Asaddan touched his chest, keeping his voice low. “I think, however, that this incident will teach Ruad many things—things
that the Nunghal-Su don’t know they should value. Either way, he will be a stronger man for it when he returns to his ships.
Ruad can become a valuable adviser to both Jikaris and the khan of the Nunghal-Su.”
Impatient with all the talk he did not understand, the old khan interrupted Asaddan and issued an abrupt command. In the full
dark of the moonless night, the people fell into an anticipatory hush.
Saan heard a hiss, then saw a streaking tail of fire rise into the sky, like an inverted shooting star, which suddenly exploded
into a dazzling flower of orange, yellow, and sparkling white. The Nunghals cheered and applauded. Astounded, Saan traced
the colorful light, wondering where the flames came from. Was it magic, alchemy, some sort of natural eruption? Another rocket
streaked upward into an extravagant fireworks display, as if the heavens themselves were at war.
“What is that? It flies, it burns, and explodes!” Imir exclaimed.
“It is firepowder, a mixture of chemicals that makes flames.” Realization dawned on Asaddan’s face. “Ah, in Uraba you do not
have firepowder!”
The former soldan-shah was fascinated as another rocket exploded in the sky. “This is magnificent.”
Asaddan shrugged. “It is firepowder.”
“I would like to learn more of this,” Sen Sherufa said. “Can you show me how it’s made?”
The big Nunghal laughed. “If you think these fireworks are interesting, then you should see the cannons on the ships of the
Nunghal-Su.”
“Cannons?” Imir said. “What are cannons?”
“You want to know everything!” Asaddan let out a loud laugh from deep in his chest. “It is good that you will stay here for
half a year.”
Breathless, Imir turned to Saan and Sherufa, lowering his voice. “Think of how we could use this firepowder against the Aidenists!”
Only days after Omra departed, Cliaparia made her move.
The soldan-shah and his army would not return for months, and by then—regardless of victory or defeat—he would be long past
caring about a squabble among his wives. Cliaparia had her alliances, her schemes, and her hatred for Istar, but it was her
obsessive anger that made her predictable.
Istar was ready for her.
She kept to her spacious chambers in the palace, occupying the rooms closest to Omra’s own, because those were the rooms the
soldan-shah had chosen for her. During the afternoons, Istar taught and entertained her two young daughters, seven-year-old
Adreala and her sister Istala, two years younger.
Adreala was a precocious girl, so full of questions that her mind was never filled with enough answers. The girl was also
brash and impetuous, playing with the boys and enduring scrapes and bruises that would have brought any other child her age
to tears. Istala, quieter than her older sister, preferred listening to stories and drawing pictures instead of roughhousing.
Istar was teaching her older daughter a simple game of colored stones that she had often liked to play in Windcatch, though
she did not reveal, even to her daughters, the game’s Tierran origin. Istala found amusement enough in watching her mother
and sister play. Baby Criston slept in a padded basket.
Cliaparia appeared unannounced at the doorway accompanied by four grim-faced palace guards. “We have come to move you from
your quarters,” she said without preamble.
Istar placed herself between her daughters and the door. “By whose authority?”
“Mine—as First Wife.”
“And you issue orders on behalf of the soldan-shah?” Istar’s tone was even. “I think not.”
Cliaparia spoke over her shoulder to the silent guards. “I told you she would be difficult.”
Istar bent to speak quietly to Adreala. “Run—this is what I told you about! Find Kel Rovik and tell him to bring his men.”
The seven-year-old understood perfectly. She dashed into a side room, slipped out another door, and raced down the corridor.
Istar faced Cliaparia once more. “These specific rooms were given to me by Soldan-Shah Omra because he wants me closest to
him. He wishes to protect me and my family.”
“I am First Wife. I should be closest to him,” Cliaparia said. “By the time he returns, he will be happy to see me.”
“And what quarters did you have in mind for me?” Istar asked, with more curiosity than anger. Beside her, a frightened Istala
clutched her leg.
The white-robed guards strode into her chambers, their scimitars obvious in sashes at their hips. The men acted intimidating,
but Istar knew they would never dare touch her.
Cliaparia shrugged. “I want you out of the palace. Go stay in the haunted villa that once belonged to Asha. It’s been empty
for so long, you may need to help your handmaidens do the cleaning.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already prepared it for me, if you’re so anxious to have me gone, Cliaparia.” She chuckled. “Would
you have gone on your knees to scrub dirt and mildew from the tiles?”
Cliaparia bristled. In his crib, baby Criston began to cry, startling them all. Turning her back to show how unimportant she
found the indignant woman, Istar went to the crib and gathered up the baby in his blankets. When she held him against her
breast, he calmed immediately. “This is the soldan-shah’s heir,” Istar said, looking at the guards instead of Cliaparia.
“Naori is also pregnant,” the other woman said. “She might have a son—a
Uraban
son.”
“Will that matter to Omra?” Istar asked. How could Cliaparia know so little about her own husband? “You delude yourself.”
Cliaparia was not sure what to do now that Istar had defied both her demands and the threat of the guards. Obviously, this
hadn’t gone the way she’d expected.
Outside in the corridor came the sounds of a commotion: the jangling of armor, the thud of boots, a swirl of cloth, and the
metal whispers of drawn scimitars. “Mother, we’re here!” called a girl’s voice. Adreala burst in ahead of the twelve breathless
guards, astonishing Cliaparia and her four men.
“What is the difficulty here?” Kel Rovik said. He flashed a glance at the four guards—his own men—standing with Cliaparia.
As kel of the palace guard, Rovik was reluctant to take sides among the soldan-shah’s wives, but he did know Uraban law and
traditions. While forging her alliances, Istar had never insulted his honor with bribes; instead, she had softened his stoic
mood through respect and courtesy, remembering to address him by name. She had taken the time to bring baby Criston before
all the guards, to let them look into the face of Omra’s true heir.
Cliaparia had not thought to do any of those things. “There is no difficulty. I am First Wife. Help us move this woman’s possessions
out. She will find her own rooms.”
“These are her rooms,” Rovik stated.
“And now they are mine. I insist. I am First Wife, and you will obey me.”
Avoiding the guards, Adreala ran to her mother and sister. Istar folded her into an embrace.
Rovik remained troubled. “I was present when Soldan-Shah Omra gave these chambers to Lady Istar. You are asking me to perform
a deed that I know is against the soldan-shah’s express wishes.”
“The soldan-shah is not here. You cannot know his current wishes.”
Kel Rovik was not moved. “And when I receive word from the soldan-shah himself that he has changed his mind, my men and I
will be pleased to follow his command. Until then, his orders remain unchanged, and the Lady Istar remains where she is. As
the soldan-shah wishes, so Urec wishes.”
Cliaparia recognized that she had been defeated. Without bothering to call the four guards after her, she slipped past Kel
Rovik’s men like a raven frightened from a fresh carcass.
But Istar could tell that this was not over.
King Korastine’s Arkship was an enormous vessel unlike any other Tierra had ever built. When the Iborian shipwright declared
that his work was complete, all the riggings strung, the sails mounted, the deck boards and hull waterproofed, the bulwarks
carved and painted, and the double-fishhook anchor hung, the Arkship was finally released into Shipbuilders’ Bay.
Though King Korastine and Destrar Broeck had both insisted on having a place aboard the Arkship for the voyage, neither man
would serve as the actual captain. After much discussion in chambers and reviewing the records of other skilled seagoing captains,
Korastine had made his choice. Kjelnar himself would be the captain. No one knew more about the Arkship than he did, and King
Korastine trusted no one more.
On the day of the christening, most of Calay’s population lined the bridges and streets in excited celebration. The nearby
docks were reserved for all of the young craftsmen who had worked on the great vessel and now gathered to watch. These young
men had been drawn from all walks of life and had worked tirelessly to build, rig, paint, and supply the Arkship for its maiden
voyage.
Aldo na-Curic stood among his fellow Saedrans to marvel at the glorious ship, especially since he would be joining the crew,
once King Korastine set sail for parts unknown. For most of the people in Calay, the ship had a deep religious significance,
an echo of the marvelous wrecked vessel that had watched over Ishalem. And if Aiden—or Urec—could sail such a giant vessel
across the empty seas from Terravitae, then surely a similar design would suffice for King Korastine’s exploratory crew.
For Aldo, though, the new Arkship signified the chance to discover the mysteries Ondun had left in the world, the breathtaking
possibilities that waited in the unmarked portion of the Mappa Mundi, and the chance, at last, to complete the great work
of the Saedran people. And he would be the one to record it all, as the master chartsman.
More than at any previous time since the burning of Ishalem, the people of Tierra had come together on the same quest. Over
the past year, the work crews in Shipbuilders’ Bay had swelled with enthusiastic young men, many of them orphans; without
parents and growing up on the streets of Calay, these young men wanted to do something grand and tangible with their unsettled
lives, perhaps even sail off on the Arkship when it was completed.
Eager to get a better look at the beautiful ship, a vessel that would be his home for uncounted months or years, Aldo worked
his way to the edge of the dock, where he could study her graceful lines. His brother and father tagged along, though Wen
clearly wanted to be somewhere else. Aldo wondered whether looking at the new Arkship reminded Wen that he had not passed
his chartsman examination.
The crowd cheered with a renewed roar as King Korastine ascended the gangway accompanied by Prester-Marshall Rudio. The two
men walked to the prow, and the king raised his hands. Aldo strained to hear the distant words as the religious leader opened
a heavy old volume of the Book of Aiden and began to recite. When Rudio finished his passage, he closed the book and shouted
to the sky, “We beseech Ondun to bestow His blessing on this new ship.”
In a well-rehearsed performance, Korastine called, “Help us to sail safe and true, for I am of the blood of Aiden.”
The prester-marshall raised the king’s hand and drew a gilded blade. “By the blood of Aiden”—he cut a small slash on the king’s
palm—“we ask Ondun to consecrate this ship.” As blood welled up, he pressed Korastine’s palm against the wood of the bow.
Korastine raised his voice to add, “And by the blood of Aiden, I beseech Ondun to help us find our way home to Terravitae.”
The crowd stirred at the end of the dock as several men came forward. Aldo stood on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the
broad-shouldered Iborians marching forward in what was obviously an unexpected addition to the christening ceremony.
Kjelnar and Destrar Broeck led a group of northerners, who strode onto the deck of the grand vessel, carrying a long fur-wrapped
package. “Wait, King Korastine. We have a priceless contribution to the Arkship!” Broeck bellowed.
The king looked curiously at the package. “And what is this, Destrar?”
“
Safety,
Majesty.” The bearded destrar removed the covering with a flourish to reveal a long, sharp shaft made of a milky blue substance.
“This is the horn of the ice dragon Raathgir. Blessed by Aiden himself, proof against sea monsters, protection from storms.
Immediately before we depart, Kjelnar will install Raathgir’s horn on the Arkship’s prow—a rare and fearsome ornament that
will also impress Holy Joron when you see him.”
The shipwright smiled. “As the captain of the ship, I agree.”
Prester-Marshall Rudio touched the smooth pearlescent ivory surface. “First let me bring this back to the main kirk, where
our master craftsmen can etch the five prayers of Aiden into its shaft.”
King Korastine smiled. “Then the Arkship will surely be invincible.”
Broeck was immensely pleased by the idea. “That gives Kjelnar time to craft a socket in the prow for the ice dragon’s horn.”
From the crowd, Aldo listened, curious. He had heard only obscure mentions of the ice dragon legend; now he would have to
look into the Saedran libraries to discover more about the tale. As the chartsman accompanying the Arkship on its voyage,
he had to know everything possible, to organize and file it in his perfect memory. Aldo would have to make the most of this
journey. When he came back home, Sen Leo would probably insist that Aldo marry one of his daughters and settle down.
Beside him, his father was enthralled by the ceremony, though Wen fidgeted. Aldo could tell that Biento longed to paint a
mural of this scene, though Aidenist practice forbade the creation of any artwork that did not come from the great story.
Quirking his lips in a smile, Aldo leaned close to his father. “Maybe you could paint the christening of Aiden’s original
Arkship before its launch from Terravitae? It would look very much like this scene.”