53 Ishalem

The explosion rolled out, and Kel Unwar watched from a safe distance as dust and shattered rock showered down. Clods of dirt pattered on the wooden slats of the covered supply shed in which Unwar stood. While his men flinched and covered their ears, Unwar merely watched. He smiled. “Soldan-Shah Omra is right. The firepowder changes everything.”

Shipments of raw chemicals arrived daily, mined and harvested from deposits scattered around Uraba. Since the firepowder was so volatile, the Saedran chemist Killin na-Fas manufactured great quantities right at the canal worksite, rather than transporting the dangerous mixed components.

When the brisk breezes cleared the smoke and dust, Unwar emerged from the shelter to survey the new wound in the isthmus. This was the sixth such crater excavated so far. Spaced close to one other, the pits formed a dotted line that marked the future path of the huge watercourse. The deep incision would cut off the continent of Tierra like a gangrenous leg.

Perhaps the whole landmass would sink. He hoped so. How he hated the Aidenists…

Unwar chased the work supervisors out of the slatted shelter. “Tell your men to take their shovels and clear the debris. Have the prisoners set up the next stack of firepowder barrels.” So far only one of the volatile kegs had exploded unintentionally. The unstable firepowder mix had killed three workers, but they were only Aidenists, and far enough away from the larger explosive stockpile to avert a complete disaster.

When the work leaders did not move fast enough for him, Unwar's temper exploded like firepowder. “Move, all of you—or you'll be in chains alongside the Tierrans! I can always use the extra labor.” The men scurried off, knowing that Unwar did not issue false threats.

He sat down in the shade of the supply shed, unrolling the terrain map of the isthmus. He calmed himself by studying the hills and trees, the gullies, the network of already dug canals that he intended to stitch together for this new waterway, as well as a swamp that could be flooded and a small lake deep enough to allow ship traffic. And several miles of new digging and blasting. Several segments of the excavation were happening at the same time.

Staring at the plans made his temper fade away. The project engrossed Unwar, challenged his abilities even more than the immense wall had. Concentrating on orderly plans had always helped him to control his emotions. In equations and blueprints he saw precision, clear answers, and a direct refutation of the barbaric hatred and violence of the Aidenists.

Wiping dust from a wooden writing surface, he used his protractor, straight edge, and abacus to map out blasting zones, add notations for work crews, and organize the excavation schedule for the next weeks. He calculated the amount of firepowder he would need and wrote urgent requisitions for the chemical ingredients that were still lacking. Sen Killin had sent orders many days earlier, but the Saedran chemist was ignored; Unwar, however, would make sure that his demands were met immediately, or the soldan-shah would hear about it.

In the middle of the isthmus, stony areas would require more blasting, while nearer the Middlesea coast the loose sand necessitated bricks or some kind of support to prevent the walls from washing away once the water began to flow. The completed canal would allow direct trade from the Middlesea to the western coastal cities of Khenara, Tenér, and Ouroussa, but Unwar's task was not to fill the pockets of merchants.

For him, the canal's greatest purpose was to allow the passage of an invincible war fleet. Displaying the Eye of Urec on their sails, the armored vessels would glide smoothly through and miraculously appear in the Oceansea, astonishing the unprepared Aidenists. The new warships could set fire to the entire coastline of Tierra and blockade Calay itself. He would hang Queen Anjine and the Aidenist prester-marshall on one of their own fishhooks. The thought pleased him greatly, but even that would not make up for what the 'Hooks had done to his sister.

Setting aside his plans and tools, Kel Unwar walked out into the bright sun. Seeing him, the work captains scurried about, yelling at the slave workers, but their progress still was not swift enough to satisfy him.

Astride fine Abilan horses, Soldan-Shah Omra led Asaddan and Shipkhan Ruad as they trotted along the enormous ditch Kel Unwar had dug. Below them, at the bottom of the trench, sweating slaves—some of them skeletal and ready to collapse—continued to dig, widening the channel. Only an hour before, an explosion had blasted another great crater.

“We never thought to use our firepowder like this, Soldan-Shah,” Asaddan said, whistling through his teeth. “Nunghal cannons are powerful enough to fend off sea serpents, but your ambitions belong on an entirely different level.”

Ruad made a comment in the Nunghal language, and Omra waited for the translation. “The shipkhan says that you should see all of his clan's sailing vessels. The Nunghal-Su have nearly a hundred vessels like the one we brought here. He calls it a city on the waves.” Asaddan lowered his voice, even though his companion couldn't understand him. “My cousin Ruad thinks a bit too much of his clan, but he's not exaggerating. He is already anxious to sail back home with his triumphant news.”

“Why so soon? You only just arrived.”

“I'm glad to be on solid ground again, where the only rocking motion comes from the horse or woman I'm riding. But Ruad wants the satisfaction of returning to his own clans with a tale that will earn his reputation back.”

Omra understood. “Who can blame him? He has done a singular thing.” The Nunghal shipkhan regarded them curiously, scowling when Asaddan did not immediately translate, but his companion ignored him. The soldan-shah continued, “Make sure he understands the significance of this, Asaddan. Once this canal is finished, your Nunghal ships can sail from the southern ocean to Lahjar, up the Uraban coast, and then into the Middlesea all the way to Olabar.”

“Oh, Ruad understands, Soldan-Shah.” When Ruad complained about not understanding the conversation, Asaddan shushed him. “He is about to become the richest shipkhan of the Nunghal-Su. We will come back, without doubt and as soon as possible. Now that we've discovered the sailing route, we'd better take advantage of it. We intend to arrive home in time for the next clan gathering. You'll give us a cargo of valuable, exotic items to entice them?”

“You shall have the best Uraban goods.” Wheels turned in the soldan-shah's mind as the three horses ambled along the side of the trench. He glanced up at the deceptively sunny sky. “And if a hundred Nunghal-Su clan vessels were to join with the Uraban navy… I would pay a handsome reward for their support. Will you convince him to join us?”

Ruad's interruption was sharp and impatient, demanding to know what the two men were talking about. When Asaddan quickly summarized their conversation, the shipkhan pursed his lips. Omra fidgeted as the two foreigners talked, and finally Asaddan said, “Ruad believes his fellow shipkhans could be convinced to join in a battle or two. It's an exercise they don't often have when sailing the southern ocean.”

Omra felt a weight lift from his shoulders as if new possibilities were the wings of birds.