The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Old Prester-Marshall Rudio prayed over her, and his acolytes lit strongly scented candles at the head of her bed. Other prest

  ers had come in, sure that Ilrida was possessed by some Urecari demon, but their ministrations did not help her condition. Anjine had fetched the lustrous icons of Holyjoron from the kirk, hoping they might comfort Ilrida.

  The court doctors bathed her with sweet-smelling liquids and burned herbs and incense, to no effect. Though King Korastine was a devout Aidenist, he begged Sen Leo na-Hadra to send the best Saedran apothecaries and physicians, and the scholar did so. After seeing Ilrida, the men were not baffled by her condition, but neither could they help. "We have seen this malady before, Majesty," the somber physicians said to the king. "The muscles spasm, the jaws lock, the fever increases."

  "Give her your best medicines," Korastine pleaded. "Give her anything. Cure her."

  The four Saedrans were reluctant to pronounce their assessment, but one of them summoned the courage and shook his head. "There is no cure, Majesty. Sometimes the patients recover--we don't know why. A few of them find the strength."

  "My wife is strong," Korastine insisted.

  The apothecaries gave Ilrida powders to send her into deep sleep, but still her condition worsened. Seeing her father mad with fear and grief, Anjine led the Saedrans out to the private corridor as the prester-marshall engaged in another round of prayers. She faced them, demanding to know the truth. "How long does she have? How much hope is there?"

  The Saedrans regarded one another soberly, then turned to her with large, weary eyes, and she knew. "This type of sickness is very often fatal, and always tragic, Princess."

  Anjine had dreaded to hear it, but she thanked them and went back in to stay at her father's side. Grief-stricken, Korastine bowed his head with a greater sadness and despair than more lhan ten years of war had been able to inflict upon him.

  Tomas called and called for his mother, but the servants kept him out of the sickroom. Finally, however, Anjine relented and brought the boy to Ilrida. She didn't want him to see his mother like this, but--facing the truth in a way that her father seemed incapable of doing--Anjine knew the boy would want to say goodbye. And Ilrida, wherever her delirious mind might be now, would be comforted to have Tomas at her side.

  The boy ran to his mother, shocked at what he saw, not understanding at all. Anjine tried to hold the tears back, clamped her lips shut, and stood trembling, but they flowed freely down her face after all.

  Korastine leaned over the bed to embrace Ilrida's spasming shoulders, sensing that she had only moments left. He refused to let go, holding her against him as she died in his arms.

  83

  Calay, Merchants' District

  The Dolphin's Wake limped back to Calay Harbor, storm battered, its sails threadbare, its hull planks badly in need of caulking. The people who watched maritime traffic come and go in the Merchants' District greeted the ship's return with cheers of surprise and calls of disbelief. Runners bolted up and down the docks and into the district, calling out the news that the Dolphin's Wake had returned. The trading ship had been gone for well over a year and was presumed lost at sea.

  Aldo na-Guric often lingered in the district to look at the exotic wares on newly arrived ships, reminding himself of the amazing things he had seen. He watched the Dolphin's Wake pull up and was one of the first to call out her name. As a chartsman,

  he had sold his services to Captain Osmuc three times over the years, but those had been normal trading voyages, nothing as extensive as the apparent ordeal the ship had suffered.

  Ropes were thrown and planks laid across to the dock; people streamed aboard the battered ship, greeting the weary yet happy crew. The gaunt men's clothing was ragged, but nothing could erase the delight on their faces.

  The man they called captain was Francosi, who had been first mate when the ship sailed. "Captain Osmuc died two months into the voyage," Francosi explained. "Not the way I expected to be promoted... but that was a year ago."

  "You got the crew home," Aldo said, pushing his way forward. "That's what a real captain does."

  The former first mate recognized him. "It's our Saedran chartsman! By Aiden's Compass, I would have loved for you to be aboard with us. We've desperately needed your services."

  Aldo would rather have been out on an amazing voyage than home in the Saedran District, whiling away the days. "What happened to your own chartsman?" He searched his memory. "Sen Lioran, correct?"

  "Now, that's a long tale," Francosi said, raising his voice, "and I'm sure these fine gentlemen will be treating me and my crew to pints of ale at the taverns so they can hear it again and again." Many of the listeners cheered and offered to buy the first pints. The last members of the crew staggered out onto the docks, searching for loved ones, looking so thin and frail that a gust might blow them over. "But you, my chartsman friend--come aboard the Dolphin's Wake. I have something for you and you alone."

  Curious, Aldo walked up the plank to the deck. Many people bustled around him, but the captain would speak only with Aldo. "We set course for far Lahjar, the most distant city in the

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  known world." Aldo's eyes sparkled. Few reports had been written of that mysterious, exotic city on the southern edge of Uraba, below which the silty, shallow waters grew so hot that they boiled each day at noon. "Sen Lioran guided us. We arced far out to the west, in open waters, heading into unknown territory, but our chartsman knew of certain currents."

  In prior times of uneasy but unrestricted trade, Tierran ships would work their way down the coast from Khenara, to Tener, to Ouroussa, and finally to Lahjar. Sen Lioran had taken a different, more efficient route.

  "We caught a brisk southerly flowing stream that brought us around and swept us back toward Lahjar before we sailed off the edge of the world. It was about then that a rogue wave unexpectedly swept Captain Osmuc off of the bow and to his death. Nothing we could do." He shrugged. It had been a long time ago for him.

  One week later, the Dolphin's Wake had reached the distant city. The natives had marveled at their pale skin and light brown hair, and promptly bought all the exotic items from the five reaches, exchanging them for items that would be just as valuable back in Tierra.

  "We headed back for home with our cargo hold full. As we sailed far out to open sea to catch a northerly current that Sen Lioran insisted was there, the men hauled up a sea turtle in their nets. And on its shell, they found strange etched drawings, lines cut deeply into the hard plate. When Sen Lioran saw the drawings, he grew very excited. He said this was one of the most important discoveries of our time. Our men were more interested in eating meat other than fish for a change, but I let Lioran keep the shell."

  Francosi led Aldo into a small cabin with many obvious Saedran trappings, where he removed a bundle wrapped in old scraps

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  of sailcloth and handed it to a curious Aldo. "Before long, though, our chartsman had far more important concerns--powerful abdominal pains in his right side. He developed a fever, he began to vomit, and his condition grew worse."

  "Sounds like his appendix," Aldo said. "A burst appendix."

  "Yes, and he died. But before he became delirious at the end, Sen Lioran made me swear--made me take the fishhook in my hands and swear--that if I made it home, I would find a Saedran chartsman and present the turtle shell to him." He tapped the package.

  Aldo pulled away the sailcloth wrappings to reveal the old hemispherical shell, turned it over to see the play of curved lines, the drawing of continents and islands. The world.

  Recalling all too clearly the fake chart that Yal Dolicar had sold him, Aldo approached the object with skepticism. This, however, was different. Sen Lioran, an accomplished chartsman, obviously believed in its veracity, and now in his mind, Aldo matched up the lines of reefs, the known shoals, the convoluted out
lines of distant islands, places that no one but a Saedran was likely to know. He held the map against his chest, barely able to contain his excitement. The map was real.

  Smiling, the captain said, "Before he died, Sen Lioran also told me that I should ride the northerly current for eleven more days, and then strike due east. We eventually found the coast again, though we were still below the Edict Line, and Urecari vessels pursued us. Fortunately, we escaped them in a fog bank and kept working our way northward. Now we're home.

  "The map is yours. If nothing else, it's what I owe your people."

  "Sen Lioran was right," Aldo said. "This may be the most important discovery of our time."

  84

  Inner Wahilir, Sioara

  Prester Hannes made his way to Inner Wahilir and the city of Sioara, the gateway to Ishalem and his way back to Tierra. Though weary, he was pleased with what he had accomplished in his years of doing Ondun's work. Now, however, he was eager to report to Prester-Marshall Baine all the progress he had made. Improving the world, by the grace ofOndun.

  The soldanates of Inner and Outer Wahilir were ruled by cousins, Soldan Huttan and Soldan Attar. Though their lands split the isthmus in half, east and west, and thriving commerce passed between them, Hannes had learned that the cousins hated each other. Both men, apparently, had been in love with the same woman and tried to woo her, but she had died before she could choose between them; the cousins accused each other of poisoning her rather than let the other soldan win.

  On the main caravan road from the Middlesea shore to the Oceansea coast, a line of guards stopped all travelers at the border, requiring them to transfer their goods to a second caravan that would lead them across the adjacent soldanate for a substantial fee. No caravan from Inner Wahilir was allowed to pass through Outer Wahilir, and vice versa. In recent years the soldan-shah had stationed his own troops at the crossing point to prevent a civil war from breaking out.

  Prester Hannes did not want to be seen, inspected, and questioned by Uraban border guards. So he found another way.

  Weary and footsore, looking like any other traveler who wanted to avoid paying the high toll, Hannes protected the

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  handful of coins he had hoarded. On the outskirts of Sioara near the wide main road that led up into the Wahilir foothills, he lurked about until he spotted five men who looked like a group of thieves planning a large and risky job. Their intentions were obvious; they all needed an illicit guide. Just as he did. Before long, a solicitous man was drawn to like-minded fellows as iron is pulled toward a lodestone. "I know a secret trail," t lie guide offered with a smile. "I can find invisible paths, dense trees, sheltered canyons--and a pass known only to me. I will lead you across to the Oceansea." "That's all we need," said one of the gruff men.

  "Oh, you'll need more than that, but it is all I can give you." He raised his eyebrows. "Provided you can pay."

  "How much?" someone asked.

  "Ten cuars" the guide replied with a straight face.

  "For the group?"

  "Apiece."

  While the others groaned and complained, Hannes stayed silent, standing apart from these men. He drew out his coins. It would cost most of what he had in his purse, but he didn't care. He could always obtain more. "I will go." The guide chuckled derisively at the hesitant men. "If a beggar can afford it, then you men can! Or maybe you don't want to go badly enough?" "I'll go, even if I am the only one," Hannes insisted, hoping the others would indeed go along, though he did not relish the idea of close company. However, if he were alone with the guide, a servant of Urec, the man might lead him into the wilderness, murder him, and take the rest of his coins. Hannes could not make his own way through the mountains, and he didn't dare get caught by the soldan's guards. Stories of the "shadowman's" deeds had spread throughout Uraba for years.

  Despite their complaints, each of the five men agreed to the price. Smiling, he told them where to meet at dusk, when they would set off into the Inner Wahilir foothills. The guide's name was Yal Dolicar. 1

  85

  Olabar Palace

  When it was Gliaparia's evening to dine with Omra, she guarded her time jealously, always searching for some way to engage her husband's attention. Not only did the soldan-shah continue to pine for his first wife, who had been dead for more than a decade, but Omra lavished time and attention on his other wife, a former slave girl and a Tierran at that! He doted on the woman's son more than he paid attention to Cliaparia's daughter, his own daughter, who was of noble blood. Uraban blood. When Gliaparia was alone--which was too often--she sometimes stood before a looking glass, trying to imagine how Omra could find fault with her, which part of her beauty was not flawless. Oh, he cared for her as a husband should, according to the ancient rule that Fashia had laid down when she granted Urec leave to take other wives: A husband must care for them equally. But there was no law that he must love them equally.

  She had tried virtually everything over the years, but she still hadn't given the soldan-shah a son. Neither had Istar, thankfully. Cliaparia made herself beautiful for the evening; three handmaidens fixed her hair, applied her makeup, added her jewelry. The burning incense would ignite desire in a man, according

  to her sikara friend Fyiri, who had access to the chemicals, perfumes, and drugs that the church considered effective. After the disastrous poisoning incident with Villiki and Lukai, however, Cliaparia had been afraid to try any more potions.

  It had been five years since Omra's marriage to the Tierran slave, and nearly eleven since he had wed Cliaparia. Once again the nobles and his advisers were urging him to take another wife, to increase the odds of having an heir. Despite numerous wives, the soldan-shahs in Omra's line had never been particularly successful in producing offspring. With his three wives, Imir had fathered two sons and a few daughters, and his father had sired only one son and a daughter.

  But failure to bear an heir for Uraba wasn't Cliaparia's fault. The soldan-shah simply did not make love to her often enough--and that problem wouldn't be corrected by introducing a third wife into the palace. He needed to cease being preoccupied by other things.

  Nevertheless, after constant pressure, Omra had recently .igreed--with obvious reluctance--to marry a young girl named Naori, the daughter of a wealthy and influential family from Missinia, who had been put forward by Omra's mother. I hat had quieted the voices for the time being.

  But not for Cliaparia. Upon learning of the new betrothal, she had felt her dreams slip from her grasp. A son of her own should be the next soldan-shah! Maybe if Omra paid more attention to her and less to Istar, he would already have a real Uraban heir. He wouldn't need a third wife now, but she did not know how to make Omra love her so madly and passionately that he would I hitik of no other woman.

  Such thoughts weighed on her day and night, and each special evening like this gave her a new opportunity. She refused to give up hope. While she waited for Omra to come to her, Cliaparia

  directed her handmaidens to arrange the table just so, then she chased them away.

  She was sitting with a perfectly composed smile as her husband entered and took a seat cross-legged on the cushions she had prepared for him. She offered him a porcelain bowl of apricots, a comb of honey, cubes of marinated lamb roasted with almonds, strong coffee spiced with shaved cinnamon. Polite and cordial, Omra complimented her on the food, but little else. Preoccupied with other things, he did not look her in the eyes.

  Finally, she released her exasperation. "Omra, you're right here in front of me, yet I feel your mind is far away."

  "My mind is far away. A soldan-shah has many concerns."

  "Shouldn't your wife be one of your concerns? I have always been faithful to you. I have always loved you." She leaned toward him and took his hands in hers. He twitched, but did not draw away. "Omra, I am your first wife, and I deserve prominence."

  "You will never be my first wife/' he said with a
razor-edged voice, and she turned pale. After a moment, he drew a long, slow breath and continued in a reasonable, measured tone. "First Wife is merely a title you hold, not your place in my heart. That title gives you sufficient prominence. What is it you lack?"

  "A son!" She tugged at her colorful sleeves and dangling bracelets. "I have many possessions, but I would like more of your time, more of your attention, and more of your heart. You give Istar more than her share."

  "Because I enjoy being with Istar." He no longer looked at his food, no longer ate at all.

  "And you do not enjoy being with me?"

  He spoke in a calm voice. "Tell me, Cliaparia--you've been married to me for twice as many years as Istar has. Can you

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  swer a few simple questions about me? What, for instance, is my favorite food?"

  Cliaparia gestured down at the banquet spread before them. "I have made your favorite dishes."

  "No, you made the most extravagant ones. You serve them to me over and over, but you never ask which ones I particularly enjoy. What is my favorite color?"

  The question surprised her; they had never discussed such things before. "Gold, I assume. A royal color."

  "No. The green of emeralds is my favorite. What is my favorite ballad?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but continued his quiz. "Tell me about my childhood, my friends, anything" Cliaparia did not know a single answer. Omra gazed at her with patient sadness. "You see? You don't really know me. You don't love me. You just love the idea of me."

  "Is that not enough?" Her voice was so quiet she couldn't even be sure he heard her. He did not answer. She ate the rest of her meal in sullen silence, and the soldan-shah departed early, without staying the night.