The Ruined City (9 page)

The carriage followed the curve of the sooty drive, past the boarded-up wreck of the main entrance, to the north wing of the building, where it halted before a doorway seemingly free of damage. The north wing as a whole stood essentially intact, its visible wounds confined to broken windows, shattered rooflights, and dark smoke stains. He disembarked, advanced, passed a sentry unchallenged, and was admitted by a Sishmindri faultlessly liveried in the Belandor slate and silver. Evidently the family continued to maintain itself in some semblance of state.

He stood once again within Belandor House, in a gallery hung with smoke-sullied paintings. Light filtered in through cracked, dimmed windows. Almost unbelievable that he should find himself here again.

“I announce you, Magnifico.” The Sishmindri bowed and retired.

Announce him? To whom? Was he about to confront Aureste Belandor, in the flesh? Despite the fortifying draught, uneasiness stirred his innards. And it was ridiculous, really, when every possible victory and advantage lay on his own side. He, after all, possessed trained arcane talent, a priceless commodity for whose sake his enemies had been forced to secure his release from prison. He was the husband of Sonnetia Steffa and the father of Sonnetia’s son. He was the master of a great mansion—a bit shabby these days, but infinitely superior to the maimed remains of Belandor House. By most reasonable standards of comparison between the two Faerlonnish magnificos, Vinz Corvestri emerged as the clear victor.

But still, he did not want to face Aureste, who somehow wielded an undeserved power to intimidate. And what if his host insisted upon witnessing the arcane procedures? The thought of those pitchy malevolent Belandor eyes boring into him was intolerable. Despite all his skill and experience, he would never be able to perform under such circumstances. He might insist upon his need for privacy, but what if Aureste refused to comply?

As it happened, his concerns were groundless. Footsteps tapped, and he turned to face a dark-clad figure descending the stair. Not Aureste—too short, too rickety, face and hair too thin, but a Belandor unmistakably, with the family eyes and facial structure on a meager scale. This was the youngest brother, Nalio, perennially lost in the shadow of his siblings. And the unremittingly black garb? Vinz remembered hearing that the junior Belandor brother’s wife had died during the attack—killed by fire or sword, it wasn’t clear which. Presumably her husband mourned her. Guilt flickered about the edges of Vinz’s mind. In a way, this was almost worse than facing Aureste.

“Magnifico, I bid you welcome,” Nalio Belandor intoned, civilly but without warmth, much as he might be expected to greet the hereditary enemy of his House. His enunciation was excessively precise, his voice nasal and unimpressive as the rest of him. Clearly he suspected nothing of the visitor’s involvement in the ruin of his home and the murder of his wife.

“I thank you.” Vinz’s assurance returned with a rush. He could deal with this person. His back straightened and his chin came up. He dared to speak with a hint of condescension. “I am informed that Master Innesq Belandor’s plight is desperate. No mundane method suffices to restore him.”

“That is so, Magnifico.”

“Conduct me to him.”

“This way.”

Up the stairs and along a corridor to a chamber furnished with a big carven bed wherein reposed a very still figure.

“Leave me alone with him,” Vinz commanded.

Nalio Belandor stared at him. Doubt and distrust narrowed the big eyes in the thin face. Vinz returned the gaze serenely.

“As you wish.” Nalio inclined his head and compressed his lips. Evidently he had been instructed to defer to the visitor—upon this occasion, at least. “Should you require assistance of any kind, do—do—do not hesitate to ring.”

“I thank you.” Vinz waited. After a moment, the other turned and exited with obvious reluctance. The door clapped shut.

Approaching the bed, Vinz stared down into the waxen face of Innesq Belandor. Very like his older brother, Aureste, although inspection revealed the differences. Pity that it
wasn’t
Aureste lying helpless in that bed. Pity that the stroke aimed at the magnifico had missed its target and caught a harmless innocent.

Harmless? Hardly. Here was an arcanist of dangerous talent, his abilities perhaps exceeding Vinz’s own. And innocent? He was a Belandor, and they were all made of the same stuff. His resemblance to Aureste was scarcely coincidental. Even so, Vinz could not quite still the pangs of conscience. He had never heard anything but good report of Innesq Belandor. Moreover, he could not seem to forget the expression in Innesq’s eyes at the moment the two of them had faced each other on the night of the attack—that look of calm, fearless comprehension. He could see it now.

Compunction gnawed. Deliberately he shut himself off from it. No time for distracting qualms. Right now, he needed to delve into the exact nature of Innesq Belandor’s condition.

Rest and nourishment had served him well. The discipline of a lifetime came to the fore, and his mind cleared. His mundane surroundings fell away, his perceptions altered, and—for the first time in eons, it seemed—the inner light dawned, and he touched the power of the Source. The sensation, following long deprivation, was almost too glorious. Deep joy threatened to rock his concentration.

His skill and talent were still with him. When he rested light fingertips upon the unconscious man’s brow and sent his intellect questing, the origin of Innesq’s affliction revealed itself at once. Profound depletion, a dangerous drainage of strength and energy. Nothing more. Until that moment, Vinz had not known what to expect, for the effects of the arcane anomaly—
impossibility
—that he had precipitated on the night of the attack were incalculable. Anything or everything unimaginable might have befallen his victim. The problem that he confronted, however, was soluble.

The technique at his command enabled him to replenish Innesq, but the procedure was taxing and the long effort left him shaky. Legs suddenly weak, Vinz sank into the wheeled chair that stood beside the bed. His attention remained fixed on Innesq’s face, white as the linen pillowcase, closed eyes shadowed in charcoal, no apparent change. Yet a change had occurred, something he detected by means of enhanced perceptions rather than physical senses. He recognized the invisible stirring of renewed life, and was therefore unsurprised when the other’s eyes opened.

“Magnifico Corvestri,” observed Innesq. His voice was faint but tolerably clear. His eyes were likewise clear: awake, aware, and filled with intelligence.

Vinz started. Skill and experience notwithstanding, he had not anticipated quite such a swift and complete recovery of intellect. Moreover, Innesq’s expression was unnerving. He felt exposed beneath that serene regard, and it came to him then that Innesq must have seen straight through the mask to recognize him on the night of the attack—that Innesq knew everything. He wanted to bolt from the room, but instead sat as if paralyzed.

“We must put it behind us,” Innesq whispered.

There could be no mistaking his meaning. Yes, he knew, all right. Vinz had not foreseen it, could scarcely believe it. He had blundered, but it was not too late to correct his error. A flex of his practiced mind could return Innesq Belandor to the
comatose depths, and this time permanently. He drew a deep preparatory breath.

“Make our peace. Work together. The Six.” The voice was feeble, but infinitely resolved.

“The Six?” Vinz stared.

“It’s time. You see it.”

Yes, Vinz realized.
Yes
. He did see it, but had never until this moment faced it squarely. For weeks—no, months—he had told himself that the moment had not yet arrived. The situation demanded investigation, analysis, consideration. Careful planning. Communication among all parties involved, exchange of ideas, consensus; in short, plenty of reassuring delay. But somewhere deep inside, he had known better, and with one simple remark, the man just awakened from a coma had dragged it out into the light.

“Reversal of the Source approaches,” Vinz agreed.

“It is all but upon us. We cannot wait. We must call upon the others.”

“Communication among the Six has generally lapsed.”

“We shall renew it.”

“The ban upon arcane practice has affected Faerlonnish technique. We have lost something of our skill.”

“Not all of us. In any event, two of the Houses are Taerleezi, unaffected by the ban. Among the lot of us, we shall find expertise enough.”

“How many of us remain, though? House Orlazzu is all but extinct. House Steffa is virtually dormant at present. My son Vinzille combines the best of Steffa and Corvestri, but he is only a boy. There are the two of us. Houses Pridisso and Zovaccio, on Taerleez, may perhaps furnish some talent. Apart from that, who is left?”

“There is a second promising Belandor adept we might enlist. As for House Orlazzu, I am not altogether certain. And there are possibilities beyond the Six.”

“What, the lowborn incompetents, the pretenders, the tinsel-and-fustian magicians of the city? The cleansing of the
Source requires the combined talents of six accomplished adepts, and I fear they’re not to be found.”

“The presence of six is traditional, but perhaps not essential. We may make do with fewer.” Innesq sat up in bed. “Whatever the task demands, we shall secure.”

His voice was still weak, but he spoke with such absolute conviction that Vinz’s courage and optimism stirred in response, along with dawning admiration. Maybe it was true, maybe it
could
be done. When Innesq Belandor spoke, it was remarkably easy to believe. But a short time ago, he had done his best to kill this man, missing only by reason of improbable—
impossible
—circumstance. Now he found himself blessing his own failure.

“I shall send word to my young kinswoman in the Alzira Hills this very day,” Innesq declared. “She will be frightened and in need of some reassurance.”

“It is too soon,” Vinz told him. “You must rest and recover your strength.”

“There is no time for that, I have lost too much time already. There are sustaining draughts in my workroom—ah, but I remember, the workroom has been destroyed.”

A revealing flush warmed Vinz’s face. Eyes downcast, he remarked, “You are welcome to use mine. You may regard it as your own.” There was no reply, and he looked up to find Innesq’s eyes fixed upon him. Once again there was understanding, but no accusation in those eyes, which seemed to see straight through to his center.

“I accept with thanks.” Innesq stretched forth his arm. “Come, Magnifico. Will you not shake my hand? We are allies now.”

Vinz clasped the proffered member gladly. A burden seemed to drop from his shoulders.

“Allies? Have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded the Magnifico Aureste.

“My head is tolerably clear, I believe,” returned Innesq Belandor.

“The evidence suggests otherwise. Let us forget for the moment that the little rodent’s a Corvestri. For now, I’ll overlook it.”

“Generous.”

“Harder to overlook is the role he played in the destruction of our home. It couldn’t have been accomplished without him, and the guilt is largely his. Or have you forgotten that detail?”

“No more than I have forgotten the murder of poor Unexia and the servants. They were great crimes, it is true. But we must pardon them now.”

“Pardon? That’s pretty poetry.”

“It is a necessity.”

Muted morning light struggled in through the cracked windows of the north wing demi-council chamber, lately pressed into service as a dining hall. The two brothers sat at table, finishing their breakfast. Attired in his customary sober robes, and upright in his wheeled chair, Innesq ate with good appetite. His face, while still pale, had lost the deathly waxen hue. His eyes were alight at the bottom of shadowy sockets, and his voice was quiet but resonant. Only the slight languor of his gestures betrayed unacknowledged weakness.

Once again, disaster had been averted. Aureste’s relief and pleasure were genuine, but did not embrace full pardon of the
true culprit. Now that Innesq was safe, Vinz Corvestri’s reprieve had lapsed.

“I see by your expression that you do not agree,” Innesq observed. “But I tell you again that personal hatred is an indulgence that none of us can afford. We of the Six must pool our resources, else all of us are lost. For an instant, not long ago, you seemed to believe me, but now you have settled back into comfortable skepticism.”

“Not so. Indeed, I do believe you. But Corvestri has dealt us a deep wound—nearly fatal to you—and the thought of some obligatory alliance with him and his House disgusts me.”

“You must make up your mind to endure it, at least for a while. But come, it needn’t be such a trial. You’ll see little if anything of the Magnifico Corvestri during the next few days. The Distant Exchange whereby we send word to our counterparts of the Six will be performed within Corvestri Mansion. The magnifico has offered me full use of his workroom.”

“After destroying yours. But truly, you can’t mean to set foot in Corvestri Mansion.”