A Secret Atlas

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Anaeda looked at him. “How do you know?”

  He traced a finger along the coast of the continent to the north. “This is a fairly recent representation of the coast. It probably came from a Desei chart because of the shape of the bay right here in southern Ummummorar. Two hundred years ago a volcano’s flow extended the left edge, making the harbor larger than it once was. The coast of Aefret came from a chart their navigators use.”

  He tapped Cartayne. “This placement of Cartayne in the center of the map is a thing the Soth did. The island is smaller than it should be. The Soth did that to show how unimportant it was in comparison to Virukadeen. They made maps that way to flatter their Viruk masters, so this part of the chart is thousands of years old. Now, the question is, did this archipelago appear on the Soth map, or have others actually sailed south to the Mountains of Ice?”

  The old woman cackled and her eyes shone. “Take him as your lover, Anaeda. Bear his children, for they shall be quick of mind.”

  “It is something I shall consider, Grandmother. Now, what of his question?”

  The old woman pulled her feet back in and hugged her knees to her chest. The map’s upper edge rolled in as she sucked on her pipe. Smoke drifted from her mouth, hiding her face for a moment, then she nodded. “I believe it was drawn from an old chart.”

  Jorim kept his voice low. “Do you have that map?”

  The old woman canted her head and closed her eyes. The dark hollow in the bowl of her pipe brightened to a cherry red. “I believe the original could be found. What would you offer for it?”

  Anaeda needn’t have glanced at him, for Jorim was not going to answer even though he had a thousand thoughts of what he could give her. The captain bowed low, pressed her forehead to the map, and spoke in something barely above a whisper. “Our offering would be meager. As your chart might be of aid, so we could provide you with a similar chart. South and east there is another harbor. We have a chart of it that would let ships navigate even at night. A place where it is believed no goods could come ashore would now be open to you.”

  Jorim watched the old woman but caught no hint of how she took that offer. It hardly surprised him that she might have connections to smugglers, for even the composite map she had shown them would be invaluable to all sorts of people. But the offer suggested she might benefit more directly from smuggling operations.

  Finally, the old woman nodded. “That will be acceptable, Anaeda.”

  Captain Gryst straightened up. “You are most kind, Grandmother.”

  “I am, child, but it pleases me to be so with you.” The old woman turned to look Jorim full in the face. “You have something else you would ask of me?”

  “Yes, Grandmother. Where did you find the map?”

  She smiled. “There are many places on this island where the Viruk once lived. In one of them, on a wall, the world known at the time was painted. Much of the paint has been destroyed by lichen and molds, but that bit remained. I will have you taken there and you can make your own copy.”

  Jorim bowed low. “Your generosity leaves me in your debt.”

  “I accept that debt, Anturasi.” The old woman laughed. “Yes, I know who you are, which is why I make that offer to you. Only an Anturasi who has slain Viruk would dare enter one of their ruins. If your heart does not fail you, that map and perhaps more will be yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  20th day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog

  9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  736th year since the Cataclysm

  Asath

  Nalenyr

  Keles snapped out of his trance as Tyressa jerked him to his feet. She planted a kiss firmly on his lips, sending a jolt through him and leaving him disoriented and surprised. Then she pulled her mouth from his, breaking the kiss loudly, and embraced him tightly with her left arm around his shoulders.

  Her voice sounded strongly above the laughter of those assembled in the inn’s common room. “Enough of these river men. I am homesick. You’re coming with me.”

  More hoots and calls accompanied them as she steered him toward the rough-hewn stairs leading up to the room they’d taken. She tightened her embrace against any attempt he might make to slip away and, reflexively, he wrapped his right arm around her waist. In an instant he knew his brother, in keeping with whatever deception Tyressa had deemed necessary, would have dropped a hand to one of her firm, round cheeks, but he could not. I like my arm in one piece.

  He shook his head, clearing the last of the fog, and tried to imagine what had prompted her action. He’d seen nothing, but then he’d taken the opportunity to slip inside himself to send a message to his grandfather. The Catfish had come up the river as quickly as possible, but had been delayed by storms that washed debris into the river. When they continued, they reached Asath, which was at the lower end of a stretch of the river where glacial deposits made it impassable. Cargoes were off-loaded there and transported overland to Urisoti to continue the journey to the port of Gria.

  They had arrived in midafternoon, and Keles immediately noticed that the work clearing and dredging the river was nowhere near as complete as had been reported to Moriande. He’d read the various reports and saw that the situation was little changed from when he was last there. The money set aside for the project was being squandered. Communicating the true state of affairs was vital and would only take a moment.

  He’d slipped into the trance he used to reach Qiro easily and found his grandfather awake. He got a sense of things back through the link that he’d not experienced before. Impressions from his grandfather had always been strong, and while he expected ire, he got little of it. The sensations were vague and made him uneasy, but Keles could not determine why. Regardless of that, he did manage to convey the information before Tyressa had so rudely brought him back to Asath.

  She said nothing even as she propelled him through the door to their room. He caught himself on the end of the bed, then cried out as his right knee slammed into the footboard. “What is the mea—”

  Tyressa spun him around and clapped a hand over his mouth. Her whisper came harsh and strained. “Keep your voice down and gather your stuff. We’re leaving.”

  He jerked his mouth from beneath her hand, but did keep his voice low. “What is it?”

  “It was you.” She released him, then gathered her baggage, which consisted of an overstuffed backpack and bedroll beneath it, a sling pouch and her sword belt. “I think your fading was taken as drifting off to sleep. Not too suspicious, though it is a bit early. If they didn’t think you were sleeping, they might have figured out who you are.”

  He rubbed at his knee, then gathered up his pack, bow, and quiver then belted on his knife. “What are you talking about?”

  “Four men. Two local, two from the ship. They affected not to see us. But they worked too hard at not seeing us.”

  Another jolt ran through Keles, one altogether different from what he felt when she kissed him. “Desei agents?”

  “Perhaps. It’s well-known that all river traffic stops here and goes overland to Urisoti. It would make sense to have watchers here.” She crossed to the room’s window and opened the shutters. “Out you go. Be careful. Drop to the street. We’ll go to the livery and get horses. We’ll travel tonight and steal a march on the rest of the Catfish company.”

  He frowned. “Wouldn’t it be safer traveling with others?”

  “Not when those others are out to get you.”

  “Good point.” Keles limped over to the window and climbed out. He crouched without her telling him and crept along the tiled awning to the back of the building. He lowered himself, then dropped to the ground and fell back firmly on his tailbone.

  Any embarrassment he might have felt at being so clumsy vanished as a four-pointed throwing star whizzed through the night and stuck, quivering, in the side of the inn. He rolled and came to his feet, then jumped away as a small man
slashed at him with a dagger. Keles bumped into the post supporting the awning and tried to cut to the left, but a nail in the post caught on his pack and held him firmly.

  The knife wielder’s smile vanished as Tyressa leaped from above and smashed both booted feet into his face. He flew back, hitting the street hard; his knife sailed into the darkness. She landed in a crouch and came up quickly. She shifted her sword from right hand to left, then yanked Keles free of the nail.

  “Run.”

  He took off down the alley toward the livery stable. There was no mistaking his direction; his training and blood had already let him assemble a map of Asath. Though his previous visit hadn’t brought him to that part of town, his journey through it earlier had locked the details in place. Three more alleys down, then turn left and on two more blocks.

  Behind him came sounds of fighting, with the occasional clash of steel on steel. He listened for the sound of Tyressa crying out, or the whirring of more throwing stars, but he heard nothing of the sort. As the din of combat grew, he was tempted to turn and string his bow, but he knew he’d be more of a hindrance than help in the dark.

  He cut around the corner and the alley widened into a street. Directly ahead of him, a block and a half down, two men stood in the middle of the street. Ruffians, knives drawn or swords slipping from scabbards, bled into the street between the pair and Keles. He stopped and turned, but saw more men behind him. Tyressa had inflicted enough damage to keep those chasing her at a respectful distance, but they still came on.

  She looked at him imploringly and waved him on, but then she turned the corner and realized why he’d stopped. She immediately dropped to one knee to catch her breath, then flicked her sword out to bat away a throwing star.

  One of the men who had been chasing her took a step forward. “We are not required to kill you.”

  Tyressa stood again. “You’ll get past me no other way.”

  The man shrugged. “Kill her. Take his legs.”

  The dozen ruffians began to tighten their circle. Tyressa closed with Keles. “Get ready to run again. We’re going at the stables. Now! Go!”

  The two of them started to sprint. Her longer legs gained her a slight lead. The brigands between them and the stable moved to oppose her. With a backhanded slash, she battered one man’s sword aside and crushed his skull. She punched another man in the face, dropping him, but there was no way she could win through, especially not with the two men coming to reinforce the ones trying to stop her. The duo came with swords drawn and moved with precision their comrades lacked.

  Striding forward boldly, the younger of the pair whipped his sword forward, cutting down one of the footpads. Another of them turned to oppose him, but the man struck so quickly his thrust punctured his foe’s chest and withdrew even before his victim completed his turn. A parry and slash killed a third man and, suddenly, the way to the stable stood clear.

  Keles darted through the opening and Tyressa joined him. The two of them turned to see the swordsmen moving to cut off pursuit. The elder swordsman turned to his companion and spoke quietly. “You did well, Ciras. Guide them to the stables.”

  The ruffians’ leader came to the fore and spared only a brief glance for his wounded and dying confederates. “You are meddling in affairs not your own.”

  The swordsman smiled. “Then you know my affairs?”

  “Well, no, but . . .” The head ruffian frowned. “Get out of my way or I shall be forced to kill you.”

  “It would seem, then, that our intentions coincide.” The swordsman nodded, then slid a foot forward and set himself. “Ciras, you should be much closer to the stables than you are now.”

  “Yes, Master.” Ciras tugged at Keles’ shoulder. “My Master bid me to get you to the stables. Let us go.”

  “We can’t just leave him alone. There are seven of them, eight.” Keles shook his head. “Seven. That one went down again.”

  “There could be nine, or nine times nine. Come, we have to get clear.”

  Keles backed away along the street with Ciras, and Tyressa came as well, though as reluctantly as he did. The ruffians began to gather into a tight pack, preparing to rush the lone man opposing them. Many of them were larger than he was, and almost all were as well armed. Men wiped moist hands on their overshirts, then tightened grips on their swords’ hilts. Some shifted and advanced in a formal guard, while others just hunched forward and snarled. Onward they came, inch by inch, a mob ready to destroy the man in front of them. Having drawn to within two paces, the leader screamed an inarticulate war cry, and the human storm broke on the single swordsman.

  The ruffians came at their protector in a tight crescent. The two men at each end shot out and past, coming for the retreating trio. The five who remained came on as a solid wall—all muscle, steel, and snarls. Keles watched without wanting to, utterly certain that Ciras’ Master would soon be dead.

  The swordsman twisted to his right and moved ghostlike through the line of men opposing him. Their blades flashed in the moonlight, and in such close quarters, it seemed impossible they did not strike him. Eerily, no ringing of sword on sword sounded, and war cries swallowed the sound of footsteps in the street.

  Then one of the war cries curdled into a whimper. The sound’s shift mirrored the way the group’s leader curled around a slit belly and fell. The swordsman emerged at the back of the crescent with the leader’s sword in his other hand, then planted a foot and spun back instantly. Two quick slashes cut down the central pair of swordsmen as they turned to face him. Their blades flew as they reeled away, throat and chest opened respectively.

  As their bodies thrashed on the ground, the quintet’s last two fighters turned back to oppose him. The man on the right lunged, but the swordmaster slipped past the quivering blade effortlessly. A quick cut opened that man from groin to breastbone. A return slash took his head in time to silence his scream, but without erasing the expression of horror on his face.

  The last man assumed a stance that betrayed some training. He stamped his forward foot and feinted a lunge. Then he pulled back, recovering from his feint, pulling his blade up to protect him from waist to crown. Sparks flew as he blocked a forehand slash. He even began to smile as the swordmaster whipped his right arm forward in a repetition of that attack. He moved to block again.

  The swordmaster’s second blade came around and down behind the block, severing the man’s hands. Blood spurted as the sword dropped, then a third slash neatly cut the man’s throat. Gurgling a sigh, the man slumped to the ground.

  The last two men had slowed their charge as Tyressa and Ciras had moved to oppose them. With their comrades’ deaths, their attack faltered entirely. As if sharing a mind, each chose to bolt for the safety of shadows, one going left, the other right. They ran as if the demons of the fifth Hell pursued them.

  Only what pursued them was worse.

  The swordsman dashed to his left and slashed, sending that man spinning to the dust with a split spine. Without pause, he whirled and threw his acquired sword. It spun in a flat arc and caught the last man in the legs. It tangled there, not cutting him, but tripping him up. He smashed face-first into a building and rebounded to flop loose-limbed in the mouth of an alley.

  Without saying a word, the swordmaster drew a small knife and slit the throats of the last two men. He squatted and cleaned his blades on the tunic of the man he’d tripped, then approached them with his blades still bared. He stopped ten feet from them and bowed, both deeply and long. “You will please forgive my haste and resulting sloppiness.”

  Keles, utterly disbelieving what he had just seen, returned the bow. He would have matched that of the swordsman in duration, but Tyressa remained down longer, and he took his cue from her. He had the impression she would have held it for yet longer, but lingering in the corpse-littered street was not a good idea.

  As they straightened up, the swordsman sheathed his weapons. “I am Moraven Tolo. This is my companion, Ciras Dejote. We do not need your names. Spe
aking them here would not be a good idea just now.”

  Keles opened his mouth, closed it, then shifted his shoulders uneasily. “How did you find us?”

  “Prince Cyron arranged for us to accompany you to Ixyll. I believe, Tyressa, you have instructions from the Prince that were only to be opened in Gria?”

  Tyressa nodded. “I was given such a packet.”

  “It contains a letter of introduction for us. We had planned to reveal ourselves to you there, but circumstances intervened.”

  “I understand and thank you.” The Keru slid her own sword into its scabbard. “I suspected the Prince would send others.”

  Keles frowned. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She ignored him. “Were you on the Catfish?”

  Moraven pointed to the stables. “There will be time on the road to explain. We should hurry.”

  The four of them trotted to the stables. Tyressa and Keles waited while Moraven and Ciras picked out their horses. Part of the money paid to rent the horses would be returned to them in Urisoti when they left the horses with the agent there. The fees were more than the animals and tack were actually worth, so any incentive to steal them vanished.

  The swordsmen had chosen well and obtained two horses for each of them. That would allow them to move fast and complete the trip in less than the five days it normally took. Keles fastened his pack to the rear of his saddle, then mounted up and joined the others.

  No one said much until they were well out of Asath, which was when Tyressa repeated her question about the riverboat.

  Moraven nodded. “We were.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “You remember a young priest conducting his maiden aunt back to Gria? She had loudly exclaimed about the wonders of Festival?”

  Keles blinked. He remembered the lady well, for her voice penetrated bulkheads as if they were rice paper and she repeated each story at least a dozen times. Even the actor pretending to be him grew terse with her. She had been fat and slow, complaining of gout and other maladies which, according to her, could be cured only through taking the waters in some hot mineral spring high in the mountains southeast of Gria.