Read A Magic of Nightfall Online
Authors: S. L. Farrell
A Magic of Nightfall (63 page)
“Just go!” Talis said. “Now!”
“No,” Serafina said. She was holding onto Nico fiercely and though she looked as if she wanted to do nothing more than follow Talis’ advice, she remained between them. “I’m not leaving until I understand what’s going on.”
Talis gestured at Karl with his free hand. “That bastard’s the Numetodo Ambassador, Serafina,” he said. “That’s the man who tried to kill me and the reason you had to leave the city. He kidnapped Nico when he came back here, and used him for bait to catch me.”
Serafina was staring at Karl, her gaze stricken and betrayed.
“Is this true?” she asked. “Tell me.”
Karl glanced at Varina. She nodded. “It’s mostly true,” Karl told Serafina. “I’m Ambassador ca’Vliomani. I’m a Numetodo, as is Varina. We found Nico here when we were looking for Talis, and yes, we kept him—though I’d point out that he was alone in the streets when Varina found him and we kept him fed and warm and safe. We told people in the neighborhood that we’d found him . . . and yes, that was with the hope that Talis would come for him, but he never did. As for Talis—I believe he’s the man who killed Archigos Ana.” Serafina cradled Nico to herself. Confusion struggled with fear on her face as she listened to him, her gaze moving from one to the other of them. “Now ask
him
something for me,” Karl told her. “The truth. Ask him who killed the Archigos.”
him
something for me,” Karl told her. “The truth. Ask him who killed the Archigos.”
Serafina looked at Talis, who was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t me,” but Serafina’s face had gone red.
“You knew where Nico was, and
you didn’t go to him
?” she half-shouted to Talis. “You didn’t try to help him? You didn’t send word back to
me
when I was worried sick about him?”
you didn’t go to him
?” she half-shouted to Talis. “You didn’t try to help him? You didn’t send word back to
me
when I was worried sick about him?”
“They would have
killed
me if I had gone for him, Serafina. And maybe Nico too.”
killed
me if I had gone for him, Serafina. And maybe Nico too.”
“No.” Varina stepped closer to Karl. “You’re wrong, Talis. We only wanted to know the truth. The Numetodo were being blamed for Archigos Ana’s death; we were in danger ourselves. I—we—would never have done anything to harm Nico. Never. You know that, don’t you, Nico?”
Nico nodded earnestly on his matarh’s shoulder. “I know that,” he said. “Varina was good to me, Matarh. She said she would try to find you . . . and look, she did.”
“Talis is a Westlander spellcaster, Serafina,” Karl said. “The last Westlander I knew like him was Mad Mahri, and he tried to kill Ana, too.”
At the mention of Mahri’s name, the walking stick trembled in Talis’ hands and the muscles of his jaw tightened. “You
knew
Mahri?”
knew
Mahri?”
“I did,” Karl told him. “I knew him very well. And I know he wasn’t here for the good of Nessantico. And you’re not either. Sera, I’m sorry. I know you love this man. But you need to understand what he is. He’s an enemy of the Holdings, far more so than any Numetodo.”
“She
knows
what I am,” Talis grunted. “Sera, I haven’t changed. I do love you; I love Nico, too. I found him and I was bringing him back to you. If you hadn’t been here, I would have gone next to Ville Paisli to find you. I’m not the monster they’re painting me to be.” He scowled at Karl and Varina. “If I were, I wouldn’t have waited; I’d have attacked the Ambassador without worrying about whether you and Nico were in the way. Sera, please. Move aside.”
knows
what I am,” Talis grunted. “Sera, I haven’t changed. I do love you; I love Nico, too. I found him and I was bringing him back to you. If you hadn’t been here, I would have gone next to Ville Paisli to find you. I’m not the monster they’re painting me to be.” He scowled at Karl and Varina. “If I were, I wouldn’t have waited; I’d have attacked the Ambassador without worrying about whether you and Nico were in the way. Sera, please. Move aside.”
Instead, still holding Nico, she turned back to Karl and Varina, stepping between them and Talis. “I know Talis,” she said. “I believe him when he says he didn’t kill the Archigos. If you want to
talk
to him, well, he’s here.” She paused, stroking Nico’s head. “I trusted the two of you. Now I’m asking you to trust me.”
talk
to him, well, he’s here.” She paused, stroking Nico’s head. “I trusted the two of you. Now I’m asking you to trust me.”
Karl glanced again at Varina. Her hands had dropped to her side. She nodded, a bare movement of her head, and Karl let his own hands drop down as well.
“All right,” he said. “Tell him to put that stick of his aside, and we can talk.”
Jan ca’Vörl
T
HE TEMPLE AT BREZNO was smaller than the Archigos’ Temple in Nessantico, and not as venerable and sacred a place as the Old Temple on the Isle a’Kralji (or with as impressive a dome). But Brezno’s dome and several of its famous frescoes had been painted by the great Firenzcian artist cu’Goslar, and they were stunning. Cu’Goslar’s oddly-elongated figures loomed and twisted over the supplicants at the temple, draped in gauzy clothing or sometimes nothing at all: Cénzi, yes, was prominent, but there were also those of Firenzcia who had been important to the Faith. There was Gareth ca’Lang, the first a’téni of Brezno, his sword lashed to his handless arm as he fought his hopeless battle against the heretics of the Karinthia Sect; there was Pewitt the Hopeless, the Moitidi swarming around him, tearing and ripping the flesh from his living body, mocking the man by consuming his body as he watched in torment; there was Ursanne ca’Sankt, the great martyr who many thought would have been Archigos had she lived, desperately trying to fend off her Tennshah rapists, from which unwilling union would come the great Firenzcian Starkkapitän Adalwulf, who would later drive off the Tennshah from their settlements around Lake Firenz.
HE TEMPLE AT BREZNO was smaller than the Archigos’ Temple in Nessantico, and not as venerable and sacred a place as the Old Temple on the Isle a’Kralji (or with as impressive a dome). But Brezno’s dome and several of its famous frescoes had been painted by the great Firenzcian artist cu’Goslar, and they were stunning. Cu’Goslar’s oddly-elongated figures loomed and twisted over the supplicants at the temple, draped in gauzy clothing or sometimes nothing at all: Cénzi, yes, was prominent, but there were also those of Firenzcia who had been important to the Faith. There was Gareth ca’Lang, the first a’téni of Brezno, his sword lashed to his handless arm as he fought his hopeless battle against the heretics of the Karinthia Sect; there was Pewitt the Hopeless, the Moitidi swarming around him, tearing and ripping the flesh from his living body, mocking the man by consuming his body as he watched in torment; there was Ursanne ca’Sankt, the great martyr who many thought would have been Archigos had she lived, desperately trying to fend off her Tennshah rapists, from which unwilling union would come the great Firenzcian Starkkapitän Adalwulf, who would later drive off the Tennshah from their settlements around Lake Firenz.
Jan was surrounded by history and swaddled in faith-driven fury. It seemed appropriate. His reconciliation with the realization that his matarh intended to vie for the Sun Throne had been a struggle as titanic as any of those depicted here, it had seemed to him. He’d confronted her after his long talk with Sergei ca’Rudka. But in the end, he had told her that he understood, even if he didn’t approve. Jan wasn’t certain if that was the truth or that after their several turns of argument, the statement at least let him get some sleep, but she had accepted it.
Jan had accompanied Allesandra to the temple at Archigos Semini’s request, and he stared upward at the dome as they waited for him. “I remember the first time I saw these paintings,” he said, trying to fill the awkward silence. “They scared me; I thought they were ghosts. I could imagine them moving, and coming down from the painting to chase me . . .” He laughed; it seemed that he had laughed far too little since the events that had ended with him as Hïrzg. “Now I think they’re just overdramatic, and not all that well-painted.”
“Don’t tell Semini that,” his matarh said to him. “He loves cu’Goslar . . . Ah, there he is.”
Semini was striding quickly toward them from behind the High Lectern on the quire. Midway between Second and Third Call, the temple was mostly deserted, and the gardai who had quietly entered before Jan and Allesandra now stood silently several strides away, having emptied the main chamber of all straggling visitors. They were as alone as it seemed possible for him to be lately.
“My Hïrzg,” Semini boomed, his voice reverberating from the dome above as he gave the sign of Cénzi to Jan. “And A’Hïrzg.” Jan saw him smile at her—Semini seemed almost ready to take her hand, though that would have been a terrible breach of etiquette. But he stopped a careful few steps from her, closer than perhaps he should be, but not so close as to be extraordinarily obvious. Some of the irritation returned to Jan—he could hardly blame his matarh for pursuing an affair when his vatarh had betrayed her so many times. Yet the knowledge bothered him. The vision of the two of them together, their bodies entwined as his had been with Elissa . . . No—he shivered, shaking away the vision.
“Thank you both for coming,” Semini continued, still looking more at Allesandra than Jan. “As I said, a message has been delivered to me, with—I’m told—an identical message for the Hïrzg. I have it here.”
He handed Jan a sealed, rolled parchment, watching as Jan examined the stamp in the blue wax—the mailed fist that was Nessantico’s sigil since Kraljiki Justi’s time. Jan unfurled the paper and scanned the inked words there with a rising fury. He could almost hear his Onczio Fynn’s voice rising inside him—he knew how Fynn would have reacted to this. Silently, his lips pressed tightly together, he handed the parchment to Allesandra; he heard her draw in her breath almost immediately. Wordlessly, she handed the scroll back to Jan.
“How
dare
he talk to us this way?” Jan spat. He opened his hands, letting the paper fall to the marble-tiled floor. The word “dare” echoed in the chamber long after he’d finished. It seemed to stir the gardai, who shifted nervously. “He talks to us as if Nessantico still ruled Firenzcia. ‘Return the former Regent to us in a month, or we will take decisive action to recover him.’ How
dare
he make such threats?” Another echo. “Let him try—we’ll crush him.”
dare
he talk to us this way?” Jan spat. He opened his hands, letting the paper fall to the marble-tiled floor. The word “dare” echoed in the chamber long after he’d finished. It seemed to stir the gardai, who shifted nervously. “He talks to us as if Nessantico still ruled Firenzcia. ‘Return the former Regent to us in a month, or we will take decisive action to recover him.’ How
dare
he make such threats?” Another echo. “Let him try—we’ll crush him.”
He glanced upward at the dome.
Ghosts . . . None of them would tolerate this; I can’t either. This is a slap in the face.
Ghosts . . . None of them would tolerate this; I can’t either. This is a slap in the face.
“Jan, I understand your feelings; believe me, I have the same reaction,” his matarh said.
“ ‘But . . . ?’ ” Jan spat angrily, turning to her. “Is that what you’re about to say, Matarh? ‘But . . .’ What possible ‘But’ could there be?”
Strangely, she smiled. “My dear, you sound like Fynn, or perhaps Vatarh. I’ve heard them both roar just like that when they thought themselves insulted.”
Her amusement served only to increase his irritation. He glanced past Semini to the mural behind the High Lectern, at the bloody strips of Pewitt’s flesh clutched in the clawed hands of the Moitidi, trying to stifle his annoyance.
“The ‘But,’ my son, is what we’ve been considering,” she continued. “Perhaps this is just the opportunity we needed. The excuse to act.”
“The
excuse
?” he began. For a moment, he felt much younger, a child again. “Oh,” he said. That word did not echo at all. It floated in the air between them, lost in the great expanse of the temple. He looked down at the paper half-unrolled over the marble tiles, the suspicion growing in him. “Strange that a message like this would lead to exactly the situation you wanted, Matarh. A bald provocation against us by Nessantico. What wonderful timing.” He raised his eyebrows toward her.
excuse
?” he began. For a moment, he felt much younger, a child again. “Oh,” he said. That word did not echo at all. It floated in the air between them, lost in the great expanse of the temple. He looked down at the paper half-unrolled over the marble tiles, the suspicion growing in him. “Strange that a message like this would lead to exactly the situation you wanted, Matarh. A bald provocation against us by Nessantico. What wonderful timing.” He raised his eyebrows toward her.
She was shaking her head in denial. “I knew nothing of this until now,” she told him. “I had nothing to do with it. The message is genuine. Ask the Archigos.”
Semini nodded hurriedly. “The letters came sealed and via diplomatic routes,” he said. “If the Hïrzg doubts that, I can have the courier brought here.”
Jan waved a hand, looking away from them toward the murals of the dome. “No. There’s no need. It’s just . . .” His gaze came back to his matarh. “It would seem that Cénzi wants what you want, Matarh.” Perhaps it was coincidence. His matarh had appeared genuinely shocked. Perhaps this
was
a sign. He was not delighted by the prospect.
was
a sign. He was not delighted by the prospect.
“Oh, indeed,” Semini responded. “The Kraljiki has played directly into our hands, or Cénzi has caused him to do so. The Kraljiki has threatened the Coalition and our Faith directly, and we have no
choice
but to respond to protect our borders and our interests. This is the moment, Hïrzg. This is the time. Much of Nessantico’s Garde Civile has been sent westward to the Hellins; it will take time for them to muster the chevarittai and the remaining Garde Civile, to prepare the war-téní who remain available to them, and to draft the necessary foot soldiers they would need to make good this threat.” Semini smiled, nodding to Allesandra. “Your matarh knows this. It’s time for you to show your generalship, and take the Garde Civile and the chevarittai of Firenzcia to war. You will restore the Holdings to the whole it once was, Hïrzg Jan, and your name will be remembered forever for that.”
choice
but to respond to protect our borders and our interests. This is the moment, Hïrzg. This is the time. Much of Nessantico’s Garde Civile has been sent westward to the Hellins; it will take time for them to muster the chevarittai and the remaining Garde Civile, to prepare the war-téní who remain available to them, and to draft the necessary foot soldiers they would need to make good this threat.” Semini smiled, nodding to Allesandra. “Your matarh knows this. It’s time for you to show your generalship, and take the Garde Civile and the chevarittai of Firenzcia to war. You will restore the Holdings to the whole it once was, Hïrzg Jan, and your name will be remembered forever for that.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I do,” Allesandra told him. Her voice was firm and proud. “You’re ready for this, Jan.”
He hesitated. He was still bothered that she would use him for her own purposes; he was also troubled by his own uncertainty as to whether he could be the Hïrzg that he wanted to be.
“I also think that a good Hïrzg listens to the message even when he has difficulty with the messenger.”
Sergei’s words. They calmed him. They decided him.
“I also think that a good Hïrzg listens to the message even when he has difficulty with the messenger.”
Sergei’s words. They calmed him. They decided him.
A breath later, he nodded. “You were right the other night. I’ll need to consult with Starkkapitän ca’Damont and the chevarittai. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, Matarh?”
If she heard the faint mockery in his voice, she didn’t react to it. “I’ll come with you, Jan. I know the Starkkapitän, and I know the Garde Civile. I can be your mentor in this. Go on and have Roderigo summon them. I’ll follow in a moment.”
Jan’s eyebrows rose, annoyed at the obvious dismissal, but he gave Semini the sign of Cénzi and bowed slightly to his matarh. “Thank you for relaying this information, Archigos,” he told Semini. “We will need your strength and guidance in this. Matarh, I will talk with you later.”
He left them, all but a few of the gardai forming around him as he departed the temple. “Your son will be a fine Hïrzg,” he heard Semini growl in his low voice as he reached the doors. He assumed that it was timed so he would overhear it and think the praise genuine.
He smiled to himself. He
would
be a fine Hïrzg. He would surprise both of them with just how effective a leader he would be.
would
be a fine Hïrzg. He would surprise both of them with just how effective a leader he would be.
He suspected they might not like the result.
Allesandra ca’Vörl
T
HE WALKWAY AT THE REAR of the temple was dark, illuminated only sporadically by green-shuttered téni-lamps hung on porcelain hooks mortared to the wall. Fluted columns lined the walk, shielding it from the gardens of a courtyard between the northern wing of the temple complex and the temple itself. The great windows of stained glass loomed dark above her. Allesandra half-ran along the walkway, not wanting to be seen though she’d been assured that no téni would be in the area, the soft leather soles of her sandals hushing on polished granite. It had been easy enough to slip from her own rooms at the palais down the servants’ corridors, waiting until there was no one watching to open the door and hurry across the plaza and into the Brezno streets. She wore a cowl over her hair, shadowing her face, and her tashta was plain. She might have been just another woman hurrying home in the evening. Semini had told her which door would be open, and which places the téni generally avoided. The ceremonies for Third Call had ended a turn of the glass ago.
HE WALKWAY AT THE REAR of the temple was dark, illuminated only sporadically by green-shuttered téni-lamps hung on porcelain hooks mortared to the wall. Fluted columns lined the walk, shielding it from the gardens of a courtyard between the northern wing of the temple complex and the temple itself. The great windows of stained glass loomed dark above her. Allesandra half-ran along the walkway, not wanting to be seen though she’d been assured that no téni would be in the area, the soft leather soles of her sandals hushing on polished granite. It had been easy enough to slip from her own rooms at the palais down the servants’ corridors, waiting until there was no one watching to open the door and hurry across the plaza and into the Brezno streets. She wore a cowl over her hair, shadowing her face, and her tashta was plain. She might have been just another woman hurrying home in the evening. Semini had told her which door would be open, and which places the téni generally avoided. The ceremonies for Third Call had ended a turn of the glass ago.
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