The Key to Creation (12 page)

With an iron mallet and chisel, the blacksmith snapped a link and pulled the chain away with a loud ringing rattle. Two palace guards grasped the curved bronze handles and pulled open the massive doors. Light poured into the darkened church.

As arranged, Kuari stood just on the other side of the entrance, as if she had been waiting there for weeks. A matronly woman with broad hips and square shoulders, she wore the embroidered scarlet robes of her new office. Her neck and wrists were adorned with golden-fern jewelry, and her hair was pulled back and secured with a jeweled ringlet. Hers was not the exotic dark-skinned beauty of Erima from Lahjar, nor was she a seductress like the previous ur-sikara Lukai. Kuari was stern but fair, a powerhouse who looked capable of leading the church through this time of turmoil—in partnership with the soldan-shah.

“Our holy church welcomes you, Soldan-Shah Omra, descendant of Urec.” Kuari emerged from the gloom of the entrance into the sunlight, holding a tall staff capped by a polished fern.

Omra stepped closer to the woman. “I searched for a wise and fair ur-sikara to replace those who inflicted so much damage upon the church. And I have found her.”

During the preparation for his announcement, he had spoken with her at length, interviewing and then interrogating the woman to understand her attitude toward power, politics, and the church. Exactly as Istar had suggested, Omra found Kuari to be a sensible woman—more so than most of his own soldans. As the two had grown more comfortable in their private conversation, she told him chilling and unbelievable stories about her own training as a sikara. From her personal experiences, she understood the deep rot in the church of Urec; in fact, he suspected she might impose more substantive reforms than the ones Omra had requested.

She spoke in a clear, penetrating voice. “The corrupt ones have been rooted out, and my first act as ur-sikara is to excommunicate them from Urec’s fold. They shall no longer be blessed by the light of the Golden Fern.”

Hearing this, the people whispered with awe.

“Our church is pure again,” Omra said. Kuari bowed her head as he completed the ceremony. “With the endorsement of your soldan-shah and the blessings of Urec, I hereby invest you in your office as the leader and mother of the church.”

Istar and Naori waited on the step below the carved wooden door. Omra turned to his First Wife, who handed him the golden Amulet of Urec, which had always been the property of the ur-sikara. Kuari leaned forward so that he could slip the medallion over her head. “Help us all to follow the Map.” The Amulet rested comfortably on her ample chest, gleaming in the sunlight.

After Tukar’s funeral ceremony, when Imir had chastised him for worrying too much about Ishalem and not enough about the rest of Uraba, Omra had pondered much until he realized that he had a solution. When he offered the idea, Kuari had immediately endorsed it.

He spoke to the people now, “Because Ishalem is our holy city, Ur-Sikara Kuari will establish her residence in the new main church there. Ishalem will become the center of the religious world, while I will remain in Olabar to govern our secular realm.” It would be an efficient balance and separation.

Kuari rapped the heel of her staff on the flagstones, giving the next announcement. “As the mother of the church, I am now forced to give up earthly comforts. I can no longer serve as the wife of Soldan Huttan. Instead, I will take up residence in Ishalem and fulfill my new role.”

Omra did not let his smile show. Neither Kuari or Huttan had voiced any objections to severing their marriage ties.

“The ur-sikara and the soldan-shah must work together to defeat our enemy, who attacks us both in this world and in our faith.” He raised his hand, and Kuari reached out to clasp it, presenting a unified front. “In a week’s time I will sail with Ur-Sikara Kuari to Ishalem, where we will consecrate the new church. From her new home, she will guide us all.”

Kuari was perfect, he thought. He would thank Istar again for her wisdom. After all the recent chaos, Omra felt that the internal politics of Uraba were finally stabilizing.

Now all he had to worry about was the Tierrans.

Calay, Military District

Tierran military experts fleshed out the queen’s plan and set up schedules—when the army must be at full strength encamped at the Ishalem wall, when the navy could form its complete blockade of Ishalem’s western harbor, and when Destrar Broeck needed to arrive with his armored ships on the opposite side of the isthmus. The Urabans would be caught in the middle of all three forces—but only with the proper timing.

Working with her personal scribe, Queen Anjine drew up a document that laid down the detailed schedule leading to the battle and beyond. The coordination and preparation for such a large operation would take months, but the onset of winter in the Corag mountains made it imperative that messengers head off immediately to guarantee at least one of them would get over the pass so that Destrar Broeck knew his part.

To keep the vital information from falling into Uraban hands, Anjine’s lady-in-waiting Enifir translated each copy into an obscure Iborian dialect—which Broeck could read, but would be gibberish to anyone who wasn’t from the northern reach. The riders raced off on fast horses, each separated by a day, heading up into the Corag mountains.

For most of his life, Jenirod and his father had not gotten along well, and he had only recently come to the bitter conclusion that
he
was mostly to blame. Destrar Unsul was a wise leader of Erietta Reach, tending to the tedious day-to-day matters that cocky Jenirod had always found boring. It shamed the young man to remember how he and his friends had snickered at Unsul’s dull life. Now Jenirod had to admit that he’d been an annoying, immature ass. If the war ever ended, he would go back to Erietta and study his father’s windmills and irrigation improvements with a new eye.

First, though, the Urabans had to be defeated.

Jenirod bunked in the barracks so he could help Comdar Rief plan the massive three-pronged assault on Ishalem. He wanted to be available at all hours, should any of the leaders ask his advice. To the best of his abilities, Jenirod had given a full accounting of the size and apparent capabilities of the seven captured ironclads. He estimated the production capacity of the Gremurr mines and smelters, and offered his best guess as to how many freed prisoners—and potential soldiers—Broeck could enlist for his own part of the operation. When Jenirod talked, his voice was bleak. The boyish thrill of war had been burned out of him.…

He ate a lunch of soup and fresh bread at the officers’ table in the mess barracks, and Destrar Shenro joined him, grinning as he sat down. “Isn’t it wonderful for Alamont and Erietta to have a true enemy after so many rivalries between our reaches?”

The Alamont destrar had let his hair grow long, perhaps because he thought it made him look more like a warrior. Jenirod, however, had learned that long hair merely gave enemy combatants something to grab, which was not a particularly good idea in real fighting.

“Rivalries are very different from warfare,” Jenirod said. “I didn’t understand the difference before, but now I certainly do.”

Shenro made a habit of attending strategy sessions with Comdar Rief and his advisers. He fancied himself a military historian, but he had no actual battlefield experience (though he longed for it). Alamont was Tierra’s only landlocked reach, and most Urecari attacks came by sea. The more Shenro proposed audacious military advances on Uraba, the more Jenirod was reminded of himself only a few months earlier.

“We understand about war and suffering,” Shenro said. “Ninety of my brave men rode off to seize Ishalem after the soldan-shah invaded it, and they were all slaughtered. Martyrs for Aiden.” He sighed and shook his head. “Soon enough my people can avenge that sacrifice.”

Jenirod gave a noncommittal nod. Now that he considered those ninety dead Alamont riders from a new perspective, he concluded that their lives had been wasted. Brash and poorly prepared, vastly outnumbered, without a plan. If the Urecari had
not
killed those riders, then they would have been the fools. But he didn’t expect the people of Alamont to see it that way.

“I remember the old days,” Shenro said wistfully, “when my father used to tell me about the beautiful women of Erietta.”

“Yes, they are beautiful.” Jenirod recalled how the ladies had swooned over him during Eriettan horse cavalcades.

Shenro recounted the story of how the brother of an Alamont destrar, many generations ago, had grown enamored of a beautiful Eriettan girl. “When she declined his marriage proposal—a political thing, I suppose—the smitten man rode to your reach, kidnapped the girl, and took her back to Alamont. One of our presters wed them in the middle of the night.” Shenro chuckled at the tale. “That almost led to open war between our reaches until the king stepped in and forced the Alamont destrar to offer his own daughter in return as wife to an Eriettan nobleman.”

Jenirod grunted, not amused by the story. “That deal still favored Alamont, since the Eriettan girl was much lovelier than your destrar’s daughter.”

Shenro answered with a good-natured laugh. Then with wolfish hunger he pressed for details of who had been slain at Gremurr and how they had died. “It must have been glorious! Our poets and minstrels have plenty of material for new works. This is a good reason to celebrate.”

“Nobody felt much like celebrating.” Jenirod continued to eat his soup and bread. “Let me tell you about my own battle experiences.” He set his spoon aside, and Shenro listened eagerly. “When I was betrothed to Queen Anjine, I wanted to impress her by winning a great victory in her honor. Destrar Tavishel and I set off to desecrate one of the heathen shrines as a way to thumb our noses at the Curlies and show them that we’re not afraid of their Urec.”

Shenro nodded. “Yes, Fashia’s Fountain—I’ve heard of it. You killed many of them.”

“We killed many women and pilgrims—
none
of them fighters. I thought I would turn into a soldier that day. Instead, I just felt like an animal. They screamed for mercy, but we didn’t grant it. Their blood fouled a pure spring. Fashia’s Fountain was a beautiful place, a crystal pool with a waterfall.” Jenirod blinked; his eyes burned, and his ears rang with the echoes of dying Urecari priestesses and pilgrims.

“And even after that,” Shenro said, picking up the story and still oblivious, “the Curlies didn’t surrender and leave us alone. They killed Prince Tomas. Obviously, they will never learn their lesson.” He grinned. “I can’t wait until our army marches.”

Jenirod went back to eating his soup with a heavy heart. It seemed the Alamont destrar was also incapable of learning a lesson.

Gremurr Foothills

Though they faced another cold night, Shetia was too frightened to build a campfire. She and Ulan faced despair and starvation in the tangled trees of an enclosed canyon. The two huddled together, trying to keep warm, shivering as much from fear of being caught by Aidenists as from the chill in the air.

They were both woefully unskilled in making a rough camp. Being married to Tukar had not been full of extravagances, but she had never been forced to hunt her own food or build a fire out of dry brush. So far, she had kept the two of them alive, just barely, but they wouldn’t last many more days.

Somehow, even without a telltale fire to draw his attention, their old household slave managed to track them down. “I brought blankets.” Firun extended ragged swatches of cloth. “I’m sorry that I could find nothing better, my Lady. They are the same blankets given to slaves in the barracks.”

Though they were thin, dirty, and probably lice-ridden, Shetia made no complaints. “Thank you, Firun. This will keep us alive for a while longer.” She wrapped one around Ulan’s shoulders and the boy pulled it close, crouching down.

Shetia swallowed a hard lump of fear in her throat, knowing that if Firun could find them, so might someone else, but he reassured her. “No one is searching for you. They believe they’ve rounded up all the Urabans at Gremurr, and Destrar Broeck does not suspect you’re hiding in the hills.”

The boy’s puppy came forward, wagging its tail with such vigor that it seemed to be shivering. Scrawny now, it licked Firun’s hand, obviously recognizing the old man.

He patted the dog and nudged it toward Ulan, who enfolded it in the blankets. “You always treated me well enough, my Lady. I know you weren’t responsible for the wars of your people. And Tukar tried to do his best.”

“Did you bring any food?” Ulan piped up. “I found berries this afternoon, and some flowers that Mother said we could eat, but they tasted bitter. I’m still hungry.”

“I brought what little food I could smuggle out, young man.” The household servant looked sad. “Many storehouses were destroyed by the mammoths and the fires, and no more Uraban supply ships have arrived. We’ll have a hard time of it when winter sets in. Destrar Siescu just delivered a load with his supply train, but even the Aidenist rations are still tight.”

“I feel no sympathy for them,” Shetia snapped. “They destroy whatever they touch, and they didn’t care who they hurt. They took everything that was ours. They had no right!”

“Now, we don’t want to argue about that, my Lady.” Firun’s tone was cool as he unwrapped lumps of hard bread, three scrawny carrots, some nuts, and a wedge of moldy goat’s cheese. “I certainly don’t blame you and the boy, but your people did build these mines on Tierran soil and forced Aidenist prisoners to work them. The queen is justified in taking back her own territory and freeing her subjects.”

Shetia bit her tongue, remembering that despite his present kindness Firun was still a Tierran who believed in the Fishhook.

Ulan looked at the food eagerly. “What can we feed my dog?”

“A good dog can hunt his own dinner,” Firun said. “This food is just for you, to keep you strong and healthy.”

But the boy was adamant. “I need to feed my dog!” He broke off a chunk of bread and extended it to the thin puppy, who gulped it down. “Maybe I can sneak into their camp one night and take some food.”