Hell's Gate m-1

by David Weber

  Ternathians had been the first to harness the Talents of the mind. Legend had it that Erthain the Great, the semi-mythical founder of the House of Calirath, had been the very first Talent. Andrin took that with a hefty lump of skeptical salt, but there was no question that Ternath was, indeed, the birthplace of the Talents. The telepathy of the Voices, Precognition, Mapping, the prescient Glimpses which were the heritage and curse of Ternathian royalty, Telekinesis, Distance Viewing?all of them had been developed and nurtured in Ternath, and then bequeathed to the children of Ternathia.

  Intermarriage had carried those Talents throughout the sprawling Empire. Eventually, they had spread far beyond Ternathia's borders, through other intermarriages, and today their possession wove throughout all Sharona, like a gleaming net of precious gold.

  Yet the world had turned and changed, until, eventually, the vast territory under direct Ternathian rule could no longer be administered at an affordable cost. Ultimately, a Ternathian emperor had made the decision to set free those provinces the Empire could no longer afford to govern. Andrin had always been glad Ternathia's borders had shrunk not from the fire of rebellion, or the crumbling of internal decay, but because her ancestors had been wise enough to return control of its far-flung provinces to the people who lived there.

  That was the reason the wealthy Kingdom of Shurkhal and the many smaller kingdoms which shared its cultural heritage were once again Shurkhal and her sister states, just as the Harkalian states were once again sovereign, with legal bonds to no one but themselves. It was better that way. Andrin knew that. Not only because her tutors?including her father and mother?had taught her so, but because she could see it for herself.

  It was worse than folly to grip something one could no longer afford to keep, simply for the perverse joy of possession. It was cruel to do so, and cruel to hold people in bondage. Had they wanted to remain Ternathian, she thought, they would doubtless have found a way to make it profitable for Ternathia to keep them. But only a few kingdoms or republics or principalities had refused their freedom when it was offered.

  Ternathia's empire had shrunk steadily, and for the most part gracefully, and those who ruled the Ternathian Empire had retained their humanity in the process. Andrin Calirath was proud to be part of that lineage, proud to be the daughter of Ternathia's current Emperor, who still ruled five hundred and seventeen million souls, give or take a few hundred thousand. And she was proud that even as they had taken back their freedom, Ternathia's one-time provinces had retained much of what Ternath had brought them. Proud of their independence and individuality, yes, but also mindful of thousands of years of shared history and the common heritage which continued to bind them together, as well.

  After Ternathia and Farnalia, the next largest "empires," if the term could be used, were the Arpathians of the Septentrion, famous for furs, amber, vast herds of horses, and nomadic warriors, and Uromathia.

  In reality, there was no such thing as an "Arpathian Empire"?the Septs were far too fiercely independent for anything that centralized?but the Septentrion formed a recognizable union of cultures, religion, and political interests. It gave all the Septs representation, enforced the peace between them, and dominated the immense sweep of land from the Ibral Sea to the Scurlis Sea, four thousand miles to the east.

  South of Arpathia lay the tangled kingdoms of the Uromathian culture. Those kingdoms included Eniath, whose fierce deserts had given rise to a people with a love of horses and hawks that rivaled Andrin's own, as well as to genuine empires and several smaller independent states. The larger of the two empires was the Uromathian Empire itself, which had given the entire culture its name and rivaled modern Ternathia in size.

  The smaller Hinorean Empire was no welterweight, but it couldn't match its larger neighbor, Uromathia, in size or wealth. Uromathians tended to produce enormous population densities, far greater than Ternathia's or, indeed, than the rest of Sharona in general. There were so many Uromathians, in fact, that large numbers of them had migrated to the new universes discovered beyond the portals.

  Andrin had never met any Uromathians in person, although she'd seen a handful of envoys who'd come to Hawkwing Palace on official business. They were an exotic people, but far smaller than most Ternathians. Andrin had been taller than any of the male Uromathians she'd seen, which doubtless would have made them uncomfortable had they actually met her face-to-face.

  Sweeping her gaze back toward the west, she skipped over the triangular jut of land that was Harkala and its sister states, once part of Ternathia but longe since independent once more. The long Ricathian coastline led her eyes up past Shurkhal?another former Ternathian province, famous for its vast stretches of uninhabitable desert?and the Grand Ternathian Canal, linking the Mbisi and the Finger Sea.

  Then her gaze reached the portion of the map north of Shurkhal, along the Mbisi's eastern shore, where the nation of Othmaliz lay between the peoples of the west and the peoples of the east. Like Shurkhal and Harkala, Othmaliz had once been part of Ternathia's empire. Also like Shurkhal and Harkala, Othmaliz had returned to native rule when Ternathia withdrew from the eastern half of its empire.

  Andrin's gaze stopped there, for in Othmaliz, lay Tajvana.

  Her skin tingled with the strange fire of her still-undefined Glimpse as she moved her eyes past the long, narrow, knife-like promontory known as Ibral's Blade, which ran parallel to the incredibly long and narrow Ibral Straits. That narrow passage of water opened up into the Sea of Ibral, which lapped against the city's ancient shoreline, and her heart burned with a strange passion she stared at the name on the map.

  Tajvana.

  The very name was magical, imbued with a history so deep it could hardly be grasped. Capital city of Ternathia for twenty-three centuries. Beauty beyond imagining. Ancient power, unrivaled in the history of mankind. Wealth almost beyond calculation, because it had been wealthy for so many millennia. Tajvana, which could be reached from the west only through the Ibral Straits, straddled the even narrower Ylani Straits, beyond which lay the dark and chilly waters of the Ylani Sea.

  The Ylani was totally landlocked, save for that one tiny outlet, through Tajvana. Historically, whoever controlled the Ylani Straits had controlled the rich trade routes between Ricathia and Ternathia in the west, and Arpathia and Uromathia in the east. The importance of that trade had begun to fade as colonization had spread from Chairifon across the globe of Sharona, opening new markets, new sources of raw materials and goods, but only until the Larakesh Portal had suddenly appeared in the mountains just west of the sleepy little Ylani Sea seaport of the same name some eighty years ago. The only way for shipping to reach Larakesh from the rest of the world was through the Ibral and Ylani Straits, which meant?once again?through Tajvana. The ancient city had become, if possible, even wealthier than before, and the Portal Authority's decision to locate its headquarters there had restored it to the very first rank of important cities. Yet it was still the sheer history of the city which resonated so deeply with Andrin's very blood and sinew. Tajvana was unique, the one city on the face of Sharona which had known both financial and political power, virtually without interruption, for at least five thousand years. The city was as old as Ternathia itself, a jewel the Ternathian emperors had voluntarily given up.

  Despite Andrin's understanding of the economic and political reasons behind Ternathia's abandonment of Tajvana, she'd always felt that the city's loss had diminished not merely the borders of the Empire, but its prestige and culture, as well. To Andrin's way of thinking, at least, it was a matter of national pride?or, more precisely, national shame?that her ancestors had abandoned the richest and most culturally diverse city in the world. She'd often wondered if the people of Tajvana missed the Ternathians and the power and prestige the Empire had brought to their city, or if they'd been glad to see the people who'd conquered them so long ago finally return home.

  Andrin had wanted to see Tajvana for as long as she could remember, which was unusual for her. She d
idn't normally chase after ghosts, or yearn for lost glory. But Tajvana was different. It felt … wrong, somehow, to live in this chill stone palace in cool, rainy Ternath, when whispers of memory ran through her blood, echoes of warm wind in her hair, the warmth of sun-heated marble beneath her hands as she leaned against a carved balustrade, drinking down the glorious light that washed across the city like a tide, along with the scent of exotic flowers, or the rattle of palm fronds against a star-brushed night sky?

  Andrin blinked and focused on the Privy Council Chamber once more. Such clear memories of a place she'd never seen would have been disturbing, had she not been Calirath. But the blood in her veins was the same blood which had flowed through the veins of Tajvana's rulers for centuries, and her family's Talent often manifested odd little secondary Talents no one could quite explain. She had visited Tajvana in her dreams, walked its narrow streets through the memories carried in her blood and, quite possibly, her Talent, and she longed to actually go to Tajvana, just to see how accurate those whispers of memory really were.

  She sighed, aware that it was highly unlikely she would ever travel there, and yet burningly conscious of the need. Somehow, despite the unlikeliness, she'd always secretly believed that one day she would see Tajvana. Yet she was an emperor's daughter. Her safety and her duties took precedence over any urge she might have had to make the long journey. And once she married?in what would doubtlessly be a politically advantageous marriage, whether the suitor was a Ternathian noble or a prince of some other land?her duty would be to remain at home and raise somebody's heirs. She regretted that more than any other part of her life, yet duty came first when one was born Calirath. And at least she could be intensely glad that Janaki would be the one to rule Ternathia after their father.

  She felt a familiar stir of relief at that thought, but the relief was matched by a stronger prickle of her discomfiting Talent, which brought her back to the worrisome question of why her father had insisted on her presence at the Privy Council meeting.

  Most of the Councilors had arrived, but there were still a few holes in the ranks. First Councilor Taje was deep in conversation with her father, their voices too low for her to hear, when Alazon Yanamar, Zindel's Privy Voice, entered the chamber and made her way straight to the Emperor. Yanamar was not a standing member of the Privy Council, although she frequently attended its meetings, for obvious reasons. But today, she carried a strange, disquieting aura with her, and as Andrin watched them?her father, Taje, and Yanamar?she tried not to shiver.

  It got harder as Zindel and the Privy Voice stepped into the farthest corner of the room, standing alone while Yanamar delivered whatever message had pulled them away from breakfast.

  The Emperor's face drained of color, and Andrin's palms went cold and damp against her velvet skirt. Yanamar's trained face gave no indication of what the message had contained, but Zindel's eyes had gone dark and frighteningly shuttered, with a look Andrin had never seen in them.

  The Privy Voice glanced once toward Andrin, not unkindly, but without a hint of the thoughts behind her shuttered grey eyes. Not sure what else to do, Andrin nodded politely back to Yanamar from where she'd seated herself in one of the chairs along the wall, rather than one of those at the council table. Her father glanced up, as if the movement of her head had drawn his attention, and gave a slight frown. But he didn't speak, so she remained where she was, on the sidelines, where she belonged. She was here to observe and learn, not participate. At least, she didn't think she was expected to participate. She was usually adept at reading her father's nonverbal signals, but today she was unsure of anything except the fear that buzzed beneath her skin, sharper now than ever.

  So she watched and listened as the remaining privy councilors hurried into the room, summoned from whatever tasks had been interrupted by the command to assemble. The First Councilor was by far the most composed of the lot; Andrin couldn't remember ever having seen Shamir Taje lose his composure. He was like a five-masted barque, she mused?ponderous and steady, solid and dependable, whatever the weather between him and his destination. As a child, she'd thought him duller than the endless Ternathian rain; as a nearly grown woman, with a better appreciation for the requirements of statesmanship, she recognized him for what he truly was: an utterly indispensable advisor, whose solid judgment and unflappable resolve were precisely what the Ternathian Empire required.

  She wondered if he even suspected how well she understood that, and decided the likelihood was vanishingly small. That thought caused her to smile to herself, which arrested the attention of several Privy Councilors, who paused in the middle of speculative conversations to wonder what their Emperor's daughter knew that they didn't. They also wondered why she was in the chamber at all.

  Most decided they would really rather not know, since the only reasons they could drum up to explain her presence were uniformly bad ones. Some bordered on catastrophic, so the Councilors eyed one another and kept conversation light in an attempt to steady jangled nerves until everyone had arrived.

  It took what seemed to Andrin to be an agonizingly long time before the last Councilor hurried into the room, out of breath from having run most of the way, and her father stepped to his place at the head of the long table. The table's ornate inlay gleamed in the lamplight, which was necessary, because the Privy Council Chamber had no windows. The thick oak tabletop's warm honey-gold was inlaid with darker wood, ivory, silver, and even mother of pearl in beautiful patterns. The ancient eight-rayed sunburst imperial crest of Ternathia took up the entire center of the vast table, glittering with precious metals and gemstones, and faithful representations of trees, flowers, and fruits from all across the vast sweep of Ancient Ternathia swept around its periphery.

  The Councilors moved quickly to claim their own assigned chairs, but remained standing while the tall, reed-thin chaplain intoned the brief benediction which preceded all official Imperial functions. His voice was surprisingly deep, coming from such a frail-looking chest, as he requested guidance from the double Triad which had watched over the Empire for five millennia. The Emperor stood quietly, respectfully attentive, as he prayed, but the moment the ritual was completed, Zindel seated himself in the chair that had stood at the head of this table for three centuries, which allowed the councilors to sit down, as well.

  Zindel XXIV's massive oak chair was as intricately decorated as the table, with matching inlays, including the glittering imperial crest which shone above and behind his head and the carved image of the famous Winged Crown of Ternathia which formed the top of its solid back. One thing Zindel chan Calirath's ancestors had understood very well was the power of symbolism. He was no less aware of it himself, and knew he would have to call on all of that power to shepherd his people through the coming crisis. He settled into the cushioned comfort of the chair, lingering briefly on the realization that this chair was a good deal more comfortable than many of his duties, then spoke in a brisk tone.

  "Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for arriving so promptly. We've received an urgent message from the Portal Authority. First Director Orem Limana has invoked a worldwide Conclave, scheduled for this afternoon at one-thirty, Ternathian time."

  "Conclave, Your Majesty?" Ekthar Shilvass, Treasury Councilor, repeated sharply.

  "That's right, Ekthar. I've called this session to discuss the reason for it. We don't have much time to prepare, and I need advice, my friends?advice and information. Unless I'm very seriously mistaken, Sharona is at war."

  A shocked babble exploded around the table. Zindel had expected it, and he used the momentary confusion to glance at his daughter. Andrin had jerked bolt upright in her chair, her face white, as the import of his words hit home … along with the reason for her own presence. Then Shamir Taje rapped his knuckles sharply against the table in a brusque signal for silence.

  "Your Imperial Majesty," he said, using the deliberate formality to remind the other Councilors of proper protocol during an imperial crisis, "the Privy Voice gave me only part
of the message from Director Limana when she asked me to bring you here. Perhaps you would clarify my most urgent question."

  Zindel inclined his head, positive he already knew what the question would be.

  "With whom are we at war, Your Majesty?" Taje asked, and the Emperor met his old friend's gaze levelly.

  "That, unfortunately, is the question of the hour. No one knows."

  "But?" Captain of the Army Thalyar chan Gristhane, the Ternathian Army's uniformed commander, blurted out, "how can that be? If we don't know who we're fighting, how do we know we're at war with them?"

  "We don't know who yet," Zindel said grimly, "but unless the gods themselves intervene, we are most definitely at war, ladies and gentlemen. At war with someone who's slaughtered one of our survey crews, apparently to the last man." He paused, then added harshly, "And woman."

  Stunned silence held the room for three full heartbeats. A swift glance at his daughter caught the sudden knife-sharp grief in her eyes as his last two words registered, and she began to weep, silently, biting her lip to keep the sound from distracting the Council. He was fiercely proud of her?and more frightened for her than she would ever know.

  Then he turned his attention back to his Councilors and explained?briefly but fully?what had happened. The Privy Voice answered question after question, as best she could, but there was a limit to what she could tell them. There were no answers to most of the questions, and Zindel finally interrupted the fruitless queries.

  "Rather than use precious time speculating in the dark about people about whom we know nothing, I would suggest turning our attention to Ternathia's role in this afternoon's Conclave. The leaders of every nation on Sharona and those of our largest colony worlds will meet via the EVN, and, at that meeting, we'll have to forge some kind of plan to meet this emergency. We've been attacked, and we must assume we'll be attacked again, given the savagery these people have already demonstrated."