A Magic of Dawn

Sergei ca’Rudka

He found the camp in an uproar. The Hirzg’s new aide, Paulus, gave him the news in a rush. “The White Stone murdered Rance, my predecessor, back at Brezno Palais. We moved to Stag Fall, then out here into this forsaken emptiness, and now Rhianna, who was one of the most trusted servants we had, has stolen a dagger that dates all the way back to Hirzg Karin, taken it from the Hirzg and threatened him with it, and now she’s gone. I’m terribly understaffed as it is, and out here where there’s just nothing, and the Hirzg and Hirzgin are in a terrible upset, and it’s just an impossible situation…”

Sergei soothed the whining man as much as he could-thinking that Paulus wouldn’t last another turn of the glass as aide if it were up to Sergei-and asked that word be sent to the Hirzg that he had arrived.

The journey from Nessantico had been long, made even more tedious by finding that the Hirzg had abandoned Brenzno first for Stag Fall and then the southern border with the army. He’d followed that trail, escorted by a few dozen chevarittai from the north of Firenzcia who were belatedly joining the army.

He’d expected that Jan and Brie would be delighted by the agreement he carried in his diplomatic pouch. Now, he was not quite so certain. Jan, behind his field desk, had a dour look as Sergei entered. Despite that, Sergei caned his way into the tented room and set the pouch on the desk. He opened the lock-noticing how old his hands looked, holding the key-and slid out the rolled parchment inside. “Your treaty, Hirzg Jan,” he said. “Signed by the Kraljica. She has agreed to all the major points and had it read publicly in the temples of Nessantico. All it needs is your signature and the Holdings and the Coalition will be one again.”

Jan stared at it. His finger stroked the seal that held it closed. “Tell me, Sergei,” he said. “Do you think that the past must always haunt the future? Do you think we can ever escape what we did before?”

Sergei frowned. “I’m not certain what the Hirzg is asking, I’m afraid. If you’re referring to your relationship with your matarh.. .”

“We tell ourselves that we’ll make our own history, that we can completely change things. But all we do is continue to weave from the same threads we’ve been using all along.”

Sergei waited, silent. Jan took a long breath, seeming to stare through Sergei. “The White Stone killed Rance.”

“I heard that from Paulus.”

“You wouldn’t know who hired her, would you, Sergei?”

The accusation buried there was obvious-and startling. Sergei straightened himself as well as he could, pushing against the knob of his cane. In truth, he had complained to Allesandra about Rance’s stubbornness, and had laughingly suggested that if the man slipped down the palais stairs and died, he wouldn’t mourn. He wondered, for a moment, if perhaps Allesandra had hired the White Stone. But he allowed none of that suspicion to show on his face. “Hirzg Jan, I assure you that I had nothing to do with Rance’s death.”

“Rance advised me against this treaty and against any reconciliation with the Holdings,” Jan interrupted, tapping the scroll. His eyes smoldered with a dark fire. “You knew that, and you knew the high regard I had for Rance’s opinion. Perhaps it wasn’t you who hired the Stone, but surely you told Matarh about Rance’s stance. Perhaps she decided to silence the man? Perhaps she would decide to silence me as well, once this treaty is signed-that would relieve her of any obligation to abdicate the throne, wouldn’t it? Did you happen to mention that to her, Sergei?”

Sergei was already shaking his head. “Hirzg, who has been whispering this poison to you? Is it Paulus? Frankly, I don’t think the man’s competent to judge whether his eggs are sufficiently cooked …”

Jan stopped Sergei with a sharp slice of his hand, halfrising from his seat. The field desk shivered with the motion, the scroll rolling across the polished surface. “Not Paulus,” he said. “The man’s a dullard; I know it. I’ll replace him as soon as I can. But I have my reasons for this suspicion, I assure you.”

“Then tell me what they are, so I can refute them. Hirzg Jan, I had nothing to do with Rance’s death. I swear it before Cenzi.”

“And my matarh? You can swear for her also?”

Sergei lifted a hand from the cane, let it drop again. “No, but I believe that if Kraljica Allesandra were responsible, she would have told me her plans, and she has said nothing.” That, at least, was the truth. He was fairly certain that Allesandra would have told him. At least, he hoped so.

Jan sniffed derisively, as if he’d read Sergei’s mind. “Oh, believe me, Matarh is quite skilled at keeping her intrigues to herself. I know that one from my own history. I know it very well.” He tapped the treaty again. “I don’t know that I’ll be signing this, Sergei. I might be signing my own death notice.”

“Hirzg, I assure you-”

Jan scowled and stiffened in his chair. “With all due respect, Ambassador, your assurances mean very little at the moment. I will look at the document with the Hirzgin, and we will talk.”

Sergei nodded. “Then I will meet with you tomorrow, Hirzg. It’s been a long ride here…”

But Jan was shaking his head. “Not tomorrow. I’ll give you my answer in my own time, when I’ve had a chance to investigate other matters, or when…” He stopped. Frowned. “You may return to Stag Fall or Brezno if you wish, Ambassador, or wait here. I don’t care which. I can have Paulus give you field accommodations, if you feel you can trust him that far.”

Stag Fall would be far more comfortable, and Brezno would be more pleasing in other ways, but Sergei shook his head. He had no choice here; over the decades, Sergei had become well-versed in the reading of faces and the lies and half-truths concealed in words. There was something Jan wasn’t telling him, something else that was driving his conviction that Allesandra had hired the White Stone. Sergei couldn’t entirely deny the possibility, but found it unlikely. He’d never mentioned Rance in such ominous terms that Allesandra would have felt compelled to take action. No, if the murder had been the White Stone’s work and not that of some impostor, then there was another explanation.

And if there was something else driving Jan’s anger and irritation. Sergei couldn’t uncover that in Brezno or Stag Fall. “I’ll remain, Hirzg,” he said. “I would like to talk with you further on this-the choice we make here is crucial for both the Holdings and the Coalition, and is time critical. The Tehuantin attack is an issue that can’t wait.”

“That’s an issue critical for the Holdings, yes,” Jan agreed. He tapped the scroll again, staring at it as a miner might inspect a chuck of rock for the presence of gold. “But for the Coalition?” He shrugged. “I assure you, Ambassador, the Coalition will survive that problem, whether the Holdings does or not. Good day, Sergei,” he said, and pointedly began to examine a map laid out on his desk.

Sergei watched him for a breath, then bowed to him. His cane pressed deeply into the carpet-hidden grass as he left.