The Ruined City (29 page)

“Magnifico.” Halting before him, she inclined her head with an air of regal courtesy. “We have never met, and it is more than time to correct that error of fortune and circumstance. I am the Dowager Magnifica Yvenza Belandor, widow to the Magnifico Onarto. Our respective Houses, though joined by membership in the famous Six, have stood divided
throughout the generations. It is a grievous, senseless rift that I hope the present shared venture may serve to mend—or at least, to commence a repair. Will you favor me with a moment of your time and regard?”

“Magnifica, I am honored to attend you.” It was impossible to escape the rhythm of her formality. He found himself shackled, compelled to adopt the uncomfortable high style. Well, he could hold his own, when necessary.

“It is my greatest desire,” Yvenza confided, “to promote peace and understanding between our respective Houses. The Belandor–Corvestri enmity has burned on senselessly for too many years. It has devoured wealth, energy, time, even lives. And wherefore? Much has been sacrificed, and to what end? Vengeance? Honor? Tell me, Magnifico—do you know the nature of the quarrel between our two Houses? What was the cause, the original offense, and who was blameworthy? Do you know?”

“I’ve heard stories. Assorted tales of treachery, broken promises, and betrayal. Differing accounts, all unverifiable, but alike in one respect—the Corvestri kinsmen were always nobly righteous and blameless, the Belandors invariably villains.”

“Ah. Just so.” She smiled. “And the childhood tales I heard were similar but reversed, populated with virtuous Belandors and wicked Corvestris.”

“Childhood tales, Magnifica? But surely you’d have heard little prior to your marriage into the Belandor family?”

“Not so. I was born of House Cheffori, but my mother was a Belandor. The Magnifico Onarto who became my husband was in fact my distant cousin. So you see, the fortunes of House Belandor have always concerned me, and it is the fondest wish of my heart that I may play a role, however minor, in effecting a reconciliation between the two feuding households.”

“A laudable ambition, Magnifica.” She really wasn’t so bad, Vinz decided. True, her aspect of battered stateliness put
him in mind of some crumbling monument. Beneath the weathered exterior, however, he detected a nature genial and kindly. “How do you propose to put it into effect?”

“My hopes are supported by our present situation. We Belandors and Corvestris have been thrown together by need, and it’s my belief that propinquity will encourage the easy, natural sort of exchange certain to break down barriers. Perhaps we may come to understand and even trust each other. Call me a foolish dreamer if you will.”

“I should rather call you an optimist, and the world needs such.”

“Well, I will confess that my heart has always ruled my head—a woman’s weakness, no doubt.”

“By no means, Magnifica.”

“You mustn’t imagine, though, that I intend to rely upon chance alone. No, I mean to further my purpose by enlisting the aid of such persons of goodwill and good sense as you appear to be, Magnifico Corvestri. Indeed, you are the first that I have approached, for here I am confident of success. Your demeanor reveals your readiness to set all quarrels aside, sentiments clearly shared by your lady wife. I see that the two of you share my longing for reconciliation.”

“My lady wife?” Vinz blinked.

“Honors her lord’s will, as a dutiful wife must. Her cultivation of the Magnifico Aureste reveals as much.”

“Cultivation?” The word tasted bad. Vinz frowned.

“Ah, she is well chosen to serve as the Corvestri ambassadress. I don’t believe that the magnifico will find it possible to resist her charm.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come, we share the same hopes. I see her working at your behest. During my short stay among you travelers, I’ve lost count of the times that I’ve spied Aureste and the Magnifica Sonnetia engaged in conversation. I’ve never ventured to intrude upon them at such moments, as the exchanges have appeared so intimate.”

“Intimate?”

“By that I mean deeply felt on both sides. Her arguments have impressed him. So much is evident. His stance, his face, and his eyes express all. As for your lady—her gestures and glances overcome all his resistance. Even when they do not directly address one another, his eyes follow her everywhere. Depend upon it, sir—she makes progress, she is certain to succeed.”

“Really. Really.” Vinz’s eyes roved in search of his wife. He did not see her anywhere about, but that meant nothing. He did not see Aureste, either, but there was no cause for concern in that. There was no reason at all for the sudden sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. “Indeed, I believe you mistake the matter. The Magnifica Sonnetia merely displays that gracious courtesy consistent with her breeding. It is bestowed upon all impartially, with none beyond her immediate family singled out for exceptional favor.”

“Oh, do not misunderstand me,” Yvenza advised. “I spoke nothing of favor. I merely express my admiration of the Magnifica Sonnetia’s skilled deployment of beauty, charm, and persuasion in the service of her House. Happy the husband of so clever and gifted a lady!”

Happy? Clever and gifted? Happy?
In an instant Vinz’s mind boiled with all manner of misgivings. It was absurd—he almost felt ill. The Dowager Magnifica Yvenza couldn’t possibly imagine the internal uproar her words had touched off—could she? He darted a covert glance into light grey eyes expressing nothing beyond amiable candor, and immediately repented his own suspicions. He should no more doubt the Magnifica Yvenza than he should doubt the Magnifica Sonnetia.

For one moment he wished them both equally nonexistent. Not that he desired harm or suffering to either; it was just that life would be so much—clearer, straighter, simpler,
easier
—if both were gone.

Sonnetia gone. Sonnetia—beautiful still, and mother of the
best son the universe could possibly offer—no, that was all wrong. Not Sonnetia. Aureste was the one who should go. Aureste encumbered all the world. He should have vanished years ago.

The Dowager Magnifica stood regarding him with an air of kindly encouragement. Evidently a reply was expected, but he had no idea what to say to her. Even as he floundered for words, the faint strains of alien music riding the evening air came to his rescue. An instinctive thrill shot through him. The sound was arcane in origin, beyond question. He drew a deep breath, as if inhaling the fragrance of flowers. His mind tightened and clarified itself at once, while his spirits and confidence rose.

“Hear that? What is it?” Yvenza was watching his face.

“Quiet, please. Let me listen.” Vinz strained his senses, mundane and other. The music, slow and indefinably vainglorious, was never the product of material instruments touched by human hands. Resonating grandly through the hollows of the epiatmosphere, it was certainly the work of an accomplished practitioner.

Which one? Every arcane act bore the psychic imprint of its author, individual and distinct as any signature. This music was no exception, but the source was unfamiliar and foreign.
Literally?
It announced itself aggressively; asked for attention—demanded it.

Who?

Whatever and whoever, the music was advancing upon the campsite. Vinz’s pulse quickened, not unpleasurably. Unknown talent approached; something new.

“What is it?” the Dowager Magnifica Yvenza repeated sharply.

“An arcanist declares his arrival.” He scarcely glanced at her. His eyes traveled in search of Vinzille, who should witness this; and Innesq, and even the odd little Nissi—the people capable of understanding.

“Declaring it rather loudly, isn’t he?” she inquired.

She had a point, but what of it? What need of stealth out here on the open road? He cleared his mind to receive the message of the music, whose combination of arcane ethereality and straightforward bumptiousness somehow managed to convey self-congratulation.

His fellow travelers, masters and servants alike, were stirring, staring, listening—all of them caught. Vinz gazed off along the rutted remnant of the Nor’wilders Way to behold a luminous cloud or haze, glowing in shades of crimson, gold, and purple. A conspicuously arcane manifestation, and quite splendid in a gaudy sort of way. On it glided, soft plump billows shifting colors along the rainbow spectrum and beyond, past the comfortable familiar hues and on as far as
vhuun
, only visible to experienced and suitably enhanced eyes. Vinz could not see
vhuun
at present, but a certain corneal itch advised him of its presence.

Closer yet, and now the solid kernel at the heart of the glow distinguished itself—a trio of vehicles: a horse-drawn carriage accompanied by a couple of mule-drawn supply wagons. Bands of green shadow delineated the harnesses, trappings, and decorative escutcheons. Wreaths of pale green flame crowned horses, mules, coachman, servants, and outriders. The carriage windows were curtained in miniature pyrotechnics, starbursting brilliantly and concealing the interior.

The flames were illusory, Vinz perceived at once. No real heat there, no real destructive potential, despite the alarming appearance. He could clear the fiery images from his vision, should he so choose, along with the lambent mists and the glittery starbursts, but he elected to accept the diverting mental intrusion, for now.

The sound swelled as the little convoy drew nigh. Carriage and attendants rolled into the campsite and halted. The music crescendoed triumphantly, then ceased. Flames leaped for the sky, then faded. Luminescence ebbed, and the carriage windows went black. A moment’s breathless silence ensued, then the door opened and a passenger emerged in splendor.

His large and stocky frame was clothed in the simply cut garments of an ordinary woodsman. In place of the woodsman’s customary homespun and deerskin, however, he sported a jerkin of highly glazed eelskin, deep mulberry in color, oversewn with scores of small medallions winking gold in the firelight. His leggings were of fine wool, his red-heeled boots of black tortoise leather, polished to a sheen. The long-billed cap crowning his well-curled head was rustic in style, but the addition of a lush black plume caught in a jeweled clasp was clearly an urban innovation.

Behind him came a short, bony person with a sad face and dejected demeanor, modestly garbed in brown, and all but lost in the glare of his companion’s magnificence.

The newcomer stood tall and still in the firelight, inviting and returning regard. When some internal clock told him that the moment was ripe, he spoke.

“Say, all you Faerlonnish, you Corvestris, Belandors, and such, I expect you already know who I am.” A strongly nasal Taerleezi accent flattened every syllable. “But just to be sure, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Pridisso—Ojem Pridisso of Iron Hill. You’ve heard of me, I don’t doubt, and now you see me close up and clear. You can look all you like, I don’t mind. An arcanist of stature gets used to the attention. Probably you’d like to know if all the tales and legends about me are true. Well, I won’t say they’re
all
true. The one where I build the mechanical bird that flies me to the summit of Mount Malediction, where I rescue the kidnapped princess single-handed—that’s an exaggeration of the facts. But I won’t say they’re all false, either. You’ll have to make up your own minds about that.

“And mind you,” Pridisso confided, “there’ll be plenty of opportunity to judge, now that I’ve come among you. I’m not one to crow, but I think it’s safe to say that you’ll be surprised when you see what we Taerleezis can do. Remember, our experimentation hasn’t been shackled by law for the past twenty-five years the way yours has, and that makes a difference. Taerleez has seen progress. I won’t go into particulars
here and now, but you can rest assured that this venture goes forward to a successful conclusion, now that I’ve joined, or I might more properly say, now that
we’ve
joined. My friend and colleague here, Littri Zovaccio of Frinnasi, is a fine arcanist and a valuable addition to our party. He won’t say so, because he just doesn’t much like talking, but you can take my word for it.”

Pridisso’s companion acknowledged the introduction with a slight dip of the head. His look of dejection deepened perceptibly.

“Now, the first thing I need,” Pridisso continued, “is a word with the man who’s been leading this gang so far. We’ll want to discuss arrangements. Who’s leader here?”

Aureste Belandor was certain to pop up out of nowhere to claim the title. It wasn’t just or reasonable, for Aureste possessed not the smallest jot of arcane ability, but he would take it anyway, for that was his way. Then he and this newly arrived Taerleezi boor would join forces to seize command of the expedition and everyone in it. The prospect was so insupportable that Vinz found himself speaking out against it.

“There is no official leader here,” he reported clearly. All eyes turned in his direction. Resisting the nervous urge to look down, he kept his own gaze fixed on the newcomers. “We are two distinct parties traveling in tandem. I am the Magnifico Corvestri, and I speak for my own household.”

“Oh, yes, I know of you. The shadowscion investigations. I remember your Wide Sending, a couple of years back. Not bad. Considering the state of things over here, really a very decent effort. Good to meet you. Zovaccio here would say the same, if only he wanted to talk.”

Littri Zovaccio breathed a sigh.

“I understand what you’re saying to me, Corvestri,” Pridisso continued, not unkindly. “You’ve got a democratic outlook and that’s good, but I’ve got to tell you, it’s not always practical. I’m not one to criticize, but facts are facts. Any venture needs strong leadership, that’s just common sense, as I’m
sure you’ll agree, once you’ve thought it over. Now, who’s head of the Belandor bunch? That would be Master Innesq Belandor, I expect. Where is he?”

“You are in error, Master Pridisso.” The speaker did not raise his voice, but the rich, assured tones were effortlessly audible to all.

Vinz started as if pricked by needles. Just as he had expected, Aureste Belandor had materialized out of thin air, and was moving to take command. Some instinct pushed his glance left, and he spied his wife standing at the edge of the firelight. She had not been there a moment earlier. She seemed to have reappeared along with Aureste, but that was surely a coincidence without meaning. In any case, he could not think about it now, for it seemed that Aureste had more to say.