The Ruined City

by Brandon, Paula

  He cracked the bones and sucked them dry, then set his staff against the ground and lifted himself to his feet. For a moment he stood as if uncertain, his eye traveling the surrounding wilderness without comprehension, then memory revived and he appeared to remember where he was, and where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do. He made his slow but unerring way back to the footpath, which he followed downhill for a long time and a long way, until at last he limped from the woods out onto the VitrOrezzi Bond.

  He rested for a while at the side of the road—he had no idea how long, for time held no meaning—then resumed his progress toward Vitrisi. The featureless hours passed. He took no notice of his surroundings—the rutted road, the trees, hills and pastures, or even the smoky cloud hovering above the city ahead. He seemed unaware of the occasional vehicle or rider that he encountered, and fellow travelers cultivated a corresponding blindness to his existence. The human eye encountering his face by chance was apt to turn away promptly.

  Despite his resistance to physical suffering, he was not immune. As time wore on, his slow pace slackened and his limp worsened, but he did not pause until he came upon a large cart standing at the side of the road. The cart was loaded with burlap sacks of root vegetables. A donkey stood between the shafts. The driver was nowhere in evidence. Presumably he had retired to relieve himself, and would soon return.

  Onartino studied the vehicle. His eye blinked. He hobbled forward, tossed his staff in, and then—slowly, with much effort—climbed into the cart. Once ensconced, he bolted a couple of raw potatoes, and burrowed down among the sacks, burying his large bulk as best he could. His refuge was chilly, lumpy, and hard. Various parts of his body ached and protested. The odors of soil and potatoes swamped his senses. There was nothing he could do about any of it. He shut his eye and slept.

  The return of the driver failed to wake him, and he slumbered on as the wagon resumed motion. Hours and distance passed. He remained unconscious and hidden from view when the vehicle paused at the city gate and its driver submitted to the obligatory examination. Nobody troubled to investigate the cargo. Cart, driver, and insensible stowaway passed into Vitrisi and now the wooden wheels bumped over cobbled streets.

  They halted again at a market square not far from the city gate. The driver dismounted, came around to the rear of the cart, and grabbed the nearest sack. Onartino awoke and sat up slowly. The driver cursed in amazement and backed away. Apparently oblivious, Onartino climbed out of the cart.

  Affronted, the driver cursed with increased vigor, and the illicit passenger finally noticed his existence. The single bloodshot eye found him, studied him expressionlessly, and the driver fell silent.

  Onartino surveyed his surroundings without apparent comprehension. He spoke two words.

  “Belandor House.”

  Verbal resources exhausted for the nonce, he took his leave.

  The Nor’wilders Way had shrunk to the width of a country lane, and would no doubt soon diminish in status from road to path, destined to dwindle out of existence in the midst of the wild. The Belandor carriage’s days of utility were numbered, and even the continuing viability of the supply wagons lay open to question.

  The Magnifico Aureste surveyed the prospect without misgiving. The sedan chair riding in pieces atop the carriage could be assembled and readied within minutes to accommodate Innesq. He himself was prepared at any time to transfer to horseback. The contents of the wagons could be shifted swiftly to the backs of the horses and servants. The demise of the Nor’wilders Way presented no insurmountable obstacle.

  Of more immediate concern was the threat offered by predatory countryfolk. Presumably refugees from small settlements ravaged by the plague, they roamed the hills in hungry gangs, and they must have been desperate. Nothing short of starvation could account for their suicidal willingness to attack a large, well-armed, well-guarded caravan. But attack they did, and not infrequently.

  It seemed to happen most often at sunrise or sunset, when the savory odors drifting from the cookfires must have driven the starving wretches to madness. Had they approached openly and simply requested nourishment, they might not have fared badly. Innesq Belandor would never have ignored the pleas of the hungry, nor would Sonnetia Corvestri. Disinclined to rely upon the generosity of the great, however, they opted for combat, thus idiotically categorizing themselves as legitimate prey to the Magnifico Aureste, whose past experiences qualified him to command the expedition’s collective defenses.

  Aureste was not particularly interested. The rustic marauders offered no real challenge—or almost none, if one discounted the dawn peppering of ill-made arrows that had claimed the life of a guard some days earlier. The requisite increase in vigilance had been effected, thus rendering repetition of the insult all but impossible. Thereafter, attempted incursions had amounted to little more than occasional insectile dartings too puny and insignificant to hold the magnifico’s attention.

  His interest revived, however, when the expedition was modestly but decidedly intercepted.

  They had paused around midday to rest the horses. The air was clear, and pale sunlight washed an expanse of rolling countryside tinged here and there with traces of springtime color; irregular patches of green groundrambler, groves of fonachia tipped with pinkish silver, the occasional bright burst of goldstar, the first hesitant sigh of dusky sorrows-breath. The scene breathed life and hope, never so much as hinting at the huge hidden presence of the plague.

  The Magnifico Aureste was engaged in colloquy with a couple of the guards when some nameless sense of anomaly gripped him, and he glanced back over his shoulder to spy a pair of strangers approaching on foot. Women, both plainly dressed. One tall and strapping; the other much shorter and slighter, unmistakably youthful, with very light, almost white hair.

  Females—no threat. Evidently poor and humble—no importance, no interest. Nonentities. Why then did his jaw tighten and the alarm bells peal inside his head? Whence the sense of impending doom?

  Turning from the guards, he watched the women, and the source of his uneasiness soon revealed itself. She drew near, and he recognized her. Yvenza Belandor—alive, well, and here. Part of his mind marveled. Anger vied with grudging admiration, while some compartment of comprehension told him that he should have expected it. Of course she would pursue him as long as a whisper of strength and life remained in her, for that was her nature. But the thirst for vengeance seemed to have affected her judgment if not her reason. What else could explain a direct and unconcealed advance upon the armed camp of her enemy? Did she expect to bully her way past the sentries?

  He saw a guard accost her. There was an exchange of some sort, and Yvenza’s brusque gesture encompassed her companion. Unbelievably, the guard inclined his head in apparent respect and permitted them to pass. The women followed his pointing finger straight toward the Belandor carriage, which stood idle at the side of the road.

  For a moment Aureste wondered, then comprehended. Of course. The younger woman with the light hair—she must be the gifted girl of whom Innesq had spoken; the so-called kinswoman of questionable pedigree and unquestionable talent, one of the valuable arcanists upon whom the success of the endeavor depended. He studied the slight little figure and searched his memory. When he had taken Ironheart, she must have been there. The resident population of the stronghouse had not been large, and he must have glimpsed her at some time or other, but she had left no imprint upon his customarily reliable memory. Well, if she possessed genuine arcane ability, then she surely knew how to make herself inconspicuous when necessary. She had done so, and succeeded in escaping his notice altogether.

  Curious to think of such power and potential inhabiting so frail a vessel. And disquieting to see so priceless a commodity controlled by Yvenza Belandor. No telling what Yvenza would do with it—but she would think of something.

  The murder of her archenemy’s favorite brother, for example, might strike her as an excellent move. Innesq sat alone and unsuspecting in the carri
age, perhaps sunk in one of his trance-like meditations. Despite all his power and intellect, he presented an easy target. Yvenza could slip a knife between his ribs before he noticed her arrival. Quite likely she intended exactly that.

  He should have executed her when he had had the chance, should have chained her to an Ironheart wall and blown her sky-high. Perhaps it was not too late to rectify the error.

  Then he was running, heedless of dignity, running to interpose himself between Yvenza and his brother. He covered the distance with a speed worthy of youth, but it was not enough; she and her companion were there before him. Her hand was reaching for the carriage door.

  “Halt,” he commanded.

  “Cousin Aureste.” The hand retreated. She turned to face him with a smile of apparent pleasure. She looked hale, vigorous, and formidable as ever. “Well met. I hoped I should find you dogging the arcanists.”

  Her insolence.

  “You dare to show your face here.” He kept his voice low and controlled, but his eyes expressed many things. “Leave this place, or I will order you whipped hence.”

  “I’d rather hoped,” she returned pleasantly, “that you might offer us the hospitality of your carriage. We’ve walked such a long way.”

  Unbelievable. The woman deserved slow flaying. Why did she still exist? Shouldn’t she have died of grief and despair weeks ago?

  “Do not try my patience, madam. I spared you once. I am not minded to do so a second time.”

  “Come, coz. Surely it’s time to set the grievances of the past behind us. For the benefit of all, don’t you know. See, I’ve conducted my young ward Nissi hither, and now she’ll lend her talents to the great arcane endeavor, whatever that marvel is supposed to be. She’s a valuable addition to the party, and I trust such an offering purchases my warm welcome among you.”

  “It does not. The girl may travel with us, but that invitation does not extend to you. Return to whatever hole in the ground you presently call home, and trouble us no more.”

  “Impossible. Young Nissi here—a sheltered creature, hardly more than a child—relies entirely upon my judgment and guidance. She really can’t do without me.”

  “She’ll manage. Rest assured, she’ll find no dearth of guidance here.”

  “Ah, what stranger can replace a foster mother? If I depart, then my ward will insist on accompanying me. Will you not, Nissi? Tell him.”

  Aureste’s attention shifted to Yvenza’s companion, who still struck no chord in his memory, and he took her in at a visual gulp; young, small, fragile, confused, scared. And peculiar, he realized. Unlike ordinary girls, with that pallid spindrift hair of hers, that ghostly complexion, those huge, colorless eyes made of moonlight. She wasn’t normal, she wasn’t comprehensible, and he didn’t like her. If she wanted to leave along with her detestable guardian, so be it. Good riddance. He held the words in, but glared at the girl, heavy brows lowering, and watched her shrivel beneath his black regard.

  Her eyes sought the ground, her shoulders drooped, and she appeared to struggle for breath. At length a tiny, lost whisper emerged.

  “I—I—”

  Aureste waited.

  “I—I—think—”

  She seemed mentally deficient. He grew impatient.

  “Well?” he snapped.

  Her voice evaporated altogether. Her strange eyes rose to his face, evoking an uneasiness that sharpened his anger. He gave her a look that should have dropped her to her knees, but her eyes remained fixed on his own. It was disconcerting, for he was not certain whether she was highly impudent, or innocently stupid, or something else. Before he could decide, his brother appeared at the carriage window.

  “Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere—” Innesq commenced. His eyes found Nissi, and he broke off. For a moment he studied her, then a smile of recognition and great warmth lighted his face. “My dear child,” he greeted her.

  She was staring, motionless as if dazed, her aspect putting Aureste irritably in mind of some white mouse impaled upon a bodkin. He deemed her incapable of reply, but she surprised him.

  “Is it you?” Nissi whispered.

  “I am Innesq. We have spoken many times across the spaces that are not.”

  “You are truly the one?”

  “I am.”

  “But—your face.” Her frightened regard shifted from Innesq’s visage, to Aureste’s, and back again. “And his … at Ironheart … fire, thunder, and death …”

  “Ah. I understand. He is my brother, the Magnifico Aureste, and there is a family resemblance between us. He will not harm you, I promise. Come, child—there is nothing here to fear.” Innesq extended his hand.

  She seized it in both of her own and held on tightly, as if clutching a lifeline.

  Innesq had always possessed the ability, Aureste reflected sourly, to win the trust of wild birds, rabbits, field mice, feral cats—all manner of timid creatures. This one seemed to be no exception. But could he train her to perform tricks on command?

  “But what a lovely meeting of true minds.” Yvenza bobbed a benevolent nod. “Here is genuine family feeling.”

  Innesq’s attention shifted, and he gave her a long, considering glance.

  “You are the Magnifica Yvenza?” he hazarded.

  “Yes. And you’re the clever middle brother?”

  “I am Innesq Belandor. I bid you welcome, Magnifica, and I offer my thanks for your care and sacrifice in conveying young Nissi to this meeting.”

  “It was no sacrifice. Indeed, it was my pleasure.”

  “Yes. I see that. Yet we are indebted to you, as you must know if you recognize the nature of our mission. Has our objective been clearly presented to you, Magnifica?”

  “Oh, I am quite devoid of arcane talent and knowledge. How should I hope to encompass such great ends or plumb such deep mysteries? I’m but an ordinary mortal.”

  “Scarcely that, so much is apparent. If you will permit me, I should like to tell you—to tell you both—more of our endeavor and its purpose. When you recognize the nature of the peril we confront, there is no doubt in my mind that you will choose to grant us your full support and assistance.”

  “Gifts without value. My ward Nissi here may be of some use to you, but the same can hardly be said of me.”

  Just so, thought Aureste. The hag conceded the obvious in order to demonstrate her candor, but she deceived no one. Or did she?

  “A woman of intelligence, energy, and determination always has much to offer—if she so wills,” Innesq returned. “But forgive me, I neglect all courtesy.” Gently freeing his captive hand of Nissi’s grip, he opened the carriage door. “Will you not join me? Rest, travel in comfort, and we will talk.”

  Impossible. His brother could not mean to invite this abominable woman into the Belandor carriage. Even Innesq’s trusting good nature could not extend so far.

  He would not allow it. He did not wish to humiliate his brother, but he would not allow it.

  “The girl may travel with us, if you so desire,” Aureste decreed. “As for the old woman, she can have a loaf of bread or two in charity’s name, and then she’ll be on her way.”

  “Aureste, I ask you to reconsider.” Innesq’s grave tone carried a note of reproof.

  “Clearly you don’t understand. Have you any idea who and what this creature is?”

  “Yes—our kinswoman.”

  “Oh, do not quarrel on my account,” Yvenza forestalled Aureste’s reply. “I wouldn’t sow discord between two loving brothers—indeed, I wouldn’t do it for the world. Therefore I will take my leave without further ado. I’ll accept those loaves of bread you offered, coz, and thank you for your generosity.” She turned to her charge. “Nissi. Come, child. I am not welcome here, so we must leave now.”

  Nissi shot Innesq an anguished glance.

  “They are of House Belandor,” Innesq observed. “Will you turn them away?”

  “The girl may stay,” Aureste returned. “I’ve already said so.”

 
“But she will not stay without me.” Yvenza shook her head with an air of regret.

  “I fail to recognize your indispensability, madam.” Turning from her to address the odd little white stranger, Aureste consciously softened his voice, but could not quench the wrathful fire in his eyes. “Well—Nissi. Will you travel to the Quivers with us? We should be glad of your company.”

  The words were civil enough, but they did not produce the desired effect. She scrutinized the ground raptly.

  “Speak up, girl!” Yvenza commanded. “Tell him.”

  Wrapping both arms about herself, Nissi raised her head to stare off at an area of sky somewhere beyond Aureste’s left shoulder.

  “I—must stay with the magnifica,” she murmured.

  “No need,” he snapped. “We shall look after you well, protect you night and day, and provide you with every possible comfort. Listen to me. Don’t you see—”

  “Stop,” Innesq commanded, so quietly and calmly that the interruption seemed almost devoid of offense.

  Aureste fell balefully silent, and his brother’s attention returned to the otherworldly girl.

  “Child, you cannot part from the Magnifica Yvenza?” he inquired.

  She shook her head almost invisibly.

  “Then we shall not ask it of you. The two of you are of House Belandor, entitled to our regard. Your acceptance of our hospitality honors us. Ladies, will it please you to enter?” Even as Innesq threw wide the carriage door, his eyes sought his brother’s.

  The message was easily read by Aureste. The peculiar but talented girl was too valuable to lose. She was needed, no matter what the cost. If she wanted to drag a companion along on the trip, then the companion would have to be tolerated. Yvenza could not be killed, cast out, or even openly slighted—at least, not for the moment.

  “Oh—” Yvenza affected a certain solicitous distress. “—I am not persuaded that the magnifico will bear it.”

  He yearned to wring her neck. Instead he replied with such good grace as he could muster, “My brother’s goodness schools me. The claims of kinship must not be denied.”