The Map of All Things (49 page)

Though he tried to squint into the gloom, memorizing as much of the map as he could discern, the sylphs drew him back out of the tower chamber. Eager and distracted, they had much more to show him of the lost, submerged Saedran continent, the origin of his people.

It felt like a dream. He swam along, drinking in the remarkable sights.

At the end of their meal, Criston was pleased with how their conversation had gone. The mer-king had been a receptive listener, learning about the clash between the Aidenists and the bloodthirsty Urecari, about the burning of Ishalem and the piratical raids that had destroyed Windcatch, taken Adrea, killed his mother.

Sonhir found such news astonishing and sad. “I comprehend why thy comrades are hurting, but I am not eager to join mine own people to this war.”

Criston lowered his head. “I realize it would be a terrible strain on you, but if your Saedrans were to ally with the Tierran navy, we could save thousands of innocent lives. Surely, that is what Ondun would want? We do have common ground in our beliefs.”

As the mer-king considered this, nodding slowly, Criston felt his hope increase.

Just then the cabin door burst open, and Prester Hannes stood there in his full vestments, fishhook pendant clutched in one hand, the Book of Aiden in the other. Startled, Sonhir turned to look at the prester.

Criston rose to his feet. “Not now, Prester. I asked not to be disturbed.” He kept his voice calm and civil, but something about the other man's mood had changed. The veneer of friendship and respect was gone.

As if he were under some kind of compulsion, Hannes pushed his way into the cabin, holding the Book of Aiden like a shield. “You may be the captain of this ship, but I am accountable to a higher authority. I make no apology for what I must do. I have prayed long and hard about it.”

Seven men stood behind him crowded at the cabin door, ready for violence. Even Javian hovered at the back of the group, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Criston stood behind the table, trembling with anger. “Prester Hannes, I am asking you,
as your friend
—think carefully before you speak another word. I am the captain of this ship.”

“I answer to the captain of us all.” Hannes shook his head. “Were I a lesser man, I would let these orphans stay with their misguided beliefs. Were I a lesser man, I would simply shrug and let them be damned. But I can't do that. The light of Aidenism is too bright inside my heart.” He stepped closer, his eyes locked on Criston's. “
This
is our true mission, Captain, to spread the word and save as many souls as possible, not just to find allies in a war—even a Holy War. I will compel this man who styles himself king to see the Truth. Once he accepts Aiden and instructs all of his people to follow our ways, then Ondun will smile on us. As a devout prester, I can do nothing less.”

Sonhir stood now, looking outraged. “Thou hast betrayed me, Captain Vora.”

“I have done no such thing. This man is acting against my orders. And
you
men!” Criston shouted to those crowded behind Hannes. “This is mutiny.”

“We're saving our own souls, Captain,” called one of the sailors, “and the souls of those undersea people as well. If we're wrong, we'll let Ondun judge us.”

“You
are
wrong, and I promise I'll do the judging long before Ondun can.”

“It's too late, Captain.” Prester Hannes stepped aside to let the burly sailors push their way into the cabin.

Filled with wonder after all he had seen underwater, and knowing now that the mer-Saedrans did have a key portion of the map he so desperately needed, Aldo allowed the sylphs to guide him back toward the ship. Though he had been frightened and uncertain at first, now he found he was reluctant to let this adventure end. The things he had seen, sights no other landbound Saedran had ever witnessed!

With a last effervescent kiss, the daughters of Sonhir released him and let him swim upward. The
Dyscovera
's wooden hull floated far above, like a craft in the skies overhead. He emerged with a splash, flinging water from his eyes, next to his small boat.

“Come back and swim with us tomorrow,” one of the girls said, surfacing beside him.

“We'll show you more.”

“I'd like that very much,” Aldo said. “I want to study your map in daylight. Thank you!” Filled with joy, he wiped dripping hair from his face and drew great breaths of heavy, flat air. He could see the lanterns overhead, but the night was dark. He called up, “You there on deck! I'm back with a great tale to tell.” A group of men came to the rail and chattered excitedly.

The sylphs swam up to him again, touching him in farewell. Then, with a whisper like fluttering wings, a large net fell upon them from above, weighted with lead sinkers. The four sylphs and Aldo became entangled as they struggled to escape.

Aldo clawed at the strands of the net and yelled, “What are you doing? Why—” He choked on seawater. The net pulled tighter as the men on deck snagged it with a long boathook.

The four frantic sylphs ducked underwater again and combined their voices in a loud, unnatural scream, a cry that blasted like thunder beneath the waves. The eerie sound made Aldo's hair stand on end, but the men above paid it no heed as they yanked their exotic catch out of the water.

“You're making a terrible mistake!” Aldo yelled.

With an added chill, he heard the creak of the capstan and the rattle of the thick anchor chain. In the starlight, he realized that the
Dyscovera
's sails had been set, and the ship began to sail away from the underwater city.

116
Gremurr Mines

Astride their warhorses, Mateo and Jenirod followed the mammoths down the mountain path toward the Gremurr mine complex. As they toiled down the canyon, sending up dust and clamor, Mateo viewed the structures ahead: smelter furnaces belching smoke, row upon row of prisoner tents and soldier barracks. This was not just a camp, but an entire city. The Urabans had sullied the Tierran continent, building this place in defiance of the holy Edict.

Jenirod was scandalized. “For years, they've been stealing from us. Mining metals from our mountains!”

Mateo was more somber. “To create weapons that shed Aidenist blood.”

At the front of the charge, Destrar Broeck raised his voice above the sound of the beasts. “The scimitar that beheaded poor Prince Tomas must have come from here. Prepare for battle! You have your orders.”

The soldiers cheered, and the mammoths set up a resonating bellow. The Iborian destrar reached to the saddle holder beside him and grabbed one of his iron-tipped spears, much like the ones with which he had slain the ice dragon. Holding the jagged weapon high, Broeck drove his bull mammoth forward, leading the beasts in the initial charge. The mammoths lifted their trunks and trumpeted louder than any army's war horns.

Caught unawares, the Urabans looked up to see the oncoming army's shields and fishhook banners. Several ran to bang on metal bells and gongs, sounding the alarm. They were utterly unprepared for such an attack.

When the steep canyon opened onto the even terrain of the camp, Jenirod kicked his horse into a gallop and swung past the lead mammoths. Face flushed, the Eriettan waved his sword and howled, “Kill the followers of Urec! Kill them!”

Mateo rode next to him, eager for a battle that carried no guilt. “Don't harm the Tierran slaves there, though—and we'd better keep some Curlies alive so they can be
our
slaves and work the mines.”

Broeck heard him and bellowed a response, “We'll try—but in the end, we may just have to let Ondun sort them out.”

Jenirod spurred his horse into the milling Urabans and slashed with his blade, running down any enemy guards who scrambled for weapons. Keeping up with the charge, Mateo rode ahead with his sword high.

The mammoths stopped for no obstruction, knocking down tents and pavilions, smashing storehouses. There were no strategic military maneuvers; the beasts were forces of nature unleashed.

Tukar ran back inside his house, frightened for his wife and son. Shetia waited for his instructions, confident that her husband would protect them. Ulan jabbered countless questions, but Tukar shushed him. “You both must flee. I have to get you to safety. We're under attack by
Aidenists
!” The word struck terror into them. The puppy kept barking.

Villiki looked affronted when her son ignored her, but Tukar focused only on his wife and son. “Shetia, you know where the old mine shafts are. Run now, climb up the canyons, find a place to hide. The Aidenists are using monsters to destroy everything—they'll kill anyone in their path.”

The boy clung to his arm. “Father, you come too! You have to watch out for us.”

“I have to watch out for all of my people here.” Tukar bent down to look at his son. “That is my responsibility. I need you to take care of your mother.”

The boy looked solemn. “I will bring my dog. We'll be safe.”

Villiki barked a harsh laugh, her voice filled with sarcasm. “Forget about them, Tukar—it is time to
lead
! Put up a fight—or are you a coward? You have soldiers here, and you have slaves to defend the camp.”

Tukar spun with such anger that he astounded her. “Why in the name of Ondun would the prisoners defend us, Mother? This is no game of
xaries
that you can win by cheating! I make my own decisions—in this house and in this camp. You and your schemes are not welcome here. You've always been good at taking care of yourself—so get out.”

Villiki left in a huff through the front of the villa and strode off toward the fray, wondering whether she herself could command the people of Gremurr since her son was not willing to do so. Tukar didn't waste a second glance on her, as he helped Shetia and Ulan gather a few vital supplies and belongings. He gave each of them a blade and sent them out the back. “Run and hide in the canyons until this is all over. Then we will all go home to Olabar. I will pray for you.”

Shetia kissed him, crying. “And I'll pray for you, Tukar.” He gave the boy a hard squeeze and kiss and sent them away. Ulan untied the barking dog, which bounded after them, away from the mines. After his wife and son had disappeared into the underbrush, working their way up the wild slopes, Tukar left the villa as well, heading the other direction.

In the main camp, the bloodthirsty Tierrans and their demons continued to wreak havoc. He squared his shoulders, put on a brave face, and tried to imagine how Soldan-Shah Omra would want him to stand against this threat.

Riding high and feeling invincible, Destrar Broeck goaded his mammoth into the Urecari settlement. He had already lost one spear when he was unable to yank it free from an enemy breastplate before the momentum of the charge tore the shaft out of his hand. He grabbed a second iron spear and jabbed it at any Urecari who stood in the way.

The industrial smoke and noise maddened the beasts, and they went on a rampage. Broeck didn't care if they smashed everything. Thinking of his murdered grandson, he could have leveled the Gremurr mines into rubble and still not felt satisfied. He raised his spear and roared, “For Prince Tomas!”

He heard an echoing cry from the soldiers who rode around them. “For Tomas—and for Aiden!”

Nearby, Iaros let out an accompanying howl. “And for all the victims of this war!”

The mammoths thrashed their ivory tusks from side to side, goring anyone who got in their way—Uraban soldier-guards, aides, camp accountants, supply staff, metalworkers, maybe even a few Aidenist slaves. As the big beasts knocked down the canvas-walled guard barracks, they smashed stoves and braziers. Fire quickly caught hold. Flames raged through the clustered shelters and spread to the prisoners' tents. Many captive Tierrans broke free and scrambled through the camp, though they had nowhere to run. Some of them joined the fight, attacking their oppressors with bare hands.

Broeck guided his mammoth toward the large stone-walled buildings that belched smoke. The Gremurr smelters must be captured, their output turned to the service of the Tierran army. Twenty Urecari soldiers stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, brandishing spears and shouting as they made a stand to guard the facilities. They wouldn't be enough.

The destrar urged his beast forward, leading a dozen mammoths in a charge. Several Urecari defenders broke from the lines and ran, but the others remained in position to the last. The leader of the small squad threw a wooden spear, which clanked off the armor plate covering the beast's furry shoulders. The mammoths trampled the men, not even slowing as they ran toward the smelters.

Eyes stinging from smoke and cheeks flushed from the heat, Workmaster Zadar called out to the armed guards who had taken refuge inside the stone building. Crates filled with newly manufactured swords were stacked all around them, ready for shipment back to Olabar. An orange bath of molten iron filled a huge thick-walled crucible, ready to be poured into flat molds—armor sheets for the seven ironclad warships in the harbor.

As the tumult of battle increased in the camp, the sweating and grimy slaves paused in their work. Zadar regarded them. Having seen the size of the Tierran army, he knew that his handful of guards could never defend them. However, these workers had labored in the mines for years, and Zadar had treated them harshly but fairly. He had given them food and shelter; he had never been cruel. As prisoners, they must know that their treatment could have been far worse. They must feel some pride in their work, perhaps even regarding these mines as their true home. How could they not, after all Zadar had done for them? Faced with certain death from the invaders, he saw only one chance.

Outside, the shaggy beasts bellowed and charged toward the smelters, trampling the line of guards. Making up his mind, Zadar used the pommel of his sword to smash open the nearest crate of new weapons. He turned to the slaves who worked the smelters. “Will you defend your home against these invaders? You can hear what's happening out there. They will kill you all, you know it.”

The guards were astonished, and the slaves hesitated, but Zadar roared out in his voice of command, “Arm yourselves! This is our only chance! You must stand against them.”

The slaves looked at each other, at the guards, at Zadar—and at the weapons. The workers were gaunt, weary, and frightened, but they could hear the mammoths outside, the cries of pain, the clash of swords. It was obvious to all that these wild, chaotic attackers would simply kill everyone, regardless of their race or religion.

One of the slaves plucked a sword from the crate, hefted it in his hand, and glanced at its sharp point. Zadar faced the door and raised his own scimitar, waiting for the attack to come. Behind him, all work had stopped.

Without a word, the slave thrust the sword deep into Zadar's side, ramming the blade in all the way to the hilt.

Zadar gasped in astonishment before the pain thundered upon him. The slave's face held no particular hatred or disgust, just a matter-of-fact expression, as though this were an everyday occurrence. The workmaster looked into the blue Aidenist eyes. The slave yanked out the blade and gave Zadar a fierce shove into the roiling orange pool of molten iron in the crucible.

Then all of the slaves were smashing open crates, grabbing swords, and running toward the greatly outnumbered Urecari guards.

Villiki watched in disgust as Tierran warhorses rode down Gremurr guards, who fled before them in terror. “Pull together and defend yourselves!” But the mayhem drowned out her voice.
Poor leadership
, she thought. Even if her plans had come together and she had succeeded in setting her son upon the throne years ago, Tukar would still have failed miserably. “Why don't you fight?” she screamed at the panicked soldiers, but they ignored her.

She wore a bright red garment, one of Shetia's gowns, which had made her feel like a true sikara again. Had she not given up her church vows to marry bumbling Soldan-Shah Imir, she could have been ur-sikara by now. She could have ruled in finery. Now all was lost.

The mammoths continued their rampage and much of the camp was in flames. The freed Aidenist captives gleefully took up weapons to join the attack, killing their guards and slave masters. Two old men used rocks to bash the skull of a guard; even after he lay limp on the ground, they continued to hammer at him with a sound of breaking bones that crackled like a fire.

Villiki realized she had made a grave error in coming here. She glanced toward the salvation of the harbor, thinking that she could slip aboard one of the ironclad ships. Surely some of the wiser soldiers would set sail across the Middlesea and escape this onslaught. However, there was a death sentence upon her if she ever set foot in Olabar again.

Death here, or death there… it was all the same.

Before she could decide what to do, Villiki heard a clamor and whirled to see four woolly mammoths smash down a nearby pavilion. Then they charged toward her, drawn to her bright red dress. Riding atop the lead mammoth was a young Aidenist soldier whose face glowed with excitement.

She tried to run, but the waving scarlet fabric enraged the beasts further. The lead mammoth shot forward, its footsteps falling like hammers on war drums. Why wouldn't one of the Urecari guards protect her?

Villiki's foot caught on the hem of the long gown, and she tripped. She screamed in fury, thrashing, and then the terror set in. Trying to scramble to her feet, Villiki rolled over just in time to see an enormous foot, as wide as a tree trunk, rise up and crush down upon her.