The Ruined City

by Brandon, Paula

  They had the wit to recognize as much themselves. Their wild vociferation sank to bitter hoots. They fell back. A low, maledictory hissing accompanied their retreat.

  It was over. The campsite lay in shambles, littered with the dead bodies of men and Sishmindris. Aureste turned to his brother.

  Innesq was again present and aware, albeit pale and drained. His eyes traveled the corpse-strewn vista and closed briefly. A muted whimper caught his attention, and he looked down to discover Nissi crouched beside his chair, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her shoulders were shaking, and tears gushed from her eyes. He touched her spindrift hair consolingly.

  “Innesq, what have you—” Aureste began. His brother’s imperative gesture silenced him.

  As Innesq wheeled his chair about, Nissi rose to her feet. She wrapped her hand in a fold of his cloak. Together they retreated in silence.

  Aureste shrugged. Innesq was always exhausted and often melancholy in the aftermath of arcane endeavor. He would recover soon enough; he always did. In the meantime, practical concerns pressed. The chattering of his teeth and the numbness of his fingers told him that the frigid bubble enclosing the camp remained in place. Uncomfortable, but advantageous; so long as it lasted, they were safe from any renewed Sishmindri assault. There was time to muster the remaining able-bodied guards, post fresh sentries, patch and bandage the wounded, assess losses. These matters occupied Aureste’s attention throughout ensuing hours. During that time, he glimpsed not a single arcanist of the group. Probably they had all contributed to the creation of the bubble, and now all required rest and quiet. Saving his own brother, he could happily have dispensed with them altogether, for they were an alien, peculiar, and generally unappealing lot. They had their uses, though—no denying that. But for arcane intervention upon this night, the peevish Sishmindris would surely have slaughtered the entire party.

  And Sonnetia Corvestri? Nowhere in evidence. Probably safe in the family carriage along with her husband and son. That was certainly where she ought to be, but the thought was disagreeable. With some effort, Aureste pushed her face out of his mind. He worked on, and the hours passed. During that time he learned that the supply wagon despoiled by the Sishmindris belonged to the Corvestris, and it had contained all the provisions that the family had carried from Vitrisi.

  In the last declining hours of the night, he managed to snatch a few hours of uneasy sleep. Around dawn a sentry roused him to report the dissipation of the cold bubble. The air formerly enclosed had resumed the composition and temperature of the surrounding atmosphere. Aureste rose and emerged from his tent to find that it was true. Early spring had returned, but the amphibians had not done likewise; at least, not for now.

  The dawn was rising and the camp was stirring. The rosegold light illumined neatly segregated stacks of dead men and dead Sishmindris. In all likelihood, some maudlin element among the survivors would agitate for traditional burial—a waste of time and resources that he would personally oppose. His eyes traveled on, coming to rest upon the empty Corvestri supply wagon. The Magnifico Vinz was likely to go hungry, now. This prospect would hardly have troubled Aureste, but for its inevitable corollary. Should Vinz Corvestri starve, so, too, starved his wife Sonnetia, as well as that adolescent brat she valued so highly.

  Well, it was up to Vinz Corvestri to provide for his own family. Probably one or another of the travelers could sell him some supplies. The Taerleezis carried more than they could reasonably expect to consume.

  Vinz Corvestri could scarcely afford to purchase anything from anybody. The Corvestri fortunes had dwindled long ago, and the proceeds from the sale of his wife’s jewelry had gone elsewhere.

  His arcane talents then. Surely they would serve to replenish the family larder.

  His arcane talents, such as they were, must be conserved and dedicated to the collective endeavor. The purpose was all. Aureste could almost hear Innesq’s voice in his mind. He shook his head. His conclusions were regrettable but unavoidable.

  When the camp was fully awake, he sought out Littri Zovaccio, by far the less offensive of the Taerleezi arcanists. He offered a proposal, and Zovaccio’s nod conveyed definite acceptance. The Taerleezi arcanist would replenish the Corvestri supplies at a nominal price affordable to Vinz Corvestri. The difference between Vinz’s meager contribution and the true sale price would be made up discreetly by the Magnifico Aureste.

  He could only pray that Sonnetia would never find out about it.

  The prayer might have been answered, had the transaction not been witnessed by a Taerleezi servant, who carried the news straight to the Magnifica Yvenza Belandor, and received a double handful of nuts and raisins in reward.

  The morning departure was delayed by the burial of the slain human guards; a nicety demanded by certain vehemently sentimental members of the group. The digging of the communal grave, the mass interment, and performance of modest obsequies were extravagantly wasteful of time. But the proponents of burial were immovable, and debate pointless. The task was performed, the hours sacrificed. The most eloquent advocate in the world, however, could not have secured similar consideration in behalf of the dead Sishmindris. The amphibian bodies were left exposed to the elements, lying where they had been stacked.

  Nobody ventured to suggest drying or salting a quantity of their meat.

  Vinz Corvestri observed the proceedings with mild interest. The previous evening’s exertions had left him depleted and listless. He had not taken part in the creation of the protective atmospheric bubble—that had been almost entirely the work of Innesq Belandor and Nissi. He had, however, contributed much to the essential maintenance and repair efforts, and he had done it on the spur of the moment, without recourse to artificial stimulants or enhancements of any kind. Difficult enough at any time, but he had worked effectively under the very worst of circumstances. He had good reason to be pleased with himself, and even more reason to be pleased with Vinzille, whose apparently boundless youthful energy had proved invaluable.

  The group arcane effort had saved the expedition, but success had come at a price particularly burdensome to the Corvestri members. They had lost two of their guards, and all of their provisions. For a little while it had seemed inevitable that precious arcane energy must be used to replenish supplies. But then, quite unexpectedly, Littri Zovaccio had approached and tendered a written offer to furnish adequate victuals at a very moderate price. It had seemed a stroke of remarkably good fortune, and Vinz could only assume that these Taerleezi arcanists were more in need of ready cash than they were willing to admit. He had paid readily, and his despoiled wagon had been refilled.

  The burial was completed. The shifting stretch of roadway was reconstituted, and the journey resumed.

  The road beneath the wheels was impossibly smooth, and the ordinary jolting motion of the carriage softened to a not unpleasant vibration. Still deeply tired, Vinz drifted into slumber, and slept for an indeterminate span. He woke to find himself alone in a stationary vehicle. They had paused to water the horses. His wife and son were nowhere in evidence; presumably they had chosen not to disturb his well-deserved rest. The quality of the light told him that at least a couple of hours had passed.

  He stretched and blinked. His fatigue had abated. He was awake, alert, and—for the first time that day—a little hungry. He climbed out of the carriage and surveyed his surroundings. The air was almost free of mist, and he could see clearly in all directions. They had come to the summit of a modest rise dwarfed by surrounding hills of greater height and girth. The sharp slopes were clothed in last year’s brown-chalk garments of dead meecherhaven, zexxit, and woody tuphinney. Bright new growth poked through the countless rents in the drab mantle, and patches of green reared themselves everywhere. Here and there the low stands of early bellafrice beckoned like pools of blue water. In the hollow spreading below the rise, the dark conifers clustered like conspirators. Beyond them, the hills rose steep and stony.

  Vinz stood motionless for a mome
nt, clearing his mind of conscious resistance, opening the mental door a provocative crack, perceptions attuned to the slightest alien touch. There was none. The Overmind was not with him or in him, for now.

  He expelled his pent breath in a sigh, half disappointed, half relieved. His stomach made its presence felt, and he remembered that he wanted food. Those provisions he had purchased from Littri Zovaccio must include some flatbread, or dried fruit, or something that could be wolfed without benefit of preparation. His eyes shifted to the Corvestri supply wagon. In between it and himself loomed the Dowager Magnifica Yvenza Belandor. She was making straight for him, striding vigorously, radiating buoyant good cheer.

  Vinz’s brows bent. He did not wish to deal with Yvenza Belandor at the moment. Not that he disliked her. She seemed an amiable creature, and her gracious formality struck him as engagingly quaint. Just now, however, he wanted to eat. No, it was something more than that. For some reason, her purposeful advance struck a chord of uneasiness, even dread within him. He could hardly account for it.

  No escape without obvious rudeness, however.

  On she came, all smiles, so affable and cordial that his own ill nature shamed him. He produced a smile of suitable warmth.

  “Magnifico Corvestri.” She halted before him. “Well met, sir. I have been longing for the opportunity to express my gratitude. But for your skill, your courage and coolness of yesterday evening, the Sishmindris would surely have murdered us all.”

  “Ah, Magnifica, you grant me credit far beyond my merit. Last night’s arcane defense was a shared effort. Should any one of us deserve special recognition, it is surely Innesq Belandor.” Despite his perfectly truthful disclaimer, Vinz warmed to the praise. It was good to be appreciated, even by an aging woman of no importance. He had been starved for appreciation, he realized. He received little enough at home. He regarded Yvenza with a kindlier eye.

  “You are overly humble, sir.” She shook her head in mock reproof. “You refuse to acknowledge your own excellence.”

  Excellence. How much he wanted to believe it, in the face of all evidence to the contrary! He could feel his lips stretching into a smile.

  “Well. I do what I can,” he returned, with a becomingly modest shrug. “And you, madam? How did you fare, last night?”

  “Well enough. My natural terror was offset by my faith in the talents of men such as yourself, Magnifico. And behold, my confidence was not misplaced. You defeated our enemies, and most of us—for I would not have it said that I forget the loss of the brave guards—most of us survived to greet a new day offering twofold joy.”

  “Twofold?” Vinz was a little puzzled. Her expression of benevolent gratification threatened imminent sermonizing.

  “To be sure. Last night, we withstood the attack of the Sishmindri marauders. And today witnesses the defeat of an enemy more insidious and perhaps more dangerous. I refer, of course, to internal dissension.”

  “Dissension?”

  “Long-standing enmity. We have spoken of it in the past, more than once. Thus I am confident that your pleasure in this morning’s fulfillment of our shared hopes equals my own.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t understand you.”

  “Come, come, Magnifico. It’s no secret. For my own part, I’d gladly shout the news to all the world that the ancient feud between our two Houses has ended at last—and I hope, forever.”

  “The feud? Yes, I’d be perfectly happy to end it. I see no sense to it. But it’s one thing to be willing, and another to actually—”

  “But it is done, sir. Surely the Magnifico Aureste Belandor’s large gesture of friendship admits of no other interpretation.”

  “Gesture? What gesture? What do you mean?”

  “His replenishment of the Corvestri provisions stolen by the Sishmindris last night. What could be more gracious or open-handed?”

  “You are misinformed, Magnifica. I’m sorry to dash your hopes, but I myself purchased supplies directly from Littri Zovaccio.”

  “Ah, you contributed something to the price? Excellent. That makes it all the more a joint endeavor between our two reconciled Houses.”

  “You mistake the matter. Zovaccio and I arranged the transaction. Aureste Belandor had nothing to do with it.”

  “Indeed?” Yvenza appeared astonished. “The Taerleezi servants tell a different story, and they should certainly know. If I may be so bold, Magnifico—how much did you pay Master Zovaccio?”

  Vinz named the sum.

  “Forgive me, but does that not seem a remarkably low price for all that you received?”

  “How should I know? I am no household steward. What have I to do with the price of meal and onions?” An oddly sickening doubt was stirring to life at the pit of his stomach.

  “Ah, Magnifico Vinz. I see that the best of intentions and circumstances do not prevent all misunderstanding. You should know, then—since it’s spoken of freely about the camp—that the diostres you turned over to Littri Zovaccio amounted to a modest percentage of the sale price. The balance was paid by the Magnifico Aureste. I tell you this in order to impress upon you the genuine warmth of Aureste’s new-minted friendship.”

  “No.” Vinz shook his head. “Untrue, madam. There’s no friendship between Aureste and me, and never could be. We might end the quarrel between our two Houses, achieving peace and civility, but nothing more. He has no reason to perform such a service for me.”

  “For your lady wife, then?” Yvenza appeared earnestly eager to solve the mystery. “She has long striven to repair the breach between Houses Corvestri and Belandor. Everyone among us has remarked upon her eagerness to seek out the Magnifico Aureste, to walk and to talk with him, apart from all others. It might be said that she has launched a full assault, and certainly she has conquered. Her charm and determination have overcome his resistance. He is her subject now, bound to undertake all in his power to please her. Almost single-handedly she has defeated the rancor of generations. Honor your wife, Magnifico—she is a most triumphant lady!”

  The cold doubt at the bottom of his stomach was expanding. Everyone among us has remarked upon her eagerness to seek out the Magnifico Aureste. Her eagerness had manifested itself before the journey had ever begun. She had sought him out in Belandor House itself. And now, her behavior had drawn attention. People were talking about it. Laughing? If it was all true—if Aureste Belandor had indeed subsidized the purchase of provisions, for the sake of the Magnifica Sonnetia—then there was really only one conclusion to be drawn. Vinz’s intestines writhed violently. The Magnifica Yvenza was smiling with an air of pleased expectation. Evidently a reply was required.

  He said something or other to her—he hardly knew what. Then, his recent hunger completely forgotten, he stumbled blindly back to his carriage, with Yvenza’s helpful admonition ringing in his ears.

  “Ask your lady wife, Magnifico. She will be proud to explain the nature of her power over Aureste Belandor.”

  Ask his wife. Not a bad idea.

  The journey resumed. Vinz Corvestri sat in his carriage, studying the face of the Magnifica Sonnetia, who sat opposite him. And he found himself wondering, as he had so very often wondered during the course of their married life, exactly what went on behind the fine features and the sylvan greenish eyes. It was not the moment to ask, however. Sometimes Vinzille shared carriage space with his parents; sometimes he preferred to ride horseback. Today he was in the carriage, and his presence precluded potentially disruptive conversation.

  Sonnetia had her writing box open in her lap. She was engaged in musical composition, one of her favorite diversions. Absorbed in her work, she did not at first notice her husband’s fixed regard. Presently, however, she twitched as if she felt an insect crawling on her skin, and looked up sharply to meet his unblinking eyes. Her brows rose in polite inquiry. He said nothing, and she returned to her work. Twice more during the next hour she looked up to discover him watching her. He said nothing, and after that, she ignored him.

  T
ime passed as it had passed for what was beginning to seem endless days. The long, tedious hours in the carriage were enlivened from time to time by conversation with Vinzille, usually revolving about the technicalities of arcane procedure. Such discussions were enjoyable, but could not be sustained continually, and there were vast silent stretches that had to be filled with small pastimes, eating, and sleeping. He did not want to eat, and he could not sleep. No pastime could capture his interest. He sat and watched his wife.

  Throughout the day there were periodic rest stops for the benefit of horses and humans. During such intervals Sonnetia and Vinzille invariably quitted the carriage. Vinzille was driven forth by an excess of youthful energy, while Sonnetia—she was glad of the chance to get away from him. Or so Vinz’s suspicions ran. He would watch until her green-cloaked figure disappeared from view, then settle back in his seat with a sigh. He would not stoop to follow or spy on her. She might speak with anyone she pleased. She might step out of sight into the nearest grove or thicket and meet with … anyone. She might return to the Corvestri carriage—or not.

  She always did return, though.

  The day wore down to a nubbin. The tired sun sagged in the sky, and they halted to make camp. Darkness fell, the air chilled, and the space about them shrank to the diameter of a firelit circle. There was dinner to endure, and then a span of diffuse activity, and then at last he was alone with his wife in their tent. It was a fairly spacious tent, high enough to permit upright posture, and thus suitable to the dignity of a magnifico of Vitrisi. It contained two narrow cots, well blanketed, a small washstand, and a single small oil lamp. There were no luxuries, however—no partitions or compartments, no special lights or furnishings, no rare oils or perfumes, no remarkable refreshments. Quite simply, he could not afford such things. Others might afford them—Aureste certainly could—but what of that? Creature comforts were never truly important—or shouldn’t be.