A Magic of Dawn (40 page)
Authors: S. L. Farrell
“Tell me, Timos,” Sergei said. Softly. Almost a whisper. A plea. “Tell me.”
The head came up. Ci’Stani’s eyes were wet and defeated. “All right,” he said. He began to speak then, and what he said startled Sergei so much that he did nothing but listen. When the man had finished, Sergei could only shake his head in mingled anger and sorrow. He would need to speak to the Kraljica again, and to A’Teni ca’Paim as well. Very soon.
But now now. He could feel the old urge taking him again, his breath coming faster as he thought of it, as he tried to fight it.
Now. You have everything you need. You know he’s told you the truth. So let this be the time that you turn and leave. This is the moment you can change.
Now. You have everything you need. You know he’s told you the truth. So let this be the time that you turn and leave. This is the moment you can change.
But he could not. His legs trembled as he remained crouched in the straw before ci’Stani, but they would not move. They forced him to remain there.
“Tell me, Timos,” he said to the man. “You have the skill of letters?”
Ci’Stani looked at him, confused. “Ambassador?”
“You can write? You would sign a confession if I gave it to you?”
A slow nod.
“Good. And with which hand do you write?”
“Why, the right . . .” ci’Stani began, then stopped. He glanced again at the hammer in Sergei’s hand. “Ambassador, I told you what you wished to know. I told you everything. Everything. I swear it.”
“I know you did, and for Nessantico’s sake, I thank you.” He lifted the hammer. “I require your left hand, Timos. I’m sorry. I truly am.” Sergei wondered if ci’Stani could hear the sincerity in his voice, or if he believed it. He nodded to the garda, who stepped forward and grasped ci’Stani’s left wrist, placing the hand flat against the stone floor. Ci’Stani struggled, his right hand rattling as he tried to pull away. The garda put his knee on the man’s right arm.
“Ambassador. You can’t do this. No!”
“I can’t?” Sergei asked. His voice became more stern, more eager—and the eagerness disgusted him.
You can stop this,
a still part of him declared.
You already have what you need. Stop now, as you say you want to. As you should.
But desire shouted louder.
You can stop this,
a still part of him declared.
You already have what you need. Stop now, as you say you want to. As you should.
But desire shouted louder.
“Oh, I
can,
” he told Timos. “I assure you of that. I also assure you that you’ll regret your lack of cooperation, and you will like even less the parts of you I choose to torment if you don’t. Now—Timos, is there anything else you need to tell me?”
can,
” he told Timos. “I assure you of that. I also assure you that you’ll regret your lack of cooperation, and you will like even less the parts of you I choose to torment if you don’t. Now—Timos, is there anything else you need to tell me?”
Ci’Stani stared, straw bunching around his hand as he tried again to pull it away from the garda, the chains that held his hands together clinking against stone like dull, mournful bells. The garda struck him in the face with an elbow; Sergei heard the nose break and saw blood spray. “You heard the Ambassador,” the garda said. “Keep still, or this will go worse for you.”
The prisoner moaned. His left hand flattened against the stones. Sergei found the screams that followed delightful, and he hated the delight he felt.
MANEUVERS
Niente
Sergei ca’Rudka
Nico Morel
Brie ca’Ostheim
Allesandra ca’Vörl
Rochelle Botelli
Niente
Sergei ca’Rudka
Varina ca’Pallo
Jan ca’Ostheim
T
HERE WERE SNARES IN THE WATER, cables with steel claws that tore at the wooden hulls of the ships, sending cold river water into the holds. The lead ships of the fleet canted over, unbalanced, their masts dipping toward the A’Sele’s surface and sending men screaming into the water . . .
HERE WERE SNARES IN THE WATER, cables with steel claws that tore at the wooden hulls of the ships, sending cold river water into the holds. The lead ships of the fleet canted over, unbalanced, their masts dipping toward the A’Sele’s surface and sending men screaming into the water . . .
“I have seen certain victory, Tecuhtli,” Niente told Citlali. The Highest Warrior reclined in a nest of cushions in his cabin. The red eagle of the Tecuhtli on his bald skull seemed to flex its wings as he reached for a goblet of the strong beer on the table before him. His chest was uncovered, and Niente could see that Citlali’s body showed his age: the chest sagging like a woman’s breasts; the muscles of his arm still thick but not as sharply defined as those of other warriors; his belly rounding into a comfortable paunch. The High Warrior Tototl, Citlali’s second-in-command, sat to Citlali’s right, his face impassive.
Tototl’s body was hard and lean. Niente thought that if Tototl challenged Citlali for the title of Tecuhtli, his wager would not be for Citlali, despite the man’s long years of experience. The decline of age struck the warrior caste far harder than it did the nahualli. For the nahualli, experience and age was more often an indication of power and skill.
Niente sat on his own cushions across the low table from Tecuhtli Citlali, his own drink untouched before him. Atl stood behind him, as silent as High Warrior Tototl.
“Certain victory,” Citlali echoed, as if tasting the words.
Niente nodded. “I saw our banner flowing over the city. I saw their defenders fleeing in droves into the land beyond the city walls. I saw the bodies of the defenders on the broken walls. But . . .” Niente paused. He leaned forward on the table, hoping it would ease the pain of his bowed back and painful joints. “This victory won’t be like Karnmor or Fossano, Tecuhtli, where we overwhelmed them with numbers and surprise. This victory doesn’t come without cost. The Easterners know that we’re here, and the Kraljica has sent troops here to bolster the garrison of the city. I have seen that they have learned the secret of black sand as well, which our spies have also told us. They will use black sand against us. I see victory, yes, but this one will not be an easy one.”
Niente heard Atl stir restlessly behind him. He didn’t dare look back, and he prayed that the boy would remember his place and stay silent. Tecuhtli Citlali frowned slightly at Niente’s admonition. “Were there other paths in your vision, Nahual Niente?” Citlali asked. “A better way for us than this one? Some of the warriors are grumbling that it’s time we leave the ships to the sailors and take to the land, where we can forage for fresh food and meet these Easterners sword to sword, if they dare.”
Niente heard Atl’s intake of breath even as he shook his head. “There were other paths, yes,” he told the Tecuhtli. “But I tell you that they all led to worse outcomes than this. In one, our ships were scattered and destroyed entirely and we couldn’t return home. I saw the path where the warriors took too early to the land, and it was not good—the army of the Easterners awaited us there, and though there was victory for us, it was so costly in the end that it might as well have been defeat.”
Atl’s breath exhaled loudly behind Niente, as if he were about to speak, and Citlali’s gaze drifted up to Niente’s son briefly, as did that of Tototl. But Atl remained silent. Niente hurried to continue.
“Keep to the strategy we have discussed, Tecuhtli, and I promise you the best result. And now,” he said, getting to his feet with difficulty, noting that Atl did not offer to help him, “I should see that the nahualli are all prepared and that the black sand is mixed as it should be, so that we’re ready tomorrow when we reach Villembouchure. We have taken the city once before, under Tecuhtli Zolin. It will be ours again, I promise you. From there, yes, the warriors can remain on land and march on to Nessantico and the prize you seek.”
Citlali beamed. He drank the rest of his beer and slammed the goblet down on the table. “Excellent!” he shouted drunkenly. “Go, then, and do as you need, and I will tell the warriors that we will leave the ships tomorrow.”
They will be doing exactly that. They will have no choice.
Niente bowed his way out of the cabin. He didn’t look at Atl as he moved down the short corridor and up the stairs to the ship’s deck. He blinked in the sunlight, taking in great draughts of the cool, sweet air which no longer tasted or smelled of the ash or of sea salt, only of the land and the river. On either side of them, the land of the Holdings spread out, blurred in his poor, crippled vision—green, lush hills (though still largely grayed with ash); the occasional small villages, most of them abandoned with the news of the oncoming invaders; the sparkling mouths of smaller streams and rivers spilling water into the great river. This was a beautiful land, nearly as beautiful as his own.
The ships of the fleet filled the A’Sele, a long line three or four ships wide that vanished around the sweeping curves of the river. The wind was in their favor, blowing strongly eastward, and the sails billowed and snapped above them, the sailors adjusting the lines as the deck officers called out orders. Under their prows, white water curled and spread out. The
Yaoyotl
was near the front of the fleet, though there were ships out ahead of her. Niente looked at the high aftdecks and imagined them as he’d seen them in the vision.
Yaoyotl
was near the front of the fleet, though there were ships out ahead of her. Niente looked at the high aftdecks and imagined them as he’d seen them in the vision.
“Taat!” Niente felt his son’s hand on his shoulder. He turned, knowing what he had to say and hating it. “Why did you tell the Tecuhtli not to land the troops now? I saw that path in the scrying bowl. You must have seen it, too. That was the best choice of all. I saw an easy victory afterward.”
Niente forced himself to look into his son’s eyes. “Then you misread the vision,” he said, but Atl was already shaking his head in denial.
“No, Taat, it was very clear to me. There was no army waiting for us along the road, as you told Tecuhtli. They expect us to attack from the river, and that’s where they’ve put their strength. I saw them surprised and in disarray. I saw another quick victory for us. I saw us moving toward their great city with all our strength intact.”
“You saw incorrectly,” Niente persisted, “or you misunderstood what it was you saw.”
Atl was shaking his head. “It was
clear,
Taat. The mists cleared and I
saw
the path, as if I were there. Perhaps . . .” He bit his lower lip quickly, though Niente knew what he wanted to say.
Perhaps
you
were the one who was mistaken.
clear,
Taat. The mists cleared and I
saw
the path, as if I were there. Perhaps . . .” He bit his lower lip quickly, though Niente knew what he wanted to say.
Perhaps
you
were the one who was mistaken.
Niente knew that Atl had seen correctly. Niente’s own vision had the same clarity as Atl’s, and had been no different. But he could not admit that now. For the Long Path to be gained, the Tehuantin forces had to be pared down here or they would overwhelm both Nessantico and the Long Path—if it still existed.
Axat, please show me that I’m not wrong in this. Let me see it again, as clearly as I once did. And please, show me that Atl can be spared, as he once was . . .
Niente would still seek to follow the Long Path, but he wasn’t sure if he could sacrifice his son for it. If Axat required that . . .
Axat, please show me that I’m not wrong in this. Let me see it again, as clearly as I once did. And please, show me that Atl can be spared, as he once was . . .
Niente would still seek to follow the Long Path, but he wasn’t sure if he could sacrifice his son for it. If Axat required that . . .
“Perhaps?” Niente repeated, making the word a mocking retort. “Do you wish to accuse the Nahual of being unable to read Axat’s visions? Do you believe that you can see what I cannot? Is that what you’re saying, Atl? Do you want to go back to Tecuhtli Citlali and tell him that you, after a bare few days learning the scrying skill, are now my superior, that the decades I have spent poring over the waters are nothing compared to the great power of Atl? Do you wish to tell him to abandon my counsel and take yours? Are you so proud and arrogant?” The words lashed the young man like the snap of a whip. Atl’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
“No,” Atl said at last, though the word was grudging, a mere grunt. “But you should look into the bowl again, Taat. Tonight, before we reach this city.”
“Why?” Niente snapped. “Do you think I’ll see
your
vision and not my own?”
your
vision and not my own?”
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