by S L Farrell
“Commandant cu’Ulcai,” Sigourney said, her voice as cracked as her face, “the news you bring…” She stopped, her single eye closing. When it opened again, her voice was sharper. “You have failed us.”
“I am sorry, Kraljica,” the commandant said. “You should have my resignation letter in hand already.”
“I do,” she said. “But I won’t be accepting it.” When cu’Ulcai lifted his face with a faint hope, she scowled down at him. “That is not for any reason other than the fact that we have too few offiziers with your experience,” she told him. “You have failed with the Westlanders, and the stain on your record won’t easily be erased. I intend to have Aleron ca’Gerodi direct the defense of Nessantico should these barbarians be foolish enough to continue their advance. Had my brother been here…” With that, her lips trembled and a glimmer of moisture appeared in her eye. She took a sip of the cuore della volpe. “As for you-let us see how well you fare against an enemy you should know better. I am sending you east, Commandant cu’Ulcai, to direct our forces against the army of Firenzcia. Odil ca’Mazzak of the Council will be accompanying you, and you will both leave tomorrow.” She waved an arm to him in dismissal. “I assume you have preparations to make, Commandant.”
Cu’Ulcai rose, bowed deeply to the Kraljica, and walked from the hall, loud in the silence that followed him. When he had left, Kraljica Sigourney sighed.
“I don’t trust the man,” Odil ca’Mazzak muttered. “He’s another offizier with ties to the traitor Regent.”
“Unfortunately, he’s the best we have,” Kraljica Sigourney answered. “Odil, we need to go over the negotiation points you’ll be discussing with the Firenzcians. Archigos, I need you to beat the drums against the Numetodo-for two reasons: to placate Firenzcia, and so that we know we don’t have traitors here in the city when we’re facing enemies on either side. I expect to hear aggressive Admonitions from you and all your teni starting with the Third Call services.”
Kenne knew she anticipated no objection from him; she’d already turned away from him before she finished speaking. She thought he would nod and agree and say nothing. Once, she would have been right.
Once. But there was Karl’s visit, and there was the specter of the false Archigos Semini ca’Cellibrecca looming on the horizon and all that would mean. And there was the memory of Ana and the freedom and leniency she’d fought for over the years.
“No,” he said. “I won’t do that.”
The silence that followed was lengthy. Kraljica Sigourney’s single eye blinked. “No,” she repeated, the word like the tolling of a funeral bell. “Did I hear you correctly, Archigos?”
He nodded. “You’re…” His throat was dry. He swallowed, trying to dredge up some moisture. “You’re wrong about the Numetodo, Kraljica,” he told her. “You’re wrong in believing that it was their magic that killed Kraljiki Audric and injured you. It wasn’t them.”
Another solo blink. The other councillors watched the two of them, silent. “It wasn’t? And how is it that you know this?”
“Because I’ve actually spoken with Ambassador ca’Vliomani. I’ve heard his explanations, and I’ve investigated on my own what he’s discovered.”
“Karl Vliomani-” the prominent lack of a prefix to his surname lay heavy in the air, “-is a fugitive whose life is currently forfeit. You tell me that he came to you, and you let him leave? ”
Kenne shivered at the tone of her voice. “He came to me, yes, and he showed me this,” he told her. He brought out a small glass vial from under his green robes. In it, the black sand glistened. “Watch.” He rose from his seat, shuffling across the dais and down to the floor of the hall. He walked several strides away from the throne, then unstoppered the vial and let the black sand drizzle to the tiles. He came back to the dais; his knees cracking like dry twigs as he ascended the steps. “Everyone agrees that Eneas cu’Kinnear used a spell to create flame-but that was a teni’s spell and not a Numetodo’s. Cu’Kinnear was once an acolyte of the Faith and had some instruction in the use of Ilmodo. He very likely knew that spell; it’s one of the first taught to the new students. Look…”
Kenne lifted his hands, letting them dance in the quick pattern as his voice chanted the brief phrases that were required. A moment later, a yellow flame shivered in the air between his hands. “You’ve all seen this a thousand times-every night when the lamps are lit along the Avi a’Parete. This is no different…”
He opened his hands, beginning a new chant, and the flame drifted away from his hand, floating out from the dais until it hovered above the black sand. There, he lowered his hands slowly, and the flame responded in kind, dropping down until it nearly touched the dark pile-
The ka-WHUMP of the explosion was louder than even Kenne expected, and the flash hurt his eyes. White smoke billowed upward, spreading out in the hall, and an acrid, sharp smell followed. He heard a clang as the goblet of cuore della volpe fell from the arm of the Sun Throne to the floor. Kraljica Sigourney was breathing heavily on the throne, hand up in front of her face as if trying to shield herself-she looked to be trying to stand on her single leg, grasping for the cane at her right hand. Several of the councillors were on their feet, shouting, and the doors to the hall were flung open by gardai, entering with their swords drawn. “Kraljica?”
Her hands came down. Kenne heard her breath slow. She waved the gardai away. “That smell…” she muttered. “I remember that most of all.” She turned slowly to the Archigos. “This is not magic?” she said. “How can that not be the Ilmodo, Archigos?”
“Because it is only alchemy,” Kenne told her, “a combination of ingredients that reacts violently when it comes into contact with fire. There were traces of this black sand in the wood of the High Lectern after Archigos Ana was killed; the same traces were in the Sun Throne and on the body of Kraljiki Audric.”
“The Numetodo claim that faith in Cenzi isn’t required to use magic, that anyone can do it, that it’s no more complicated than being a baker. They look at rocks shaped like shells and skulls and concoct strange theories, they conduct experiments-in alchemy as in other ‘sciences’ as well as magic. That seems to me to indict the Numetodo.” That was Odil ca’Mazzack. He glared at the Archigos, and the Kraljica nodded at his words.
“I’m telling you that this is not from the Numetodo,” Kenne persisted.
“Even when Vliomani just happens to be the one who has shown you this,” Odil retorted scornfully. “Seems a strange leap of logic.”
“The black sand is a Westlander concoction,” Kenne told them. “Here’s the logic, Councillor. Eneas cu’Kinnear had just returned from the service in the Hellins. You’ll also remember that Commandant cu’Ulcai has just told us how the Westlanders were able to tear down the walls of Villembouchure with explosions similar to those that killed Archigos Ana and Kraljiki Audric.”
“And he said the explosions were the magic of the Westlander war-teni, these ‘nahualli.’ ” Odil shook his graying head. The extra skin around his throat wobbled with the motion. “I think the Archigos is mis-”
“No!” This time Kenne nearly shouted the word, stamping a foot on the ground at the same time. “I am not mistaken. I know you all think of me as a doddering old fool who’s a poor pale shadow of what an Archigos should be. There you might be right, but you are wrong in this. Worse than wrong-I have evidence that makes me believe that the false Archigos Semini was involved in the assassination of Archigos Ana. And if that is the case…” He stopped, out of breath. They were staring at him, all of them, as if they might at a child who was throwing a tantrum. “We need the Numetodo, Kraljica, Councillors,” he continued, lowering his voice. “We need their skills, their magic, and we need their knowledge. Nessantico is about to be under siege from both west and east, and we can’t afford to lose those who can help us.”
There was a long, painful silence. Odil licked his lips and sat. The other Council members lowered their heads, glancing at each other. Kraljica Sigourney sta
red outward to the dark stain on the tiles. “We will consider what you have said, Archigos,” she said finally, and he knew what that meant.
He grunted, lifting himself from his seat again. He took the staff of the Archigos in his right hand-the cracked globe wrapped in the naked, writhing bodies of the Moitidi-and gave the Kraljica the sign of Cenzi with the left. Again, he shuffled his way from the dais. As he passed the spot where the black sand had exploded, he stopped. The tiles there had broken. He picked up one of the larger pieces: the soft blue glaze razor sharp along one edge, the smooth surface stained with what looked to be soot. The smell of the black sand was strong. Kenne hefted the chunk of tile and let it fall, and the sound was that of a dish breaking. He watched bits of the tile bounce and scatter.
“All of Nessantico could look like this,” he told them. “All of it.”
There was no answer. He tapped the end of the Archigos’ staff on the tile and shuffled on.
Sergei ca’Rudka
The Parley tent was arrayed in the field between the two forces: just off the Avi a’Firenzcia and about halfway between Passe a’Fiume and Nessantico. As they approached, Sergei could already see the shadowed forms of Odil ca’Mazzack and Aubri cu’Ulcai under the white fabric, along with U’Teni Petros cu’Magnaoi, there as the Archigos’ representative. The Firenzcian delegation was Sergei, A’Hirzg Allesandra, and Starkkapitan ca’Damont, accompanied by the required array of chevarittai and attendants. Since neither the Kraljica nor Archigos Kenne were present, the Hirzg and Archigos Semini, at Sergei’s suggestion, remained behind. Neither one of them had been pleased with the arrangement.
“Matarh, I should be there,” Jan had insisted. “I am the Hirzg and whatever happens there should be, must be my decision.” He had glared at Sergei, at his matarh.
“So it will be, Hirzg,” Sergei told the young man. “I promise you that. But for you to be there…” He shook his head. “You are the Hirzg, as you said. There is no peer in that tent for you; there is no peer in the tent for the Archigos either. You, Hirzg Jan, can’t be expected to parley on equal terms with Odil ca’Mazzak, who is just a member of the Council of Ca’-you would be lowering yourself to do so. I can tell you that it’s exactly what they want you to do. It would be an admission that the Hirzg of the Coalition is someone who is lesser than the Kraljica of the Holdings.”
He had looked to Allesandra and the glowering Archigos then. “You asked me to give you my knowledge, to help you. That is what I’m doing here. Appearances matter. They matter a great deal. They especially matter to those in the Kraljica’s Palais.”
In the end, with Allesandra’s support, he had won the argument. Jan, at least, had been somewhat gracious about it. The Archigos had stalked off angrily, and they had heard him complaining throughout the encampment for the next few turns of the glass.
As the Firenzcian contingent dismounted and servants took their weapons and horses and offered refreshments, the Nessanticans came forward. Sergei clasped cu’Ulcai’s arm warmly, smiling at his longtime offizier. “Aubri,” he said, “I wish we could have met again under better circumstances. I heard what happened with poor Aris…” He clasped the man on the shoulder and gave the sign of Cenzi to U’Teni cu’Magnaoi. “Petros, it’s good to see you also. How is Archigos Kenne?”
“He is well, sir, and sends his blessing to you,” the older man answered.
Sergei leaned close to the man as he hugged him. “Has Kenne received my messages?” he whispered into the older man’s ear. “Does he agree?” Sergei felt Petros’ faint nod. He also saw the appraising glances of both the delegations on him as he greeted the two men: Allesandra as well as Odil ca’Mazzak. They were both suspicious; they both had a right to be. Sergei nodded to ca’Mazzak and took his seat to the left of Allesandra.
Ca’Mazzak gestured, and pages came forward to give Allesandra, Sergei, and the starkkapitan scrolls of heavy parchment. “This is the offer of Kraljica Sigourney,” ca’Mazzak said as they scanned the words there. “Your army will be permitted to return to Firenzcia. The outlaw Sergei Rudka will be handed over to us. Reparations will be paid by Brezno to the Holdings for the destruction of crops and livestock by their army, and for the violation of the Treaty of Passe a’Fiume. If you find the terms acceptable, all that is required is the signature of the A’Hirzg as the representative of the Coalition.”
It was no more than Sergei had expected. He’d witnessed Holdings arrogance and hubris too many times before.
Starkkapitan ca’Damont gave a snicker through his nose, tossing the parchment on the table. “And how does the Kraljica intend to enforce this, Councillor?” he asked. “With the few battalions you’ve given Commandant cu’Ulcai? I’ve nothing but respect for the commandant, who is a fine offizier, but one doesn’t fight off an angry bear by threatening him with a twig.” He seemed to realize then that he’d spoken out of turn. His face reddened slightly. “My pardons, A’Hirzg. I’m a simple offizier, but these demands… ” He swept the parchment from the table to the floor; a page scurried over to pick up the scroll but didn’t return it to him.
“The Garde Civile and the chevarittai of the Holdings are not a twig, Starkkapitan,” ca’Mazzak blustered. He had puffed up like a toad, sitting erect in his chair, the wattles on his thick neck shivering. “You underestimate our ability to quickly field an army when our lands are threatened. It’s a lesson the last Hirzg Jan learned; I’m surprised that anyone from Firenzcia feels the lesson needs to be taught a second time.”
Allesandra appeared to be still reading the proposal, though Sergei could see her listening carefully to the exchange. She set the paper down in front of her and folded her hands over it. “All right,” she said. “Let’s forgo the posturing, Councillor ca’Mazzak. We all know that Nessantico is dealing with a threat to the west. We know what happened to Karnor; we’re hearing rumors that Villembouchure may have suffered the same fate-perhaps Commandant cu’Ulcai could enlighten us on that, since I expect he was there when the Holdings forces were routed? Everyone at this table knows that you haven’t sufficient forces to challenge us here. So what is it that the Kraljica really offers?”
Sergei had suggested this direct tack to Allesandra, but the stab at Aubri cu’Ulcai had been the A’Hirzg’s own contribution. The look on Aubri’s’ face was enough to confirm that her guess had been correct, and Sergei felt an upwelling of sympathy for his friend.
Ca’Mazzak looked as if he’d swallowed unripened fruit. He glanced at Petros, who seemed to be examining the fields past the edge of the tent, then at Aubri. “The Kraljica is prepared to offer a compromise,” he said finally. “Let the Hirzg and A’Hirzg return to Brezno with their Garde Brezno. However, Starkkapitan ca’Damont and the remainder of the army will remain behind to aid in the defense of Nessantico against the Westlanders, for which the treasury of Nessantico is willing to bear the expenses. As for the former Regent…” Ca’Mazzak glared at Sergei. “Kraljica Sigourney still demands his return to face the charges against him, no matter what agreement we reach here.”
Allesandra stood at that; a moment later, Sergei, ca’Damont, and the rest of the Firenzcian contingent followed. “Then we’re done here,” Allesandra said. “Regent ca’Rudka is an adviser to the crown of Firenzcia, and we consider him to be the current rightful ruler of Nessantico until a legitimate Kralji is named. If Regent ca’Rudka wishes to return to Nessantico on his own to pursue his claims, he may do so. Otherwise, he is under the protection of the Hirzg, no matter what the person you have named Kraljica wishes.” She bowed to ca’Mazzak and gestured. Sergei smiled broadly at the man. They turned to go.
“Wait!” It was Petros who called to them. Allesandra stopped.
“U’Teni?” she asked, but ca’Mazzak was already spluttering.
“ I am in charge of this delegation,” he said to Petros. “You will speak when I give you permission, U’Teni cu’Magnaoi.”
“Cenzi is in charge of my conscience,” Petros told the councillor. “N
ot you, nor Kraljica Sigourney. And I will speak. A’Hirzg, Nessantico is in desperate circumstances. Commandant cu’Ulcai would tell you-if he were permitted to speak-how easily the Westlanders took the cities, towns, and villages they have ravaged. Nessantico desperately requires all the allies it can muster now. Archigos Kenne is prepared to negotiate separately from the Kraljica, if he must, to achieve this.”
“What!” ca’Mazzak sputtered. He was on his feet now as well, pounding on the table. “No, no, no. We are done here. U’Teni cu’Magnaoi, you will be transported back to the city to answer for this. Commandant cu’Ulcai, order your gardai to-”
Sergei slapped the table immediately in front of ca’Mazzak, and the man’s mouth shut with an audible snap. “You’re nothing but the Kraljica’s yelping lapdog, Councillor,” Sergei told the man, leaning close to him. “Sit down.”
Ca’Mazzak glared back and turned to Aubri. “Commandant, you have your orders. You will take the u’teni into custody immediately.”
Aubri didn’t move, didn’t respond. Sergei could feel the tension rising in the tent. He saw hands sliding carefully toward hidden weapons-he had his own blades, too, one in his boot, another under the blouse of his bashta, and his ears sang with the hum of his own fear. He hadn’t been able to contact Aubri beforehand, and if Aubri decided that his loyalty to the Sun Throne was more than his old loyalty for Sergei, then… Well, then Sergei didn’t know what might happen here.
“Commandant cu’Ulcai, this is treason,” ca’Mazack growled. “I will have your head for this if you don’t do as ordered.”
Aubri said nothing; his contemplative gaze still on Sergei. The chevarittai, of both sides, tensed, ready to move. Sergei placed himself between Allesandra and the table. “I suggest you sit down, Councillor,” Sergei told ca’Mazzak. “Let U’Teni cu’Magnaoi finish outlining his offer.”
