A Magic of Dawn (34 page)
Authors: S. L. Farrell
Niente
Jan ca’Ostheim
Brie ca’Ostheim
Allesandra ca’Vörl
Varina ca’Pallo
Nico Morel
Rochelle Botelli
Niente
Sergei ca’Rudka
A
TL HAD COME TO HIM THE NIGHT BEFORE. “I saw the battle, Taat,” he said. His voice was solemn, his face serious. He sounded on the verge of exhaustion; the skin under his eyes was puffy and dark. “In the scrying bowl. I saw it.”
TL HAD COME TO HIM THE NIGHT BEFORE. “I saw the battle, Taat,” he said. His voice was solemn, his face serious. He sounded on the verge of exhaustion; the skin under his eyes was puffy and dark. “In the scrying bowl. I saw it.”
They were standing on the rear quarterdeck of the
Yaoyotl.
The sun had set with another spectacular blaze, as if sinking into a burning city just over the horizon. The fleet was anchored, nearly filling the A’Sele from bank to bank and blockading the harbor of the city Fossano. Niente had consulted with Tecuhtli Citlali, had told him what he’d seen in the scrying bowl, then Niente called together the chief nahualli of each of the ships to give his instructions for tomorrow. They had left less than a stripe of the candle before, and he still sat here, the crew studiously avoiding him as he stared out toward the distant lights of the city. He rubbed at the gold bracelet of the Nahual around his right forearm; it seemed to chafe his skin.
Yaoyotl.
The sun had set with another spectacular blaze, as if sinking into a burning city just over the horizon. The fleet was anchored, nearly filling the A’Sele from bank to bank and blockading the harbor of the city Fossano. Niente had consulted with Tecuhtli Citlali, had told him what he’d seen in the scrying bowl, then Niente called together the chief nahualli of each of the ships to give his instructions for tomorrow. They had left less than a stripe of the candle before, and he still sat here, the crew studiously avoiding him as he stared out toward the distant lights of the city. He rubbed at the gold bracelet of the Nahual around his right forearm; it seemed to chafe his skin.
Now Atl’s words chilled Niente though the night air was warm enough. He felt as if snow blanketed his spine. If Axat had granted the boy far-vision, of what lay well ahead of them—it all could still unravel, the entire Long Path, like a poorly-tied weaving. “What battle?” he asked. “In Nessantico?”
Atl shook his head. “No, not the great city.” He pointed over the water to the light. “This one. Fossano.” With that admission, the coldness and unease began to recede and Niente found himself relaxing hands that had curled defensively into fists. “Tell me,” he said to Atl, more calmly now.
“Have you seen it also, Taat?” Atl asked, and Niente nodded to him.
“Yes. Axat has granted me that sight. Tell me what you saw, so I know whether you saw true.”
“I saw the ships anchored here close to the shore, and the warriors spilling out onto the land like furious black ants. I saw Holdings ships at our rear, and fire arcing from our boats to theirs and setting them afire. There were two battles, really—one here on the water and another on the land. Mostly I saw the one on the land. I was there, and you, Taat, and Tecuhtli Citlali. The city walls were tall and thick, but the black sand tore into them and knocked them down. I saw their war-téni sending fire back toward us, and the nahualli’s spell-staffs responding. But their war-téni wearied eventually, and they couldn’t stop the catapults that threw black sand at the walls. The great stones tumbled down and their portcullis was shattered. Tecuhtli Citlali sent up a great cry, and our warriors rushed into the city.”
Niente saw Atl’s throat move as he swallowed then. “The vision began to shift then, and Axat only gave me quick, fleeting sights. All of it was short and bloody. We took their city, we slew the Eastlander warriors until their courage broke and they fled in whatever direction they could. We took the spoils from their houses.” He flushed. “I saw their women raped and their young men killed if they dared to protest, though the High Warriors stopped that where they could. I saw their children wailing and crying. I saw their city in flames. And I saw
you,
Taat, and Tecuhtli Citlali—I saw you sacrifice the tecuhtli of their city to Axat and Sakal in gratitude.”
you,
Taat, and Tecuhtli Citlali—I saw you sacrifice the tecuhtli of their city to Axat and Sakal in gratitude.”
“And then . . .” Niente prompted him, but Atl shook his head.
“There was no more, Taat. Only a glimpse of warriors coming back to the ships. That was all that Axat granted me.” He shook his head. “Was Her vision true, Taat? Is this what you saw also?”
That was all . . .
Niente sighed in relief, though Atl’s expression fell, as if he thought that Niente were disappointed in him. Niente forced a smile; it ached in the muscles of his face. “I saw the same,” he told his son, and Atl beamed. “Axat also granted me to see the water battle, and we sent a dozen of the Easterner ships to the bottom of the harbor; the rest were damaged and retreated to the west down the A’Sele. This will be a great victory for Tecuhtli Citlali. Axat has ordained it.” He stopped, and this time the smile was genuine. “I saw you also, Atl. I saw you leading the nahualli with your spell-staff; I saw you still strong when other nahualli were weak, and I saw you leading the warriors into the city. I saw Tecuhtli Citlali’s pride in you afterward.”
Niente sighed in relief, though Atl’s expression fell, as if he thought that Niente were disappointed in him. Niente forced a smile; it ached in the muscles of his face. “I saw the same,” he told his son, and Atl beamed. “Axat also granted me to see the water battle, and we sent a dozen of the Easterner ships to the bottom of the harbor; the rest were damaged and retreated to the west down the A’Sele. This will be a great victory for Tecuhtli Citlali. Axat has ordained it.” He stopped, and this time the smile was genuine. “I saw you also, Atl. I saw you leading the nahualli with your spell-staff; I saw you still strong when other nahualli were weak, and I saw you leading the warriors into the city. I saw Tecuhtli Citlali’s pride in you afterward.”
He could see Atl struggling not to grin, to remain stoic and serious. He would not tell Atl of the fate he’d seen for him later. Instead, he clapped his son on the back, then clasped him to him, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you, my son,” he whispered into the young man’s ear. “You should know that I’m proud of the person you’ve become.”
The night air was cool around them. There were stars struggling to be seen through the persistent high clouds, and a moon that cloaked itself in a luminous mist. There were the yellow lights of the city glistening in the blackness of the land. Waves slapped the hull of the
Yaoyotl
like erratic hands on a drum, and Niente could smell the sweet oil on Atl’s skin and the heavier musk of the river. He felt like a child holding an adult. He felt shriveled and frail and tiny against his son’s muscular body.
Yaoyotl
like erratic hands on a drum, and Niente could smell the sweet oil on Atl’s skin and the heavier musk of the river. He felt like a child holding an adult. He felt shriveled and frail and tiny against his son’s muscular body.
“Go, and fill your spell-staff,” he told Atl. “Then rest as best you can. Tomorrow—tomorrow we will go and fulfill Axat’s vision.” He kissed Atl again, then pushed him away. “Go,” he said. Atl clasped Niente once more, kissed him as Niente had him, then gave him the moon-sign of Axat.
“Tomorrow,” he said to Niente, and left.
Niente watched him go. “Tomorrow,” he whispered after him. “There’s at least that.”
“T
HE PEBBLE ON THE LEFT EYE—that’s the signature of the White Stone. How she entered Rance’s apartments, we don’t know. The door was locked when Paulus arrived; the windows are all latched from the inside.” Eris Cu’Bloch, Commandant of the Garde Brezno, shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hïrzg. He was long dead when they found him. There was nothing to be done.”
HE PEBBLE ON THE LEFT EYE—that’s the signature of the White Stone. How she entered Rance’s apartments, we don’t know. The door was locked when Paulus arrived; the windows are all latched from the inside.” Eris Cu’Bloch, Commandant of the Garde Brezno, shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hïrzg. He was long dead when they found him. There was nothing to be done.”
A raw, sickening fury enveloped Jan. He stared at Rance’s body on the bed, the pebble still over his left eye, his right clouded and open. Paulus ci’Simone, one of Rance’s trusted assistants, sat with his head bowed and hands clasped between his knees in a chair. In the outer room, the door to Rance’s apartment hung askew on its hinges from where it had been broken in by the palais staff, and occasionally one of the staff would walk past hurriedly, face averted.
“There’s blood, but not enough,” Jan commented.
“No,” cu’Bloch agreed. “Nor does it look like he struggled much with his attacker.” He lifted Rance’s bloodied nightgown: it had been sliced open along the side by a sharp knife, and Jan could see the long cut on the man’s side, but the cut was not so deep as to have been fatal. “If you look closely, you can see a dark, oily substance in the cut. If you touch it, it burns. I think the blade that did this was poisoned, though with what . . .” Cu’Bloch shrugged. “I don’t know of a poison that works quickly and effectively enough that Rance wouldn’t have had time to defend himself, but perhaps the White Stone does.”
Jan pressed his lips together. “Cover him,” he said to cu’Bloch. “Paulus, he was this way when you found him?”
Paulus lifted his head and nodded mournfully. “Yes, my Hïrzg. Rance was supposed to go over the day’s kitchen menu with me at First Call, and when he didn’t arrive, I knocked on his door and found it locked. He didn’t answer our calls, so I found two of the staff gardai and we broke in. I saw him in his bed, just like that, his skin cold . . .” Paulus stopped. His eyes glistened suddenly and a tear tracked down his face. “We called for the Commandant and you.”
“You don’t know how the White Stone might have gained entry?” Commandant cu’Bloch asked. Paulus shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jan said. “This was the White Stone. She’s here.” He scowled.
She’s here.
As she’d been here when Hïrzg Fynn had been assassinated. He felt as if his hands had suddenly gone cold: that death had been his matarh’s doing. It had been Allesandra who’d hired the White Stone; he’d learned that to his disgust, and that had been one of the reasons he’d abandoned her and the Holdings when the moment had been there to reunify the empire.
As she’d been here when Hïrzg Fynn had been assassinated. He felt as if his hands had suddenly gone cold: that death had been his matarh’s doing. It had been Allesandra who’d hired the White Stone; he’d learned that to his disgust, and that had been one of the reasons he’d abandoned her and the Holdings when the moment had been there to reunify the empire.
And there had been the even more terrible realization that Elissa—who had vanished the same terrible evening that Fynn had died—had been the White Stone. He had wanted to deny that; he’d wanted to tear that knowledge from his head and remember only the Elissa he’d loved.
He glanced again at the body on the bed, the bloodied sheet covering Rance. “Where’s Rhianna?” he asked suddenly. “Has anyone seen the girl? Bring her here. Now.” Cu’Bloch gestured, and one of the garda in the room rushed back out. Jan heard Rhianna’s name being called in the corridor.
In truth, he expected the answer to come that she could not be found, that she had vanished from the palais. That would explain everything. And the assassination . . . Could it have been Allesandra who had again hired the assassin? Rance had always advised flatly against any reconciliation with Nessantico; Sergei would certainly have mentioned that to Allesandra. Could Allesandra have wanted Rance dead as a result? Or could the White Stone’s client have been Sergei himself, ridding himself of an obstacle? Rhianna had been there when Sergei had met with them; she could have overheard, or perhaps Sergei could have given her some signal that told her to murder Rance . . .
The possibilities spun in his head like kitten-tangled yarn, the threads of his thoughts so interwoven that he couldn’t find the ends of them. Cu’Bloch was talking to Paulus, but Jan heard nothing of it. When he heard footsteps in the outer room, he turned. The garda had returned, with Rhianna and another garda, a face Jan vaguely recognized—was he named Enid? Emero? Emerin? Rhianna was gazing around her as if confused, glancing back at the broken door, then seeing Jan, the Commandant, and Paulus.
“My Hïrzg,” Rhianna said, curtsying deeply to him. “I was told . . . You wanted . . .” She was looking past him now, to the bed and its covered form. Her hand went to her mouth as her eyes grew wide and frightened, and the garda with her put his arm protectively around her. The gesture made Jan scowl.
She has a lover here, then?
“Oh, no! By Cénzi, is that . . . ?”
She has a lover here, then?
“Oh, no! By Cénzi, is that . . . ?”
“Yes,” Jan told her. “Rance has been killed. The murderer would have us think that the White Stone did it.”
Rhianna seemed to stagger, her legs unsteady, and the garda held her more tightly. “The White Stone . . .” Jan watched her; her stunned reaction seemed genuine. He saw her lower lip trembling as if she were about to cry. Then she seemed to shake herself, and her gaze went quizzical. “Why does the Hïrzg wish to talk to
me
?” she asked.
me
?” she asked.
“Where were you last night?” Jan asked her.
“Why, I was with Emerin,” she said. A flush crept up her neck from under the collar of her robe. “He and I . . .” She stopped. “My Hïrzg, you can’t possibly think . . . I was with Emerin all night, and Vajiki ci’Lawli and I were on excellent terms.”
“Hïrzg, may I speak?” Emerin asked. He had straightened, tugging at his nightclothes as if it were his uniform. Jan glared at him. He nodded. “It’s true she was with me,” he said hurriedly.
Other books
The Ritual Bath by Faye Kellerman
Adrenaline Crush by Laurie Boyle Crompton
The Carousel Painter by Judith Miller
Charlie Bumpers vs. the Perfect Little Turkey by Bill Harley
Deep Blue (The Mermaid Chronicles Book 1) by J Turbett
Killer Mine by Mickey Spillane
Stay by Chelsea Camaron
Hypno Harem by Morgan Wolfe
Almost Home by Barbara Freethy
Diary of a Crush: French Kiss by Sarra Manning
