A Magic of Nightfall (73 page)

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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Nightfall
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“No!” Ca’Mazzak hurtled to his feet again, spittle flying from his mouth with the explosion of the word. “Archigos Kenne will be thrown into the Bastida for this, and the téni who support him purged—”
“And if that happens,” Petros answered calmly, “then Archigos Kenne will order the war-téni to remain in their temples rather than answer the Kraljica’s call. How will the Garde Civile and the chevarittai fare against the Westlanders without the war-téni, Councillor? How will they stand against the army of the Hïrzg?”
Again, ca’Mazzak sank back into his seat. He shivered as if with a fever, stroking his doubled chin. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and under his arms, the fabric of his bashta had turned dark.
Allesandra touched Sergei’s shoulder, and he stood aside. She was smiling grimly. The A’Hïrzg gave the sign of Cénzi to Petros. “You offer all this for the trial of Archigos Semini?”
Petros nodded to her. “We trust the Hïrzg’s court to be fair and impartial. And there is one more thing: all prosecution of the Numetodo must stop. Immediately. The Numetodo are innocent of any of this. Ambassador Karl ca’Vliomani must be restored to his previous position.”
Sergei could feel the negotiations hanging on the balance point of Allesandra’s answer to that last point. She was fingering the cracked globe of Cénzi hung around her neck. His own life hung there also, as well as that of Petros and Aubri. If he had guessed wrongly . . .
“I will talk to my son,” Allesandra answered. “I will relay to him everything that has been said here.” Sergei thought for a moment that this was the entirety of her answer, that he had lost. But Allesandra took a long, shivering breath. “I will suggest that the Hïrzg accept the Archigos’ offer,” she said. “Councillor ca’Mazzak, Commandant, U’Téni—we’ll return to the parley tent in three turns of the glass to give you our answer.”
 
“If Archigos Kenne has evidence, I will weigh it,” Allesandra had said to Sergei on the way back. “And if Archigos Semini is responsible for Ana ca’Seranta’s death, then . . .” She had pressed her lips together grimly. “Then I am inclined to convince my son to accept the Archigos’ offer.”
Somehow, she seemed to have done exactly that, though Sergei had not been present for that discussion, though everyone in the camp had heard the occasional raised voices in the Hïrzg’s tent, and Sergei had especially noted that Starkkapitän ca’Damont had gardai stationed around the Archigos’ tent.
He wondered what was happening in the other encampment. Everything there hung on the loyalties of the Garde Civile and the téni—and Sergei wasn’t certain how that would play out. He prayed to Cénzi, hoping that He was listening.
Three turns of the glass later, Sergei, Allesandra, and the others rode out again toward the parley tent.
When he’d been Commandant of the Garde Kralji, decades ago, Sergei had occasionally felt a shiver when he’d approached the Bastida a’Drago: a quivering of the spine almost like fear that told him when something was amiss in the complex beyond the dragon’s grinning skull.
He felt that shiver now as their small party approached the parley tent. It was, first of all, curious that there were no servants moving about, that the chairs on the Nessantican side of the table were empty. But what held him, what made his stomach churn and boil, was the realization that there was
something
on the table itself—two somethings, two rounded objects masked in the shadow underneath the linen flapping in the breeze. He was afraid he knew what sat there.
“Hold a moment, A’Hïrzg,” he told Allesandra. “Please. Wait here.”
Sergei nudged his horse forward alone, gesturing to Starkkapitän ca’Damont to accompany him. He squinted, trying to force his aging eyes to make out what it was sitting there. As he approached, he could hear a faint buzzing sound that grew slowly louder: the whine of insects.
He knew then, and the bile rose in his throat. He pulled his horse up, let himself down from the saddle, and walked into the shade of the tent.
On the table were two heads, sticky, clotted blood pooled underneath them, a carpet of flies crawling over the open eyes and in the gaping mouths.
Sergei went to his knees, making the sign of Cénzi toward the gruesome sight. “Aubri,” he said. “Petros. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Shakily, he rode to his feet again, going back to the horse. He rode silently back to the others. Allesandra’s eyes questioned him; she knew also. He could see it in the way her hand lifted to her mouth before he ever spoke.
“Councillor ca’Mazzak has left us his own answer,” he said. “It seems he doesn’t care what ours might have been.”
Nico Morel
N
ICO COULDN’T BEAR to sit still. He had never imagined a place as glorious, huge, and interesting as this. They’d been ushered into an office in one of the buildings that girdled the Plaza a’Archigos; the reception room by itself was larger than the two rooms they had in Oldtown and there were at least three doors leading off into other rooms that he could only imagine. He’d caught a glimpse of a bedroom when one of the servants had moved through carrying linens, and it had seemed huge beyond all reason. The office into which they’d been ushered would have taken up Nico’s house as well as those of the closest neighbors. The ceiling seemed as high as summer clouds and as white; the floor was an intricate mosaic of various colored woods, and the walls were draped with gorgeous tapestries displaying the tale of Cénzi’s life, the molding along the top of the walls was carved and gilded. Behind the massive mahogany desk, a balcony looked out over the wide plaza, with the Archigos’ Temple framed beyond its open draperies. The other furniture in the room was just as dominating—a long, polished conference table, with plush chairs set around it; a couch placed before a hearth in which Nico’s whole family could have stood upright, surrounded by the gorgeous mantel-piece; a carved cracked-globe taller than two men standing atop one another, with the carved figures of the Moitidi wrapped around it, the base studded with jewels and glittering with gold foil. All around the walls, there were tables laden with delightful foreign wonders: statues of unfamiliar animals; a large stone broken in half, inside which beautiful violet crystals were crowded; spiny, rose-pearled shells from the Strettosei . . .
Nico blinked, staring at everything. “All this is just for
you?
” Nico asked the Archigos, marveling.
“Nico, hush,” his matarh said, but the old man in the green robes only laughed.
“It’s for the Archigos, whomever that person is,” the man said. “I only live here temporarily, until Cénzi calls me back to Him. This used to be where Archigos Ana lived, too.” He patted Nico on the head as servants brought in trays of food and drink and set them on the table. The Archigos waved to the servants as they finished. “That will be all,” he told them. “Please make sure we’re not disturbed. Have my carriage come to the rear door a turn of the glass before Third Call.” They bowed and left. “Help yourselves,” the Archigos told them as the last of the servants departed the room, closing the double doors behind them. “Karl? You all look as if you could use a good meal.” Nico was staring at the food, and the Archigos chuckled again. “Go on, Nico. You needn’t wait.”
Nico glanced at his matarh and at Talis, who shrugged. “It’s all right,” his matarh told him. “Go ahead . . .”
He did. A spice-seed muffin drizzled with honey was the first thing in his mouth. Strangely, the adults didn’t seem as hungry as he was. Neither Talis, Karl, nor Varina went toward the table at all, and his mother picked desultorily at a breast of duck. Instead, they huddled near the couch in front of the hearth.
“Archigos,” Nico heard Karl say, “Ana would be terribly proud of you. We all owe you our thanks.”
“The thanks go to you, Karl. If you hadn’t come to me, if you hadn’t told me what you knew . . . Well, I’m not certain what would have happened. In any case, I may have put you in more danger, not less. The Kraljica is in a rage, from what I hear, and as soon as Councillor ca’Mazzak returns from the parley with the Firenzcians, I suspect she’ll be even less happy with me. None of us can be sure what will happen with that—which is why we need to talk tonight. There isn’t much time; a messenger may already be on the way back to the city.” Nico heard the Archigos’ voice drop and fail. He turned, a slice of bread and cheese in his hand. “This is the Westlander?” the Archigos asked, nodding in Talis’ direction. Talis had both his hands around the walking stick he always carried, and Nico could see air flickering around the wood as if the staff were on fire, but that was a fire colder than last winter’s snow.
“Yes, Archigos,” Karl answered. “This is Talis Posti. Nico’s vatarh.”
“Ah,” the Archigos said. “Vajiki Posti, I also owe you thanks—though you’ll have to forgive me if I wonder why you have decided to help me.”
“Because I have glimpsed the futures, and none of them lead to a good place for my people,” Talis answered, and Nico found his interest perking up with that. Talis could see the future? That would be interesting. Why, if he could do that, Nico could see himself as an adult, maybe see what would happen to him. . . . He found his hands moving as if in some strange dance of their own, his sticky fingers moving through the air, and words came to him that he didn’t know, and he whispered them so quietly that none of the others could hear him. The chill from Talis’ walking stick seemed to flow toward his hands; he could feel the chill in his arms.
“You have
that
gift from your gods?” Kenne asked Talis. His eyebrows lifted, and he glanced at Karl.
“Mahri claimed to do the same,” Karl said. That also made Nico pay attention; he remembered hearing Talis mention that name before. “Not that it did him much good in the end.”
“It’s not
the
future that Axat grants us glimpses of, but all the possibilities that exist. The glimpses of potential futures aren’t easy to read, though it was said that Mahri could use the talent better than anyone before or since. And yes, it seems to have failed him in the end.” A brief, quick smile passed over his face. “Perhaps it was the proximity to your Cénzi.”
Kenne chuckled; Nico liked the sound—it made him like this man. The cold was wrapping around his arms now, though his hands had stopped dancing.
“You’re willing to help us—” Archigos Kenne spread his arms to include Karl and Varina, and the rest of the city outside the balcony, “—when that means you may be helping defeat the forces of your own people?”
“Yes,” Talis said, “because Axat tells me that in doing so, I
will
be helping my people.”
The cold was freezing Nico’s arms and it was becoming heavy. He didn’t know what to do with it, but he was shivering with the effort of holding it, and the pain almost made him want to cry out. “Sometimes your enemy becomes your ally,” Varina was saying to the Archigos. “I know—”
“Nico!” His matarh’s voice was a near shout. “What are you doing?” Nico jumped as his matarh clutched his shoulder, and the cold went flying away from him. As it fled, the energy sparkled and flared, like a stream of blue fire. It went shooting straight out from him, slashing between Talis and the Archigos and arrowing directly toward the cracked globe sculpture in that corner of the room. Nico sobbed—frightened both by the feeling of release and sheer terror at what he’d just released. Varina, standing a few strides away from the Archigos, gestured once and spoke a single, harsh word; at the motion, Nico saw the line of blue fire curve and turn, arcing away from the sculpture, spitting sapphire sparks over the polished desk and then hissing away out through the open doors of the balcony and out. High above the plaza, the fire gathered, then burst: an ice-blue globe that flashed like frozen lightning. With the explosion came a roll of ear-splitting thunder, echoing from the walls of the buildings flanking the plaza. Nico could feel the windows shake and rattle in their frames, and he heard glass breaking distantly.
“Nico!” His matarh had wrapped her arms around him. “Nico . . .” she said again, more softly this time. Her arms tightened around him, and he wasn’t sure if it was intended to be an embrace or a stranglehold. They were all staring at him.
“I’m sorry,” Nico told them. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
He started to cry.
Karl Vliomani
“
I
’M SORRY,” Nico said. His lower lip was trembling and he barely got the next words out before his shoulders started to shake from sobbing. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
Serafina was staring at them over the boy’s shoulder as she held him, her eyes wide and terrified. Outside in the plaza, they could hear faint shouts as passersby searched for the source of the thundering brilliance. Karl could hear Varina sigh with relief behind him. “If he’d been a hand’s breadth to one side or the other . . .” Karl said.
“He wasn’t,” Varina answered. She crouched down in front of him, nodding to Serafina. “It’s all right, Nico,” she told him. “No one was hurt. It’s all right.” She looked back over her shoulder to Karl. “It’s all right,” she repeated. The boy sniffled, rubbing his sleeve over his nose and eyes.
Karl let go a breath. He smiled: at Varina, at Nico, at Serafina. “Yes,” he said. “It’s all right, thanks to Varina. Talis, did you know . . . ?”
“I suspected, but . . .” He was holding his spell-staff, looking at it bemusedly as if it were a glass suddenly emptied. “I know
now.
Archigos, are you . . . ?”

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