by S L Farrell
“And if you’re wrong?” Ci’Santiago asked.
“I’m not,” she told him firmly, though she wondered herself about that possibility. “Wait here. All of you. If this goes well, we can end this siege without bloodshed.”
She could see the disbelief on all of their faces. None of them shared her optimism. In truth, she had little hope herself.
She nodded her head to them, then started across the plaza. As she walked, her footsteps splashing through puddles, she spoke a release word. Light bloomed above her head, illuminating her as she made her way across the dark, wet flagstones in the false night of the storm. Despite the rain, she kept down the hood of her cloak so that her white hair shone in the light and her face could be recognized. She looked back once, when she was halfway across the open area: her friends appeared to be little more than specks in the darkness. All around the plaza, she could see torches alight: the waiting gardai. She turned back, walking slowly toward the Old Temple’s main doors. “I am Varina ca’Pallo, A’Morce of the Numetodo,” she shouted out loudly as she came near. “I need to speak to Nico Morel.”
In the storm-gloom, her voice echoed from the buildings around the plaza, sounding weak and lonely and thin. A head peered down at her from a window high in the temple and vanished again. She could almost feel arrows pointed toward her or spells being chanted. She felt old, frail. This was a mistake…
But she heard a small door open to the side of the main doors, one without light behind it, and a figure stood there: a shadow in deeper twilight. “Varina,” a familiar, gentle voice said. “I’m here. The question is, why are you?”
“I need to talk to you, Nico.”
She thought she saw the flash of teeth in the darkness. The shadow moved slightly, and a hand waved. “Then come inside, out of the rain.”
With a final glance backward, she moved past him into incense-perfumed dimness. She was in one of the side chapels off the main nave of the temple. Down a wide corridor, she could glimpse the torchlight vista of the main chapel underneath the great dome. There were people there, many in teni-robes, some of them staring in her direction. She could see the main doors of the temple, barricaded and barred.
She heard Nico close and lock the door again, sliding a heavy wooden beam across it. Another person was there with him: a young woman with a heavily pregnant curve to her stomach: very noticeable as her teni-robes pressed against her as she stood next to Nico. He must have noticed Varina’s attention on the woman; he smiled again. “Varina, this is Liana. She and I…” He smiled. “We are married, even though Liana insists that I should remain free of the actual rite.”
“Liana,” Varina said. Varina wondered if she had ever looked that young and that obviously in love. Varina touched her own belly: if I’d known Karl back when I was young enough… “That’s a lovely name.” Then she looked back to Nico, whose arm had gone around Liana. “Nico, you can’t win here. Kraljica Allesandra has made the decision that the Old Temple must be retaken. She doesn’t care about the cost-in terms of lives or in damage. She’s massed the Garde Kralji and those chevarittai who are still in the city, and they are ready to attack.”
“And the Numetodo?” Nico asked. “Are they out there, too?”
Varina nodded. “We are. You can’t stand against us, Nico. Not even with the war-teni you have here. We have our own magic, and we have black sand in quantity. This will be a massacre, Nico. I don’t want that. At the very least, I would ask you to release Commandant cu’Ingres as a sign that you’re willing to negotiate an end to this. Let’s talk. Let’s see if we can come to some sort of agreement.”
“You want me to release cu’Ingres so that the Garde Civile might have some competent leadership.” He smiled at her, his arm tightening around Liana. “You forget that I have Cenzi on my side. I know you don’t believe, Varina, but you have no idea what you really face here. He has told me that He will send down fire from the sky to protect us. Do you think it’s a coincidence that there’s a storm tonight? It’s not.”
As if on cue, lightning sent multicolored light slashing through the rose window above them, and thunder grumbled. Liana laughed. “Look at yourself, Varina,” she said. “You nearly jumped out of your skin just now. You want to believe; you just won’t let yourself. Can’t you feel your husband’s soul calling to you from the afterlife?”
“No,” Varina told the young woman. “You believe in a chimera. You say ‘I don’t understand this’ and you make up a myth to explain it. We Numetodo look for explanations-we don’t need to call on Cenzi to create magic; we call on logic and reason.”
Nico was frowning now. “You slap the face of Cenzi with your heresy,” he snapped. “You have no idea how powerful Cenzi has made me.”
“You would have been this powerful regardless,” Varina told him. “The power is within you, Nico. It has nothing to do with Cenzi. It’s your power. You’ve always had it, and I’ve always known it.”
Nico drew himself up, releasing Liana. In the dimness of the temple, he seemed larger, and his voice-Varina realized-crackled with the power of the Scath Cumhacht. She wondered whether he even realized what he was doing: without a spell, without calling on Cenzi at all. She was amazed: this was nothing she could do herself, nothing any Numetodo could do. He was tapping the Second World instinctively and naturally, as if he were a part of it. She wondered, knowing this, what else he was capable of doing. Karl, I could use you now. Together, perhaps we could understand this… “ Is this what you’ve come to do, Varina?” Nico continued. “To insult me here in the very house of Cenzi? If so, you’re wasting your breath and we are done talking.”
Varina started to respond angrily, then stopped herself. She took a long, slow breath. “Look at me, Nico,” she said. “I’m an old woman. I don’t want this. I’m here because I cared about you when you were a child, and I still care about you. I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t want the death and destruction that will come if the Kraljica hauls you and your people out of here by force. And she will do that, Nico. She’s determined that she must do this, and unless you surrender yourself, that’s what will happen. Is that what you want? Do you want your followers here to die?”
Nico laughed again, hearty and rich, so loud that the others in the main portion of the temple glanced their way. Liana smiled with him. “That’s all you have, Varina?-to appeal to fear, to play on my sympathy? Do you think me that naive? I have been charged by Cenzi to do this-perhaps you can’t understand what that means, but because of that charge, I have no choice. No choice at all. I do His bidding; I am His vehicle. This is not my action nor my battle. If the Kraljica and the Archigos wish to defy Cenzi, then it will be their own souls and everlasting salvation that they risk, and the same for those who support them. Each of you out there is damned, Varina. Damned. You want me to surrender? That won’t happen. Rather, let me give you this task: go to your Kraljica, who coddles you and your heresy. Tell her that, instead, I demand her surrender. Tell her that otherwise she risks the destruction of everything she has built. Tell her that she will find that Cenzi will send fire and flame to assault her, that those she commands will tremble and quake with fear, that they will run in terror from what awaits them. Tell her that. ”
As he spoke, Nico’s voice also rose in power and volume. Varina had to force herself not to step back from him, as if his very words might catch fire and ignite her. She could not deny the power he had; she could feel the cold rage of the Scath Cumhacht surrounding her-what he would call the Ilmodo-and she realized that she had lost here, that he was beyond any poor capability she had to convince him. The sparkwheel sagged heavily on the belt under her cloak, and she realized that she had no choice. No choice. Her own life didn’t matter. But Nico was the heart and the will of the Morelli sect, and if he were gone, the body would collapse.
She took out the sparkwheel. She pointed it at his chest, her hand trembling. He glanced at it, contemptuously. “What is this?” he asked. “Some foolish Numetodo th
ing?”
She could not hesitate-if she did, he would call up a spell and the moment would be over. Sobbing at what she was doing, weeping because she was about to kill someone both she and Karl had loved, she pressed the trigger. The wheel spun, sparks flared.
But there was only a hiss and sputter from the black sand in the pan, and she saw with despair the dampness beaded on the metal. She dropped the sparkwheel; it clattered on the marble tiles of the floor.
Liana laughed, but Varina could feel Nico studying her face. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “It should never have come to this between us. I’m sorry,” he repeated, and it was the voice of the boy she remembered. Nico turned; he unbarred the door and opened it: outside, the wind threw rain across the plaza and black clouds rolled overhead. “Go, Varina,” he said. “Go for the sake of our old friendship. Go and tell the Kraljica that if she wants battle, she shall have it-and the blame will be on her head.”
Varina was staring at her hand, at the sparkwheel on the floor. Stiffly, she bent down and picked it up again, placing it back on her belt. She took a step toward Nico, and she hugged him. “At least let Liana come with me, for the sake of the child she carries. I’ll keep her safe.”
“No.” The answer came from Liana. “I stay here, with Nico.”
Nico smiled at her and his arm went around her again. “I’m sorry, Varina. You have your answer.
“I’m sorry, too,” Varina told him, told both of them.
She nodded once to Liana, and went out into the storm, drawing her hood over her face.
Jan ca’Ostheim
The storm shook the tents like a dog worrying at a stubborn bone. Canvas boomed and rattled above Jan so fiercely that everyone glanced up. “Don’t worry,” he told Brie. “I’ve been out in worse.”
“I know it’s silly, but I worry that this storm’s an omen,” Brie answered, and Jan laughed, drawing her close and embracing her.
“The weather is just the weather,” he told her. “It means that crops will grow and the rivers will run fast and clean. It means that the men will grumble and curse and the roads will be a muddy ruin. But that’s all. I promise.” He kissed her forehead. “Paulus and the staff will escort you back to Stag Fall,” he told her.
“I’m not going to Stag Fall and Brezno. I’m going with you.”
He was already shaking his head before she had finished. “No. We have no idea how serious a threat we’re facing at Nessantico. I won’t have our children orphaned. You’re staying with them.”
“They’re my children as well,” Brie persisted. “And I will have to answer to them when they’re older. If you were to die, they’d want to know why I was so cowardly as to stay behind.”
“You didn’t go with me when we put down the rebellion in West Magyaria,” he countered, though he knew immediately the answer to that. It came as swiftly as he expected.
“I had just given birth to Eria then. Or I would have. Besides, Jan, you need me to be between you and your matarh. The two of you.. .” She shook her head. “It won’t be a pretty sight, and you’re going to need a mediator.”
“I can handle my matarh.” He grasped her shoulders, holding her gaze. “Brie, I love you. That’s why I can’t have you there. If you’re there, I’ll be too worried about you.”
He saw her soften at that, though she was still shaking her head. She wanted to believe him. And it was true, at least part of it. He did love her: a quiet love, not the burning intensity he’d once felt for Elissa, not even the lust that arose with the lovers he’d taken. He hurried into the opening. “Give Elissa, Kriege, Caelor, and little Eria kisses for me, and tell them that their vatarh will be back soon, and not to worry.”
“Kriege will want to come after you,” Brie told him, “and so will Elissa.”
He knew then that he’d won the argument. He laughed, pulling her close. “There’s time enough for that,” he said, “and given the way of things, there will probably be ample opportunity as well. Tell them to be patient, and to study hard with the arms master.”
“I’ll do that, and I’ll be waiting for you as well,” she answered.
She rose on her toes and kissed him suddenly. Since Rhianna’s sudden departure, since it had become obvious that it was unlikely that the young woman would be found, Brie had been far more affectionate toward him. He’d said nothing to her about what the girl had stolen-though he suspected that Brie knew. He had especially not told Brie about Rhianna’s shocking, unbelievable last words. He was still reeling from them, though he’d made every effort to pretend otherwise. “I’m your daughter. Elissa’s daughter. The White Stone’s daughter.”
He wanted to shout his denial of that to the world, yet he found that the words stuck in his throat like a burr on the hem of his bashta. You found Rhianna attractive because she reminded you of Elissa-the Elissa you remembered… Was it possible? Could she be his daughter? Could she, or could Elissa, have been responsible for Rance’s death?
Yes… The word kept surfacing in his mind.
When this war was over, he told himself, he would find her again. He would put a thousand men on her trail, he would track her down, he would have them bring her to him, and he would discover the truth.
And if she is your and Elissa’s daughter? There was no answer to that question.
So Jan smiled at Brie and pretended that there was nothing between them, as Brie pretended the same, as he knew she’d pretended before with the other mistresses he’d taken. They kissed each other again, and Brie tucked his rain cloak around him as she might have for one of the children. “You must be careful,” she told him. “Come back to me a victor.”
“I will,” he told her. “Firenzcia always does.”
He embraced her again for a moment, inhaling the scent of her hair and remembering, instead, the smell of Elissa. Then he released her, and Paulus lifted back the painted flap of the tent, and he went out into the rain, pulling his hood over his head.
Starkkapitan ca’Damont and the a’offiziers stiffened to attention and saluted as he emerged, and he saluted them in return. Sergei ca’Rudka was there as well, dry in a carriage. “It’s time,” Jan said simply, and ca’Damont and the offiziers saluted again, and ca’Damont barked orders at them as they scattered off to ready their divisions. Jan strode through the muck to Sergei’s carriage. In the shadows of the vehicle, Jan could see the gleam of Sergei’s nose. “Ambassador?” Jan said. “You have what you need?”
In the dimness, Sergei’s hand touched his diplomatic pouch. “I do, Hirzg. Your matarh will be pleased to see this.”
“I suspect she’ll be more pleased to see the army of Firenzcia,” Jan said. “You’re certain you don’t want to travel with the army?”
Sergei shook his head. “I need to return to Nessantico as soon as I can,” he said, “if only to let her know that help is coming. I can travel much faster this way. I’ll see you there.”
Jan nodded, and gestured to the driver. “May Cenzi speed your path,” he said. “And may this rain stop before the rivers rise.”
Sergei was about to respond, but they heard a voice hailing the Hirzg. Jan turned-Archigos Karrol’s carriage had arrived. The Archigos was helped down by his teni attendants, holding a large umbrella over him. Despite that, Jan could see the gold-threaded hem of the Archigos’ robe was spattered with mud, and the man seemed out of breath. “My Hirzg,” the Archigos called out, waving toward Jan.
“The Archigos seems upset,” Sergei said. He’d poked his head out from the carriage window. Rain plastered the few strands of his gray hair to his skull and bounced from his nose. “I wonder…”
“You wonder what?” Jan asked, but the the Archigos reached them before Sergei answered.
“My Hirzg,” Archigos Karrol said again, giving the sign of Cenzi. “I’m glad that I found you. I…” He stopped, glancing at the carriage and seeing Sergei. He scowled.
“Go on, Archigos,” Jan told him. “If you’ve something to say, I’m certain the Am
bassador should hear it as well.”
“Hirzg… I…” The man paused as if to catch his breath. His eternally bowed head strained to look Jan in the eyes. “I had ordered the war-teni to meet with me this morning, to give them a final blessing and my orders, but…” He stopped, let his head drop again. The rain beat a quick rhythm on the umbrella above him.
“But…” Jan prompted, but he already knew. He glanced at Sergei, who had withdrawn back into the shelter of the carriage.
“Most of them… They’re gone, my Hirzg. The ones who stayed told me that a message came during the night, that most of them left the camp afterward. The note…”
“Was from Nico Morel,” Jan finished for him. He spat. “Cenzi’s balls.”
The profanity brought Karrol’s head up again. Rheumy eyes looked at Jan reproachfully. “Yes, my Hirzg,” Karrol said. “The note was from Morel. The man had the audacity to order the war-teni to stand down, as if he were the Archigos. I tell you, Hirzg, once we find these traitors, I will punish them to limits of the Divolonte. They will never again listen to a heretic.”
“And in the meantime?” Jan asked him. “What is my army to do for war-teni?”
“There are still two hands of them, Hirzg.”
“Two hands of ten. How impressive. Two hands obey you, and eight hands obey Morel. Perhaps Morel should be the Archigos. He seems to have more influence than you.”
Archigos Karrol blinked. “I’m confident that the others will soon see the error of their ways. Cenzi will punish them, will make them unable to perform their spells, will haunt their dreams. They will come back, repentant. I’m confident of that.”
“I’m so pleased to hear of your confidence,” Jan replied flatly. He heard Sergei chuckle softly in his carriage.
“What will bring them back is Nico Morel’s death,” Sergei commented. “If we kill Morel, we end whatever authority he has.”