A Magic of Twilight nc-1

by S L Farrell

  I knew all the Marques had already been signed. . ” The Archigos had turned completely away from her, and she wondered whether she’d offended him. “I’m sorry, Archigos. I’m chattering on and I shouldn’t speak so about U’Teni cu’Dosteau, who was entirely correct in his attitude toward me. I wasn’t a good enough student for him, I’m afraid.”

  “I have indeed signed the Marques that the Acolytes’ Council gave me,” the Archigos said. He waved to the crowds. He smiled. The sun danced on the silken field over his head. He didn’t look at her at all. “Your name wasn’t on any of them.”

  Ana nodded in acceptance, not able to speak. Despite having steeled herself for the inevitability of her failure, the intensity of the disappointment that washed over her then told her how stubbornly she’d been grasping to hope that she was wrong. Three years. . three years and all the solas that my family paid to Concenzia for the privilege, money Vatarh really didn’t have, money they’d begged and borrowed. . Three years, and now Vatarh will be angry, and that will be worst of all. .

  She’d told herself that she wouldn’t cry, though she’d done so many nights in private since she’d heard about the Marques, but until the note she dreaded came from U’Teni cu’Dosteau she could dry the tears and pretend that she had confidence, at least during the day. The Archigos’ words made her eyes burn and caused the boulevard around them to waver before her as if it were under the waters of the A’Sele.

  She could feel the moisture on her cheeks and dabbed at it with her sleeve angrily, hating that she would cry before the Archigos, that her pride was so overweening that she couldn’t accept the fate Cenzi had set before her with due humility, that her faith was so fragile and her fear so great.

  She hoped that the Archigos didn’t know about what she’d done with her matarh. If so, she was entirely lost.

  Ana realized that the Archigos was looking at her, and she wiped at her eyes again. “You should know that it was U’Teni cu’Dosteau who came to me after I was given this year’s Marques,” the Archigos said softly. “He wanted to talk to me privately. About you, Vajica cu’Seranta.

  Do you have an idea of what he said?”

  Ana shook her head, mute. Hope lifted its head again, battered and bloodied, but fear caught it in a stranglehold and bore it down. “I won’t tell you all,” the Archigos continued. “It’s enough for you to know that U’Teni cu’Dosteau insisted that the Acolytes’ Council had made a mistake, that they’d looked too much at the family names and too little at the students themselves and U’Teni cu’Dosteau’s evaluations. He told me that he had a student who sometimes created her own spells with the Ilmodo rather than those of her instructor’s. A student who used the Ilmodo for fire or earth or air or water, when most students found a strength in only one of those. A student who could quote the Toustour and seemed a devout follower of the Divolonte, even though there were whispers among her fellow students regarding Numetodo tendencies. A student with a natural talent who didn’t quite know how to harness or control it-who started a terrible fire, he said, in the Acolytes’ Dining Hall one night, then put it out before the fire-teni could come.”

  “It was an accident-” Ana began, but the Archigos glanced at her, his hand raised.

  “I was impressed by the force of the u’teni’s argument, especially after he reminded me that sometimes Cenzi manifests even in the most common of frames. As the Toustour says-”

  “ ‘Even the humblest can be raised, even the lowest exalted.’ ” She provided the quote without thinking.

  He laughed then, indicating his own stunted body with a hand.

  “Even the lowest,” he repeated. “Vajica cu’ Seranta, do you still desire to accept a Marque? Are you willing to join the Order of Teni if asked?”

  “Oh, yes!” she answered in a rush. The affirmation burst from her in a near shout and a laugh that shook tears again from her eyes. She thought the carriage must be shaking with the surge of joy the words had unleashed. “Certainly, Archigos.”

  “Good,” the Archigos said. He chuckled at her unrestrained joy.

  “Then I’ll have your Marque prepared and signed. You’ll no longer be Vajica; you’ll be O’Teni Ana cu’Seranta.”

  He spoke the title slowly and clearly. He was still looking at her, his head-too large for the small body-tilted to one side as if waiting for the question she wanted to ask. His silence gave her the courage to speak. “I must have misheard you, Archigos. I thought. . thought you said o’teni. ”

  “Do I speak so poorly?” he said with a chuckle. “U’Teni cu’Dosteau was. . well, he was quite persuasive, and after what I witnessed. . I think that we have more than enough e’tenis already. U’Teni cu’Dosteau believed you were already well past the ability expected from an e’teni, and I would agree with him. In fact, you will be attached to my personal staff, O’Teni. Is that acceptable to you?”

  She had no words. She could only nod, a helpless grin on her face.

  “I’ll take that as acceptance, then,” the Archigos said. He sighed, turning away from her to raise his hands again to the crowds. “O’Teni, look behind the carriage. Look at the faces you see there.”

  Ana glanced down and behind. The a’teni immediately behind the carriage stared back at her, nearly all their gazes lifted toward the carriage. One face in particular snagged her attention. She knew him: Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca, A’Teni of Brezno, Tete of the Guardians, and the man who had arrested dozens of Numetodo last Cenzi’s Day in

  Brezno, tried them for forbidden use of the Ilmodo, then had the prisoners executed in the temple square before cheering throngs-his face was turned to her, and his stare was intense and appraising.

  “You see them?” the Archigos said softly. “They’re all wondering why you’re standing up here with me, wondering what they’ve missed and how critical it will be to their own power. They’re wondering how it is that an inexperienced acolyte could manage a counter-spell that quickly and remain standing afterward. They’re wondering, honestly, if they could have done the same. They’re trying to figure out how to turn this to their advantage, and whether they should make an overture to you as soon as they can, just in case. When they’re dismissed at the Old Temple, they’ll be scattering to their offices and apartments, whispering hurried instructions to their own underlings, trying to find out everything they can about you, hoping to uncover something they can use. One thing you should understand is that in the world you’re entering, ‘trust,’ ‘loyalty,’ and ‘friendship’ are all concepts that are liquid and mutable. But then, that’s something I suspect you already know.”

  Ana shivered. Except for A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca’s stern and dour face, most of the faces of the a’teni smiled blandly up at her, as if they were pleased with what they saw; one or two even nodded as they made eye contact, their smiles widening. A few of them, looking away, were frowning as if lost in thought. Ana turned quickly back to the Archigos, and his face was also appraising. She wondered how much he knew. If Sala or Tari have whispered to the teni, or if Vatarh has said something. .

  But the Archigos chuckled again. “As soon as we finish this tiresome routine, I’ll sign your Marque in the Old Temple,” he said. “Tonight, after the Lighting of the Avi, you’ll be anointed before your family, in Cenzi’s Chapel in the Archigos’ Temple.” Pudgy, splayed fingers touched her shoulder softly and she forced herself not to flinch away from his touch, a touch that reminded her too much of her vatarh’s hand. “Shh, Ana. . You know how much I love you. Don’t pull away, my little bird. . ”

  “You’ve been gifted by Cenzi Himself, Ana,” the Archigos said so softly that she could barely hear him over the crowd. “It’s rare, that blessing, and sometimes the hardest thing is realizing everything that Cenzi demands of us in return for the gift.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder, and she frowned as the lines deepened in his face. He leaned in closely, so that she could see herself in the dark pupils of his eyes.

  “The greater the gift, the grea
ter the cost,” he whispered. “You will learn that, O’Teni. I’m afraid you will learn that well.”

  Karl ci’Vliomani

  “Dhaspi ce’Coeni was a damned fool. Now we need to make sure his foolishness doesn’t hurt the rest of us and my mission.”

  Karl chopped his arms through the turgid air of the basement as if he were slicing a sword through the man’s neck-a gesture, he realized, that was probably prophetic for the captured ce’Coeni. He spoke in Paeti, the language of the island he called home, a language he was certain few would understand here even if they could overhear it. Mika ce’Gilan, there with Karl, sank back into the plentiful shadows lurking in the corners. The basement room was a shabby area stinking of old stone and mold. The only light was from a trio of candles guttering in their stand on a wobbly table, thin, greasy trails of smoke twining upward from the flames, shifting as the wind from Karl’s gesture made them waver and sputter. Above, they could hear muffled conversation and the creaking of floorboards under heavy feet: the room was below a tavern in the twisting streets of the Oldtown. Even at midday, there were patrons drinking and eating there.

  “Ce’Coeni didn’t know me, ” Mika said, his own Paeti colored with the more guttural accents of Graubundi. “He can’t betray anyone beyond the lower cell that recruited him. He had no contact with you as Envoy, so we’re isolated from him. The damage will be minimal. He was just a rogue, Karl. A stupid rogue.”

  “I wish I were that confident.” Karl grimaced. He rubbed his shell pendant between his fingers as he stalked back and forth in front of the small table, too agitated to sit. “The teni preach against us even if the Archigos is less vocal than most, the Kraljica still refuses to meet us directly, and we know how closely the Kraljica’s people are watching me.

  Now the talk is going to be-again-about how dangerous and violent we are, and there are going to be those telling the Kraljica that the Numetodo can’t be tolerated any longer. A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca will be calling for the Archigos to do what he did in Brezno, or worse. We can tell them the truth, but the truth isn’t what they want to hear. You can bet that Commandant ca’Rudka is already in the cell where they’ve put poor ce’Coeni, and after the commandant’s through with him, ce’Coeni will be happy to sign any confession that ca’Rudka puts in front of him, just to stop the pain.”

  Even in the wan candlelight, Karl could see that Mika’s face was pale. He stopped his pacing and let the pendant swing back around his neck on its silver chain as he leaned on the table with both hands.

  “I’m not about to kill the messenger, my friend,” he told Mika, and that brought a quick smile. “I’m glad you came as quickly as you did.

  There’s nothing we can do about anything that’s happened. It was incredibly stupid and it’s going to cause us problems, but it’s done.” The words, intended for Mika, also managed to staunch the anger inside him. He was starting to think again, at least, instead of only reacting.

  He took a long breath. “All right. We need to minimize the damage.

  I want you to draft a statement for me to send to the Kraljica, denying that the attack on the Archigos was part of a Numetodo plot or that ce’Coeni was anything but a deranged man with a personal grudge against the Concenzia Faith and the Archigos. Deny that we’ve ever met with him or know him at all. You know what to say. Ask again if I can meet with her; she won’t agree, especially now, but I might get a meeting with ca’Rudka and be able to garner some idea of how he intends to react. The Archigos, I’m sure, will be making light of the attack, especially given that no one was hurt-he’ll use it as an example of how weak the Numetodo are against the truly faithful, but you know that everyone’s going to be talking about it for a few days. We need to make certain that this doesn’t happen again, so get the word flowing down to the others through the usual channels.”

  Mika nodded. “I’ll get a draft to you by this evening.”

  “Good. We can finish it then and I’ll sign it. . ” Karl closed his eyes momentarily, shaking his head. “Tell me about this woman who stopped ce’Coeni.”

  “I don’t know who she is yet, but we’ll find out. I know she arrived in one of the Concenzia carriages, but she’s not a teni that we know and wasn’t dressed as one. Afterward, the Archigos brought her into his own carriage; she rode with him to the Old Temple.”

  “That could be gratitude, or worse-it could all have been planned,” Karl said. “Is it possible ce’Coeni was working both sides, that the Archigos planned this to bolster his standing? That would explain how this strange woman was able to counter the spell so rapidly, and also why ce’Coeni would be so stupid as to try to attack the Archigos in the first place. We need to find out if that’s a possibility, and who this woman is. She could be important to us.”

  “It’s already being done.” Mika pushed his chair back from the table and stood up as Karl straightened. “Though I don’t believe that ce’Coeni was anything but a rash idiot. As to the woman, from the description I had, she used a counter-chant. She took out Dhaspi’s spell a second after he launched it, and before any of the a’teni around the Archigos had a chance to react.”

  Karl’s right eyebrow lifted, wrinkling his forehead. “That’s an ac-curate account?”

  “I believe my source, yes.”

  “Then we really need to find out more. Teni spells take time-they can’t create them that quickly. I’ll work on this myself. You get word going through the cells. See if ce’Coeni could be a Concenzia infiltra-tor; I’ll see what I can discover about this mysterious young woman. Meet me back here after Third Call.”

  Mika inclined his head slightly. He went up the wooden steps to the door. Karl heard the sound of voices as momentary light bathed the rough wooden planks. Then the shadows settled around him again. He waited there for several minutes, fingers prowling his beard as a dozen contentious thoughts tried to crowd each other in his head. Finally, uneasy and troubled, he bent down to blow out the candles.

  Shrouded in blackness, he felt his way to the stairs.

  Sergei ca’Rudka

  The Bastida a’Drago, the fortress of the dragon, was a dreary, ancient building set on the south bank of the A’Sele. The Bastida had once served to guard the city from attack from the west: one wall of the structure was formed from the ancient city wall itself just where the A’Sele curved south; another plunged from a five-story tower into the waters of the river. The edifice was named because during its building the bones of a huge dragon had been uncovered there, a fire-serpent turned to stone by some unknown magic. The creature’s flesh was gone, but the great skeleton was unmistakably that of a once-living and mythical beast. The fierce, needle-toothed and polished head of the creature still loomed above the entranceway of the Bastida like a nightmare sculpture, set there by the order of Kraljiki Selida II, who had ruled the city at the time.

  The Bastida was no longer a fortress, just as the few remaining sections of the city wall no longer protected Nessantico but had been overrun and mostly consumed by the spreading town. Instead, its walls weeping with moisture and covered by black moss, the fortress had long ago been transformed into a gloomy prison where those deemed to be enemies of Nessantico resided, often for the remainder of their lives.

  Levo ca’Niomi, who had reigned for three short and violent days as Kraljiki, had been the first prisoner held in the Bastida, nearly a hundred and fifty years before. He languished there for nearly half his life, writing the poetry that would gain him an immortality that his brief coup never accomplished. More recently, the Kraljica’s first cousin Marcus ca’Gerodi had been imprisoned for having financed the attempted assassination of Marguerite prior to her coronation. Luckily for Marcus, he had not been gifted with Marguerite’s longevity, or perhaps the dank atmosphere of the Bastida had infected him; he had died there six years later from a fever.

  Sergei ca’Rudka, Commandant of the Garde Kralji, Chevaritt of Nessantico, an a’offizier in the Garde Civile, had never liked the Bastida. He liked it le
ss since the Kraljica had placed it under his control.

  Sergei was certain that the poor fool who had tried to attack the Archigos would not be one of those remembered for his interment in the Bastida. Rather, he would be one of the far more numerous enemies of the state who entered these gates and were immediately forgotten.

  The gardai around the massive oaken gates of the Bastida jerked to attention as Sergei approached from the Pontica a’Brezi Veste. He gave them only the barest nod, glancing up-as he always did-to the stone-trapped head of Selida’s dragon that snarled down on him. The dark shapes of house martins fluttered from where they’d nested under the crenellated summits of the towers on either side of the gate, but as Sergei watched, one of the birds darted out from the creature’s open mouth. A barred door at the foot of the left tower opened, and the Capitaine of the Bastida emerged, a graybeard whose pasty skin betrayed long hours in darkness. The capitaine had once been the sole authority in the Bastida; now, by order of the Kraljica, he reported to Sergei. Neither one of them liked that fact. “Commandant ca’Rudka, we’ve been waiting for you.”

  Sergei was still looking up at the dragon’s mouth. He pointed as the martin darted back into the dragon’s mouth and another left. “Do you know what’s wrong with that, Capitaine ci’Doulor?”

  The man stepped out from the door, blinking in the sunlight. He

  stared at the dragon. He rarely looked at Sergei; when he did, like many people, his gaze was snared by the gleaming silver nose that replaced the one of flesh Sergei had lost in a duel. “Commandant?”

  “I love the freedom that the martins portray,” Sergei told him. He smiled, gesturing at them. “Look at them, the way they dart and flit, the way they fly with the gift of wings Cenzi has given them. There are times I envy them and wish I could do the same. I would give up much if I could see the city as they do and move effortlessly from one rooftop to another.”