A Magic of Nightfall

Eneas cu’Kinnear

“ You undoubtedly have Cenzi watching over you, O’Offizier cu’Kinnear, though the news you carry is most disturbing.” Donatien ca’Sibelli, Commandant of the Holdings forces in the Hellins and twin brother to Sigourney ca’Ludovici of the Council of Ca’, paced behind his desk as Eneas stood at attention before him. The room reflected the man: clean and sparse, with nothing to distract the eye. The desktop was polished, with a single stack of paper on it, aligned perfectly to the edge of the desk. An inkwell and pen quill were set on the other side, with a container of blotting sand forming a perfect right angle above them. The wastebasket was empty. A single, plain wooden chair had been placed before the desk. The blue-and-gold banner of Nessantico hung limply on a pole in one corner.

Ca’Sibelli, in his office at least, allowed nothing to intrude on his duty as commandant. There was no questioning ca’Sibelli’s loyalty or bravery-he had fought well against overwhelming odds in the Battle of the Fens and had been decorated and promoted by Kraljiki Justi, and his sister had served the state in her way, but Eneas had always suspected that the man’s brain was as sparsely furnished as his office.

“Sit, O’Offizier,” ca’Sibelli said, waving to the chair and taking his own seat. He plucked the top sheet from the reports and placed it in front of him as Eneas took his seat. The commandant’s forefinger moved under the text as he scanned it. “A’Offizier ca’Matin will be sorely missed. Seeing him sacrificed at the whims of the false gods those savages worship must have been horrific, and you’re extremely fortunate to have avoided the same fate, O’Offizier.”

Eneas had wondered at that himself, and the offiziers who had debriefed him since his return had often said the same, some of them with an undertone of accusation in their voices. He’d been three days in the wilderness around Lake Malik, avoiding Westlander villages and keeping his horse moving north and east. On the fourth day, starving and weak, his mount nearly exhausted, he’d glimpsed riders on a hill. They’d seen him as well and came galloping toward him. He’d waited for them, knowing that-enemy or friend-he couldn’t outrun them. Cenzi had smiled on him again: the group was a small Holdings reconnaissance patrol and not Westlander soldiers. They’d fed him, listened in astonishment to his tale, and brought him back to their outpost.

Over the next few days, as word was sent back to Munereo and the order dispatched that Eneas was to return to Munereo, he learned that barely a third of the army led by A’Offizier ca’Matin had managed to limp home after the chaotic retreat. Of his own unit, he was the lone survivor. The shock of the news had sent Eneas to his knees, praying to Cenzi for the souls of the men he’d known and commanded. Too many of them gone now. Far too many. The loss stunned him and left him reeling.

Now, Eneas simply nodded at the commandant’s comment and watched as the man continued to read, muttering to himself.

“The nahualli were with the army, then. Our intelligence was wrong.”

“Yes, sir. Though I’ve fought against them many times and I’ve never seen spells like these-fire exploding from the ground underneath us, those circles of dark sand…” Eneas swallowed hard, remembering. “One of those spells went off near me, and I don’t remember anything after that until… after the battle was already over. They thought I was dead.”

“Cenzi put His hand over you and saved you,” ca’Sibelli commented, and Eneas nodded again. He believed that. He’d been more and more certain of it over the days since he’d left the Tehuantin encampment. Cenzi had blessed him. Cenzi was saving him for a special reason-he knew this. He could feel it. At night, he seemed to hear Cenzi’s voice, telling him what He wanted Eneas to do.

Eneas would obey, as any good teni would.

“Cenzi was indeed with me, Commandant.” Eneas felt that fervently-what other answer could there be? He had expected to die, and yet Cenzi had reached out to the heathen Niente and touched the man’s heart. That was the only explanation. And despite the hunger and thirst, despite the exhaustion after he’d left the Westlanders, in some ways Eneas had never quite felt so invigorated, so full of life and alive. His very soul burned inside him. Sometimes he could feel energy tingling in his fingertips. “That’s why, Commandant, I’ve made the request to return to Nessantico. I feel that this is the task for which Cenzi has spared me.”

There was a destiny for him to fulfill. That was why he escaped the Westlanders; it had been Cenzi working within Nahual Niente. Nothing more. Certainly not the workings of their false god Axat.

Ca’Sibelli had frowned slightly with Eneas’ last comment. He ruffled his papers again. “I have prepared a report to send back to Nessantico,” ca’Sibelli continued, “and a recommendation for a commendation for you, O’Offizer cu’Kinnear. But still, we’d sorely miss your experience and your leadership here, especially with the loss of A’Offizier ca’Matin.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Commandant,” Eneas answered. It was not like him to protest in the face of orders, but Cenzi was a higher authority. “But reports are dry things, and those in Nessantico, especially the Regent and the Kraljiki, need to know how dire our circumstances are here. I think… I believe I would be well-suited to take the message back. I can talk directly to those in Nessantico about how things are here. They can hear from my lips what has happened. I can convince them; Cenzi tells me that I can.”

You will go to your leader. You will talk to him, and you will give him a message for us… He thought, for a moment, that he heard that sentence in a great, deep voice within his head. Eneas was too startled to speak immediately. “Commandant,” Eneas continued, “I do understand that my place is here with the troops, especially with the Westlanders threatening to advance on Munereo herself. I will return here, as soon as I possibly can, but I can give your report so much more impact. I promise you that. I would suggest that you go yourself, but your expertise and leadership are critical to our victory against the Westlanders.”

Ca’Sibelli waved his hand. The movement stirred the top papers on the desk, and he stopped to align them again. He sighed. “I suppose one offizier more or less isn’t going to make a difference-or, rather, I believe you when you say you can make far more difference speaking to the Kraljiki and the Council of Ca’ than by bearing a sword here. Perhaps you’re right about Cenzi’s Will. All right, O’Offizier cu’Kinnear: you will leave tomorrow morning at first light on the Stormcloud. E’Offizier cu’Montgomeri has my report for you to deliver; you may pick it up as you leave. I will expect you back here with Stormcloud ’s return.”

Ca’Sibelli stood, and Eneas scrambled to his feet to salute. “You already know that A’Offizier ca’Matin had recommended you for the title of Chevaritt,” the commandant told him as he returned the salute. “I have signed off on that recommendation; it will also be on the Stormcloud for the Kraljiki to sign. I suspect that there are great things in store for you, O’Offizier. Great things.”

Eneas nodded. He suspected that also. Cenzi would make certain of it.