by S L Farrell
“What can I do?”
“You started to teach me. I need you to show me all you can do, and I need you to bend the Divolonte with me. . ”
The war-teni had assembled, as ordered by their new Archigos, in the Stadia a’Sute. With one exception, none of the a’teni had been invited; in fact, those few who tried to enter were forcibly turned away by the Archigos’ staff and the Garde Kraljiki, who patrolled all the entrances.
The war-teni were seated at the north end of the stadia; on the athlete’s field below, they could see a small stage erected on the grass and the Archigos’ throne set to one side of it. When the wind-horns sounded Second Call, the doors to the stadia clanged shut even as the teni were saying their prayers. A few moments later, the Archigos herself emerged from one of the field doors, accompanied by the newly promoted A’Teni cu’Dosteau and a few others, one of them quickly recognizable to the teni who were from the city.
“That’s Envoy ci’Vliomani, the Numetodo. .” The gossip moved rapidly through the ranks of the war-teni as the Archigos bowed to them and gave the sign of Cenzi, then took her seat on the throne. She gestured, and ci’Vliomani and another man stepped onto the stage.
“One of your duties,” Archigos Ana said, addressing the war-teni, “is to protect those around you from the spells of the war-teni of the false Archigos. What I’d like you to do now is show me how well you can do that. I think some of you have already recognized Envoy ci’Vliomani, who came to Nessantico to represent the Numetodo everywhere in the Holdings. I’ve asked him here today to play the role of the enemy. On my command, he will attack me-the spell itself will be harmless, I assure you, but your task will be to stop his attack from touching me at all. Let’s see how well you perform. Each of you: I know you’ve been taught by A’Teni cu’Dosteau, as he once taught me. Go on-you may start your counter-spells now.”
The war-teni glanced at each other, then several of them began to chant and move their hands, though they were obviously puzzled as the Archigos still made no command to Envoy ci’Vliomani to start his own spell. Finally, several breaths later, she turned to him. “Envoy,” she said.
“If you’ll begin your attack. .”
What happened then stunned them all. Ci’Vliomani spoke a single guttural word that sounded like the language of the Ilmodo but was no spell-word they knew, and he gave a casual flick of his hand. The word boomed thunderously in the stadia. Impossibly, a fire brighter than the sun glared in his hand and flared through the air, arrowing straight toward the Archigos.
But a moment after ci’Vliomani had begun his inexplicably rapid spell, Archigos Ana also spoke: again, a single word of spell-speech as she held up her hand. The flare of light spattered and exploded, as if it had struck an invisible barrier. The brilliant fury caused many of the war-teni to raise their hands, and the ball of fire shrieked like a dying animal as it expired.
A stunned silence wrapped the stadia as the war-teni stood, their own counter-spells-perhaps three quarters completed-forgotten.
Too fast: the whole exchange had been far too fast.
“You were all late. You all would have failed in your duty.” Archigos Ana spoke into the hush. She rose easily from her chair-neither ci’Vliomani nor the Archigos seemed unduly fatigued by the casting of their spells, and that was also strange-and walked onto the stage. “I know your thoughts,” she said. “When I first saw what the Numetodo were capable of doing with the Ilmodo, it shook me all the way to the core of my being. For a time, in my loss of faith, Cenzi punished me and I lost my own path to the Ilmodo, until He spoke to me again.”
She smiled briefly. “Or, let me be honest, until I was willing to listen to Him. I will tell you now what I came to realize: the Ilmodo was created by Cenzi, yes, and our way to the Ilmodo remains the most powerful. I know in my heart that this is the way of Cenzi. I will tell you, and Envoy ci’Vliomani will agree with me: the Numetodo might have the advantage of speed, but not of force. None of the Numetodo can match what the least of you can do on the battlefield with your war-spells. But. .”
She stopped and paced for a moment. “. . our way is not the only way Cenzi has created, and we are fools if we are not willing to learn from those other paths.”
She strode forward until she stood at the front of the stage, leaning forward toward the war-teni in the stands. Her gaze moved across each of their faces. “I tell you this: The Numetodo are a threat to Concenzia only if your own faith is lacking. ”
“That’s not what Archigos Orlandi believes.”
The challenge was loud, from a teni who stood abruptly in his seat.
Several of the war-teni around the man also rose, placing their hands on the speaker. “No!” Ana shouted at them. “Let him talk!”
The anger in her voice loosened the hands that had grasped at the war-teni, and he shook them away. He pointed toward Ana, toward Karl. “You’re the false Archigos,” he said. “Look who you consort with. The Numetodo mock the Divolonte. They mock the Toustour. They deny Cenzi. How can you stand there and say that we must learn from them?”
“What is your name?” Ana asked.
“I am U’Teni Georgi cu’Vlanti.”
“I know of your family, U’Teni. They’re good people and devout,
and I’m not surprised to find that at least one of them has chosen to serve Concenzia. If you think I’m the false Archigos, U’Teni cu’Vlanti, then it’s your duty under Cenzi and the Divolonte to strike me down. I give you that opportunity now. Pray to Cenzi to guide your hands and strengthen your spell, as I will pray to Him to guide mine.” Ana spread her arms wide. “Begin your spell,” she told him. She looked around the stadia slowly, especially to those on the stage with her. “I promise you that no one here will stop you.”
“Ana. .” Karl began, and she shook her head at him.
“No one here will stop you,” she repeated to both Karl and the war-teni. “The Divolonte is clear on this: Rip out the tongues and crush the hands of those who falsely claim they speak with Cenzi’s voice, for you risk your own soul if you listen. I make that claim, U’Teni cu’Vlanti. I say that Cenzi is speaking through me, as He does through each Archigos.
I say that the false Archigos is out there with the Hirzg. But if you believe otherwise, then the Divolonte demands that you strike me. Do it, U’Teni. Do it if you think that Cenzi will fail to protect me. Do it if you believe that ca’Cellibrecca should wear the shattered globe around his neck and that Jan ca’Vorl of Firenzcia should sit on the Sun Throne and end the long rule of the ca’Ludovici lineage.”
The man was standing silent, glaring at her with his hands at his sides. “Do it!” Ana barked, and he nearly jumped.
His hands began to move; he began to chant. A searing light flared between his hands. Ana did nothing, waiting, and the murmuring of the other war-teni rose. Cu’Vlanti finished the spell rapidly and spread his hands as Ana spoke a word and gestured-too late. Fire erupted on the stage, a raging, quick conflagration that submerged all gathered there in flame so that they couldn’t be seen from the stands where the war-teni stood. They knew the damage a full war-spell would inflict, and there were shouts of alarm and surprise and horror from the teni in their seats.
War-fire left behind only the blackened husks of charred bodies.
The flames vanished, their fury expended. The planks of the stage smoldered with great blisters of black ash; the hangings above dripped sparks as charred fabric fell away. But where the Numetodo ci’Vliomani and the Archigos stood, the wood was untouched. Archigos Ana was standing with her hands extended in a shielding spell-cast with impossible speed.
Karl Ci’Vliomani suddenly broke the tableau as he jumped with a curse and started beating at the folds of his bashta on his left side.
Smoke and tiny flames curled from where his hands struck. He looked reproachfully at Ana as he smothered the fire. “You were a little slow there, Archigos,” he said. “And a little too sparing of your shield.”
Someone out
in the stands chuckled, and the laughter spread slowly, as Ana smiled herself. U’Teni cu’Vlanti had collapsed, exhausted, in his seat, but Ana stood as if the spell had cost her nothing.
“Cenzi has allowed me to do this,” Ana said to the war-teni. “And the Numetodo have helped show me how. In this time, we can’t afford to cast out those who offer to be our allies. I ask you to let the Numetodo stand with us. I ask you, like me, to learn from them what they can teach us.”
There were no cheers. There was no audible response to her plea at all. But Ana glimpsed a few grudging nods among the faces of the war-teni.
It would have to be enough.
Sergei ca’Rudka
The world flickered in and out, as if illuminated by lethargic, erratic strokes of lightning.
. . someone (he thought it might be ca’Montmorte) helping him down from his horse with a hiss of concern. “Fetch a healer. .” he heard ca’Montmorte say, and there were hands around him, and he screamed as they lifted him.
. . waking to pain and firelight. A face passed through his field of vision. He tried to speak through cracked and dry lips. “Where. .?”
“On the Avi,” he heard someone answer. “Maybe two days from Nessantico. Please don’t try to move, Commandant.”
He started to laugh at the thought of moving, but the laugh turned to a cough, and the cough took his breath from him and he left the world again.
. . the insistent saltiness of meat broth on his tongue. The taste was so wonderful that his hands grabbed the hands holding the mug to his lips as he gulped at the soup. “Gently, Commandant,” a voice said. “There’s plenty for you. Take your time.”
He tried to sit up, and found that he could do so only with great difficulty. It seemed to be night. His body was bound tightly, and his skin pulled all along his back. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t focus, but he could see the shifting light of a campfire close by and bodies sitting around it.
Horses nickered quietly somewhere close. He felt chilled, his body shivering uncontrollably. “Careful,” the voice said. “You’re been hurt.”
“So cold. .”
“You’re feverish, Commandant. Here, drink some more of the broth. .”
He did, and he slept again.
. . they were talking about him, as if he couldn’t hear them. “. . going to die?”
“That’s in Cenzi’s hands. I can’t do any more for him. The infection has him.”
“How long does he have?”
“Another day. Maybe two.”
“We’ll reach Nessantico in the morning. Perhaps someone there? The Kraljiki’s healer?”
“He’s beyond the skills of any healer, A’Offizier ca’Montmorte.
There is only Cenzi’s Will now.”
Wait, Sergei wanted to shout. There’s something I have to tell the Kraljiki, something he must know. . but he couldn’t open his eyes or force his mouth to open and even the effort of thinking about it sent him reeling into darkness.
. . someone was chanting and he could feel hands touching his chest, his neck. The hands were cold, and the heat that burned him from the inside flowed toward his heart and those hands, rushing away from him.
He took in a long, shuddering breath. Along his spine, needles stabbed at his skin, pulling as he arched his back shouting with the agony of it, but even the pain was rushing away toward those hands and the voice speaking in words he could not understand. His eyelids flew open, and he stared into Ana cu’Seranta’s face. Her own eyes were closed, and it was her voice that he heard and her hands on his bare chest. Her presence was the only refuge in a world that was on fire, and she was taking in the fire. Sergei gasped with the wonder of it, and he sighed when she pulled her hands away from him.
“Welcome back, Commandant,” she said before her eyes rolled back and her knees collapsed under her. A man-Envoy ci’Vliomani, he realized-rushed forward to help her, placing her in a chair beside the bed. Sergei pushed himself up with his elbows: he could move, though his joints were stiff and protesting, and the skin of his back still pulled strangely, though no longer painfully. His wounded leg was splinted and wrapped as well. Another person-Renard-came forward to place a pillow behind him, so that he could sit comfortably. He had time to take in his surroundings: a large bedroom, the walls painted with frescoes of the Moitidi, above the large windows, stained glass shattering the light with the insignia of the Kraljiki.
“The Grande Palais. .” he said.
“You’re in one of the guest bedrooms,” Renard said. “And if you’ll excuse me, Commandant, the Kraljiki asked to be informed when you woke.”
As Renard hurried off, Sergei turned to Ana. He saw the broken globe on the wide chain around her neck; it pleased him that the Kraljiki had followed at least one piece of his advice. “You’re not worried that it might have been Cenzi’s Will that I die, Archigos?” he asked.
Ana took a long breath, her eyes closed as Karl stroked her unbound, sweat-darkened hair. Slowly, the eyes opened and found him. “If Cenzi wanted you dead, Commandant,” she told him, “He would have killed you before you came to me.”
“Your predecessor would have you in the Bastida for exactly those sentiments.”
“Where you would have tortured me to gain my full confession.
Where you would have eventually executed me.”
Sergei shrugged. He held her gaze, not flinching from it at all. “Yes,” he told her. “That would have been my duty, and I would have performed it.”
“The commandant always performs his duty.” Kraljiki Justi’s highpitched voice was loud as he entered the bedroom and strode quickly to Sergei’s bedside. Reluctantly, Sergei looked away from Ana to Justi.
“As you did your duty in Passe a’Fiume,” Justi finished. His bearded face seemed inordinately pleased. “I’ve just met with ca’Montmorte. He told me what happened there. We’re as ready here as we can be, and you have our gratitude for that, Commandant.” He glanced across the bed to Ana. “And we’re grateful for your. . prayers for the commandant, Archigos. It seems Cenzi has listened to your entreaties.”
Ana sniffed audibly. “I healed the man, Kraljiki. I healed him with the Ilmodo-just as I tried to heal your matarh but failed because I was weak then and too afraid. If that is against the Divolonte, then I will direct the Concord A’Teni to change the Divolonte, because I won’t be silent and I won’t lie. Not any longer.”
The Kraljiki’s chin seemed to thrust out even further, and his thin mustache was an arc over his scowl. “The Archigos is tired. She should rest.”
“The Archigos isn’t the Kraljiki’s lap dog to be ordered around,” Ana answered. Her fingers were laced with those of the envoy. “You chose me, Kraljiki Justi; now you live with your choice. Unless you prefer the Archigos who is out there.” She pointed to the window, to the sun in the eastern sky. “I’m sure the Hirzg will be happy to allow him back into Nessantico.”
“Kraljiki, Archigos,” Sergei said, and that brought their attention back to him. “There are enemies enough without making new ones here.
Archigos, I am forever in your debt, and I won’t forget that; Kraljiki, I would like to see the defenses here, as soon as I can.”
“Yes,” Justi said quickly. “We need your guidance to ensure victory.”
Sergei shook his head. “Victory?” He shook his head. “I’ve fought them, Kraljiki, and I don’t see victory. Passe a’Fiume had never fallen in all of Nessantico’s history, yet the Hirzg walked through its broken gates in four days.” He grimaced, sitting up higher in the bed. “Hirzg Jan is already looking at Nessantico and considering it his,” he said. “I don’t know that we can prove him wrong.”
Jan ca’Vorl
“It’s like a jewel, Vatarh. Like something I could wear. See- there’s a necklace of lights. . ”
Jan grinned indulgently at Allesandra. From behind, he cuddled her against him, her body warm in the cool night air. Ahead of them, far down the unseen line of the Avi a’Firenzcia,
the shimmering lights of the great city glittered in the night, mocking the stars that dared to peek between moon-silvered clouds. “And I will give it to you,” Jan told her. “You can wear that necklace soon, my little bird, all for your very own.”
“Don’t be silly, Vatarh. I can’t wear a whole city.” She reached out into the night and her forefinger and thumb closed, as if she could pluck the lights from the landscape. “But it is pretty. When you’re the Kraljiki, you have to make sure that the teni still light the lamps.”
“I’ll make certain that Archigos ca’Cellibrecca fulfills your request,” he answered, chuckling.
They were camped on a hilltop outside Carrefour; tomorrow, Jan knew, they would have their first contact with the defenders of Nessantico. His army was spread wide over the landscape, the crescent of a scythe about to strike the capital and remove its head from his throne.
Someone looking out from what remained of Nessantico’s old walls would see their lights glimmering in the dark, and they would not think them pretty at all. The thought pleased Jan.
“How long will it take, Vatarh?” Allesandra asked. “U’Teni cu’Kohnle said that he thinks it will take less time than Passe a’Fiume.
He said that you’ve already broken their will.”
“I don’t know, sweet one. How long do you think it will take?”
“One day,” she said. “The war-teni will start their spells. They’ll crush the soldiers and the chevarittai, and they’ll scream as they die, and we’ll all laugh at them. The rest of the chevarittai will go running like they did, then the rest of their soldiers will throw down their weapons and run away too, and this time it will be the Kraljiki who comes out from the city with the white flag.”
“All that in one day?”
Her voice was nearly a growl. “That’s what I would like-because of what they did to Georgi.”
“I wish you were right, but I think both you and U’Teni cu’Kohnle are wrong. Do you remember the kitten you had, how it fought when the dogs trapped it in the corner.”
