The Map of All Things (34 page)

81
Gremurr Mines

On the ship's hull, the overlapping new armor plates looked like the polished scales of a sea serpent. Tukar had to shade his eyes from the reflected sunlight. “Workmaster Zadar, you have done a fine job, and Soldan-Shah Omra will be proud as well. The
Golden Fern
is going to be the most powerful warship in the Uraban navy.”

The burly workmaster was not accustomed to excessive compliments. He had pressed the Aidenist slaves hard, but after so many years he was good at controlling them. “I simply did as the job required.” However, Zadar could not hide the fact that he too was pleased. His new smelters and rollers had produced iron sheets that made the ship virtually indestructible. Her hull could not be smashed by reef or ramming vessel.

Feeling a sting of tears in his eyes, Tukar drew a deep breath, coughed, and turned away to cover his emotion. Yes, now he deserved his brother's forgiveness. All past crimes, suspicions, and questions would be washed away when the
Golden Fern
arrived in Olabar harbor. “The wind must have caught the fumes from the smelters.” He wiped his eyes. He and his family would be going home as soon as the other ships were finished.

At first, when the Aidenist slaves learned that their work was to armor a Middlesea vessel, they laughed, knowing there was no passage to the Oceansea. The battleship would be a magnificent juggernaut, but it seemed ludicrous for Tukar and his men to waste so much metal and effort on a ship trapped on the wrong side of the isthmus.

But when new Tierran captives from Ishalem spread the news about Kel Unwar's great canal, the rest of the slaves understood what their enemies intended. The Aidenist workers resisted, and a few even tried to sabotage the rolling mills. Though it was not Zadar's policy to waste manpower, the point needed to be made, and he executed the three ringleaders and increased guards in the factories. Soon enough, the work routine returned to normal.

Omra had dispatched seven more ships to Gremurr, which were now tied up to special docks. As soon as the
Golden Fern
was finished, Tukar would begin work armoring the other vessels. And after that, he, Shetia, and Ulan would sleep in the palace, eat fine foods, visit the markets and the souks. He could raise his boy with all the advantages he deserved, and Ulan could have as many puppies as he wanted.

Tukar walked the deck of the
Golden Fern
, pretending to inspect the joints and bolts. He rapped the iron cladding with his knuckles and listened to the pleasant ringing sound. Much heavier than before, the vessel rode low in the water, but she had been designed for hauling metals and ores.

When he pronounced the vessel fit for launch, Tukar summoned the mine workers to celebrate its completion. The slaves dutifully complied, but their cheers were not as enthusiastic as Tukar would have liked. How these Aidenist captives must hate what they had been forced to do! At least the Urecari guards applauded sincerely.

Tukar brought his wife and son to the docks so they could watch the final touches to the first ironclad ship. Shetia and Ulan stared with wide eyes as the crews used ropes and pulleys to align a jagged attachment of cast iron, like a saw blade, along the prow.

“It looks like the teeth in a sea monster's jaw,” Ulan cried. “That ship will cut through an Aidenist vessel like a gutting knife cuts a fish!”

“That's the reason for the design, son.” Tukar regarded the other seven vessels ready to receive similar plating. “Before long, the soldan-shah will have a fleet of invincible ships.”

“Does that mean the Aidenists will all die soon?” Unlike Tukar, the boy did not long to go to Olabar; Ulan had never known any life other than here at Gremurr.

“I don't like all this talk about death and killing.” Tukar's wife tugged the boy's arm. “However, if these ships end the war sooner, I'll be happy enough to go home to Olabar.”

When the sails were hoisted, the Eye of Urec stared out from blood-red silk. The crew stood at the rails and waved as they departed for the capital city, where the
Golden Fern
would inspire all Urabans. As soon as the Ishalem canal was completed, this vessel would lead the Uraban fleet on a decisive strike.

Tukar touched his wife's shoulder. “Once the other ships are completed, we can sail away from Gremurr, and we'll let Zadar have this place. He can rule here as long as he likes, even in peacetime. Uraba will always need the metals from these mines.”

The bald workmaster chuckled. “Why would I want to leave my home? I'd rather smell the forge than perfumes and incense.”

82
Iboria

Plodding along on the fourth day of the overland march, Destrar Broeck surveyed the vast unbroken steppes that were still dotted with patches of snow even in high summer. Even after many days of travel, they could barely see the gray outline of mountains on the horizon. His boots were sodden and his feet were cold as he splashed through muck and bogs, but the large force of soldiers and shaggy beasts still had a long way to go.

“I didn't realize that mammoths had such an… odor about them,” said Iaros, wrinkling his nose above his drooping mustaches. Around them, the restless herd thundered along toward the foothills. “I've never seen so many mammoths together in one place.”

Broeck drew a deep breath, not minding the musky smell of the beasts. “Never in history has there been such a herd. No, not a herd—an
army
.”

In searching the steppes, he and his nephew had succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. More than a hundred of the enormous creatures lumbered along, churning the ground, stripping the landscape of anything edible. A few nomadic herders had come on the trek to tend the beasts, but most of the work was done by Tierran soldier-trainees who had been assigned to Iboria Reach. This long march was not part of their traditional training, but Broeck's task was to prepare young soldier-recruits for war in whatever form it might take.

The mammoths moved at an unhurried pace, pausing to munch tall grasses or drink from scummy ponds. Some beasts slurped the thick green algae as if it were a delicacy. A dozen of the bull mammoths were already partially domesticated, and Broeck set the herders and his young soldiers to work taming the rest. Like any army, brute strength was not enough; they would need discipline to crush the enemy.

Trotting along beside the mammoths, four young soldiers grabbed the russet-colored hair and hauled themselves up onto the beasts' backs, encouraged by the nomadic herders. Two of the big creatures shied at the disturbance, shuffling from side to side, but the soldiers held on, whistling and yelling to each other. Some mammoths didn't mind being ridden and kept walking amiably at a steady mile-eating pace. Even so, Broeck had no idea how well the beasts would tolerate the heavy armor that Destrar Siescu was even now fashioning….

Up ahead, the lead cow mammoth lifted her large head and unleashed an earsplitting bellow, which was echoed by two more mammoths, then all of them. Their trumpeting thunder rolled across the steppes.

Iaros trudged along on the ground, working to keep up with his uncle and the mammoths. It was midafternoon, but the temperature had already begun to drop. He wiped sweat from his brow. “We've made such good progress in the past few days, maybe we should stop early tonight, Uncle. All of us could use a rest, even the mammoths.”

“Look around you, Iaros. With a herd this large, how much food do they leave behind? They're stripping the ground bare as they move along. If we stop for too long, the beasts will get hungry and restless. Do
you
want to try and control a restless herd?”

Iaros looked at the trampled ground, the stubble and gnawed roots that remained after the herd had passed. He swallowed. “Yes, we'd better keep moving.”

Broeck pointed toward the distant mountains. “We have many leagues to go before we stop for the day. Many leagues.” He knew that once they reached the mountains, the temperatures would get colder, and there would be less food for them to eat.

By the time they reached the Gremurr mines, the hundred mammoths would be hungry and ornery—and very dangerous.

83
Corag Mountains

Bundled in furs and thick gloves, Destrar Siescu sat in the base camp near where the slave crews had been laboring for months to carve a route through the rugged crags. Raga Var had found the easiest path in the cold mountains, marking a way for the Tierran army to cross snow-patched bowls and high hanging valleys. But along the tight passes and sheer cliffs, a road needed to be chiseled out—a path wide enough to accommodate the enormous beasts that were on their way from Iboria.

By now, swarms of Urecari prisoners from the Alamont and Corag internment camps had cleared a large portion of the path. Sullen teams of slaves wielded heavy hammers, shovels, and pickaxes to widen the rock ledges. Twenty laborers had died already from exhaustion, mishaps, or rockslides, but Siescu could always replenish his work crews.

A large fire blazed in front of the destrar's tent, and he hunched close for warmth. Scavenging wood was not easy above treeline, but Siescu's men regularly delivered cartloads of split logs from the forests below. Thus the new road had already proved its worth.

A scrawny man trotted up to him wearing a large grin and patched furs; a long bow hung across his shoulders. His hair was a matted mess, and his beard stuck out in all directions. He tossed a fat marmot on the ground near the campfire. “Here, Destrar. We'll skin it and roast it for dinner.”

“Thank you. I'll have my chef prepare a succulent feast.” Siescu had always found marmot meat to be greasy and gamey, but it was better than the lizards and lichens the scout had brought the day before. Raga Var was like a pet cat who brought offerings to please his master, and the destrar found the dedication both amusing and endearing. Siescu did not discourage him; the scout seemed to thrive on demonstrating his skills to all the people of Corag, though he still preferred to be alone in the wilderness.

With a longing thought of the warm, heated chambers of Stoneholm, the destrar waited for his daily report. “So how close are we to completion? Now that we've spent weeks chopping our way through this damned pass, don't tell me you've discovered an easy route.”

Raga Var glanced up at the pale gash that the workers had hacked through the mountainside. “That
is
the easy way, Destrar. Within a few days, we'll reach smooth traveling again. After that, only one more major section of rough rock to clear and we'll be on the doorstep of the Gremurr mines.” He hunkered down near the fire, extending his hands to warm them, though he had never been troubled by the cold before.

“Destrar Broeck should arrive with his mammoths and soldiers soon. If I can carve a road through a mountain range, he can lead a few shaggy beasts on a country walk.” He sat closer to Raga Var, not bothered by the man's thick bodily smell. The two had an odd but solid friendship. “We have to be finished before the snows of autumn make the mountains impassable, and before someone from the Urecari mines discovers what we're doing. Is there any way we can speed up the work crews?”

Raga Var was eager to be moving again. “Let's go look.” His grin showed bad teeth. He added with uncharacteristic humor, “Maybe you can give the slaves a pep talk, Destrar.”

Siescu responded with a rude snort.

Leaving the camp, the two men headed up into the jumbled talus where workers toiled on the trail. The bright crystalline clink of hammers, pick blades, and wedges rang out in a discordant melody. The destrar's guards growled at the slaves to work harder and faster, but to little effect. A rush and rumble of rocks slid down a cliffside as haulers dumped pallets of debris. The vanguard of the roadbuilding crew pressed ahead to move some of the rubble; individual men scrambled out on the rocks, scouting the way.

As Siescu studied the workers strung out along the cliffside, he mused about how—after their conquest of the Gremurr mines—he could use this road for regular caravan travel from the Middlesea back up into Corag. If the illicit Urecari mines were as productive as Prester Hannes claimed, then this new trade route would be a boon for all of Tierra.

The guards whistled an alarm, pointing far ahead and brandishing swords. One of the Urecari slave laborers had been sent forward along a treacherous section of cliff to mark the path, and now he bolted. Far from the main mass of slaves, the prisoner scrambled over the rocks, leaving his companions behind.

Siescu shaded his eyes. “Where does he think he's going?”

“Home. We're close to the last pass.”

Concern made the destrar's face flush. “If he gets to the Gremurr mines, he'll sound the alarm, ruin our element of surprise, and give the Curlies time to build defenses.”

Raga Var secured his bow on his shoulder. “Don't worry. He won't make it.” Without another word, the scout sprinted off, dropping away from the main path where the soldiers were scrambling after the escaped prisoner. He bounded like a mountain goat from one boulder to another, slipping expertly down a steep rockface until he reached another ledge, then trotted along the unstable talus as if it were a wide country lane. He climbed hand over hand up a rock chute. Large stones bounced and tumbled behind him, but he kept moving, unconcerned.

Without a backward glance, the fleeing slave slipped and stumbled, but miraculously avoided any serious injury. He slid down a grade, no longer paying attention to the marked route. Terror and desperation added speed to his flight, but Raga Var closed the gap with an easy loping pace.

Watching from a distance, Siescu already knew the outcome of the chase. The scout had the situation well in hand.

Raga Var stopped at the edge of a boulder field and unslung his bow. He nocked an arrow and, in a movement so fluid that he didn't even seem to aim, let the arrow fly.

The shaft caught the slave in the back of the thigh. He grabbed his leg with a yelp, reeled, and fell onto a boulder that shifted beneath him. He tumbled off the edge of the cliff, crying out as he fell, until he struck the rocks below.

During the spectacle, the remaining Urecari workers had halted their labors. Though they made no sound, they must have been silently cheering the man, praying for his escape. Now they stared in horror.

One of the guards came up to Siescu, face flushed, eyes deeply troubled. “We should have watched the workers more closely, Destrar. Shall I shackle the rest of them? We dare not risk another escape.”

“Chains will only hinder their progress, and we have a schedule to keep.” Siescu shivered, but not in disgust at what he had just seen. He longed to be back in warm Stoneholm. “They've just seen what will happen if they try to run. Raga Var is our best deterrent.”

The scout came bounding back, grinning with pride. Siescu congratulated him. “I knew I could count on you. May I offer you a reward for such fine service?”

Raga Var simply shrugged. “When have I worked for rewards or pay? If there's ever anything I need, I'll ask.”

“And you shall have it. For now, though, it's best if you make yourself visible to the other slaves. Let them know you're watching, and that they can't get away.”

“I will, Destrar. Enjoy your marmot dinner.” Without waiting for further gratitude, Raga Var moved off, climbing up into the mountains. He never liked to be in the camp with too many people, preferring instead to huddle alone next to a boulder at his own meager fire.

After shouts and threats from the guards, the slave crews went back to work. Siescu was glad to know the scrawny scout was out there.