A Secret Atlas (26 page)

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.”

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.”

“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.”