The Key to Creation (58 page)

Astride a horse he had commandeered from a guard captain, Omra rode back and forth, shouting, “Defend Ishalem! Its fate is in your hands!” Recognizing their soldan-shah, many of his men regained their courage and stood together. “Where is Kel Unwar?” Bodies lay in a tangle at the base of God’s Barricade, shot down by Aidenist arrows or killed in the explosion. It looked like a massacre. “Unwar! Where is Unwar?”

Finally, one of the soldiers looked up at him; the right side of his face was marked by a smear of blood. “The kel is dead, Soldan-Shah. Buried in the collapse of the wall.”

The news came like a blow to his stomach. The kel had been so proud of his masterpieces, the barricade and canal, but those defenses hadn’t been enough. Ishalem was breached.

Hearing cannon fire out in the harbor, Omra saw tall ships pushing toward the docks. The Gremurr ironclads had also entered the canal from the Middlesea side, where they were no doubt wreaking havoc. And Tierran soldiers swarmed into the city, killing anyone they encountered, whether soldier or civilian.

The agonizing truth became clear: as matters stood, Omra could not save Ishalem. Again, he remembered the biting truth of the driftwood reader’s words, telling him that the fate of the world hung in the balance.
Your actions have the gravest consequences.
At first he had thought her a charlatan, but he could no longer deny that she had predicted what he saw all around him now.
I promise you, great destruction will be upon us.

And so he made his dark decision, knowing he could not win, and knowing he couldn’t simply surrender either. He faced the high ground, the holiest land in Ishalem. “We need to make a stand, hold a defensible area. Fall back to Arkship Hill—we must save what we can.” He wheeled his horse around. One of his soldiers held a battle standard rescued from a watchtower on the wall, and Omra seized the staff from him. Holding the Fern banner high, he rode toward the hill. “To me! In the name of Urec!”

The barbarians raged through the streets, hacking at Uraban defenders. Omra led his men past the fortress-like church of Urec, whose thick walls and heavy doors would protect the people inside…for a time. If he didn’t succeed today, however, the ’Hooks would torture and slay the faithful, just as they had killed the priestesses at Fashia’s Fountain—of that he was certain.

From Arkship Hill, though, Omra hoped to organize a defense, regroup, and drive them back out of Ishalem.

As he rode up the Pilgrim’s Path, he reminded himself that this was the site where his father had signed a supposed peace treaty with old King Korastine, thinking a new era had dawned. Now, Omra thought, it was a fitting place for the war to end.

On the first day that her army surged into Ishalem, Queen Anjine watched all semblance of strict military order fall apart. Jenirod and Subcomdar Hist tried to form organized prongs, as planned, but in the tangled alleys and streets the soldiers encountered small knots of defenders.

Even after they crushed the Urecari resistance, Anjine knew the ransacking would continue for days—and deservedly so. Her soldiers had bottled up their thirst for revenge for too long, not just during the recent siege but for years before that. Some of these men had waited all their lives for a chance to strike back at the monsters who had inflicted so much pain on Tierra.

By the time she and Mateo followed the army into the city, the advancing ranks had spread out. Her armor gleamed in the sunlight, showing the bronze filigree of the Fishhook. Mateo rode close to her, sitting his horse with difficulty; she could tell how much he was hurting, though his countenance was a façade of grim strength. He should not be here, but she felt very glad he was. They rode into the city together.

Through her helm Anjine looked toward the hill in the center of the city. She and Mateo had climbed its path as children to stand before the ancient shipwreck while King Korastine and Soldan-Shah Imir pricked their fingers and imprinted their promises in blood…for all the good that had done.

Now Urecari horsemen and soldiers converged on the defensible ground to make a last stand. She saw crimson banners fluttering, as if the wind itself were stained with blood. The soldan-shah’s banners. “There, Mateo.”

He nodded. “I see it, Majesty. The soldan-shah is there—I expect he’ll surrender soon. He’s got no choice.”

Anjine wasn’t so sure. “Omra will not give up that easily.” She clenched her jaw and added quietly, “I hope he doesn’t.”

She whistled to Jenirod, who in turn attracted the attention of Subcomdar Hist. While some battle groups continued to spread out and secure neighborhood after neighborhood, the bulk of the Tierran army advanced toward Arkship Hill.

Ishalem, Arkship Hill

After the fighting started, Istar didn’t know how long the church of Urec would remain a safe refuge. So far, the troops rushing through Ishalem had taken advantage of the less defensible places first, but she knew the queen’s soldiers would come back to the fortified church, break into it, and ransack the chambers.

It would not be so different from when Omra and the Urecari raiders had attacked Windcatch, killed Prester Fennan, and burned down the town’s Aidenist kirk.…

After placing the body of Destrar Shenro and the other dead soldiers outside, the ur-sikara’s followers rebarricaded the doors and windows and drove off two other groups of roving pillagers. Now they waited.

From a high window, Istar, Ciarlo, and Kuari watched Omra’s armies retreat up the Pilgrim’s Path to the high ground, where they could protect themselves against Aidenist fighters. She guessed that was where the main clash would take place—unless they could do something to stop it.

Istar pointed to the crimson banners of the retreating army. “I need to find Omra and speak with him—he’ll be out of options. Maybe now he’ll listen. Maybe Ciarlo and I can even talk to Queen Anjine.”

“It’s our best chance to stop a wholesale slaughter,” Ciarlo said, “in the name of both Aiden and Urec.”

“There has been slaughter enough,” Kuari said quietly. “Let’s do our best to stop it.”

“I’ll get you there,” Asaddan said. “I’ll smash skulls to clear a path if I have to.”

After giving a perfunctory blessing to the priestesses and worshipers crowded in the main sanctuary, Kuari closed the door to her anteroom. “It’s better if they don’t know I’m leaving. They’re frightened, and I don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned them.” Together, they slipped out one of the service doors and into a silent alley.

Asaddan guided them through the back streets at a brisk pace, circling buildings and taking narrow side streets until they reached the base of the hill. Up there, Istar saw some of Omra’s defenders gathering their spears to form a picket line, while others stood with scimitars ready. The Tierran army would be upon them soon.

Asaddan trudged up the steep hill with Istar, Ciarlo, and Kuari behind him. Below them in the city, Istar heard cheering fighters and screaming civilians. She watched, sickened, as pockets of Ishalem’s defenders were surrounded and cut down. In a determined, organized charge, Queen Anjine’s army reached the base of the Pilgrim’s Path and began ascending.

Omra’s soldiers saw Istar and her companions and recognized the ur-sikara and the soldan-shah’s First Wife. When their group reached the end of the path, where the ancient Arkship had stood, the Uraban soldiers bowed and stepped back deferentially, letting them pass through the defenses.

Sweating, blood-streaked, and incredulous, Omra came forward to meet his wife. “You should not be here, Istar! Why did you come to Ishalem? I wanted you safe in Olabar.”

“Olabar isn’t safe, either. The only safety lies in ending this war.”

Despite the circumstances, Omra seemed defiant rather than defeated. “I will not surrender Ishalem.”

With Asaddan beside them like a bodyguard, the ur-sikara and Ciarlo approached the soldan-shah. Omra frowned at the man who was obviously an Aidenist. “Who is this, Istar? An important hostage?”

“We are all important,” Ciarlo replied in accented Uraban. “We are all children of Ondun.”

Istar drew a deep breath. “He is my brother, Omra.” Her answer stunned him. “His name is Ciarlo, and he came from Tierra to find me. Listen to what he and the ur-sikara have to say. Ishalem needs people like them to speak on our behalf.”

Before Omra could respond, sentries around the perimeter shouted to draw his attention. “Soldan-Shah, they are coming!”

He looked sadly at Istar, but the interruption had reminded him of why he was here. He rallied his confidence and raised his voice. “We must defend this hill at all costs. Do not let them reach the high ground. Give me a spear!” He held out his hand, and someone thrust one into his grip. “We’ll slaughter as many Aidenist animals as we can, and let Ondun judge us afterward.”

Istar intentionally stepped in front of him, blocking his charge. “Omra, stop and listen to me! I know you want to kill the Tierran queen, but we’re all on the edge of annihilation. What happens next will determine the fate of Uraba
and
Tierra.”

Anger transformed his face so that she barely recognized him. “Look around you! See what they’ve done to my Ishalem. The streets can only be cleansed with their blood. Death to all Tierrans!”

“
All
Tierrans?” Istar placed herself directly in front of the spearpoint and stared him down. “If you want to kill all Tierrans, then begin with me.”

He was startled momentarily out of his wrath. She continued, “If you truly hate them all, if you truly believe not a single one is worth saving, why not finish what you started in Windcatch when you raided my village? You meant to kill me then. Only a brief hesitation stayed your hand—and look how your life changed.” The spearpoint touched her chest, biting into her silk wrap, her skin. She paid no attention to the tiny trickle of blood. “Do you regret that decision? Do you truly wish you had killed me twenty years ago? Then go ahead.”

She showed no flicker of fear. The gamble was too great. “And what of Saan? He is Tierran too, born of myself and a Tierran father.”

Omra flinched. “Saan is
my
son. I raised him. He is as loyal a Uraban as any man here.”

“He was
raised
Uraban, but his true father is a Tierran sailor and explorer. Criston Vora. And Saan is with his father now. I read it in the sympathetic journal. The
Al-Orizin
encountered a Tierran sailing ship on the far side of the world. Their ships were damaged in a storm, and the crews are helping each other to survive. By now, they have surely reached Terravitae.”

Omra stared at her in disbelief. “You cannot know this for certain.”

She looked at Kuari, who produced the twinned journal and held it up. “She speaks the truth, Soldan-Shah. I’ve read his words myself.” The ur-sikara showed the journal to everyone around them.

“Urabans and Tierrans
can
work together. Saan is proving it right now. He loves you and wants more than anything to make you proud of him, no matter what blood runs through his veins.” Swept away with her plea, Istar reached a hand toward him. “Omra, you can die here for nothing, or you can live for Saan—for
all
of your children—and for Uraba.”

The soldan-shah could not escape the truth on her face, or in Kuari’s hand.

Just then the first Aidenist soldiers made it up the hill, and the Uraban defenders blocked the end of the path with their weapons, ready to die. Omra looked at his wife in dismay. “Istar, get out of the way!”

“I will not.”

Her brother Ciarlo stepped closer. “Let me help you broker peace, sir. With the help of the ur-sikara, we can do what your father and King Korastine started—what Aiden and Urec would have wanted.”

But before Omra could respond, the Aidenist army broke through the Uraban defenders with battle cries and clanging blades.

When the armies collided at the crest of the hill, Queen Anjine knew the fight was already over, and the soldan-shah must realize it as well. Swords raised, her fighters spread out to face their enemy. As her front lines threw themselves upon the followers of Urec, she shouted, “Urabans, lay down your arms!”

Anjine saw that she had come upon a strange tableau. She easily identified Soldan-Shah Omra, who had planted the crimson Unfurling Fern banner and stood his ground, but she was surprised to see a woman who was obviously Tierran, though dressed in Uraban clothing. The woman faced him, unafraid of a lowered spear he pressed against her. The soldan-shah lifted the sharp point away from her, spoke a sharp comment in Uraban…and the Tierran woman moved to stand
beside
him.

A blond-haired man was also with them—a prester, judging by his Fishhook pendant—along with a prominent Urecari priestess. A tall, exotic-looking stranger also stood with them, a man whose race she did not recognize.

On his horse beside Anjine, Mateo looked pained from the rough charge up Arkship Hill. He had loosened his cuirass from discomfort, and she spied blood leaking out from his armor—his wound had opened again. For his sake, if nothing else, Anjine knew she had to end this confrontation without further fighting.

Still looking at the soldan-shah, she said quietly out of the corner of her mouth, “Join me, Mateo. I want you at my side for this.” Anjine nudged her horse slowly forward to face the defeated enemy leader. She glared at the Uraban defenders until they let her horse pass so she could approach Omra. “Soldan-Shah, I will accept your surrender! Lay down your arms now, or we will execute all of your soldiers.”

The two Tierrans next to the soldan-shah—were they hostages? collaborators?—translated her ultimatum. Omra’s face turned ruddy with desperate hatred, and he clutched his spear.

Flicking her gaze away from the Uraban leader, she talked to the man with the Fishhook pendant. “I don’t know you, Prester, but tell the soldan-shah that if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders and wants his people to survive this day, then he must surrender Ishalem to me.”

Behind her, the Tierran soldiers raised their banners and whooped out a victory cry.