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  She accidentally discovers a plot hatched by Ur-Sikara Lukai and VILLIKI, another wife of Soldan-Shah Imir, to poison Omra, frame Cliaparia, and then set Villiki's good-natured and unambitious son TUKAR (Omra's half-brother) on the throne. Adrea reveals the plot to Omra and, as payment for the information, demands that Saan be kept out of the ra'vir camps and raised in the palace instead. Their scheme exposed, Ur-Sikara Lukai is killed, Villiki is stripped of all possessions and cast out, and Tukar (who had no real part in the plot) is exiled to live at the harsh Gremurr mines. Saan is brought back to Adrea, but the old soldan-shah is broken by the revelation of the murderous scheme, and so he retires, handing over the leadership to Omra.

  After saving Omra's life, Adrea is taken into the new soldan-shah's household. Despite the obvious jealousy of Cliaparia, Omra asks Adrea to marry him as well, and in return he promises to raise Saan as his own. Seeing this as the only way to ensure a future for her son, she grudgingly accepts. But a Tierran name will not do for the wife of a soldan-shah, and Omra insists that she change her name to Istar.

  Meanwhile, Criston Vora lives in isolation in the mountains, going to other villages only when he needs supplies. Once each year he makes the trip to the seashore, where he casts another letter in a bottle into the sea, clinging to hope that someday, somehow, Adrea might receive them….

  Up in Tierra, Mateo undergoes years of military training, including arctic survival with the destrar of Iboria, BROECK. Broeck takes a liking to Mateo, and when his daughter ILRIDA agrees to be the new bride of lonely King Korastine, Mateo escorts her down to Calay. Anjine is thrilled to see Mateo back in the city (they are very fond of each other but cannot admit their feelings), and Korastine is delighted with his new bride, who is fascinated by legends of Holy Joron in Terravitae. As a special gift for Ilrida, the king constructs an Iborian-style kirk so that she can worship as she did in her own land.

  Over the years, Omra becomes very fond of Saan and raises him as a true son, despite the boy's Tierran heritage. Adrea/Istar and Cliaparia develop a rivalry as wives: no matter what she tries, Cliaparia can't make Omra love her, and the soldan-shah's true affection is reserved for Istar. He now has three daughters—ADREALA and ISTALA by Istar and CITHARA by Cliaparia, but the soldan-shah still needs a male heir.

  Back in Calay King Korastine and Ilrida are very happy together and produce a son, TOMAS. One day, as she prays in the special Iborian kirk that Korastine built for her, Ilrida scratches herself on a rusty nail. The wound becomes infected, and Ilrida dies of tetanus; Korastine is so paralyzed by grief that Princess Anjine shoulders more and more of the burdens of ruling Tierra. Knowing how much Ilrida revered Holy Joron, Korastine announces a quest in her honor: Tierra will build another great exploration ship that will sail off in search of Terravitae. Anjine thinks this is an expensive fool's quest in a time of war, but Korastine takes her to a high tower and shows her a relic that has been kept secret for generations: Aiden's Compass, a magical object that will reveal the location of the lost homeland. Anjine sees that the plan isn't so foolish after all….

  At the southern boundary of Uraba, at the edge of the Great Desert, a strange man staggers in from the dunes, speaking no tongue that anyone can understand. The Saedran woman Sen Sherufa eventually learns his language. His name is ASADDAN and he has crossed the Great Desert; his people, the Nunghals, live on the other side of the expanse of dunes. Asaddan becomes a court sensation and convinces Omra to sponsor an expedition so he can return to his side of the desert, using a balloon-borne sand coracle to ride the winds. Saan, now twelve, accompanies him, along with the retired soldan-shah Imir and a reluctant Sherufa (who would rather stay home and read about adventures). The group crosses the desert and is received among the Nunghals. As guests of KHAN JIKARIS, they travel to a large clan gathering on the coast of the southern ocean, a body of water that Sherufa never even guessed existed. From seafaring Nunghals, she obtains maps and begins to suspect that the southern ocean may in fact connect with the coastline of Uraba, far to the north. Sherufa, Imir, and Saan return home with their exciting news.

  Prester Hannes continues his depredations against the followers of Urec, leaving a path of death and destruction behind him as he makes his way back to Tierra. He reaches the burned ruins of Ishalem, which have remained uninhabited for more than a dozen years, and he weeps to see what has become of the holy city. Before he can leave the ruins, though, Hannes is captured by a Uraban patrol, and he is sent with other prisoners to work in the Gremurr mines. They do not know he is the man who has caused them so much harm; they just need more slaves. Hannes toils for a long time, always looking for a way to escape, and finally slips away from the mines into the supposedly impassible mountains that lead to Tierra. No man has ever survived the trek, but Hannes is not like any other man. Frostbitten, starving, and near death, he stumbles into a high mountain meadow, where he is rescued by the hermit Criston Vora. Criston nurses him back to health, and then helps the prester make his way to Calay.

  As the Iborian Kjelnar constructs Korastine's new Arkship, Destrar Broeck goes out into the northern wastelands to track down and kill the fabled ice dragon, whose horn supposedly has magical properties. Broeck returns to Calay with the shimmering horn, which will be mounted on the prow of the Arkship. Both Broeck and Korastine intend to sail on the vessel, and Aldo na-Curic will be the chartsman. Before the new Arkship can depart, though, ra'virs strike in the night and burn the ship in the harbor. The Tierran dreams are dashed.

  Soldan-Shah Omra decides to recapture the barren city of Ishalem for his people and puts together a major assault. His wife Istar gives him a son at last, whom she names Criston, which only increases the jealousy Cliaparia holds toward her. Omra has recently taken a third wife, NAORI, who is also pregnant. The soldan-shah bids them all farewell, and heads off with his armies to conquer Ishalem. His operation works perfectly. Before the Tierran army can respond effectively, Omra destroys the enemy military outposts and kills all the Aidenist pilgrims. He claims the ash-strewn ground in the name of Uraba.

  Back in Olabar, Cliaparia schemes to oust Istar, but she fails… which only forces her to try even darker treachery. After Naori gives birth to a baby boy—another heir for the soldan-shah—Cliaparia slips a poisonous sand spider into the crib of Istar's year-old son Criston, and the boy dies. Saan returns from the land of the Nunghals to discover that his mother has been nearly driven mad by the death of the baby, while Cliaparia remains smug. When Istar learns that Cliaparia was the murderer, she does not hesitate. Thinking of nothing but revenge, she goes to the market, where she finds Cliaparia laughing with her ladies-in-waiting. She stabs the hateful woman to death in broad daylight and dumps her body into the harbor, then staggers away in shock, covered in blood. As she wanders through the market stalls, Istar is stunned to discover a merchant selling a letter found sealed in a bottle. One of Criston's letters to her.

  Having saved Prester Hannes, Criston at last decides to return to his former life. Over the years living alone in the mountains, he has dabbled with making models of sailing ships, exploring different designs. King Korastine and all of Calay are reeling from the heinous burning of the Arkship, but Criston presents himself to the king with new models and offers his services to create, and captain, a new ship.

  On the Map of All Things, each life is a kingdom.

  —Tales of the Traveler

  Part I

  Six Years After the Burning of the Arkship

  1 Shipbuilders' Bay, Calay Harbor

  Suspended in a rope cradle abeam of the vessel, a grizzled craftsman used mallet, chisel, and rasp to fashion the ornate lettering. He followed charcoal lines drawn on the sanded surface, coaxing the ship's name from the wood.

  Dyscovera. The word embodied everything that the magnificent new ship was meant to be, evoking the hopes pinned on her mission and her captain.

  Criston Vora stood on the dock in Shipbuilders' Bay, regarding the whole ship. His ship. Soon, she would sail a
cross the unexplored seas to find the lost land of Terravitae. And he would succeed this time.

  Using hooks and a block-and-tackle, seasoned workers scurried up the shroud lines, stringing a cat's-cradle of ropes to support the masts and spars. From inside and outside the curved hull, caulkers hammered oakum between boards to prevent saltwater from leaking in; carpenters sanded and planed the golden wood that furnished the cabins, while painters and gilders added finishing touches to the exterior, making every detail as beautiful as possible—for Holy Joron.

  Even under the bright sun, the late spring air remained crisp and cool. Work progressed on the three-masted carrack, six years after hateful Urecari saboteurs had burned the new Arkship that King Korastine had commissioned. A few blackened hull timbers could still be seen at the bottom of Shipbuilders' Bay, where the ruined exploration vessel had sunk.

  But this new ship proved that hope was not gone, merely delayed. This wasn't the first time Criston Vora had resurrected hope from the ashes….

  The bare-chested Iborian shipwright, Kjelnar, walked up and down the deck, indifferent to the chill. For a man who had grown up in the cold northern reach, this was a balmy day. Waving to Criston on the dock, he yelled over the bustling noise of construction work. “The fittings are ready, Captain! The ice-dragon horn will have its home on the Dyscovera's prow.”

  Criston cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, “Let's hope your Iborian legends are as reliable as your craftsmanship. We need all the protection we can get.” The horn had originally been meant for Korastine's first Arkship; fortunately, the relic had not been installed when the ship burned in the harbor. Now the horn would be kept under guard inside the main Aidenist kirk, until just before the Dyscovera sailed.

  Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Criston looked down to see his young companion. “Are we going aboard, sir? I want to see what they've finished in your cabin since yesterday.”

  Criston gave Javian an indulgent smile, feeling a bond with him. He remembered when he himself was fourteen, excited to sail out on fishing boats with his father. He would stare out to sea, imagining mysterious lands just beyond the horizon. “You'll have more than enough time to memorize every splinter and every knot in every deckboard. I suggest you spend your time on dry land while you can, take advantage of what Calay has to offer.”

  But Javian could not take his eyes off of the ship. “The sea has more to offer, sir.”

  The young man had lost his mother in the last major gray fever epidemic that scoured the streets of Calay and had run away from his desperate and abusive father. Javian had told Criston how, since the age of ten, he had haunted the docks and eked out a living by doing odd jobs, begging afternoon scraps from fishmongers' stalls.

  The young man was curious, determined, and—most important of all—made himself useful. During the Dyscovera's construction, if one of the craftsmen grumbled about an unpleasant task, Javian bounded off to do it without being asked. After observing him, Criston had offered to make Javian his personal cabin boy for the voyage.

  So much like me, when I was his age…

  It had been more than eighteen years since the Luminara sailed under Captain Andon Shay with similar dreams and determination. Back then, Criston and his crewmates had gone beyond the boundaries of any known map… and he had lost everything. Though he survived the shipwreck, his life was forever changed. After many quiet years as a hermit, Criston had decided to face life again and return to the sea. He'd been back among humanity for six years now, but he never stopped feeling alone. His focus, his obsession, set him apart from others: Criston was sure that the Luminara had been close, very close, to her sacred destination. With the Dyscovera, he intended to go back and search again.

  A hush drifted across the docks like an unexpected breeze. A group of blue-uniformed royal guards escorted an old man in plush maroon robes. King Korastine leaned on a carved walking stick, though he seemed embarrassed to be using it. The king had closely watched the progress of the Dyscovera, from the laying of the keel to the setting of ribs and the mounting of hull planks. Criston knew how badly Korastine wanted to sail away from Tierra. Years ago, the king had planned to go aboard the new Arkship, along with Destrar Broeck, both of them hoping to find peace from the tragedies in their lives. But that was not meant to be.

  At Korastine's side walked a smiling ten-year-old boy, blond-haired and thin-faced. Equally fascinated by the ships in the harbor, Prince Tomas often joined his father in Shipbuilders' Bay. The boy's pale hair and eyes reflected those of his Iborian mother, who had died when he was but four.

  The king hobbled after his son, favoring his left knee. In recent years, the gout had become so bad that he could barely walk, though he refused to be carried on a palanquin. “What news today, Captain Vora? Are we on schedule?”

  Criston bowed formally. “With Kjelnar as our shipwright, Majesty, of course we're on schedule.”

  Korastine ran his wistful gaze over the lines of the vessel. With a forced smile, he patted his swollen leg. “Much as I'd like to be part of your crew, Captain, I will stay here and await your reports.”

  Prince Tomas took a step ahead of his father. “I want to go along.”

  Korastine smiled at him. “I don't doubt that would be more amusing than court functions, but the voyage will be too dangerous. You have to stay here in Tierra, where it's safe.”

  Criston pulled his jacket tight as a cold breeze wove through the docks. By sailing in early spring, the Dyscovera should have months of good weather to take them farther than any man had ever gone. “We depart in three weeks, Sire, when the winds should be most favorable for a long westward voyage.”

  Korastine caressed his beard. “I have high hopes for you, Captain Vora.” He squeezed Tomas's shoulder, resting some of his weight on the boy. “Find Holy Joron. We need his aid in the crusade against the evil followers of Urec.”

  2 Ishalem

  The great wall across Ishalem blocked the isthmus from the Aidenist enemy. Behind God's Barricade, the holy city would at last be safe in Urecari hands, and on the other side Tierra would wither and die like a branch broken from a tree.

  From the high hill where once had stood the ancient wreck of Urec's Arkship, Soldan-Shah Omra watched his construction workers and Tierran slaves continue their labors. The sweating men used log rollers lubricated with mud to pull blocks into place. In the western harbor, a barge rode low in the water, carrying heavy blocks hewn from cliffside quarries.

  In charge of the project, Kel Unwar had nearly completed a towering barrier seven miles long, stone after stone after stone, now that the Uraban army had recaptured the blood- and ash-encrusted land. Though trained to be a military leader, Unwar was more gifted as an engineer and organizer, commanding work teams instead of armies. When Omra first challenged him to build the wall, Unwar had stared off into the distance, then slowly nodded. “No man has ever attempted such a task, Soldan-Shah. It will be magnificent.”

  Over the years, the enemy had tried—and repeatedly failed—to breach the defenses, and Omra had no intention of ever allowing the 'Hooks to set foot on this sacred ground again. Wearing clean sashes and carrying bright scimitars, soldiers patrolled the rocky landscape north of the boundary line to watch for Aidenist forays. Warships patrolled the harbor and the coast. As the wall neared completion, the enemy grew increasingly desperate—and the soldan-shah felt increasingly secure.

  Soon he would be able to go back home to the capital of Olabar, to his family and the palace. But not yet.

  His goal was to restore the true glory of Ishalem. The pilgrim camps and the last ruins of burned homes had been replaced by new dwellings made of white and tan stone. Sturdy Uraban horses dredged the debris-choked canals so that water flowed again; small boats could travel inland from the harbors on both the Oceansea and Middlesea coasts. The air resonated with the noises of construction: the clink of hammers, the creak of ropes and rattle of pulleys, the grunting calls of hardworking men. It was a joyful s
ound, a satisfying racket.

  Perhaps Ondun Himself would notice and decide that the people He had left behind were once again worthy….

  Riding up next to Omra, Soldan Vishkar from Outer Wahilir slid down from his dapple-gray stallion and somehow managed to bow at the same time. The stallion's showy tack was made of ornately tooled leather, the bit cheekpieces stylized with plated golden ferns and deep purple tassels.

  “A fine afternoon, Soldan-Shah.” Twenty years Omra's senior, the new soldan of Outer Wahilir had a square face and barrel chest. His delicately pointed noise and the quirk of his smile always brought a brief sadness to Omra: the man looked so much like his daughter Istar—Omra's first wife and first true love—who had died in childbirth long ago.

  Vishkar extracted a long cylinder from his saddlebag, unrolled the paper, and looked around for a place to display the drawing. Finally, he used his horse's flank as a makeshift table; the stallion grazed on patches of grass, unconcerned. “And the day will be even finer once I show you these plans for my church. My Saedran architect has outdone himself. This building will be far more impressive than Huttan's.”

  “I knew you were up to the challenge. Let me see your designs, even if they were drawn by a Saedran.” Vishkar often tried to coax forth details about his competitor's plans, but Omra would not say. “Wouldn't it be better to have a follower of Urec design the church of Urec?”