The Map of All Things, page 30
part #2 of Terra Incognita Series
Belatedly, however, the old scholar realized that such absolute accuracy posed its own danger. Such a strong connection between the two ships—original and model—might create a significant vulnerability for the real Dyscovera.
After years of studying sympathetic magic, Sen Leo believed that the greater the size and complexity of a twinned object, the stronger the link through the fabric of the universe. Burian na-Coway's craftsmen had made this model very large, seven feet long from bow to stern, for the best possible accuracy. With its clear sympathetic connection, they could monitor the condition of the real vessel.
Last night, though, Sen Leo had awakened abruptly with the shocked realization of what should have been obvious: the bonds of sympathetic magic traveled both directions. If the horrid ra'virs were to break into the warehouse and destroy the ship model—especially such a large model—might that not damage the actual Dyscovera?
At sunrise, he rushed to the castle, demanding to see the queen. Although she had not yet emerged from her bedchambers, the scholar's obvious urgency alarmed the castle guards, who went directly to the royal chambers. Anjine was awake and alert when she entered the main hall, pulling a robe around her shoulders. Sen Leo waited there, fidgeting. “There is an unexpected danger, my Queen. We need to protect the Dyscovera model with all the resources we have.”
After he explained his concern, she dispatched Marshall Vorannen with a troop of his trusted city guards down to the warehouse. “If you can figure this out, Sen Leo, then Urecari spies may come to the same conclusion. No one is ever to be left alone with the ship model. Station three guards there at all times.”
Fortunately, no ra'virs had manifested themselves. Yet.
Following Vorannen and his flushed men down to the warehouse, Sen Leo looked at the intact construction, relieved. Each morning, as was his habit, he made a slow circuit of the model, studying it for any signs of damage to the hull, a crack in her mast, a tatter in her sails. It was the only way he could infer the disposition of the Dyscovera. So far, the exploration ship seemed unharmed. They had been gone for more than five weeks.
The scholar scratched his chin, but made only a noncommittal sound to the model-maker who hovered next to him. He complimented the guards for keeping the model safe, told the Saedrans to continue their watch, then returned home to his wife, bleary-eyed and tired. He bought a loaf of bread and two smoked sausages from a vendor on his way.
After the two shared a pleasant lunch next to the open window in their kitchen, Sen Leo climbed the wooden ladder to the roof, where he kept the special rea pigeons. Well-fed and healthy, the birds rustled and cooed, spreading their wings in restless exercise. Sen Leo had built them a spacious cage, much larger than the one Aldo had aboard the Dyscovera. He poured kernels of grain into the feed dish, and the birds stirred again, but not because of the feed.
The scholar looked into the sky and was surprised to see another pigeon winging in. The weary bird swooped low, flapping its wings to alight on the plank roof of the coop. Another rea pigeon, identical to the ones inside!
With a gasp, Sen Leo spotted a tightly rolled ribbon of paper tied to its leg. Though he had been expecting this for some time, the old scholar was shocked now that it had actually happened. The connection between the birds had worked. He grasped the pigeon's wings, holding it gently. The bird was trembling and exhausted; its flight must have been long.
He imitated its cooing noise. “Hush, you made it, my friend. You're here, safe and sound.” He stroked the bird, calming it, then with unusually nimble fingers he untied the strings and removed the paper note. He placed the tired pigeon in the coop with the others, where it could eat and drink after its long voyage. The pigeon quickly found its twinned counterpart, and the two seemed inseparable.
Only after he had seen to the courier bird did Sen Leo turn his attention to the strip of paper. Holding it carefully, he made his way down the ladder to the bright main room, where his wife was still cleaning up from their lunch.
“Aldo sent a message!” He unrolled the paper, holding it flat on the table so he could read the tightly written letters in the Saedran coded language. Squinting, he scanned the description of the Dyscovera's voyage so far, thrilled to hear the report.
As he read in fascinated silence, his wife pestered him with questions about Aldo, and he answered her curtly, still absorbing the message himself. When he was done, Sen Leo had three things to do: First, he would go to the Mappa Mundi in the main Saedran temple and mark the coordinates, an entire swath of Aldo's discovery to incorporate into the Saedran chart of the world. Then he would go to the na-Curic household and show the note to Aldo's family. Finally, he would go to the castle and present the news to Queen Anjine.
68 Off the Coast of Tierra
After nearly three weeks of visiting every coastal village worth the name, Tomas felt he had seen and met half the population of Tierra: presters, mayors, fishermen, shopkeepers, craftsmen, farmers. It gave him a sense of how the land and people fit together under the sign of the Fishhook.
Even so, he was glad when the royal cog reached the southern end of the processional route, then headed out to sea and to catch the northerly current that would carry them back home to Calay. Finished with the formalities, Guard-Marshall Obertas untied his hair and packed away his dress uniform, which would not be needed again until they pulled into the home harbor.
Tomas stood next to the royal guardsman on the open deck to catch the fresh breezes. The past few weeks had changed the young prince. How much older he felt! He had carried the queen's news, broken bread with the people of Tierra, met with to the village leaders. A real prince… and also a real sailor. He knew King Korastine would have been proud of him.
Obertas relaxed next to him on the deck, listening to the wind stretching the sails, the hiss of spray dancing from the bow and across the hull. “It was a worthy mission, my Prince. And it was accomplished well.”
“What's next after we get home? Do you think Anjine will send me inland by riverboat to Erietta, Alamont, and Corag? Or off to the Soeland islands? I want to see all the reaches.”
“I thought you were anxious to sleep in your own bed again.”
Tomas considered this. “I suppose I'd like to settle down at home for a while—but not too long.”
From atop the mainmast, the lookout shouted, “Sails ho! Two points to port.”
Tomas and Obertas shaded their eyes and tried to spot the ships farther out to sea. Since the royal cog had encountered plenty of merchant and fishing vessels, the crew reacted with little excitement until the lookout cried out again, his voice cracking. “Colored sails! I see the Eye of Urec!”
Obertas let out a shrill whistle. “To arms, everyone!!”
“But we're far north of the Edict Line,” Tomas protested. “They shouldn't be here.”
“Five Uraban ships,” the lookout confirmed. “And they've spotted us. They're coming around to bear.”
Obertas ran to the cog's captain. “The prince's safety is our greatest concern. Run before the wind! We'll fight only if we have to.”
The captain had a pale, queasy expression. “We can try to run, sir, but those ships are lighter, faster, and more agile than we are—and they're war galleys, crewed by oarsmen to add speed. They can turn quickly and go whichever direction they want without being at the mercy of the winds.”
Obertas told his fellow guards, “Don your armor and get ready for the fight of your lives.” With the painted Eyes blazing on their sails, the enemy warships closed in.
* * *
After the ra'vir boy had provided vital information about the prince's procession, Kel Unwar took no chances. He had been charged with the defense of Ishalem, both as provisional governor and as chief engineer of the wall and the canal. He knew his priorities. In less than a day, he selected five of the best and fastest warships anchored in the Ishalem harbor, picked seasoned crews, and set off after his prey. He vowed that the Tierran prince would not slip through his fingers.
According to Davic, Prince Tomas sailed with only a small contingent of guards, foolishly believing himself safe in Tierran waters. Unwar, though, did not believe in safety. Confidence was an illusion; protective measures and preconceptions were irrelevant against a powerful enemy. He knew what he wanted to accomplish, in Urec's name, and he wasn't afraid to take risks.
His five war galleys struck out to sea from Ishalem, riding the swift northerly current up into Tierran waters. Unwar had to intercept the royal cog when it was most vulnerable. Heading back to Calay after a successful voyage, the crew and the escort guard would be complacent, weary, thinking only of getting home.
As soon as they sighted the cog, Unwar had his captain signal the other four vessels in the attack group, pulling them closer, running up the sails and telling the oarsmen to prepare for careful maneuvering in a close fight. Under a sunny sky in calm waters, they could never take the cog unawares: this would be an outright race, and a fight.
Unwar peered through the spyglass as the distance narrowed. Noting the flurry of the Aidenist crew, the extra sails being raised, he laughed. “Ah, they've seen us—but too late. It's only a matter of time.”
The Urecari fighters sharpened their scimitars on whetstones and donned bright clothes; every man wore an emerald sash of Yuarej silk. As the ships closed, Unwar reminded his crew, “Prince Tomas must be taken alive at all costs, and preferably unharmed. Other than that… do what is necessary. Any prisoners we take will be set to work digging my canal. Kill them if you must, but I'd rather have them laboring for the glory of Urec than simply feeding the fishes.” Using coded signal flags, he dispatched a similar message to the nearby ships.
Unwar watched as the war galleys surrounded the other ship. The royal cog was a large, older vessel, heavy and spacious, while the five sleek Uraban ships sliced the waves like predator fish. Kel Unwar had his men take to their benches and use the oars to add speed for the final charge. At the prow of each war galley, a sharpened beak of cast iron gleamed in the sun. With Unwar's ship in the lead, the others flanked the cog, turning to block its passage.
Drumbeats pounded and the oarsmen pulled hard. Unwar's galley rammed the side of the Tierran cog, and the iron beak battered through the hull. As soon as the ships clashed, the Urabans threw boarding hooks and leaped across the gap.
On deck, the small group of Tierran guards stood to meet them, swords raised and ready to put up a valiant defense. Unwar took up his own scimitar and, adding his yell to those of his men, boarded the cog, looking for Prince Tomas.
Watching the enemy ships close in, Tomas's growing terror made him sick. With a grim face, Obertas gave the prince reassurances, but they were not believable. Finally, he admitted, “I won't lie to you, my Prince. This will be a hard fight.”
Knowing that battle was imminent, Obertas coached his men and rallied all of the crew. They were outnumbered at least three to one. The man in the lookout nest kept scanning the waters, hoping to spot a Tierran patrol ship. Had they been closer to shore, they could have signaled one of the lighthouses, but out here they were all alone.
As soon as boarding hooks grappled the ships together, the Tierran men shouted out to reinforce their confidence.
“Stand firm, shoulder to shoulder, swords raised!” Obertas yelled.
Tomas drew the dagger his grandfather had given him. His palm was sweaty on the hilt of mammoth ivory. “I can fight, too.”
Obertas looked at him with admiration and regret. “No, my Prince. We have sworn to give our lives for your protection. You must let us defend you.”
The Urecari came now, howling, blades flashing, but the royal guardsmen did not flinch, did not break ranks. The anxious Tierran sailors were the first to meet the impact, swinging boathooks, jabbing with harpoons and spears, attacking with makeshift clubs. More than a dozen enemy raiders fell to the deck, bleeding, but the cog's crewmen suffered even greater losses.
The attackers who survived the first clash pushed toward the group of royal guards at the stern. More Urecari men boarded, and more.
A second war galley crashed into the cog's bow with a sickening crunch, and the other three enemy ships closed in for the kill. Within moments, Tomas could see they would be overwhelmed.
Though flushed, Obertas wore an implacable expression, knowing exactly what he had to do. As his guards struck the first raiders who came at them, he pushed Tomas roughly into his cabin. “Barricade yourself inside. Block the door and don't come out!”
Tomas still held his dagger. “I can help defend myself. If we've lost anyway, let my blade—”
“Don't argue with me. You are the prince, and you must be protected at all costs. Go! Block the door now.”
After Tomas backed into the small cabin, Obertas said, “We'll guard this door with our lives, but if the enemy should manage to get past me, I promise to hurt them enough that you can take care of the rest of them with your dagger, all right?”
“Yes, Guard-Marshall, thank you. May… may the Compass guide you.” Tomas slammed the door and threw the crossbar. He then moved his chair, his cedarwood trunk, everything he could against the door. It formed a meager barricade at best.
From the other side of the door, he heard the battle cries, the bone-rattling sound of steel against steel, wet chopping sounds and groans of pain that seemed to go on endlessly. Uraban voices dominated the babble more and more with every moment. He heard Obertas snapping orders, rallying his men… then Tomas didn't hear the man's voice anymore.
The sounds of battle fell into a lull, but Tomas knew it wasn't over.
Heavy fists pounded on the cabin door, creaking the boards, pushing against the crossbar. Shoulders slammed against the barrier, and the wood splintered. With a startling thunk, the blade of a battle ax smashed through the door. With repeated chopping, the weapon broke a hole through the planks. Heavy hands tore apart the splintered wood and reached inside to grab the crossbar.
Tomas darted forward with his dagger, slashing at the hands, making them retreat with unintelligible curses. But it was only a brief delay. More men smashed the door open at last. Tomas backed into a defensible corner as Obertas had taught him, brandishing his bloody dagger before him.
Now the enemy faced him. Outside, he could see bodies strewn on the deck: familiar men who had traveled with him on the procession. Even Guard-Marshall Obertas lay among the corpses. All had died to defend him, refusing to be captured.
The lead Urecari man grinned at the boy, seeing no threat from the prince's ivory-handled dagger. Tomas slashed and danced forward, intending to sell his life dearly. “You won't take me alive!”
The Urecari man merely struck his arm a stinging blow with the flat of his scimitar. The boy's hand went numb, his fingers useless, and the dagger flew aside. Tomas was not a warrior, just a young boy. A prince.
Laughing, the Urecari swarmed forward to grab him.
69 Ishalem, Ra'vir Compound
Though he was only eleven years old, Davic had already achieved great things in his life. After living with Prester Ciarlo for months, pretending to be a faithful Aidenist (and loathing every minute of it), he now recognized how clever the Teacher's training had made him. He had never lost sight of the truth. Now, thanks to the boy's information, Kel Unwar was off to capture Prince Tomas—what a devastating blow to the enemy that would be! And Davic had made it possible. A true blessing from Urec!
Before setting off in his warships to go after the prince, Unwar had sent Davic to the large new ra'vir camp established just south of Ishalem. Accustomed to taking care of himself, the boy needed no escort. He eagerly looked forward to announcing his triumph to the Teacher himself.
When he approached the outskirts of the mock Aidenist town, two horsemen on patrol challenged him. They wore yellow sashes across their chests and bright yellow olbas. Davic held up a sealed letter of verification from the provisional governor. “I am a ra'vir returned from my mission. I need to see the Teacher.”
The guards inspected Unwar's letter, conversed with each other, then handed back the document. “Congratulations. The soldan-shah will be proud of what you've done. We will take you to the Teacher now.”
“I'll go there myself, without an escort.” The boy gave them a disarming, waifish grin (something the Teacher had taught him), and it worked as well on these Urecari men as it had on the fools in Windcatch. “Let this be a surprise.”
He bounded into the faux Aidenist town, saw the boys and girls like himself, unremarkable street scamps, all supposedly orphans—and they were in fact orphans, because they'd been rescued from 'Hook parents who would have raised them to be damned. Davic knew none of the other children, because all of the ra'virs in his training group were already assigned to various Tierran villages, some even to Calay.
Most of the children stolen from Tierran villages did not survive ra'vir indoctrination. Any boys or girls who clung to their false beliefs, or who wailed in despair at having lost their former lives, or who refused to accept the Truth of Urec—those were killed, often as practice victims for the other children. Ra'virs learned early on never to consider unbelievers as God's children. Only the best candidates—the smartest, the purest—survived their instruction. Oh, some tried to trick the Teacher, secretly keeping their Aidenist beliefs, but the ominous silver-masked figure always found them out.
During his years of indoctrination, Davic had suffered beatings and bruisings, even broken bones, but he had recovered, and the ordeals strengthened him. He had deserved those punishments because he had made mistakes. His errors were not intentional or deceitful, but mistakes were nevertheless a blot in the eyes of Ondun, and the boy had learned never to make them again.
Given his success, Davic was sure the Teacher would dispatch him to Tierra on another assignment, though he longed to stay here in Uraba with people he understood. He wanted to worship freely, wear an unfurling-fern pendant for all to see. He didn't want to have to pretend, but he was a master at it. Ondun would reward him, either in this life or the next.
