The Map of All Things (46 page)

109
Calay

After the storm winds finally chased the black clouds inland, heartened workers around the castle opened shutters and pried off the plank coverings that protected the delicate glass windows. Brisk salty wind blew in, as refreshing as laughter.

Anjine stared up at a patchy blue sky with the only glimmer of joy she had felt in some time. “Guard-Marshall Vorannen, escort me while I inspect my city. Let's see what this storm has done to us.” Once he had returned safely from his patrols during the height of the storm, Vorannen had given her full briefings of what he had seen, and Enifir insisted that he stay inside the shelter of the castle; Anjine had reaffirmed that with her own order.

And now they were ready to depart again, into the aftermath.

Old Prester-Marshall Rudio hurried down the hall. His wisps of gray hair were mussed and his clothes rumpled since he had not brought a change of garments for the four days he'd remained in the castle. “I would accompany you, my Queen, but first I must attend to the presters in my kirk.”

“We will be some time, Prester-Marshall. Meet us down at the harbor later this afternoon.”

Sen Leo na-Hadra followed her and Vorannen through the Royal District, across the bridge to the Military District where soldiers were already working to repair roofs and walls on barracks that had suffered great damage. Some buildings had collapsed, and grim people dug through the wreckage, pulling out bodies. Presters walked slowly through the streets, calling out verses from the Book of Aiden, offering comfort and sharing prayers. Animals wandered loose; many pens had been smashed. A barking dog raced by, chasing a pair of ducks. Neighbors compared damage to each other's houses.

At the Sonnen forges, Ammur and Vicka rallied their apprentices and journeymen to rebuild fences and shovel debris from the work areas. A young man stood precariously balanced on the roof of the main house, whose chimney had collapsed; covered in soot, he moved bricks out of the way, looking forlorn at the prospect of reassembling the chimney.

Queen Anjine paused, realizing that this was Mateo's home, now that he had married Vicka Sonnen. She had stayed at the smithy, managing business matters, while Mateo carried out his military duties… including the terrible duty Anjine had given him.

The big blacksmith saw her and bowed, looking flustered. Vicka gave a quick curtsey, without a second thought to her muddy dress or unkempt hair. “Majesty, do you have any word when Mateo will be back? We could certainly use his help around here after the storm.”

Anjine froze, realizing that Vicka didn't know about Mateo's orders. Mateo wouldn't have told her… no, he was too upset. This woman didn't know what her husband had done.

“I… expect the storm might have delayed his return. He has many responsibilities for the army.” Anjine looked at the woman and recognized the beauty and self-confidence Mateo saw in her. He would not have wanted a wilting flower who pined for him every hour he was away.

“I do miss him, but I know where his heart lies, Majesty.”

“You're his wife—his heart belongs to you.”

Vicka flushed, wiped a hand on her skirt, and pushed dark hair out of her eyes. “Yes, but he also loves his land and his queen. I get only part of his heart.”

And I get part of it as well.
Instead of voicing her thought, Anjine said, “Tierra is lucky to have a man like Mateo to protect us against the vile Urecari.”

“True enough, Majesty. Even so, I could use his help rebuilding that chimney.” Anjine nodded to two of her soldiers, asked them to help with the work at the blacksmith shop; it was the least she could do, after sending Mateo—Vicka's husband—away. She let the woman get back to her tasks as she continued her procession to view the damage around the city.

In the Saedran District, families picked up debris, patched shattered windows, swept away muck that had spilled from flower boxes and vegetable gardens. Biento and Yura na-Curic stood before their small house, picking up shards of broken pottery. Their grandchildren ran about, chasing stray chickens. Sen Leo paused at the doorway to the Saedran temple. “By your leave, my Queen, I will see to my people, my wife, and my daughters now.”

“Your people are in good hands with you, Sen Leo.”

In the Butchers' District, the relentless rain had washed away the smell of offal and crowded livestock, but many of the pens had flooded; bloated animals lay covered in mud or sprawled in murky puddles. With a shudder, Anjine recalled the terrible mission she had given Mateo. She had known he would never refuse. He would have done anything for her—ah, but what she had asked him to do….

The procession wound around the bays and points of the large harbor. Anjine listened to the conversations, complaints, grieving, and expressions of relief. By now, the magnitude of the damage overwhelmed her, and she longed to go back to the castle, but she had obligations here. She needed to show the people their queen's concern for her city. She knew Calay could rebuild.

When she and her entourage reached the merchants' docks, the damage was the worst she had seen. Many piers were smashed, cargo barges and tall ships battered about like toys, some of them driven up onto the wharves. Crates and barrels floated loose in the water along with tangled nets, waterlogged sails, and a few scarecrowish bodies.

People in small boats rowed toward the headlands and the mouth of Calay harbor, where the water was gray-brown, filled with silt, seaweed, and debris. “I suppose the beachcombers will find great bounty,” Vorannen remarked.

Anjine nodded. “Who knows what the hurricane has stirred up from the bottom of the sea?”

Merchants picked their way across the precarious piers, using boathooks to snag drifting possessions, trying to recover scraps of their losses.

Out in the water, a man in a small dinghy let out a loud cry and flailed his oars. One of the oars was snatched out of his grip, and the boat rocked wildly back and forth, finally capsizing as the triangular head of a black-scaled sea serpent lifted itself high. The creature gave a shrill blast through its blowhole. The man clung to his capsized dinghy, cringing in terror as the black serpent swam past. Ripples of golden scales highlighted its ebony hide.

People began yelling up and down the docks. Ferrymen who had rowed merchants out to gather flotsam now struggled frantically back toward shore.

Farther out in the harbor, Anjine saw the head and neck of a second black-and-gold serpent rise in a cascade of water to hoot at its companion.

Aboard one of the intact tall ships, seamen who had been hanging fresh sails now dropped the wet canvas sheets and swung down from the yardarms to gather harpoons. Yelling, they threw the spears at the nearest monster. One iron-tipped harpoon struck the serpentine neck and pierced the scales, though not deeply. The monster roared and shook its head, knocking the harpoon free, then charged forward to smash the hull of the offending vessel.

Marshall Vorannen was already shouting orders. “Alert the city guard! Open the armories. We must defend Calay!”

Anjine watched in dismay as another pair of sea-serpent heads rose out of the water, and the four giant creatures moved deeper into the crowded harbor.

110
Corag Mountains

After riding into the mountains, Mateo and Jenirod met up with Destrar Broeck's mammoth army outside of Stoneholm. Though familiar with the big beasts from his training year up in Iboria Reach, Mateo had never seen so many of them all together in the same place. Jenirod could not believe the spectacle. “The Book of Aiden tells of great monsters, but I never dreamed of creatures such as this!” On the ride into Corag, he had been so proud of his horses, but even the best chargers from Erietta Reach seemed puny and ineffective when measured against woolly mammoths.

More than a hundred beasts shuffled around the open stony areas near the cliff city, bellowing and snorting as they searched for food. Soldier-trainees set up camps on the cold ground, and herders tried to keep the mammoths from wandering. Skilled Corag metalsmiths had fashioned embossed plates of body armor and fastened them to the shaggy beasts with leather straps and lengths of bright metal chain. The mammoths trumpeted as if proud to show off their new armor.

From the great hump behind the head of a bull mammoth, Destrar Broeck waved at them. “It's Subcomdar Bornan himself! Look sharp, Iaros, or he'll report you to the queen!”

Though the destrar's nephew tried to make an impressive show, his mammoth mount lumbered away, despite Iaros's tugging at its neck harness and yanking its soft ear.

Mateo laughed. “I hope your beasts won't be so unruly inbattle, Destrar. Will they follow commands when we strike Gremurr?”

“Almost certainly not. A beast this size does exactly as it likes. Fortunately, once we get them on the road and over the pass, they should charge all on their own—the Curlies won't know what hit them. We'll wreak havoc enough, don't you worry.” He glanced down at Jenirod and their warhorses. “Just make sure your little mounts don't get stepped on. Isn't that Destrar Unsul's boy?”

Jenirod sat high in his saddle. “Yes, sir. Would you mind two more men in your assault? Mateo and I would like to join the march on Gremurr.”

The Iborian leader shifted on his shaggy mammoth. “I thought you might be coming to take command, Subcomdar.”

“No, I'm here in an… unofficial capacity, but we've got our reasons. You are in charge of this operation.”

“You're welcome to lend your arms and your blades. You were always good at following orders, as I recall.”

“And you were good at giving sensible ones, Destrar.”

One of the mammoths in the herd let out a shrill roar, and the rest followed suit in a chorus powerful enough to knock rocks loose from the surrounding cliffs. Broeck heaved a long, grumbling sigh. “We've been here two days already, and these beasts are anxious to move. If we stay much longer, they'll get hungry and restless.” His face darkened. “But that's not the only reason for us to march. I've waited long enough to avenge Tomas.”

His comment burned like a hot stone in Mateo's heart. “The queen already exacted revenge for Tomas. A thousand Urecari paid the price. I did it myself, for her.”

“I heard… but that was
her
revenge.” Broeck glared at him. “This is mine. He was my grandson.”

While the mammoth army prepared to move out, Jenirod paced, betraying a mixture of queasiness and excitement. “This
will
be different from my attack on Fashia's Fountain, won't it?” Haunted uncertainty had hovered behind his eyes ever since he'd caught up with Mateo in the rainy meadow. “This is a real battle? Against real enemies?”

“Yes, Jenirod. You'll face Urecari fighters who can actually defend themselves. They'll die like men instead of helpless victims.” Mateo wondered if he would ever stop thinking of the thousand heads. Or Tomas's. “But I mean to see them all killed, nevertheless.”

Broeck and Iaros led the huge beasts along the mountain road into the cold and windy wilderness. Along the way, the mammoths stripped the grassy meadows of all vegetation. As they climbed higher, Destrar Siescu's new road dwindled to a stony path across cliff faces, chipped out by countless prisoners.

Siescu himself waited for them at the last work camp on the pass overlooking the descent. Corag soldier-guards still watched the bleak-eyed Urecari prisoners who toiled at the rockpiles, shuddering in terror at the passage of the lumbering monsters.

Wrapped in thick furs, Siescu greeted Destrar Broeck and Mateo. “We've opened the gateway to Gremurr. You can march these beasts to the mines and chase the Curlies all the way into the Middlesea.”

Mateo ran his eyes over the sullen laborers. “Keep your workers fed, Destrar. Once we capture the mines, we'll still need people to provide labor for the Tierran army.”

Broeck adjusted the head harness of his mammoth, impatient. “Don't worry, we'll capture more prisoners at Gremurr, too. I don't intend to kill them all, though they deserve it.”

Raga Var came up the path from the mountain pass ahead. “I just ran the route, and the way is clear. Your monsters will make the passage safely.” He nodded toward the Eriettan horses, pursed his lips in appreciation. “Those are better creatures for a narrow mountain path. Mammoths are too huge.”

The Iborian destrar laughed out loud. “Horses won't strike a tenth of the measure of terror these monsters will! Mammoths won't be too huge when we face the Urecari.” Broeck slapped the bull mammoth, and the big beast plodded forward, taking one heavy step after another. The huddled Urecari slaves watched from their open camp.

111
Gremurr Mines

After stowing away aboard the ore barge, Villiki endured filthy and stifling conditions for six days as she remained hidden. When the captain tied up to the docks on the northern shore of the Middlesea, she was anxious to get off of the miserable ship.

Each night during the voyage, she had crept out of hiding, finding her way around the deck obstacles by starlight. She stole food and water, then slipped back into the shadows belowdecks, tucking herself into a cramped area behind crates of supplies destined for workers at the Gremurr mines.

The coarse barge captain and his boisterous crew maintained a lax watch, since no one could imagine a stowaway who
wanted
to go to Gremurr. From muffled conversations she heard through the boards and hatches, Villiki learned that the crew had made this voyage from Olabar to the mines dozens of times without any trouble.

Finally, once the men made preparations to unload the cargo, Villiki tore off the dirty outer rags she had used during her escape from the church. Now that she had arrived, she no longer needed to pose as a nondescript beggar. Beneath, she still wore the fine clothes that the sikaras had given her.

From being cramped belowdecks, she was grimy, her face and hands smudged, her hair badly in need of washing and perfuming. Nevertheless, Villiki did her best to make herself presentable. This was not how she had wanted her son to see her after so many years, but it would have to do. She used a corner of the discarded robe to clean her face, raked her fingers through her hair. Villiki's presence, her attitude, her hauteur would be her finest garment. Tukar would welcome her, regardless. She was his mother, and he had to love her.

She heard men clomping on the decks above, opening the cargo hatch and winching out heavy crates to carry them to shore. Villiki waited until the space was clear before walking into the shaft of sunlight that poured down from the open hatch. She climbed up the wooden ladder and emerged on deck to the utter astonishment of the work crew unloading the ship.

The workmaster of the mines—a barrel-chested, bald-headed man—stopped shouting orders in midsentence to gape at her. She strode imperiously up to him. “You there! I am Villiki, the mother of your lord Tukar. I command you to take me to him.”

The bald workmaster closed his mouth so abruptly that his teeth clicked together, but he recovered from his astonishment and sketched a small bow. “Lady Villiki… your presence here is most unexpected.” His voice was laden with so much speculation and doubt that she had no doubt he recalled the circumstances of her banishment. “I am Zadar, in charge of the mines.”

“Good, then you have the authority to bring me directly to my son.” She glared at the dumbstruck barge crew, not even knowing which one was the captain. “I have had a long, hard journey, and the hospitality of this ship leaves much to be desired.” The men let out astonished protests, but Villiki nudged Zadar to escort her along the dock.

Nearby, seven impressive warships were docked, and workers had begun to cover the hulls with armor plates like scales on a sea serpent. Omra, in his arrogance, had used poor Tukar as his slave to complete this massive project for his war. But the enemy in faraway Tierra held little relevance to Villiki, whose enemies were much closer.

Stepping off the dock, she surveyed the rugged cliffs, smoking factories, smelters, and open mine entrances with a skeptical eye. The clank and clamor of work echoed through the oppressive air. This was a stark place, far inferior to either the palace in Olabar or the main Urecari church… but better than a garbage-strewn alley. Or a grave.

As he led her along, Zadar wisely held his tongue. He asked no questions about why or how she had come here, but his pinched expression made his disapproval plain. She followed him up a gravel path to a house decorated with cut stones and meticulously planted flowers. Flowers? Tukar would not have bothered with such prettiness, she knew, but she had heard that her son was married after all. The wife was probably a spy, with orders to assassinate Tukar should he ever plot against the soldan-shah—why else would she marry a man who had been shamed and exiled? Villiki decided she might have to take care of her, just in case.

She hardly recognized the man who emerged from the villa, it had been so many years. He looked like a common laborer with roughspun clothes and no jewelry at all. After many hard years, and in her current disheveled condition, Villiki knew she didn't look her best either.

Tukar barely gave Villiki a second glance as he grinned at the workmaster. “You're here early for our
xaries
game, Zadar? And who is this?”

She smiled and spread her arms. “Tukar, my long-lost son! I have returned to you at last.” The last time he'd seen her was on that night his own father had stripped her naked and ordered his guards to beat and chase her out of the palace.

He blanched and began to stammer. “Mother! W-what are you doing here?”

She ignored the idiotic question. “Call your servants. I need a bath, fresh garments, and jewelry so that I may make a proper appearance.”

A woman and a wide-eyed boy appeared behind Tukar—the wife and son, Villiki supposed.A puppy came out to bark at her, and the boy did nothing to control it.

Tukar turned quickly. “Shetia, please tell Firun to begin heating water for a bath. Look through your own clothes and see if you have anything appropriate for my mother.” He shot his wife a glance filled with confusion and silent apologies, then looked back at Villiki. “We have only one servant.”

“Then you have indeed fallen far in your years of exile.” Now that she was here, things would change. It was about time her son received the respect and wealth he deserved.

Tukar stiffened. “I have everything I need, and I do important work for Uraba.” A quiet old servant appeared, a man obviously too weak to work in the mines any longer. “Show my mother to the extra bedroom, Firun. She would like some time to rest and refresh herself.”

Villiki followed the servant. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Tukar and his wife looked very worried.

Villiki took a place beside her son as they ate a meager but adequate meal. Now that she was cleansed, perfumed, and wearing a few scant rings and chains—perhaps the finest things that mousy Shetia owned—Villiki felt strong again. Her situation would improve soon.

If Tukar had only listened to her when he was younger, if he had followed her training and advice, he would have been a powerful man today. He could have been the soldan-shah. Now, after so many years in the squalor of Gremurr, he must surely realize the error of his ways.

The wife spoke little. Shetia showed genuine affection for Tukar, and did not seem intelligent enough to serve as a useful spy, although it might be just an act. Villiki remembered her own fatal error in assuming that the Tierran slave Adrea's silence implied stupidity. She wouldn't make that mistake again. No, this wife was not to be trusted, and must be dealt with quickly.

Tukar joked with the young boy, who seemed to adore his father. Rather than learning how to be a great leader, though, Ulan seemed more interested in his dog. The creature had to be tied outside the villa, because Villiki wouldn't tolerate it during the meal, and now it continued to yowl mournfully. The boy looked forlorn as he picked at his food, avoiding his grandmother's gaze, silently blaming her.

If she hadn't known better, Villiki would have thought that Tukar
accepted
his lot here, and she wasn't going to stand for it.

Right now, Olabar would be in an uproar because of her escape—she couldn't begin to guess what must be happening in the church. Even so, it would take time before word could reach the soldan-shah in Ishalem. Villiki had a slim chance to alter events now, but only if Tukar did as he was told. Maybe with those armored warships at the docks…

As they ate their dinner, she took charge of the conversation. “You've had many years to reflect upon the terrible things that happened, my son. By now you can have no doubt that your wicked half-brother despises you and has ruined your chances for freedom and happiness. Look at you! Omra has earned his own downfall by taking that Aidenist slave woman to wife. As First Wife! He will bring about the end of Uraba. He will destroy the church of Urec. But you and I can make it right. We have an unprecedented opportunity here to change the course of history.”

Tukar frowned and shook his head. “Mother, you don't know what you're saying.”

“I know what I've seen!” She jerked a finger in the direction of the harbor. “You have seven warships there, nearly completed! When they are ready to sail, I will help you take them, with all the soldiers here at Gremurr, to overthrow the corrupt soldan-shah in Olabar. You, Tukar, can take your rightful place after all these years in exile.”

He wore a look of astonished horror on his face. With a sweep of his hand, he knocked her goblet of wine off the table. “No, Mother. I refuse.”

Villiki was astounded. She lashed out to slap him, but with an unexpected ferocity, he caught her wrist and forced her back into her seat. “I said I
refuse
. I am a loyal subject of the soldan-shah, and I will not hear such treason—even from my own mother. I am already pardoned, and I will take my family back to Olabar as soon as those warships are completed.” His face reddened. “Now I see why you came here, and you are not welcome. I'm sending you back on the next barge, so that my brother can do with you as he wishes.”

Outside the villa, the damned dog kept barking, louder now than before.

Unable to believe what she was hearing, Villiki was blinded by rage. “You've always been a fool, Tukar—weak and unambitious, and
I
have suffered for it.”

“You have suffered because of your own character flaws, Mother, not mine.”

Villiki lurched to her feet, but Tukar only looked at her coolly and perhaps with… pity? With sudden horror, she realized that if he cast her out of here, she had nowhere to go.

A loud banging from outside broke the tension. The slaves in the mines were shouting. The dog continued to howl. Guards pounded on the metal work bells used to summon crews to and from their shifts.

Ignoring his mother, Tukar rushed out of the villa to see what had happened. Villiki ran after him. Outside, the dog pulled against its rope, barking and barking. A guard stumbled up the gravel path, his cheeks flushed, his mouth agape. “My Lord Tukar, there are monsters in the mountains heading down toward us. An army of great shaggy beasts! We are under attack!”