map at once remarkable and tragic. All of the details of the world
that had been confirmed by the Anturasi had been painted in strongly. They had filled in
much, but still more lay blank. Even areas within the Dark Sea went uncharted, and it was
from there the pirates that preyed upon provincial shipping sailed. Qiro’s ages-old desire
to fill in these blank areas had caused him to send his son Ryn on an ill-fated voyage. But
even the pain of his son’s death had not blunted his hunger to explore, and just five years
previously Cyron had been forced to refuse another of Qiro’s requests to undertake a
grand survey himself.
The Prince tore his gaze from the map and received a surprise. Qiro’s grandsons, Keles
and Jorim, stood with their grandfather, but a fourth man had joined them. The Prince
found this remarkable because not only had he never seen anyone outside the Anturasi
clan—save himself or his kin—in the workshop; Naleni decree had made it a capital crime
to enter the workshop without express state permission. That the man was present
bespoke his great importance, and the fact that he was wearing a blindfold indicated Qiro
had not wholly lost his mind.
Qiro smiled and crossed quickly to the Prince. Tall and lean, he possessed a full shock of
white hair, moustache, and goatee. His pale eyes seemed almost devoid of color, save for
the pupil, giving him an inhuman look. Though he was celebrating his eighty-first birthday
within the week, he moved with the strength of a man half his age. The rich timbre of his
voice, however, clearly had benefited from his longevity.
“Highness, you honor the House of Anturasi with your presence. You have met my
grandsons, Keles and Jorim?”
The Prince shook and released Qiro’s hand, then greeted the brothers. “I do know them,
and treasure them as much as I treasure you, dicaikyr Anturasi. Jorim, I think you would like to know that the pair of spotted cats you brought back from Ummummorar last year
have mated and produced nine kittens. They are the pride of my sanctuary.”
Jorim smiled. Shorter than his brother and stockier, he wore his side locks in braids and
had grown a full beard after the fashion of the Ummummori. Though he wore fine and
proper clothing, his hair and beard did give him a barbaric air that had caused a bit of a
stir amid the Naleni nobility. A blacked eye, split lip, and abrasions on his knuckles
indicated he had not abandoned the combative skills that kept him alive in the wilds.
Before Jorim could say anything, the blindfolded man laughed. “Oh, yes, very good. Cats,
the pride of your sanctuary. Splendid joke, Highness; marvelous. Many shall enjoy it
during this Festival.”
Cyron frowned. “Who is this, and why is he here?”
Qiro smiled in a manner that would have taken seventy years off his age, were it not for
the feral light playing through his eyes. “This is Jesbor Gryst, and he has with him
something quite remarkable. I have already purchased it, and with it our domination of the
world will go unchallenged.”
Cyron’s frown deepened as Qiro retreated to a side table and pointed to a mahogany box.
The lid had been lifted, and as the Prince approached he saw that two panes of glass
separated by a piece of wood had been placed over the box’s lower portion. Each pane
revealed the face of a clock, and each clock was set to the proper time.
“This will allow us to dominate the world?” Cyron folded his arms over his chest. “I do not
think a pair of clocks will daunt Prince Pyrust’s legions, and I already know very well how
fast they are capable of moving.”
“You don’t understand, Highness.” Qiro whirled away from him and approached the wall
map. “Our ships, Highness, have sailed far from here. We have outlined the continent
from here to Aefret and we do our best to draw accurate maps. Were we to compare this
map with those from a hundred years ago, you would see quite a
that had been confirmed by the Anturasi had been painted in strongly. They had filled in
much, but still more lay blank. Even areas within the Dark Sea went uncharted, and it was
from there the pirates that preyed upon provincial shipping sailed. Qiro’s ages-old desire
to fill in these blank areas had caused him to send his son Ryn on an ill-fated voyage. But
even the pain of his son’s death had not blunted his hunger to explore, and just five years
previously Cyron had been forced to refuse another of Qiro’s requests to undertake a
grand survey himself.
The Prince tore his gaze from the map and received a surprise. Qiro’s grandsons, Keles
and Jorim, stood with their grandfather, but a fourth man had joined them. The Prince
found this remarkable because not only had he never seen anyone outside the Anturasi
clan—save himself or his kin—in the workshop; Naleni decree had made it a capital crime
to enter the workshop without express state permission. That the man was present
bespoke his great importance, and the fact that he was wearing a blindfold indicated Qiro
had not wholly lost his mind.
Qiro smiled and crossed quickly to the Prince. Tall and lean, he possessed a full shock of
white hair, moustache, and goatee. His pale eyes seemed almost devoid of color, save for
the pupil, giving him an inhuman look. Though he was celebrating his eighty-first birthday
within the week, he moved with the strength of a man half his age. The rich timbre of his
voice, however, clearly had benefited from his longevity.
“Highness, you honor the House of Anturasi with your presence. You have met my
grandsons, Keles and Jorim?”
The Prince shook and released Qiro’s hand, then greeted the brothers. “I do know them,
and treasure them as much as I treasure you, dicaikyr Anturasi. Jorim, I think you would like to know that the pair of spotted cats you brought back from Ummummorar last year
have mated and produced nine kittens. They are the pride of my sanctuary.”
Jorim smiled. Shorter than his brother and stockier, he wore his side locks in braids and
had grown a full beard after the fashion of the Ummummori. Though he wore fine and
proper clothing, his hair and beard did give him a barbaric air that had caused a bit of a
stir amid the Naleni nobility. A blacked eye, split lip, and abrasions on his knuckles
indicated he had not abandoned the combative skills that kept him alive in the wilds.
Before Jorim could say anything, the blindfolded man laughed. “Oh, yes, very good. Cats,
the pride of your sanctuary. Splendid joke, Highness; marvelous. Many shall enjoy it
during this Festival.”
Cyron frowned. “Who is this, and why is he here?”
Qiro smiled in a manner that would have taken seventy years off his age, were it not for
the feral light playing through his eyes. “This is Jesbor Gryst, and he has with him
something quite remarkable. I have already purchased it, and with it our domination of the
world will go unchallenged.”
Cyron’s frown deepened as Qiro retreated to a side table and pointed to a mahogany box.
The lid had been lifted, and as the Prince approached he saw that two panes of glass
separated by a piece of wood had been placed over the box’s lower portion. Each pane
revealed the face of a clock, and each clock was set to the proper time.
“This will allow us to dominate the world?” Cyron folded his arms over his chest. “I do not
think a pair of clocks will daunt Prince Pyrust’s legions, and I already know very well how
fast they are capable of moving.”
“You don’t understand, Highness.” Qiro whirled away from him and approached the wall
map. “Our ships, Highness, have sailed far from here. We have outlined the continent
from here to Aefret and we do our best to draw accurate maps. Were we to compare this
map with those from a hundred years ago, you would see quite a
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