A Magic of Dawn (59 page)

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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Dawn
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“
Cénzi’s
Gift,” Nico answered.
“Perhaps,” Sergei said. He took another swig of wine and handed the bottle to Nico, whose throat was ravaged and as dry as the Daritria desert; he took it again gratefully. “I believe in Cénzi, so, yes, I would say the gift came to you from him, but Varina certainly doesn’t, nor did Karl, and they were both nearly as gifted as you. So maybe we’re both wrong. Maybe Cénzi simply doesn’t interfere quite so directly in people’s lives.”
“If you believe that, then you deny one of the tenets of the Toustour.”
“Or perhaps I don’t believe that Cénzi is cruel enough to have wanted Liana to die and for you never to see your daughter.”
Nico started to answer. The Nico who had been Cénzi’s Voice would have had no trouble. He would have opened his mouth, and Cénzi would have filled him with the answer. His words would have burned and throbbed, and ca’Rudka would have trembled under their power. Now, he only gaped, and no words came.
When I saw her fall, my faith fell with her . . .
“I told you about the young woman I met on the way here—I told her that she still had time to change, to find a path that wouldn’t end where I am,” Sergei said. “I think that’s what Varina believes of you, Nico. She believes in you, in your gift, and she believes you can do better with it than you’ve done.”
“I do what Cénzi demands I do,” Nico answered. “That’s all.”
“I watched a Kraljiki descend into madness, listening to voices he thought he heard,” Sergei answered.
“I’m not mad.”
“Audric didn’t think he was mad either.”
“You can’t compare my relationship to Cénzi with someone who believed a painting was talking to him.”
“I can’t? At least you can see and touch a painting. You can be certain that it’s actually there. You can’t do that with Cénzi.” Sergei picked up the bread, twisted off a piece and placed it in his mouth. “What I see here,” he said, chewing and swallowing, “is that Cénzi has brought you here, but it’s
Varina
who has spared your child, your life, your hands, and your tongue, and thus your gift: a person who doesn’t believe in Cénzi, but who believes in you.”
Cénzi works through her,
he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Sergei, groaning, had sat on the bed next to the roll of leather. Nico could see loops and pockets on the inside, all of them empty, though the leather had been imprinted with the shapes of the devices that normally resided there. Ominous dark stains dappled the interior. “Finish what you want of the food and wine, but quickly,” Sergei said. “I have other appointments today, and I’m afraid I have to put this back on.” He lifted the silencer, dangling by a strap from his finger. Nico’s mouth suddenly filled with the memory of the ancient, soiled leather and he nearly vomited. “You should think about this, Nico,” the man continued. “You’ve nothing else to do, after all.”
“You act like you have something to offer me.”
“I do,” Sergei answered easily. “Your life, and whatever comfort you have with it.”
“In exchange for what?”
Sergei groaned again as he rose. “We can start with a declaration from you to the war-téni, telling them that they should return to their duties and give themselves to the authority of the Faith once more.”
“Cénzi told me that they should not fight,” Nico persisted. “He said that the Tehuantin are a punishment for the failure of the Faith, the failure of the Archigos and the a’Téni. How can I deny Cénzi’s very words to me, Ambassador?”
“There are two ways,” Sergei answered. “You can do so of your own will, or I can return here tomorrow with a different gift for you.” Sergei glanced back at the bed, where the empty roll lay. “Either way, you
will
make that statement. I promise you that. It’s for you to decide how. Either way, I’ll get something I want.” He smiled at Nico. “You see, it’s too late for
me
to change.”
Sergei lifted the silencer; the buckles on the straps jingled. “I really must go now,” he said, “but I’ll return. Tomorrow. And you can tell me what you’ve decided.”
 
Jan ca’Ostheim
 
T
HE VANGUARD OF THE ARMY was still a day or more away under the direction of the a’offiziers, but Jan rode ahead of the troops with Archigos Karrol and Starkkapitän ca’Damont, as well as several of the Firenzcian chevarittai.
He’d not been in Nessantico in fifteen years, not since Firenzcia had last come to the Holdings’ aid against the Tehuantin. He’d forgotten how magnificent the city looked. They’d halted on the crest of the last hill along the Avi a’Firenzcia, where they could see Nessantico laid out before them on either side of the glittering expanse of the A’Sele. When he’d last glimpsed Nessantico, it had been cloaked in fire and ruin, nearly destroyed. The city had rebuilt itself anew. The domes of the temples were golden, the white spires of the Kraljica’s Palais seemed to nearly prick the clouds from the Isle a’Kralji, and the city utterly filled the flat hollow that held it. Even tarnished and threatened, the city was magnificent.
“It
is
a stunning sight, isn’t it, my Hïrzg?” Archigos Karrol said. The Archigos, with his bent spine, couldn’t ride a horse, but he’d descended from his carriage to take in the scene, standing on the road next to Jan’s stallion. “But I still prefer Brezno and our terraces.”
Jan wasn’t certain that he entirely agreed. Yes, Brezno had its beauties as a city, and there were vistas on approach that made a traveler stop and gaze, but this . . . There was a power here, somehow. Maybe it came from the multitudes of people here, thousands more than Brezno held. Maybe it was a product of the long history of the city, which had seen empires rise and fall, which had become the seat of the greatest empire ever seen, at least on this side of the Strettosei. Even Jan felt the tug of it.
This will be yours soon enough. All of it . . . If you can save it now.
“Look,” Starkkapitän ca’Damont said, pointing. “The Avi’s crowded with people at the Eastern Gate. The evacuation’s already begun. The Tehuantin must be close.” He leaned forward on the saddle of his horse, peering down at the vista in front of them. “I wonder if they’re coming from the North Bank, the South, or both. If we can engage them before they reach the city itself, we should. Without the war-téni, especially, we need to keep them from the city.” Ca’Damont cast a venomous glance at Archigos Karrol, but the man seemed to be staring down at the road.
“There will be war-téni from the temples here,” Archigos Karrol said. “You will have the war-téni you need.”
“Let’s hope so,” ca’Damont answered curtly. “But it seems they’d rather follow Morel than you.”
“We’ll find out what the situation is soon enough,” Jan said quickly, interrupting the response that Archigos Karrol started to make. “Archigos, if you’ll return to your carriage, we’ll ride on. If we make good time, we could be within the walls by Third Call.”
As Archigos Karrol, helped by the quartet of his aide ténis, climbed slowly back to his carriage seat, Jan stared westward toward the city, and especially to the Isle a’Kralji and the palais. He wondered if his matarh was there, and how she felt about his impending arrival. He wondered if she both dreaded and looked forward to it all at once, contradictorily.
As he did.
“Let’s go,” he said to the others, waving his hand. “The city awaits us.”
 
They entered along the Avi a’Firenzcia, proceeding slowly toward the Eastern Gate of the city. The city
was
beginning to evacuate, the road clogged with people and carts, most of them moving away from Nessantico. The people were largely women with children, along with some elderly men—conspicuously absent were able-bodied men; Jan assumed that the Garde Kralji and Garde Civile were pressing them into service of the defense of the city. The houses and buildings along the Avi became more numerous and set closer to the main road as they approached, until they were moving between tightly-packed houses even though they were still outside the city walls proper. Someone had alerted the authorities; as they moved on, suddenly the citizenry was pausing to stop and cheer, and people were peering at them from windows and balconies, waving their hands and producing battered and ancient banners in the Firenzcian colors of black and silver—banners that had evidently been moldering in chests for years. Jan could see many of them looking eastward along the Avi as if expecting to see the army immediately following them, then looking back to them in puzzlement.
He heard his name being called out, greeting him as if he had already liberated the city. “Hïrzg Jan! Hïrzg Jan!” The chevarittai with him smiled, but they also closed ranks around him protectively, and they watched the houses and the growing crowds carefully for any signs of trouble.
Too many of them had fought against Holdings troops. Too many of them had felt the enmity of the Holdings to the Coalition. Like Jan, they wondered what the real thoughts were behind the cheers.
By the time they could see the the ancient gates looming ahead of them, the crowds had grown even larger, filling either side of the street. There were people waving from atop the remnants of the old city walls, and every window and balcony was filled. Starkkapitän ca’ Damont leaned over toward Jan. “You’d think the Tehuantin were already running back across the sea.”
Jan shrugged. “I think they’re remembering that when I last brought the army here, we came after the Tehuantin had already taken the city. They’re hoping that this means they’re saved. Though judging by the faces ahead of us, some people are less convinced of that.”
He nodded toward where the blue-and-gold banner of the Holdings waved in the middle of the Avi just under the ramparts of the city gate. One of the group there wore the livery of the Kraljica’s staff; the rest seemed to be a contingent of chevarittai and—judging by the fancy bashtas of two or three—members of the Council of Ca’.
If the citizens were smiling, they were not. They were entirely grim-faced and solemn. Jan found himself somehow disappointed that Allesandra herself wasn’t there, though he knew that—had the Kraljica deigned to visit Brezno—he would have done the same, would have let her come to him.
Jan felt keenly now the loss of his aide Rance, who would have been riding alongside him and who would have been able to identify many of the people waiting for them. “Do you know them?” Jan asked ca’Damont, leaning toward the Starkkapitän. “Is that Matarh’s aide? What’s his name? Talbot ci’Noel or something like that . . .”
“Talbot ci’Noel it is, I believe,” ca’Damont answered. “And that’s probably him. The other ones . . .” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of the councillors other than Vajica ca’Pallo, and she’s not present. I’m sorry, Hïrzg.” Jan saw his eyes narrow then. “That man behind ci’Noel, dressed Magyarian style. I would swear that’s Erik ca’Vikej, that traitor Stor’s son. Look at that smirk on his face—this could be a trap, Hïrzg.”
Ca’Damont’s hand had gone to his sword hilt, and Jan touched his arm. “Not now,” he told the Starkkapitän. “Matarh wouldn’t be that obvious. Let’s get the lay of the land first.”
The aide ci’Noel stepped forward with the councillors as Jan reached them, his chevarittai moving aside to let Jan be the first to enter the city. The aide bowed low; the councillors less so. “Hïrzg Jan,” he said. “I welcome you again to Nessantico after far too long an absence. Kraljica Allesandra sends her greetings and her gratitude, and she awaits you at the palais. If you will permit us to escort you to her . . .”
“Thank you, Vajiki ci’Noel,” Jan answered, pleased when the man nodded in acknowledgment—the name was either right or close enough. “And Councillors and Chevarittai,” he said to the others. He ignored ca’Vikej. It would have been better to have called a few of the councillors and chevarittai out by name, but instead he simply inclined his head to them. “This is Starkkapitän ca’Damont of the Garde Civile, and—” He had heard the carriage door open, and glanced back to see the Archigos being helped down. “Archigos Karrol,” he finished.
Ci’Noel inclined his head to ca’Damont, but significantly did not give Archigos Karrol the sign of Cénzi. Instead, he bowed to him as he might to anyone. Jan remembered then that his matarh’s aide was one of the Numetodo. Archigos Karrol was frowning, his hands halfway up to his bowed forehead to return the the expected sign. The councillors and chevarittai, however, did clasp their hands to forehead, and the Archigos returned their gesture perfunctorily, with a visible scowl. “Welcome, Starkkapitän,” ci’Noel said. “I’m certain that Commandant ca’Talin will welcome your arrival and your advice; he will be waiting at the palais also. Archigos, you’re welcome as well, especially since A’Téni ca’Paim’s death has left the Faithful here bereft of leadership. I know Commandant ca’Talin is desperate for the help of your war-téni.”

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