The Key to Creation (8 page)

Comdar Torin Rief, leader of the Tierran military, was prepared to offer advice if asked; on either side of Rief sat Subcomdars Hist and Ardan of the army and navy, who held their silence. The comdar pointed out, “Excuse me, Majesty. We might have taken the Gremurr mines, but we lost at Ishalem—
again
. Don’t forget what happened to Destrar Tavishel’s fleet. All of his ships were destroyed when he sailed to attack Ishalem. The Urecari possess a mysterious fleet we have never seen before, and a new kind of fiery weapon.”

She shook her head. “We don’t know how the Urabans destroyed the Soeland ships so easily, but Destrar Tavishel acted without my knowledge or my orders.” She tried to keep the anger from her voice. “Because of his foolhardy actions, Tierra lost many ships. We are
better
than this!” Anjine paced the length of the table.

Destrar Shenro from Alamont fidgeted with impatience. “I am ready to ride with the army, Majesty, whenever you decide to move against the Curlies. I can go tomorrow.” He seemed to expect applause for his eagerness.

Jenirod spoke up, “The
army
won’t be ready tomorrow, Destrar.” He seemed a new man after his grueling ride across Tierra; he had shaved and bathed, eaten and rested—but Anjine sensed that the change went deeper than that. “And if we set off without proper preparation, they will massacre us—like the last time our army tried to breach the wall.”

The knife edge of Anjine’s voice cut off the angry mutters. “We’ve got to do everything right this time. We have to factor in the time it takes to gather all our forces, move them into place, and supply them while our plans take shape. The operation must be well coordinated. It could be our last chance to end this war, once and for all.”

Destrar Unsul, Jenirod’s father, was a man who liked everything planned to the last detail. “Excuse me, my Queen, but perhaps you could tell us more about this new strategy?” He and his son had not seen eye to eye for some time, since his son’s priorities of horse shows and brawny bravado didn’t match his own scholarly interests in agriculture and engineering.

She raised her eyes to the old Saedran scholar. “Sen Leo, shall we have a look at the world?”

Sen Leo na-Hadra began to unroll his largest chart, stretching out his arms until Subcomdar Ardan of the navy had to take the far edge so he could spread the whole map on the table. Anjine leaned over the chart, tracing her finger along the coastline from Calay to Ishalem on the thin isthmus that connected the two continents.

“Ishalem is vulnerable at several points. Even though the wall blocks us from the north, a large enough army could lay siege to it. Meanwhile, the Tierran navy could blockade the Ishalem harbor on the western side of the isthmus. And, if we can time it carefully enough”—she pointed to the rugged pass over the Corag mountains, the newly captured Gremurr mines, and Tierra’s unexpected access to the Middlesea—“Destrar Broeck could sail with his ironclads and strike Ishalem from the unprotected eastern side. We will squeeze them from three sides
at the same time
, and by the Fishhook, Ishalem will be ours.”

Khalig, the miserable Uraban messenger, sat on the floor against the wall of the lighthouse chamber, his wrists and ankles bound. He groaned out loud. “Why have you brought me here, Queen Anjine? I don’t want to hear your battle plans. I am not part of this war—I’m just a merchant!”

Anjine rounded on him. “You brought my brother’s head to me. You are definitely part of this war.”

“I did only as I was commanded!”

The man had huddled in a dark cell ever since arriving in Calay with his grisly message from Kel Unwar. In her heart, Anjine understood that the messenger was merely a pawn, an innocent…but Tomas had been innocent as well. “Be silent, Khalig, or I will have you gagged.”

The distraught man clamped his lips shut. He squirmed uncomfortably, and his haunted eyes were wide.

Comdar Rief spoke up, approving of the queen’s plan. “This strategy will require a precise schedule. We’ve got to send a message to Gremurr so that Destrar Broeck knows how we expect him to assist the war effort. Our operation will take months to coordinate properly.”

She smiled at them all. “The war has lasted two decades already—I’m willing to invest a few more months.” Noting Destrar Shenro’s eager bloodlust, Jenirod’s unexpected new reticence, and Comdar Rief ’s businesslike determination, she added quietly, “The hearts and backs of the Tierran people cannot bear the weight of this war. We must finish it, and we must win. We will crush the followers of Urec, and when they beg for mercy, we will turn a deaf ear.”

Khalig moaned. “I don’t want to hear this! Why are you telling me?”

“So you understand that your people will be defeated.” Anjine’s voice was like a bludgeon. “I want to extinguish every spark of hope in your heart before you go to your grave.”

The messenger cringed; the bindings at his wrists and ankles were bloody from his struggles.

“It is a small repayment on the debt of justice. You are indeed a messenger, Khalig, but you are not innocent. No Uraban can claim innocence after what your people have done. However, each drop of blood helps to balance the scales.”

She called in Guard-Marshall Vorannen and another guard. The terrified Uraban messenger struggled, begging for mercy, but the guards went about their grim duty without sympathy.

“Alas, we have no prester-marshall to give you final prayers,” Anjine said, “but I don’t suppose the fish will mind.”

She had hoped to feel satisfaction as the two men tossed Khalig off the lighthouse balcony. She didn’t. Sen Leo looked sickened by what he witnessed, but Anjine refused to acknowledge the Saedran’s expression. She turned back to her advisers. “Now then, on with the war.”

Corag River Port

After resting for three days in their Stoneholm camp, the Gremurr refugees were eager to set off for home again. Thoughts of seeing Vicka after his long absence filled Mateo’s mind, and these liberated slaves had similar dreams of their families. Free men needed little encouragement to march; all of Tierra lay before them, and the road was open.

Mateo led the refugees down the path into drainages that joined with the river network. He noted their energy and anticipation in sharp contrast to how weary and bedraggled they had looked back in Gremurr. Now they had a spring in their step—and hope.

And so did he.

He set an easy pace along the dirt road. The refugees talked with colorful cheer, reminiscing about their homes, their families, their once happy existences. After seeing the joyous reunions of some of the freed slaves at Corag, they all expected the same, imagining that they could seamlessly rejoin their old lives.

“I used to complain about working on my farm in Alamont, but now I can’t wait to get the good, dark dirt under my fingernails.”

“My family raised the best butter melons, as big as your head! Almost no seeds, and as sweet as a honeycomb.”

“Ha, the sweet I want is the taste of my Jemma’s lips!”

“I know, I’ve tasted them,” another man quipped, which spurred a round of raucous laughter.

“A lover’s kiss is sweet, but there’s nothing like the excited hugs of your children. By the Fishhook, my two boys must be old enough to be apprentices now…or journeymen!”

“Kelpwine from Windcatch…have you ever tasted it?”

“I’ve heard about the Windcatch stench when all the seaweed rots and floats out to sea.”

“My mother made the most delicious herb-rubbed lamb, with wild garlic and dandelions.”

“One thing I’m not going to miss is the taste of Uraban food.” In odd unison, several of the men spat on the ground.

Listening to the easy chatter, Mateo could not stop thinking about how long these men had been gone. He feared they might return home to wives who had remarried, children or parents who had died, or households that had simply moved away.…

Mateo was himself a different person from the man who had left to do the queen’s bidding. An eternity ago, when he’d kissed Vicka goodbye and departed from Calay, his hands had not been stained with innocent blood. Now he shouldered the weight of a thousand severed heads.

When the group topped a hill and saw a small river town with wooden docks that served as a port for Destrar Sazar’s boats, they let out a spontaneous cheer. With great relief, Mateo saw an empty barge tied up waiting for them. He faced the happy smiles and bright eyes of the refugees. “We can rest on the journey downriver—we’ll be in Calay soon! Queen Anjine will host a feast and celebration for us when we arrive.” He knew the return of these former slaves would be seen as a glorious victory for Aiden, a way to lift up a land full of battered hearts.

And Mateo just wanted to go home as well. Hadn’t he earned it? He so longed to feel like a human being again, not just a soldier but a man with a loving wife and a warm house. He had just married Vicka, and he could only imagine—not
know
—what a normal life would be like with her. She would be wondering why he had been gone for so long, but he had not been ready to face her, or Anjine, when the horror of the thousand heads was so deep and fresh.

Scarred and shamed by what he’d done, he had ridden off in search of some kind of cleansing. The victory at Gremurr gave him part of what he needed, and bringing these once hopeless men home would do the rest.

As the refugees came down the dirt road to the river, the townspeople emerged from their homes to welcome the crowds. Having received word from Destrar Siescu’s riders, they had prepared large cookpots in the town square and were ready to serve a hot meal. The village prester came out to bestow Aiden’s blessing on them all.

Aboard the waiting barge, rivermen and their families brought out flutes and fiddles and struck up a lively tune. Giddy refugees grabbed townspeople and began to dance. The joyful laughter sounded strange coming from the throats of the former slaves, and Mateo felt some of their hope rubbing off on him.

He spotted Sazar, the burly black-bearded man who led the river clans. He had helped Mateo ferry the thousand Uraban prisoners from their slave camp down to Ishalem for the slaughter. Seeing Mateo now, the river destrar opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. “This is one human cargo I’ll be most pleased to transport, Subcomdar.”

“And I’m most pleased to deliver it to you. Let’s take these men back home to balance some of the dark things we’ve done.” He tried to swallow away the lump in his throat. “Maybe that’s a victory we can hold on to.”

Mountain Road to Gremurr

After Iaros relinquished the herd of mammoths to the Iborian soldiers, who took the beasts back to the cold northlands, Destrar Siescu and his scout set off over the mountain road with reinforcements and Uraban slaves for the mines.

Raga Var bounded along like a mountain goat on his moccasined feet, guiding the group into the windswept pass. Siescu pulled his furs tighter as the train of pack animals, soldiers, and Uraban slaves plodded along. Weather permitting, Siescu knew he would have to deliver engineers, professional miners, and metalsmiths to the former Uraban mines as well. Destrar Broeck had demonstrated his military prowess by capturing the outpost, but Siescu did not expect an Iborian to know how to operate mines or smelters. That required Corag expertise.

The path wasn’t hard to find, considering that mammoths had trampled the route; he placed his complete trust in the scout to lead the way. Accompanying them on the mountain road, Broeck’s nephew was impatient to get back to Gremurr. “We couldn’t have taken the enemy stronghold without this new road, Destrar. Your Urecari prisoners did very useful work.”

“They were human tools, nothing more. And now they can continue to serve.” He glanced back at the line of roped-together captives shuffling along the path. If one of them were to slip off the cliff, the slave’s nearest companions would be pulled down as well. To minimize losses, the Urabans were tied together in groups of no more than three.

Raga Var trotted back to them in his patchwork fur garments. “Part of the path ahead is covered with fresh snowfall. Treacherous going.” The scout rubbed at a scrape on his elbow. “Even I slipped.”

Siescu pressed his lips together. “We’d better send some slaves to break trail.” The winds picked up as they passed along one of the steepest sections of the road. Sharp crystals of new-fallen snow swirled around them, sparkling in the sunlight.

Raga Var pointed ahead, sounding encouraged. “There’s a wide patch once we get past these cliffs. Good place to make camp.”

The wind blew around Siescu, cutting like a sharp knife through his furs, and he shivered. “Will we be able to have a fire?”

“I’ll find enough firewood for you, Destrar.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Corag guards herded two roped trios of prisoners to the sloping, snow-covered path. Iaros stroked his long mustaches. “That dropoff would make me nervous even in good weather.”

The reluctant slaves argued in their own language, which Siescu had never learned to speak. Impatient to set up camp and warm himself by a fire, he barked, “Go forward or die now! We need to make our way through.” Afternoon shadows descended quickly in these canyons, and the temperature would drop further.

When the first group of slaves resisted, Siescu’s guards prodded them forward with spears. The lead man stumbled into the snow, which covered a sheet of ice. Before he had gone three paces, he slipped and tumbled off the edge. The two behind him dug in their heels as best they could, but they slid over the side as well, falling in a rush of screams.

Fortunately, the commotion also knocked loose some of the snow on the path, which cleared the way somewhat. Behind them, the roped prisoners moaned and shivered; even Iaros looked ill, but Siescu knew it was necessary. “All right, send the next group forward. Maybe they’ll make it through.”

After more prodding, the second trio gingerly moved ahead, finding their footing, slipping, clutching at rough rocks on the cliff face until they made it across the narrow ledge. Once beyond the treacherous part, they hunkered down on rocks and sat shaking and shuddering on the other side.