The Map of All Things (17 page)

39
Calay

Returning from his tour of the military camps, Mateo spent days at the army administration offices, assisting Comdar Rief in assuring that the men had adequate food, uniforms, boots, armor, and weapons. After the Ishalem disaster, the Tierran military had to be rebuilt, both in strength and in morale. Though he had recently eliminated many hidden
ra'virs
among the troops, he knew they had not found them all.

Down in the Metalworkers' District, small forges and smithies clustered near where the riverboats unloaded raw metal from the mines in Corag Reach. In a city the size of Calay, blacksmiths had plenty of work shoeing horses, repairing farm equipment, fashioning cookware. However, for a generation now, the smithies had devoted most of their output to the manufacture of swords, knives, shields, and armor.

Mateo went regularly to the largest such operation, which filled an entire neighborhood. Ammur Sonnen had produced more finished blades than any other smith in Calay, and he oversaw dozens of apprentices and journeymen, but the heart of the operation was his clever daughter Vicka, who had as keen an eye for business as her father had for steel.

As Tierra's wartime demand increased, Vicka had encouraged her father to take on more workers, rather than attempt to fill all orders by himself. This expansion had increased their productivity and profit enough that Ammur bought out one of the neighboring blacksmith shops and its accompanying forge, then others in turn. Now the Sonnens owned a veritable empire of swordmaking establishments, though Ammur never spent a day away from his anvil and bellows. Vicka was the one who had seen how they could increase their output by combining forces with the smaller operations.

Mateo had watched the young woman for a long time. Even when her face was smudged with grime and smoke, or shone from sweat in the heat of the forge, she was beautiful (though he had a hard time imagining Vicka in a gown and jewels instead of work clothes). She had dozens of workers wrapped around her finger, including her father.

This bright morning, Mateo walked past the ornate wrought-iron gate and heard the clanging of hammers on anvils, the hissing of hot iron quenched in barrels of scummy water, the huff of pumping bellows, and the good-natured banter among apprentices and journeymen. He stopped to look at a crate of newly fashioned swords, each one polished and oiled, its edges ground to a bright silver line. One young apprentice, intent on his sharpening wheel, seemed hypnotized by the shower of orange-yellow sparks.

Mateo could hear Vicka's rich voice chiding a group of journeymen who crowded around a paper proclamation that a royal errand-boy had just nailed up on the public street post. “Come on, boys, you can cry in your soup tonight! The queen would never have chosen any of you, so it's no loss. Make her one hundred fine swords for a wedding present.”

Mateo came closer to see what Vicka was talking about, and she noticed him. “Come to look over our shoulders again, Subcomdar? You visit me so often, you must like my company.”

“I do like your company, but don't let it go to your head. My attentions are strictly business-related.”

“Of course they are.” Vicka flashed him a smile. “What kind of business, though? That, I'm still trying to figure out.”

The journeymen stepped aside so Mateo could read the proclamation. He scanned the words and realized he had actually stopped breathing. “Queen Anjine is getting married? Who is—” He leaned closer. “Jenirod?”

Vicka shrugged. “I hope she's at least seen his portrait. The queen deserves a handsome husband. She's pretty enough herself.”

Stunned, Mateo read the proclamation again, but the words did not change. He hadn't managed to meet with Anjine since returning from his tour of the military camps. Though the queen had many political advisers, Mateo had always considered himself one of her closest personal friends—
just friends
, he reminded himself. Still, he had thought she would tell him something this important.

Over the years, as a dashing and respected soldier, Mateo had dallied with many girlfriends, but had never had anyone special. With all his travels from reach to reach, as well as his sailing patrols, he had not been able to settle down and have a family. With a bittersweet smile he remembered his first love from his training days in Soeland.
Uishel
. The name still evoked music within him, still made his heart ache. It had been a ridiculous boyhood crush. When Uishel had found another young soldier, the depth of his heartache could only be measured in relation to his youth, naiveté, and inexperience in love. Anjine had been so understanding then, such a good friend, writing him letters, holding his hand across the distance.

Obviously, though, she had made up her mind without him. As a loyal servant to the crown, he would support Anjine and give her, as well as her husband-to-be, his best wishes and his loyalty. She was like a dear sister to him, and that was the closest—the only—possible connection. He had always known that. “Jenirod is a very lucky young man, that's all I can say.”

When Vicka stood close to him, she smelled of smoke and leather, polishing oils, and simple soap, rather than perfumes. “Considering the war, and all the destrars who complain about their taxes, I wouldn't imagine that being queen is all honey and cake. It's hard enough to keep
this
lot in line, and they only have one job to do.” She nudged the journeymen to get back to work, then took Mateo by the arm and walked with him into the clamor of the active smithy. “From the look on your face, you must have wanted to be king yourself.”

The comment surprised him. “I have no desire to become king, and that's Aiden's truth.”

“Oh, not for the title, nor the power,” Vicka teased. “I think you've taken a shine to Queen Anjine.”

“Absolutely not!” Mateo retorted so vehemently that it convinced neither of them. But he looked at Vicka in a different light. Putting pieces together in his mind, he thought of the banter he enjoyed with her, realized how often he came to see her when he could easily have delegated the job to someone else. “What time do you take your evening meal? And would you like some company?”

“Why Mateo Bornan, have you finally taken it into your head to court me? There must be romance in the air.”

He blushed furiously and gave an unconvincing shrug. “A man has to eat. Is it any surprise that I find your company more pleasant than a mess hall full of soldier-recruits?”

“My, aren't you full of compliments!”

Her father strode over, wearing only old breeches and a scarred leather apron that hung below his knees. Ammur had heavy black brows, a thick dark mustache, and a shaved head (since sparks had caught his hair on fire too many times). “Thirty more swords today, Subcomdar! Even better than yesterday.”

“And I bet you'll do better tomorrow. I've never met a man who worked as hard as you, Ammur.”

Vicka smiled. “Subcomdar Bornan is joining us for dinner, Father. We'll eat with everyone else at the big tables, but he does want to sit next to me.”

The blacksmith saw nothing unusual about the request. “Good enough. I'll tell the cook—we can squeeze in one more.”

Having a meal with Vicka surrounded by a dozen or more boisterous and grimy apprentices or journeymen wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but it would do.

“Do we have business to discuss, Mateo?” Her voice had a charming lilt, like a tiny fishhook catching him, pulling him along.

“Maybe… or maybe just conversation.”

Two days later, Queen Anjine's betrothal procession met at the eastern end of Calay, where the wide river opened into the bay. She and her party boarded a ribbon-bedecked boat that would take her upstream to Peliton, the capital of Erietta Reach. Royal couriers arrived well ahead of time, and Destrar Unsul had already sent back an exuberant acceptance of her proposal.

Mateo joined the crowds seeing her off, but he did not try to catch her eye. If he had gone to the castle, Anjine would have insisted he join her group—as part of the formal military escort. But since learning of her betrothal, he'd felt an odd reluctance to see her. Given his duties as subcomdar, he was very busy, but he promised himself to give her his best wishes once her party returned.

He hoped that Anjine found Jenirod to be a worthy husband, someone who would help lead Tierra. When he'd been stationed in Erietta, Mateo had been in a large camp of soldiers; he'd seen the destrar's son a few times, but only from a distance. The young man had always been running his horses, or hunting, or racing, while Destrar Unsul was out building his windmills and designing irrigation trenches, leaving the training of soldiers to his professional military men.

As the colorful boat began to move upstream, rivermen used thick poles to push the craft along. Mateo waved like everyone else, silently wished Anjine well… and still pretended that the news didn't bother him.

40
Olabar Palace

By Soldan-Shah Omra's command, the First Wives of all five soldans arrived in Olabar, one by one. Some brought showy retinues of assistants, handmaidens, hairdressers, and clothiers; by contrast, Sharique from Yuarej soldanate came alone, meek and deferential. Aini, the squarish and brusque wife of Soldan Xivir from Missinia, wore ill-fitting riding clothes and had brought only a small satchel of necessary items on the caravan north; Soldan Vishkar sent his wife Hakri, mother of the original Istar; sharp-tongued Kuari came from Inner Wahilir, relieved to be away from Soldan Huttan; Tesha, the young wife of the Abilan soldan, had never been outside of Kiesh and now looked frightened by the size of Olabar.

Kel Rovic met each woman and took her to separate quarters, keeping them isolated; guards stood at the doorways, blocking them from palace activities. A few of the First Wives were sensible enough to be nervous, fearing Omra's temper; others remained oblivious to their peril.

On the night before he intended to meet with the five women, Omra dined with both Istar and Naori. The fact that his two wives got along so well amazed the former soldan-shah, since Imir's various wives had caused him nothing but heartache or confusion. But sweet Naori was warmhearted and utterly unambitious, and Istar found no reason to dislike the mother of the soldan-shah's two heirs.

The two women sat opposite Omra, daintily eating with their fingers. Istar remained on edge, worried about what he intended to do to the First Wives. “Our daughter Istala has expressed her desire for a pilgrimage to Fashia's Fountain. If I and the other girls accompany her, we will be gone for perhaps two weeks. That might be a good time for cooling off—”

Omra's mood grew edgier. “You and our daughters will go to Fashia's Fountain, but we will decide this matter first. Although an insult to you is enough to provoke my wrath, the emissary's behavior points out a fundamental flaw in the way our government functions. In times of peace, lax rules were not a fatal weakness, but now I will not tolerate it. All five soldans must hear me, loud and clear, and their First Wives provide the best way for me to send the message.”

Naori nibbled on a piece of golden-brown bread. “Why not just have Istar help me raise your two sons, my Lord? They'd benefit from two mothers, and it would keep her away from those who resent her presence in court. Wouldn't that ease tensions?”

Omra smiled at the young woman's earnestness. “Sweet Naori, if only everyone were as kind as you! Of course my sons would benefit from Istar's experience and attention, but that is not the point.
I
am the point. And I have made my decision. Those I choose to trust are not dictated by mere soldans or their emissaries.”

“Or the sikaras,” Istar muttered.

Omra raised a scolding finger. “One problem at a time. Tomorrow morning, I meet with the First Wives and the current emissaries of the five soldanates. Naori, remain with the children, but I want Istar at my side, so that all can hear my pronouncement.”

The five anxious women were escorted into Omra's audience chamber precisely at sunrise, as the soldan-shah had ordered. Though they arrived on time, looking to each other and to the flustered official emissaries for answers, they saw only an empty room.

An hour later, Omra and his First Wife arrived casually, making no apologies to those who had been made to stand for the entire time. As he and Istar took their places on the cushionstrewn dais, a servant entered with a tray of steaming coffee. Istar poured a cup for Omra, then one for herself. She sat beside him and waited. They both drank.

Omra scanned the audience, and the five women regarded him, some confused, some frightened, others merely curious. He noted that those who looked the most nervous were the ones who had done nothing to offend him at all. Kuari, the wife of Soldan Huttan, was well aware of what her husband had done, yet she seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited her.

Crowding the large room stood attendants, handmaidens, and functionaries, as well as Omra's own representatives and ministers, all of whom waited to see what he would do. The five primary emissaries—including the oblivious Ualfor from Inner Missinia—wore their finest garments, looking official and important.

Omra enjoyed his small cup of coffee, directing his cold hard gaze at each First Wife in turn. They remained quiet and tense, afraid to speak until he had stated his purpose. Next to him, Istar looked particularly pale.

Finally, Omra set his empty cup aside and rose to his feet. He stretched out his hand to raise Istar up beside him. Her face was drawn, and she squeezed his hand, imparting a silent message, begging him to show restraint and mercy. Omra remained stony and intimidating. When he spoke, his words were quiet, and all the more powerful because his tone contained no threat whatsoever. “Why do you not bow before your soldan-shah?”

Like marionettes with their strings severed, the five women fell to their knees on the floor, along with everyone else in the chamber.

While they prostrated themselves on the driftwood tiles, he said, “I rule all five soldanates of Uraba. I am a direct descendant of Urec himself. And this is my First Wife, Istar.” He raised her hand. “I chose her to be my wife, and when I am not in the palace, she speaks in my stead. She is my eyes, my ears, and my voice in Olabar, and I expect my people—my soldans and their representatives—to treat her with the deference they would show me.”

Now his voice became the snap of a whip. “But this has not happened!”

The entire audience remained kneeling, heads bowed. At last, he saw that every one of them understood just how serious he was. “I will not tolerate it. Every single ambassador and every emissary currently assigned by the five soldans is hereby relieved of duty. Their work is unsatisfactory to me. I will appoint new ambassadors to speak in their stead.”

Gasps rippled through those present, though they remained bowed and fearful. The First Wives glanced sidelong at one another, afraid to look up. The dismissed emissaries stared, speechless.

“As of today—Sharique of Yuarej, Kuari of Inner Wahilir, Hakri of Outer Wahilir, Tesha of Abilan, and Aini of Missinia—I appoint
you
five to be my new representatives. You, the First Wives of my soldans, will carry messages to and from your husbands. The other emissaries are no longer required.”

Istar smiled with relief. Sharique squatted back on her heels, her smile bright with gratitude. Kuari wore a satisfied grin, her eyes gleaming as though she already imagined how her husband would react to this new turn of events. The other three women jerked up in shocked disbelief.

“You will all sign oaths of loyalty that bind you and your husbands to me. The five soldans must understand that
your
lives are forfeit, should you ever offend me in the way the previous ambassadors did. I will require formal acknowledgment and an oath from each of them in return.”

The women, unable to believe what they had heard, whispered to each other. The original emissaries did not look pleased.

Istar stood like a confident queen at his side. “The soldan-shah is exceedingly wise. I find these new emissaries to be most acceptable, my husband. I trust that they will not let politics interfere with their common sense.”

Omra said, “You may all rise.” The five women sprang to their feet, and the stunned audience also rose, not sure what to say to one another. The soldan-shah was certain that his message had gotten across.

Istar gave him a grateful smile. “That was a solution even Urec would have been proud of.”

“The unruly soldans have been sufficiently chastised. Now you may make arrangements to take our daughters to Fashia's Fountain, and I can return to Ishalem, where I have important work to do. I am taking a shipment of Nunghal firepowder there to begin a very large new project.”

Istar looked concerned, then forced herself to ask, “You will use the explosive against the Aidenists if they attack the wall again?”

“If necessary… but I have another purpose in mind.”