The Ruined City (18 page)

It was a Sishmindri, the first she had seen since reaching Vitrisi. The amphibian was carrying a basket of rubble toward the ruins of the south wing, with the evident intention of depositing his load atop existing heaps. Recognizing the distinctive pattern of mottling upon his hairless head, she shouted out his name.

“Ini!”

His head came up and he glanced around him.

“Over here!” She waved her arm, and his eyes found her. “It’s Maidenlady Jianna—come over here!”

Setting down his burden, he obeyed. Seconds later he was there at the gate, staring at her with unfathomable golden eyes, but the distension of his air sacs revealed his surprise.

“Ini, you know me, don’t you?” Without awaiting reply, she commanded, “Tell this blockhead who I am.”

“Maidenlady Jianna. Magnifico’s daughter,” Ini replied without hesitation.

“For real?” The guard’s jaw dropped. “You sure? If you’re trying on some slimy hopfrog trick—”

“Truth,” Ini asserted.

“You see,” Jianna advised the guard gently, “you’d best open the gate without further argument.”

Face scarlet, he obeyed.

“Thank you. Now, Ini, go inside and tell my father that I’ve come home.”

“Magnifico gone.”

“Gone?” Among the Sishmindris, the word embraced a variety of meanings, including death. Jianna moistened her lips and compelled herself to ask, “Where has he gone?”

“Away, with men to serve him, and many things to carry.”

“Away where, and why?”

“Know not.”

“For how long?”

“Know not.”

“But he’s alive and well?”

“He was.”

Jianna shook her head, mystified and disturbed. She did not think to demand corroboration from the human guard standing near at hand. Instinctively, or perhaps on the unconscious basis of experience, she placed greater faith in the word of the Sishmindri, whose kind never lied. Her father believed that the amphibians lacked the intelligence and imagination to produce deliberate falsehood. Her uncle Innesq believed that lying violated their moral code. Either way, they were more reliable than humans.

“Very well. Then carry the word to Master Innesq. Tell him I am here.”

“Master Innesq gone.”

“No!”
The tears sprang to her eyes. Innesq Belandor never ventured from home, and therefore, this time, the Sishmindri’s meaning was unequivocal. Her brilliant and beloved uncle was dead. “He—he died in—” Her gesture encompassed the scorched ruins.

“Not dead. Away. With magnifico.”

“Away?” Hope warred with incredulity. “Impossible. My uncle Innesq never leaves the house. He doesn’t go anywhere, ever, except in his mind, and by way of his art.”

“This time, he goes.”

“Where?”

“Know not.”

She hesitated, trying to take it in. Her father and her uncle Innesq were alive, but away from a wounded home. What or who was left?

Can’t be. Please
.

“Master Nalio?” she inquired with an effort.

“Ruler now,” reported Ini.

It was difficult to imagine Uncle Nalio as ruler of a chicken coop, much less Belandor House. Still, if Aureste and Innesq were truly away, then Nalio would indeed inherit temporary
command. Incredible, but inevitable. At least he would be able to furnish an intelligible account of all that had happened here in her absence.

“Very well, then. Ini, go tell my uncle Nalio that I have come home, with a guest. And send someone out to see to the horses.” The Sishmindri bobbed a graceless bow and departed. “As for you—” Unconsciously adopting her father’s authoritative manner, Jianna addressed the human guard. “You keep an eye on the horses for now. If anything goes wrong, you’ll smart for it. Understand?”

“Yes, maidenlady.” His face went redder than ever.

“Look to it.” Drawing a deep breath to bolster her confidence, she turned to Rione.

“You reveal a new aspect of your character,” he observed with an expression of mingled bemusement and amusement.

“Oh, well, sometimes one must be firm.” She felt herself color a little. Concealing every sign of tension, she inquired easily, “Ready, then?”

“To take my leave, yes.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know. But it’s what I mean.”

Exactly as she had feared. She studied his face, which was composed and seemingly tranquil, as usual. During the time she had spent in his company, however, she had learned to see beneath the surface, and now she beheld a wall of granite. He had set his course and he was not about to alter it. He meant to leave her—leave forever, without an instant’s remorse or hesitation—and there was not a thing in the world she could do to stop him.

A great tumult of alarmed emotion boiled up inside her, and it was all she could do to stop herself from clutching his arm to hold him by force. Throughout the days that they had traveled together, she had known that this moment would arrive. But she had never allowed herself to consider its reality, for she had always managed to convince herself that, when the time came, she would find a way to stop him from going. At
the point of crisis, when she really needed it, inspiration would strike and then she would produce words magical and potent as any ever uttered by the greatest arcanist.

And now her mind was empty of magical words. She was powerless to influence him. But Aureste’s daughter would not give up without a fight.

“Oh, come, Falaste.” She strove for a light, careless tone, and succeeded tolerably well. “Surely you can’t mean to scamper off, just like that? Is that what friends do? You must come inside, at least for a meal and a little rest. Oh, yes, you needn’t remind me of your grim resolve to avoid shaking my father’s hand, at any cost. I haven’t forgotten. But you heard for yourself, he’s not here right now. So you see, you’ve really no good excuse.”

“Jianna.” He faced her squarely. “I told you days ago that I will not cross the threshold of Belandor House. I know you didn’t believe that, but understand now that I am in earnest.”

“Oh, but you—”

“Listen to me,” he enjoined quietly, and she subsided at once. “Our journey has ended, and it’s a happy ending for you. You’ve come back to your own home and your own family. Yes, the Belandor mansion has been damaged and your father isn’t here to greet you—it’s far from the fulfillment of your dreams—but these matters will mend. More to the point, you’re safe and you’re home. In a moment you’ll walk into that house to resume the pleasant life of ease and comfort that you were born to enjoy. The events of the past months will fade from your mind like the remnants of a bad dream, and all will be as it was before.

“As for me,” he continued, “I, too, resume my former life—that is, the drab ante-Jianna existence. Once upon a time it suited me well enough—perhaps it will again, in time. And the first order of business in that existence is to find my sister Celisse before she sets off some sort of firestorm. I can’t afford delay, and therefore I take my leave.”

“As easily as that?” she could not forbear asking. It would
have been far better to maintain an attitude of dignified indifference, but the words could not be contained. “All our time together, all the talk, the hardship and dangers we went through, and the work that we shared—did that mean nothing to you?”

“More than you can know,” he replied gently, but his face was set and impervious.

“But you’ll walk away, all the same?”

“There’s nothing else for me to do.”

Yes there is!
she silently screamed at him.
You can come inside, you can stay with me!
She had not so thoroughly lost self-control that she uttered this sentiment aloud—particularly not in the presence of the guard, who stood a few feet distant, pretending to polish his Troxius medal, but patently eavesdropping. Instead, she asked quietly, “Where will you go?”

“To the Lancet Inn, near the Avorno Hospital. Should you wish to send word to me for any reason, I’ll be there for at least the next several days.”

And after that he would return to the Alzira Hills, and she would never see him again. This moment, here and now, was the final moment, and that concept was as difficult to encompass as some mathematical expression of impossibility. It felt like death, and she had no more words. The wide eyes she turned upon him were full of something like bewilderment.

“Be happy, Jianna. Good-bye.” Remounting his borrowed horse, he rode off, leading her mare.

For a while she stood watching, but he never turned to look back. He might at least have spared her a glance. Her eyes filled with tears, which she dashed away impatiently. She had nothing in the world to cry about. She was safe. She was home.

Turning to survey the disfigured mansion, she located the nearest functional doorway. She squared her shoulders and walked toward it.

It hardly seemed like coming home. This north wing gallery, belonging to a section of the house that she rarely frequented, would have felt a little foreign at the best of times. And now—damaged, dingy, and smoke-stained—the place struck no strong chord of familiarity. Even the air, still laced with a faint tang of smoke, was alien to Jianna’s concept of Belandor House.

Nevertheless, here was Uncle Nalio, attended by Ini, hurrying down the stairs to greet her, and he looked unchanged, save for the unremitting blackness of his attire. Mourning?
For whom?
He was staring at her as he came, eyes huge in his thin face, and she perceived his astonishment at her abrupt, unheralded resurrection. At the same time she was acutely aware of the alteration in her own appearance. She had left Belandor House accoutered like a young princess; she returned in the guise of an ordinary, commonplace girl. And for the first time, she wondered whether her experiences could have diminished or devalued her in some wholly unjust but nonetheless significant way. Had her father been there to greet her, the thought would never have entered her mind. But Aureste was absent. Falaste Rione’s support had likewise disappeared, and Nalio Belandor’s opinions had suddenly acquired unexpected importance.

“Hello, Uncle.” Jianna offered an uncertain smile.
Awkward. Feeble. Embarrassing
.

“Niece Jianna.” He halted before her, regarding her intently. They were of equal height, and their eyes were level. “It is really you. Until seeing for myself, I did not believe that it
could be true. You are here, you are safe. Welcome, dear child. I bid you welcome to Belandor House.”

The words were appropriate enough, but somehow annoying. He welcomed her as if he were the master of the mansion, graciously offering hospitality to a visiting kinswoman. But he meant no harm, and it was not exactly his fault that his manner had always irritated her. Therefore she submitted with good grace to a brief, dutiful embrace. He planted a suitably avuncular kiss upon her brow, and released her at once. She drew back a step, concealing her distaste.

“Where have you been, niece?” Nalio demanded predictably. “What happened to you? Why did you not send word?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Jianna promised. “But it’s a long story, and first, please, Uncle, tell me what’s happened here. There’s been a monstrous fire. Is everyone all right? Was anyone hurt? Where’s my father, and Uncle Innesq?”

“No, everyone is not all right, not by any means. It was more than an accidental fire, niece. It was an—an—an organized assault, launched by the enemies of House Belandor. A number of servants and Sishmindris were incinerated or slaughtered. I have compiled a list of their names, should you care to educate yourself. Of infinitely greater import is the murder of your aunt, my wife Unexia. She—she—she is gone.”

“Aunt Unexia—oh, it’s horrible! I’m so sorry, Uncle Nalio!” Throughout the course of her life, she had rarely exchanged more than a few words of polite daily greeting with her uncle’s thoroughly inconspicuous, almost anonymous wife. Yet her distress and sympathy were genuine enough. The mental image of a family member murdered by torch-wielding invaders was dreadful. Moreover, her uncle’s grief invited natural pity.

“Thank you, niece. You display unexpectedly feminine sensibility, and it becomes you. I believe that I may safely express appreciation in Unexia Belandor’s name.”

Pompous fellow, can’t he speak like a normal human being?
The unkind thought rose unbidden, and she tried to push it away. Aloud, she inquired with quiet urgency, “And my father?”

“He has seen fit to withdraw.”

Yes, I know that
.

“My brother Innesq has embarked for the Quivers, there to meet with sundry great arcanists who wish to cleanse the Source. He is ill equipped to travel on his own, and therefore Aureste accompanies him.”

“But Uncle Innesq never goes anywhere, not ever. I don’t understand. Why would he go at all, much less now, when he’s obviously needed at home?”

“He regards the present national plight as desperately in want of resolution.”

“What, you mean they’ve gone off to find a cure for the plague?”

“That is incorrect. You must realize that the plague is merely a symptom of a greater underlying ill. It is clear to men of sound understanding that the Source has soiled itself, and the sole remedy resides in purification.”