Authors: S. L. Farrell
A Magic of Dawn (70 page)
He let the tent flap fall behind him as he left.
“You will cross the river this morning with Tototl and join the southern force with two hands of nahualli under you.”
That was the order Niente received from Tecuhtli Citlali. Atl and Tototl stood at the warrior’s side as he delivered it. His son’s face was unreadable and troubled, and Niente wondered—after the previous night’s conversation—whether the order had come from Citlali or Atl. He had to admit the sense of it—to have the former Nahual with the Tecuhtli to second-guess the new Nahual could lead to hesitation and contradictions. In the south, Niente would have no rival . . . and neither would Atl with the main force. In the south, Niente would be a potent resource for the nahualli, and a tested leader. If Niente had still been Nahual, had he been looking for an overwhelming victory here instead of the chimera of his Long Path, he might have suggested something similar, sending Atl with the southern arm.
Citlali gave him no chance to argue. “Uchben Nahual, the boat with the other nahualli is waiting for you on the bank,” he told Niente. “You will leave as soon as you gather your things. Nahual Atl, I wish to discuss our strategy with you . . .” With that dismissal, Tecuhtli Citlali turned from Niente, gesturing to Atl to follow him. Atl glanced once at Niente.
“Taat,” he said, “I will see you again in the great city. Keep yourself safe.” He nodded, then followed Citlali.
Not long after, Niente found himself in a boat with three others alongside crossing the A’Sele, the brown water churned to momentary white by oars pulled by young warriors. The scent of fresh water touched his nose, though the trees on the far bank were clouded by haze in the poor vision of his one good eye. He could feel the stares of the other nahualli with him, feel their appraisal as he crouched in the stern of the small craft.
Niente looked westward down the river—they had received a message from the captain of their fleet that the river had been cleared and they were bringing the warships upriver to meet them. Niente saw no sails yet, but the river curved away in the near distance, and the fleet might have been only around the bend. The High Warrior Tototl, in one of the other boats, stared only straight ahead to the other shore.
What do I do now? This strategy was not in any of the paths I glimpsed.
He wondered if Atl had seen this, and knew where the path led. He felt lost and adrift in the currents of the present.
Can I find the Long Path in this, and if I do, dare I take it?
He’d already given up the Long Path once because of the implied cost. That vision had been clear, as if Axat had wanted him to know. Citlali’s death mattered little to Niente; a warrior expected and even welcomed death in battle. But Niente had been dead as well in that glimpse; could he truly
do
that, if that was what Axat demanded as payment? And if Axat demanded Atl’s life as well as Axat had once hinted . . .
He wondered if Atl had seen this, and knew where the path led. He felt lost and adrift in the currents of the present.
Can I find the Long Path in this, and if I do, dare I take it?
He’d already given up the Long Path once because of the implied cost. That vision had been clear, as if Axat had wanted him to know. Citlali’s death mattered little to Niente; a warrior expected and even welcomed death in battle. But Niente had been dead as well in that glimpse; could he truly
do
that, if that was what Axat demanded as payment? And if Axat demanded Atl’s life as well as Axat had once hinted . . .
His hands were shaking, and not from the damp morning chill.
Did Atl see this? Is that why you were sent away?
He wanted desperately to talk to Atl, but that was no longer possible. He felt in his pouch for the carved bird. The touch of it gave him no comfort.
The shore was growing closer; he could nearly make out the individual trees rather than just a green mass, and he glimpsed a half-dozen warriors gathered under the verdant canopy ready to escort them to the road. The prow of the boat squelched into mud on the reed-masked bank, jolting him. The warriors waiting for them hurried down the bank to help them out. He heard Tototl shouting orders. Niente allowed the warriors to pull him up onto dry land. At the top of the bank, he looked across the river once more. Through the cataract-haze, he thought he could see figures moving.
He wondered if one of them was Atl.
“By Cénzi, it’s true, then . . .” Jan’s hand prowled his beard. His eyes widened, and Brie could swear there was genuine shock in them. Not just feigned surprise. Perhaps she’d guessed wrongly and Jan had actually not sent the girl ahead of them to meet her in the city. “I promise you, Brie, I didn’t know she was here. That’s Cénzi’s own truth. I swear it. I know you must have been thinking that I sent Rhianna here—or Rochelle or whatever her true name is—but I never thought . . .”
“No, you didn’t,” Brie chided him. She continued to watch his face. The shock on his face had seemed genuine enough when she’d told him Sergei’s news. “She claims she’s your
daughter,
Jan.”
daughter,
Jan.”
“She told me that also.”
“She told
you
? When?”
you
? When?”
“When she took Matarh’s knife from me. It was her parting volley as she fled.” He ran his fingers through hair newly dampened by a quick bath. “She killed Rance. I
knew
it, even then. She looks so much like El—” He stopped and glanced at Brie. “Her matarh,” he finished.
knew
it, even then. She looks so much like El—” He stopped and glanced at Brie. “Her matarh,” he finished.
“So is it possible she’s telling the truth, that she’s your daughter?”
Jan’s shoulders slumped. Now his hands were plowing nervously through his hair. “I suppose so. She’s about the right age.”
“Did you ever . . . With Rhi . . . Rochelle?”
He shook his head angrily, his hand making a sweeping denial that swept air across her cheek. “No! I swear it, Brie. She never allowed me to—” He exhaled loudly. “For good reason, evidently.” He paced the dressing room in the apartments that Allesandra had given them in the palais, snatching up the padded undertunic of his Garde Civile uniform. “Brie, I’m sorry, but I can’t worry about this. Not now. I don’t know why Sergei didn’t clap her in the Bastida when he had the chance.”
She went to him, pushing his hands aside as he fumbled at the ties of the undertunic. “Here, let me do that. Is that what you want for her?” Brie asked. “The Bastida? Judgment for the deaths she’s caused?”
She felt his chest heave under her hands. “Yes. And no. I don’t know what I want, Brie. If she’s my daughter, by the White Stone . . .”
“Not your daughter. Just a
bastarda
you fathered.” She’d finished tying the laces and stepped away.
bastarda
you fathered.” She’d finished tying the laces and stepped away.
“Back then, I would have married Elissa.” This time he said the name without hesitation, and Brie found that it hurt to hear it, to hear her own daughter’s name attached to that woman. Jan’s word stung her. “I would have married her without hesitation and without my parents’ permission if they wouldn’t give it,” he continued. “The girl wouldn’t have been a
bastarda.
I’d already asked Matarh to open negotiations with Elissa’s family—or at least the family she claimed to be part of. Oh, I’ll bet Matarh is finding this a most wonderful jest.”
bastarda.
I’d already asked Matarh to open negotiations with Elissa’s family—or at least the family she claimed to be part of. Oh, I’ll bet Matarh is finding this a most wonderful jest.”
She was certain that Jan had intended the words to hurt; she forced herself to show nothing of it. “Your matarh was doing what she thought she needed to do to protect her family. As I do also, when I must.”
“Yes, that’s undoubtedly why Matarh hired the White Stone to kill Fynn; to protect her family.” He finished putting on the rest of his uniform, sitting on one of the chairs to pull on his boots. “Brie, I need to meet with ca’Damont and ca’Talin within a mark of the glass. You need to be careful—I don’t know what this Rhianna or Rochelle might be after. Cénzi alone knows who the White Stone might go after next. I’d be far more comfortable if you were out of the city entirely.”
Where you’d be free to do whatever you want.
Brie would have been more pleased if she felt that his concern was genuine and not just self-serving.
Like his matarh—his needs always come first.
“I’m staying, my husband,” Brie told him firmly. “You have your duty; I have mine. Allesandra will be directing the southern defense; I’ll help her.”
Brie would have been more pleased if she felt that his concern was genuine and not just self-serving.
Like his matarh—his needs always come first.
“I’m staying, my husband,” Brie told him firmly. “You have your duty; I have mine. Allesandra will be directing the southern defense; I’ll help her.”
“Brie . . .” He stood up, buckling on his sword belt and adjusting it.
“No, I mean it, Jan. I’ve trained with my brothers and can hold my own with them with a sword. You know that. My vatarh’s schooled me on military strategy and has even consulted with me many times in the past, when raiders came over the border from Shenkurska. Allesandra has directed armies herself—I’ve heard you screaming in frustration about some of the tactics and strategies she’s used over the last several years. I’m no less safe here in Nessantico than I would be traveling on the roads, even with an escort.”
He was shaking his head. “I know that face you’re wearing now. There’s no use talking to you.”
“Then why are you still arguing?” she asked him. She wasn’t certain whether he was irritated or whether it was simply the stress. “I don’t
want
to argue with you, my love. We need each other, and I only want you to be as safe as you can be. You’ve a destiny, Jan—to be the next Kraljiki. I want to see that happen; I intend to sit next to you on the Sun Throne.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and smiled up at him: the practiced smile, the required smile. “Now . . . Go on—meet with the Starkkapitän and the Commandant. You and I will worry about Rochelle later, when the Tehuantin are no longer a threat.”
want
to argue with you, my love. We need each other, and I only want you to be as safe as you can be. You’ve a destiny, Jan—to be the next Kraljiki. I want to see that happen; I intend to sit next to you on the Sun Throne.” She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders and smiled up at him: the practiced smile, the required smile. “Now . . . Go on—meet with the Starkkapitän and the Commandant. You and I will worry about Rochelle later, when the Tehuantin are no longer a threat.”
“And you?”
“I have my own meeting with Allesandra.”
“Not with Sergei, too?”
She shrugged. “He said he had other business this evening.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go,” she told him.
“You can’t wear the green robes,” Rochelle told Nico, and he favored her with an indulgent smile that touched his lips and vanished a breath later. It seemed his lips no longer remembered how to truly smile. Joy had vanished from life, when before it had filled him.
“There’s a large difference between ‘not permitted to’ and ‘can’t,’ ” he answered. “I’m a téni, and it’s my right to wear the robes.
More
than a right; it’s my obligation. I follow Cénzi, not that half-dead fool who calls himself the Archigos. It’s time for me to make that statement fully and to stop hiding like a criminal.”
More
than a right; it’s my obligation. I follow Cénzi, not that half-dead fool who calls himself the Archigos. It’s time for me to make that statement fully and to stop hiding like a criminal.”
“You
are
a criminal in the eyes of the Holdings and the Faith. They’ll kill you if they can.”
are
a criminal in the eyes of the Holdings and the Faith. They’ll kill you if they can.”
“They can try.” He tried to smile at her again, but it collapsed. “And there’s a large difference between ‘try’ and ‘will,’ too. You needn’t look so worried, little sister.”
She shrugged. They were on the second floor of one of the Morelli safe houses in Oldtown; the owner—a draper—had been visibly distressed to see Nico there, but had dismissed his apprentices for the rest of the day, sent his family to visit cousins two streets over, and had agreed to send out the word to the remaining Morelli sect that the Absolute desired to meet with them.
Nico had also learned that Ancel had been among those captured and executed after the storming of the Old Temple—another soul laid at his feet, another death for which he must atone. There were so many, and they weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wanted to fall to his knees under them.
Liana, Ancel, I promise you—I will find peace for you . . .
He could still see the face of his and Liana’s daughter snuggled in Varina’s arms. He could feel Sera’s fingers wrapped around his, clutching him as if she knew she belonged to him. That memory, and the memory of Liana and Ancel and all of those who had died for him caused tears to gather in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.
Downstairs, among the draperies hung on wires waiting to be arranged into folds, Nico could hear the buzz and rumble of conversation through the floorboards: several of the war-téni had slipped away from the temple to come here; there were also, he was told, many of Brezno’s war-téni present as well, who had entered the city over the last few days following after the train of the Firenzcian army. He’d already talked to some of them—Archigos Karrol had declared that all war-téni would be sent to the battlefield with Hïrzg Jan tomorrow.
“We won’t go, if that’s what you tell us, Absolute.”
They’d all told him that. They’d all sworn that they would follow him rather than the Archigos, if he asked them. Their loyalty gratified him at the same time that it added to the guilt he bore.
They’d all told him that. They’d all sworn that they would follow him rather than the Archigos, if he asked them. Their loyalty gratified him at the same time that it added to the guilt he bore.
How can you follow me after what I’ve done, after my failures? How can you still have faith when I struggle with it?
Nico still wasn’t sure what he intended to tell them. He would leave that to Cénzi. But he suspected he already knew. The choices had narrowed with the arrival of the Westlanders, and he had spent the night before praying to Cénzi for guidance while Rochelle watched him, her face more curious than devout. She reminded him of Elle, her matarh and Nico’s adopted-matarh.
What did you do to her, Elle? Did you twist her beyond saving?
What did you do to her, Elle? Did you twist her beyond saving?
But he couldn’t worry about Rochelle now. Not yet. His followers, those who were left, waited for him, and the words of Cénzi burned inside him. “Let’s go,” he told Rochelle, holding out his hand to her. “It’s time.”
He let her descend first, then followed her down the stairs. The astringent smell of dyes and the stiffeners for the fabric was strong in the single large room below, a room that also functioned as a store and showroom for the draper.
There were at least five double hands of people crowded into the space, packed so tightly that the air was heated with their presence. No greetings split that atmosphere as he appeared; everyone seemed as somber as Nico felt himself. He gave them the sign of Cénzi, and bowed to them meekly as they returned the gesture. A few lamps set on the draper’s walls provided the only light, but he could see many green robes like the one he wore, even though their faces were largely unfamiliar. He could feel their stares on his bruised and battered face, on the purple blotches that covered his forearms, at the way he limped as he descended the stairs. He saw them gazing curiously at Rochelle.
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