Michael Stackpole - The New World

More disturbing was the void behind the hills. His sense of it had grown since the battle. Keles tried to push his sense into it, but did not get far. A staggering array of images assaulted him, but he could make little sense of any of them.

Keles spent the vast majority of his time in the tower. His uncle, Ulan, and his cousins accepted his commands without question. Qiro had so cowed them that they were unable to function without forceful leadership.

Yet as much as he found them cloying and annoying in equal measures, he preferred his kin to the people of Moriande. The stories of what he had done had spread like wildfire. Some people took hope from the tales, but most were simply terrified. They said he was vanyesh and would betray them. The wilder tales suggested that he and Kaerinus were actually the same person. After all, their names began with the same initial and no one had ever seen them both at once. Kaerinus had vanished at the same time Keles had. Some wags went so far as to suggest that the creation of “Keles Anturasi” had been a plot by the princes to allow Kaerinus his freedom, and that Nirati Anturasi had been slain because she knew the truth.

He could have dealt with the speculation easily, except people’s behavior revealed their true nature. Drinking tzaden — flower tea became wildly popular-though crediting it with Princess Jasai’s recovery helped immensely. People did wear circles on their clothing and a dead zone formed around Anturasikun, but at its edges little shrines blossomed. Elsewhere they venerated Prince Cyron, but near Anturasikun they offered bribes so Keles would leave them alone.

Had he the luxury of time, he might have hated the foolishness. In fact, as he walked in his grandfather’s footsteps, he understood his grandfather’s contempt for people. From the chamber below, he could study the whole world. For most of the people on the streets, however, Moriande’s north half was exotic territory. Helosunde was a fabled and distant land. Keles, Jorim, and Qiro before them, had traveled further and seen more than hundreds of thousands of their fellow citizens. Anturasi knowledge of the world allowed Nalenyr to prosper and brought fantastic trade goods to Moriande.

And, in return for all this, they were feared. And my grandfather was trapped in this tower. He resented those who had freedom and did not exercise it, while those who deserved freedom were trapped.

Keles leaned on the railing, alone save for a family of bats roosting beneath the roof’s eaves. “We are alike, aren’t we? You are wise, yet often feared for your appearance. Tales abound about you and the evil you can do but I bet all you want to do is fly freely, eat bugs, and enjoy your life.”

The bats, perhaps confirming his assessment of their wisdom, continued to ignore him.

Keles laughed and wandered around to the south again. Bodies littered the battlefield, though burial-detail teams from Moriande tossed them into collapsed tunnels and buried them. Other bodies were tossed onto pyres made from the siege towers. The dead xonarchii had decayed overnight. Their ivory skeletons swam in a sea of black putrescence, frustrating the efforts of an intrepid crew trying to drag bones clear.

The cartographer smiled. They were out there at the behest of Prince Cyron. The Prince would want the bones to study. Jorim had brought Cyron countless animals-mostly alive, but some preserved carcasses, too. Cyron’s intellectual curiosity had driven Naleni exploration and prosperity-both of which the invasion had ended.

I wonder what happened to Jorim and the Stormwolf? Keles had tried to connect with his brother, but their link had become more ephemeral. He was certain Jorim was still alive, but his location and condition were uncertain. As it was, given the sense of distance, Keles assumed his brother was on the other side of the world. He hoped, for Jorim’s sake, he would never return.

A small bell rang, summoning him back to the workshop. Keles descended and emerged from the Master Cartographer’s sanctuary. Ulan, seeming smaller and more frail than Keles remembered, smiled timidly.

“Nephew, there is a man to see you. Ciras Dejote awaits you in the audience chamber.”

Keles frowned. “Qiro might have received people there, but Ciras is my friend. Send someone to bring him to the room at the ramp’s base.”

Ulan’s eyes widened. “You’ll not bring him up here, will you?”

“Be calm, uncle. I shall not violate the Prince’s rules.”

“Yes, nephew, of course.” Ulan started down the ramp. “I shall fetch your guest myself.”

“Thank you.”

Ulan paused as if Keles had spoken in Viruka or Soth, then nodded and scurried off.

Keles looked around and smiled. A few of his cousins looked up. The youngest ones even smiled back. The others, trained by Qiro, distrusted the smiles and returned to work nervously. They measured more carefully and took a bit more time with their drafting. Had he not been Qiro’s grandson, he would have been doing the same, so Keles spared his cousins any disdain or pity.

But the next generation will not be afraid.

Keles slowly descended the ramp. Qiro had not been allowed to walk down the ramp and pass through the golden gate. He had remained a prisoner within his own tower for fear that what he knew would be shared outside Nalenyr. Keles had not been placed under any similar prohibition, but outsiders were still not allowed into the workshop. Though he would have welcomed Ciras and thought the man would have enjoyed a visit, rules were rules.

He stopped halfway down, then returned. “Dricol, fetch me our most recent map of Tirat, please.”

The dark-haired boy brought one quickly. He presented it to Keles with a flourish. “I drew it myself. Would you like it sealed and with a ribbon?”

“This will do nicely for now, but I do wish to have another drawn up. Add color and pinpoint the location of the Dejote family land.”

“Yes, Keles.”

Something clicked in the back of Keles’ mind. He raised his voice. “I have a project to be undertaken immediately.”

He waited for his cousins to set their brushes down. “I wish to have copies of all of our charts made to the size of nine by eighteen. They will be bound into a folio, so leave room for the binding. I wish a two-inch margin all the way around and in that margin you are to draw the flora and fauna or landmarks found there. Include family crests and any other details you can think of. You will consult with bhotcai and other experts. You will make certain the images are perfect. I want color everywhere, lots of it. Start with Moriande, then Helosunde, Deseirion, and the islands. Do the Five Princes after that. Finish with Erumvirine.”

They nodded in understanding.

“Two more things. You will work in teams, a minimum of two per team. Make a record of anything too difficult to finish. You will know what I mean. You may leave those areas of maps blank, but you will bring them to my attention immediately.”

They agreed silently, then set about to work.

Keles took the map and wound his way down the ramp. He passed through the golden gate, and nodded to his uncle, who locked the gate behind him. Old habits die hard.

Ciras waited over by one of the tall windows. Sunlight illuminated a serious expression.

“So thoughtful.”

Ciras blinked, then bowed. “I beg your pardon.”

“No need. I’ve been lost in thought before, too.” Keles presented him the map. “It’s of Tirat, obviously. I’m having a better one prepared for you.”

“You are most kind.” Ciras studied it briefly and smiled. “Beautiful.”

“I shall let my cousin know.” Keles joined him at the window. “It’s good to see you, and a surprise. A welcome one, in fact. I had heard you were wounded in last night’s action.”