A Secret Atlas (69 page)

had picked to run them, the bureaucracy and governments had a vested interest in

maintaining that her actions were justifiable and legitimate. But Nelesquin’s difference of

opinion was understandable—especially as he was a contemporary of hers.

The Gloon leaped from one bier to another and crouched on the broad chest of a warrior’s

effigy. “Nelesquin entered into negotiations with the Turasynd. They were led by a god-

priest of considerable power. Nelesquin trailed them into Ixyll, hoping to let both sides

weaken themselves so he could destroy them and return to take the Imperial throne. The

Empress, worried about a lack of communication from him, sent those entombed around

you to see if he needed help. Under the leadership of Virisken Soshir, we discovered him

in negotiations with the enemy. We struck at him and the Turasynd leader.

“We were greatly outnumbered, but fought valiantly. I do not imagine our bodies were

recovered by Nelesquin and buried thusly. So I assume the Empress proved victorious,

and that both the Turasyndi and Nelesquin were destroyed.” He opened his arms. “This

tomb is of Imperial style, so she must have had survivors who did this for us. It is her

progeny that yet rule the Empire, is it not?”

Keles shook his head. “The Nine Principalities still exist. We are from Nalenyr and were

sent to survey the old Spice Route. At least, I was. You said there were skirmishes. The

dead were buried with their weapons. Would you know where those burial places are?”

“They might be possible to find. Why?”

Keles shifted around and slid his feet to the floor. His knees did not buckle, but he leaned

back against the bier as Tyressa came around to steady him. “Their weapons have value

back in the Nine. And we think there might be those who would use their bodies for corpse

dust.”

“I can show you what I know, but this would be as nothing compared to the place where

the dead from the final battle were buried. You would have to venture further west to find

that site.”

Keles levered himself away from the bier and stood. “Then we need to get out of here.

You said you have never been outside, but you have survived. What do you do for water

and food?”

The Soth Gloon pointed toward the darker recesses of the cavern. “In there you will find

seeps that suffice for water. There is also a colony of bats. I do not eat much, and they are

filling when I do.”

“If there are bats, then there is a way out.”

Urardsa nodded. “There is a crack in the ceiling of a chamber through which they exit

each night. I do not like heights, so I have not ventured forth.”

“I’m going to go take a look.”

Tyressa’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Not alone.”

Keles nodded, then looked over at Borosan. “Tyressa and I are going to take a look at a

way out of here. We will be back soon.”

Borosan looked up from his tinkering and nodded, but said nothing.

Keles took one of his lanterns and they headed off. The finished part of the complex

narrowed deeper in, but the passage remained large enough that they could move without

much more than stooping. Keles had come unarmed, but Tyressa had looped her sword

belt around her waist. The scabbard kept slapping at rocks and caught a couple of times,

but did not slow them much.

After a steep climb that leveled out into a narrow passage, Keles sat. “Just need to rest for

a moment.”

Tyressa knelt beside him and brought the lantern up to examine his face. “It’s bleeding a

little, but not too badly.”

“It’s not getting in my eyes.” He glanced up at her. “What did you think of Urardsa’s story?”

She shrugged. “It sounds true, and I have no reason to doubt it.”

“But there are implications that I wonder about. The tomb complex, for example, was not

easily built. Assuming the Empress survived, she must have had a considerable number

of men to work on it.”

“I agree.”

“So why didn’t she come back with them?”

Tyressa’s breath caught. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’s waiting out there somewhere as the legends say?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. I guess, as we go further west, we’ll find out.” He stood again. “C’mon, let’s

see if we can get out.”

“And hope we find another entrance, because neither the horses nor Rekarafi are going to

fit this way.”

They scraped their way along a tight passage that then opened out into a relatively steep

climb about thirty yards up. At first Keles welcomed it, but then a stench hit him. Halfway

up, bat guano covered rocks and deepened as they climbed. Where the passage

widened, the dung dragged at their feet. Insect larvae and dying bats wallowed in it and

when Tyressa raised the lantern, the cavern roof seemed to heave and ripple with bodies.

Both of them moved through as quickly as they could, but that was not nearly fast enough.

They found a narrow ledge that angled up and finally caught sight of a red streak they took

to be the evening sky. This heartened them, and they moved more quickly. Being smaller,

Keles was able to crawl up the crack swiftly and emerged into a cold evening. But the

fresh air was bracing.

The landscape stretched out, painted in bloody tones by the dying sun, and would have

riveted his attention, save something more close demanded it. As he emerged, a trio of

men stood up. Two held crossbows leveled at his middle. They’d been sheltered in a small

hollow beyond a rock, and had a small fire burning there.

Keles raised his hands. “Easy, I’m no threat to you. I’m Keles Anturasi and this is

Tyressa.” He half turned back as her right hand reached out to grab a rock. “We got

trapped out here by a storm.”

The man without the crossbow nodded. “They’ve been pretty fierce. Anturasi, you say? Of

Nalenyr?”

Keles nodded. “Do I know you?”

“No, not at all.” He pointed at Tyressa, half-emerged from the crevasse. “Shoot her. We’ve

got what we want.”

A crossbow twanged and Tyressa grunted. Keles spun and saw her disappear back into

the cavern.

The leader snarled. “Make sure.”

The two crossbowmen advanced, but before they could reach the opening, a cloud of bats

exploded into the sky. Leathery wings snapped and tiny voices shrieked. The cloud

became a blurred brown sheet pouring out, circling, rising into the sky. The crossbowmen

yelped and dove for cover.

Keles turned and started to run, but a fist caught him behind the left ear and he went down

hard. He twisted onto his right shoulder, hoping to prevent his head from hitting the rocks.

He succeeded, but only at the cost of his collarbone, which snapped easily. He rolled onto

his back and cried out, his left hand clutching at the break.

The trio’s leader placed a booted foot on his chest. “Be quiet. You’ll be taken care of.” The

man smiled. “Prince Pyrust would be upset if we let anything happen to you, Master

Anturasi. You’re safe now, under his protection. And before you know it, you’ll be able to

thank him yourself.”

9th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Anturasikun, Moriande

Nalenyr

Prince Cyron felt the weight of the heavy white mourning cloak; it caught at his legs as he

marched through Anturasikun. Similar cloaks shrouded the forms of the Keru before and

behind him. White cloth covered painting and murals on the walls, hid furnishings, and

otherwise obscured almost anything of color or interest.

Not only did mourning colors predominate, but grief pervaded the tower. Siatsi remained

indisposed, and had not yet responded to the note of condolence the Prince had sent

immediately upon learning of Nirati’s murder. She had, however, had the messenger

return her thanks.

Qiro Anturasi had not even done that much.

Cyron himself had been told of the murder and had gone to the scene of the crime. Even if

he had been as battle-hardened as Prince Pyrust, he was certain he would still have

vomited. To just look into the room and see the beautiful young woman’s head perched on

a mound of meat was an incongruity that offended even before one realized that the

mound was the rest of her. She had been taken to pieces with incredible skill. Cyron’s

Lord of Shadows had estimated it would have taken five hours to accomplish that task,

though how anyone could have remained sane that long was beyond any of them.

To compound matters, Count Junel Aerynnor had been found in a nearby alley with a

dagger thrust into his back. An inch or two to the left and it would have severed an artery.

He would have bled to death had rescuers not come across him. He had regained

consciousness on the eighth, and told a tale of being kidnapped and brought to the

murder site. He had been forced to look at what they had done to the Anturasi woman.

He’d broken away from his captors—Desei agents according to him—and had been hit

with a thrown dagger. Why they had not killed him he did not know, but—as far as he was

concerned—in killing Nirati they had ended his life.

Cyron had immediately communicated his regrets to the Anturasi clan, offering to do all he

could for them. He promised his people would find Nirati’s killer, but with the murder of

Majiata Phoesel yet unsolved, that promise sounded hollow even to him. Cyron had even

gone so far as to promise Qiro he could leave Anturasikun to attend Nirati’s funeral, and

had opened his own family’s crypt to allow her to be interred in the outer chamber.

The Prince had expected some response from Qiro, but got nothing. No doubt the man

was grief-stricken. He likely was also trying to communicate with his grandsons to let them

know of their sister’s death. He had hoped the offer of freedom would bring some

response—likewise the honor of having Nirati buried in the Komyr crypt—but still there

was no word. Even sending stonemasons to ask after what sort of stone they would like

for Nirati did not break Qiro’s silence.

Cyron had been understanding, and was willing to allow the man his time to mourn, but

almost immediately complaints had come from merchants who were waiting for Anturasi

charts. They were slow in coming, or never arrived at all. On top of that, the captains

complained that they contained no new information. If they were not getting the latest in

navigational aids, they wanted to lower the percentage paid to the Anturasi family; but

even their demands for renegotiation were going unanswered.

The Keru parted before the gated entrance to the tower’s interior. Beyond it, the huddled

form of Ulan Anturasi waited, his shoulders slumped and his hood fully obscuring his face.

He dropped to one knee behind the bars, but remained far enough back that Cyron could

not have reached through and grabbed him.

“Good day, Highness.”

“Open this gate this instant, Ulan Anturasi! I must see Qiro at once.”

“Opening the gate will do no good, Highness.”

Cyron slipped the clasp on his cloak and let the snowy garment hit the floor. Beneath he

wore a purple overshirt with a gold dragon coiled on it. “Look at me, Ulan Anturasi. You

know who I am and what I represent. Do not play games with me. Do as I say. Open this

gate.”

The old man on the other side slowly rose from his knees. Palsied hands appeared from

within the cloak and fumbled with keys. “It will do no good, Highness. Qiro is not here. I did

not open the gate for him. He did not take my keys. He is gone. I don’t know where, but

gone.”

The panic in Ulan’s voice shocked Cyron much more than the news that Qiro Anturasi was

missing. The information about Qiro’s disappearance had been delivered almost matter-

of-factly, as if this was not the first time Ulan had lost track of him.

Cyron played a hunch. “How long has he been gone this time?”

The man’s head came up and red-rimmed eyes studied the Prince’s face. “You know?”

“Nalenyr is my domain. There is nothing I do not know. How long this time, Ulan?”

“Since the other night. Since the night she—”

“Since the night Nirati was murdered.” Cyron slapped the old man’s hands away from the

keys, fitted the right one into the lock, and turned it. The lock clicked open. Cyron stepped

through the door, relocked it, then tossed the keys to one of his Keru. “No one goes in

here. Get a company of Keru and surround the grounds. Another will search it for any sign

of Qiro’s passage.”

“Yes, Highness.”

Cyron started up the circular ramp. “No one heard anything, saw anything?”

Ulan wheezed as he struggled to keep up. “No, Highness, nothing. Last we knew he was

working. Sometimes he would sleep in his workshop. We called to him, but got no

response.”

The Prince frowned. “What did you find when you searched it?”

“Searched it? Highness?” Ulan looked agog at him. “N-no one . . . We don’t go in there

unless he summons us.”

“What if he died in there, Ulan?”

The man’s lower jaw hung open and quivered. “He’s not dead, Highness. I would know if

Qiro was dead. He’s not. He’s just gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you send for me?”

The man’s voice became a tight squeak. “You are Prince Cyron, but he is Qiro. He has