A Secret Atlas (33 page)

begun to wither. The Viruk had brought Men and Soth slaves to populate the place and

work it. Gemstone mines and plantations in the interior had provided a lot of wealth for the

Empire, but with no home market, the economy collapsed. The Viruk retreated, not caring

what happened to their slaves.

Nysant had become, over the centuries, a center of commerce. The trade winds made it

easy for ships from the east to reach the city, and the coastal currents allowed them safe

passage back home. Along the way they filled their holds with a variety of things that

fetched high prices in their home ports. Until Naleni fleets had begun to travel to the west

themselves, Nysant had been the source of western treasures. It yet served the same role

for a number of the other Principalities, and ships from the Five Princes all rode anchor in

the harbor.

Jorim and Captain Gryst climbed a ladder to a wharf and headed inland. Just beyond the

normal thicket of dockside warehouses, they entered a free marketplace where wares

from the world over were touted by hundreds of loud voices. Textiles and spices, exotic

animals and enslaved peoples all were offered for sale. Captain Gryst stayed well away

from the slave pens, where half-naked ebon-fleshed men from Aefret stood chained in a

line on an auction block. The auctioneer—a mongrel of dusky skin and muddled

features—solicited bids with a combination of flattery and abuse, all in the local cant.

Jorim caught words here and there, and liked the lyrical flow of his voice, though the

practice of trading human flesh did not appeal to him at all.

They continued on past stalls with fruits and vegetables, squawking yard fowl and

collections of odd trinkets. Captain Gryst led him out through the eastern edge of the

bazaar and turned north. They plunged into a dim world of twisting alleys. Despite his skill

at cartography, Jorim quickly became lost, and he gained the impression that she wanted

it that way.

Finally, she stopped before a small shop and entered through a doorway hung with a

ragged blanket. He found himself in a small room with a carpeted floor that had been

strewn with thick pillows. The carpet had come from Tas al Aud and would fetch a fortune

in Moriande—likewise the beautifully embroidered pillows.

That she sat in the midst of a fortune did not seem to make any impression on the tiny,

wizened woman facing them. She drew on a long pipe and exhaled sweet smoke that

drifted into a low-hanging cloud. Captain Gryst bowed, then sank to her knees, drawing

some of the smoke down with her. Jorim likewise bowed, instinctively holding it long

enough to convey great respect, then knelt a step behind and to the right of Captain Gryst.

The old woman smiled toothlessly. “I am pleased you have returned, Anaeda. Your

absence has been mourned.”

“It grieved me as well, Grandmother.” Anaeda bowed her head again. “I came when word

reached me that you wished to see me.”

“Would that you thought to come sooner, for my home is yours. But

the
Stormwolf
demands more attention than I do.” The old woman pointed the pipe stem

at Jorim. “He is not your bodyguard. Your lover, perhaps?”

“An associate, Grandmother.”

The woman snorted smoke out her nose, then clamped the pipe firmly in teeth. “You will

be more forthcoming, I know.” She shifted a pillow and withdrew from it a bamboo case

corked at each end. She opened one end and withdrew a scroll, which she spread out on

the carpet. She used her bare feet to hold two corners down, leaving it to Anaeda and

Jorim to secure the corners nearest them.

Jorim fought to conceal his reaction, but Anaeda did not. She gasped, then chuckled.

“This is wonderful, Grandmother.” She turned to Jorim. “What do you think?”

Jorim rubbed his free hand over his chin. The rice-paper scroll measured two feet by four

and clearly depicted the southern reaches of the Principalities, stretching west to Aefret.

Cartayne figured prominently at the center of the map; but from their voyage so far, he

knew it to be shown about three hundred miles too far west. To the south of it, however, a

string of islands curved gently east to the mythical Mountains of Ice at the bottom of the

world. Those islands had appeared on no chart he’d ever seen, and one of them had a

city indicated. The others all had fanciful images of strange people and creatures—as did

the interior of Aefret over on the left side of the map. He suspected those were more

decorative than informative, but he’d seen nothing like them before, and they intrigued

him.

Of course, they’re likely as much fable as the Mountains of Ice.

He glanced up at the old woman. “Where was this found?”

“It was drawn from voyages.”

Jorim knew better than to contradict her. “It was drawn from many voyages. Voyages that

took place many years apart.”

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.”

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.