The Ruined City (11 page)

He grunted. The quality of his breathing changed.

“You will walk,” she decreed. She strode forward, drawing him along with her, partly by force, partly by willpower. He took a few uncertain, shuffling steps, and his grunt lengthened to a suppressed groan.

“Yes, I know, your feet hurt. You hurt all over. But that doesn’t matter, it’s nothing,” Yvenza advised him. “It will subside as your strength returns. Now walk.”

Leaning heavily on his mother’s shoulder, Onartino took a short, slow step. Then another, after which he halted, gurgling for breath.

“Walk on,” Yvenza directed. Shifting the grip of her left hand from his left wrist down to the bandaged digits lately bereft of fingernails, she squeezed hard. “Go.”

A faint choking sound came out of him, and he resumed his shuffling progress. To and fro along the bank of the stream she steered him, until his increasing wobble convinced her that he had reached his true limit, whereupon she returned him to his former place on the ground beneath the overhang.

“Rest now. In an hour or so, you’ll walk again,” she informed him. “Soon your strength will return, and then you’ll be fit to hunt the man who did this to you. D’you understand me, boy?”

She expected no reply, and was therefore taken by surprise when her son’s swollen lips moved, and he spoke for the first time since the night of his interrogation.

“Hunt.” The voice was unrecognizable; feeble and hoarse, enunciation altered by swelling, cuts, and loss of teeth.

“What’s that you say?”

“Girl.”

“What, his daughter, you mean? That’s done; she doesn’t matter now.”

“Mine.”

“Forget about that. It’s the father we want. It always was, and now more so than ever before. Aureste Belandor is your quarry.”

“Girl. Mine.”

“Try to contain your stupidity. Work on strengthening your mind along with your body.”

Onartino made no reply. His brief spate of loquacity exhausted, he relapsed into his former stuporous state; nor could all his mother’s verbal prodding rouse him again. Presently she gave up trying. Her critical attention shifted to the cookfire, and thence to the depleted woodpile.

“You—Nissi,” Yvenza addressed the still little figure in the shadows. “We need more fuel. See to it.”

There was no reply. Nissi was unresponsive as Onartino, without his excuse of brain injury. Yvenza’s lips thinned. A few long strides carried her to the mouth of the cave.

“I said we need fuel.”

Nissi did not hear her. Absorbed in her unfathomable fancies, she was patently unaware. Her great pale eyes were fixed on the fire as if she saw meaning there. Her lips were moving.

Yvenza bent low to catch the words.

“I understand,” Nissi whispered.

Yvenza’s hand advanced as if to grasp the young girl’s shoulder; hesitated, and drew back.

“I … do not know,” Nissi told the fire.

Yvenza’s eyes narrowed. She listened closely. Understanding dawned, and her expression altered.

“Perhaps. If … I can …”

There were two or three additional remarks, the barely breathed syllables unintelligible. Then Nissi exhaled deeply, bowed her head, and let her eyes close.

Yvenza allowed her to rest for a moment, then tapped her
wrist sharply, but not in a manner calculated to cause pain. The luminous eyes opened wide.

“Who was it?” Yvenza demanded.

“The nice one,” Nissi confessed, caught and frozen in the other’s gaze.

“Nice? Has he or she a name?”

“I have caught the echo of the name
Belandor
in his thoughts.”

“Ah.
Ah
. You’ve engaged in arcane communion with an adept of our House?”

“We are not beneath the roof of Ironheart.” The words were almost inaudible. Nissi’s small hands began to shake.

“You needn’t fear, child. I am not angry,” Yvenza assured her. “Matters have changed. Look at me. No, don’t stare down at the ground, look into my face, and hear me. The service you performed for Onartino proved once and for all that the true talent is in you. You belong to House Belandor, and it is folly to deny it any longer. When I watched you just now speaking by arcane means to someone far away, I finally perceived the nature of your gift, and recognized its potential as a matchless weapon. I’ve been shortsighted in the past, but that’s over. From now on, you are free to develop and strengthen your talent. Be assured that I can think of endless uses for it.”

“Free?”

“To practice and learn, yes. Now, tell me—the Belandor arcanist you’ve communed with—would that be a brother of Aureste’s?”

“I … do not know.”

Yvenza scrutinized the young face, and nodded. “Very well. Is this Belandor in Vitrisi?”

“He is in a wondrous city by the sea.”

“Vitrisi.”

“In a ruined palace. The great and beautiful house has burned. Angry, frightened people … did it. His workroom is gone. He is sad.”

“He told you all that?”

“No. It was … around the edges.”

“What was in the middle, then? What did he say?” The other appeared uncomprehending, and Yvenza’s tone sharpened. “Come, I’ll permit you to practice, but you must give back, you must contribute. Again, what did this Belandor adept tell you?”

“He said … said that we must gather to stop … the … terrible thing.”

“What terrible thing?”

“I do not know.”

“Don’t make me ask you again.”

“I did not understand. When I have sensed it, I have looked away. It was too big, I could not see all of it. It was a … change.”

“Change in what?”

“Everything. All the world. All …”

“What sort of change?”

“Everything … goes back to the way it was, once upon a time. And it is no longer our world. We do not belong, there is no place for us, in these islands. And later, no place anywhere, he thinks.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“He fears, but speaks little to those around him. He is not sure, and does not wish to cause alarm and suffering. This is also … around the edges.”

“What else was in the middle?”

“He said that the people like us must come together and work … as one … to stop the terrible thing from happening. He asked me to come. I told him that I am … not good enough, not strong … but he did not believe it. He asks me to come, he says that I am … needed.” Nissi whispered the last word with an air of incredulity.

“Aureste’s brother. I remember. Aureste set great store by that middle brother. One of his few weaknesses,” Yvenza
mused. “What did the arcanist tell you of this ‘coming together’? When and where?”

“As soon as may be. At ‘the Quivers,’ he told me. It is a high place, I saw, but … I do not know where.”

“I do. Don’t worry, I’ll get us there.”

“Us?” Nissi’s enormous eyes grew impossibly larger.

“Surely. You are needed, are you not? Despite all your talent, you’ve small knowledge of the world, and you are scarcely fit to travel alone. I trust you recognize this truth.”

The pale head bobbed.

“You require guidance and protection. I will furnish both. It is nothing less than a duty.”

Nissi studied the ground.

“Tell your Vitrisi adept, ‘the nice one,’ that you set off for the Quivers tomorrow morning,” Yvenza commanded. There was no reaction, and she elaborated, “It will be easy for us, we’ve little to pack. One of the advantages of beggary. We aren’t quite destitute, though, despite Aureste’s best efforts. I’ve a few coins and bits of jewelry about me that his Taerleezi scum overlooked. Enough to get us there, and that’s all I need.”

The ensuing silence stretched to such length that it seemed no reply was forthcoming, and then one came, almost inaudibly.

“Onartino?”

“We’ll pass several of the hillfolk cottages along our way. I’ll have one of the lads stay with him—feed him, clean him, change the dressings, and so forth. He’ll be well enough.” Again no response, and Yvenza pushed with her voice. “Go ahead, girl. Speak once more to the nice one. Tell him you’re on your way. You needn’t mention my presence just yet. And while you chat, I’ll begin preparations. I’m looking forward to our journey, and to a meeting with Aureste’s beloved brother. And perhaps—who knows?—to another meeting with Aureste himself. You cannot begin to conceive how eager I am to see him once again.”

Preparations were swiftly completed, as promised. They consisted of little more than the stuffing of two sacks with provisions and scanty belongings. Yvenza retired early and slept soundly, her rest unbroken by dreams. She woke spontaneously at dawn and rose to discover Nissi, seated at the mouth of the cave and gazing stilly into the ashes of the dead fire. The girl might easily have sat thus throughout the night; she sometimes did so. A slight nudge roused her from her apparent trance.

Tea was brewed, biscuit toasted, apples sliced and fried. The simple meal was consumed in silence; the utensils were scoured and stowed. Through all of this, Onartino slept undisturbed at the back of the cave on the ledge that had once served as his bier, for his mother judged that ample rest succeeding ample exercise would hasten his recovery. She meant to wake him and feed him before departing, but was spared this necessity by the arrival of a gangling cottager’s lad, bearing gifts.

He had brought a loaf of new bread and a clutch of old onions. Such offerings were frequently tendered by the local hillfolk to the displaced magnifica; no longer an object of fear, but still regarded with respect and scrupulously disguised compassion.

“Well, it’s Prozzo’s eldest.” Yvenza greeted the newcomer with an exceptionally gracious smile.

“Magnifica.” With a deep and painfully awkward bow, the youth presented his gifts.

“I thank you, lad.” Accepting the little bundle, Yvenza passed it on to Nissi, who silently slipped it into the sack of provisions. “I’ll not offer you payment, as I know from experience that you’ll refuse. But I’ve another offer, perhaps more to your liking. Gainful employment, a paying job. What do you say to that?”

He respectfully requested particulars. She supplied them,
and an agreement was speedily struck. Prozzo’s eldest son would occupy the cave for an indefinite term, during which he would tend to the damaged Onartino Belandor’s needs, safety, and comfort, taking particular care that the patient should engage in a regular course of strength-building exercise. All of this, Prozzo’s eldest promised to perform. In exchange for his services, he would receive immediate payment in the form of a silver ring with a purple stone. Upon the Magnifica Belandor’s return, he would be given an excellent clasp knife, provided that he discharged his duties faithfully.

Prozzo Junior was profuse in his vows. Evidently satisfied, Yvenza drew the silver ring from some pocket hidden beneath her cloak and gave it to him, then hoisted the heavier of the two sacks to her shoulder and set off at brisk pace along the streambank. Taking up the second of the sacks, Nissi hurried quietly in her wake. For a couple of minutes they walked in silence, but they were scarcely out of sight of the cave and its occupants before Yvenza halted and turned to confront her pale shadow.

“Well?” she demanded.

Nissi likewise halted, at a safe distance.

“Come, what is it? I’ve felt your eyes pressing my back like a couple of great, moist sops.”

Nissi made a couple of abortive attempts before she succeeded in producing a tiny sound.

“Onartino?” she asked.

“Safe enough. Prozzo’s boy knows what will happen to him if he runs off or shirks. There’s no need to worry.”

Yvenza resumed progress, setting her course toward the north, with Nissi following close behind.

Daylight touched the rear of the cave, and Onartino Belandor opened his eye. For a time he lay motionless, empty gaze fixed on the stone ceiling arching overhead. Then his nostrils flared, his right hand twitched a little, and his face turned slowly
toward the daylight. An unfamiliar figure stood silhouetted at the entrance. Onartino’s eye blinked.

The figure advanced, resolving itself into a tall, skinny youth bearing an earthenware bowl.

“Good, you’re awake,” observed the stranger. “I’m Rol Prozzo, and the magnifica has hired me to do for you while she and the little white girl are away. Now see here, I’ve warmed you up a good mess of gruel. You have to sit up to eat it. Come on, I’ll help.”