The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  On the morning of his sixteenth day, after being fed a lovely breakfast of papaya and fire-roasted eggs, Aldo was surprised when a quartet of flatulent-sounding Uraban horns blasted a fanfare in the street outside his house. The guards yanked open the door for a bald, plump man who wore orange robes, decorative golden chains, and a bright yellow sash tied across his belly.

  "I am Imir, Uraba's soldan of soldans," he said. "Welcome to my lovely city of Olabar. It is not often we have Saedran charts men as our guests."

  The soldan-shah's words took Aldo aback, and he could not stop himself from blurting, "Your guest? My ship was attacked, my crewmates killed by Uraban pirates, and I was kidnapped. We were just peaceful traders!"

  Imir's expression turned sour. "Your captain was a black marketeer running cargo in our territory south of the sacred Edict Line. You're no fool, Saedran. If a Uraban ship were to sail north and secretly trade with Tierran coastal villages, King Korastine's navy would attack us, capture or kill our crews, and sink our ships." He took a seat at the small table, sliding aside the dishes that held the remnants of Aldo's breakfast. "We could just as easily have let you join the others, but you can help us." His

  full lips curved in an ingratiating smile. "We'll make it worth your while."

  Aldo was too upset to be tactful. "My services aren't for sale."

  "Of course they are. And I am your new customer. We need to have a conversation, you and I." A servant hurried in from the street, carrying an ornate silver tea set and left again just as quickly. "As a Saedran, you have no stake in the religious clash between Urecari and Aidenists. Why show them any more loyalty than you would to me? I wish to hire you as a chartsman. Help our merchants and sailors, maybe even our navy. As a Saedran chartsman, you should be objective." ft Flustered, Aldo sat at the table. Imir regarded the tea service as if wondering whether to wait for some servant to fill their cups, then picked up the silver pot and splashed steaming minty liquid into the cups, serving himself first. "Although Uraba has plenty of wealth, we do not have a large population of Saedrans. Very few are chartsmen. You know about Tierran waters, the coastline, the cities, the winds, the currents. You'd be very much appreciated among us. Why not settle down here? We'll find you a wife, pay you well, give you anything you need."

  Aldo reached forward to take his cup of tea, unconvinced. "I'd rather go home to my own family."

  Imir's brow wrinkled. "You already have a wife? You seem quite young."

  "I have a mother and father, a sister and a brother."

  The soldan-shah made a quick, dismissive gesture. "They will be fine without you."

  "They must be worried sick about me! Everyone knows what the Urecari do to their enemies."

  Imir slurped his tea, burned his tongue, and quickly set his cup down on the table. "You aren't the only one who has endured tragedies, young man. Tierran pirates have attacked coastal vil

  lages in Outer Wahilir. They sank our ships, stole our cargoes." He stopped himself and sighed. "Ah well, I thought you might be intractable, so I brought someone who can tell you more about us and our lands, and our needs." He signaled to the guards at the open door.

  A broad-hipped woman stepped tentatively into the house, wearing a Saedran-style dress and traditional scarves tied at her neck. In her late forties, with curly sepia hair that fell to the small of her back, she had generous lips, kind eyes, and a studious demeanor.

  With a warm smile and a bow in her direction, Imir said, "This is my dear friend and companion, Sen Sherufa na-Oa, one of Olabar's most prized scholars and a chartsman, though an untraveled one. I'm one of the few who recognizes both her intelligence and talents. I cannot fathom why men do not line up at her door with marriage proposals."

  "I turned them down," Sherufa said. "I've got too many other things to do." She turned her attention to Aldo. "However, I am delighted to see a fellow Saedran chartsman. I may not have made voyages of my own, but I have read plenty of books. We can learn much from each other."

  "I'm more interested in what you can learn from him, my dear." Imir leaned forward to kiss Sen Sherufa on the cheek, and she flushed. The guards studiously turned their backs, staring into the street as though an invasion might be about to happen. "I'll leave you two alone." He pulled out a chair for Sherufa. "Have some tea, get to know each other. Offer him anything... within reason. He could be very useful to us."

  The soldan-shah strode out, leaving the two Saedrans together, and Sen Sherufa seemed as embarrassed as Aldo. "This is interesting," she said.

  "And unexpected." Aldo cautiously studied her to see if he

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  could read any hidden agendas. "I have nothing against you, ma'am, but after watching them capture my ship and murder my captain and crew, I am not... objective about the Urabans." "Oh, you've got nothing to fear from me." Sherufa picked up the soldan-shah's half-finished cup of tea and drained it. "And Imir is right in one respect--Saedrans don't have to choose between Aidenists and Urecari. We do have a lot to learn from each other."v:

  61

  Olabar Palace

  Saan was gone.

  On his fifth birthday, her son was seized and taken away, exactly as Ur-Sikara Lukai had threatened. The priestess arrived with six palace guards, all of them armed, as if they expected her to resist, but Adrea knew how useless that would be. Turning her head aside, Adrea bottled up her tears and allowed herself one last wordless embrace with her son before they pulled the surprised and upset Saan away with them.

  "He will be taken care of," Lukai promised in heavily accented Tierran. "He will serve the followers of Urec. Be proud of him."

  With great effort, Adrea held her tongue and kept her expression stony. Ur-Sikara Lukai swirled her red gowns and followed the guards ushering the boy away. Adrea could hear the echoes of Saan crying down the halls¦

  In the following days, from the blank expression on Adrea's face, no one in the Olabar palace could have guessed the depths of her fury. For more than five years of slavery, she had endured in

  silence, remained in her place, and performed her duties--all to keep her son safe.

  Now, given the slightest opportunity, she would have poisoned them all, from the soldan-shah himself to the lowliest Uraban servant. She considered stealing a knife from a serving tray and going from room to room in the dead of night, slaying as many Urabans as she could before someone stopped her.

  Only the slender hope of doing something for Saan restrained her. Without Adrea, the boy would be utterly lost. She needed to find some way to fight back, or he would be forever trapped in his fate.

  She had failed him, and she had failed her beloved Cris ton. Saan might even be turned into a soldier against Aidenists--unless she could find a way to free him. If anything happened to Saan, if she learned that he'd been harmed in any way, then nothing would stop her. Adrea would kill them all.

  For now, she would bide her time, always alert, playing the role of the silent servant.

  Adrea entered Villiki's quarters carrying a tray with the evening meal: skewers of roasted songbirds smothered in honey and sesame seeds and a salad of bright flower petals. She was tempted to spit on the food before bringing it to Imir's scheming wife, but if she were caught doing that, she would be severely punished. Adrea was not afraid to surrender her life if it meant freedom for Saan, but she wouldn't do it for an empty gesture. No, she would act only when she was certain she could accomplish something.

  Inside the chamber, Villiki and Ur-Sikara Lukai lounged on cushions, facing each other across a low table. Intent on their conversation, the two women began to eat without so much as acknowledging Adrea. She unobtrusively went on with her work, tying back the silk hangings around Villiki's bed, preparing Villiki's pillows for evening, watering each of Villiki's eleven pot-

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  ted ferns, whose fronds unfurled in a perfect embodiment of the Urecari religious sym
bol. The two women continued to speak in low tones, hushed but intense, and quickly forgot her presence.

  "It will be easy to administer the poison," Lukai said.

  Bending over a potted fern, Adrea froze, then forced herself to keep going through the motions of her task.

  "Gliaparia's so desperate for his affections that she continues to buy aphrodisiacs, hoping to ensnare Omra's love." The ursikara's tone was rich with scorn. "She'll administer our poison without even realizing it. She'll think it's another love potion."

  Villiki lounged back on her cushion, chuckling in her rich, deep voice. "Wonderful! That way, Cliaparia will be blamed for Omra's death since she will give him the poison, an added benefit. But we've got to move soon. Any day now, she could claim to be pregnant, and then Tukar's challenge to become heir would be even weaker." She snorted. "And it is weak enough as it is."

  The two women ate their meal, crunching the delicate bones of the skewered birds. Villiki looked up and took notice of Adrea. "You, slave! Bring us some figs."

  Adrea blinked unresponsively, pretending not to understand. Lukai let out a loud disgusted sigh, muttering in Uraban. "She is as stupid as a stone." She raised her voice in rough Tierran. "Figs! Bring them. We command it."

  Adrea hurried toward the door of Villiki's chambers.

  "When Omra returns from Yuarej in three days, Cliaparia I will insist on spending the night with him," Villiki said. "Can I you do your part by then?"

  The sikara chuckled. "Oh, that will be a simple matter. She has already asked Fyiri for assistance. I had Fyiri tell Cliaparia that this new love potion must be added to every dish of food."

  r Adrea slipped through the door, ostensibly to fetch figs from the kitchens. She had heard everything she needed to know, and

  it gave her a spring in her step and hope in her heart. She had a weapon.

  This was going to be a dangerous game. Villiki would murder her if she discovered what Adrea had in mind--but Adrea would take the gamble. She did not intend to be caught. These women had much to learn about the lengths to which a desperate Tierran mother would go. Their schemes were amateurish in comparison.

  62

  Calay

  On the day the wedding party was due to arrive from Iboria, Anjine was glad to see excitement in her father's face for the first time in years. Though he had previously seen only a small plate 11 Ipainted with Ilrida's likeness (in the pose of a young female crew-

  II Iman on Aiden's ship, naturally), Korastine was infatuated with

  Iher. Destrar Broeck had described his daughter with any proud father's lack of objectivity, and the king trusted him.

  This was not strictly a political marriage, Anjine knew; Korastine honestly wanted to be happy. After her mother's death, he often asked Anjine to sit next to him by the fire and read aloud from the Book of Aiden. When he thanked her with tear-filled eyes, she could see the heavy hunger of loneliness within him. While they waited for the wedding ship to pull into the har Ibor,

  Anjine helped to finish the banquet preparations inside the castle, inspecting the platters of roast sturgeon, the herbed root vegetables, soups made from dried peas, and dozens of sweet quince tarts. Her cat, Tycho, insisted on following her, wanting her attention--as well as some of the fish. Her two handmaid

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  ens, Smolla and Kemm, fussed about with colors and banners and flowers.

  The flagstoned floor of the banquet hall had been swept clean, and lace-edged linen tablecloths were spread out on the long plank dining tables. The tables were set with a wedding gift from the Corag destrar, new pewter goblets that bore the specific crest of each destrar.

  The Iborian wedding ship arrived on schedule, trailed by a raft of valuable pine logs. A runner came to inform King Korastine that the passengers had disembarked and were making their way through the Royal District. Her father came to fetch Anjine, grinning and anxious. Side by side, the two emerged through the castle's arched gates, where they waited to receive the wedding party.

  Tumblers and jugglers rushed out for an impromptu show, followed by musicians with flutes and tambourines. Nothing about their performance was coordinated, but the diversions were colorful and entertaining. Each of the entertainers longed to be singled out as a court performer.

  But King Korastine had eyes only for Ilrida as she approached, holding the arm of her bearlike father. The destrar's ethereal daughter looked captivating and sweet, halfway between Anjine's age and Sena's. Korastine went forward to greet his bride-to-be, bowing deeply.

  Behind them, Anjine saw a familiar but barely recognizable face--Mateo, tall and mature. His dark hair had recently been shorn, and his Iborian-style uniform looked a bit small for him. Why, he looked grown up! Anjine realized that she herself had flowered into womanhood since she had last seen her best friend. She was no longer an eleven-year-old girl, and he not a young boy. The gulf of years and puberty had changed them greatly. I Anjine drew herself up to look as regal as she could, while Mateo stood at attention at the head of the soldier-trainees, his

  face unreadable. Their eyes met and locked, and Anjine could no longer contain herself. Her lips curved in a grin, just as Mateo smiled, showing her a flash of his boyhood again, and it warmed her heart.

  The group moved inside the castle amidst a welcoming chatter. While the party members were escorted to their rooms by castle retainers, the returning soldiers set off for their barracks in the Military District, where many of them would be fitted with the uniforms of the city guard for one last year of service. Mateo had already written her that he'd decided to opt for enlisting in the city guard, anxious to stay closer to home.

  Anjine whispered in her father's ear, pulling his attention from Ilrida. "May I have Mateo help me with preparations for this evening? The city guard can get by without him for an afternoon."

  The king was startled, as if he hadn't realized who the young man was. "Mateo! Welcome back to us. Military service has certainly matured you!" He embraced the young man. "Go with Anjine. I'm sure the two of you have much to talk about."

  The pair slipped away from the hubbub of visiting dignitaries. Mateo looked around him, as if seeing the castle's familiar halls and chambers for the first time. "So much has changed in Calay. When was the old Tinkers' Bridge torn down?"

  "It collapsed when a barge full of cut limestone hit the pilings," Anjine said. "People have had to walk all around the bay or take ferry boats for months, but it'll be rebuilt in the next year."

  Mateo continued in a rush of words; he seemed to have so much to say. "And when our ship sailed in, I saw that the military barracks have expanded all the way up the spit of land. Looks like they'll soon edge out part of the Butchers' District. And I've never seen so many warships on patrol at the mouth of the harbor!"

  "With good reason." Her voice turned hard. "You know what the Urecari have done to our villages." She led him into a west facing upper room where afternoon sunlight streamed in to warm the velvet-upholstered window seat. There she found Tycho sprawled out to sun himself. The cat lifted his head, glanced at Mateo, and gave a curious meow, obviously not remembering the young man from so many years ago. Nevertheless, Matteo went over to scratch Tycho's chin.

  "It'll be different now," Mateo said. "While I'm serving in the city guard, at least we can talk in person, so we don't have to write so many letters." She had enjoyed his letters, though... read each one dozens of times.

  "Unless you go out on a patrol boat. Some of the city guard are being assigned as crew."

  "Makes sense. There's more trouble on the sea than in Calay."

  She hoped, though, that he would stay here in the city.

  The two fell into an awkward silence. They hadn't seen each other for five years--during which Mateo had served in all five reaches, and Anjine had learned more about politics and leadership than most men learned in a lifetime. There was so much to tell that neither of them could think of how to begin.


  In the weeks after the wedding, Queen Ilrida adapted to her new life and happily settled in as the wife of the king. Korastine adored the Iborian princess from the moment he first saw her, and Anjine was glad to see that her father seemed young again, as if a hard decade had melted off his face.

  Destrar Broeck remained in Calay for as long as he could make excuses to do so, but eventually he had to head north before the weather changed. Kjelnar remained behind with the new shipment of logs, and King Korastine put him in charge of the entire shipbuilding district for constructing naval ships.

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  Anjine took her new stepmother under her wing, making sure Ilrida felt welcome and comfortable. Although the Iborian woman was full of wonder and definitely wanted to please, she had great difficulty speaking the Tierran language. Anjine knew that while children acquired languages easily, many adults were not so adept at it. She asked Smolla and Kemm to work with Ilrida on her letters (secretly hoping that the two handmaidens would learn something as well). Anjine longed for more intelligent conversation in the castle.

  Right away, she helped Ilrida memorize a few key words and phrases, and sat with the other woman in her own rooms; while her Iborian ladies-in-waiting snipped lace or sewed garments, she told stories about Queen Sena, assuming that Ilrida would want to know more about Korastine's first wife. The Iborian ladies were already fitting into their new home, a few even flirting unabashedly with the castle guards.

  One day, when Anjine joined her in a private drawing room, Ilrida reverently opened a locked wooden chest, rustled among fabrics and garments, and withdrew an object that she obviously valued greatly. The pale Iborian woman held up a round icon in a frame the size of a small plate. The image had been assembled from minute pieces of colored tile and polished stone, a detailed mosaic of a bearded man, his head surrounded by a golden halo, his face filled with peace and compassion.