The Edge of the World

by Kevin J. Anderson

  100

  Raven

  From the deck of the battered patrol ship, Mateo scanned the sea and the coastline for any sign of Urecari raiders. It had been more than a week since they'd glimpsed a colorful silken sail, but they all knew the enemy ships were out there, and the soldiers aboard the Raven were spoiling for a fight. Ship-to-ship battle was terrifying yet energizing, and Mateo had already seen two of his captains die in seagoing engagements. He was under no illusion that his new rank as first mate would gain him riches or glory, but it did earn him respect, and he was sure that Anjine would be impressed. But what would she think if she knew how difficult it really was? Captain Trawna used signal flags to communicate with the five other ships in the patrol group. The watchful vessels plied the southern waters where Urecari raiders were most likely to strike (although several weeks earlier a surprise enemy fleet had arced north all the way to the southern tip of Iboria). From the lookout nest, a sailor called, "Torch! I see a signal torch!" The crewmen scrambled to the port side, gazing toward

  IC7W

  Ill

  :,

  458 Kevin J. Anderson

  the coastline. In the distance they saw a smoky fire and bright orange flame atop the stone tower.

  "Haul anchor and set sail," Captain Trawna ordered, and signal flags passed the message around the patrol group. All six small vessels stretched their canvas, caught the wind, and picked up speed. In the past six years a new network of signal towers had been built at regular intervals along the coast, even where no navigation hazards existed. Someone on the shore had issued a call for help.

  The patrol group raced southward, catching the current. Mateo consulted the charts, and after marking the locations of prominent villages, guessed the site of this unexpected strike: a village called Reefspur.

  When the wind tapered off and blew in a contrary direction, the six captains ordered the drums brought out, and the sailors began rowing to bring the patrol ships to their destination. They had no time to lose.

  An extended reef created a calm harbor on the coast, and a thriving village had been built at the site. There, the patrol group came upon a pair of large Urecari war galleys. The enemy raiders had closed in on Reefspur, expecting little resistance from the villagers, whom they had already raided a decade earlier. Armed to the teeth, the Uraban soldiers pulled their small rowboats toward shore, but when the Tier ran patrol ships have into view, the Uraban sailors still aboard the main galleys banged alarm gongs to call their shipmates back. With a flurry, the raider rowboats turned around, but the Tierran patrol ships sliced in and cut them off at the harbor's edge.

  Mateo and his exhilarated shipmates looked upon their prey with an almost savage hunger. Two Tierran ships remained in the outer waters beyond the reef to block any escape route, while the Raven and the other three shallow-draft vessels crowded into

  1

  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 459

  the Reefspur harbor, driving the two large Uraban war galleys against the coral breakwater. From the decks, the Aidenist soldiers issued a wordless cry of challenge.

  Taking charge of a small squad of archers, Mateo directed them to fire a volley down into the open, overloaded rowboats, killing dozens of Urabans like penned animals in the Butchers' District. Several raiders dove overboard to get away, but the arrows pierced the clear waters, and bristling bodies soon floated to the surface.

  Mateo felt no sympathy for the Urecari at all, not after what he'd seen. They deserved the pain and death they received.

  Sometimes, following the worst battles, he felt sick regret as he realized how much the war had already changed him. He was now a person he had never expected to become when he first entered his military training in Alamont Reach. But he was doing this for Tierra, for his king, and for Anjine. He would die for her, and he had already killed for her--many times.

  The hot-blooded Tierrans drew swords and waved their blades at the skeleton crews aboard the Uraban war galleys. Two patrol vessels pulled alongside the first foreign warship and threw fishhook grapples to secure the vessels. The Uraban fighters faced them from the decks, snarling and shouting in their incomprehensible language.

  With a heart that felt as cold as Iborian ice and as hard as the steel of his sword, Mateo turned to his captain. "Sir, these men came to prey upon a defenseless fishing village. Why not treat them like the cowards they are? Why should we let them defend themselves, when they denied our people that honor?"

  Captain Trawna was intrigued, a gleam of bloodlust and revenge showing in his eyes as well. "What do you have in mind?"

  Mateo closed his eyes for just a moment, remembering Ilrida's

  funeral ship catching fire as it sailed out to open sea, toward legendary Terravitae. "I say burn them from here. They're just raiders--our archers have a much greater range. Light our arrows and torch the war galleys, then stand back and watch them roast."

  "I'm sure the crew would rather take these two as prizes, capture the Urecari as slaves." Trawna was unsure of himself. "Could be a tidy profit."

  But Mateo felt no greed within him, no desire for dealing with the troublesome complexities of capturing and repairing these foreign ships, crewing them, and moving them north to Calay. He could see that the seamen wanted the same thing; many of them had lost comrades and family members in raids.

  "Maybe under different circumstances, Captain. This is not a business, sir, but a war. I am willing to forgo a handful of coins if it shortens the lives of these monsters. Think of what they've done to our villages, what they intended to do here."

  His fellow sailors held their swords, anxious to leap across to the decks of the war galleys. The men were already disappointed to consider killing the Urecari from a safe distance, but they certainly didn't want to let the enemy live.

  The captain sensed the mood immediately. "Very well, we'll watch them roast from here." He gave the order, signaling the two Tierran patrol ships to withdraw.

  Tierran archers fired a volley of blazing pitch-wrapped arrows into the two helpless Uraban war galleys. The arrows clung to the decks, the masts. Burning shafts plunged through the colorful sails, which blazed quickly, turning brown, curling, and finally raining fine ashes. Flames blinded the painted Eye of Urec in the center of each sail. Though the Uraban crew scrambled to douse the fires with buckets of seawater, they could not catch the small blazes fast enough.

  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 461

  In his mind Mateo saw a picture of the ruthless Urecari riders in the streets of Ishalem, throwing torches, spreading the fire, cutting down Aidenists who had simply wanted to help put out the flames. "If any of those men try to surrender, butcher them like pigs."

  The Raven's sailors contented themselves with that prospect. Mateo watched with no small amount of pleasure as the enemy raiders died by water, by flame, by arrow, and by sword. The patrol captains ordered the Tierran ships to drop anchor outside of Reefspur so the crews could watch until the Urecari vessels were nothing more than floating charred wrecks.

  101

  Olabar Palace

  Word came to Olabar that five more Uraban fishing boats off the coast of Khenara had been boarded by Aidenist privateers, the crews murdered, and the boats captured and taken back to Tierra.

  The people in the streets of the capital city howled for revenge, demanding that the soldan-shah launch an immediate attack on Tierran cities. Down in the square below the palace, they chanted for the death and damnation of all Aidenists. Careful to remain out of view for the moment, Omra eased out onto the balcony high up on the white tower; he was buffeted by the swell of voices, the thunderous waves of anger. He had to respond to it all somehow.

  In the well-lit, airy chamber behind him, his advisers had gathered for hours to discuss further war plans. Their words strangled him. He needed to step outside, breathe the fresh air, and see the sun reflecting off the whitewashed buildings that

  KTC

  crowded the city center like kneeling worshippers. When O
mra stepped into full view at the balustrade, the resounding wave of cheers nearly deafened him.

  The jubilant sound of the populace was not just an expression of love, respect, and admiration for their soldan-shah. They wanted him to fight back; they needed him to strike. The people pushed him to show no restraint, but he didn't know if he could give them what they demanded.

  Inside the chamber, dark-skinned Ur-Sikara Erima sat beside three of her high-ranking priestesses. Hailing from Lahjar, Erima had lived her life separate from the convoluted church and soldanate politics. Chosen to succeed Ur-Sikara Lukai, Erima was a woman with no known enemies in Olabar, but also few alliances. In the eight years since assuming command of the Urecari Church, the mahogany-skinned woman had stood by her beliefs and cemented new connections, while the other sikaras scrambled to fit into the power structure. To her credit, Erima did not take rash and impulsive actions. In the palace meetings she spoke little but listened intently, so that when she did comment, her words were well considered and interesting.

  Also at the council meeting sat Kel Rovik, the captain of the palace guard, Kel Unwar, the leader of Omra's horse soldiers, Kel Zarouk, a veteran of dozens of naval battles, along with representatives of merchant families, town leaders, and all of the soldanates. Zarouk was grim and impatient, waiting for Omra to return from the balcony. "It is time we take this war seriously, Soldan-Shah. This is not a mating dance with endless and tentative moves of foreplay."

  Omra turned sharply. "You do not believe I take this war seriously?"

  "I...I did not mean that, Soldan-Shah." Zarouk flushed,

  THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 463

  averting his eyes. "But we cannot allow the situation to continue. Think of all the Aidenist atrocities!"

  "Have there not been plenty of atrocities on both sides?" Omra muttered, much to their surprise.

  From where she sat at the end of the table, Ur-Sikara Erima spoke up at last. "I believe ours are retaliations, not atrocities."

  Kel Unwar rested his fists on the tabletop. "I suggest, SoldanShah, that we gather all our warships and pull together a navy greater than the world has ever seen! Sail northward, blockade the Galay Harbor. We have enough soldiers. The Gremurr mines now provide us all the weapons we need. We could crush the enemy capital once and for all."

  Two of the merchant leaders chimed in enthusiastically. "Yes, that would put an end to this war."

  "You think so?" Omra's voice had a dangerous, razor-sharp edge. "Can you honestly believe it would be as simple as that? And afterward, what would we do? If we took over Calay Harbor and attacked their people, do you not think that all five Tierran reaches would retaliate against us? Do you seriously suggest we could conquer that entire continent with one battle in one city? We don't have the soldiers, the time, the weapons--or the fortitude. What you suggest would lead to decades of disaster. Do you not think I have tried to imagine a simple, straightforward way to victory? Do you not think that King Korastine has done the same?"

  He glared at them all, disgust clear in his voice. "If we launched our navy to Calay, what would stop their ships from slipping into our undefended lands? They could burn every one of our ports to the ground!" Omra turned his gaze toward Ur-Sikara Erima. "They could sail unhindered all the way to far Lahjar."

  The old veteran Zarouk cleared his throat. "Perhaps you are not seeing the point, Soldan-Shah."

  464 Kevin J. Anderson

  "The point?" Omra pounded his fist on the table. "/ am the point! /am the Soldan-Shah! /decide!"

  "Yes, you are the point, Soldan-Shah," said Kel Rovik, speaking in an even voice. "Your people believe in you. But they also pray you will become the point... of a sword."

  102

  The Edge of the Great Desert

  The Missinian work teams quickly assembled the sand coracle according to Sen Sherufa's detailed plans: A sturdy framework of hard wooden slats formed a large bowl, wide and deep enough to carry the four passengers along with water, supplies, food, clothes, and weapons. As workers wove reeds to form the basket's walls, Soldan Xivir expressed grave doubts about the mode of transportation. "You travel to a strange land, Soldan-Shah. There could be many enemies, great armies to kill you. You should take guards and soldiers--a whole fleet of these sand coracles." "Maybe I should," Imir answered, "but if I did, we would never be finished in time for the winds to carry us. One thing I learned during my reign is that such projects take on lives of their own. We would not depart for years! Besides, if we brought along an invading army, what would the Nunghals think?" "We will rely on our wits," Saan said. "I always have."

  Asaddan smiled, showing the gap of his missing tooth. "There are things to fear everywhere. Do not be too afraid." "Oh, I'm not afraid," Saan said.

  "Neither am I." The big Nunghal clapped the boy on the shoulder.

  The large balloon sack of Yuarej silk had been stitched together and thoroughly sealed with pitch to make it both air and water-tight. To test its integrity, workers staked out the sack in an open clearing, where they built a large fire. The hot air inflated the colorful silk bag like the bladder of some enormous beast, swelling the balloon until it strained against the ropes that kept it tethered to the ground.

  Meanwhile, heavy crates of dense black coal from Missinia were loaded aboard the coracle. The coal would burn long and hot enough to keep the balloon inflated, provided that the embers did not spill out of the large iron brazier and set. the wicker basket aflame.

  As the sun set that evening, Saan walked with Asaddan to the edge of the dunes. The Nunghal tilted his head upward, and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. "The winds are already shifting. Feel the breeze picking up."

  Saan wiped his stinging eyes. "Does that mean it's time?"

  "Yes, it is time... time for me to go home." He gazed out at the dunes with a longing expression. "You'll get used to the grit in your teeth."

  After the first night, having spoken her piece to Imir, Lithio had departed with a group of nobles, preferring her own comfortable quarters back in Arikara. Saan, though, didn't mind being away from the luxuries of the city. He was quite content to camp out in the open, making plans for the adventure to come.

  After they bedded down and the last campfires burned low under the bright wilderness of stars, Saan could barely sleep. He lay on his cushions listening to the rustle of tent fabric, feeling the breezes gaining strength out in the desert, as if the dunes were calling him. Thoughts of the upcoming great journey prevented him from falling asleep, though he knew he needed to

  rest. He couldn't imagine it would be easy to find a comfortable spot in the coracle's cramped wicker basket.

  Just as he began to doze, Saan heard a stirring outside the small tent, a rustle, then a pounding of hooves. He sat up and shook the shoulder of Imir, who slept next to him. "Grandfather, I hear--"

  Whoops and screams cracked the night. Guards shouted, "Desert bandits!"

  Saan scrambled out of the tent on his hands and knees, looking from right to left; Imir struggled off of his cushions, sputtering. In the dim glow from the campfires, Saan spotted a dozen veiled men on agile mares charging around the camp. Brandishing swords, they slashed at the tents and ropes. One raider snatched a log from a campfire pit and threw it, still blazing, against a tent.

  Saan ducked as one of the raiders rushed by, howling. The man chopped at him with his sword, but Saan rolled and sprang back to his feet, on his guard.

  Imir finally burst from the tent, arms spread out to his sides and ready to grapple any opponent. On the other side of the camp, Soldan Xivir bellowed for his guards, who were already grabbing swords and pikes to drive off the attack. The desert mares easily swirled by as the bandits stole provisions, ruined piled supplies, and set another tent on fire.

  Asaddan, who slept out under the stars with no need for a tent, stood like a contained thunderstorm. He let out a shrill banshee whistle through his missing tooth, ripped out a tent pole, and used the makeshift staff to knock a bandit from
his mount. Spinning around, the Nunghal thrust the blunt pole into a second bandit's stomach, making him drop his sword, and a follow-up punch knocked the invader from his horse.

  Riding past, another bandit slashed the ropes of Sherufa's

  tent and tossed a naming brand onto the fabric. Still inside, the Saedran woman cried out and struggled beneath the weight of the collapsing canvas. As the tent caught fire, the bandit thundered past and thrust his long sword into the cloth, but Sherufa squirmed away from the point.

  Two bandits, grinning as they heard the female voice, converged on her tent and began cutting their way inside. One man reached in, grabbed Sherufa by the arm, and tried to drag her out. The tent was fully on fire now. The second bandit seized the woman's hair and pulled. She thrashed and fought, but she was no match for them. They tried to throw her onto the back of a horse.

  With a roar, Imir snatched up a fallen sword from the ground and--without hesitation, barely looking where he was going--charged forward and thrust the curved blade right through the first bandit's back. "Leave her alone!" He shoved hard until the point emerged from beneath the desert man's sternum.

  As Imir fought to pull the sword free, the second attacker knocked Sherufa back down onto the burning tent. Turning to face the former soldan-shah, he laughed at the plump old man standing there, sword drawn.

  With a vicious stroke of the razor-edged blade, Imir lopped his head off.

  He watched the man collapse, his neck spouting blood. Imir sniffed. "I ruled all the soldanates of Uraba. You think I don't remember how to fight? "

  Imir pulled Sherufa off of the flaming tent ruins. The Saedran woman flailed at her singed hair, while he swatted out the smoldering spots on her nightclothes. When Sherufa wavered, he steadied her. "You're all right now."

  But the bandit attack continued around them.

  Saan grabbed a curved sword from the first man Asaddan had unhorsed and brandished the heavy scimitar, two-handed, to defend himself. Soldan-Shah Omra had trained him to be a fighter, and now that he was in a real fight, the young man felt his blood pounding, adrenaline racing through his veins. He realized he was not frightened at all. If only his father could see him now!