The Golden Fern, a warship plated with armor from the Gremurr mines, was fit for the soldan-shah—one of his brother’s last accomplishments. The Fern should have been the flagship of a powerful war fleet that would sail through Kel Unwar’s new canal to crush Aidenist ships on the Oceansea.
How could Omra sail this ship without thinking of Tukar and how the ’Hooks had murdered him? Yet another reason, of reasons long past counting, why he could never forgive or make peace with Tierra.
Nevertheless, the Fern was the soldan-shah’s most magnificent vessel, and he sailed proudly to Ishalem with Ur-Sikara Kuari at his side.
Only days after learning of the earthquake in Arikara, the soldan-shah had dispatched a caravan with a military escort, four Saedran physicians, pack animals, food, medicines, and as many volunteers as could go on short notice. Kuari’s donations from the church coffers provided additional food, as well as huge bolts of fabric for tents, clothing, and bandages. Omra included a written letter to Soldan Xivir promising more extensive aid soon, including building materials, engineers, carpenters, and other skilled workers. A few days later, Omra’s daughters and father departed with a much larger caravan of supplies and laborers that Imir had managed to collect.
And now he could install the leader of the Urecari church in her new home in Ishalem.
From the Middlesea side of the isthmus, the ironclad entered the mouth of the straight new canal and glided serenely into the holy city. His city. Omra had rebuilt Ishalem from scratch on the charred scar of the old site, for the glory of Ondun. Though he wished he could have been here for the inaugural voyage through Kel Unwar’s waterway, his satisfaction was not diminished.
Standing at the bow beside him, Kuari marveled at the canal and all the new buildings. “Back in Inner Wahilir, Huttan didn’t allow me to travel much. Oh, I had great power and freedom in my own household, but I visited Ishalem only twice, and not recently.” She drew in a deep breath. “What you’ve accomplished is breathtaking, Soldan-Shah.”
“This is your city now, Ur-Sikara—where your church is.” He extended a hand to indicate the white buildings on the shore. “I hope we can establish a new relationship between us.”
“We will, Soldan-Shah. We’ve already shown what we can do by sending so much aid to Arikara. The church and the palace should work together against the true enemies of Ondun, not against each other.”
“Istar told me you were full of common sense.”
She grinned. “I have always said a man should listen to his First Wife. I could never convince Huttan of that, though.”
As the Golden Fern cruised along the canal, Omra scanned the buildings, seeing how many structures had been finished in the short time since his last visit. The completion of the canal had sparked a flurry of construction at the edge of the waterway—small docks, markets, taverns. However, as he looked toward where Huttan’s church should have stood as a towering landmark, he saw only rubble, piles of debris, collapsed walls and roofs.
Only weeks earlier, Huttan’s imposing church had been prominent among the other buildings…and now it was gone—entirely gone.
Kuari stood in stony silence for a long moment, staring from the ship toward the wreckage of the collapsed church. She composed herself with admirable alacrity. “Obviously I have much work to do here.”
Omra convened an emergency meeting inside the incomplete but sturdy sister church being built by Soldan Vishkar. Kel Unwar met them there, looking upset, accompanied by the other soldan and his Saedran architect, Sen Bira na-Lanis.
“Only a few survived the collapse of Huttan’s church,” Vishkar reported, looking mournful. “All others perished.”
Seeing the destruction, Omra had immediately suspected Aidenist treachery, but the barbarians were not to blame. Only with difficulty did Kel Unwar mask his scorn for Huttan, who had so utterly failed. His voice was cold and judgmental. “It is clear now that there were many architectural flaws, exacerbated by rushed workmanship and inferior materials. Gross mismanagement.” He caught himself and flushed as he remembered who Kuari was. “I am sorry to tell you, Ur-Sikara, that your husband was among those killed inside the church. I believe he was inspecting the work in preparation for your visit.”
Soldan Vishkar had sad, dark eyes and a subdued demeanor. “My deepest sympathies for the loss of your husband, Ur-Sikara.”
Kuari surprised them all with her reaction. “Huttan was an ass. I have no doubt he caused the problem himself.” In the stunned silence, she added, “He was no longer my husband, thanks to my new position, but I knew him well. He did not take the challenge to build the church as an honor, but as an onerous task that he could turn to his own benefit.”
She appraised the sturdy structure of Vishkar’s church, which had been erected on the foundations of the ancient Aidenist kirk. The roof and towers were not yet finished, but the whitewashed interior was ready for occupation. “There are formalities to observe, and the ur-sikara requires a suitable residence. I declare that this will be the new main Urecari church and my personal home.”
Vishkar bowed his head. “I am honored, Ur-Sikara.” He glanced at his pale Saedran architect, then back at her, deeply embarrassed. “But it is not yet complete. Much remains to be done.”
Sen Bira added, “This is a large building, yes, but much too plain to be the central house of Urecari worship. My artisans have only just begun the ornamentation. The sculptors, the mosaic artists, the gilders—”
Kuari shook her head. “Come now, no more nonsense. Building a church is different from ornamenting a church. If the structure is sound, then we have a new main church. We should take a lesson in humility from the disaster Huttan caused. I will live here and take care of business. Meanwhile, your artisans can continue the paintings, mosaics, friezes, statues, and gold leaf. I don’t think Urec would like to wait, do you?”
The scruffy Saedran architect bobbed his head. “Very well, I’ll arrange the schedule of the workmen so they do not interfere with sunset services. If I have your indulgence, patience, and tolerance, Ur-Sikara, this church will be finished in due time, and we will all be pleased with it.”
Omra wanted to end the discussion. “Ur-Sikara Kuari is the leader of the church. I support her decision. We have more important things to worry about.” He looked at them all. “Kel Unwar has written me letters about Ishalem’s weakened defenses. Now that most of the Nunghals have left, we must find a new way to enhance our navy before the bloodthirsty Tierrans send more ships to attack us. We’ve got to protect Ishalem harbor, as well as our coastal towns. The Aidenists may have been beaten badly, but they’ll return soon enough. We must be ready for them.”
Kel Unwar’s expression darkened. “Only seven Nunghal ships remained behind, but they refuse to patrol the harbor. They want to be merchants and meet new customers, solidify new markets, establish new trade. They are selfish.”
Omra, though, held no malice toward them. “This was never their war, Unwar, only ours. Be grateful for the service they provided when we needed it most.”
“And they did leave four large cannon to guard the mouth of the harbor,” Soldan Vishkar pointed out.
“I paid handsomely for those cannons,” Kel Unwar said. “But they will not be enough.”
“Agreed.” The soldan-shah turned to Vishkar. The man’s loyalty was genuine, and Omra trusted him completely. Through the original Istar, who had died in childbirth long ago, their bond of the heart went beyond any bonds of politics. “My friend, I want you to take a ship to all the coastal towns. Meet with sailors, harbormasters, and town leaders, and pull together all worthy vessels that can be refitted as warships. Commandeer them in my name, and rebuild our fleet to protect Ishalem before the Aidenists make their next move.”