A Magic of Twilight nc-1

by S L Farrell

  But Jan’s interest was focused now on the blonde-haired child standing with her maidservant, who had survived the outbreak of Southern Fever that had taken her older brother six months ago. Jan had wept bitterly at Toma’s funeral, but if Cenzi must take one of his two children, it was better that it was Toma. He had been too much his matarh’s child, or perhaps too much like Jan’s brother Ludwig: weak both physically and mentally. His daughter, however, was molded from the true ca’Belgradin line, the line of the Hirzgs. .

  It was the second child of the ca’Belgradin line that was always the strongest. His vatarh should have realized that.

  “How is my Allesandra today?” Jan asked. He crouched down and opened his arms. Allesandra smiled and rushed toward him to be gathered up, giggling and kissing his stubbled cheeks.

  “I received your present, Vatarh,” she said.

  “And do you like it?”

  She nodded solemnly. “I do, very much. Would you like to see?”

  She took Jan’s hand and led him to the table (the maidservant stepping shyly aside), where tiny golden figures of soldiers were arrayed over a varnished field. “Look, Vatarh, I had Meghan tie beetles to the supply wagons to pull them, but they don’t do a very good job of going where I want them to go. I have to keep them in place with this.” Allesandra plucked a knitting needle from the table and used it to nudge the glossy green carapace of an insect laced by the hindmost legs to its silken traces.

  “You’ve done nicely. I’m certain you’ll train your beetles well, and they will bring the supplies safely to your army,” Jan told her. He took one of the figures from the table: no larger than the top of his little finger, the figure was delicately carved and cast. “I’ll have to send the artisan a small sum in appreciation since you like the soldiers so much, won’t I? See, this is one of the Red Lancers-down to the lacing on his boots.” He placed the figure down again. “But you should move your archers back behind your war-teni, Allesandra. They’re too near the front ranks, where they can be easily overrun by the enemy chevarittai.”

  Allesandra frowned. “That’s what Georgi said, too, the offizier you sent.”

  “Then he knows what he’s doing. Did you like him?”

  Allesandra nodded. “He was nice. And very patient.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so, and I’ll make sure he gives you more lessons.”

  “Hirzg, she is only a child,” Greta chided him softly from her chair.

  Jan looked over; Mara was standing just behind the Hirzgin, her green eyes on his. “I don’t know why you told that o’offizier to teach her battle tactics. She doesn’t need to know this.”

  Jan looked away from Mara to the far-less pleasant face of Greta. “If she is to be Hirzgin after me, she does,” Jan answered firmly. “Firenzcia always needs leaders who can also be starkkapitan at need.”

  “Firenzcia is part of the Holdings, and the Holdings are at peace,”

  Greta said placidly. “Firenzcia needs a leader, yes, but not another starkkapitan. The threat to us isn’t from soldiers, but from dangerous beliefs that pull the people away from the correct path Cenzi has given us.”

  Her hands, folded over the mound of her stomach, now made the sign of Cenzi on her forehead. She was plain and unhandsome, her straight hair an unremarkable brown, her jaw slightly too square and protrud-ing: that damned family trait. Jan could see that in another few decades, if she survived her pregnancies, she would look much like the Kraljica or, worse, like the A’Kralj. She already, for Jan’s taste, sounded too much like the old hag Marguerite. “We should not be practicing war; we should be preparing for the Kraljica’s Jubilee in Nessantico.”

  “There will be time for that after the maneuvers.”

  “Yes,” Greta said, her voice just shy of mockery. “You have to play with your own toy soldiers.”

  “Nessantico is a doddering old woman, just like the Kraljica, Hirzgin, and it is only the army of Firenzcia that keeps her safe,” he told Greta. “And only stupid and useless people think otherwise.” The

  ladies-in-waiting, all but Mara, sucked in their breath and pretended to be engaged in their own whispered conversations. Jan gestured toward Allesandra’s table. “If Firenzcia weren’t the strong right arm of Nessantico, then Nessantico would be nothing. Unless you think the effete chevarittai of the Garde Civile can protect you.”

  “The Kraljica is the Genera a’Pace. She has brought peace to the Holdings. You talk like a Numetodo railing against Concenzia.” The rebuke was gently spoken, almost an apology, and she brought her hands to her forehead at the mention of the Faith. But the chiding tone was still there, and it would be there again, and again, and again, until the constant touch of it burned like witchfire. That was her way.

  He hated the woman. He hated that his vatarh had been so cowed as to agree to the Kraljica’s “wish” that the two of them marry.

  “The Kraljica has put the Holdings to sleep,” Jan retorted, “and I talk like a realist, Hirzgin. That’s all. A good general-a good leader-must make certain his sword is sharp and his skills well-practiced for when the need is there. And it will be there. War always comes. Inevitably.”

  “There is such a thing as Truth, my dear husband, and Truth comes from faith-faith in Concenzia and faith in the Kraljica.” Greta shook her head, a disagreement so slight as to be nearly invisible. “Truth does not change. It remains the same. Eternal.”

  “Much like our argument, dear wife,” Jan answered, with no warmth in his voice at all. Greta’s hands pressed together hard enough to pull the color from them, and he thought he saw the faintest glimpse of annoyance in her eyes. He smiled, but the smile was for Mara, whose eyes glittered in silent amusement behind Greta.

  “Look, Vatarh,” Allesandra interrupted before Greta could gather herself for another rejoinder. “See, I moved the archers. .”

  Jan looked down at the table. Allesandra had altered the ranks of soldiers. They were set now as he might have set them himself before a battle. He noticed especially the lancers set to either flank, where they could wait for the right moment to enter the battle, and a vanguard was set well ahead of the main force to draw the enemy’s attack and force them to show their hand. He grinned and patted Allesandra’s soft curls. “Well done, my dearest one. Perfect. Each piece has its own part to play in the whole. Just remember, a good Hirzgin would never move without knowing what is set against her. You must know when to bow, and when to take up arms. Knowing which battles you can win and which you cannot is what separates the great leader from a mediocre one.”

  “Then you must be a great leader, Vatarh,” Allesandra answered.

  He heard Mara’s soft, encouraging laughter (but not Greta’s) as his daughter spoke, though he kept his attention on his daughter’s large, earnest eyes.

  “I try, darling one. But history will be the one to judge that, I’m afraid.” He patted her head again. “I find that I’m more tired than I expected from my journey,” he announced. “I will retire to my own

  chamber and take supper there shortly.”

  “I will join you, then,” Greta said, but Jan was already shaking his head.

  “No, my dear wife. I think tonight I prefer to dine in private.” Above and behind Greta, Mara gave him the slightest of nods. “After I’ve eaten and rested for a time, I will come and see what entertainments you’ve arranged for the evening. If you’ll excuse me. .”

  Greta and her ladies rose once more, and the servants hurried to open the canvas panel that served as a door. Markell was waiting just outside, and Jan clapped his arm around the man’s shoulder. Markell had been Jan’s companion since childhood, raised with him to become his aide, his bodyguard, and most trusted confidant. “A certain lady will be coming to my apartments in an hour,” Jan said quietly. If any of the servants nearby could hear, they knew enough to not indicate it. “See that she’s escorted there discreetly.”

  “Certainly, my Hirzg.” Markell inclined his head. “I’ll attend to it perso
nally.”

  “Good. Tomorrow we will watch the maneuvers and begin our other preparations. Make certain that the Hirzgin understands that Allesandra is also to attend, despite the protests she’ll undoubtedly make.” As Markell nodded again, Jan stretched. “It feels good to finally be doing something,” he said. “Our message was sent?”

  “It was, Hirzg, and should have been received by now.”

  “Excellent.” Jan allowed himself a smile. Then you must be a great leader, Vatarh. He would know. Soon enough. “Markell, I have the sense that this will be a good year for Firenzcia. A very good year indeed.”

  Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca

  “. . the family is burdened with debt. Vajiki

  cu’Seranta has borrowed heavily, not only from his wife’s family, but from his own cu’Barith relatives. The family would almost certainly have been named ci’ in the next Roll, except that the giving of a Marque to the daughter saved them. At least that’s what my contacts in the Gardes a’Liste tell me. Now, though. .”

  “The Archigos saved them.” Orlandi snorted derisively. The Dwarf Mockery. . He should never have been Archigos. . “Five thousand solas will keep them safely cu’ as well as pay back the family’s debts. And I’m certain the new o’teni has quite an adequate salary herself. She will keep the family cu’. She might even make them ca’ one day.”

  Carlo cu’Belli’s eyebrows sought to join his receding hairline. “It’s true that the Archigos gave them five thousand solas for this new o’teni’s Marque?”

  “Indeed.” Orlandi-A’Teni of the city of Brezno, Tete of the Guardians of the Faith, and nearly elected Archigos himself during the concordance that had instead chosen Dhosti ca’Millac-let the heavy curtain drop, cutting off his view of the village of Ile Verte across the river. He was staying in the Chateau a’Ile Verte, on its island at the confluence of the Rivers Clario and A’Sele, a day’s journey upriver from Nessantico. The chateau was owned by the Kraljica herself, but she had given Orlandi use of the estate while he was in Nessantico for the Jubilee celebrations.

  He found that arrangement far more satisfactory than taking an apartment within the Old Temple complex; he had his eyes and ears within the Faith’s vast bureaucracy in the city, and the air was better here: close enough to reach Nessantico at need, far enough away that he himself could not be easily observed, though he was certain that both the Archigos and the Kraljica had a spy or two on the house staff reporting back to them-in fact, he was certain that was why the Kraljica had offered the chateau to him even when he knew that she was displeased with his purge of the Numetodo in Brezno. Perhaps, when he became Archigos, he would take the Chateau a’Ile Verte as a small part of his spoils; it would make an excellent summer residence to escape the stifling air of the Nessantico summers But for the moment, there was only cu’Belli in the room with him: Carlo, who had been for several years now Orlandi’s eyes and ears in Nessantico, an importer/exporter with his own network of informers within the business community of Nessantico. Carlo was seated at a table with a platter of venison and potatoes and a flagon of good red Brezno Temple wine, his plate and glass full for the third time now.

  “Five thousand solas to the family. .” cu’Belli repeated, his eyes lifted to the frescoed ceiling as if totting up invisible figures there. He waved a fork whose silver tines held a chunk of dripping meat. If Orlandi knew the man at all, he was trying to figure out how he might acquire some of Vajiki cu’Seranta’s newfound wealth. “She must be truly unusual. What did the teni in charge of the acolytes say?” He placed the meat in his mouth and chewed contentedly and loudly.

  “Very little of any help,” Orlandi answered brusquely. Especially since U’Teni cu’Dosteau is the Archigos’ friend, and hardly sympathetic with our cause. That damned dwarf. . Orlandi cleared his throat. One of cu’Belli’s faults was his tendency to ask questions as if he and Orlandi were somehow, impossibly, peers. “And this is not what I brought you here to discuss, in any case.”

  Cu’Belli accepted the rebuke with a shrug, swallowing and taking a sip of the wine. “My apologies, of course, A’Teni. I just wonder if perhaps Vajiki cu’Seranta will be pleased with his payment from the Archigos.

  The family’s debts, from what I understand, are substantial, and there will be far less than five thousand solas remaining after they’re paid.

  Along with that, the family servants who have been dismissed over the last few years tell me that Vajiki cu’Seranta was in his daughter’s bedchamber at. . odd times. We may be able to exploit that and his greed, and make him pliable to our needs.”

  Orlandi’s lips curled into a near-snarl at cu’Belli’s use of the plural possessive. “My needs,” he said, “go well beyond the cu’Seranta family.

  You’re a crude man, Carlo, and you think crudely. You’d use a hammer when a pinprick would do. It may be that I’ll look to Vajiki cu’Seranta later, but for now, I’m far more interested in what you have to tell me about your trip to Firenzcia. I expected a packet. .”

  “Ah, that. .” Cu’Belli put the fork down on the plate with a clatter that made Orlandi’s eyes narrow. The man rummaged in a large leather pouch hanging from his chair. “While I was in Brezno arranging for a shipment of snowstout hides-and I must say, A’Teni, that they are beautiful hides and wonderfully soft and thick. Three of them would make a most attractive overcloak for you, and I would of course give you a generous discount-a messenger gave this to me for you.” He held up a small bundle wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine.

  “I couldn’t help but feel that there was a large seal on the envelope underneath.” He favored Orlandi with a conspiratorial smile. “While I was there, I heard that Hirzg ca’Vorl has been making overtures to the Numetodo provinces against the Hirzgin’s strong advice. It would seem that the Hirzg has stronger ambitions than simply being related by marriage to the Kraljica. Maybe the Faith has something more substantial to offer him than a few Numetodo gibbeted in Brezno?”

  Orlandi snatched the packet from cu’Belli, who snickered. “Have you been sufficiently refreshed, Carlo? If so, then I’ll direct my aide to give you payment for three snowstout hides, and to make arrangements for you to broker the sale of this season’s Brezno Temple wines.”

  Cu’Belli took a sip of the wine on the table. “If all the bottles are as excellent as this one, I will secure you the best prices in the Holdings.

  You anticipate a good harvest?”

  “We pray for it,” Orlandi answered. “As you should pray for continued good fortune, Vajiki.”

  “Always, A’Teni. You know that I’m a devout follower of Concenzia.” He ostentatiously pressed clasped hands to forehead before pushing his chair back from the table. “A pleasure doing business with you, A’Teni, as always. May Cenzi keep you well, my friend.”

  Business is indeed all it is. Orlandi smiled at cu’Belli as he left the room, but it was only a practiced and meaningless movement of his lips. And perhaps it’s time I look for a better, more grateful, and less talkative partner.

  As the door closed, Orlandi placed the packet on the table. With the knife cu’Belli had been using to cut the meat, he sliced the twine, then pulled apart the paper wrapper. He had little doubt that cu’Belli had already done the same, but the seal on the thick white envelope below seemed intact, the Hirzg’s monogram-a “V” composed of twin inclined swords wrapped in garlands of ivy-pressed deeply into the red wax. Orlandi doubted that cu’Belli had the courage or the skill to have taken off and reattached the seal, but it hardly mattered. The letter inside the envelope was written in a fair hand, but the words were unintelligible: coded.

  Orlandi seated himself at the table, pushing aside cu’Belli’s plate and goblet, and spread out the paper. From a drawer under the table, he took a bottle of ink and a stylus; from a pocket in his vestments, he withdrew a disk composed of two dials of thin board, one slightly smaller than the other, both inscribed along their edges with the letters of the alphabet, though the sequence of
the inner dial was scrambled.

  He looked again at the Hirzg’s message-the number of letters in the first word told him how many steps to advance the inner dial, as well as the number to advance it for each succeeding word in the actual message. Hirzg ca’Vorl had an identical disk.

  Laboriously, Orlandi decoded the message, turning the inner dial with each word and writing down the decoded snippets. By the time he finished, he was smiling.

  Taking the letter, he rose from the table and went to the fireplace on the far wall, where he fed the missive to the flames one sheet at a time. After the last sheet curled into ash, he returned to the window, gazing out beyond the rooftops of Ile Verte to where-a hundred and more miles beyond-the Hirzg arrayed his army in Firenzcia.

  When I’m the Archigos. .

  The pieces were all in place, and Orlandi was seated on both sides of the board moving them. It didn’t matter who won this game: Justi ca’Mazzak might become Kraljiki (and perhaps he would even be Justi ca’Cellibrecca at that point. .), or perhaps Hirzg Jan might sit on the Sun Throne on the Isle A’Kralji with the Ring of the Kralji on his finger. Orlandi didn’t care-either way, he would depose the dwarf and the Concord A’Teni would name him Archigos even if the dwarf had named a successor. He would have the title that should have been his all along. The dwarf was of weak faith and had far too much sympathy for those whose beliefs differed from the correct interpretation of the Toustour, and for those who would bend the laws of the Divolonte.

  Orlandi was furious at how ca’Millac could tolerate an “envoy” from the Numetodo in his own city; Orlandi had shown in Brezno what a genuine Archigos’ response should have been to those who mocked Cenzi and Concenzia. The Numetodo disgusted him. They believed in no gods. Worse, they believed that they could do what was forbidden in the Divolonte and use the Ilmodo without the Faith, without training from Concenzia, without the blessing of the Archigos. They believed that it was not faith that was necessary, but only reason. They were the true enemies. They would destroy Concenzia, and in doing that they would also destroy Nessantico and the Holdings. Their use of the Second World’s power mocked Cenzi. Their souls were already doomed; Orlandi would also doom their bodies.