A Magic of Twilight

Parleys

Jan ca’Vorl

“I think it’s very pretty, Vatarh. It should be a painting.”

“I wish I could see it with your eyes,” Jan told his daughter. “All I see is a battlefield.” He let his arm rest around her shoulders and hugged her.

The pine-studded arms of the Cavasian Range cradled Passe a’Fiume in their long, steep slopes. There, the River Clario poured white and fast in its descent from the Sigar Highlands of Nessantico’s eastern reaches. The town was perched on the Clario’s western bank; a wide bridge arched over the Clario from Passe a’Fiume’s eastern gate: the Pontica Avi a’ Firenzcia, the only safe place to cross the wild Clario for many miles in either direction, until the river settled itself and widened as it prepared to meet the great A’Sele.

The town knew its importance-the largest of the cities in eastern Nessantico, it still resided almost entirely within the three-century-old fortified walls that had been erected on the orders of Kraljiki Sveria I during the interminable Secession War, as Nessantico sought to bring Firenzcia fully under its control. The thick, granite walls had repelled a half-dozen sieges since the time of the Kraljiki Sveria.

Now the populace looked out from flower-boxed windows and crenellated towers and wondered whether they could survive a seventh assault.

“Can the war-teni really break those walls, Vatarh? They look so thick.”

“They can. They will, if the Kraljiki doesn’t submit to our terms.”

“He won’t,” Allesandra said with certainty. “If he’s like you, Vatarh, he won’t submit.”

He chuckled at that. The mirth sounded out of place.

Jan had arrayed the army on the slopes across the Clario-a few miles from the city but high on the ridges that faced the town. He knew the citizenry could see the tents and cook fires, the fluttering banners and the dark, writhing mass of the soldiery, covering the slopes like a horde of ravening insects about to descend and feed upon the town.

They had seen the army assemble over the last two days; they could glimpse them through the wisps of morning fog even now. He knew the fear they would be feeling, and knew the forces the Kraljiki had brought with him would give them little solace.

Even if the Kraljiki could manage to hold the town, a siege would mean the deaths of many who lived there. A victory that costly would be hardly distinguishable from defeat.

From his vantage point, Jan could make out through the mist the parley tents set in the field just across the Clario from Passe a’Fiume: like white flowers set in the grass before the glowering city walls and the dirty brown-green ribbon of the river. The banner of the Kraljiki flew from the central post of the largest tent. There were a few hundred of the Garde Civile there, but the Kraljiki kept the bulk of his soldiers hidden behind the stern, gray, and impassive ramparts of the city walls.

It didn’t matter: Jan’s spies, set out well ahead of the army, had reported their numbers to him.

Perhaps half of the forces that had been at Ville Colhelm under ca’Montmorte, a few thousand straggling in from Chiari and Prajnoli, perhaps five thousand who marched with the Kraljiki and the Archigos from Nessantico. Many of the citizens are fleeing from the eastern gates, desperate to leave the city, but the conscription squads are at work there, not letting the men leave.

The Kraljiki commanded a force smaller than the army at Jan’s back but more than enough to make a siege of Passe a’Fiume difficult. However, there were movements underway that Jan doubted had touched the Kraljiki’s awareness. As in a game of cards, knowing the hand your opponent has been dealt grants an enormous advantage in the bidding process. Jan smiled grimly as he stared down at the parley tents, waiting for the meeting this afternoon.

“The Kraljiki will make his stand here, but he’s not certain of the outcome-that’s why he wants to parley,” Markell’s voice said.

Jan chuckled again as he released his daughter to glance at Markell.

His aide’s stick-thin figure appeared strangely out of place in chain mail.

Markell, too, was gazing out through the thin morning fog at Passe a’Fiume.

“As usual, you know exactly what I’m thinking,” Jan told him. “As does Allesandra. I would seem to be utterly transparent to both of you.”

“It’s my job to anticipate you, my Hirzg,” Markell answered somberly. “I know this isn’t what we’d hoped for-former Starkkapitan

ca’Staunton’s stupidity at Ville Colhelm cost us an easy crossing of the Clario, and many lives if we have to take this city by force. Still, a siege of a week, quite possibly less, and you would have your surrender, I think. The Kraljiki is seeking a diplomatic solution, not a military one. As his matarh would.”

Jan scowled. Markell’s assessment was all too true: had ca’Staunton obeyed his orders at Ville Colhelm, the Kraljiki would still be in Nessantico and the Garde Civile in their garrisons, and the gates of Passe a’Fiume would already be open to Jan-as well as the road to Nessantico. Stupidity would need to be repaid in blood now. Much blood. .

“You sound certain, Markell. I’m afraid I’m not.”

It was Allesandra who answered. “Kraljiki Justi has never met you in battle, Vatarh.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” Justi answered her with a smile, “but Markell’s face is far too solemn. What is it, Markell?”

“U’Teni cu’Kohnle has requested an audience,” Markell told Jan.

“He’s waiting in your tent. He says he is. . concerned about the war-teni, since we know the Archigos is with the Kraljiki in Passe a’Fiume.”

Jan sighed audibly. He rubbed his arms against the morning chill.

“Ah. I was expecting that. Do we have word from ca’Cellibrecca?”

“No, Hirzg. Though in the Archigos’ defense, it would be difficult for him to contact us at the moment.”

Jan sniffed. “Ca’Cellibrecca can’t straddle sides any longer. He’d best realize that. He’d be well-advised not to betray me, or if he does, he should pray to Cenzi that the Kraljiki prevails because I will have worse than his life if he stands in my way.” He took a long breath and let it out abruptly.

“Yes, my Hirzg,” Markell said. “And U’Teni cu’Kohnle?”

“I’ll talk with him. Come, walk with me and Allesandra back to the tent.” Jan put his arm around his daughter again as he took a last glance at the field and the tents waiting outside the walls. .

“Semini,” he said as he entered. “You wanted to see me.”

Cu’Kohnle gave Jan the sign of Cenzi along with a deep bow that displayed the thick growth of gray-flecked, black hair on his skull. His cheeks and chin were stubbled with the same gray as his hair. Muscular arms flexed under the green robes, and Jan saw the steel links of mail underneath. The broken globe of Cenzi hung prominently around his neck. “My Hirzg,” he said. “Thank you for taking the time.”

“I know what concerns you, Semini,” Jan said. “Certainly you knew that it might come to this.”

Cu’Kohnle smiled tight-lipped. “If you’ll forgive me, the entire Strettosei spans the difference between ‘might’ and ‘has,’ my Hirzg. It’s no longer a case of ‘might,’ and because of that, many of the war-teni are troubled. I came to speak for them.”

Jan was certain that there were other motives at work here. He knew cu’Kohnle enough to know that the man was fanatically devout; he also knew him well enough to know that his devotion was to Cenzi and not necessarily to those who claimed to speak for the God. There was raw ambition and ego in the man. . and that meant he could be manipulated. Jan gestured to the table where the pages had placed wine and bread. “Please, help yourself,” he said. “What of you, Semini? Are you troubled?”

“I’m as troubled as any person of faith would be,” he answered. He took a piece of the bread and broke off a hunk from the end of the loaf.

He turned it in his fingers. “The Concenzia Faith is what sustains us, and the Archigos is the person to whom we swear our allegiance. Not to the Kraljiki. Not even, with your pardon, the Hirzg. So yes, I am troubled, because the Archigos is there in Passe a’Fiume and with the Kraljiki, and it’s not a trivial consequence for a teni to be cast out from the Faith.” He glanced down at his wiry hands, holding them up to Jan.

“You know what happens to a teni who has been cast out, should he ever use the Ilmodo again.”

There it is, then. Jan watched as cu’Kohnle tucked the bread carefully into his mouth, chewed a moment, and swallowed. “Continue, Semini. I’m listening.”

“I’m a practical man, as you know, my Hirzg. I was born in Firenzcia. Within the Faith, I served Archigos Orlandi for his entire tenure as A’Teni of Brezno. My loyalty was always more to him than to that dwarf Dhosti, and my loyalty was also always more to the Hirzg than to Kraljica Marguerite, and certainly far more to you than to Kraljiki Justi.

My sympathies are with the new Archigos’ stated goals, as you know. I would gladly help drive the Numetodo from the Holdings and end their heresy. The Ilmodo must remain in the hands of Concenzia, for many reasons. I realize these are sentiments you share as well, and that is why you and the Archigos were so well-suited to each other. I also gave my word to serve you in your position as the leader of the Firenzcian army, as did the other war-teni here. I am Firenzcian. But. .”

He tore another piece from the loaf. “If the Archigos declares that we war-teni who fight with you are in defiance of the Divolonte, then I don’t know. Some will still fight; some will not. The same is true of the chevarittai and the soldiers: there are those who will be afraid to fight if they think doing so endangers their relationship with Cenzi.”

Jan nodded. And you wouldn’t be saying this to me if you didn’t already have your solution in mind, and if you weren’t looking for something.

He poured wine into one of the goblets and held it out to cu’Kohnle, then poured himself a glass. “I appreciate your cautions and thoughts, Semini,” he said. “It strikes me that, since poor Estraven ca’Cellibrecca never reached Brezno, the seat of A’Teni of Brezno lies vacant, and that as the person who leads my war-teni and as the confidant of the Archigos when he was at Brezno, you are now the highest ranking teni in all Firenzcia. I would suspect-and I only speculate here, Semini-that the Archigos could be persuaded, after we have prevailed, to name you as A’Teni of Brezno.”

Jan saw small muscles twitch along cu’Kohnle’s jaw line as the man pondered Jan’s half-promise. Yes. That was it! “For that matter,” Jan continued, “should the Archigos make the terrible mistake of betraying me here, a mistake he might well make, then after our victory I would be in a position to influence all the a’teni of the Faith to name a new Archigos, one whose loyalty was beyond question. I reward well those who stand with me, Semini. I reward them very well, especially if they demonstrate how effective a leader they can be. I assure you that the soldiers of Firenzcia will not fail to fight even if a false Archigos threatens their souls-because those who command them will not allow it.

Because I will not allow it. Starkkapitan ca’Staunton failed to understand that, but Starkkapitan ca’Linnett seems to have grasped the concept. Do you take my meaning, Semini?”

The man nodded, slowly. “Yes. I believe I do, my Hirzg.”

Jan took a step toward him, close enough that he could see the hairs in the man’s nostrils. “Then I ask you, U’Teni cu’Kohnle, as the commander of the war-teni, do you think that those in your charge would understand that an Archigos who has betrayed his word to me is a false Archigos who does not deserve his title? Do you think they would understand that such a man no longer speaks for Cenzi, no matter what title he might claim for the moment?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He was looking at Jan, but his gaze was somewhere else, wandering in his imagination. “I think I can persuade them to see your point of view, my Hirzg, if it should become necessary. Yes.”

Jan lifted his wine and tapped the rim of his goblet against that of cu’Kohnle. “Good,” he said. “Then let us drink to our understanding.”

Ana cu’Seranta

Nessantico bereft of a Kralji lurched like a boat without a hand on the tiller. Concenzia bereft of an Archigos in the temple stuttered and hesitated. The city held its collective breath and jumped at every strange noise and cowered with every cloud-shadow. Rumors flew through the city like dark, flapping bats, frightening and furious.

The Garde Kralji was especially skittish, and the Bastida was crowded with people arrested for treasonous statements. The judicial system was quickly overwhelmed; judges offered many of those incarcerated the chance to prove their loyalty (and regain their freedom) by joining the Garde Civile; many did so. In addition, the conscription squads of the Garde Civile roamed through the city and the villages and farmlands around it daily, taking any unwary men they found and depositing them in the growing tent encampment outside the city walls along the Avi a’Parete. There, ragged and uncertain squads could be seen marching and training during the day. Garrisons from Villembouchure and Vouziers arrived a few days after the Kraljiki’s departure, swelling the encampment so that the Avi north and west of the city swarmed with them from the road to the banks of the River Vaghian.

Hundreds if not thousands of the soldiers flooded into the city at night: into the restaurants, the bars and taverns, the brothels. Even during the day, groups of sword-girt soldiers were seen in every public square.

The crisis affected Concenzia as well. With the Archigos and the more-adept lesser teni gone, the infrastructure of Nessantico faltered.

The a’teni, most of whom had remained behind to attend to the affairs of Concenzia in the Archigos’ absence, were rumored to be looking for excuses to return to their home cities and planning their departures.

The teni of the city were poorly directed as a result, and worries and uncertainty rendered their Ilmodo spells weak and ineffective. Sewage flowed untreated into the A’Sele, making it more of a cesspool than usual, the stench reaching far out from its banks. The nightly lighting of the Avi a’Parete was erratic-sometimes long stretches of the Avi, especially in east Oldtown, went dark only a few turns of the glass after the lamps were set aglow. The foundries that utlizied teni to power their great ovens and forges found their Ilmodo-fires sometimes too weak to melt the ore without using far more coal than usual. The teni-driven carriages were a rare sight even for those within Concenzia, and since the growing army had taken most of the horses, people walked or stayed home. Of greatest concern was the lack of teni for the fire patrols, and there were worries that an errant spark could destroy blocks of houses, especially in Oldtown, before enough teni could be found to extinguish the flames.

The great stone heads at the various gates of the city no longer rotated with the sun; there were no teni available to lend them mobility.

The wind-horns on the temples still sounded the calls and the services continued in the temples-the u’teni and o’teni who performed the rituals found more people in the seats than usual but fewer folias, siqils, and solas in the donation boxes.

War shadowed everyone’s thoughts, everyone’s activities. Nessantico herself hadn’t experienced a siege or even a nearby battle in centuries. This was not a situation that had a counterpart for long generations of the families living within the long-sundered walls of the capital. War was something that took place on the edges and frontiers of the Holdings-in Tennshah, in Daritria, in Shenkurska or cold Boail or the far Westlands-always there, always easily available for those who sought glory and fame through its bloody auspices, but always held at a safe distance.

No more. War hovered just to the east, a thunderhead on the horizon, lightning crackling under black ramparts. The markets were crowded every day, but the stalls were thinned by the swelled ranks of the city and by all the produce diverted to feed the army, and the haggling was halfhearted and the conversation was not regarding the quality of the vegetables and meats, but what might happen if the Kraljiki’s negotiations failed. On the South Bank, it became even more expensive to eat in the fashionable restaurants as supplies became short and menu prices rose in response. On the North Bank, for the poorer residents, bread prices that had been fixed for decades at a d’folia tripled over-night after the Kraljiki’s departure and continued to rise; there were reports of sawdust mixed in with the flour, or of loaves rather smaller than the required minimum standards-both illegal practices but also unsurprising. Storekeepers opened their shutters each morning but fewer customers entered, and those who did wanted to talk about politics, not the goods on display. Those in the crafts found that the rich patrons who hired them to build or remodel, to plaster and decorate, to play music for their parties or paint their portraits, had few commissions. “The war, you know. .” was always the answer, with a roll of the eyes to the east.

The war. .

The war shadowed Ana as well. The conscription squads raided the tavern below Mahri’s dwelling twice more in the week following the Kraljiki’s departure. The uproar woke her and Karl from sleep late at night, though again the squads never came upstairs to their rooms, a fact that Ana no longer found quite so unusual. The third time they came, it began with the same muffled shouts heard through the floor of their apartment, shouts that disrupted, then banished, the dream she had of herself talking to Archigos Dhosti in the Old Temple. In the dream, the Archigos was telling her to heal her Matarh, but matarh seemed possessed, speaking in voices that were not hers, shouting loudly. .

“Ana?”

“I hear them.” She opened her eyes. She could dimly see Karl in the bit of moonlight trickling from between the slats of the shutters. He was standing at one of the windows, holding the shutter slightly open to see the courtyard below. Mahri was gone. Ana heard the crash of glass below, and more shouts.

“There they go,” Karl said from the window. “Dragging four poor bastards with them who won’t be coming home to wives or family tonight or any time soon. They’ll be down to taking children soon.”

Ana rose from her blankets and went to him. Karl’s proximity felt good, a warmth along her side, and his arm came around her as they watched the conscription squad hauling the men away down the street.

She felt Karl’s arm lift from about her, heard him start to speak in his odd version of the Ilmodo-speech.

“You can’t, Karl,” she told him. “They’d know you were here, they’d take you back to the Bastida.”

His hands stopped moving, his voice stilled. She could see other faces at the windows along the street-people wondering who had been taken this time. A woman came hurtling from one of the door-

ways, screaming and trying to pull one of the men away from the squad; they pushed her away. “Falina, I’ll be back. Take care of Saddasi. I’ll be back. .” they heard the man calling as he was hauled along the street and down the next corner. The woman huddled on the street wailing as neighbors came out to comfort her.

Karl’s arm tightened around Ana’s shoulder. She leaned into the embrace.

“I hate this,” she heard him say. “I hate all of it: the hiding, the constant fear, the way the whole city feels. ”

“I know,” she said. “I’m tired of it also.”

“We should leave,” he said. “Go somewhere else. Back to the Isle, maybe. There are things I would love to show you there, if you’d come with me.”

Like the woman you left there with the promise of your betrothal? She was afraid to say it, afraid that there would be too much bitterness in her voice and too much vulnerability in her heart. “I can’t leave,” she said instead. “This is my home. Matarh is here, the Archigos’ Temple is here, and any hope I have of ever defeating the lies that have been spread about me and Archigos Dhosti. If we run, Karl, everyone will think they were all true, and-” She stopped. Sniffed. “Smoke,” she said, her voice catching. “Something’s burning.” She turned, looking back into the room. She thought she could see a dark mist seeping in the twilight of the room, like a black fog seeping from the floorboards on the other side of the room. There was light as well, a ruddy glow penetrating the cracks between the worn blackwood planks.

“Fire,” Ana breathed. “The tavern. .”

“Come on,” Karl said. He took her arm. “We have to get out of here. Quickly-”

They fled from the rooms and down the outside stairs. Flames were already licking at the shutters of the first floor and smoke boiled from the front of the building. The alarm was beginning to spread, with shouts and cries from the nearby buildings as neighbors alerted each other. “Find the utilino!” someone shouted. “We need the fire-teni or the whole block will go!”

Karl was tugging at Ana’s arm as she stood in the center of the lane and stared at the building, the door of the tavern outlined in fire. “We have to leave. You can’t be here when they come.”

“They won’t come in time,” she protested. “You know that. We can put it out. I know the spell.”

“I don’t,” Karl answered, “and that blaze would take a dozen fireteni, Ana. The building’s gone and so will be all the others around it; we can’t stop this.”

She shook away his hand on her arm. “Ana-”

She closed her eyes to his plea. She began to chant, trying to recall the words that U’Teni cu’Dosteau had taught her. Larger gestures, this time; even bigger than before. . The words came slowly, but then she caught the rhythm of the chant and the words flowed easily, her hands shaping the power that she felt rising around her with the chant.

The form that U’Teni cu’Dosteau had taught them was a truncated one, a small practice spell, but she improvised on it, letting her mind find pathways that expanded it. She thought of nothing, just letting her mind open to the Ilmodo, letting her hands move unconsciously. The power continued to build, an invisible storm of rain and wind around her that only she could feel, thrashing and bucking and fighting her.

When it became so strong that she was afraid that she could not hold it back any longer, she stopped chanting, holding the release word in her mind: again, a word that she did not know, a word that Cenzi must have put in her head.

She opened her eyes and at arm’s length cupped her hands around the tavern. She could see her fingers trembling, glowing with cold blue.

She spoke.

The very air answered her.

The spell rushed outward, an invisible, frigid explosion that sent the tavern doors and the shutters of the windows into splinters. The wind shrieked and howled, a scream that caused the people nearby to clap hands to ears. The smoke roiling from the building increased dramatically, but turned a strange pale white that seemed to glow in the moonlight, overpowering the ruddy flames. A quick fa-WHOOMP reverberated along the street, followed by silence.

The building sat: the first story blackened around the open holes of windows and door, wisps of smoke still trailing upward. But no flames were visible. Ana saw it, but then the weariness of the Ilmodo struck her, as strongly as she’d ever experienced it. Her knees buckled, and she felt Karl’s hands go around her to support her, and she heard the crowd yelling, and a voice close to her saying “Ana, you are more dangerous than anyone thought.” The voice was Mahri’s, and she glimpsed his hooded, scarred face in the narrowed tunnel of her vision.

“Mahri,” she said. “I had to. .”

“No, you didn’t, but I’m not surprised that you thought you did,” he told her. “And now we have to get you out of here.”

She felt herself being lifted-“Karl?”-and she saw the buildings moving around her and heard the people shouting around them. . but it was easier to fall into sleep than to worry about it, and Karl and Mahri were there to keep her safe, so she allowed herself to fall away for a time.

She never quite reached unconsciousness. She was aware of movement, of voices, of being carried into somewhere. She must have slept a bit; she woke smelling warm bread and tea. She opened her eyes to daylight in a room she didn’t recognize.

“It’s about time,” she heard Karl say. He came from the outer room with a plate and mug and set it down on the floor next to her mattress, then sat beside it himself. “Four full turns of the glass, I’d bet, if we had a glass to turn. It’s morning.” He smiled. “I have breakfast. I knew you’d be famished.”

He handed her the bread, with a single thin dab of precious butter on it. The smell alone made her ravenous, and she took one of the slices and tore into it hungrily. “Mahri?” she manage to ask between bites.

“He brought us here, then vanished. Haven’t seen him since around daybreak. The man must not sleep like normal people.” She could feel his gaze on her as she reached for another slice and took a sip from the mug of steaming tea. “That was some impressive display of the Ilmodo,” he said to her. “It almost made me want to believe in Cenzi. I think it impressed Mahri, too. He was mumbling to himself the whole time we were carrying you.”

“The fire would have taken so many houses. All those people. .”

“I know. I know why you didn’t listen to me. I just don’t understand how you did all that.”

“I don’t understand how you do what you do, either,” she told him.

“For a time, that made me doubt everything. Especially myself.”

He smiled again. “Evidently you found yourself again.” His hand stroked her cheek; the feel of it on her skin made her shiver.

“No,” she told him, and he pulled his hand away.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s her name?” Ana asked him. “The woman in Paeti. Your fiancee.”

She wasn’t certain why she said it; the words slipped out, as they had lurked there in her head, waiting. There was a long silence. Karl stared at her. “How did you know?”

“Does that make a difference?” she asked him. It bothered her that he seemed more irritated than ashamed. “What matters more to me is that you never told me about her. What’s her name?”

She watched him take a breath, then another. “Kaitlin,” he said at last. “Ana, I’ve been gone two years now. I don’t know when I’ll return, or if. Kaitlin and I. . we said we’d be faithful. But I think we both knew that I might find someone else, or that she might. .”

“Has it happened?”

He ducked his head. Nodded. “For me, it has,” he said. “I think you know that.”

“And for her?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should know, Karl.”

He said nothing. The tea steamed in the mug in her hands. “Has it happened for you?” he asked finally. “With me?”

“Perhaps,” she answered. “I don’t know. Too much has happened and I’m not sure of anything now. But I don’t know that I’m ready for what you want.”

“Because of Kaitlin.”

Ana couldn’t decide whether that was a statement or a question.

She nodded. “Yes. And. . other things. Karl, I may never be ready.”

Had he left then, had he simply nodded and accepted that, she knew that it would all be over between them. She knew that it would have killed whatever it was that had brought them together. It would have changed things between them forever.

He did not. He knelt in front of her and his hands went around hers as she held the mug.

“Then I can wait,” he told her.

Justi ca’Mazzak

The morning fog had lifted several turns of the glass ago, and the sky was crowded with gray clouds drifting lethargically above them. Justi gestured, and the great portcullis of Passe a’Fiume groaned and protested as it was hauled up and the thick oaken gates of the town swung open. Justi’s entourage was small: no more than twenty of the ca’- and-cu’ chevarittai attending him, Commandant ca’Rudka accompanied by two double-hands of the Garde Civile, Archigos ca’Cellibrecca with U’Teni cu’Bachiga of Passe a’Fiume and a half-dozen war-teni from the Archigos’ Temple.

Justi had watched from the walls of the town as Hirzg ca’Vorl’s retinue entered the field conspicuously just beyond bowshot range of the walls (though not unreachable by war-teni.) The archers remained arrayed on the walls as Justi’s small force advanced out from the gate and onto the Clario bridge. A page in the livery of the Kraljiki waited at the far side of the bridge, a scabbarded sword cradled in his arms. He bowed low as Justi rode slowly up to him.

“My Kraljiki, the Hirzg Jan ca’Vorl has accepted your sword from me and asked me to give you this in return,” the page said. The young man’s voice trembled slightly as he presented the sword hilt-first. Justi leaned down to take the sword as the page, still bowing, backed away.

The sword was plain but obviously well-used: the sword of someone who used the weapon as a tool of war, not in tedious ceremonies. The leather wrapping of the hilt was stained, and the feel was solid. The Hirzg’s initials were engraved in the pommel, the deep-cut, ornate lines filled with glittering lapis, the only touch of ostentation on the weapon.

Justi drew the weapon; it was beautifully balanced in his hand, and the twin edges were polished and keen, with the slight curve that was the hallmark of the Firenzcian saber. The steel was satin and almost dark, and it sang a shimmering high note as it left the scabbard.

The sword was a message, he knew. The presentation sword Justi had given to ca’Vorl had been one of the ceremonial swords his matarh had commissioned as gifts for ambassadors and representatives: more showpiece than weapon, more jewelry than edge.

“Firenzcian steel,” Commandant ca’Rudka commented, coming up alongside Justi. His silver nose gleamed in the sunlight; Justi could see his own distorted reflection in one nostril. “Beautiful, if you like deadly things.” From ca’Rudka’s raised eyebrows, Justi knew that the man understood the significance of the gift. Justi sheathed the weapon and hooked the loop of the scabbard to his belt, and gently nudged his horse forward again as the page stepped aside. The retinue began to move, hooves loud on the wooden planks of the bridge. Justi glanced up toward the tents farther down the Avi, their sides up to allow breezes to enter-and to allow Justi to see that there was no deception. He could see the Hirzg’s retinue in the shadows under the linen cloth.

“We’ll know soon enough whether steel will be necessary,” Justi told ca’Rudka.

“Do you think that’s a possibility, Kraljiki?” Ca’Rudka was looking past the tents to the mountains and the army waiting there.

Justi was wondering the same, but he didn’t answer and ca’Rudka didn’t pursue the question. Justi gestured to the others, and they continued on toward the tents. Pages hurried forward as they reached the greensward: taking the reins of the horses; bringing steps to help Justi and the others alight from their mounts. Servants led the horses away to graze, and others came forward to offer drinks to the retinue. Justi waved them aside, not wanting to put anything in the burning pit that was his stomach. “This way, Kraljiki. The Hirzg is waiting for you.”

A long table had been set up in the middle of the tent, with two ornate chairs at either end. Less comfortable and ornate seating was arranged around the focus of the two ends so that the Kraljiki and the Hirzg could each consult with their advisers at need. Two scribes stood by folding desks with parchment, quills, and fully-charged inkwells, prepared to document the proceedings. Pages and servants stood by along either side, ready to provide refreshment or to ferry documents from one end to the other, or simply to shoo away annoying insects.

As Justi strode into the cool twilight of the tent, Hirzg ca’Vorl rose slowly and almost grudgingly from his chair at the end of the table, though his retinue was already standing. Justi recognized a few of them from his ceremonial trips to Brezno: the stick-figure of Markell, the Hirzg’s secretary and adviser; U’Teni cu’Kohnle, the head of Firenzcian war-teni. But the person wearing the starkkapitan’s eagle wasn’t Ahren ca’Staunton, but some younger offizier whose face was unknown to Justi.

All but ca’Vorl had bowed their heads reflexively as he approached the table with the Archigos and ca’Rudka to either side of him, but Justi could feel them staring as if they were trying to see inside him-all but ca’Vorl himself. The Hirzg simply watched, as if slightly bored by the proceedings. Justi stood behind the chair and stared back, and finally ca’Vorl gave the barest motion of his head to Justi, the shadow of a nod.

“I had hoped to meet you again in more. . pleasurable circumstances, Hirzg Jan,” Justi said as a page pulled back the heavy chair for him and he sat. He nodded to the gathering; the Hirzg seated himself across from Justi, and then there was the rustling of cloth and harsher groan of mail and plate as the others found their seats around them.

Justi glanced at a thick leather portfolio placed on the table in front of him, stamped with the rampant stallion insignia of Firenzcia. “What is this?”

“Those are my terms for your surrender, Kraljiki,” ca’Vorl answered easily. “Let me summarize them for you. You will abdicate your title in favor of me, and hand over control of the Garde Civile to Starkkapitan ca’Linnett. My army will continue through Passe a’Fiume to Nessantico City to retain order during the transition of government. Archigos ca’Cellibrecca will return with me; he would be permitted to retain his title as Archigos as long as I perceive that he is cooperating. For your part, Kraljiki, I will allow you to retain your ca’ status, your title of chevaritt, and the lands of the ca’Ludovici estates in northern Nessantico, but you will absent yourself from all affairs of the Holdings on peril of your fortune and your life. There are, of course, many more details set out in the agreement, but those are the broad strokes. All I require is your signature and we are done here.”

Justi glanced down once at the folio, resisting the urge to spit on it.

The man has always been arrogant, but this is beyond arrogance. . Some of Hirzg’s retinue were carefully smiling, amused by Justi’s discomfiture; his own people sat silent and stunned. Did he know what I’d planned?

Justi gestured, and one of the pages scurried forward to place a portfolio in front of the Hirzg.

“These are my terms,” Justi told the Hirzg. “Your army will immediately retreat beyond the Nessantico borders. Your starkkapitan and all a’offiziers of the army will surrender their arms and commissions to Commandant ca’Rudka. You, Hirzg ca’Vorl, will be taken to Nessantico as my hostage until the ransom I demand is paid by your family, at which time you will exchange your daughter for yourself as hostage.

Firenzcia will also pay damages to the town of Ville Colhelm and for your plundering of Nessantico’s land. Those who disobey any of the decrees in these terms will be declared outlaw by the Holdings, and also by the Archigos of the Concenzcia Faith. Henceforth, Firenzcia will no longer have a Hirzg, but will be under direct control of a representative of the Holdings.”

The smiles were gone from the Hirzg’s retinue now, and Justi leaned back in his chair as he swept the Hirzg’s portfolio contemptuously to the floor and thrust out his famous chin even further. “All I require is your signature, Hirzg ca’Vorl,” he said deliberately. “And we are done here.”

Ca’Vorl glowered and a deep flush covered his face. Justi thought that the man was about to go into a frothing rage, but instead ca’Vorl slapped his hands open-palmed on the portfolio and roared a laugh that was made louder by the silence around them. “Kraljiki Justi, I have underestimated you. When I’ve met you in the past. . well, I confess that I thought you entirely devoid of humor. I see that I was wrong.”

The grin vanished as quickly as it had come. His eyelids lowered, and he stared at Justi. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that I have an army perched before Passe a’Fiume, which is the doorstep to Nessantico, and I don’t believe that you have the forces or the will to stop me from walking through that door. The Garde Civile has been nothing but an adjunct to the Firenzcian army for two centuries now; it is Firenzcia who has fought the Holdings’ battles for the Kralji, not the Garde Civile. So. . let us talk realities here, not dreams. We both know what each of us want; neither will get it without bloodshed.” He picked up Justi’s portfolio and dropped it on the grass next to his chair. “What do you really offer, Kraljiki?” he asked. “What is genuinely on the table for us to consider?”

Justi sniffed. He ached to draw the sword ca’Vorl had given him and strike the man dead-he could do that, he was certain, before the man could react or anyone could respond. He wanted the fight; he could feel it. It would feel good, better than this fencing with blunted words.

It would ease the fury gathering in his chest and the fire in his belly.

Matarh might have enjoyed this word-dancing, but he did not. You have to continue. . You need more time to be ready, time you can buy here.

“Let’s define the true situation first,” Justi said finally. He could hear ca’Rudka relax alongside him; the man had tensed, ready-Justi realized-to defend him. Ca’Cellibrecca gave an obvious sigh of relief.

“Passe a’Fiume has never been taken in a siege when it has been guarded by a full complement of Garde Civile; it now has that full complement and more. You can’t besiege the city without controlling the western gates on the other side of the Clario, and your army, no matter how strong, has no easy crossing of the river anywhere close. Should you somehow manage to make the crossing and continue your aggression in Nessantico, then Archigos ca’Cellibrecca will declare your troops and your war-teni in violation of the Divolonte. The Marque of all your teni will be immediately revoked and any services performed by them will be considered empty and void. The blessings of Cenzi will be withdrawn from your troops-those who die will find themselves in the hands of the death hags. Any war-teni who are captured will suffer the fate of those who use the Ilmodo against Cenzi’s Will.”

Justi paused and glanced sharply at ca’Cellibrecca. The man looked ill. He was staring somewhere beyond ca’Vorl. “Archigos,” Justi snapped, and the man shivered, his jowls wiggling on either side of his jaw. He bowed and nodded, his gaze skittered past and around Justi’s face.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly so, Kraljiki.”

Justi blinked angrily at the slowness of the reply and its lack of fire, but he could say nothing to ca’Cellibrecca, not here where they needed to present a unified front. “I’m prepared to allow you and

your army safe passage back to Firenzcia. I will permit you to retain your title as Hirzg and your estates, but the tribute Firenzcia pays to Nessantico will be tripled for the next three years to pay for the damages you have caused. Command of the Firenzcian army garrisons will pass to Commandant ca’Rudka and offiziers to be named by me from among the Chevarittai of Nessantico. That’s what is on the table for you, Hirzg. That, or you may attempt to siege Passe a’Fiume and have your army break here.”

Ca’Vorl yawned dramatically. “A fine, blustery performance, Kraljiki, but did you look out from the walls before you came here? Did you fail to see the number of cook fires or did Chevaritt ca’Montmorte and the Garde Civile who ran screaming form Ville Colhelm fail to tell you how well and fiercely my Firenzcians fight? Is the Kusah of Namarro sending troops to come to your aid, or the Fjath of Sforzia, or the Ta’Mila of Il Trebbio? — or are those rulers sending you empty pledges of support while they tremble on their own thrones and wait to see who finally takes the Sun Throne in Nessantico? Why, I don’t see any of their banners flying above Passe a’Fiume. . and I won’t, will I? As to the Archigos. .”

Justi saw the Hirzg’s gaze linger on ca’Cellibrecca for a breath. “In the Toustour,” the Hirzg continued, “it says that Cenzi listens to all those who pray to Him and that if their prayers are true and genuine, He will answer. I know we’re both also familiar with the Divolonte.

The Archigos might recall Admonitions, where it says: ‘Kralji, be concerned with the lives of the faithful before death, for that is your role; Archigos, be concerned with the lives of the Faithful beyond death, for that is your task.’ So, I will listen to the Archigos when he talks to me about my Faith, not about politics. In the meantime, I prefer to listen to Cenzi Himself, rather than those who claim to speak for Him. If Cenzi is displeased with me, then I call on Him to take away the power of the Ilmodo from my war-teni. I assume He is perfectly capable of doing exactly that. Otherwise. .” The Hirzg brought his shoulder toward his cheek. “Perhaps the Ilmodo will tell us whose prayers Cenzi prefers: those of the Archigos, or those of my war-teni.”

Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca

“Perhaps the ilmodo will tell us whose prayers Cenzi prefers.”

Ca’Vorl fixed Orlandi then with a stare that Orlandi could return only with great effort. He could feel the Kraljiki glaring at him from the side as well, and U’Teni cu’Kohnle also regarded him with an intensity that made Orlandi wonder how much the Hirzg had promised the warteni. Orlandi wanted to wipe away the beading sweat that was rising at the top of his forehead but didn’t dare. He knew that the Kraljiki was waiting for him to respond to the Hirzg’s defiance; he also knew that ca’Vorl was warning him. The Hirzg had no intention of bending to compromise here; the parley was already over. Orlandi knew it, whether Kraljiki Justi did or not.

He is telling you that you have to choose. You must make your decision.

Cenzi, what must I do?

Cenzi didn’t deign to answer in any manner that Orlandi could discern. He opened his mouth, and prayed that Cenzi would send him the words to say. “I am the Voice of Cenzi here in this world,” he said, with all the firmness he could muster. “That is and always has been the role of the Archigos.”

Ca’Vorl’s lips curled in amusement; the Kraljiki grunted. “There. You have your answer, Hirzg. .”

Justi was saying, but Orlandi wasn’t truly listening. Not anymore. All his attention was on the thoughts battering against his skull.

He had seen the army on the mountainsides and crawling along the Avi. He had looked out from the walls of Passe a’Fiume, and he had glimpsed the future. He thought of Francesca waiting in Prajnoli; he thought of the throne of the Archigos in Nessantico and how long he had coveted it and how it had become his and how he did not want to lose it, how it must be Cenzi’s Will that Orlandi become the Archigos: now and for the rest of his life. He had felt the chill of the air and smelled the foul odor of fear that rose from the sewers of Passe a’Fiume, a scent that would only grow more ripe and more pungent and more urgent if the city were closed up and surrounded.

He did not want to be here if that occurred.

He especially did not want to die here.

It’s the dwarf’s fault. He brought in that woman cu’Seranta who nearly destroyed my plans for Francesca, then he died before I could bring him to trial and show everyone just how far from Cenzi’s design he had taken Concenzia. Even in death he cheats me…

It had all seemed simple when he’d spoken with the Hirzg in Brezno so many months ago, when the Hirzg had broached the idea of their alliance and of deposing the Kraljica. But the Archigos had claimed a favorite in cu’Seranta and awakened from his long slumber, the Numetodo had risen, the Kraljica had been assassinated, and everything had become murky and complicated.

He should not have been sitting here on this side of the table with the Kraljiki. He should have been entering Nessantico in triumph

alongside the Hirzg. Now he wasn’t certain which side would win.

He truly didn’t know, and Cenzi wouldn’t tell him.

Orlandi lifted doleful eyes past the Hirzg to the steep hillsides beyond the tent. The Hirzg was talking again, replying to something Justi had said, but Orlandi heard none of it. As he gazed at the landscape, the clouds parted momentarily and shafts of bright sunlight sluiced over the Firenzcian encampment. Armor glinted and sparkled, the tents

gleamed, the banners waved.

Not over the city, though, Orlandi realized as he glanced over his shoulder. The city remained in shadow.

Then the clouds closed over the sun once more, and the gloom returned. Orlandi smiled.

Thank you, Cenzi.

Orlandi sat in his chair, feeling the relief and certainty fill him. He knew now what he must do. He knew. He would send word to Francesca tonight, and then he would act.

There was motion in front of him and he realized, belatedly that everyone was standing. He rose from his own chair, groaning with the effort. “I will send you my answer by tomorrow, Kraljiki,” the Hirzg was saying.

“Then I hope you come to the right decision, Hirzg. We both understand the consequences, either way.”

“Indeed.” The Hirzg gave a slight bow, his clasped hands to his forehead; his attendants bowing lower behind him, and around Orlandi there was a rustling as the Kraljiki and those around him returned the gesture. Servants and pages ran for horses and cloaks as the parties left the tent in opposite directions.

Justi said nothing until they were riding back to Passe a’Fiume. He gestured to ca’Rudka to ride alongside him, and for Orlandi’s carriage to pull abreast. “There will be war,” he said without preamble. “We can expect the Hirzg’s answer in the form of an attack.”

“I agree, Kraljiki,” ca’Rudka said.

“We’ll continue preparations inside the walls,” Justi said. “I will send messenger birds to Prajnoli to empty the garrison there. Better to make our stand here than at Nessantico. Archigos, you will prepare your declaration against the Hirzg, his war-teni, and those who fight with him.”

Orlandi smiled and bowed his head from the carriage. The satisfaction continued to flow through him; nothing the Kraljiki said could upset him. “As you wish, Kraljiki.”

“Good. The Hirzg has overreached, and he will pay for his ambition. He has built his house, now let him live in it.” Justi glanced over his shoulder at the Hirzg’s entourage, moving up the Avi toward their encampment. The hillsides were sullen with the gray clouds overhead, but Orlandi didn’t care.

He had seen the sun there. He had been given his answer.

Sergei ca’Rudka

“They can’t truly siege the town until they have all western gates blocked. That means the Hirzg either has a hidden force approaching us from Montbataille Pass-which wouldn’t surprise me-or he intends to have at least two battalions ford the Clario north or south of the town. My bet would be south, since the river’s less wild there, but we can’t rule out a northern crossing. We’ll need forces here and here, and possibly here as well.”

“Commandant?”

Sergei glanced up from the maps of Passe a’Fiume and the surrounding area to see his aide ce’Falla at the door. Ca’Montmorte and the other offiziers and chevarittai in the room continued to stare down at the maps. “Did you fetch the Archigos for me, Aris?” he asked, his index finger still pressed to the yellow parchment. “I was beginning to wonder. We really need his input on the war-teni.”

“I can’t find the Archigos, Commandant,” ce’Falla said. “I don’t think. .” He stopped. Swallowed. “I don’t think he’s inside the town walls. None of the e’teni in his retinue know where he is, and his u’teni are gone as well, and there are reports that the temple gate in the outer wall was found unlocked.”

Sergei suddenly felt as if he’d swallowed a live coal. “Get others searching,” he called to the others. “We need to know what’s happened.”

A turn of the glass later, it was apparent that ca’Cellibrecca had fled Passe a’Fiume, and Sergei reluctantly informed the Kraljiki. “The Archigos is probably with Hirzg ca’Vorl now,” Sergei said to the Kraljiki, who stared out into the night from a window, his thoughts unguessable.

The Kraljiki had taken residence in the villa of Passe a’Fiume’s Comte; from the tower that rose well above most of the buildings of the town, Sergei could glimpse the fires on the mountainside beyond the Kraljiki.

A table in the middle of the room was spread with copies of the maps that decorated Sergei’s office. “Those barricading the walls near the temple heard Ilmodo-chanting,” Sergei continued, “and there were strange flashes of light from the windows-about a turn of the glass after supper, according to the servants.”

“Trust ca’Cellibrecca not to miss his supper, even for treason,”

Justi muttered. Sergei couldn’t see the scowl, but he could hear it. The Kraljiki shook his head. “He will never sit as Archigos in Nessantico again. I swear that. I don’t care what I have to do-ca’Cellibrecca won’t profit from this.”

“I will help you make certain of that,” Sergei told him.

“Will you?” Justi turned from the window. He stood over the desk in the middle of the room, littered with papers and maps. “And how will you accomplish that, Commandant? As much as I hate to admit it, we have lost one of the edges of our sword and the Hirzg knows it. There’s no hope now that he will accept my terms of parley.”

“May I speak frankly, Kraljiki?”

The Kraljiki snorted. He lifted his hands in invitation. “Please.”

Sergei paused, wondering if he truly wanted to do this. He took a long breath. “Kraljiki, I know who killed your matarh.”

He watched the Kraljiki’s face stiffen, then the man waved a hand.

“Of course. The painter ci’Recroix. .”

“I know who hired the painter, Kraljiki.”

Justi’s mouth closed audibly. “Go on, Commandant,” he said. It was nearly a grunt. “But, were I you, I’d proceed very carefully.”

“My loyalty, Kraljiki, is to Nessantico. Always. Not to any person, but to Nessantico herself: the empire. I see a Nessantico that one day will span the world from the mouth of the Great Eastern River in Tennshah to the far shores of the Westlands. I see a Nessantico whose citizens thrive, where wonders we can’t even imagine are glimpsed every day.

That’s what I would like generations to come to experience. I’m also a realist, Kraljiki. I know that there’s no easy path to that future, and I know that sometimes a tree must be pruned in order for it to continue to grow. The death of the Kraljica. . well, I loved Kraljica Marguerite as much as anyone, and I served her as well and faithfully as I could.

She brought peace to Nessantico for a long time, and we grew immeasurably under her reign. But. .”

Sergei paused. He cocked his head slightly. You’d better pray that you’ve judged the man correctly. “I mourned her passing in gratitude for what she had done, but in truth, she was a dying branch and already what she had created was starting to crumble. She was sleeping on the Sun Throne, as Archigos Dhosti was sleeping in the temple. Nessantico needed a new, stronger hand-in that sense, the loss of the Kraljica was necessary.”

Sergei waited. The Kraljiki said nothing. “I have done or ordered done many awful deeds in the Bastida as commandant,” Sergei continued. “I have injured and maimed and killed; I have watched men

and women scream in torment in front of me, and I have wondered at what Cenzi might think, of how He might judge me. But the torment was necessary. I did those misdeeds for the good of Nessantico. I think that’s happened with the Kraljica as well: a misdeed done for the sake of the greater good of Nessantico.” He waited. The Kraljiki remained silent and staring. “Had the Kraljica not died, she would be on the throne at this very moment, enjoying her Jubilee, and we would have known nothing of this.” Sergei pointed to the window, to the flickering of campfires on the mountainside, like stars fallen from the night sky.

“We would have known nothing of it until the Hirzg and his army were nearly at Nessantico’s gates and it was too late to stop him. The Hirzg is not someone I would ever wish to see sitting on the Sun Throne.”

“And I am?” the Kraljiki asked suddenly. “Speaking frankly, Commandant?”

“I admire those who know when to wait, when to act, when to sacrifice, and when to retreat. You waited a long time, Kraljiki.” And then you acted. Sergei didn’t say that, but the words hung there in the air between them.

The Kraljiki took several breaths before speaking. Sergei wondered what he was thinking, what he was turning over in his mind. Muscles bunched along his jawline, under the well-trimmed line of mustache and beard. “You still haven’t answered my question about ca’Cellibrecca,” he said finally.

Nor about you, Sergei thought. “I said that I admire those who know when to sacrifice and retreat as well as when to act,” Sergei said. “You need to return to Nessantico, Kraljiki. You need to leave.”

“And let Passe a’Fiume fall the next day? The Hirzg’s troops would be at our feet as we run back to Nessantico. How is that a victory?”

Sergei was shaking his head. “I’m not saying that we all must go back to Nessantico. Only you, Kraljiki. You need to leave. I will stay here in Passe a’Fiume with half the Garde Civile and we will hold the town for as long as possible. You, the court, and most of the chevarittai must return to the city. We will buy you as many days as possible: to order in the garrisons, to mobilize the countryside, to conscript every last able-bodied person. You’ll need to prepare for the battle, to name an Archigos in Nessantico to replace the traitor so that any declara-tions ca’Cellibrecca makes have less weight. That’s what you need to do, Kraljiki. And while you do that, let me hinder ca’Vorl’s progress.

Let me whittle down the size of his army for you. If he tries to cross at the bridge, the walls will hold him back. If he tries to ford the Clario north or south, we follow on this side and engage him. In the meantime, you prepare Nessantico.”

“And you? What do you gain from this? I don’t believe in altruism, Commandant. I especially don’t believe in it from you.”

Sergei smiled. “Assuming I survive-and I will make every effort to do so, Kraljiki-I would expect to be well rewarded for my services. I would expect to be permanently awarded the title of commandant of

the Garde Civile and to retain my title as Chevaritt of Nessantico, and I will return the Garde Civile to what it once was: the true strong right arm of the Kraljiki. As commandant, I will also command the army of Firenzcia rather than the next Hirzg, so I can ensure that this never happens again. You would name me Comte of Brezno. As the Archigos controls Concenzia, I would control the military, all for the glory of the Kraljiki and Nessantico.” His smile widened. “No, Kraljiki, I’m not an altruist. I prefer the thought of rewards in this lifetime to the possibility of those in the next. May Cenzi forgive me for that.”

The muscles in the Kraljiki’s face relaxed. He smiled also, a careful gesture, and Sergei relaxed. It may yet go the way you wanted it to go. At least on this side. .

“I take it you have specific tactics to go with this strategy of yours, Commandant?”

“I do.”

The Kraljiki nodded. He walked over to his dressing table; the Hirzg’s sword had been placed there. The Kraljiki picked it up and pulled it halfway from its scabbard. He turned the blade, examining it closely in the light of the candles. He nodded, as if satisfied. “I’ll credit the bastard with knowing his steel,” he said. “This is a weapon that cries out to be used.” He shoved the blade back into the scabbard, then tossed both sword and scabbard toward Sergei. Sergei caught it one-handed. “A pity. I’d have enjoyed using the sword, but I think you should keep it, Commandant. Use the Hirzg’s gift against him-I will take my pleasure in the irony.”

Sergei bowed. “I’ll do that, Kraljiki.” Sergei took off his own sword and placed it on the table alongside the maps. “You may still yet need a blade, my Kraljiki,” Sergei said. “It’s not the equal of the Hirzg’s, but it will serve.”

The Kraljiki nodded again and took the proffered weapon. “I’m certain it will. Now, Commandant, let’s go over these tactics of yours in detail, and we’ll see where we might be in agreement.”

Sergei leaned over the maps as the Kraljiki came to stand beside him. “The Hirzg will be expecting us to send troops south along the Avi to guard against a Firenzcian crossing,” he said, his fingertip moving along the curves of the river. “My thought is that you and those of the court can ride out with them dressed as common soldiers. Once you’re well south of Passe a’Fiume, you can continue on to Nessantico unseen.

The Hirzg will assume you’re still here, which is what we want him to believe. Then, once you’re back in Nessantico. .”

Justi ca’Mazzak

The city shuddered with the news that the parley had failed, and that it was likely that Passe a’Fiume was already under siege.

The city had merely been worried before; now it was truly frightened, a feeling heightened as Kraljiki Justi trebled the conscription squads, as the Garde Kralji patrolled the gates of the city so that none could leave without travel documents bearing the seal of the Kraljiki, as couriers carrying urgent orders from the Kraljiki went out from the city in all directions, as the encampment of the Garde Civile outside the walls continued to swell. The farmlands around Nessantico were scoured as if by a ravenous plague of locusts, all the food carried back to the city: if there was to be war, then there would be as little as possible for the Hirzg’s troops to plunder as they moved toward Nessantico.

Agents of the Garde Kralji also moved through Oldtown, asking blunt questions about the Numetodo and especially about the former O’Teni Ana cu’Seranta and the once. Envoy Karl ci’Vliomani. Several of those questioned were taken away and did not return, though the Pontica remained devoid of new bodies to join the skeletal remains of the Numetodo already gibbeted there.

Worst of all was the news that the Archigos had betrayed the Kraljiki.

The Kraljiki ordered those teni who had been closest to ca’Cellibrecca at the Archigos’ Temple placed under arrest. A’Tenis ca’Marvolli, ca’Xana, ca’Miccord, and ca’Seiffel-those who had most vocally supported ca’Cellibrecca in the last few years-found themselves in residence in the Bastida, and the remaining a’teni were required to sign a declaration of obedience to the Kraljiki with their lives forfeit should they recant. Now truly headless, Concenzia reeled; the already erratic service of the teni in the city became even more stretched and ineffective.

Nessantico throbbed and quaked with fear, and Justi watched it from the colorful windows of the Hall of the Sun Throne in the Grande Palais. If he looked east more often than any other direction with a face strained with concern, he could hardly be blamed.

“They loved their Kraljica. They only fear you. That’s why they’re frightened.”

Justi scowled and gave a guttural curse at the words. He tried to turn and draw his sword-Sergei’s sword-from his scabbard, but he found it strangely difficult, as if the air had hardened around him. He stopped with the blade half-drawn.

He gaped.

The beggar known as Mahri was standing a few paces from him, on the dais where Justi stood near the Sun Throne. He could see the one-eyed, disfigured face under the cowl, splashed with color from the stained glass. But it wasn’t the man’s face that stopped Justi: the room behind the beggar was. . wrong. The only things in motion were Mahri and himself. Nothing else moved. A fly hung in the air to his left. The dozen or so courtiers as well as the ca’-and-cu’ supplicants sitting in small groups or clustered together talking, were stopped in mid-gesture.

Servants were standing as if frozen while hurrying to their tasks. Silence wrapped all of them; the air was dead and still when a moment ago it had stirred with the breezes from the open balconies. It was as if he were looking at a painting of the throne room, with he and Mahri somehow inhabiting the canvas.

It reminded him uncomfortably of ci’Recroix.

“Mad Mahri. . So you’re one of the Numetodo,” Justi said. His hand remained on his sword hilt. He wondered if he could draw it quickly enough in this half-solid air.

Mahri shook his head. He gave a grotesque smile marred by the white scars on his face. “No Numetodo could do this,” he said, waving his hand at the motionless crowd around them. “And I can’t continue it for very long, so I won’t waste it with conversation, Kraljiki. You are looking for Ana cu’Seranta and Karl ci’Vliomani. I know where they are.”

“And what do you want in return?” Justi asked. His own voice sounded hollow, as if the very air around them didn’t want to move to allow the words to leave his mouth. His fingers loosened slightly on the sword hilt.

“I want nothing you can give me,” Mahri answered.

“Wealth, then. A thousand solas. .”

Mahri laughed. “Keep your money. Just have your Garde Kralji at Oldtown Center tomorrow at a turn of the glass after First Call. Look for me; both of those you seek will be with me. Your people will have to move quickly and with force; the o’teni especially is dangerous if she has the chance to use the Ilmodo.” The air was shimmering between them; the figures around the room started to move. “After First Call, Oldtown Center,” Mahri repeated.

The air flashed, as if lightning had struck between them, and Justi’s sword seemed to leap from the scabbard of its own volition. The world seemed to jolt. Justi blinked involuntarily. When he could see again, the people around the room were once again in motion and the room was loud with their conversations. The courtiers were staring at him, standing beside the Sun Throne with his sword held threateningly in front of him.

The fly droned past him. Justi watched it strike a glass pane caught in strips of black lead, bounce back angrily, then find the opening between the windows and escape into the sunlight.

Ana cu’Seranta

Mahri had promised them that they would be safe. There was no reason not to believe him.

After the fire in the tavern, they had moved to another set of rooms deep in Oldtown, then a few days later to yet another. For Ana, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She went through the days wrapped in a dark fog. Karl tried to lift her from the depression; as he had promised, he began to teach her some of Numetodo spells. She found that some of the words were similar to the words she used herself, and she found that she could begin to learn to hold the spell in her head. It was a strange feeling, to have the Ilmodo contained and confined in her mind, an insistent presence that rattled against the spell-cage that restrained it, aching to be released.

Cenzi did not punish her for her learning. If anything, she found that she could reach the Second World easier than before.

On the fourth day, after First Call prayers and the necessary ablutions, Ana, Karl, and Mahri broke their fast with stale bread and weak tea. “There’s nothing else here to eat,” Mahri said. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go to Oldtown Center and the market there.”

“All of us?” Karl asked. “The streets aren’t safe, not for us. Ana should stay here. We know they’re looking for her, especially after the fire.”

Ana scoffed. “If anything, Karl, you should be the one staying here.

Wouldn’t the conscription squads love to get hold of you? I should go; they’re not grabbing women off the street.”

“We can all go,” Mahri answered. “The air will do us all good, and no one will notice you who does not need to see you-I promise that.”

Ana nodded emphatically, putting down the crust on which she’d been gnawing. “I’m tired of hiding away and not seeing the sun. I’ll go mad if I have to stay in here much longer.”

Karl frowned, but Mahri chuckled. “There’s your answer. I’m told the farmers have brought in fresh produce; I’ve had one of them set some aside for us. And one of the bakers has promised me new-made loaves-without the sawdust: he lives close to the old rooms over the tavern, and he’s grateful for what you did, Ana. And I know of a farmer who has brought in fresh butter to go with the bread.”

Ana’s mouth was already watering involuntarily at the thought.

The depression that bound her lifted slightly. “Then let’s go now,” she said, “before they sell everything.”

They were quickly out of the rooms and moving through the early morning streets. The number of people on the streets steadily increased as they approached Oldtown Center and the market set around the open square, but the crowd was different than the crowds of months past. There were few males out, and those Ana saw were mostly elderly or visibly crippled. Mahri had kept his promise: Karl leaned heavily on a crutch Mahri had given him, and when Ana looked at his face, it was the lined visage of an elderly great-vatarh, with wisps of white hair like faint clouds above an age-spotted scalp. She wondered whether Mahri had done something similar to her face, as no one seemed to pay her any attention at all, the gazes of those they passed sliding away from her without curiosity.

The market bustled with activity, loud with haggling as buyers examined the offerings with critical eyes. The tables in front of the sellers were rather bare, and the produce on display looked either too early-harvested or limp and old. Still, the city was hungry, bargains were few, and Ana knew that everything offered would be sold. The sight of the market and the desperation she could feel there, dissipated any of the joy she felt at being outside again. Despite the sun, despite the warmth, she felt cold and ill, and she knew that the hunger that gnawed at her stomach was shared by most of those here.

“The bread, Mahri,” she said. “Let’s get the bread first. But one loaf only. The rest. . let the baker sell it to them.” She gestured with her chin at the people. “They need it as much as we do. More.”

Mahri grunted. His single eye stared at her. “This way, then,” he said, and they followed him across the square toward the buildings on the other side. As they approached the stalls and storefront there, Karl slowed down, his hand grasping for Ana’s and pulling her back slightly.

“Look,” he husked.

Ahead of them was a squad of Garde Kralji, well-armed and obviously looking their way. An o’offizier, his uniform displaying the dragon-skull insignia of the Bastida, led the gardai. “Mahri,” Ana said warningly, as quietly as she could.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he told them. “I told you that you’d be safe. Do nothing to arouse suspicion. Nothing.”

He continued walking directly toward them. Reluctantly, Ana followed. She smiled in their direction, as if wishing them a good day. The o’offizier smiled back. His hand made a short waving motion, and the gardai with him spread out, letting the trio pass. They moved between the gardai, Ana keeping her head down. She glanced over at Karl-and his face was Karl’s again, the spell-mask gone. “Mahri-” she said in alarm, but it was already too late. Hands grabbed her, grabbed Karl, and though she tried to begin a chant, they held her too closely. She heard Karl speak a release word, and one of the gardai went down with a cry, but then the others bore him down to the ground, forcing a gag into his mouth. His eyes were wide and furious, and one of the gardai clubbed him with the pommel of his sword.

“Mahri!” Ana shouted in the grasp of the gardai, struggling as they held her arms, as they tried to shove a gag into her mouth as well.

“What have you done?”

But Mahri wasn’t there. He had vanished.