The Map of All Things (12 page)

25
Olabar Harbor

Saan enjoyed any excuse to walk with his father, particularly along the harbor with all the lovely sailing ships, barges, and supply galleys. Soldan-Shah Omra knew the young man's interest.

For the past year now, Saan had made a habit of chatting with merchants and sea captains when they came to port; he bought pennants and seals from various Uraban cities he hoped to see someday with his own eyes. He had already been struck with the yearning to travel to distant lands. It was in his blood.

When he was only twelve years old, Saan had crossed the Great Desert with his grandfather and Sen Sherufa; he had seen the Nunghal steppes and the Southern Sea. Once back home, he had traveled as far as Sioara, but he had never visited Ishalem or the rugged western shoreline of the Oceansea. Someday, though…

The two men strolled along the sloping cobblestoned street toward the wooden piers that extended like fingers into the water. People whispered as they walked by; some bowed or stepped back, recognizing the soldan-shah. Kel Rovic and his closely following guards could be summoned on a second's notice, should assassins try anything foolish, but for now, Saan was alone with his father.

Having noted the ships coming into port and the larger vessels at anchor in the deeper harbor, he turned to see a preoccupied look on the soldan-shah's face. At the moment, Omra was noticing none of the things that fascinated Saan. “Are you worried about matters of state, Father?”

His train of thought broken, the older man turned to him, his dark beard framing a smile. “A soldan-shah always worries, Saan. Consider yourself fortunate that such a fate isn't on the game board for you.”

“I don't envy the zarif. Omirr will have to bear that responsibility when he gets older, but I've never wanted to rule Uraba.” The very idea seemed impossible and foreign to him.

“That is exactly why you're so important to me.” His father reached out and surprised him with a warm hug. “When I spend time with you, I can be just a man with his son… and friend. A soldan-shah has too few friends. With you, I have someone who just listens and speaks with honesty, not an agenda.”

Saan felt his cheeks flush. “I try, Father.”

They paused at a wooden table where a blind man had set up piles of colorful seashells, including large milk pearls harvested by the famous reef divers of Lahjar. Omra studied one of the pearls on display, then looked at Saan again. “I'll be very sorry to see you leave Olabar,” he said. “It's going to be a long trip.”

Saan felt a sudden fear that he had done something wrong, that he would be exiled too, like Omra's brother Tukar. “What?”

The soldan-shah wore both a sad and slightly mischievous expression as he continued walking down to the ships tied up to the Olabar docks. “For some time, I've been concerned about all these threats on your life. Too many people have too many reasons to want you dead—some to hurt me, some because they hate you or your mother, and some despise what you both represent to the church. They say you still secretly worship the Fishhook.”

“I am as devout a follower of Urec as anyone in Uraba!”

“I believe you, but the priestesses would still prefer to get rid of you. We both know the threat they pose.”

With a hearty laugh, Saan dismissed the idea. “I've been in danger ever since I was a little boy. Remember when I outfoxed the mercenaries,
and
I found the Golden Fern? That means I have a great destiny. I won't be killed on some street corner. I can take care of myself. Kel Rovic says I'm one of the best fighters he's ever trained.”

“And Rovic does not give unwarranted compliments.” Omra faced Saan. Two burly fishermen staggered by, hauling a crate of feebly twitching silver sardines. “But no matter how skilled you are with a blade, someone could slip poison into your food or drink, or they could set a sand spider in your bed, as they did to your baby brother.”

Omra walked on in troubled silence for a few moments, then continued. “Worse, your very presence may endanger my other sons—my true heirs. You saved little Omirr from the assassins, but if it hadn't been for the threat they see in
you
, the zarif might never have been in danger at all.”

Saan knew his father was right. “The last thing I want is for harm to come to Omirr.” The words caught in his throat, but he forced them out. “So… you are sending me away? You'll exile me to where I don't pose any further threat?”

The soldan-shah chuckled gently. “Exile? Oh no, my son. Not like that! I need you to find something for me.”

When Omra stopped at one of the outer piers, Saan noticed a large, new two-masted ship tied to the docks. Her great silken sails hung loose, both squares and lateens, dancing gently in the harbor breeze, a large Eye of Urec on the mainsail. Saan was intrigued by the ship's lines, her size and sturdy curves. Though not a large ship, she was fast and strong. Her draught was shallow enough to nimbly approach rocky shores, but her hull was thick and her masts set sturdily enough to weather difficult crossings.

“She's a beauty. From Kiesh?”

“Yes, newly commissioned. She is the
Al-Orizin
.” He glanced over to watch Saan's expression. “And she is yours.”

It felt as if the boards of the dock had dropped out from beneath him. His own ship? “Mine? But I'm too young to be a captain.”

“You'll have experienced sailors with you. Come aboard and have a look around.”

Taking him by the arm, the soldan-shah led him up the gangplank. The deckboards were newly scrubbed, the voluminous cargo holds fresh and aired out, all hatches open to the breezes. The
Al-Orizin
was virtually empty, with only a handful of men on deck, concentrating overmuch on their work. Saan guessed that his father must have arranged for this visit ahead of time.

Saan still couldn't believe what he was seeing, but he did not want to argue. He pictured himself standing at the bow, issuing orders, turning to face the endless horizon, exploring the world.
Captain Saan
… “But where would I go?”

Omra led him aft to the captain's cabin in the stern. The small shelves were empty, the tabletop clean, the bunk neatly made. Removing a leather cylinder that he kept tucked in his sapphire-blue sash, the soldan-shah unrolled the ancient Map of Urec on the small charting table. His hands trembled with true reverence. “This was found in Ishalem. It is genuine—Urec's Map.” To Saan's astonishment, he explained how the Saedran architect had uncovered the relic deep in the ruins, and how he had kept the news secret, for the time being.

He pointed to the Map. “I want you to make a voyage that could save Uraba… and one that will be the stuff of legends for many generations.”

Saan grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

“Take the
Al-Orizin
and sail east, follow the Middlesea, go beyond Kiesh—farther than anyone has ever gone. There, you will find Terravitae… and the Key to Creation.”

“The Key to Creation? But no one knows what that is.”

“Urec was searching for it, on orders from Ondun. If you can find the Key for Uraba, how can we fail to achieve victory against our Aidenist enemies?”

Saan tore his gaze away from the ancient chart and saw a shine of moisture in his father's eyes. “You'll be undertaking the most important quest since Urec sailed at the beginning of time. Whom else would I choose for this?”

26
Calay Harbor

With all sails set to catch the dawn breeze and the ties loosed from dockside stanchions, the
Dyscovera
pulled away from the wharf. The crew, including Captain Vora, the chartsman Aldo, and the cabin boy Javian, waved furiously. Burly Kjelnar, now designated as first mate, stood at the prow like a figurehead behind the ice-dragon horn, exuding pride in his ship, his masterpiece, as they sailed toward the two lighthouses at the harbor's mouth. From the stern, Prester Hannes watched the cheering crowds, his face chiseled from stone, as if his own prayers propelled the ship along, rather than the winds and the outgoing tide.

Five of Destrar Tavishel's sturdy Soeland warships escorted the three-masted carrack to the open Oceansea. The Soeland vessels were refitted whaling ships that now patrolled the seas, attacking any Urecari ship they encountered, seizing prisoners and booty. The bearded destrar, whose determination seemed to match Hannes's own, would guide the
Dyscovera
beyond the Soeland islands to the edge of known waters.

As fanfares played and people whistled and cheered, an oddly silent King Korastine watched the glorious vessel depart. Without him. Even the king of Tierra could not have all that he wanted. He had known it would be impossible to join the crew, but he still dreamed of the historic voyage. Now he sat on a padded chair with a blanket wrapped around his left leg. It ached so, and this morning he had been unable to bend his knee at all.

Standing beside his father, cheeks flushed pink by excitement as well as the morning's chill, Prince Tomas waved and shouted, trying to make the crew notice him.

Anjine looked regal, her honey-blonde hair caught by stray breezes. “It's a great relief to see the ship safely launched, Father.” She looked down at him, her expression serious. “If we had protected the Arkship more carefully six years ago, you would have made it to Terravitae.”

“And I would have been back by now.” Korastine gave his daughter a wistful smile. “If I decided to come back at all. Maybe I would have remained with Holy Joron for the rest of my days.” His voice trailed off. Tears misted his eyes as the departing ship passed the two tall lighthouses on the headlands.

“Will they find Terravitae?” Tomas asked.

“For all our sakes, they will have to try.” There was no other option than to
try
; he had learned that much. He had tried to establish a peace with the Urecari. He had tried to rule Tierra wisely through the hardest times and the greatest tragedies. He had tried to find happiness in marriage.

And we must never stop trying.

Destrar Broeck wore an ermine-lined cape for the occasion. “There she goes! How I wish we could have joined them.” He squeezed Korastine's bony shoulder. “But adventures are for younger men.”

“We were young enough once, Broeck, but we missed our opportunity. Don't begrudge them their chance.” His heart ached. “I wanted to do this for Ilrida. I wanted to see Joron, face him…” His voice cracked. “I wanted to ask him why Ondun allowed so much sadness into the world.”

“Ondun also created love.”

“Yes, and that's what makes the sadness even more painful.”

Anjine frowned at them both. “You two talk like a pair of old women. See what you
have
, not what you've lost.”

Korastine patted his daughter's hand. “Of course, my dear. I know full well I would just have been another anchor aboard the
Dyscovera
.”

Tomas shaded his eyes, continuing to watch the disappearing ship. “Will I be old enough to go on the second voyage to Terravitae? After they return?”

“I guarantee it, Tomas.” Korastine stared after the
Dyscovera
, his eyes sparkling. “Someday, we will all see Terravitae.”

The next morning, the servant Enifir carried a tray containing a traditional breakfast of fresh-baked scones, potted berries, and two boiled eggs to the king's chamber. At first, Korastine had argued that he was not an invalid and did not need to eat his meals in his bed, but soon it became obvious that he took so long to dress himself and make his way down to the banquet hall that Enifir no longer asked permission. She simply came to the king's quarters with his food, and he grudgingly accepted it.

Enifir granted him an extra hour to sleep, for he had seemed especially weary the previous evening, after seeing off the
Dyscovera
. When she knocked and received no response, she couldn't believe he was still dozing. She worked the latch and opened the door, deciding to wake him.

King Korastine lay in his bed, his leg stretched out, arms atop the down comforter. The candle at his bedside had burned out in the middle of the night, and a large leather-bound volume of the Tales of the Traveler lay beside him, its well-thumbed pages open to the story of Terravitae. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. His fingers rested lightly on a picture of bearded Joron surrounded by imaginary animals.

Enifir knew immediately that he was dead.

King Korastine had held on just long enough to see the
Dyscovera
sail, before he had made his own journey beyond the horizon, following a different course.

With warm tears heavy in her eyes, Enifir stood for several minutes, gulping long breaths, placing her hands across her rounded belly. She spoke a quick prayer, then hurried out, running through the castle halls to find Anjine.

Part II

27
Sioara, Inner Wahilir

After Soldan Huttan read the curt letter, he retreated to his quarters for the evening and sent the servants away so he could let his rage show freely. He paced the chamber, fuming as he considered the summons from Soldan-Shah Omra.

He was commanded to send his First Wife, Kuari—and good riddance to the shrew, too, though he still hated to be required do it. Soldan-Shah Omra was making a lot of demands, and the soldanate of Inner Wahilir seemed to be bearing the brunt of the costs and obligations.

Huttan undressed himself for the evening with abrupt, distracted gestures, threw his fine new clothes in a pile on the floor, then donned a comfortable silken robe with the most beautiful embroidery. The garment had been given to him by Yuarej merchants, wise men who could see the shifting tides of power. They recognized changes that might be coming to the neighboring soldanate.

Impatient, Huttan shouted for his servants, and an old woman scuttled in, pretending to be meek, though he knew she despised him. She collected the discarded clothes, as she did every night, and retreated from his chambers.

Crowds would be waiting outside the front door of Huttan's villa, hoping to receive his soiled clothes. Since he was the soldan, he had made up his mind never to wear the same garment twice, and so as a generous gesture his representatives offered the discarded clothes to beggars at the gate, who were honored to wear garments that had touched his skin. It gave him great pleasure to know that the citizens of Sioara, even the beggars, were the best dressed in all Uraba.

His First Wife Kuari appeared at the door without being sent for. It was not her night, and Huttan had five other wives, all more attractive than this sturdy and sharp-tongued woman—a marriage that had given him political benefits and his first two sons, but not a great deal of affection. She walked boldly past the guards, though they'd been told not to let anyone disturb him; alas, the guards were more afraid of Kuari than of him.

“Why are you here?”

“I'm here because you need me to be here. I want to be sure you don't make another mistake.”

“I am the soldan. I don't make mistakes.”

“Call them what you will.” She took a seat on the piled cushions without asking permission. “Your emissary Ualfor has always been a man with a narrow mind and a loud voice. He has insulted the soldan-shah's First Wife, and that insult has come back to bite you.”

A pot of fresh tea sat on his writing table. Huttan looked meaningfully at it, waiting for his wife to pour him a cup. She didn't.

He irritably glanced at the rough paper and the soldan-shah's broken wax seal. “It appears the viper will bite you instead.
You
are the one I must send to Olabar. You will have to face the soldan-shah's wrath.”

Kuari did not seem concerned. “It may go better for Inner Wahilir if you make a point of reprimanding Ualfor. Send an apology to Lady Istar and be as abject as you possibly can.”

“I'm a soldan, born of nobility. All of Inner Wahilir is mine. I don't apologize.”

Kuari shrugged. “The fact remains that your emissary speaks in your name, and he offended the soldan-shah's First Wife. Therefore,
you
have offended the soldan-shah's wife.”

Huttan paced the room again. “Who cares about wives? We are speaking of serious things.”

“Don't let your pride bring you down—like a water ox sitting on your head.”

Her disrespect startled him, as it usually did. He often threatened to send her into exile, to break the bonds of their marriage, even to have her meet with some accident, but she called his bluffevery time. Kuari had been trained among the sikaras, taught their wiles as well as their religion, but she had left the church to marry him, by her father's command. Now he wished she had stayed among the scheming priestesses.

He tapped a ringed finger on the paper. His fingers were plump, and the gold bit into his flesh; he hadn't been able to remove the ring in some years. “The crucial thing is that the soldan-shah never received my request to annex parts of Yuarej. Now, what am I to do about the border settlements? And the money I need to build the ostentatious church that Omra has demanded in Ishalem? It'll bankrupt me. Maybe I should speak to the soldan-shah myself, seek some kind of relief or concessions.”

“Read the words in the summons, husband. He specifically requires
my
presence. If you go instead, you'll only offend him further.”

Huttan grumbled. Kuari's network of spies was widespread and damnably accurate. Even though she knew the pressures a soldan had to face, she showed him no sympathy. Instead, his wife pestered him like a crow, always pointing out his failings or taking an opposite point of view. One day she would push him too far, and he would have one of his guards strangle her in her sleep. Maybe he would even do it himself. One day…

If he was lucky, Soldan-Shah Omra would take care of the matter for him.

He slumped wearily on his cushions, but not too close to Kuari. Again he looked meaningfully at the pot of unpoured tea, and again she ignored him. “I miss my cousin Attar. Now
he
was a worthy rival.”

“You hated Attar. You cursed his name for years and reviled him. Don't expect me to believe you've changed your mind just because he was poisoned.”

“At least Attar was of noble blood,” Huttan spat. “This new Vishkar—a
merchant
! A useful enough man, someone with wealth and influence, but not with the stuff to be soldan of Outer Wahilir. That upstart soils the office.”

However, Vishkar had so much support from Olabar that Huttan didn't dare move against him. Instead, he had turned his sights on the much weaker soldanate of Yuarej. Over the past two years, he had sent his people up to the border hills to build settlements in the wilderness territory, establishing a foothold over the line. Huttan had ignored the complaints of Soldan Andouk. The Yuarej soldan was a broken man, without ambitions—his own people did not respect him. Huttan wasn't worried about any threat from Andouk, but he needed the soldan-shah's seal of approval to complete his plans….

Kuari got to the heart of the matter. “Wouldn't it be embarrassing if Vishkar builds a far more glorious church than
you
do? How goes the project, by the way?” Her words twisted like knives.

“That is why I need the money from Yuarej!” He held his temper with difficulty, as though he were speaking to a stupid child. “I need to collect more taxes and tariffs—and I need to annex those lands. Ualfor was supposed to deliver my request!”

“The soldan-shah did not deny your request, my dear husband. He merely ignored you.”

Impatient, Huttan poured his own cup of tea and glared at Kuari while drinking it. He rudely wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Since your spies have told you the content of the soldan-shah's message, what are you waiting for? Pack your things, gather your entourage, and depart for Olabar.” He fluttered his ringed fingers at her, to make her go away. Then he mumbled the traditional Urecari blessing. “Follow the Map.”

“It is the middle of the night, my dear husband. I'll leave Sioara in due course.”

“The soldan-shah commands, and you must go with all due haste. Take your chattering servants and head for Olabar. I expect you to be far, far away from me by the first light of dawn.”