The Map of All Things (4 page)

5
The Pilgrims' Road, Outskirts of Ishalem

As the large army of Aiden finally reached Ishalem, the sight of the detestable wall lit a fire in the weary and footsore men. Ten thousand strong, their shouts rumbled like thunder across the countryside, slamming into the high stone barrier. These men were ready to tear down the blocks with their bare hands.

This time, Mateo promised himself, the soldan-shah's wall would crumble.

On a sturdy horse next to him in the vanguard of the army, Comdar Delnas—the leader of all Aidenist land and sea forces—shaded his eyes, seemingly weighed down by his chain mail and leather armor. “By this time tomorrow, Ishalem will be ours.” Because of the heat, he had loosened his chest plates, but he would have his boys tighten the vulnerable spots before they engaged the enemy in battle.

Delnas was a man who liked his uniform, and he often discussed military matters with overemphasized gravity. Years ago, he had served as an effective administrator in times of peace and stability, but as a wartime comdar, his vision was too narrow. Many brave field commanders had demonstrated their mettle in real battles, but Delnas was little more than an administrator. This would be his first actual engagement with the enemy.

Back in their war council in Calay Castle, stodgy old Delnas had expressed his reservations about mounting such a massive assault with so many troops; he did not want to leave too much of Tierra defenseless for the sake of a precipitous action. But Mateo had disagreed vehemently. “An action is not precipitous when it's long overdue, sir.”

After the Urabans recaptured the site of Ishalem six years earlier, the indignant Tierrans had tried to drive them back out. Eight times in the past several years, Tierra had sent small skirmish parties and warship forays down to Ishalem. In every instance, they had been defeated because King Korastine did not send enough troops to do the job. The operations were too small, too disorganized.

It was time to stop underestimating the enemy.

“We're prepared for it, Comdar.” Mateo sat high in his saddle and assessed the immense barricade that spanned the isthmus from shore to shore, and the relatively small gap that remained incomplete. “But it will still be a difficult fight.”

Though he rarely commented during war councils anymore, King Korastine had said, “Prester-Marshall Rudio tells us that Ondun is displeased to have half of His children cut off from the holy city.”

Barely able to control her temper, Anjine had struck her fist on the council table. “I don't intend to wait for Ondun to knock down the wall with a sweep of His mighty hand. Since we know what God wants, it is a sin for us not to act.”

With contingents of the standing army drawn from all five reaches, and after boisterous rallies in Calay to see them off, the soldiers had crowded aboard nearly a hundred ships and set forth with favorable winds and currents down the coast. Though this would be a ground assault with vast numbers of fighters, transport ships were the only way to move them swiftly, before their supplies ran out. The men disembarked at Tierra's southernmost port and began their five-day-long overland journey, while supply trains hurried to keep up with the masses.

As the Tierran army moved, Mateo rode up and down the ranks, talked with them, kept up their morale by fanning the flames of anger against their mortal enemies. This would be their last chance to strike before the Urecari completed the wall. Each soldier knew how much was at stake: if they did not conquer the holy city this time, they would lose Ishalem forever.

For years after the burning of Ishalem, the charred wasteland had remained a haunted place of ashes and skeletons, a reminder of how the followers of Aiden and Urec had offended Ondun. A well-intentioned Prester-Marshall Baine and his flock had gone there to rebuild, only to be hideously murdered by a vengeful soldan. Then, after more than a decade, Soldan-Shah Omra shocked the Tierrans by swarming in with his armies and claiming the abandoned ruins of Ishalem in the name of Urec.

That was when the Tierrans decided they wanted it back.

In the first year, impetuous Destrar Shenro of Alamont Reach had sent an undisciplined group of ninety riders down to the isthmus to sweep away the invaders. All of those brash and unprepared Alamont horsemen had died. The Aidenist church had declared them martyrs, but that was little consolation. Subsequent forays and retaliatory advances fared no better as Soldan-Shah Omra systematically increased his defenses to make Ishalem impregnable.

This time, though, the Tierran military would strike with sufficient soldiers, weapons, supplies, and resolve. This time, they would throw out the “Curlies”—derogatively named because of the unfurling-fern symbol they all sported. This time, loyal Aidenists would tear down the stone wall and raise high the fishhook symbol.

Mateo rode at the head of nearly five hundred cavalrymen, their group commanders, and the young boys who carried their masters' colorful standards. The warriors wore leather armor and chain mail, some of them with fitted breastplates. Behind the mounted vanguard came an army of Tierra's best footsoldiers—archers, swordsmen, and spearmen—in thick leather armor. Their swords were sharp and ready to be blooded.

“Aiden will watch over us.” Delnas's horse shifted restlessly, and the comdar's young redheaded pageboy held the bridle. “When we attack, I will ride at the front—I'm going to personally plant King Korastine's flag high on the hill where Aiden's Arkship once stood.”

“Yes, sir. May the Compass guide you.”

“The Compass will guide us all.”

Shifting into position near his troops from Alamont Reach sat General Vanov. The Alamont commander's face was pale and weathered, his skin peeling from a recent sunburn; he sweated heavily in his armor, but stared ahead with steely eyes. Around the campfires at night, Vanov had made no secret that he wanted revenge for the ninety martyred Alamont riders.

The dust of their passage on the worn Pilgrims' Road rose up in clouds, both disguising and exaggerating the size of their forces. The soldiers banged swords against shields and marched forward. Young boys pounded a drumbeat, keeping spirits high. Even the drummers and standard-bearers carried swords, more eager to fight than the seasoned soldiers.

Delnas looked over at Mateo, cleared his throat—a persistent habit the old man wasn't aware of—and said, “Omra must be pissing on his sandals right now. We'll show him and all of the Curlies whose side God is on.” He whistled, then raised his voice. “They can see us now. Let's show them who we are. Standard-bearers!”

Mixed among the cavalrymen and field commanders, young boys lifted colorful flags high, proclaiming loyalty to the various reaches. “I want the soldan-shah to see all the colors arrayed against him, that he might be blinded by the rainbow of God's warriors!” Spontaneously, the soldiers let out a loud cheer, a bellowing challenge that rippled across the land.

Delnas was flanked by a pair of young standard-bearers, a blond one and the redheaded page; one flag represented the church with its golden fishhook, the other was a plain scarlet pennant (which Delnas said symbolized the blood of the faithful). Next to Mateo, a young boy carried a flag of indigo and gray, the colors of Calay and the king, which Anjine had given him. The thought of her solidified his resolve.

Atop the looming wall, Urecari defenders moved about in a flurry of preparation; outside the gap, workers scrambled to dig trenches and set up hazard lines of pointed spears to prevent the horses from charging. Vigilant enemy scouts galloped to and fro in front of the gap, waving bright pennants of their own. Shrill horns sounded, and the soldan-shah's troops moved in a practiced, orderly manner, retreating through a temporary wooden barricade, taking shelter inside the city.

Mateo knew that Soldan-Shah Omra couldn't possibly have sufficient soldiers stationed in Ishalem to stand against so many angry Tierrans.

General Vanov removed a gauntlet to wipe perspiration from his brow, then made a brusque comment to the standard-bearer riding next to him. “Keep the flag up, boy. Let them know we're proud of who we are.” Comdar Delnas repeated the order down the line.

The raised flags flapped in the wind. Each commander seemed confident. With a glance at Delnas, Mateo said, “We'll throw them out of Ishalem and send them running all the way to the Great Desert!”

6
Calay Castle

At the age of twenty-nine Anjine remained unmarried, much to her father's dismay. She could not allow herself to think of romance or husbands in the midst of this war… but the conflict showed no sign of ending.

Though Prince Tomas was bright and healthy, and certainly worthy to be in line for the throne, Anjine was King Korastine's successor. Isolated by her royal position, she had never dallied with the schoolgirl crushes her maidservants enjoyed. The war against Uraba consumed her thoughts and erased such giddy ideas from her mind.

Still, she knew Korastine wanted her not only to be married, but
happy
.

Anjine sat in the war council room, poring over summaries from the five reaches. Each day, she waited for a report from Mateo on the front lines, some news about the success of the march against the Ishalem wall.

Her cat Tycho curled up on her lap, finding a way to melt into the valley of her skirts. As he grew older, the cat spent more and more time with Anjine, following her from room to room. Some days, Tycho seemed a perfect sounding board for her to talk through her ideas, especially when Mateo could not be there.

Mateo Bornan, her friend and childhood companion, had risen through the ranks to serve as special subcomdar in the Tierran military, a new liaison position from Calay to the military units. Other men might outrank Mateo, but Anjine trusted him over anyone else.

Her father entered the room smiling, and she could tell that he wanted to talk of husbands or weddings. “My daughter, in these quiet days while we wait to hear from the army, why don't we take the time to discuss other matters that are relevant to Tierra? There is more to life, and to the crown, than war. Sometimes we forget that.”

“I don't forget about it, Father. But we have to choose our priorities.”

“Yes, indeed we do.” Korastine took his seat and leaned forward on the table of varnished Iborian pine. “I just received a letter packet from Destrar Unsul of Erietta, and I am very pleased by his suggestion.” He pushed the papers in front of him. “Unsul is a wise and studious man, not given to displays of temper. By building clever windmills to pump water and irrigate the crops, he's greatly increased his yields of cotton and hemp.”

She looked up, absently stroking the cat behind his ears. “Good. We always need rope and fabric for our war effort.”

Korastine continued as if he hadn't heard. “Such a dedicated man—Unsul worries more about the welfare of his people than about his own personal wealth, or politics in general. I think he would have been happier as an engineer than a destrar. His wife loved the Eriettan horses and was quite an accomplished rider herself, until she was killed in a fall.” A cloud-shadow of sadness crossed Korastine's face. “Unsul loved her very much, and now his eldest son Jenirod is a spectacular showman… takes more after his mother than his father, but I'm sure he's a good man.” He lifted one of the letters; the wax seal was already broken. “It would make me very glad if you took this offer seriously.”

“And what offer is that?”

“Jenirod is strong, handsome… and of marriageable age. He comes highly recommended.”

Her expression quickly changed. “We're too busy to plan a wedding right now.” Done with the subject, Anjine studied an assessment of the Urecari captives that had been sent to the work camps in Alamont and Corag. It wasn't clear whether their unwilling labor produced enough to justify the food required to keep them alive.

Korastine looked dejectedly at Destrar Unsul's letter, tapping his fingers on the words written there. “Forgive a father for wishing his daughter happiness. Having a husband is more than simple political necessity. Ilrida made my life brighter than it had ever been before.”

And you were devastated with grief when she died.
Anjine nodded. “I realize that, Father, but please… not now.”

After losing his dear wife, not through treachery or violence but to a simple infection, Korastine had wanted to sail away in search of Terravitae, in search of peace. But the burning of the new Arkship had dashed those hopes, and since then the king spent evenings alone in his chambers, reading the Tales of the Traveler. His swollen, gouty knee had dashed his hopes of sailing to the ends of the earth, and so he explored the world vicariously through the adventures of the fabled wanderer.

“And Tomas…” Korastine sat back, smiling. “What a dear boy. With two such wonderful children, what more could a man want?”

Perhaps because of Ilrida's death, King Korastine was overprotective of the boy, fearing any harm that might come to his only son. Anjine remembered the great panic in the castle only five months ago, when her brother hadn't arrived for his lessons on time. No one could locate Tomas—or Mateo, or Obertas, the marshall of the royal guard who was responsible for the prince's safety. Despite a frantic search throughout the castle, Tomas was nowhere to be found.

Though Anjine had tried to downplay the seriousness, poor Korastine's alarm had increased with every hour. He summoned the entire royal guard and city guard, mounting a full-fledged search of the city. The king had melted into relief and nervous laughter when Mateo and Obertas sauntered back to the castle with the boy between them. Grinning, Tomas held up a string with great pride, showing off the four fish they had caught in the bay.

“Can we eat them for dinner?” Tomas didn't understand what all the fuss was about. “I want the cook to prepare them. They'll be the most delicious fish we've ever had. We used fishhooks and lumps of cheese, and when the fish bit, it almost pulled my arm out!”

While Obertas had begged forgiveness for the inadvertent panic they had caused, Korastine hugged the boy and wouldn't let go. Anjine looked fondly at her friend Mateo, thinking of their times as “Tycho” and “Tolli” when they too had caused the castle staff much consternation.

Mateo smiled sheepishly at her. “We just took your brother fishing. He'd never caught a fish before.”

“Can we go again?” Tomas looked up at the king. “I want to go fishing every day. Mateo said he'd take me!”

Korastine shuddered, apparently unable to find an answer, so Anjine replied for him. “Not just yet, Tomas. Next time, let us know where you're going.”

Obertas had squirmed in abject apology, but with twinkling eyes, Mateo had added, “Next time, Anjine, we'll even take you with us.”

Mateo didn't often appear so happy, but he always tried to make a good show for her, hoping to lighten her burden. Now Anjine hoped he was safe at the Ishalem wall. Maybe, when the soldan-shah faced the large Tierran army—nearly ten thousand troops, gathered for a single attack—he would simply surrender….

Now Korastine studied the letter from Destrar Unsul again; he was certainly persistent. “You could have the same joy, if you would marry.”

With a bustle at the door, Anjine's plump handmaiden Enifir came in bearing a small crock of mulled cider. She was of hardy Iborian stock and enormously pregnant, but her condition did not slow her one bit. “I thought you both might be thirsty.” Her voice still carried a nasal accent of the northern dialect.

Enifir was one of five handmaidens who had accompanied young Ilrida on her wedding procession from Iboria Reach. The other women had returned to the cold north after the death of their mistress, but Enifir remained in Calay and married a man named Vorannen, who was now the marshall of the city guard. Waddling up to each of them, she ladled warm cider into their mugs. “Drink up before it grows cold.” Enifir watched like a hawk until each took a sip, then left the chamber.

Tycho shifted on Anjine's lap, stretched, then dozed again.

“Tomas is about the same age I was when Mateo and I accompanied you on the last trip to Ishalem, to sign the Edict,” she pointed out. “Don't you want him to be able to see the holy city, too? Our army is at the gates of Ishalem, Father. We'll conquer it for him—and for all followers of Aiden. With ten thousand soldiers, how can we fail?”

Korastine sipped his mulled cider, let out a sigh. “Once Ishalem is safely in Aidenist hands again, will you take time to plan a wedding?”