A Magic Of Nightfall Part 40

He wondered what was happening in the other encampment. Everything there hung on the loyalties of the Garde Civile and the teni-and Sergei wasn't certain how that would play out. He prayed to Cenzi, hoping that He was listening.

Three turns of the gla.s.s later, Sergei, Allesandra, and the others rode out again toward the parley tent.

When he'd been Commandant of the Garde Kralji, decades ago, Sergei had occasionally felt a s.h.i.+ver when he'd approached the Bastida a'Drago: a quivering of the spine almost like fear that told him when something was amiss in the complex beyond the dragon's grinning skull.

He felt that s.h.i.+ver now as their small party approached the parley tent. It was, first of all, curious that there were no servants moving about, that the chairs on the Nessantican side of the table were empty. But what held him, what made his stomach churn and boil, was the realization that there was something on the table itself-two somethings, two rounded objects masked in the shadow underneath the linen flapping in the breeze. He was afraid he knew what sat there.

"Hold a moment, A'Hirzg," he told Allesandra. "Please. Wait here."

Sergei nudged his horse forward alone, gesturing to Starkkapitan ca'Damont to accompany him. He squinted, trying to force his aging eyes to make out what it was sitting there. As he approached, he could hear a faint buzzing sound that grew slowly louder: the whine of insects.

He knew then, and the bile rose in his throat. He pulled his horse up, let himself down from the saddle, and walked into the shade of the tent.

On the table were two heads, sticky, clotted blood pooled underneath them, a carpet of flies crawling over the open eyes and in the gaping mouths.

Sergei went to his knees, making the sign of Cenzi toward the gruesome sight. "Aubri," he said. "Petros. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

Shakily, he rode to his feet again, going back to the horse. He rode silently back to the others. Allesandra's eyes questioned him; she knew also. He could see it in the way her hand lifted to her mouth before he ever spoke.

"Councillor ca'Mazzak has left us his own answer," he said. "It seems he doesn't care what ours might have been."

Nico Morel.

NICO COULDN'T BEAR to sit still. He had never imagined a place as glorious, huge, and interesting as this. They'd been ushered into an office in one of the buildings that girdled the Plaza a'Archigos; the reception room by itself was larger than the two rooms they had in Oldtown and there were at least three doors leading off into other rooms that he could only imagine. He'd caught a glimpse of a bedroom when one of the servants had moved through carrying linens, and it had seemed huge beyond all reason. The office into which they'd been ushered would have taken up Nico's house as well as those of the closest neighbors. The ceiling seemed as high as summer clouds and as white; the floor was an intricate mosaic of various colored woods, and the walls were draped with gorgeous tapestries displaying the tale of Cenzi's life, the molding along the top of the walls was carved and gilded. Behind the ma.s.sive mahogany desk, a balcony looked out over the wide plaza, with the Archigos' Temple framed beyond its open draperies. The other furniture in the room was just as dominating-a long, polished conference table, with plush chairs set around it; a couch placed before a hearth in which Nico's whole family could have stood upright, surrounded by the gorgeous mantel-piece; a carved cracked-globe taller than two men standing atop one another, with the carved figures of the Moitidi wrapped around it, the base studded with jewels and glittering with gold foil. All around the walls, there were tables laden with delightful foreign wonders: statues of unfamiliar animals; a large stone broken in half, inside which beautiful violet crystals were crowded; spiny, rose-pearled sh.e.l.ls from the Strettosei . . .

Nico blinked, staring at everything. "All this is just for you?" Nico asked the Archigos, marveling.

"Nico, hush," his matarh said, but the old man in the green robes only laughed.

"It's for the Archigos, whomever that person is," the man said. "I only live here temporarily, until Cenzi calls me back to Him. This used to be where Archigos Ana lived, too." He patted Nico on the head as servants brought in trays of food and drink and set them on the table. The Archigos waved to the servants as they finished. "That will be all," he told them. "Please make sure we're not disturbed. Have my carriage come to the rear door a turn of the gla.s.s before Third Call." They bowed and left. "Help yourselves," the Archigos told them as the last of the servants departed the room, closing the double doors behind them. "Karl? You all look as if you could use a good meal." Nico was staring at the food, and the Archigos chuckled again. "Go on, Nico. You needn't wait."

Nico glanced at his matarh and at Talis, who shrugged. "It's all right," his matarh told him. "Go ahead . . ."

He did. A spice-seed m.u.f.fin drizzled with honey was the first thing in his mouth. Strangely, the adults didn't seem as hungry as he was. Neither Talis, Karl, nor Varina went toward the table at all, and his mother picked desultorily at a breast of duck. Instead, they huddled near the couch in front of the hearth.

"Archigos," Nico heard Karl say, "Ana would be terribly proud of you. We all owe you our thanks."

"The thanks go to you, Karl. If you hadn't come to me, if you hadn't told me what you knew . . . Well, I'm not certain what would have happened. In any case, I may have put you in more danger, not less. The Kraljica is in a rage, from what I hear, and as soon as Councillor ca'Mazzak returns from the parley with the Firenzcians, I suspect she'll be even less happy with me. None of us can be sure what will happen with that-which is why we need to talk tonight. There isn't much time; a messenger may already be on the way back to the city." Nico heard the Archigos' voice drop and fail. He turned, a slice of bread and cheese in his hand. "This is the Westlander?" the Archigos asked, nodding in Talis' direction. Talis had both his hands around the walking stick he always carried, and Nico could see air flickering around the wood as if the staff were on fire, but that was a fire colder than last winter's snow.

"Yes, Archigos," Karl answered. "This is Talis Posti. Nico's vatarh."

"Ah," the Archigos said. "Vajiki Posti, I also owe you thanks-though you'll have to forgive me if I wonder why you have decided to help me."

"Because I have glimpsed the futures, and none of them lead to a good place for my people," Talis answered, and Nico found his interest perking up with that. Talis could see the future? That would be interesting. Why, if he could do that, Nico could see himself as an adult, maybe see what would happen to him. . . . He found his hands moving as if in some strange dance of their own, his sticky fingers moving through the air, and words came to him that he didn't know, and he whispered them so quietly that none of the others could hear him. The chill from Talis' walking stick seemed to flow toward his hands; he could feel the chill in his arms.

"You have that gift from your G.o.ds?" Kenne asked Talis. His eyebrows lifted, and he glanced at Karl.

"Mahri claimed to do the same," Karl said. That also made Nico pay attention; he remembered hearing Talis mention that name before. "Not that it did him much good in the end."

"It's not the future that Axat grants us glimpses of, but all the possibilities that exist. The glimpses of potential futures aren't easy to read, though it was said that Mahri could use the talent better than anyone before or since. And yes, it seems to have failed him in the end." A brief, quick smile pa.s.sed over his face. "Perhaps it was the proximity to your Cenzi."

Kenne chuckled; Nico liked the sound-it made him like this man. The cold was wrapping around his arms now, though his hands had stopped dancing.

"You're willing to help us-" Archigos Kenne spread his arms to include Karl and Varina, and the rest of the city outside the balcony, "-when that means you may be helping defeat the forces of your own people?"

"Yes," Talis said, "because Axat tells me that in doing so, I will be helping my people."

The cold was freezing Nico's arms and it was becoming heavy. He didn't know what to do with it, but he was s.h.i.+vering with the effort of holding it, and the pain almost made him want to cry out. "Sometimes your enemy becomes your ally," Varina was saying to the Archigos. "I know-"

"Nico!" His matarh's voice was a near shout. "What are you doing?" Nico jumped as his matarh clutched his shoulder, and the cold went flying away from him. As it fled, the energy sparkled and flared, like a stream of blue fire. It went shooting straight out from him, slas.h.i.+ng between Talis and the Archigos and arrowing directly toward the cracked globe sculpture in that corner of the room. Nico sobbed-frightened both by the feeling of release and sheer terror at what he'd just released. Varina, standing a few strides away from the Archigos, gestured once and spoke a single, harsh word; at the motion, Nico saw the line of blue fire curve and turn, arcing away from the sculpture, spitting sapphire sparks over the polished desk and then hissing away out through the open doors of the balcony and out. High above the plaza, the fire gathered, then burst: an ice-blue globe that flashed like frozen lightning. With the explosion came a roll of ear-splitting thunder, echoing from the walls of the buildings flanking the plaza. Nico could feel the windows shake and rattle in their frames, and he heard gla.s.s breaking distantly.

"Nico!" His matarh had wrapped her arms around him. "Nico . . ." she said again, more softly this time. Her arms tightened around him, and he wasn't sure if it was intended to be an embrace or a stranglehold. They were all staring at him.

"I'm sorry," Nico told them. "I didn't mean to . . ."

He started to cry.

Karl Vliomani.

"I'M SORRY," Nico said. His lower lip was trembling and he barely got the next words out before his shoulders started to shake from sobbing. "I didn't mean to . . ."

Serafina was staring at them over the boy's shoulder as she held him, her eyes wide and terrified. Outside in the plaza, they could hear faint shouts as pa.s.sersby searched for the source of the thundering brilliance. Karl could hear Varina sigh with relief behind him. "If he'd been a hand's breadth to one side or the other . . ." Karl said.

"He wasn't," Varina answered. She crouched down in front of him, nodding to Serafina. "It's all right, Nico," she told him. "No one was hurt. It's all right." She looked back over her shoulder to Karl. "It's all right," she repeated. The boy sniffled, rubbing his sleeve over his nose and eyes.

Karl let go a breath. He smiled: at Varina, at Nico, at Serafina. "Yes," he said. "It's all right, thanks to Varina. Talis, did you know . . . ?"

"I suspected, but . . ." He was holding his spell-staff, looking at it bemusedly as if it were a gla.s.s suddenly emptied. "I know now. Archigos, are you . . . ?"

Kenne waved a hand as if in dismissal, but Karl could see the man's chest still heaving. "I'm fine," Kenne said. "And impressed. Your son's one of the few natural talents I've known. Archigos Dhosti had been one, and Ana, too. With training, well . . ."

"I will train him." Talis' answer was wrapped in a scowl. He clutched the spell-staff tightly. "This is Axat's gift, not Cenzi's."

"Of course," Kenne told him, but his gaze stayed on Nico. "Don't worry," he told the boy. "No one here is angry with you. Do you understand that?" Nico nodded, still sniffling.

"If I'd known about this, I'd have been far more careful when I first approached you," Karl told Talis. "But since no harm's been done . . . We still have plans and contingencies to make. Archigos, is Petros prepared to make the offer we've talked about to Firenzcia?"

Kenne nodded, more hesitantly than Karl liked, but at least it was a nod. In truth, he'd been afraid that Kenne might not have followed through, especially given the undeniable danger into which it placed Petros. "He is." The Archigos' voice quavered a little-fear combined with age, Karl decided. "In fact, he should have done so by now."

"Good," Karl told him. He patted Kenne on the shoulder. "He'll be fine," he told the Archigos. "And he'll be back with you soon. Now, for his part, Talis will bring the supplies from Uly's rooms here to the temple tomorrow, and we can begin to prepare the black sand for the demonstration. That should show this Tecuhtli of the Westlanders that attacking the city would be foolish. We can prevent hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths."

The Archigos' carriage was a ruse-four of Kenne's servants clambered into that vehicle when it pulled up to the rear entrance of the building, while Karl and the others hurried down a back stair toward a little-used side servants' door. None of them knew whether the subterfuge was necessary; Karl hoped not; if it was, then none of the contingencies for which they'd prepared might come to fruition.

They started to hurry away from the plaza, moving toward the Avi. Kenne had given them enough money to hire one of the carriages there to take them back to Oldtown. As they moved toward the street, they saw three separate squadrons of Garde Kralji hurrying across the Archigos' Plaza. "Wait a moment," Karl said. Talis, Serafina, and Nico were already on the Avi, looking for a carriage for hire; Varina, a little ahead of him, paused. As Karl hesitated on the edge of the plaza, he and Varina watched two of squadrons rush into the building from which they'd just come; the other entering the Archigos' Temple.

Their weapons were drawn, steel s.h.i.+ning in the lights of the lamps.

"Karl? What's happening?"

"I don't know, Varina. I think I should go back. Take the others. I'll-"

"No," Varina told him firmly. She came back to him, lacing her arm into his. "No, Karl. Not this time. Even disguised, your face is too recognizable to the Garde Kralji, and there are too many of them anyway. You don't know why they're there; it may be nothing. It's probably nothing. And if it's not . . ." She bit at her lower lip. Her eyes pleaded with him. "You need to let the Archigos take care of this himself. Come with me. Please."

"But if things have gone wrong-"

"If things have gone wrong, you can't change it now. We can't change it. All that would happen is that you'd be lost, too." Her arm tightened on his. "Please, Karl. Let's go. If there is a problem, we can help Kenne more by staying alive than by being thrown in the Bastida with him. We got Sergei out; we could do the same again if we had to. Karl . . ." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "If you're going back," she told him, "then I'm going with you. But that's the wrong decision. I know it."

He stared at the buildings, wis.h.i.+ng he could see Kenne's balcony from here. Everything was quiet; people still walked in the plaza as if nothing were happening. But he knew. He knew.

And he also knew that Varina was right. He could change nothing. He looked over his shoulder. Talis had waved down a carriage; he was looking back at them curiously. A woman-dressed strangely poorly for this part of the city-scuttled past them from the direction of the plaza. As she pa.s.sed, she seemed to stumble and brush against Karl. "Sorry, Vajiki," the woman muttered. Her voice . . . it seemed vaguely familiar, but the woman kept the cowl of her tashta up and her head down. He caught a glimpse of dirty brown hair. "It's going to be a bad night. A bad night. You really should hurry home. . . ."

She scurried quickly past them.

Karl stared after the woman, who vanished around the other side of the waiting carriage. Talis was waving at them. It was then that Karl remembered where he'd heard that voice.

Karl didn't believe in either coincidence or omens.

"All right," he told Varina. "We're leaving."

The Battle Begun: Kenne ca'Fionta.

"I'M AFRAID THAT your poor Petros is dead. It's a shame."

Kenne heard the words, and his old eyes blurred with tears, though he'd already known that Petros was gone. He'd felt it in his heart, ever since the Garde Kralji had come and s.n.a.t.c.hed him away to the Bastida. He could only hope that Karl and his people had escaped the sweep; they'd left only a few marks of the gla.s.s beforehand. The leather-clad metal tongue gag tasted vile; the irons binding his hands were heavy enough that he could barely lift them from his lap.

Kraljica Sigourney's scarred, torn face stared down at him. Kenne held her single-eyed regard for only a few breaths sucked in past the horrible device over his head, then dropped his gaze, broken and defeated. Between his legs, his manacled hands plucked restlessly at the straw of the rude bed as he sat in his cell high in the Bastida's main tower. Her voice was sympathetic, almost sorrowful. "You're a good man, Kenne. You always were. But you were too weak to be Archigos. You should have refused the t.i.tle and told the Concord A'Teni to elect someone else."

He could only nod in agreement. There had been so many nights lately when he'd wished exactly the same thing.

"You should have known this would happen, Kenne," she told him. "You chose to consort with the enemies of the Holdings. You should have known. And now . . ."

She hobbled to the cell's single window, leaning on a gilded, padded crutch, her right leg dangling to the emptiness beyond the knee. The window looked west, Kenne knew-he'd seen the sun's fading light on the wall opposite that window the past few nights, turning yellow, then red, then purple as it crawled up the damp stones. "Come here," Sigourney told him. "Come here and look."

He lifted himself off the bed with difficulty: a broken old man now in truth. He shuffled over to the window as she stood aside. Outside, under a cheerful blue sky, he could see the A'Sele gleaming in the sun as it wound its way past the city toward the sea. Near where the river turned south, he could see dozens of gathered sails. Across the river, what had once been farmland and the estates of the ca'-and-cu', the land crawled with a dark infestation that had not been there yesterday. "You see them?" Sigourney asked. "You see the Westlander army approaching? Those are the ones for whom you betrayed the Holdings, Archigos. Those are the ones who frightened you so much that you tried to make a pact with the Firenzcian dogs against me." Her voice was growing angry now, the single eye raking him. "Those are the foul creatures who killed my brother. Those are the villains who razed our towns and villages. Whether you believe it or not, I'm certain they're also the ones who killed Audric and made me into a horror. Do I hate them? Oh, you can't imagine how much. Watch, and you'll see good Holdings chevarittai send them running, and then we'll deal with your Firenzcian friends as well. Very soon, it will begin. And you're going to help us, Kenne."

He turned his silenced head toward her, quizzical. She laughed. "Oh, you are. We must have the war-teni, after all, and we want to make certain that they understand that their Archigos now regrets his horrible treason, and that he wishes all teni of the Faith to help Nessantico in this terrible time in whatever way they can. You do wish that, don't you, Archigos?"

Kenne could only stare at her, mute.

"You think not?" she told him. "Well, the proclamation is already written; it only requires your signature. And whether you wish to do so or not, I will have that signature. You were a friend of Sergei Rudka, after all-you should know that the Bastida always gains the confessions it wants."

Even with the horrible device strapped to his face, he could not keep the horror from his face, and he saw her smile at his reaction. "Good," she said. "I shall reflect on your suffering when the capitaine hands me your confession."

She gestured to the gardai outside the cell. "He's ready," she told them. "Make sure he receives your full hospitality."

The Battle Begun: Niente.

THE CITY LIFTED STONE FLANKS on the low hills; its towers and spires and domes crowding the large island in the river's center so that it looked like a barnacled rock. The metropolis had leaped far outside the confining girdle of its walls, magnificent and proud and unafraid, and the fields surrounding it were laden with grain and crops to feed its teeming inhabitants. This city . . . It was the rival of Tlaxcala, somewhat smaller but more crowded and compressed, the architecture strange. The cities of his home were dominated by the pyramids of the temples of Axat, Sakal, and the Four; here in Nessantico, what was most visible were the spires and towers of their great buildings and the gilded domes of their temples.

So foreign. So strange. Niente wanted nothing more than to see the familiar places again, and he feared he never would.

Niente looked at Nessantico and s.h.i.+vered, but this was not the reaction he saw in Tecuhtli Zolin. The Tecuhtli, instead, stood on the hill overlooking the river and the city, and he crossed his arms over his chest, a close-lipped smile playing on his lips. "This is ours," he said. "Look at it. This is ours."

Niente wondered if the man even noticed the thick lines of Easterner troops arrayed along the road, if he counted the boats that crowded the river, if he glimpsed the preparations for war all along the western periphery of the city.

"What do you say, Niente?" Zolin asked. "Will we rest tomorrow night in this place?"

"If it is Axat's will," he answered, and Zolin barked his laugh.

"It's my will that matters, Nahual," he said. "Don't you understand that yet?" He didn't give Niente time to answer-not that there was any answer Niente could have made. "Go. Make sure that the nahualli are ready, that the rest of the black sand has been prepared for the initial attacks. And send Citlali and Mazatl to me. We will begin this tonight. We will keep them awake and exhausted; then, when Sakal lifts the sun into the sky, we'll come on them in a storm." Zolin stared for a moment more at the city, then turned to Niente. Almost with affection, he placed his hand on Niente's shoulder. "You will see your family again, Nahual. I promise it. But first, we must give the lesson of their folly to these Easterners. Go look in your scrying bowl, Niente. You'll see that I'm right. You'll see."

"I'm certain I will, Techutli."

But he already knew what he would see. He had glimpsed it this morning, even as they approached this place.

He had called upon Axat and he had looked into the bowl, and he would not dare look again.

The Battle Begun: Sergei ca'Rudka.