A Magic of Dawn

Jan ca’Ostheim

Jan wasn’t certain that he could believe the story. “She’s here in Brezno again? Are you certain?”

Commandant Eris cu’Bloch of the Garde Brezno nodded, stroking one end of his long, elaborate mustache. “It certainly appears so, my Hirzg. Or someone is trying to create that impression. The goltschlager ci’Braun was found with a light-colored stone over his left eye, just as with your onczio, and none of the gold had been disturbed-all of the ingots were found still there. A common murderer or thief would have taken the gold. I’m afraid all signs indicate that this was indeed a contract murder by the White Stone.”

Archigos Karrol, who had been at the palais when the news came, sniffed loudly. “There have been no White Stone murders in a decade and more. I think this is a fraud. The real White Stone is dead or retired.”

Commandant cu’Bloch turned his bland gaze to the Archigos. The Archigos, approaching his sixtieth birthday, had once been the A’Teni Karrol ca’Asano of Malacki, until Jan had discovered that then-Archigos Semini ca’Cellibrecca had betrayed Firenzcia. Archigos Karrol had been a burly man whose presence and booming voice dominated a room, though most of his earlier brawn had evaporated over the years except for the paunch he retained in front. His hair had thinned and receded to leave his skull bare; his long beard was an unrelenting white, his skin was spotted with brown age marks, and his spine curved so much that, when walking, the Archigos seemed to be eternally staring at the floor and the cane he required to support himself. Currently, he sat perched on a chair, frowning.

“That’s certainly possible, Archigos,” the Commandant answered. “But, regardless, in the last year or two I have been given three or four reports from inside the Coalition that match this one. Perhaps the White Stone tired of her retirement, or perhaps she has trained a replacement.”

“Or someone wants to profit from her reputation and is pretending to be her,” Karrol retorted.

Cu’Bloch shrugged. “That’s also possible, yes, but does it matter, either way?”

Jan lifted a hand and both men turned to him. “It’s not as if the White Stone is too old. She was only a few years older than me when she killed Hirzg Fynn,” Jan commented. He couldn’t keep the hopefulness from his voice; he saw Karrol glance at him strangely. “She’d be in her late thirties now; no more than forty at the most. This still may be the original White Stone.”

Cu’Bloch bowed to Jan. “I have already given my offiziers a description of the way she looked at that time, my Hirzg, though fifteen years changes a person, especially if that person wishes to change. She may look quite different now.”

Jan remembered very well how she had looked then: “Elissa ca’Karina,” she’d called herself at the time, and he had been deeply in love with her. He’d thought that it had been the same for her-he’d believed in their mutual affection so strongly that he’d asked his matarh Allesandra to open marriage negotiations with the ca’Karina family. Before the ca’Karina family had responded with the news that their daughter Elissa had died as an infant, the White Stone had killed his matarh’s brother Fynn, then newly crowned as the Hirzg, and fled the city. He’d glimpsed her one more time: in Nessantico during the war with the Tehuantin.

There, she had saved his life, and he could never forget the last glance they had shared. He was certain he had seen his love for her reflected in her eyes.

Even though he had married since, even though he felt a deep and abiding affection for his wife and for their children, when he thought of Elissa, something still stirred within him. He still looked for her, in the mistresses he took.

Why would she come back here? Why would she return to Brezno?

He found himself torn by conflicting feelings-as he had when he’d thought of her in that first year or two after he’d taken the crown of the Hirzg. He was repelled by what she’d done to Fynn, whom he’d loved as he might have an older brother, yet he was drawn to her by the memory of her laugh, her lips, her lovemaking, by the pure joy of being with her. He had tried to reconcile the conflicting images in his head countless times.

He had always failed.

Jan had sent agents searching for her in the years afterward. He wasn’t certain why, wasn’t certain what he would do with her if she were captured. All he knew was that he wanted her, wanted to sit down with her and discover the truth. Of everything. He wanted to know if she had loved him as he had her, wanted to know if she had only used him to get close to Fynn, wanted to know why she’d saved him in Nessantico.

Sergei ca’Rudka had suggested that Elissa-whatever her real name might be-might have been responsible for abducting the young Nico Morel from his matarh during the Sack of Nessantico. But when Jan had interviewed the young teni Morel who had at the time been assigned to the Archigos’ Temple in Brezno, Morel claimed to have no idea whether the woman-whom he called Elle Botelli-had ever been the White Stone, or where she might be now. “We always moved around,” Morel had told Archigos Semini, when asked. “She never stayed longer than half a year in any one place, and usually less than that. The woman was touched; I can tell you that-the Moitidi inflicted her with voices. That was Cenzi’s punishment for her sins.”

Morel-he was an enigma himself, no less than the White Stone: an incredibly charming and talented acolyte and teni who had been marked from the beginning for rapid advancement. But he’d become an eloquent and stubborn troublemaker who ended up cast out from the ranks of teni when he claimed that Archigos Karrol and the Faith were no longer supporting the tenets of Cenzi. Archigos Karrol, the upstart had insisted, must either acknowledge his errors or be forcibly removed from the throne. The young man had come closer to succeeding than either Jan or Karrol had expected. There were still teni within the Concenzia Faith who would follow the charismatic Nico if he called on them.

Jan shook away his thoughts. “Find this assassin-whomever she is,” Jan told the Commandant. “I don’t care what resources it takes. The White Stone or someone pretending to be her was in this city no more than a day ago. She may still be here. Find her.”

The Commandant bowed, smoothed his mustache once more, and left them.

“It can’t be her,” Karrol persisted. “It must be an impostor. It might not even be a woman.”

“Why? Why can’t it be her?”

Karrol sputtered momentarily. He wiped at his mouth with a large hand. “This just doesn’t feel right,” he grumbled.

Jan scowled. It shouldn’t matter, one way or the other. He was long married now, and if the affection he had for Brie ca’Ostheim didn’t burn as hot and bright as his love for Elissa had, he did respect her and enjoy her company. Her family had excellent political connections; she understood the duties, obligations, and societal niceties of being the Hirzgin. She had produced four fine children for him. She seemed to genuinely love him. There was a friendship between them, and she knew to look the other way with the occasional lovers he took. He should be content.

But Elissa… There had been more there. He still felt the passion occasionally, like the pulling of an old scar long thought to be healed. Now, that ancient scar felt entirely ripped open. The White Stone has returned…

There was nothing more he could do about it. Cu’Bloch would find her, or not. Jan took a long breath, let it out again. “Enough of this,” he said. “Archigos, what is it you wanted to talk to me about before the Commandant distracted us?”

Karrol lifted his head. The movement seemed painful; his knuckles tightened around his staff. “Ambassador Karl ca’Pallo of Paeti, the Numetodo A’Morce, has died.”

“I know that,” Jan said impatiently. “I saw the news in Ambassador ca’Rudka’s last dispatch. What of it?”

“I know you were reluctant to have the Faith move against the Numetodo considering the aid that ca’Pallo gave to both you and your matarh in the past. But… I wonder if now…”

“If now what?” Jan interrupted. It was the old, old conflict-one that Karrol’s predecessor Semini had believed in, that Semini’s marriage-vatarh Orlandi had fought as well: the Numetodo were a threat to all of those within the Faith-with their usage of forbidden magic, with their lack of belief in any of the gods, with their reliance on logic and science to explain the world. It was the battle that Nico Morel championed too, more voraciously and harshly than even the Archigos. Jan was far less convinced. For him, belief in the Faith was a necessity of his title and little else-it was like a political marriage. “You want to be become a Morelli now, Archigos, and begin persecuting the Numetodo again? I find that a bit ironic, myself, since it’s one of the things Morel wanted the Faith to do all along.”

“Morel was stripped of his title as o’teni because he would not accept the guidance of his superiors,” Karrol answered. “He was insubordinate and impatient and believed himself better than any a’teni or even myself. He claims to speak directly with Cenzi. He’s a madman. But even the mad occasionally say things that make sense.”

“You know my feelings on this.”

“I do. And I know your allegiance to the Faith is strong, my Hirzg.” Jan chuckled inwardly at that; Jan was no longer sure what he believed, though he made the required motions. “But-if I may be permitted a bit of blunt honesty, my Hirzg-you listen too much to Ambassador ca’Rudka. The Silvernose believes in nothing that doesn’t advance his own interests.”

“And you would have me listen more to you, is that it, Archigos?”

“I flatter myself that I know you better than the Silvernose, my Hirzg.” Jan sniffed at that. Flattering himself was one thing the Archigos did very well indeed. “Your matarh attaches herself to the Numetodo,” Karrol continued. “The reports I get from A’Teni ca’Paim-”

“I see those same reports,” Jan interrupted. “And I know my matarh. Better than you.”

“No doubt,” Karrol answered. “You undoubtedly know that Stor ca’Vikej’s son Erik is in Nessantico, also-no doubt he is looking for her help to gain the throne his vatarh couldn’t take. Each day Allesandra remains on the Sun Throne, she becomes stronger, my Hirzg.”

Jan scowled. He tended to agree with Karrol on that, even if he’d never admit it. He had given her the title she’d coveted for so long when Nessantico was broken and shattered. It had seemed an appropriate punishment at the time, an irony he couldn’t pass by. But she had managed somehow to turn that irony on its head. He had expected her to wither and fail, to realize her errors and beg his forgiveness and help; she’d done none of those things. She’d rebuilt the city and she’d managed to hold together the fragile connections between the various rulers of the countries that made up the Holdings. With Stor ca’Vikej, she’d nearly wrenched West Magyaria back to the Holdings-she might have succeeded, had she actually sent the full Nessantican army in support of the man’s ragtag army of loyalists. As it was, he’d had to put all of Firenzcian’s military might to bear in order to put down the rebellion.

The Firenzcian Coalition had been unable to profit from Nessantico’s misfortune. Il Trebbio had briefly joined the Coalition in the wake of the Tehuantin invasion, then a few months later had returned to the Holdings when Allesandra had offered them a better treaty and married one of the ca’Ludovici daughters to the current Ta’Mila of Il Trebbio. Nammaro had entered into negotiations with Brezno, then pulled away from them also.

No, his matarh had shown herself to be all too wellskilled politically, and Jan should have known. He should have seized the Sun Throne himself, should have brought the Holdings forcibly into the Coalition with his army still in the city. He could have done all that. But he’d been young and inexperienced and blinded by the chance to humble his matarh.

It wasn’t an opportunity he would pass up again. And if Silvernose ca’Rudka was right, he might have that opportunity. Soon.

There was a discreet, soft knock on the door-that would be Rance ci’Lawli, his chief secretary and aide, letting him know that the Council of Ca’ was in their chamber waiting for him. And there was a question he wanted to ask Rance, in any case: he had not seen Mavel cu’Kella for two days now…

Jan smiled, grimly, at Karrol. “Leave my matarh to me,” he told the Archigos, “and concern yourself with the work of Cenzi, Archigos. Now, I have other duties…”

Karrol, with little good grace, rose from his chair. Bent over, he gave Jan the sign of Cenzi. “The works of Cenzi extend even to matters of state, my Hirzg,” he said.

“So you always tell me, Archigos,” Jan retorted. “Interminably.”