that put me in mind of a bat.

My mind supplies a word for this figure: demon.

The demon raises a hand, and I see the long, curving fingers with wide, pad-like tips, for all the world like a frog or lizard.

I have taken leave of all reason. That is the only explanation for how I find myself here.

Right now, my enemy says, you are thinking that you have taken leave of your reason. I can assure you that despite the damage you have inflicted on your own memories, your reason remains intact: what you are seeing is really, truly happening to you.

And now I can hear them padding toward me, and I look around and see many pairs of enormous silver-glowing eyes in bone-white, gaunt, slender faces, many demons converging toward me.

This is a garden for performances, my enemy says, and I look back toward him and see that he is smiling with a glint of white teeth. And my attendants put on only one kind of performance… a kind of reenactment.

Reenactment? I say, looking around with my sole eye as the demons gather around me. They are trilling now, making insect-like sounds.

My enemy is shaking his head. Use your eye. Grasp for the fragments of memory that remain to you.

And the answer comes to me with a flash of insight.

Corpses, I say. You reenact… death.

My enemy’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, and a slow smile steals across his face. Well done.

Two pale-glowing swords, blades as thin as leaves, appear over my chest. The memory of stabbing pain returns to the forefront of my mind, and I remember at last something of where it comes from.

There was only one sword, I say, as if it really matters, as if saying that will change what is about to happen to me.

He laughs again. "Indeed there was, but the key thing for our purposes is to recreate the death-wound—or in this case, wounds. And my attendants… well, they do so love killing you."

One of them is speaking now, a sibilant, rasping voice, like the night breeze rustling through dead branches of a desert-stunted acacia.

Here, my enemy says, I will allow you to understand their words.

And the words that come to my ear cause my heart to beat with a frenzied tempo, for I remember them.

They are the words I said right before I died.

There is so much power in life, my enemy says. A wild, lustful light seems to dance in his eyes. Power that can be captured in the moment of death.

He points toward me. And in this place, I can recreate the moment of your death over and over and over again.

Why? I say, even as a tear beads in my right eye.

Why am I crying? I am not afraid to die. I have already done it.

My enemy’s eyes flash.

A flicker of motion, and he is hovering before me.

His hand moves, striking my cheek with incredible force.

I kill you not only because it gives me power, but also because I enjoy it. Every time you die, I will bring you back, and I will keep doing that until you remember exactly what you did and why I am killing you… and then I will kill you another thousand times, and a thousand times after that, because it pleases me to do so.

I offer him no resistance, no defiance, for I have remembered why the tears come to my eye.

A spasm of hatred passes over his face, and he seems to regain control of himself. He drifts back to his place on the waters and gestures to the demons that surround me.

They begin again, speaking the words I spoke right before I died.

And in the eye of my mind, I see again the familiar faces: the slave-girl, the one I captured and took for myself, and the warrior, the young warrior with the tawny eyes, and another slave-girl, one I prepared for him.

I cannot remember their names, but the warmth that washes over my heart is enough. My purpose here is bound up with them, with my love for them and for… others.

That part is not entirely clear to me. I have the sensation of connection to a great many people. Hundreds? Thousands?

The demons finish shrilling my death-words.

I close my one remaining eye and smile… and as I do it, I realize that I am smiling even as I did that day.

A sharp pain in my chest. A shrilling sound. Another sharp pain in my chest.

I sag forward, feeling my lungs begin to fill with blood. My cough is painful, but I embrace my suffering, for I know that I am here on behalf of the ones I care for.

And just as I did that day, I die.

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2

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The Endless Enemy

T he enemy is a half-day’s march ahead, my king, my priestess said, her beautiful face grim and somber.

She usually kept an eye-patch over her left eye, but now she had pushed it back to reveal the eye that blazed with a fiery orange glow, and a white gyre-form in place of a pupil and iris.

What numbers do you estimate? I asked her.

She was standing on a gateway altar, a great circular altar of glass with gyre-form grooves that ran from the silvery metal rim to the raised central hub. Motes of white light coursed along the trackways of the grooves, from the edges to the hub.

Thanks to her gyre-eye, Cat-Eye Touhai could see through this altar and look out through others like it. For that matter, she could look out a fair distance from this altar or any of the four that were closest to it.

It is a force of medium size, she said. Not so large as the host we defeated at Lyshura, no, but not so small as the smaller parties we have engaged. Perhaps a thousand Gontuganti and five thousand obdauta?

Sweat beaded her brow and had streaked down her lovely slender face, mingling with the dust of travel. Her hair was long and dark, her complexion a light tawny. She wore a midriff-baring cloth-of-gold blouse cut in a Veyadian style, with off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a plunging neckline. Her skirt and mantle were of white and lavender striping, with black falcons and white gyre-patterns limned with silver.

Her clothing was remarkably practical given the heat and humidity, which seemed to mantle these sweltering, stifling southern lands and deprive one of any will to do anything.

For my part, I wore a sleeveless tunic, light blue with purple hems, and baggy trousers that had once been white. My sword was belted at my side, and I carried my yoke-shaped recurved bow, one of my most prized possessions, in a case over my back.

Despite my Veyadian-style clothing, despite the sandals I wore on my feet instead of proper warrior’s boots, my face was slick with sweat and my clothing was damp with it. Even my thoughts felt slower in this climate, and I wondered if that accounted for the more sedate pace of life in these lands… at least, the more sedate pace of life before the Gontuganti came to our world.

This particular band of Gontuganti had emerged a few days’ ride north of here, and we had followed them into the hill country and mixed woodlands that dominated the northern marches of the land of Vurenna.

All the land around us was a patchwork of jungle, stands of bamboo canebrakes, meadows, and the rice paddies of peasant Veyadian villages.

We have fought smaller parties, I said, but we have also fought far larger ones. Are these like the ones we have been facing of late?

Her brow furrowed, and she nodded. Yes. They are tattooed, their obdauta are Shapers instead of Men, and they move with great vigor and purpose.

She hesitated, and I could tell she was reluctant to tell me something.

You saw something more, I said, lending a gentle, insistent tone to my voice. Tell me, I pray.

Their colors, she said, the colors of their Rishva-columns… they have a great deal of silver, blue, and white.

It was not good news, but it was hardly unexpected, either.

A part of me wanted to express the exasperation I felt, the sense of frustration and futility. We had been fighting the Gontuganti for almost a year, and together with a great alliance of other nations we had won a great and mighty victory over a powerful faction of them at the great city of Lyshura.

But the Gontuganti included many tribes and nations, and so my people and I had spent most of the past ten months or so tracking down each new band or tribe or army of Gontuganti as they invaded our world.

We could kill Gontuganti, could defeat them in battle, but our victories were all too hollow, for they were masters of reincarnation. Kill a Gontugant, and he or she would be reborn in another body.

Our victory had bought us time against the powerful Yuhoxai Confederation, but I knew that our time was almost up. The Yuhoxai Confederation would return to our world before too much longer, and in any case we were already facing plenty of other Gontuganti.

All of it made me frustrated, anxious, and fearful.

But my name is King Rosteval of the Ponteppatra, Rosteval the son of Bosvadal, of the line of Verestam of the Barduvatra.

And a king cannot afford the luxury of indulging his fear, anxiety, and doubt in front of those who look to him for leadership.

I looked Cat-Eye Touhai in the eye, both eyes, not looking away from her gyre-eye. Most people found it unnerving, but I knew that it was a blessing, a gift from my former mentor, Cat-Eye Pon—the very man who had enslaved her and prepared her to be his heiress.

A king must be able to see things in people. When I looked at Cat-Eye Touhai, I saw a woman who wore her strength and sacred power as a mask and a mantle, elevating her above others and commanding their respect.

But I also knew that her eye, the visible symbol of her power and status as prophetess and priestess of the cult of Cat-Eye Pon, set her apart from others. Everyone else both respected and feared her. Therein lay the nature of her power, and therein lay the reason she was alone.

And I knew that in addition to being alone, she was fearful not only for herself and for all of us, but also for her small son Tollibek, the son Cat-Eye Pon had impregnated her with before she had killed Cat-Eye Pon at his own command.

We will prevail, my dear Cat-Eye Touhai, I said, putting my hand on her shoulder, still not looking away from her gyre-eye.

She stared back, but even so, still I did not look away.

I knew that had I spoken falsehood, she would have detected it in the subtle motions of my eyes and, as she had told me, of the muscles around them. If I did not truly believe what I was saying, she would know the truth of it whether I willed it or not.

But I did not speak falsehood: I spoke the certainty that was in my heart, a certainty born of the iron in my soul, the will to prevail, and the faith and trust I had in Cat-Eye Pon’s own vision.

Her eye bored into me, but I reveled in it. She could see me as no other person could, and I was the only one who cared to see her as a person, not merely a wielder of great power.

Some of the tension went out of her body, and she managed a smile. Thank you, Rosteval my king. Your strength is the succor of all your people.

Her faith in me was like a flame that warmed my soul, a flame I was determined to protect.

The responsibility was a weighty burden, one that I could feel in my very body: a tightness in the muscles of my shoulders and back. That tightness was a recurrent, almost a constant, presence. I suspected it would remain so until we put paid to the Gontuganti for good.

Come, I said, extending my hand to help her off the gateway altar, let us go and have our council of war.

The gateway altar was at the crown of a hill, and Cat-Eye Touhai and I had gone up alone save for one other person, who stood waiting at attendance: a bare-breasted slave-girl with a dusky reddish-brown sepia complexion, dark, wavy locks, and laughing gold-brown eyes.

She wore a short white kilt hemmed with purple and a cloth-of-gold tasseled fringe, a kilt that marked her as my personal property and thus off-limits to the amorous intentions of any other man. I had also given her silver bracelets and a silver necklace studded with purple amethysts, and she was never without them.

Sahulon was not only my personal slave-girl, responsible for waiting on me at meals and carrying messages, but also my head slave-girl.

Until we had retaken Tekoro-Athu from the armies of my grandfather Hamarvan, I had not known I would need a head slave-girl to manage the other slave-girls of my household. Sahulon had convinced me of the need for this very position, and in the months since she had vindicated herself many times over.

She lowered her eyes as I turned toward her, but I saw the flash of sympathy in them all the same. She knew I was under a great deal of stress.

Sahulon, I said, go ahead and tell the slave-girls to prepare food and drink for a council of war in the heart of camp.

My master, I have done as you commanded, she said. We have stew with goat, fresh-baked flat-bread, rice, palm-wine, beer, and arak.

I frowned. Did I already order that?

She smiled. Yes, master, and your Sahulon gave orders to the slave-girls to carry out your will.

Now I was forgetting things, apparently. How wonderful.

I put my hand on Sahulon’s bare shoulder and kissed her brow. Sahulon, my sweet slave-girl, thank you for keeping track of my orders better than I am able to.

Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Sahulon your slave is pleased to serve.

We made our way down the hill, Cat-Eye Touhai walking by my side and Sahulon following about three paces behind me.

Cat-Eye Touhai glanced toward me, as if wanting to speak, but I sensed hesitation in her uncovered right eye—she had put the eye-patch back over the left.

Something is on your mind, my dear Cat-Eye Touhai.

She gave a self-conscious laugh. How do you do that? I am the one with this eye. She pointed toward the eye-patch that covered her left eye.

I stopped and turned toward her. We were about a quarter of the way down the hill, still out of earshot from anyone besides Sahulon.

A king must sense what his people need from him, I said. Tell me what troubles you.

She sighed. Many things trouble me, my king, but the thing that is on my heart at the moment is the irregularity. We must mend it, or risk a divided god.

Who could have imagined that maintaining a god would be so challenging?

How widespread is the deviated pattern? I asked.

Her right eye narrowed, and her mouth made a hard, firm line. Most of the Veyadians, yes, and Kartash and his followers are supportive as well.

I felt a pang of annoyance, followed by frustration, like crawling ants on my skin. She had named an important faction within our people, as well as one of my most talented commanders.

Tell me our options, I said.

Her right eye held a determined hardness I admired. Either we force them to correct, or we have a split god. I am sorry, Rosteval my king, but Touhai your priestess sees no other options.

I understand, I said. We will speak to them.

Her face softened, and some of the tension left her frame. Again, my king, thank you.

I put my hand on her shoulder, looked her full in the eye. My dear Touhai, it is I who must thank you. Without you, we would not have so powerful a god.

She smiled, and I gestured for us to continue down the hill.

And if the pain and tension in my shoulders and back was worse, so be it: I was a king, and a king must be responsible for his people.

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We made our way toward the pavilions of woven rattan and palm thatch at the center of our encampment, and our people hailed us as we passed by. Four of my own guards fell into step as we reached the encampment, two flanking me on either side at a distance of several paces.

I gave my people my best firm, confident smile, greeting the men with hails and returning their salutes. My people, the Ponteppatra, were an alliance that I had formed between various tribes, and to which I had added over time.

We had spent most of the past ten months in a state of on-again, off-again campaigning. Almost every month or two, we would receive word of another Gontugant band on the march, and we would set out to track them down and try to destroy them.

My people were weary of campaigning. I could see it in their eyes, their faces, in the way that so many of them seemed to be either lounging around drinking palm-wine or sleeping.

But what choice did we have? If we did not campaign against our enemies, they would only overrun our world that much sooner.

As I approached the pavilions, my cousin Daryubal hailed me. What word, my king?

He shared my yellow-gold eyes, a common trait among the tribe of our birth, the Barduvatra, and the other Ketaryat tribes and other peoples