S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

The lines of the Firenczian besiegers were least thick here, where the ground was marshy and mosquito-infested. If the distraction had worked, many of the enemy soldiers would be moving toward the commotion at the next gate. A good number of the remainder would still be sleeping, waiting for the sun and their final attack on the town. The plan was for the chevarittai to act as a wedge to break through the Firenzcian line, then hold the break open so that the foot soldiers of the Garde Civile could move through to the Avi, and finally act as rear guard if the Firenzcians decided to pursue.

And if it fell apart, they would all die here.

They pounded across the loamy riverside earth, the hooves of the destriers kicking up heavy clods. Already Sergei could see the tents there, and a figure pointing toward them and shouting alarm. Fireballs arced out from a wagon carrying the war-teni, tearing into the Firenzcian encampment. The commotion spread quickly along the line, but

by then Sergei and the chevarittai were already among the tents. Sergei hacked at anything that moved, not pausing but urging his mount on, always forcing his way forward even as soldiers pressed against them. An o’offizier, half-dressed and without armor, screamed as he brandished his sword, and Sergei cut him down with one stroke. To either side, he could hear the sound of battle and once the awful cry of a wounded destrier. Then he and most of the other riders were through; there was nothing but a ruined farmer’s field between him and the tree-lined Avi.

The war-teni’s cart rattled past, the horses pulling it wide-eyed and frightened. Sergei pulled up on the reins of his own mount, turning the horse to see the Garde Civile hurrying through the gap the chevarittai had made, a gap that was closing quickly.

“Move! Run!” he shouted to all of them. “Chevarittai, hold!” He galloped back, pushing against the Firenzcians, the Hirzg’s sword bloody and growing heavier with each stroke until his muscles screamed. Most of the Garde Civile was through, the first group with the war-teni already on the road. There were banners of black and silver rushing toward them, and the horns of Firenzcian chevarittai sounded alarm.

“Now!” Sergei shouted, and the chevarittai disengaged. The gap in the Firenzcian line closed rapidly. Sergei held, waiting as the others rushed past him, waiting as the Firenzcians threw their spears and pursued. He kicked his horse’s ribs with his good leg to urge it into a gallop as the last of the chevarittai passed him: as arrows began to fall around him, as teni-fire erupted in the midst of the fleeing Garde Civile in the field and a dozen men fell screaming. Sergei lagged behind the chevarittai as they galloped across the field toward the tree line, passing the last surviving stragglers of the Garde Civile.

Sergei was nearly to the field’s edge when he felt arrows pummel his mailed back and fall away. He thought then that he was safe, but a sudden terrific stabbing blow to his neck nearly sent him from his seat despite the leather straps that bound his leg. He lifted a hand to his neck and felt the thick shaft of a crossbow bolt. He could feel hot blood pouring from the wound.

He heard the sinister t-chunk of crossbows again, and a bolt penetrated his armor near his spine, the force of the impact pushing him hard against the neck of his horse. He clung to the destrier desperately-as the branches of the trees lashed at him, as he heard the hooves of his mount break onto the hard-packed dirt of the Avi. .

. . as the world darkened around him even though the sun had finally touched the horizon. .

. . as he groaned and was lost in that darkness. .

Ana cu’Seranta

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Ana.”

Seated on the small bed in the cell, Ana’s head turned at the sound of the tenor, familiar voice. Kraljiki Justi was standing at the door to her cell in the Bastida’s tower-the same cell Karl had once inhabited. She was bound as he had been, with the vile silencer pressing into her mouth and her hands confined with chains, her hair matted and dirty and caught in the straps of the gag.

They had brought her here directly from Oldtown, in a closed carriage that went careening through the city in a rush. She had no idea where Karl was, or Mahri who had betrayed them.

But she knew now who had wanted her. She wondered how long she had to live.

The Kraljiki glanced around the cell. “I’m told your Numetodo lover lived here, until his escape. Poor Capitaine ci’Doulor was here for a time, until he was moved to, ah, less palatial accommodations. And now you. .” He stepped forward, with the easy, athletic grace she remembered. He sat down on the table in the room, regarding her.

“I don’t admit mistakes easily, Ana,” he said. “But I made one in aligning myself with ca’Cellibrecca and his serpent of a daughter, a mistake worse than I could have imagined, when the best choice for me-it pains me to admit-was the one my matarh had already suggested. I’m hoping it’s not too late to rectify that.” He gestured to the gardai outside the cell. “Remove her bonds,” he said, and he watched as they unlocked her hands and undid the straps from the tongue-gag. The gardai moved back a step but, she noted, didn’t leave. She rubbed at her wrists and worked her jaw.

“I’m sorry to have brought you bound like a condemned heretic, Ana,” Justi said. “But would you have come if I’d simply asked?”

“No,” she answered sharply, not caring about the impoliteness.

“Where is Karl?”

“In the cell a floor below you. Unharmed.”

She nodded. “You have me in front of you now, Kraljiki. What do you want?”

“It would seem,” he said, “that I’m in need of an Archigos.

Ca’Cellibrecca has abandoned Nessantico to be on the side of the Hirzg; I will put a new head on the body of the Concenzia Faith, so that all will know that ca’Cellibrecca’s voice is false.”

“Choosing the Archigos isn’t the role of the Kraljiki,” Ana told him.

“The Concord A’Teni must do that.”

Justi gave her a smile that vanished in the next moment. “The a’teni are frightened of the army coming to Nessantico-those who are still here. Ca’Cellibrecca has left them bereft; they’re afraid that ca’Cellibrecca will remain Archigos if the Hirzg prevails, and they’re just as frightened that he will fall with the Hirzg. I’ve already spoken to the a’teni, and they. . well, let me just say that I’ve convinced them that as long as they remain in Nessantico, it’s in their best interests to follow my preferences.”

“And which of them have you chosen, and why should it matter to me?”

Justi smiled. It was a strange, apologetic smile. “I’ve chosen none of them,” he said, the words thin and high. “I’ve decided that I will promote a young o’teni to the position.”

It took a moment for the import of his words to register. Ana started to protest in shock and disbelief, but Justi waved her silent. “A moment,” he said. “Choosing one of the existing a’teni simply won’t have the symbolism and import that I require. Archigos Dhosti had picked you out, elevated and obviously favored you. Your talent with the Ilmodo is undoubted. I can’t bring the dwarf back, so I will choose his favorite, for the signal it will send to the rest of the Holdings.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m only an o’teni, and too young. And Concenzia has already cast me out.”

“Too young?” The odd smile emerged again. “You’re nearly the same age as my matarh was when she became Kraljica-if anything, I would say that enhances the symbolism, don’t you think? And it was ca’Cellibrecca who cast you out-and he has already shown where his loyalty lies.”