A Secret Atlas

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “Forgive me, Highness, but would it not be more prudent to send me out on another boat?”

  “No. Our enemies will be working so hard to learn what they can from the actor, they will have little attention to spend studying much else. Moreover, their focus on your double will allow others to identify them.”

  “I see, Highness.” Keles lowered his hands and tightened his arms around his stomach. “You think there will be danger on the trip? I mean, beyond the dangers out there?”

  Cyron laughed aloud. “You are an Anturasi. You will be seen as being the key to your grandfather. You are also invaluable in and of yourself. I know Prince Pyrust spoke to you about undertaking a task for him.”

  “I refused, Highness, instantly and without equivocation.”

  “Calm yourself, Keles, I know that. I know you love your family and nation, and I know I can trust you.” Cyron’s voice grew softer again. “I can trust you, can I not?”

  Keles winced, but dropped to a knee and bowed his head so low he almost hit it on the table. “In anything, Highness.”

  “As I expected. And thank you. I knew my trust was well placed. Now you need to understand something from me.” The Prince drew back, his eyes sharpening. “I will see to your safety. You must trust me on that, regardless of what appearances seem. I will keep you safe and you will gather the information your grandfather wants. There may be another service or two I require, and if the opportunity arises, I will communicate my needs to you.”

  Cyron flicked his right hand up and Keles rose, seating himself on the edge of his chair. The Prince laid his hand on the wooden box on the table. “You know the legend about my great-grandfather, that because he had played war games with toy soldiers as a child, he was able to take the throne and establish this dynasty? While others drilled and learned swordplay, a sickly child marched armies through battles and learned the skills to make those swordsmen most effective in combat.”

  “Yes, Highness. My brother and I used to fight many battles with soldiers when we were young. My father, and sometimes our grandfather, would show us the Festival figures, though we were never allowed to play with them.”

  Cyron smiled. “I don’t think anyone ever played with them, which is a pity.” He opened the box to reveal nine figures on a bed of velvet within. “You know, then, that the Prince gives a set to each family invited to this final celebration. Aside from the sculptors, painters, and myself, you are the first to see this year’s figures. We made only the number of sets required for this evening, and all that are unclaimed will be destroyed.”

  “They are beautiful, Highness.”

  “I think so, too.” Cyron smiled slowly. “Each year I determine who will be cast.”

  “It is a great honor to receive a set, Highness.” Keles slowly shook his head without taking his eyes from the figures. “To be cast as one is unimaginable.”

  “Allow yourself to imagine, Keles Anturasi.” The Prince lifted out the figure of Qiro Anturasi. “Your grandfather, as invaluable as he is to us, was cast this year in honor of his eighty-first birthday. You and your brother will be cast upon returning from your missions. So much greater will your contribution to Nalenyr be that such an honor is easily within your grasp.”

  Keles’ expression of awe slowly dissolved as he met the Prince’s gaze. “If my grandfather were to guess that were possible, he might do the unthinkable.”

  “True, so we shall not let him know.” Cyron replaced Qiro in the box and closed it again. “That secret shall remain as safe as these figures are. And I shall keep you equally safe.”

  “Yes, Highness. Thank you.”

  The Prince opened his hands. “You shall return to the party and enjoy yourself. Tell the assembled that I’d heard a story of a jungle cat the color of red sand with black stripes and, while you are not your brother, I dearly wished you would capture me a half dozen for my sanctuary. Something like that will suffice for most, and those it won’t satisfy will be smart enough to know you could not be saying anything anyway.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Keles rose from his chair and bowed.

  Before he could straighten up, the Prince rose and clapped him on both shoulders. “That you bow despite your injury marks the depth of your soul, Keles Anturasi. Your future and that of our nation are intertwined. They will grow together into prosperity. Never forget you are loved and respected, and your return is anxiously awaited.”

  Keles nodded, rose, and withdrew from the room.

  As the door slid shut behind him, Prince Cyron turned to a screen that had concealed one corner of the room. “We will be undisturbed now.”

  Moraven Tolo, dressed in black and white with black tigers embroidered on his overshirt, emerged from behind the screen. “I have listened as you bid me, Prince Cyron.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, serrcai, for making you a party to that deception, but I needed you to hear two things. First, you would agree, he really has no idea of the sort of difficulties he will face. He is naive and will need protecting.”

  The swordsman bowed his head. “You wish me to do that?”

  “I would not presume to reduce you to the role of a mercenary, serrcai. I think you will find that in your mission for dicaiserr Jatan, having a cartographer along will be of great aid.”

  “The wisdom of your words cannot be denied, Highness.” Moraven turned and looked back toward the door. “I will not be alone in seeing to his survival?”

  “You have your apprentice.”

  “True, Highness, but you evade my question.”

  “He will not travel alone.” The Prince slipped a folded paper packet sealed with red wax from the interior of his overshirt. “I will have another service I require from the both of you. You will open this only when you meet him again in Gria.”

  The swordsman’s eyes narrowed. “I do not begrudge you a service, Highness, for we both know I owe a debt of honor to your family. You want two things from me—great, difficult things. You do presume much.”

  Cyron killed the smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. “The other evening you did a favor for a friend in entertaining me. I ask you to pay your debt to the House of Komyr. And the House of Komyr will now be indebted to you.”

  Moraven bowed his head slightly, but brought it up far too quickly. “It will take more than casting me as a toy to pay this debt.”

  “Some debts can never be paid, Moraven Tolo, but let us worry about the service being performed first.” The Prince forced his expression to soften. “In your wanderings, you are able to shield a few from disasters. On this journey, you will find the means to prevent war from destroying many. I will stand the debt, but we both know that I shall not be the only one to benefit from your actions.”

  “Were it for any lesser reason you asked me to do this, I would refuse you, Prince Cyron.” Moraven bowed respectfully. “I hope my efforts will succeed.”

  “As do I.” A shiver ran down Cyron’s spine. “If you fail, there may be no House of Komyr left to honor its obligation.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  9th 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

  Wentokikun, Moriande

  Nalenyr

  Keles was not surprised that his sister was the first person to find him after he returned to the Festival celebration. Plenty of people had seen him drawn away, doubtless wondering if he were being singled out for some honor or an upbraiding. When he returned without some visible sign of the Prince’s favor, most people decided to ignore him.

  “Why are you so concerned, Keles?” Nirati took his arm and rubbed a hand over his back. “You’re frightened.”

  He glanced at her, realizing she was correct. “I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”

  “Only your face.” She smiled bravely at him. “And even if we were able to communicate that way, you know I would n
ot be able to read your mind, just that which you wished to send me.”

  “I wouldn’t wish to send you any of this.” Keles led her over to a side table, where servants poured him a small porcelain cup of sweet wine. He drank, then purposely shrugged his shoulders and tried to let tension drain from his body. “The Prince did nothing to scare me. In fact, he did everything he could to be reassuring. I actually do take heart in what he told me, and you should, too, Nirati. Do not fear for me.”

  His sister’s blue eyes narrowed as she accepted a cup of wine. “If I promise not to worry, will you tell me what he said?”

  “I cannot. He forbade me to reveal anything he said to anyone. I’d give you the story he told me to tell others, but you’d see through it in a heartbeat.”

  Nirati regarded him for a moment over the curved rim of the cup. “Tell me why you are frightened, then.”

  “That’s a little more difficult.” Keles drank again, thinking that if he gulped the wine he might find some euphoria. He also realized that was actually the last thing he needed. That wouldn’t make his situation any better; it would only put off what had to be faced.

  “In talking to the Prince I truly came to see the enormity of the task ahead of me. Jorim pointed out the dangers accurately enough when we spoke the other day. I figured they would all be things that an arrow or two could handle.”

  His sister laughed. “All things considered, shooting well won’t hurt.”

  “I agree, but the Prince made it apparent that there was more going on. My mission is not just a way for Grandfather to banish me for spoiling his birthday party. It actually has value, and could be crucial to Nalenyr. He took what I’d seen as little more than a family squabble and broadened it.”

  She nodded. “He raised the stakes, making the price of failure much higher.”

  “As if the possibility of dying was not enough. Yes.”

  “And you want me not to worry?”

  Keles leaned in and kissed his twin on the forehead. “No, I’ll do enough of that. I want to know you are back here in Moriande having fun, breaking hearts, and finding someone who will be a brilliant addition to our family.”

  Nirati’s eyes sparkled. “I think I have the harder task, given that Mother and Grandfather will be watching over me. Still, there are possibilities.”

  Keles turned and followed her gaze. Just entering the hall were Majiata Phoesel and her family. Along with them came a tall man who, by his dress and demeanor, embraced his Desei heritage. The man was handsome, and certainly the type that had attracted his sister in the past. When the count had visited him, Keles found him to be intelligent as well, which was good; his sister would suffer no idiots.

  “Tell me, Nir, do you want the Desei because of him, or because he is with her?”

  He felt a shock run through Nirati. “Your lips are moving, but I hear Jorim’s words.”

  “You’re not answering the question.”

  “One of those reasons suffices, but the other makes it that much more fun, brother dear.” Her eyes slitted as Majiata broke from her group and approached them. “I’ll let you speak with her alone.”

  “Could be she is coming to warn you off.”

  “She can send me a letter—if she learns to write.” Nirati kissed him on the cheek and wandered away, not even acknowledging Majiata with a nod as she passed.

  Keles nodded as Majiata reached him. “Pleasure of the Festival to you.”

  “And you.” Majiata clasped her hands at her waist. “I am pleased to see you have recovered from your injuries.”

  “Am recovering, but it is expected I shall heal fully.”

  She hesitated for a moment, clearly expecting something, then glanced down. “I am recovering from my injuries as well.”

  “Your injuries . . . Ah, yes, I heard you were at the healing. I was unconscious.” Keles imagined a red scar on what had previously been soft ivory skin. He recalled her near panic, once, when a blemish had appeared on her chin. It struck him as curious that he didn’t want to offer her succor or sympathy, but wished to see the scar so he could forever erase the vision of her beauty from his memory.

  Her gaze came back up and her face became a smooth, ivory mask with a splash of color at lips, cheeks, and eyes. “In the spirit of the Festival, I wish you to know that I bear you no ill will for what happened to me. I absolve you of all guilt in the matter. It was not your fault.”

  “Not my fault?” Keles frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “You needn’t feign ignorance, Keles. Despite your rejection of me, I know you intimately, and you me. I know what you are feeling inside.”

  “And what, exactly, would that be?”

  “Many things. Regret and anger chief among them.” Majiata kept her voice even and quiet, prompting the scandalmongers in the crowd to edge closer to hear. “You regret having sent me away and regret not having been able to keep me safe.”

  “I thought I did keep you safe.” Keles held his cup out for a servant to replenish. “That, or I got these scars for nothing.”

  “Oh, not that.” The dismissive tone of her voice coupled with disdain, and put a twist in her mouth that was not attractive. “That you were not able to tell the Prince you would have excused me the whipping.”

  “What?”

  “You are not so cruel as to wish me harmed, though you are the man who broke my heart.”

  “I broke your heart?” Keles drank to give himself time to think, trying to pierce her logic. “You are the one who came to break things off with me, remember? You are the one who refused to accompany me on the Stormwolf.”

  “But, you see, had I agreed, I would now be bound for Ixyll.”

  He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping her words would make sense as he reviewed them. “But, had you agreed to join me, I would not be bound for the Wastes.”

  “You see, so it is all your fault, Keles.”

  “But you said it wasn’t my fault.”

  “No, I am forgiving you.” Frustration had begun to rise in her voice, but she gained control of it. “I want you to know I will always love you.”

  He drained his drink and, in the moment of solitude afforded him by the cup eclipsing her, things made a crude sort of sense. Majiata had always been self-centered, but had never before ventured so far into fantasy. He would have put it down to her having been whipped, save for the calculation he saw in what she was saying.

  Quite simply, she and her family were hedging their bets. Leaving things on good terms with him would make further relations with his grandfather possible. It might also be seen as something that would please the Prince. Moreover, when he returned—Keles refused to think of it as if—he might very well have found an overland route to the trade of old days. In that case still being friendly with him would directly enrich her family.

  He lowered his cup again and a smiling servant refilled it. “Majiata, I have something I must say to you.”

  “Yes?” Her reply came in a husky hushed whisper reminiscent of words spoken postpassion, in the dark of the night. “Tell me, Keles Anturasi.”

  “I see many things right now. Things about you and about me. Truths that cannot be denied. You say you love me, and will always do so.” He pressed his left hand to his breastbone. “I also feel something.”

  “Yes, Keles?” Her words came breathlessly, and her expression changed to one of expectation. “What do you feel?”

  “Frankly,” he began, his heart racing, “I feel sick.”

  “Oh, poor Keles.”

  “No, I think you mistake me. I feel sick that I was for so long deceived about you, your feelings, and your aims. You clearly thought, perhaps from the beginning, that you could use me as a toy. You could play with my feelings, even as you are trying to play with them now. That with a coo and a whisper and a kiss and the spreading of your thighs, you could win a prize from me. My eternal adoration? My family’s wealth of geographical knowledge? The fortune that has earned us? I
don’t know what you thought you would get. What I was offering you was my heart, my devotion, my love, and you spurned it.

  “And now you come to me and tell me that you forgive me and that I shouldn’t feel guilty for your having been whipped? Right now, Majiata, right now”—his voice began to rise and he exercised no restraint—“I wish you’d gotten the full measure of the Prince’s threat. I’d have been dead, but that would have been fine. Better me dead and you broken than your believing in your delusions.”

  All color had drained from her face. “You are not well. Clearly the Viruk venom has addled you.”

  She turned to leave, but he grabbed her with his left hand and spun her back. “Not so fast.”

  “Unhand me.”

  “Not yet, for, in the spirit of the Festival, I would tell you something.” He held her tightly in that one hand, certain his fingers would leave bruises on her upper arm. “I would be inclined to forgive you for the scars on my back and the fact that I’m being sent into the Wastes, but my doing that would require a few things from you. First would be an acknowledgment that you are responsible for what happened to both of us. Yes, I acted to safeguard you, no denying that, but I never would have had to act were you not unthinking, petulant, and so self-absorbed that you believe the world is centered on you.”

  Her eyes went flat, and he knew nothing was getting through. It didn’t matter, though, for he had an audience and other ears to fill. “Well, Majiata, the Anturasi know, better than anyone else in the world, that all creation is not centered on you. We explore the world. We broaden it. Those who are capable of seeing outside themselves understand what a wonder that is. We make the world bigger and that just makes you smaller. Of course, making you smaller than you make yourself is tough, but you know what?”

  He tossed off the last of his wine with relish and deposited the cup in her hands.