A Secret Atlas

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Her fingers lingered on his face, then she slid them down to grab hold of his robe and laid her face against his breast. “We both know why you have stayed away, and why I have not come after you. On a night like this, however, a night to reward heroes, would it not be more wrong for us to be apart than together?”

  “Yes, it would, though my status as a hero may demand a few things more this evening.”

  “Such as?”

  He lifted his hand to her chin and tilted her face up. “Jatan told me of the rumors about the Wastes. You clearly chose me to oppose Black Myrian’s champion to alert me to what is going on. You and Jatan did not collaborate?”

  “No, Moraven. I was led to believe that you visited him to be given your apprentice.” Her grip tightened on his robe. “I did collaborate with Black Myrian. A favor was repaid, but I would have demanded more had I known his man would try to kill you.”

  “Black Myrian wanted to let everyone know what he could get, but did so before the Prince, and on this night, to let Cyron know he could be counted upon to forestall trouble.”

  “But for a price. His loyalty is for sale.”

  “Prince Cyron knows that.”

  The Lady of Jet and Jade kissed his throat. “Black Myrian has treated with many of the inland nobles. The capital merchants grow fat with profits, but the provincial lordlings see very little of that money. They were reluctant to invest in trade ventures initially, and the merchants are now loath to reward them for withholding money in the past. The lordlings want the spices and other goods that come in, but lack the gold to pay for them.

  “On top of that, they feel the Prince is far too concerned with Helosunde and the Desei problem. The harvest this year was quite abundant, but the Prince did not reduce taxes. Had the lordlings kept more grain, they would have been able to trade more. Instead, the Prince takes their grain, and still demands their troops to defend against Deseirion. There are some who think a private army will keep them safe from the Desei, if they ever invade. Others believe an army will be needed to overthrow the Prince if he does not become more realistic.”

  Moraven nodded slowly. “I imagine, in the city, there are also merchants who have not profited as much as others and so feel a private army of their own would be useful to disrupt the business of others. The only thing that keeps the tensions from soaring out of control is the general prosperity that trade has brought?”

  “Yes. The Prince is aware of the discontent, and is forcing some merchants to take on rural investors if they want to use Anturasi charts. Those who don’t have had horrid luck—to the point where several houses of cartography have been ruined. All it will take, however, is a disaster with an expedition the state is mounting. The economy will crash, and the knives will come out.”

  “And that would be the Stormwolf expedition?”

  She smiled up at him. “For one who has not been in Moriande for a long while, you understand the politics well.”

  “Moriande today, Kelewan ages ago.” Moraven frowned. “The difference then was that swordsmen were being bought, so the forces gathering were easier to see. Here it would be weapons and dust, which could hide an army in a warehouse with no mouths to feed and no one the wiser.”

  “Do you have a means to deal with this?”

  “Not as yet, no.” He bowed his head and kissed her forehead. “There is much more to learn, but I have a little time. The Stormwolf cannot fail before it is launched.”

  “And you will spend some of that time with me?”

  Moraven lowered his mouth to hers. “Could there be better use than spending it with you?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  6th day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Shirikun, Moriande

  Nalenyr

  Prince Pyrust lifted the lid of the small ebony box on the table in his suite’s parlor. There, nestled in a swatch of red velvet, he found nine metal figures, gaily painted save one, with the tallest measuring two and a half inches. This one—the one painted black except for the face and the white hawk emblazoned on the breastplate of the armor—he plucked from the box and held in the light of the nearest candle. He turned it left and right, marveling more at the artistry of the sculpting than the painting, for that had clearly been done quickly.

  He smiled. “They are more kind in their treatment of me this year than in the past. Is that because I am here, or is it an edict from Cyron?”

  The other person in the room sat in a corner, cloaked in shadow, a hood pulled up so naught but a few wisps of long grey hair could be seen. Her voice, though quiet, crackled with age. “This we are not certain, Highness. Cyron is not as given to issuing edicts as his father was.”

  Pyrust set his simulacrum on the table and pulled out Cyron’s piece. The robe he wore had been painted with exquisite skill and looked even better than the garment worn at their meeting. The gold of it would have been all but blinding in brighter light. The artisan had taken great care to portray the hawk beneath the dragon as being in great distress, with feathers flying.

  “I find it curious to hold him in my hand so easily now, but to have difficulty controlling him in life.”

  His guest slowly shook her head, but no light fell across her features. “Control is an illusion. He thinks he controls you now.”

  “Does he?” Pyrust set him down as well, taking minor satisfaction that his figure was taller than that of the Naleni Prince. “His offer of food was not one I could refuse. Along with it came conditions of behavior. I violate them at my nation’s ruination.”

  “Do you, my lord?”

  “Is it not obvious, Delasonsa? Your agents are the ones who have brought me an accurate picture of the state of my nation. The bureaucrats hide things in statistics and the manner in which they let reports filter to court. They dole out bad news in degrees.”

  “It is their means of maintaining order, for bureaucracy breaks down in the face of chaos. They see themselves as the real keepers of order in the world, the heirs to the Empire the Empress abandoned so long ago. She split political power among the Nine Princes, but the mechanism for maintaining the Empire fell to the bureaucrats. Save that it would be the ultimate invocation of chaos, they would have supplanted the Princes long ago.”

  She gestured, the tip of her finger with its long crooked nail barely escaping a heavy sleeve. “You were not surprised Prince Cyron knew of the harvest. You supposed, not incorrectly, that Helosundian agents brought him that news. Bureaucrats confirmed it, however, as they sought to open negotiations on your behalf with his bureaucrats. Information was flowing through those channels well before the harvest failed.”

  With his maimed left hand Pyrust stroked his goatee. “Those same channels will convey information about any invasion I was to make. It is those channels that tell him about my attempts to hunt down the Helosundian rebels.”

  “In part, yes, but we have been taking care of those problems.” Her hood shifted. “It is both a blessing and a curse to have the bureaucrats. Yours are greatly efficient, duplicating or triplicating every report, sending them on through different couriers, demanding dated receipts so things can be tracked. When you desire something done, it gets done.”

  “Yes. I use the same system in the field with troops.”

  “Of course you do, Highness, which is why your campaigns have been successful, and will continue to be so in the future.”

  “You need not flatter me, Mother of Shadows. I rely upon others for that.” Pyrust turned back to the box and pulled out the figure of Qiro Anturasi. He held it up as he turned back. “Here is the key to the future.”

  “Would you have me slay him?”

  Pyrust focused beyond the white-robed figurine to the huddle of rags in the chair. “You have oft asked me to give you leave to kill him. What is this personal animosity you bear him?”

&
nbsp; “None, Highness.” She chuckled lightly. “It is the challenge. Anturasikun is as secure a prison as Prince Cyron and his father could devise. Getting in is not simple, and getting out is less so. For me to slip in, slay him in a manner that made it appear he died naturally, and escape again is probably the hardest task imaginable.”

  “Save escaping from the Nine Hells.”

  “Or Nine Heavens. Yes, Master.”

  Pyrust studied her for a moment. From his earliest memory she had appeared thus: an aged crone shrunk by the weight of centuries. His father had said she had seemed the same to him, so Pyrust doubted she truly looked like that. But still, it meant that she was very likely jaecaivril—so masterful in the shadow arts that the merest touch could kill. She had long run the mechanism of state security in Deseirion—both the visible forces and those that dwelt exclusively in the shadows, most of whom were of her blood. Generations of them.

  I do not doubt you could kill Qiro Anturasi. He let the figure of the man slip into his fist and tightened his grip. “I hate denying you that challenge, but as long as he has his vulnerabilities, he is more useful alive than dead. Besides, he is merely contributory to the problem we face. His entire family would have to be wiped out, and all of their charts destroyed, and even that would only slow Nalenyr, not stop it.

  “Explorations bring trade to Nalenyr, and that results in gold with which the Prince can train and maintain an army of Helosundian mercenaries to harass me and defend his nation. It puts him in a position to hire an even larger army, if need be. Any assault I could begin would be bogged down in Helosunde fighting mercenaries. He brings Naleni troops up, and mine starve before we can win even a foot of Naleni soil.”

  “Hence your financing expeditions into the Wastes and the study of gyan. If you can recover enough artifacts or the machines can be perfected, you could create an army that would overwhelm his. It becomes a race. He wants more gold; you seek the means to take his gold from him.”

  “I do not like such impasses.” He set Qiro down next to the other two figures in the set. “I like them less than Cyron’s jerking a leash and my having to heel as if I were some cur.”

  “There is an advantage to that, Highness.”

  “Yes?”

  The crone gestured vaguely in the direction of Kojaikun. “He believes himself a hero on this night of heroes, and he believes you a cur secure at the end of a leash. He has told you that if you are hostile, you will starve. Do you think he really cares if you continue your campaigns in Helosunde or not?”

  Pyrust frowned. “True. His proxy war in Helosunde bleeds me but does not bleed him. It can only be to his benefit if we continue fighting.”

  “And if you continue fighting, he will assume you are stupid, since you risk cutting off the grain heading north. You know he will delay shipments to you, but he dare not do that to his allies. If you are successful in stealing their grain, he will divert shipments to them, but you shall be fed nonetheless.”

  “This gets me nothing.”

  “On the contrary, it gets you much.”

  Pyrust’s head came up. “It shows him I am predictable and stupid.”

  “Which he will be more than willing to accept. After all, he already believes you follow dreams.” She pointed to the box of figures. “Draw out the two Guards figures: the Cloud Dragon and the River Dragon.”

  Knowing she had a point and assuming it would be of value, he turned to the box and pulled out the two figures that represented the most elite of Naleni troops. Save for the colors and insignia painted on their armor and shields, the pieces were identical. They had been cast from the same mold and differed only in color.

  “They are the same.”

  “Indeed, they are. There is no way to tell them apart save for their uniforms.”

  “Exactly, my prince. You have the Shadow Hawks and the Mountain Hawks operating in Helosunde. They cross the river and strike at various points in punitive expeditions. What if you used the same troops, but differed their uniforms? What if the bureaucrats still sent the same reports, indicating where the units were, their strength and their disposition? You would, in essence, free one unit from observation.”

  “And one unit consumes half the fodder of two, so I can hoard some of what we capture. This I understand. To what end, though?”

  “I would have thought it would be simple, Highness.” Her laughter mocked him. “The Naleni assume you will never defeat them because they can buy well-trained troops to oppose you. You, it is assumed, need gyan-worked swords to equal them, or relics or troops fueled with corpse dust and other unsavory things. As we have discussed in the past, such troops would be useful at the start, engaging Naleni troops, pinning them so your better-trained and disciplined troops could sweep past and seize valuable targets.”

  “Agreed.”

  The crone stood and hobbled forward, her head bent low and her dowager’s hump visible above the set of her shoulders. “What if you used your troops to provide your rabble some very basic training? Enough to establish discipline? Instead of sending them into battle to die, you send them into battle with some chance of survival. You can take them and train them into an effective force. You need not worry about any becoming overly skilled, since you will be simply teaching them how to march and follow orders.”

  Pyrust frowned for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Those who show promise could be brought to schools and further trained. Yes, this might well work. The basic discipline could even be disguised as an effort to establish local militias to protect villages against marauders looking for food in a time of famine. Cyron would take this as a further sign of disorder and it would make him underestimate me more.”

  Delasonsa moved past him and tapped the Anturasi figure on the head with a finger. “While Prince Cyron believes you are turned inward to stave off disaster, we find ways to threaten his monopoly on world knowledge. Plans, as you know, are unfolding. You spoke to his grandson, Keles?”

  “Yes, just a preliminary talk. I sensed no willingness to come out of his grandfather’s shadow.”

  “No, that one is loyal. The other is wilder and can be tempted, though sending him off on the Stormwolf will take him outside my influence.”

  Pyrust smiled and set the guards on the table. “You have yet been frustrated in your attempt to infiltrate an agent onto the ship.”

  “It would have been a waste of time regardless. Someone of sufficient skill to duplicate the work Jorim Anturasi will be doing would have been instantly recognizable. Their ability to communicate back to us what they had learned would have been questionable, and their discovery a disaster. Instead, I think using the time the ship is gone to compromise people who will have information during its absence and upon its return will provide us a much greater reward for our efforts.”

  “What of our attempts to get Anturasi charts, or even the charts of other houses?”

  She laughed. “Anturasi charts are better guarded than the Naleni treasury, so we have not been successful there. The other charts have come to us, but our people have seen their like before. They have noted something interesting, however.”

  “Oh?”

  “We have our own coastal charts for much of the waters once claimed by the Empire. There have been changes down through the years, such as the shift of sandbars that create navigational hazards. What is curious is that the newest charts either do not show these or have indications of hazards where there should be clear water. The conclusion is inescapable: the Anturasi have gotten their own agents into the other houses, creating charts that bring disaster for those who use them.”

  The Desei prince picked Qiro’s figure up again. “Craftier than I would have imagined, then.”

  “And, as you said, Highness, he is vulnerable.” She turned and flicked a finger toward the west. “Keles Anturasi will be traveling to the Wastes. I shall have agents following him. I will seek to slip one into his company, if it is possible. I am less concerned with what he will learn than placing
him in situations that keep him beholden to us. If we can earn his trust by saving his life, splendid. If we have to take him and hold him, we can do that as well. At the very least we will have him in our control, and that will give us a means to control Anturasi.”

  Pyrust slowly nodded. “There is, of course, one other thing we could do.”

  “Say the word, Highness, and it shall be done.”

  “Not yet.” Pyrust set the Anturasi figure down, then flicked a nail against Prince Cyron, knocking the figure onto its back. “I will save killing him for a more crucial moment. It is not something considered lightly.”

  “Since the Empire’s division, assassins have not claimed a crown.”

  “To the best of your knowledge, Shadowmother.”

  He caught the flash of teeth from within the hood. “No other has better knowledge, Highness. It has not yet been done by an assassin. I would know.”

  “So you would.” Pyrust nodded easily. “It is a strategy that will only work when the time is right. At a time when many things hinge on him, when all the pressure is on, that’s when I will take him. It won’t matter if he is the hero of heroes or not. All that will matter is that he is dead, and in the chaos that follows, it will be the sword of a warrior, not the pen of a bureaucrat, that reclaims order.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  8th day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Anturasikun, Moriande

  Nalenyr

  Keles Anturasi set aside the book and rose slowly from his chair as his brother entered the sunroom. The surprise on Jorim’s face gratified him, and made Keles determined not to show the least twinge of discomfort. He forced a smile and straightened, despite the lingering pain in his back.

  “You’re up quicker than anyone expected, Keles. Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Yes, I feel wonderful. Thank you for asking.” Keles let his smile grow. “The Viruk ambassador’s magic has had a good effect on my back. I have to be up and around because if I’m not, I’ll be trapped here for Grandfather to vent his fury upon.”