The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  34

  Khenara, Outer Wahilir

  On the Uraban coastline south of Ishalem, Zarif Omra inspected the new and heavily armed bireme war galleys being constructed in Khenara. The attack ships could not be built fast enough, as far as he was concerned. The Aidenists' appalling response to Ambassador Giladen's peace overture could not be ignored.

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  Long oars extended from the sides of each war galley. Beaten sheets of bronze plated the hulls. The melted-down statue of Oenar had provided enough metal for sixteen ships and two hundred curved swords. A sharp bronze beak thrust forward from each prow, ready to splinter the hull of any enemy vessel. Brightly dyed square sails of reinforced Yuarej silk were emblazoned with the Eye of Urec, which was no longer a benevolent guide, but the angry eye of a vengeful demigod.

  Praying together and interpreting one another's dreams, the sikaras said they had received clear guidance, granting them not only Urec's permission but his blessing to melt down the second giant statue in Olabar. The spirit of Urec would live within the metal--so their dreams said--to guide the resulting weapons to shed Aidenist blood. Crowding the churches for sunset services, Urabans cheered and gave thanks, but Omra watched them in cynical silence. He knew the priestesses were simply being practical in announcing their revelations. Uraban armies needed the metal.

  The surreptitious Gremurr mining operations had also been dramatically expanded and stocked with hundreds of new slaves. Iron from the mines was used to make adequate steel, which would produce the best swords.

  In order to launch this swift attack fleet from Khenara, Omra had ridden long and hard from the capital city, following the caravan route from Inner Wahilir, over the pass, and down to Outer Wahilir, where Soldan Attar was still drunk with self-satisfaction at how he had "defeated and punished" the Aidenist pilgrims in the ruins of Ishalem.

  Omra despised the other leader for that stupid act. Inexorable tides had thrown Urecari and Aidenist against one another in this deadly clash, but Attar had forced Uraba into battle before they had time to prepare adequately. Fool!

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  Pointing to the offense against Ambassador Giladen, Attar felt vindicated in his actions. "You see--they are all animals!" All Urabans had recoiled at the story of how the emissary had been murdered, the proposed peace document skewered to the deck and covered in excrement, the corpse-filled ship left to crash clumsily into the harbor of Tener. The Tierrans had given their answer.

  Though his father was sickened by the news, Omra had found the inner steel to make the necessary decision. "You tried, Father, but now a new course has been set for us. If this is to be war, we have no alternative but to crush the Aidenists. In the name of Urec and Ondun, we have to wipe them out. All of them."

  He gathered his armies and departed from Olabar immediately, leaving his wife, Cliaparia, behind in the palace, barely remembering to say farewell to her. For several months, she had doted on him and given him gifts, but she had not secured a place in either his heart or his mind. Though a skilled lover and certainly beautiful, Cliaparia lived only in his peripheral vision.

  Omra occupied his thoughts with war, violence, bloodshed; it was the surest way to distract himself from the loss of Istar. In the past, whenever he'd had to leave sweet Istar behind, their parting had been difficult, and he had missed her every day. By contrast, although he had not seen Cliaparia in weeks, it took him a moment to recall exactly what she looked like

  Soldan Attar came up to him, accompanied by sixteen guards that made him appear important. After giving a formal bow, the leader of Outer Wahilir gestured toward the harbor, where the warships were being provisioned. "We can launch by the next full moon, Zarif. The autumn winds will pick up, but the storms will not yet have set in. We can overwhelm the Aidenists."

  "I believe that this war will not be won by a mere clash of

  I

  weapons and soldiers," Omra said. "The Tierrans have armies too, but we must be smarter. We must follow my plan."

  He was not naive enough to think that their enemies would surrender easily or be defeated within the first year--or even the first five years. Urec's Log stated that each life had more than one possible course, and the bravest navigator considered all paths. So Omra had already developed an unusual scheme. When raiding the coastal villages of Tierra, his soldiers had very explicit orders.

  "Our men are trained and ready," Attar continued. "All those who rode with me to Ishalem, who helped to punish the Aidenist H prester-marshall and his followers, wish to join this attack and bring pain and ruin to Tierra. I, myself, shall captain one of the ships." The soldan's chest swelled. "Thus I avenge my brother's death."

  "You have had your revenge," Omra said icily. "You will stay here."

  "It is my right! These are my ships."

  Omra did not raise his voice, but it was as sharp as a newly forged sword. "These ships belong to the soldan-shah, my father. They will serve the cause in whatever way I see fit. You are the soldan of Outer Wahilir. You will stay here and manage your lands, operate your shipyards, and prepare to receive the hostages we bring back from Tierra. That is the course I have set for you. If you cannot follow the map, then perhaps Outer Wahilir should have a new soldan."

  Attar took an involuntary step backward, quickly raising his hands. "Please forgive me, Zarif! My emotions run high with thoughts of battle, and I forget myself."

  Omra was sincere when he added in a faintly conciliatory lone, "This is but the first battle--the first of many, Soldan.

  Before this war is over, there will be enough blood spilled to slake the greatest thirst. That is my promise."

  He did not add that his prediction was also his greatest fear.

  J !3 Calay

  After the Urecari atrocities, Mateo knew it was time for him to become an adult. Once he entered the Tierran army, he would leave his current life and set a new course, far from everything he'd ever known--from Calay, from the castle, from Anjine.

  Before returning home, he would have to complete a year of service and instruction in each of the five reaches. By the time he finished five years of training, he would be almost eighteen. That seemed so far off, he wondered if Anjine would still remember him.

  Mateo spent the next several days in the Military District watching the royal guard drill. He saw the soldiers' families, watched their children playing around the barracks. No matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine what his life would soon be like. Although he had always dreamed of serving as a uniformed member of the royal guard and protecting King Korastine, just as his father had done, he had never given much thought to the training process.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny, plaintive squeak. Glancing around, he spotted a stray kitten in an alley, looking up at him and mewing. Mateo bent down to play with the kitten, whose mud-crusted fur was mostly white, with large patches of black and highlights of tan. Its ears were nearly as large as its oversized head. The kitten appeared very young, very alone, and

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  very hungry. It could not have been weaned for more than a few weeks--if that. Yet when he bent down and extended a hand, the kitten seemed to burst with joy, butting Mateo's palm with its head, rubbing against him, and purring with great exuberance. It mewed with a shrill, earnest plaintiveness.

  "What are you doing here? Where's your mother?" He picked up the kitten, and it curled against him, settling into a perfect pocket between his arm and chest. It showed no intention of ever detaching itself from him. Since Mateo would soon depart for training, he could not keep a pet. But he knew exactly what to do with it.

  Cradling the kitten in the crook of his arm, he made his way back to the castle. There, in the kitchens, he scrounged a bowl of milk from the cook staff. While they all adored the cute kitten, two flour-dusted women commented that the scrawny thing would not live another week. But the kitten ravenously slurped the milk, then finished a second bowl more slowly before it lic
ked its chops, immensely satisfied with itself.

  The kitten was less pleased, however, when Mateo scrubbed at the caked mud with a wet rag. After it was nearly clean, the kitten look over and contentedly groomed itself. When the kitten--a male--was fully presentable, Mateo carried him off to Anjine, where she sat at her studies in the solarium of the castle.

  "My going-away gift to you." Mateo felt strangely awkward. "Someone has to watch over you and keep you entertained while I'm gone."

  With an indrawn breath of delight, Anjine accepted the kitten, which seemed as contented to be in her hands as in Mateo's. She scratched the back of its head until the kitten released another I mrst of loud purring. "What's his name?" The castle had plenty ¦ if cats to keep down the mouse and rat population, but Anjine had never adopted one as her own.

  With a mischievous wink and his best courtly bow, Mateo said, "The honor of naming His Royal Furriness is yours, Princess Tolli."

  Anjine grinned, regarded the kitten with its black, white, and light tan fur for a moment, then touched its little pink nose. He batted her finger with a paw. She giggled and gave Mateo a warm smile. "Sinceyou're going away, I'm going to call him Jycho. He and I will have to make our own adventures while you're gone."

  A warmth spread through his chest. "I wanted to give you something to help you remember me"

  "Of course I'll remember you!" She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and he blushed furiously, but Anjine, engrossed in playing with Tycho, seemed to think no more of it.

  In the large Soldiers' Hall in the Military District, Mateo joined the other new recruits--the first hundred young men gathered from the districts of Calay. The call for new soldiers had gone out across the five reaches, and more recruits would be trickling in soon.

  A square-jawed man with a long shock of gray hair that looked like the crest atop a warrior's helmet bellowed for them all to be silent. Comdar Delnas, who had been in charge of the Tierran military for many years of relative peace, bellowed, "You must serve a year in each of the five reaches, and at the end of that time some of you may wish to sign up for a further year of service in the Calay city guard. By moving from one end of the continent to the other, you will become familiar with every land and every people, every hardship and living condition. Not only is this good for you, it is good for Tierra, for in this way our continent's army is perfectly mixed, and every battalion understands that we are five reaches but one kingdom."

  Mateo observed the recruits around him. Some of the young

  men were nervous, some excited; most wore prominent fishhook pendants at their throats. Two young boys argued in whispers about whether they preferred to go to Erietta or Alamont first. The general consensus was that Soeland and Corag were the most miserable reaches. Since he would have to serve in each place, Mateo didn't particularly care where he started.

  Two veteran soldiers came forward with stiff steps. One man held a tablet and stylus, the other a large beaten-copper pot. Delnas announced, "Each of the five chits inside this pot is inscribed with the name of a reach. Come forward, speak your name so it may be recorded, then draw a chit, which will tell you your first assignment."

  Though many of the soldiers had known his father, Ereo Bornan, Mateo expected no special treatment, nor did he receive any. As a soldier, he might eventually distinguish himself by his own skills or I >ravery, but for now he was the same as all the others.

  The young men formed a line and came forward, each speaking his name for the first veteran to inscribe on the tablet, and reached into the pot to withdraw a chit. After all five disks had been withdrawn, they were thrown back in and the process started again. Occasionally, one of the young men cheered or grumbled about his assignment.

  Mateo drew Alamont. He nodded without comment. He was issued a standard pack and a weapon. The Alamont destrar would provide the armor and uniform during his year of service

  Ihere.

  Now that he knew his assignment, Mateo had one day to get

  I1is (hings in order. Returning to the castle at dusk, he found Aiijine playing with Tycho, who already seemed much healthier. She had fashioned a toy from a scrap of cloth tied to a length of tiring, which she wiggled above the kitten's head. Tycho seemed h> find it endlessly entertaining, jumping again and again to

  catch his "prey." Princess Anjine smiled uncertainly at Mateo. "When do you leave?"

  "Tomorrow--forAlamont."

  She shook her head, marveling at him. "My friend Mateo... a brave soldier." He thought he saw a shimmer of tears welling in her eyes. He gave her a wry smile. "I do it for my king, and for you--my friend and future queen." He winked. "Long live Queen Tolli."

  36

  Corag Reach

  Inside the workshops of Stoneholm, Aldo watched the finest Corag metalsmiths use tweezers, delicate saws edged with diamond chips, and fine files to fashion intricate gears and precisely measured gauges, following each step exactly according to the blueprints. Sen Leo had given him an important charge, and the young man insisted on monitoring each step of the progress--making a pest of himself--even though it gave him precious little time to explore the Corag countryside. The craftsmen grudgingly tolerated his presence. Hovering over them, Aldo peered through their magnifying lenses, wanting to inspect everything. Finally, in his enthusiasm, he bumped a metalsmith who was attempting to slide a tiny axle into a minute hinge. The man spoke to Aldo with little anger, but implacable certainty. "Leave. We will deliver these instruments when they are done, and we do not wish to see you again before then." "But I'm paying for it!"

  "Yes, you are the customer, and we are the craftsmen," said

  the man. "You do your part, which is to pay us. We will do our part, which is to create the finest possible instruments--without interference."

  Since he was only a guest among these gruff and isolated people, Aldo had no choice but to obey. He was far from his people, his parents, his home; to the best of his knowledge, there was no Saedran temple in this entire reach. Standing beyond the cliff overhang outside of Stoneholm, he looked westward, imagining the rivers and the Oceansea, picturing it all on the Mappa Mundi. Destrar Siescu had given him leave to explore wherever he wished. It would be foolish not to take advantage of his great opportunity.

  While the metalworkers continued the fabrication project in their underground workrooms, Aldo had spent some of his remaining coins to buy a sheet of paper and a lead stylus, and then he went outside.

  The mountain air was cold with a stiff breeze, but the shining sun offered enough heat that he could stay outside for a short while without shivering too much. He climbed a well-worn path to the huge stone Ship's Prow chiseled out of the living rock. 1 )uring an evening meal of hot soup and warm bread, Destrar Siescu had told Aldo that generations of workmen had carved I hat gigantic sculpture to remind them of their origins from Aid en's Arkship.

  Now, from the cold platform of the granite forecastle on the immense prow, Aldo had the best view of the rugged mountain range. He smoothed the sheet of paper, weighted down the cornrrs with small rocks, and studied the craggy landscape. He carefully aligned key marks with specific reference points and meticulously began to draw the nearby peaks. Across the dirty patches of snow, he saw thin and winding paths that spread out toward other high meadows and lost villages.

  Concerned with the sea, Saedran chartsmen had little need to understand deep and mostly uninhabited mountainous terrain, but now he saw the subtleties of low passes, steep couloirs, snow-filled cirques, hanging valleys, avalanche chutes, high alpine meadows, and sheltered basins. The details of the Corag wilderness and possible paths to the Middlesea beyond that barrier of crags were not on the Mappa Mundi. Though Sen Leo had sent him here on a specific mission, Aldo could accomplish more than simply obtaining new navigation instruments.

  Excited by his new project, he went inside and bundled up in warm clothing before returning to his sketching platform, where with intense care, he charted all the peaks in sight. Each mountaintop was
distinctive, with a special character all its own... like an unexplored island.

  He was so intent on his drawing that he did not notice the man approaching the stone Ship's Prow. He was surprised when Destrar Siescu, wrapped in a bulk of thick furs with a hood and padded mittens, appeared beside him. "My Saedran friend, they tell me you enjoy staring at our mountains."

  "I am mapping them." Aldo couldn't recall that he had ever seen Siescu outside his sheltered city, certainly not so far from a roaring fire. The man looked painfully cold out in the open. "I'll explore this range, just as sailors explore the sea."

  Siescu stared out at the mountains and drew in a breath of the thin mountain air. "We don't need the ocean. Our people are descendants of Aiden's crew, but just as Aiden sailed away from Terravitae, so we have left the sea and come ashore on this rugged new land. Some might see a place of harsh rocks, but I see the beauty of these mountains. Each of those peaks has a name, you know." Siescu pointed with his mitten vaguely toward one of the mountains. "That is the Raven's Head. To the left is

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  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 187

  I! the Sentinel. To the left of that is Thunder Crag. The three tallest mountains are named after the brothers--Aiden,Joron, and Urec. Those over there are named after the five reaches."

  This sort of information was exactly what Aldo needed. "I'd like to know the names and any information about the paths and passes. Has anyone reached the Middlesea from here?"

  Siescu rubbed his mittened hands together. "Oh, there have been explorers, shepherds, travelers who made their way to the cliffs. Some say there are difficult paths that lead down to the water, but why would we want to go there? The people of Corag left the sea behind. We are content here."