The Key to Creation Read Free Page B

capital.
    All Tierra would celebrate the great Aidenist triumph, though cheers and applause no longer mattered to Jenirod. He would offer Queen Anjine whatever advice he could, but doubted she would accept it from him . Those scars would not heal soon…if ever.
    These past few months had shown Jenirod that war bore little resemblance to the glorious depictions in pageantry, stories, and songs. During the interminable, exhausting ride across the land, he had time to ponder all the destruction that had flowed from his blind naiveté. How he regretted his earnest but juvenile suggestion to Destrar Tavishel that they attack a defenseless Urecari shrine, just to impress Anjine. Jenirod had never considered the consequences, never imagined what the Urecari retaliation might cost. Poor Tomas!
    Now he felt shamed and soiled by what they had done. Jenirod had changed much in his heart, but the queen would never forgive him.
    Still, his news would give hope to countless saddened families across Tierra. In the victory at Gremurr, the army had freed hundreds of slaves from the mines, innocent Aidenists who had been captured in raids or seized from fishing boats in the Oceansea. They were alive, and Jenirod carried a complete list rolled up in his saddlebags.
    In the aftermath of the battle, Subcomdar Mateo Bornan had gathered the freed slaves and instructed scribes with paper and ink (confiscated from the Gremurr administrator’s office) to take down all their information so their families could be notified. The scribes covered sheet after sheet with the names, homes, and occupations of the survivors. Those names would bring joy to so many in Calay. Their loved ones would be coming home as soon as possible. Subcomdar Bornan and the first group of freed prisoners would arrive within a few weeks.
    But first, Jenirod had to see the queen.
    It was sunset by the time his wobbly, weary horse reached the outskirts of the capital city. Jenirod didn’t know what day it was. Ahead, rivers flowed into the harbor and buildings clustered around the waterfront, where long piers extended out past the tidal mud into deeper water. And, silhouetted by the low, blood-orange sun, he could discern the outline of Calay Castle in the distance.
    Close…so close.
    Half dead, he pulled his horse to a halt outside a warehouse at the harbor’s edge and slid from his saddle as a curious merchant emerged, blinking at him. Jenirod knew he was filthy, wild-haired, and unshaven, but none of that mattered. He was intent on a thin bay mare tied to a fencepost. “A horse—I need your horse, in the name of the queen.”
    The merchant eyed Jenirod and his mount, noting the flecks of foam at the horse’s mouth and flanks and seeing how it trembled just standing there, but he recognized fine horseflesh. “Have mine. It’s a more than fair exchange.”
    Jenirod took the saddlebags, patted his mount on the neck. His legs could barely hold him up. “Take care of this horse. He’s served me well.” Jenirod didn’t even ask for water or food. So close now. He staggered over to the spindly bay mare, climbed onto the horse’s back—no time for a saddle—clutched the mane, and rode off into the city.
    In less than an hour, he reached the castle gate and shouted in a ragged voice, “Guards, bring me to the queen! I must see the queen!”
    Jenirod looked like a wild man, and the royal guardsmen were skeptical, but Guard-Marshall Vorannen recognized him immediately. “Jenirod? By the Fishhook, what’s happened to you?”
    “A great battle at Gremurr…we defeated the Curlies! Please, I have to tell Queen Anjine!” Guards helped him down from the mare, and Jenirod heaved, then reeled, nearly collapsing, but two men held him up. “All right…I think I’ll take some water first.” He didn’t see who handed a cup to him.
    “We’ve sent word to the queen,” Vorannen said. “Maybe you’d like to change your clothes, wash up, rest?”
    Jenirod realized that he