A Secret Atlas (40 page)

ship. One of the few reasons Captain Gryst had allowed him to travel alone was because

he took pleasure in ratting, and proved far better at it than any of the dogs brought on

board for that purpose.

“Again, you make a very good point. She
could
be out there.” He folded his arms across

his chest. “Why are you bringing this up?”

She leaned against the railing and kept her voice low. “I read your reports and add bits

and pieces of them to the log. I read the measurements you’re taking and compare them

to my own. We agree, for the most part, on things. As much as I tell you our inability to

find the islands means nothing, I find something disquieting about it.”

“Meaning?”

Anaeda exhaled slowly. “Islands don’t just vanish. We could have missed them—just

sailed past in the night—but we’re not traveling so fast that we would have missed all

signs of them. We’d see clouds over them, or bits of wood drifting. Something would be

out here.”

“So we have no empirical evidence for having missed them, but that means nothing.”

Jorim kept his voice low. “It’s something else, isn’t it? Something that isn’t as substantial.”

“I have been on a ship for over eighteen years, almost twenty-seven. I’ve seen a lot, and

something odd is on the wind. There is something out there that isn’t right. It could be your

Mountains of Ice, but it could be something else.”

Jorim frowned. “Do you think we’ve sailed into an area, say, where some huge, prehistoric

naval engagement was fought and magic lingers?”

“I don’t know. That could be one explanation. Just as easy is that magic flows in currents

just like water, and we are caught in a crosscurrent of it.” She shrugged. “It could be

something else entirely. I am seeing no ill effects on the crew, and we have plenty of

supplies, and our measurements indicate we are moving south steadily. It is just

something I can’t explain, and, as such, it does pose a threat to the fleet. And I don’t like

threats to my fleet.”

“I don’t blame you.” Jorim thought for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t think my

grandfather would be much help if I asked him about this. It’s too bad my brother isn’t

here. He’s the one who remembers all the folklore of old. He’d know if something had

happened.”

“See what you can remember. I would appreciate any insights possible.” She straightened

up and looked him in the eyes. “Needless to say, you speak to no one about this. Not

even Iesol.”

Jorim smiled. “You don’t want the benefits of Urmyr’s wisdom on this point?”

“I’m not that desperate yet. We’ll see what we can come up with before widening the circle

of people involved in this. Anything odd could upset the crew, and if we
are
looking at trouble, I want them with us.”

Jorim smiled ever so slightly. “That’s why you’re letting Shimik run around? As a

distraction?”

“No, actually I like that he kills rats. And I like that the crew sees him as a good omen.

They believe in these talismans of good luck and, before this journey is ended, that belief

will be seriously tested.”

5th day, Month of the Rat, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Telarunde, Solaeth

As they made their way up the mountainside to the shattered Fortress of Xoncyr, the irony

that his brother would have gladly been trooping off to destroy this monster was not lost

on Keles Anturasi. Jorim wouldn’t have needed anyone else to accompany him, and he’d

come back having slain the creature as easily as a leaf falls from a tree.
It would be

another of his grand adventures, which would enrage Grandfather and earn him the

admiration of the flower of the nobility.

He smiled, trudging behind Ciras. That he was unsuited to such an adventure was a point

Tyressa had made to Moraven Tolo earlier in the morning. She’d pointed to Keles and

Borosan and said, “The two of them should remain here while we take care of the

creature.”

Borosan, who had spent most of the morning tinkering with a small metal ball that had

been pieced together from bits and pieces in a big leather satchel, raised his head and

blinked. “Under no circumstances.”

The Keru had smiled and squatted. “I appreciate that you came out here to try to rid

Telarunde of this creature, but your effort failed.”

“No it didn’t.” Borosan set his handwork down and pointed to the ruins of what the locals

called Dorunkun. “My
thanaton
is up there already. If it has not killed the creature yet, it is because it has not figured out how to do it.”

Before anyone could ask what a
thanaton
was, Borosan took up his ball again, pushed

one panel aside, twisted something inside, and tossed the ball underhanded toward the

center of their hut’s dirt floor. It bounced once, then four metal legs popped out. It scuttled to the left, turned, then a circle irised open. A high-pitched thrum sounded, then a rat

squealed, stuck to the wall with a finger-length metal dart impaling it.

Ciras leaped up and half drew his sword. The small device retracted its legs and lay there,

inert and unthreatening. Moraven studied the ball for a moment or two, exchanged

glances with Tyressa, then bowed his head toward the
gyanridin
. “The
thanaton
you sent up there is larger?”

“Much. I built it out of parts I had in my wagon. This mouser is just a model. The real one

is up there studying the creature and figuring out how best to kill it.”

The Keru slid a whetstone along the edge of a spear she’d appropriated from a local.

“That certainly works well on a rodent, but that’s not what’s up there waiting for us.”

Silence greeted her grim comment. Keles again felt his brother would have been better at

determining what it was they faced. In an effort to get as much information as possible,

Keles had interviewed everyone who had seen the creature or had ever been in the

fortress. Far more of the latter existed than the former, and he didn’t believe but one or

two of those who said they’d seen it. The best description made it out to be a giant serpent

that could project a poisonous vapor. It had fur and a mane and had been able to drag off

three strong men the night it attacked the village.

Keles had never heard of such a creature, but if it were coming out of the Ixyll Wastes or

Dolosan, it would have been bred in the wild magic. As Borosan pointed out, the creature

could have a very thick hide or only be vulnerable when its mouth was open, exposing a

soft palate. His
thanaton,
they were assured, would figure things out, but it might take some time.

Time was not something they had. No one even suggested wandering off without killing

the monster—even though dying in the process was a distinct possibility. Moraven was

determined to fulfill his promise to them and perhaps add to the tales of the
xidantzu
.

Keles had helped as much as he could with the preparations. From the initial interviews

concerning the fortress he was able to sketch out a fairly complete floor plan. He actually

believed it was the Xoncyrkun mentioned in Amenis Dukao’s memoirs, for the general

shape and tall tower at the heart matched the description very closely. The locals called it

Dorunkun after a warlord who had occupied it more recently and from whom several of

them claimed descent. They denied ever having heard of Amenis Dukao, which made

them somewhat more ignorant than the sheep they herded, as far as Keles was

concerned.

Even so, they knew the fortress well, and shared with him a wealth of detail. The ruins

certainly dated from the late Imperial period, and had been part of the chain of strongholds

used to discourage the Turasyndi from attacking. Built to encompass a hilltop and use a

natural outcropping as the final stronghold, the entire fortress included tunnels and rooms

hacked out of the stone. The monster lurked in these dark warrens.

Moraven said Borosan would accompany the group, but Tyressa still wished Keles to stay

behind. Though Keles really had no desire to be anywhere near a monster that could drag

strong men off, he refused. He pointed to one of the floor plans he’d drawn. “Look, during

this period there were several basic designs for fortresses. Once I’m inside, I can

determine where the garbage chutes will come out, as well as other alternate routes for

getting down to the stables where this thing is lairing.”

Tyressa shook her head. “It is too risky.”

“It’s too risky without me. I have a bow and I can shoot pretty well. Besides, even if you

leave me here, I won’t be safe.” He jerked a thumb toward the hut’s closed door. “I’ll be

taking Borosan’s place if you fail.”

Tyressa did not like that argument, but agreed it was probably right. Keles didn’t like it,

either, but was happy they were going to allow him to go along. “I’ll be fine. A Viruk

couldn’t kill me, so I don’t imagine this thing will either.”

After a night of too little sleep they awoke to a breakfast that was well shy of generous.

The illogic of wasting food on dead men was not lost on the village. Keles didn’t mind

getting a tiny serving of gruel, since it was very watery and made out of some purple-blue

grain he couldn’t identify. It and the fact that several of the village cats had spare toes and even an extra set of legs reminded him they were in the land wild magic had corrupted.

His stomach soured, and it wasn’t just the gruel that did it.

The five of them set out. Keles had hoped for bright sun to warm them as they trekked two

miles through golden fields to the stronghold, but instead the day started grey, and a cold

rain began to fall as they marched along. Moraven welcomed the rain, noting it kept the

dust down, but Keles considered that a minor benefit.

Xoncyrkun had a ribbon wall that surrounded the top of the hill in an oval just over fifty

yards from end to end. The wall, which once had been a dozen feet high in places, had

fallen into disrepair, and the people of Telarunde had used it as a quarry for years. The

squat outbuilding in which most of the garrison would have been housed survived save for

the roofs. The main keep, which crested the hill and rose another thirty feet, had once had

carrion crows roosting in it. Their guano stained the grey stone white and black in streaks,

but Keles saw no evidence of current occupancy. He assumed the monster had frightened

them off because, even if it were twice as big as described, it couldn’t have slithered high

enough to eat the birds.

A dark hole in the wall about halfway between the main gate and the keep marked where

the creature came and went. Low clouds soon descended to shroud the fortress, and

Keles thought this was a good thing. Every step closer emphasized just how big the hole

was, and that meant the monster was bigger than any of them wanted to think about.

The clouds dropped visibility to a dozen feet. Tyressa led the way through a breach in the

wall and into the central courtyard. They all moved as quietly as they could. Keles studied

the interior of the ruins, then crouched and pointed to the nearest of the blockhouses.

“That would have been the storehouse. There are passages down to the stables there,

and over there, past the garrison, just to the left of that stone spur. That would be the main

ramp down, from which warriors could ride up and out. The opening is probably as wide

as the hole in the wall.”

Ciras rose and began to move toward the storehouse. As he circled left around a large

block that had tumbled from the wall, a black serpent rose from behind it. Its maned head

swayed easily nine feet above the ground and its body was as thick around as Keles’

thigh. The snake hissed and reared back, but before it could strike, Ciras’ sword cleared

the scabbard and came around in a flat arc. The silver blur bisected the serpent as if it

were no more than the fog that had helped hide it. The upper half toppled back to the

stones, while the main body writhed in a gush of blood.

Ciras spun away with a greasy grey vapor rising from his blade and his overshirt where

both had been splashed with blood. Keles felt a burning on his own right cheek and

smeared serpent’s blood away with his fingers. They began to tingle as a result, but he

resisted the temptation to put them into his mouth and suck.

Ciras yanked his overshirt off and used a corner to wipe his blade before tossing the

garment away. He slid his blade back home, then allowed himself a laugh. “Well, Master

Gryst, what trouble would your
thanaton
have had in killing that?”

Borosan frowned. “It should have had none. And it should be out here now, if that’s what it

was tracking.”

The young swordsman snorted. “You should save your magic for mousing. The monster is

slain; our duty is done.”

Ciras’ master dropped to one knee. “You are mistaken.”

“How? It is exactly as the peasants described it to Keles—though they exaggerated

mightily. It was strong enough to carry off sheep and men.”

“Yes, but look at where you cut it.” Moraven pointed at the severed spine and, beside it, a

slender tube ringed with cartilage. “It might have been able to carry men off, but it never