The Key to Creation (39 page)

The riders slipped out of the main camp, telling no one where they were going lest some soldier unexpectedly spread the word. The sentries assumed they were off on some secret mission for the queen.

The horses ambled along at a quiet walk, rustling the grasses in the starlight. The soldiers kept silent so that enemy sentries would not hear their approach. They could see the glow of Ishalem’s lights on the other side of the hill.

Jenirod was still skeptical. “Even with the element of surprise, are seventy-five of us enough? The Curlies are all armed. This won’t be like—” He swallowed hard. “This won’t be like killing priestesses at a sacred temple.”

“You’re welcome to turn back if you like,” Shenro said in a biting tone. “We’ll make do with seventy-four.”

Jenirod was not offended. “Oh, I’ll fight with you, and I’ll die beside you if need be. I just want to know that Queen Anjine supports this plan.”

“The queen trusts me more than any other. She lets me lead the army as I see fit,” Mateo said. “And I support this operation. Destrar, tell me what you know about the soldan-shah and his location.”

Even though he had already made up his mind to participate in this bold venture, Mateo doubted the reliability of the scouts’ reports. There were conflicting sightings of a man in a scarlet olba and a fine sash—an important or wealthy man, certainly, but not necessarily Omra himself. Mateo had seen the Uraban soldan-shah during the abortive earlier battle at the wall, when the
ra’virs
had struck down so many Tierrans. Despite the chaos of that bloody day, Mateo vividly remembered Omra’s face. He would recognize the soldan-shah again, if their raiding party should find him.

Taking the lead, Mateo guided them to where the slope made for easier access to the sinuous stone wall. The soldiers dismounted, taking the knotted ropes and iron grappling hooks they had brought from camp. Though occasional watchtowers punctuated the length of the wall, they saw no silhouettes of sentries immediately above.

Mateo tightened his belt, secured his sword and dagger. “Let’s be quick about it. Up and over, before anyone spots us.”

Shenro wore a broad grin. “My sword has been waiting for this a long time.”

Mateo had a brief thought of Anjine but brushed it aside. He couldn’t think of her right now, only victory. He had no idea what was on the other side of that wall, but he would fight it, follow Destrar Shenro to the soldan-shah. He could open one of the small gates and gallop away with their priceless captive. Uneasy questions clamored in his mind, but he pushed them away. If they did indeed seize Omra, then all risks would be justified…even to Anjine.

Jenirod held one of the ropes and twirled the grappling hook before casting it high into the air, as if he were roping a stray Eriettan calf. The hook arced over the thick stone barricade, and even before it struck, seven other soldiers followed suit with their own grappling hooks. As swiftly as if they had practiced the operation down to the last detail, they began scaling the knotted ropes.

Unfortunately, the thrown iron hooks and the fighters’ metal armor made plenty of noise, and before the first Tierran reached the top of the wall, Uraban sentries began to shout an alarm. One man used a brass horn to blast loud notes.

Mateo grasped his rope, dug his heels into the knots, and hauled himself up the stone wall. He had no intention of stopping now.

Within minutes after being awakened by the trumpets, Kel Unwar was dressed in his scarlet olba and sash, carrying his scimitar, and riding a horse along the cobblestone streets adjacent to God’s Barricade. He had been waiting for this. He had known the ’Hooks were up to something.

The lookouts by the main gates reported that the Tierran army hadn’t stirred; their fires still burned low and the tents remained in place, with the usual number of sleeping men visible. But the assault was taking place a mile away. Some of the vermin had penetrated into the city! Were they here to kidnap and rape young Uraban girls, as they had done to poor Alisi all those years ago? How he hated them!

He rode faster, wondering what sort of vulnerability he had left in the wall. After building God’s Barricade and digging the great canal, Unwar did not intend to let failure leave a dark blot on his legacy. The wall was perfect and secure, yet somehow these Aidenists felt they could breach it. Despite constant bombardment, their catapults had done little damage, and his archers would never allow them close enough to use battering rams against the gate.

Criers roused troops from their barracks, and some of Ishalem’s citizens gathered makeshift weapons. Kel Unwar knew these people would fight tooth and nail to defend the holy city if necessary. History had already showed them what sort of horrific damage the Aidenists could cause.

Finally he heard a commotion ahead, saw armored forms atop the torchlit wall, the flash of swords, and Urecari soldiers defending the barricade. One man tumbled down the inside of the wall, sliding on the stone blocks and leaving a red smear before he struck the bottom.

Ahead, Unwar saw the Tierran invaders furiously stabbing and chopping. He was surprised at how small the force was. There couldn’t be more than a hundred men, yet they had scaled the wall! He frowned. What could their plan possibly be? What were they after? And how did they expect so few fighters, however determined, to defeat all the defenders of Ishalem? He would mount their heads on stakes above the main gate.

More of his men rushed up wooden scaffolding or stone access stairs to reinforce the defense on the wall. He dispatched ten soldiers to ride the length of the barricade and check for further Tierran treachery. Perhaps this advance was just a decoy. It made no sense otherwise.

The Lighthouse at the
      End of the World

Criston had never been so thunderstruck. “Adrea is…alive? All this time I hoped, I prayed, I believed—”

For a moment his heart stopped; all other thoughts and concerns in his mind blew away like dry leaves in a wind. For years he had clung to the idea of her: the young face that had stared at him from the dock in Calay, slender hands waving as the
Luminara
sailed away.

Criston whispered, “I wrote her countless letters, never forgot her.” Tears began streaming down his face. “Where is she? Is she well? How can I find her?” A thousand questions whirled around him, but they were all basically the same. He wanted to know everything about her in the intervening years.
Adrea is alive!

Mailes was delighted by his reaction, ignoring the others now. “Here, let me show you.” The old man turned the round lens on its brass stand, and the glass brought faraway sights into amazing focus. Adjusting the view with dizzying speed, Mailes found the city of Calay on the other side of the world, then the town of Windcatch. As the images whirled past, Criston saw the Aidenist army camped at the Ishalem wall, saw Tierran naval vessels blockading the western harbor of Ishalem. Moving inland with jerky speed, across another expanse of water—the Middlesea?—another view showed him a large Uraban city with its harbor burned, the waters crowded with blackened ships. “That is Olabar,” Mailes said. “Looks like they’ve had some trouble.”

He moved back eastward, focused the lens on three figures on horseback, who were riding a wide road on the coast of a calm, blue sea. A big foreign-looking man with thick black hair was riding beside a smaller man in the brown robes of a traveler or pilgrim—Ciarlo!

And a woman. She was dressed in Uraban traveling clothes, her hair bound in colorful scarves, but he could see a flash of blond hair exactly like the lock she had given him twenty years before. He could see her blue eyes, a face that had been rounded by the years, now a middle-aged woman instead of the girl he had married…but she was still beautiful. Still Adrea. And still alive.

Criston began to sob, weak with joy, transfixed by what he saw. He wanted to stare at her image for hours more.

Mailes swiveled the lens away. “That was just to give you a taste, Criston Vora. I don’t want to be cruel, but Ondun would not want you to see and know too much. I’m sorry, but I’m forbidden to reveal any more.”

Criston was trembling. At least he knew that she was alive and safe, and that Ciarlo had found her somewhere. “You have given me the greatest gift, Mailes. I thank you with all my heart.” He was tempted to turn the
Dyscovera
around and head directly back for Tierra, abandoning his quest. But he could not do that. By now they must be quite close to Terravitae. He felt lightheaded, determined. “Mailes, I would be grateful for any assistance you grant us, so that we can finish this with the greatest possible speed. How can we find Terravitae?”

The lighthouse keeper stroked his lush silvery beard. “After sailing for the better part of a year, it would be a shame if you didn’t reach that majestic shore. I myself can’t look to see what’s been happening there, or who is left of our race, but I can give you charts to help you find your way.”

While Sen Aldo skimmed the tomes left open on the tables, the old man searched his shelves, studying the unmarked spines of his books. A restless and unsettled Prester Hannes paced the room, scrutinizing the magical fire. The dazzling flames glanced off the rotating mirror, and the flash of light cast its bright beacon across the seas.

Finding what he wanted, Mailes pulled out a heavy volume and flipped past pages full of dense writing until he stopped at sketches of coastlines and islands. “Captain, these charts show exactly how to find Terravitae, and how close you are.” He gave a secretive, wistful smile. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Criston studied the maps with a heightened urgency. Now he knew reaching Terravitae was possible—and that Adrea was waiting for him somewhere in Tierra or Uraba. He couldn’t stop repeating the thought in his mind. It was like a hypnotic chant.
Adrea is alive!

While Aldo and Criston compared details from the charts, Javian went to the open window of the high turret and stuck his head out into the brisk breeze. Not far away, the
Dyscovera
lay at anchor, waiting for them. He gazed up at the sky, where fluffy white clouds had tightened into gray clumps. “Bad weather coming, Captain. We should leave soon, or rough waves might smash the ship onto the rocks.”

Appraising the storm, Mailes nodded. “Such furious seas usually mean the Leviathan is coming.” He raised his eyebrows. “And
you
know the monster all too well, Captain Vora.”

Cold dread and anticipation flooded through Criston’s veins, nearly countering the giddy thrill of seeing Adrea again. He clenched his hands as if wrestling with an eel, though his emotions were much more slippery. “I would dearly love a second chance to throw a harpoon down the Leviathan’s gullet.”

“No, no, a harpoon wouldn’t be enough to kill it.” Mailes stepped over to take up his position behind the broad swivel lens and peered into the heart of the oncoming storm. “The beast often circles here—attracted by the bright beacon, I suspect…or maybe it senses my presence.”

“Why would the Leviathan be interested in you?” Hannes asked, sounding argumentative.

The lighthouse keeper turned to him mildly. “I understand the monster’s heartbreak and loneliness. The Leviathan was denied its mate, just as I was. We’ve both been spurned by Ondun.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Perhaps it sees me as a kindred spirit.”

He adjusted the round glass and the distant seas expanded before his view, showing a glimpse of a nightmare creature awash in storms and whitecaps. It had a gigantic body, yawning mouth, and thrashing fang-tipped tentacles. Even the glimpse of the monster was enough to chill Criston to his core.

Mailes talked as if he saw nothing more than a group of boisterous dolphins. “Yes, that is definitely the Leviathan.”

Hannes was pleased rather than terrified. “You see, Captain? The Leviathan is not dead! That skeleton we found must have been some trick.”

Criston could not dispute that the beast was still alive, nor could he deny the fossilized sea monster he had seen on the cliff. He tried to peer at his nemesis through the old man’s lens, but Mailes nudged the brass stand and continued to scan the ocean in the vicinity. With a startled gasp, the old man froze, entirely uninterested in the gigantic monster. “Even I never imagined it could happen!”

Criston wondered what could possibly surprise a man who had seen the whole world for generation after generation.

Mailes looked youthful and exuberant, his face beaming with joy. He nearly danced in front of his lens. “My exile must be at an end! I was cursed to wait here until Ondun returns…and
he is returning
!” He continued in a whisper. “Along with Iyomelka.”

In the lens’s field of view, Criston saw a fearsome-looking ship with tattered sails and a barnacled hull, the vertebrae and skull of a sea serpent forming its keel and figurehead. A long sharp prow of antler coral protruded from beneath the skull. A woman stood at the helm, her hair flying in the breeze. Iyomelka? On the deck rested a crystalline coffin that held a motionless old man.

In his astonishment Mailes nudged the lens just a hair, widening the field, and saw that the spectral ship was in swift pursuit of another vessel whose bright sail was emblazoned with the Eye of Urec. “That’s a Uraban ship!”

Hannes growled, “Captain, we are so close to Terravitae, we dare not let any follower of Urec arrive first! We need to go immediately—this is a race we must win. The heretics cannot be allowed to befoul the sacred land.”

Javian tugged on Criston’s sleeve. “He’s right, sir. Back to the ship, as fast as we can…this man and his spying make me nervous. The storm is coming, and we’ve got to sail away before the Leviathan arrives.”

Sen Aldo gathered the chart that marked the islands and the coast of Terravitae, though he plainly wished he could take dozens of the other books as well.

Criston turned to the old man, still stunned by all the revelations he had just received. “Mailes, will you come with us?”