Adasa Orsun rose up from belowdecks, stretched her arms over her head, and yawned a wide, deep yawn.

"We've made good time," she said, and she believed it. So probably they were.

"How can you tell?" Marcus asked. "It's not like there's a road you can follow or landmarks to see."

"The water changes," she said. "We'll be to the islands in two, three more days. We have enough water and food until then."

"We probably will," Kit agreed.

"Was that in question?" Marcus asked. "I thought we'd intentionally packed enough to make it to the place we could get more. Did I misunderstand that?"

The Timzinae woman snorted derision.

"It's the sea," she said. "There's always a question."

W.

hat about questions?" Marcus asked three days later as they walked down the stony streets of the island waystation. Ahead of them, Adasa Orsun was haggling with a Southling.

"What about them?"

"Can you have a false question?" Marcus said. "For instance, if I said something like, Isn't Sandr full of himself? or You can't do that, can you? They both mean something, but it's not something that's true, exactly, is it?"

"You're forgetting. It isn't truth. It's never truth. It's certainty. A question is uncertain by its nature."

"But if I say, I don't know ..."

"You can be certain that you're ignorant," Kit said.

The Southling held up two fingers, the Timzinae three.

"What about, I think her name is Adasa."

"You're certain of that, yes."

"I think her name is Mycah."

"You aren't certain of that. In fact, I suspect you're certain that it isn't. Though I wouldn't know that based only on what you said."

"That's a strange line you walk," Marcus said as they came to a rough corner. Nothing in the waystation was straight. The roads twisted and turned, following the shape of the rock. It gave the place an inhuman feel that Kit recognized and respected. It felt like the temple from which he'd fled.

"I think we all walk it all the time. I may be a bit more aware of it. I believe this is the place we needed. Only let me tell our captain where we've gone."

He walked over to her. The spiders in his blood were excited, dancing and tugging at him. Being around so many people caught their attention after so long with only the same two. And there might only be five or six dozen people on the island, so small was it. To go from a long voyage into a real port was a deeply unpleasant experience. But that was a problem for another day.

"I can't go lower than this and make enough to buy food," the Southling man was lying.

Kit touched Adasa Orsun's shoulder.

"Forgive me. I'm thinking of taking Marcus to the geographer's shop over there. When you're done here, will you look for us there?"

"I can," she said.

"Thank you, and he can go lower and still buy food."

"You are a madman," the Southling called after him. "Madman!"

Inside the shack, an old Southling woman sat on a stool. Her wide black eyes took them in without seeming to see them. Or perhaps it was only that she passed no judgments.

"You've come for a map?" she asked.

"I hope we have," Kit said. "I'm looking for the reliquary of Assian Bey."

"You and everyone else," the woman said, amused.

"Do you have a copy of the Silas map?"

To the degree that a Southling's eyes could narrow, hers did.

"That map doesn't exist," she lied.

"It does, and I am the man who is to have it," he said. In his blood, his body, the tiny things began to stretch and flail. He felt their delight. "Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You need to show me that map."

"I don't ..."

"I do," Kit said. "It's going to be all right."

The woman scowled, but then she held up a single finger.

"Wait here," she said. "I have to go look at something."

Another lie, but perhaps not too far from the truth. If she didn't have the map herself, she at least might know where it was.

"What's a Silas map?" Marcus asked.

"It's the one that the last people to try to reach the reliquary used," Kit said. "It seems like the best starting place."

Marcus put a hand on Kit's shoulder, turning him gently.

"Have you just told me that you don't know where this place is?"

"I do. It's on the north shore of Lyoneia," Kit said. "Probably."

Marcus closed his eyes.

"You don't know."

"I could be more precise, but I think I'd be less accurate," Kit said. "I believe there's a word for reliquaries that are easily found and commonly known."

"Is the word empty?"

"All words are empty, until a living will fills them," Kit said. "But yes. I'd been thinking more of looted."

"You could have told me before."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Yes," Marcus said, and they both knew he was lying.

Dramatis Personae.

Persons of interest and import in The King's Blood.

IN IMPERIAL ANTEA.

The Royal Family King Simeon, Emperor of Antea.

Aster, his son and heir House Palliako Lehrer Palliako, Viscount of Rivenhalm.

Geder Palliako, his son. Also Baron of Ebbingbaugh and Protector of the Prince House Kalliam.

Dawson Kalliam, Baron of Osterling Fells Clara Kalliam, his wife Barriath Vicarian, and Jorey; their sons also various servants and slaves, including Andrash rol Estalan, door slave to House Kalliam Vincen Coe, huntsman in the service of House Kalliam Abatha Coe, his cousin House Skestinin Lord Skestinin, master of the Imperial Navy Lady Skestinin, his wife Sabiha, their somewhat disgraced daughter her illegitimate son House Annerin Elisia Annerin (formerly Kalliam), daughter of Clara and Dawson Gorman Annerin, son and heir of Lord Annerin and husband of Elisia Corl, their son House Daskellin Canl Daskellin, Baron of Watermarch and Ambassador to Northcoast Sanna, one of his daughters Also, various lords and members of the court, including Lord Ternigan, Lord Marshal to King Simeon Sodai Carvenallin, his secretary Sir Curtin Issandrian Sir Alan Klin Sir Gospey Allintot Sir Lauren Essian Sir Soluz Veren Sir Sesil Veren Fallon Broot, Baron of Suderling Heights Daved Broot, his son Lord Bannien of Estinford Count Odderd Mastellin Estin Cersillian, Earl of Masonhalm Mirkus Shoat, Earl of Rivencourt and also Houses Flor, Estinford, Faskellan, Emming, Tilliakin, Mastellin, Mecilli, Caot, and Pyrellin, among others The Players Kitap rol Keshmet, called Master Kit, apostate of the spider goddess Cary Hornet Smit Charlit Soon Mikel Sandr Basrahip, minister of the spider goddess and counselor to Geder Palliako also some dozen priests IN BIRANCOUR.

The Medean bank in Porte Oliva Cithrin bel Sarcour, voice of the Medean bank in Porte Oliva Pyk Usterhall, her notary Marcus Wester, her guard captain. Also the hero of Gradis and Wodford Yardem Hane, his second in command The bank's guard, including: Barth Corisen Mout Ahariel Akkabrian Roach Hart Enen Iderrigo Bellind Siden, Prime Governor of Porte Oliva Qahuar Em, rival to the Medean bank and former lover of Cithrin Arinn Costallin, his business acquaintance from Herez Maestro Asanpur, a cafe owner Capsen Gostermak, a poet and keeper of doves Maceo Rinal, a pirate Dar Cinlama, a hunter of ancient treasures and seeker of lost places IN NORTHCOAST.

King Tracian The Medean bank in Carse Komme Medean, head of the Medean bank Lauro Medean, son of Komme Chana Medean, daughter of Komme Paerin Clark, husband of Chana Magister Nison, voice of the Medean bank in Carse IN ASTERILHOLD.

King Lechan Sir Darin Ashford, ambassador to Antea IN SUDDAPAL.

Epetchi, a cook Adasa Orsun, a sea captain THE DEAD.

Feldin Maas, formerly Baron of Ebbingbaugh, killed for treason Phelia Maas, his wife, dead at her husband's hand Magister Imaniel, voice of the Medean bank in Vanai and protector of Cithrin also Cam, a housekeeper, and Besel, a man of convenience, burned in the razing of Vanai Alys, wife of Marcus Wester also Merian, their daughter, burned to death as a tactic of intrigue Lord Springmere, the Mayfly King, killed in vengeance Morade, the last Dragon Emperor, said to have died from wounds Inys, clutch-mate of Morade whose manner of death is not recorded Asteril, clutch-mate of Morade, maker of the Timzinae, dead of poison Drakkis Stormcrow, great human general of the last war of the dragons, dead of age.

An Introduction to the Taxonomy of Races.

(From a manuscript attributed to Malasin Calvah, Taxonomist to Kleron Nuasti Cau, fifth of his name).

The ordering and arrangements of the thirteen races of humanity by blood, order of precedence, mating combination, or purpose is, by necessity, the study of a lifetime. It should occasion no concern that the finer points of the great and complex creation should seem sometimes confused and obscure. It is the intent of this essay to introduce the layman to the beautiful and fulfilling path which is taxonomy.

I shall begin with a brief guide to which the reader may refer.

Firstblood.

The Firstblood are the feral, near-bestial form from which all humanity arose. Had there been no dragons to form the twelve crafted races from this base clay, humanity would have been exclusively of the Firstblood. Even now, they are the most populous of the races, showing the least difficulty in procreation, and spreading throughout the known world as a weed might spread through a rose garden. I intend no offense by the comparison, but truth knows no etiquette.

The Eastern Triad.

The oldest of the crafted races form the Eastern Triad: Jasuru, Yemmu, and Tralgu.

The Jasuru are often assumed to be the first of the higher races. They share the rough size and shape of the Firstblood, but with the metallic scales of lesser dragons. Most likely, they were created as a rough warrior caste, overseers to control the Firstblood slaves.

The Yemmu are clearly a later improvement. Their great size and massive tusks could only have been designed to intimidate the lesser races, but as with other examples of crafted races, the increase in size and strength has come at a cost. Of all the races, the Yemmu have the shortest natural lifespan.

The Tralgu are almost certainly the most recent of the Eastern Triad. They are taller than the Firstblood and with the fierce teeth and keen hearing of a natural carnivore, and common wisdom holds that they were bred for hunting more than formal battle. In the ages since the fall of dragons, it is likely only their difficulty in whelping that has kept them from forcible racial conquest.

The Western Triad.

As the Eastern Triad marks an age of war in which races were created as weapons of war, the western races delineate an age in which the dragons began to create more subtle tools. Cinnae, Dartinae, and Timzinae each show the marks of creation for specific uses.

The Cinnae, when compared to all other races, are thin and pale as sprouts growing under a bucket. However, they have a marked talent in the mental arts, though the truly deep insights have tended to escape them. As the Jasuru are a first attempt at a warrior caste, so the Cinnae may be considered as a rough outline of the races that follow them.

The Dartinae, while dating their creation from the same time, do not share in the Cinnae's slightly better than rudimentary intelligence. Rather, their race was clearly built as a labor force for mining efforts. Their luminescent eyes show a structure unlike any other race, or indeed any known beast of nature. Their ability to navigate in utterly lightless caves is unique, and they tend to have the lithe frames one can imagine squeezing through cramped caves deep underground. Persistent rumors of a hidden Dartinae fortress deep below the earth no doubt spring from this, as no such structure has ever been found, nor would it be likely to survive in the absence of sustainable farming.

The Timzinae are, in fact, the only race whose place in the order of creation is unequivocally known. The youngest of the races, they date from the final war of the dragons. Their dark, insectile scales provide little of the protection that the Jasuru enjoy, but they are capable of utterly encasing the living flesh, even to the point of sealing all bodily orifices including ears and eyes. Their precise function as a tool remains obscure, though some suggest it might have been beekeeping.

The Master Races.

The master races, or High Triad, represent the finest work of the dragons before their inevitable fall into decadence. These are the Kurtadam, Raushadam, and Haunadam.

The Kurtadam, like myself, show the fusion of all the best ideas that came before. The cleverness first hinted at in the Cinnae and the warrior's instinct limned by the Eastern Triad came together in the Kurtadam. Also, alone among the races, the Kurtadam were given the gift of a full pelt of warming hair, and the arts of beading and adornments that clearly represent the highest in etiquette and personal beauty.

The Haunadam exist to the greatest extent in Far Syramys and its territories, and represent the refinement of the warrior impulse that created the Yemmu. While slightly smaller, the tireless Haunadam have a thick mineral layer in their skins which repels violence and a clear and brilliant intellect that has given them utter dominion over the western continent. Their aversion to travel by water restricts their role in the blue-water trade, and has likely prevented military conquest of other nations bounded by the seas.

The Raushadam, like the Haunadam, are primarily to be found in Far Syramys, and function almost as if the two races were designed to act as one with the other. The slightest of frame, Raushadam are the only race gifted by the dragons with flight.

The Decadent Races.

After the arts of the dragons reached their height, there was a necessary and inevitable descent into the oversophisticated. The latter efforts of the dragons brought out the florid and bizarre races: Haaverkin, Southling, and Drowned.

The Haaverkin have spent the centuries since the fall of dragons clinging to the frozen ports of the north. Their foul and aggressive temper is not a sign that they were bred for war, but that an animal let loose without its master will revert to its bestial nature. While they are large as the Yemmu, this is due to the rolls of insulating fat that protect them from the cold north. The facial tattooing has been compared to the Kurtadam ritual beads by those who clearly understand neither.

The Southlings, known for their great black night-adapted eyes, are a study in perversion. Littering the reaches south of Lyoneia, they have built up a culture equal parts termite hill and nomadic tribe worship. While capable of sexual reproduction, these wide-eyed halfhumans prefer to delegate such activity to a central queen figure, with her subjects acting as drones. Whether they were bred to people the living deserts of the south or migrated there after the fall of dragons because they were unable to compete with the greater races is a fit subject of debate.

The Drowned are the final evidence of the decadence of the dragons. While much like the Firstblood in size and shape, the Drowned live exclusively underwater in all human climes. Interaction with them is slow when it is possible, and their tendency to gather in shallow tidepools marks them as little better than human seaweed. Suggestions that they are tools created toward some great draconic project still in play under the waves is purest romance.

With this as a grounding, we can address the five philosophical practices that determine how an educated mind orders, ranks, and ultimately judges the races ...