The Key to Creation (20 page)

“I paid handsomely for those cannons,” Kel Unwar said. “But they will not be enough.”

“Agreed.” The soldan-shah turned to Vishkar. The man’s loyalty was genuine, and Omra trusted him completely. Through the original Istar, who had died in childbirth long ago, their bond of the heart went beyond any bonds of politics. “My friend, I want you to take a ship to all the coastal towns. Meet with sailors, harbormasters, and town leaders, and pull together all worthy vessels that can be refitted as warships. Commandeer them in my name, and rebuild our fleet to protect Ishalem before the Aidenists make their next move.”

Gremurr Mines

Only one of the queen’s three messengers made it safely over the Corag pass and rode a weary horse into the Gremurr complex; he was bedraggled and exhausted, his fingers frostbitten. “The snows are closing in. I fear my two companions will not get through, but we all knew the importance of our mission.”

Destrars Broeck and Siescu gathered around the weary rider. “What news is so desperate? Has something happened to Calay?”

The courier caught his breath. “The fate of Tierra hangs in the balance—Queen Anjine needs you. I have an urgent message regarding plans for our attack on Ishalem.”

“And about time, too!” Broeck laughed.

Siescu was more cautious. “What is the message? What does she need us to do?”

Flushed from his exertion, the man mopped his face and pushed his tangled hair out of the way. “I do not know the details, my Lords. Therefore, even Uraban torturers could not drag the information from me.” He dug a packet wrapped in thin leather out of the sweaty folds of his shirt. “This is written in a coded language that the queen says Destrar Broeck will understand.”

Broeck looked at Siescu, scratching his thick beard in puzzlement. “But I don’t know any codes.” He opened the packet, then laughed as he began to read. “Ha! Enifir used an old Iborian dialect! No Uraban spy would ever be able to translate this—even I can barely decipher it.”

Meanwhile, Firun delivered a hastily assembled meal and hot tea, and the bedraggled courier fell upon the nourishment with renewed energy.

Siescu paced the room and groused as he waited. “Well, what does the message
say
?”

Iaros joined them. Filled with curiosity, he looked over his uncle’s shoulder and moved his lips, struggling with the words in the letter. With a wide grin, he blurted out, “Ah, it seems our victory at Gremurr has inspired the queen! She’s rallying the whole Tierran army and navy to Ishalem.”

Broeck shot a silent, scolding glance at the young man for interrupting him, and Iaros clamped his lips shut, flushing red. The destrar sounded businesslike as he added, “Queen Anjine wants us to take our new ironclads and attack from the east in a coordinated strike. The timing will be critical since she plans to hammer the Curlies from three sides all at once.”

Siescu’s pale brow furrowed. “It will take the queen some time to gather all those forces.”

“Three months,” Broeck grumbled. “By the Fishhook, I’m ready now! But I suppose that’ll give us plenty of time to cause some mayhem of our own. Call it practice.” He already had plenty of ideas.

That evening, in front of a roaring fire in the house that had once belonged to the Uraban workmaster of the mines, Destrar Siescu treated the courier to a special dinner in order to ply him for information that had nothing to do with Tierra’s military plans. Two fat grouse roasted on the fire, shot only that day by Raga Var in the nearby hills.

“The road over the mountains might be good in fair weather, Destrar, but it’s treacherous now that winter is setting in,” the messenger reported. “I hope my two comrades gave up and went home. If not, they’ll be dead by now. Me, I’ll stay here until spring.”

Siescu had other plans. “I have no intention of spending winter in this place—I am the destrar of Corag Reach, and my people are well accustomed to snow and ice conditions in the mountains. Raga Var can lead us anywhere.”

The scout removed a grouse from the roasting spit and served the two men before helping himself to the second grouse. “I can do it, Destrar, but I’d rather not.” Though he had stripped off his furs and wore only a loincloth, Raga Var still perspired in the warm chamber.

Siescu would not be swayed from his decision. “The weather looks fine. We will depart in the morning.”

“I advise against it,” the courier replied, delicately licking grouse juices from his blistered, frostbitten fingertips.

Siescu responded with a pinched expression, since this was not what he wanted to hear. “Fortunately, you are not one of my advisers.”

The other man fell silent with a respectful, chastised bow.…

Siescu spent the night bundled in blankets, comfortably warm, and in the morning the mine workers loaded two pack animals with a shipment of Gremurr swords for the Tierran army. The blue sky was full of sunshine, and Siescu was anxious to be on the road back to his sheltered cliff city.

He said farewell to the Iborian destrar, who had come to see the two men off. “Good luck with your naval attacks, Broeck. Make the Curlies hurt.”

“Oh, we will,” Iaros said.

Destrar Broeck made sure the sword bundles were lashed securely to the ponies. “Tell the queen this is merely the first shipment of many to come from these mines.”

“When the road opens again in spring, the army may not need any more swords,” his nephew said. “The war will be over, and all of Uraba will be conquered territory.”

Broeck clapped his nephew on the back. “Even I’m not that ambitious, but it is a pretty thought.”

“We’ll tell Queen Anjine that you received her message, and she can launch her battle plan with full confidence.”

“The queen always has full confidence,” Broeck said. “Farewell.”

Siescu tugged on the lead rope of the first pony, while Raga Var sprang ahead. Leading the loaded ponies on foot, the two men headed into the mountains.

Calay Castle

Back in the castle, Anjine canceled her obligations for that day and the next in order to be with her devastated friend. She could not make Mateo feel happy or at peace, but she could make him feel welcome. Enifir had already opened and aired out his old rooms, adding fresh bedding, a washbasin, a pitcher of water.

Outside the castle, in the bustling Military District, the Tierran army prepared to depart for Ishalem. Per her orders, the first wave of footsoldiers, cavalry, and a supply train would march out the following morning, while other soldiers continued to arrive from the other reaches. As each group gathered in Calay over the next two months, they would be dispatched to reinforce the troops laying siege to the Ishalem wall, and the constantly swelling Tierran presence would make the Uraban enemy nervous.

The queen trusted her subcommanders to know their business; she didn’t have to mother them. She
did
need to be with Mateo. She had willingly accepted her role as leader of the land; she had sacrificed her life, love, and happiness for Tierra, but she needed to do
this
for herself and for her dearest friend. Just for a little while, she would bar the door and keep the rest of the kingdom outside. For Mateo’s sake. The heavy responsibility of the crown had enslaved her for too long.

Anjine sat beside him on the bed in his childhood room, offering her support and her love. His bleak expression tore at her heart. He looked like an empty husk of a man, a hollow sculpture of a handsome military commander who had lost his reasons to be a hero. She longed to heal his heart and give him strength, but she didn’t know how. This was something she could neither command nor delegate.

“I need you, Mateo,” she whispered, “and you need me. No one is closer to me than you are.” She stopped herself from saying more. Over the years, Mateo had pursued other girlfriends because he felt he was supposed to, and Anjine had consented to marry Jenirod because it was her duty. Shortly after her own announcement, he had impulsively married Vicka Sonnen, as if he’d finally given up on Anjine. The two of them had denied each other so much for so long because of their respective roles. She squeezed his hand. “During all the battles and setbacks, tragedy after tragedy, you’ve always been there for me.”

“I’ve been there for
Tierra
,” Mateo said, but it sounded false. He drew a deep breath. “But mainly for you. You can always count on me.”

Anjine looked around the room, the whitewashed stone walls, the wooden furniture, faded woolen blankets, and now-empty shelves that had held his keepsakes as a young man. The place was so familiar, because she and Mateo had spent much of their childhood here, playing games and pretending to be different people.

The future they had imagined in their youthful optimism and naiveté was not at all how their lives had turned out—Tycho and Tolli growing old together in a comfortable cottage somewhere in the woods. Even as children they both knew that would never happen, because Mateo was merely the son of a guard captain and she was a princess.

“I miss Vicka.” His voice was small, and he seemed to tear the words out of himself. He sounded even more sorrowful when he added, “She was the first woman I could show my love to, but I don’t think I ever really knew her. I never got the chance.”

Anjine put her arm around his shoulder, and he put up no resistance as she drew him close. As the queen of Tierra, she was destined to have a marriage of politics, of convenience, of duty; she had never expected to love the man she ultimately chose as her husband. Her own voice was distant in her ears. “I don’t think I have any love left inside me, after…after what happened to Tomas. Those damned Urecari! I have to be heartless, or I can’t bear to do what I have to,” she said. “I’m not just a woman—I’m the queen. The obligations of ruling Tierra make me wall myself off.” She had personally given the order to behead a thousand Urecari prisoners, and Mateo had been forced to carry out that deed. Out of loyalty. Anjine bore the guilt of the decision, but he had the
memory
of actually doing it.

He raised his head and met her eyes. “Oh, you still have love within you, Anjine. I see it every time I look at your face, but you try to hide it from everyone else.”

Mateo leaned toward her, but Anjine pulled back. “Sen Leo tells me that the Saedran prophecies are warning of the end of the world. Love is a weakness I can’t afford to show. Romance is for swooning schoolgirls and handmaidens.”

“Oh, Anjine—I know better than that. If the times are so terrible, then love is more important than ever.” As if heaving himself out of a deep chasm, tearing loose from his fear and guilt, he turned and kissed her. He was shaking.

Anjine kissed him back, closing her eyes to shut out everything but the smell of him, the touch of him.

And then neither of them could stop.

The
Al-Orizin

After the Kraken attack, Saan ordered his men to sail on. “We can make repairs while we’re under way. Iyomelka sent that monster, so she’s still after us.” He paced up and down the deck to make sure his crew felt the same urgency. “You, stitch up that mainsail! Use whatever spare cloth you need from the lockers.”

Grigovar and two other sailors took down the torn sail, spread the thick silk out on the deck, and sewed shut the gash that had cut across the Eye of Urec. Other men fashioned a replacement spar from spare wood in the hold, then lashed it tight. Carpenters repaired the smashed stern rail. Crewmembers holystoned the slime from the rotted Kraken off of the deckboards.

Clouds hovered on the horizon, a simmering storm that might have been a natural weather pattern, but Saan didn’t think so. The island witch knew where they were.

Ystya seemed ashamed of what she had done. “My father trapped Bouras with a curse, and I released him. What will the consequences be? And today, I destroyed the Kraken. Those things cannot be made right again! I can’t undo them.” She hung her head. “What if my mother was right to try to keep me on the island?”

Saan tried to soothe her. “She was
not
right. You saved us, Ystya. I owe you my life, and I’m grateful—however you did it.” He took her hands and looked into her strange eyes. “Can you tell me about your power? I want to understand.”

The ivory-haired girl seemed at a loss. “The power is what I have. It’s who I am—I…don’t know what is normal for other people.” She looked at Saan with both hope and reticence. “I
want
to protect you, Saan. You’ve shown me kindness, new experiences, the world itself. I love learning from you and Sen Sherufa. The way you care for me—it’s wonderful.”

Saan’s heart warmed to hear her words. She was so beautiful and charming…and so incredibly innocent.

He wondered just how strong Ystya’s powers were. After seeing the girl uncreate the Kraken, he could only imagine what would happen if she unleashed her magic against an enemy army. He pictured Tierran soldiers turning into corpses, the flesh falling from their bones until their skeletons dropped to the ground.…

Her pale skin flushed, as if she could sense his thoughts. “On the island, after the spring dried up and we began to age, my mother told me that I was born with magic, and when the time was right it would flow through me. I think she wished I would never grow up, and she would never grow old, but my powers were so strong that she couldn’t just ignore them. Mother is a great sorceress herself, but I think I could be stronger if I practice, because of who I am.”

Grigovar sat high on a mainmast spar, where he was hanging the repaired mainsail. His dark hair flew wild as he pointed toward the stern. “Captain, sea serpents are following the ship—dozens of small ones!”

Saan and Ystya looked over the side to see serpentine forms gliding along, flanking the
Al-Orizin
. He had never seen so many young serpents—silvers, blues, and leopard-spotted ones. They were the size of the giant pythons that Saan had once seen snake charmers use in a traveling circus from Lahjar.