“Has he actually visited you?”
“No, but he has sent Ulan with more dictates than Urmyr has for bureaucrats. I’m well sick of it.”
Jorim nodded and tugged at the black sash on his green robe. “I can understand that. While I feel sorry people have to work on provisioning the Stormwolf during the Festival, I can’t wait to be heading downriver and away. The journey cannot begin too soon.”
“Give me at least a couple more days, then I will be able to travel upriver and get away myself.”
“Gladly.” Jorim moved past and picked up the well-worn, leather-bound volume from which Keles had been reading. “ ‘The Memoir of Amenis Dukao’? You’re not considering this research for your journey, are you?”
“No, but it does have value.” Keles eased himself back down into his chair and motioned for his brother to seat himself on the footstool. “We enjoyed it as children. Nirati had been reading to me from it, and I find it comforting now. As well, there is some truth in there. Dukao did travel through the Wastes and fought alongside the Empress against the Turasynd.”
“Value? May the gods be merciful.” Jorim dragged another chair around, seated himself, and put his feet on the footstool. “Keles, Keles, Keles, what am I going to do with you?” He rapped a fist against the book’s cover.
Keles held his hands up. “I know what you’re going to tell me. The book is a compilation of earlier legends, all framed with a story about how scavengers found a handwritten memoir in the Wastes. They brought it to an author who transcribed it, then the original manuscript mysteriously vanished.”
“Right. Kyda Jameet is a pseudonym of some Virine noble who’d never been further north than the mountains and no closer to the Ixyll Wastes than the shore of the Dark Sea, and he plucked Dukao’s name from history because no one knows that much about who he was.”
“We’ve argued all this before.” Keles sighed. “Still, some of the observations about conditions in the Wastes are true.”
Jorim sighed and his brows arrowed sharply toward his nose. “There are parts of Ummummorar and Tejanmorek that felt the fringes of the Cataclysm. Things get pretty strange there. And where you are going will be worse.”
“Which is exactly what it describes here.”
“But not well, dear brother. Where I have been, and have seen the effects, they were more than Jameet ever dreamed. I have seen a tree—one single one in the midst of a forest—that was turned to crystal. It has leaves which, when they fall, revert to normal matter. It has fruit which, when plucked, decays immediately. The flowers smell sweet, but, when picked, die in the blink of an eye.”
“But here he talks about such things.”
“Yet insufficiently. I’ve seen a tree, he describes a grove, but you’ll ride through forests of crystal—and worse.” Jorim opened the book to a plate showing the hero in armor. “Amenis Dukao was lucky. He died in the grand battle. He made his way to Kianmang well before his brothers, and was there to welcome them to the Warriors’ Heaven when they fell. He never saw, much less had to survive, what the Cataclysm did to Ixyll.”
Keles nodded, hiding a smile at his brother’s slowly smoldering anger. He knew he could play with him like that for a while longer, but he didn’t want to trigger an outburst. “Your point is well-taken. Still, the stories might prepare me for what I will see.”
Jorim, it appeared, was in a conciliatory mood as well. “That’s true. And, truth be told, I wish you had a hero like Amenis Dukao to accompany you out there.”
“I can handle myself.”
Jorim set the book aside, planted his feet on the ground, and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Keles, two things you must know are true. The first is that I have the utmost respect for all you have done. The survey of the upper reaches of the Gold River is flawless. I envy your ability to see in such detail and to be so exact. Second, you must know that I am sure you will be just as diligent, if not more so, in this trek. The work you produce will be stunning; there is no doubt about it in my mind.”
“But?”
“But I worry about you.”
“Jorim, I’m the older brother, I’m supposed to worry about you.”
The younger Anturasi smiled for a moment. “Keles, you are a cartographer. I am an adventurer. The survey you’ll be making into the Wastes is one that really calls for an adventurer.”
Keles pointed toward the river. “And the Stormwolf voyage won’t?”
“Yes, it will, but not as much.” Jorim stood and began to pace. “I’ve been in the wilds, Keles. You can take nothing for granted, nothing at all, and out in the Wastes it will be worse. You are an indifferent swordsman. You once were a passable archer, but you’ve let that skill atrophy. Out there you will be defenseless.”
Keles sat back, bringing his hands together and pressing index fingers to his lips. His brother’s genuine concern stoked the fear that had been smoldering in his belly. Aside from what was written in books like the memoir, or any of its similarly fanciful cousins, which delighted children and disgusted most adults, he knew nothing of what he would be facing. His brother’s comments were accurate concerning his skill with a sword, and he made a mental note to have a bow and arrows included in the supplies he would take with him.
Though Jorim was right, Keles didn’t want to deal with that point immediately, so he did the only thing he could: he deflected the argument.
“You’re wrong, Jorim, when you state that my journey will take more of an adventurer than yours. At least I know what to expect. You have no clue. There could be anything out there, or nothing. You could fall off the edge of the world.”
Jorim laughed. Those who were not conversant with maps and the world often subscribed to the superstitious notion that the world was flat and had edges. But they knew it was a ball and one of a finite size. Their grandfather had even calculated it and, based upon those calculations, the Stormwolf had been fitted out for a two-year journey.
“There could be anything out there, and probably is.” Keles deliberately widened his eyes. “Cannibals. Demons. Monsters. You’d best be an even better swordsman than the stories make you out to be.”
Jorim bit back a response, then nodded slowly. “I have thought of that, you know. Whatever is out there was enough to kill our father. I don’t think it will get me, but I am aware of the danger. As for cannibals, monsters, and demons, I was told those lurked in Ummummorar and other places. I never found any of it to be true, so I’m not terribly worried.”
“You’re not?” Keles frowned. “Then why did you come here to see me?”
“I think I’m too much of an adventurer for the Stormwolf, Keles. I’m good at leading folks into the unknown, reading the land, hunting for animals.”
“Which is exactly what you will be doing.”
“But not while we’re on the ocean. The ship has a captain, and she’s very good, so what use will I be? You’d find a way to do something useful.”
“Come here. Sit down.” Keles pulled his feet from the footstool and this time his brother accepted it. “You’ll do what is required of you on the journey, Jorim. Your job is to track longitude and latitude, then lead expeditions into the places you find. That’s your role, and you had best be as bold and breathtaking as you can when you fulfill it. That’s what they will expect. You are being sent on the greatest adventure of all time. Our father is a giant in my eyes. I loved him dearly, but even he would bow to you on this voyage.”
Jorim frowned, swiped at a tear. “Allergies.”
“Of course.”
“Does this wisdom come with being just two years older?”
“Well, that, and having a little brother who so often needs it.”
“Uh-huh. If you were that wise, you’d have avoided the sharp side of a Viruk’s claws.”
Keles laughed. “Very true indeed.” He nodded toward his brother. “I have listened to what you’ve said. I will have a bow taken along with me, and I wi
ll practice.”
Jorim’s smile broadened. “I’m glad to hear that. I already took the liberty of having my second-best bow stowed with your gear. I’d have given you the best, but you won’t be up to drawing it for a while. The one I’m giving you will put an arrow through armor at forty-five yards.”
“You’re giving me your bow so I won’t get close enough to have to use a sword, right?”
Jorim leaned forward and patted his brother’s knee. “Keles, let me put this to you gently. You’re so bad with a blade that an apple doesn’t get worried when you approach it with a paring knife.”
“I am not that bad.”
“Close. Doesn’t matter, though.” Jorim ducked a hand inside his right sleeve and it emerged holding a ring of jade with an inch-long flange that curved in toward the far side. “This thumbring is something I found here in Moriande. It once belonged to Panil Ishir. He’s even mentioned in your memoir there—though that’s probably the only fact in the book. He was one of the finest archers in the Empire. Practice with this, and you’ll be shooting better than ever in no time.”
Keles took the smooth stone ring and fitted it over his thumb. The flange protected the pad, and was worn where it had been used to draw a bowstring back. The cool jade didn’t tingle with magic or otherwise betray service to an ancient hero. But he had no doubt it would work as his brother suggested, helping him refine his skill, and he knew his brother must have paid dearly for it.
“This is too great a gift for me to take into the Wastes, Jorim, and you’re more likely to need it where you are going.”
“Nonsense.” Jorim closed his brother’s hand around it. “You’ll need it, I’m sure of that.”
Keles sighed. “I will take it, but only because I have an ulterior motive. Panil Ishir is one of those who supposedly survived the battle. He’s out there with the Eternal Empress, ready to serve her on her return should ever the Nine Principalities require succor.”
“Oh, really?” Jorim burst out with a laugh. “You should go back to reading the memoirs. They are much more believable than the stories of the Sleeping Empress.”
Keles shifted his shoulders uneasily and felt a twinge in his back. “You’re not looking at it correctly. The tales make sense.”
“You’re delirious, but I’d love to hear your reasoning—flawed as it is.”
“It’s not flawed at all. The Imperial forces must have been victorious; otherwise, the barbarians would have long since overrun the Principalities. She and the others were trapped in this new place that is changed because of the battle, with monsters and other things that are as much of a threat to her Empire as the barbarians ever were. She and the survivors stayed out there eliminating these threats, and still remain there. Had they not, the monsters would have long since overrun the Principalities. It’s all very logical.”
“It would be if you weren’t basing things on a fallacy. You assume monsters aren’t here from the Wastes because they’ve been killed in the Wastes. If monsters ever existed, and if they were killed in the Wastes, it does not follow that it was the Empress and her troops who did the killing. And while they were all great heroes, I doubt many of them will have survived the centuries since then—if any.”
“Kaerinus did.”
“He was not a hero.”
“Immaterial.” Keles smiled sheepishly. “If one of them did, and he is Panil, wouldn’t it be great to return his property to him?”
“If he doesn’t take you for a grave robber and shoot you first, yes.” Jorim shook his head. “There are times, Keles, when I wonder about you. Perhaps that Viruk venom has softened your head.”
“Hey, you used to believe this as fervently as I did.”
“Sure. Then I grew up. One of the reasons I envy you your journey is that I know you’ll see things far more fantastic than the Sleeping Empress.”
“But maybe I’ll see her, too.”
“Maybe you will. In the wilds you hear stories. They’re nine times more fanciful than the memoirs.” Jorim frowned for a moment. “It is odd, though, that something kept the Viruk from using the Cataclysm as a means to reestablish their Empire. They take to the cold better than us, and survive magic better. They could have returned, but they didn’t.”
“See? It could have been her.”
“Or they could have been killing the monsters you say she has been slaying.”
“Could be. Not much of a comfort if it is.” Keles’ mind flicked to a greater problem that his brother’s comment raised. Fear flared in his stomach. “The battle released enough magic to change this world. What if it did more?”
“Like?”
“Like open a hole into another world so that things from there came pouring through? What if the Viruk did spend the dark years fighting for their very survival against whatever came from that place?”
“Well, Keles, if that is what happened, I’ve only two things to tell you. First, learn to shoot really, really well.” Jorim’s eyes tightened. “Second, watch your back. You don’t want anything following you home.”
Chapter Twenty-three
9th 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
Wentokikun, Moriande
Nalenyr
Prince Cyron dismissed his attendants and the minor minister with a wave of his hand. “I shall finish dressing myself. Minister Delar, you will wait in the corridor until Master Anturasi and I are finished, then you shall conduct him back to the ball.”
The minister bowed silently, waited for the dressers to exit before he did, then slid the door closed.
The Prince tugged at the shoulders of his overshirt, then glanced up at Keles Anturasi. The young man looked pale and just a little afraid, both of which were understandable. Cyron smiled, shifted his shoulders, and lowered his hands. “Does it look good?”
“Yes, Highness.” Keles—wearing a simple overshirt of black, adorned with his family’s crest in white, over a green tunic and green pants—cleared his throat. “Yes, Highness, it is spectacular.”
“But not what you would have expected me to wear?” The Prince moved to a pair of chairs with a small round table set between them. The table had a box made of dark wood centered on its circular top. He motioned for the cartographer to take the other chair. Keles bowed abortively, then sat, uncertain of himself.
“Please, Keles, be at ease. I’ve not asked you here to discipline you. I consider you a friend, and I have been concerned about you. My physician has kept me informed of your progress. He does not like Viruk magic, but he has grudgingly testified to its efficacy.” The Prince seated himself, going so far as to extend his legs and cross his booted ankles. “You honor me by coming here with your family tonight. I even understand that you will head up the river as your brother sails down in the Stormwolf.”
“Yes, Highness.” Keles frowned and eased himself back in the chair. “Highness, I am honored you consider me a friend, but this puzzles me. You know my brother far better, and I would have expected he would be here instead of me.”
“And he has been, but not tonight. This is your night.” Cyron opened his arms to take in his dressing room. Rich golden wood predominated, save where strips of dark wood divided the doors and walls with a geometric pattern. Mobile panels blocked off doors, screens hid corners, and well-fitted doors concealed closet space. Aside from the chairs and table, the room contained very few furnishings, and most of that practical, such as armatures for the hanging of robes and a small cabinet for storing wine and drinking vessels.
“I invited you here to know I really do appreciate the great lengths to which you have gone for Nalenyr, and to which you will go. May I speak frankly?”
Keles blinked, his light eyes wide. “You need not ask my permission for that, Highness.”
“But no word of this meeting must ever pass your lips.”
The cart
ographer clasped his hands over his heart and likely would have sunk to his knees save for the lingering effects of his wounding. “Never, Highness.”
“Good.” The Prince sat forward, leaning on the left arm of his chair. “I was appalled when your grandfather sent you on this mission to Ixyll. It is true that he and I had discussed the necessity for sending someone there. That used to be the area through which trade was carried on with the Far West. For us not to know the state of things would be foolish. If that way were open, the Stormwolf expedition—and the knowledge it recovers—could be redundant. Still, given what few reports do come from there, we were fairly certain the way would remain sealed for another ninety years or so. That would give us the time needed to profit from trade and find another way to put the Empire back together.
“His choosing you, and invoking my name in doing so, put me in a difficult position. As you know, your grandfather can be . . . contrary at times.”
Keles laughed and his manner relaxed. “You are very diplomatic, Highness.”
“I try to be, but with you I can be very open. Your grandfather defies me from time to time, with increasing frequency, and were he not so vital to Nalenyr, I’d have him publicly flogged. Now, isn’t that something you’d like to see?”
“See? There are times I would like to help.”
“Well, I doubt you will get the chance, but you can help in other ways.” Cyron’s voice dropped in volume, forcing the younger man to lean forward. “The mission you are undertaking is of vital importance, and you will hear rumors about it. Rumors I have started. The rumors will indicate that you are too valuable to be left to go out into the Wastes, and that is true. People will be led to believe that you will be secretly recalled to court.”
“I’m not certain I understand, sire.”
“It is for your safety. A show shall be made of your departure. I have already obtained someone to impersonate you. I have assembled an entourage to travel upriver, both to draw attention to your double, and to keep others from getting too close. The company will make slow progress and attract much attention. Our enemies will watch that group. And you, disguised and on the same boat, will pass unnoticed.”
A Secret Atlas Page 19
