A Magic of Nightfall nc-2

by S L Farrell

  Allesandra nodded, pleased at the news: that removes one impediment to our affair. “They are. I’m certain the rest will do her constitution wonders-though I hope it doesn’t leave you too lonely.” She pressed his hands again.

  He smiled at that, perhaps a bit too broadly. She saw one of his o’tenis raise her eyebrows in their direction, and Allesandra released Semini’s hands. “I’m certain that work will prevent me from missing Francesca too much. There will be much that the Faith can do to help the new Hirzg, don’t you think?”

  “I know that Jan will be most grateful to you, Archigos. As will I.” She glanced over to the close knot of people around Jan. He was smiling broadly, shaking hands and touching shoulders, and there were young women gathered all around him. Despite his earlier apprehension, he seemed to be enjoying himself. The nascent knot in Allesandra’s stomach eased somewhat. Commandant cu’Gottering remained at his side, watching closely, his hand never far from the sword at his side. Allesandra suspected that despite the gilded elegance of the hilt, the commandant’s blade was quite serviceable. For that matter, she knew that Semini himself was an excellent war-teni, and had no doubt others of the teni with him were the same.

  Jan was safe here. She could enjoy the evening, and enjoy watching the social maneuvers of the ca’-and’cu’ who had been invited. “Since Councilor ca’Cellibrecca can’t be here,” she said to Semini, “perhaps you would dance with me later?”

  White teeth glistened through the salt-and-pepper beard; he bowed his head slightly. “I would greatly enjoy that. Would you care to walk with me, A’Hirzg?-my teni have put a lovely display in the garden, and I would like to show it to you.” He held out his arm to her. She hesitated a moment-the ca’-and’cu’ might not be paying as much attention to her as to her son, but they would notice. They always noticed. But she slipped her hand into the proffered arm and let him escort her to one of the balconies off the upper balcony of the hall. His o’teni, she noticed, carefully arranged themselves at the balcony doors as they passed through, facing into the room so that when Allesandra glanced back, she saw nothing but green-clad backs, though the door remained politely open.

  “They’re well-trained,” she said, and Semini grinned.

  “And they’re very discreet. Look,” he said, moving to the left side of the balcony, where even if someone tried to look out from the hall over the wall of the o’teni, they wouldn’t easily see the two of them. Below, the gardens of Brezno Palais were alight with balls of glowing light that wafted gently along the paths: achingly deep purples, searing blues, brilliant reds, greens the color of spring grass, yellows more intense than summer flowers. The night was comfortably cool and the stars mimicked the garden in a sky decorated with silver clouds. Couples from the reception wandered the maze of the gardens, hand in hand.

  Semini’s warmth covered her back, his arms around her, pressing her against him. “I’ve missed you, Allesandra.”

  “Semini…” She leaned back into his embrace, feeling the desire rising up in her. He smelled of soap and the oil on his hair and musk. She imagined herself astride him, moving with him…

  She turned in his arms, lifting her face to him. They kissed, and she felt the soft bristle of his beard on her cheeks and the thrust of his tongue into her mouth, his hands slipping lower to cup her buttocks and press her against him. She let herself fall into that kiss, closing her eyes and just allowing herself to feel, to notice how the heat moved through her like a slow, relentless tide. She broke off reluctantly, her breath nearly a sob, turning again to relax against his body. She stared out into the light, at the lovers stealing secret moments in the garden below. “Semini-” she began…

  … But a welling of noise from inside the hall pushed her away from him, guiltily. They could hear shouting, and even as Allesandra-worriedly-turned, she heard one of the o’teni speaking too loudly: “… let me get the Archigos for you…”

  Commandant cu’Gottering pushed open the balcony doors and strode out into the night with a trio of o’teni trailing ineffectively behind. “A’Hirzg, Archigos,” he said. Whatever thoughts he might have had on seeing the two of them close together and alone on the balcony were carefully hidden. “Your presence is required in the hall.”

  “What’s the matter, Commandant?” Allesandra asked. “I heard shouting. Is Jan…”

  “The Hirzg is fine,” he told her. “There is news, and a… guest. Please-” He gestured to the door; Allesandra and Semini followed him back into the brilliance of the palais and to the balcony stairs. Allesandra could see a quartet of Garde Hirzg around Jan as the ca’-and-cu’ gaped, and with them a travel-worn man. Halfway down the stairs, the man turned, and in the light, she saw the gleam of metal on his face: a nose formed of bright silver. And the face…

  Allesandra felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew him. She knew him very well, and that he was here in Brezno seemed impossible.

  Eneas cu’Kinnear

  Nessantico…

  Eneas very nearly wept when he saw her spires and golden domes again, when he glimpsed the pearly strand of the Avi a’Parete glowing in the night, when he heard the wind-horns of the Archigos’ Temple plaintively announcing the Calls to prayer. The great city, the greatest of all cities: she was a sight that, many times during his service in the Hellins, he had doubted he would ever be permitted to see again.

  And he would not have had the pleasure had Cenzi not blessed him with His favor. Of that, Eneas was certain-no, he would have died in the Hellins. Should have died there. He had stopped the carriage on Bentspine Hill, outside the city along the Avi a’Sutegate, and stepped out, gesturing to the driver to go on. As the carriage rattled away down the hill toward Sutegate and the familiar landmarks, Eneas went to a knee, clasped hands to forehead, and gave a prayer of thanksgiving to Cenzi.

  There is still a task left for you to do, he heard Cenzi reply, as Eneas gazed down at the wonderfully-familiar landscape before him, at the River A’Sele glittering as it embraced the Isle a’Kralji, the four arcing bridges over its waters. Then you will have truly repaid Me, and I will take you fully into My embrace…

  Eneas smiled and rose, and walked slowly down to the city he loved.

  By that evening, he had given Commandant ca’Sibelli’s papers and his own verbal report to the office of the Garde Civile, though the e’offizier there had seemed distracted and on edge. “Is there news from the Hellins?” Eneas asked. “More recent than what I’ve told you?”

  The e’offizier shook his head. “Yours is the latest report we’ve heard, O’Offizer.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between the two of us, I know that Commandant cu’Ulcai is very concerned-he’s expected a messenger fast-ship from the Hellins for the last few weeks and it hasn’t come. As for events here in the city, well…” The man told him about the Regent’s escape, how the Numetodo had been a part of it, and the execution of Commandant cu’Falla of the Garde Kralji as punishment. He leaned forward to whisper to Eneas. “Go to the Pontica a’Brezi Veste and you’ll see his body swaying in its gibbet as food for the crows. Between you and me, that has Commandant cu’Ulcai worried, since both he and cu’Falla were proteges of the Regent and appointed by his hand. The Kraljiki Audric, may Cenzi bless him, may not trust those who have the whiff of loyalty to the old Regent. We can hope that Kraljiki Audric will turn out to be as strong and wise as his great-matarh, but…” The e’offizier shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. “Only Cenzi knows.”

  “Indeed,” Eneas answered. “Only Cenzi knows. That is only the truth.”

  The offizier stamped his papers, informing Eneas that Commandant cu’Ulcai’s schedule was full this day but that he might call for Eneas to give his report in person, and that he was released from other duties for the next week. He was given a room and a key, and Eneas put his pack there, placing it carefully away from the fire in the hearth and the window where the sun’s heat might find it.

  Then, he walked down the Avi a’Parete to t
he square where the Archigos’ Temple sat, pigeons dotting the flagstones and flying overhead in military-precise squadrons to settle again where someone may have dropped food. Eneas walked slowly, savoring the sights and odors of the city, the taste of the air rich in his mouth. The city wrapped its presence around him like a matarh, embracing him wholly in its perfumed miasma, and he nearly sobbed with the sheer relief of it. People were streaming into the square from the Avi, and he realized that it was nearly Second Call just as the wind-horns began to sound from the great golden domes. Eneas joined the people streaming into the temple. Some of them recognized the uniform he wore, with the red sash of the Hellins prominent across it, and they nodded to him with a smile and gestured to him to enter the line. “Thank you for your service, Offizier,” they told him. “We appreciate all that you’re doing over there.” Eneas smiled back to them as he passed the great bronze doors with the tangled bodies of the Moitidi streaming forth from the riven chest of Cenzi, and entered the cool, incense-scented dimness of the temple.

  He sat close to the quire, just below the High Lectern, leaning his head back to gaze upward to the distant, ribbed roof. Through the colored glass high above him, brilliant light stabbed the twilight. He could hear the chanting of the acolytes in their alcove as the wind-horns quieted and the procession of the teni entered the quire from the rear entrance. He stood with the rest of the congregation, smiling with pleasure as he realized that it was the Archigos himself who would be giving the Admonition and Blessing today: Cenzi had indeed rewarded him. When Eneas had left Nessantico, so long ago, it had been Archigos Ana who had given the departing battalion their Blessing, here in this very space.

  Now it would be her successor who would bless him again, when he had a new, greater task to take on.

  Eneas listened patiently to the Archigos’ Admonition. The Admonition, strangely to Eneas, was filled with a call for tolerance, as Archigos Kenne plucked verse after verse from the Toustour that spoke of respect for diverse views; he cautioned those in the temple not to rush to judgment. “Sometimes, the truth is hidden even from those who are closest. Let Cenzi judge others, not us.” That, at least, was advice Eneas could follow, with Cenzi’s voice guiding him.

  After the ceremony, Eneas went up to the rail with the other supplicants. Archigos Kenne moved slowly down the line, stopping to talk with each of them. To Eneas’ eyes, the elderly teni looked weary and tired. His voice was a rasping husk, telling Eneas that he (or one of the other teni) had enhanced it with the Ilmodo so that it sounded strong and confident as he gave his Admonition. Eneas bowed his head and gave the sign of Cenzi as the Archigos, with the scent of incense clinging to his robes, shuffled before him. “Ah, an offizier of the Garde Civile,” the Archigos said. “And with the sash of the Westlands, no less. We owe you our gratitude for your service, O’Offizier. How long did you serve there?”

  “For longer than I wish to remember, Archigos. I’ve just returned to Nessantico this day.”

  The Archigos’ wrinkled, desiccated hand brushed Eneas’ bowed head, fingers pressing on oiled hair. “Then let the Blessing of Cenzi welcome you back to the city. Is there a particular blessing I can offer you, O’Offizer?”

  Eneas lifted his head. The Archigos’ eyes were gray-white with nascent cataracts; his head had a persistent slight tremor. But his smile seemed genuine, and Eneas found himself smiling back in return. “I’m a simple warrior,” Eneas told him. “An offizier serves the orders he’s given. I’ve taken many lives, Archigos, more than I can count, and will undoubtedly take more before my service is ended.”

  “And you want Cenzi’s forgiveness for that?” the Archigos said. His smile broadened. “You were only performing your duty, and-”

  “No,” Eneas interrupted, shaking his head. “I don’t regret what I’ve done, Archigos.”

  The smile collapsed, uncertain. “Then what…?”

  “I would like to meet the Kraljiki,” Eneas told him. “He should know what is happening in the Hellins. What is truly happening.”

  “I’m sure that the Kraljiki hears from the commandant-” the Archigos began, but Cenzi was talking to Eneas, and he spoke the words he heard in his head.

  “Commandant ca’Sibelli is dead by now,” he said loudly. “Ask the Kraljiki what news has come from the Hellins. He will not have heard anything at all, Archigos. There is no news from the Hellins because there is no one left there to send it. Not anymore. Ask the Kraljiki, and when he says that the fast-ships haven’t come, tell him that I can give him the report that he needs to hear. I am the only one who can. Here-” Eneas placed a calling card with his name and current address on the rail. “Please ask him when you see him next,” Eneas said. “That is the boon and blessing I request of you, Archigos. Only that. And Cenzi requests it of you as well. Listen? Can’t you hear His voice? Listen, Archigos. He is calling to you through me.”

  “My son…” the Archigos began, but Eneas stopped him.

  “I’m not a soldier whose mind was addled by what he’s seen, Archigos. I was saved by Cenzi to bring this message to the Kraljiki. I give you my hand on that,” he told the Archigos, and reached out. Eneas heard Cenzi’s deep bass voice boom in his head as he touched the elderly man’s wrist: “Listen to him. I command it.” And the Archigos’ eyes widened as if he’d heard the voice, too. He pulled his hand away, and the voice died.

  “Ask the Kraljiki for me,” Eneas told him. “That’s all I wish. Ask him.” Eneas smiled at the Archigos and rose to his feet. The other supplicants and the teni in attendance were all staring at him. Archigos Kenne gaped, looking down at his own hand as if it were something foreign.

  Eneas gave them all the sign of Cenzi and walked from the temple, his boots loud in the silence.

  Niente

  The forces of Tecuhtli Zolin and the Tehuantin army were arrayed a careful bow’s shot away from the thick defensive walls of Munereo.

  Three days of battle had sent the Garde Civile retreating inside the walls. Tecuhtli Zolin had been both aggressive and unmerciful in his attack. Commandant ca’Sibelli had sent a parley group to the Tehuantin encampment after the first day of battle, when Zolin had routed the Garde Civile from rich, high fields south of the city. Niente had been there when the parley group had arrived flying their white flag; he had watched Zolin order his personal guards to kill them and send their severed heads back to Commandant ca’Sibelli as answer.

  They had attacked the main force of the Garde Civile at dawn the next morning; by that evening, they were within sight of the Munereo walls and the harbor, with the Holdings fleet at anchor there.

  Now it was dawn again, and Tecuhtli Zolin had called Niente to him. Zolin reclined on a nest of colorful pillows; the High Warriors Citlali and Mazatl were with him also. Behind him, an artisan crouched over Zolin’s freshly-shaved head; next to the artisan was a small table crowded with dragon-claw needles and pots of dye. Zolin’s scalp had been painted with the spread-winged eagle that was the insignia of the Tecuhtli; now the artisan prepared to mark the skin permanently. He took a needle, dipped it into red dye, and pressed it into Zolin’s scalp: the warrior grimaced slightly. “The nahuallis’ preparations are finished?” Zolin asked Niente as the artisan quickly dipped the needle again and pressed it into Zolin’s head, over and over. Blood beaded and trickled down; the artisan wiped it away with a cloth.

  “Yes, Tecuhtli,” Niente told him. “Our spell-staffs have been renewed-for those healthy enough to do so.” He lifted his own staff, displaying the carved eagles that circled below the polished, thick knob. “We lost two hands of nahualli in the battle; another hand and one are too wounded to be of use today. All the rest are ready.” Niente nodded to the two High Warriors. “I’ve placed them as Citlali and Mazatl have asked.”

  “And the black sand?”

  “It’s been prepared,” Niente told him. “I supervised that myself.”

  “The scrying bowl? What did it say to you?”

  Niente had spent much of t
he night peering into the waters, which had given him only murky and clouded visions, as well as exhaustion and a face and hands that seemed to have acquired a webbing of fine wrinkles overnight. Niente had found himself confused by the quick glimpses of possible futures. But he knew what Zolin wanted to hear, and he plucked one of those fleeting visions from his mind. “I saw you inside the city, Tecuhtli, and the Holdings Commander at your feet.”

  Zolin grinned broadly. “Then it’s time,” Zolin said. He rose, nearly knocking over the artisan, who scurried backward as Zolin plucked up his sword. He patted his bleeding head, smiling. “This can be finished later. The battle can’t wait.”

  They went outside the tent, guards straightening to attention as they emerged. From the small hill on which the Tecuhtli’s tent stood, they could see the army spread out below them, the haze of cook fires drifting in the still morning. The walls of Munereo rose high farther down the slope, and sun dazzled on the water of the bay beyond and to their right. Zolin gestured, and a trio of battle-horns sounded, the call taken up by other horns throughout the encampment, and Niente could see the entire encampment stir, like a mound of red ants stirred with a stick. The battle lines began to coalesce; the High Warriors on their horses exhorting the troops. On the walls of Munereo, the rising sun reflected from metal helms and the tips of arrows as the Holdings troops waited for the attack.

  Their own horses were brought to them, and they mounted. Citlali and Mazatl saluted Zolin and kicked their stallions into a gallop as they rode away. “You’re with me, Nahual,” Zolin said. “Now!” He, too, kicked his steed, and Niente followed the Tecuhtli’s headlong gallop down the hill to where the troops waited on the slope, nearly level with the top of Munereo’s walls, the troops moving quickly aside to let them pass, their shouts of support and adoration following.