S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

Sergei, watching, had laughed. “The Archigos has done her part,” he called to the offiziers and the chevarittai. “Now, let’s do ours. .” Calling out orders, he had ridden away.

Ana had continued to chant, and the ghost soldiers solidified and became more numerous as she continued to pull the energy from the other teni. It was marvelous to watch. It nearly made him want to believe as she did, if faith in Cenzi could lend her this much power.

For the first time, Karl had dared to think that this would work. .

A shrill of bright horns brought him out of his reverie. He could see the banner of the commandant ahead of him in the press of men, but the cornets were sounding from behind him, and they were blaring the call of the Kraljiki.

Justi, unannounced and unasked for, had entered the field.

Justi ca’Mazzak

“Kraljiki!” ca’Rudka bowed perfunctorily to him. “I thought you intended to remain in the city.” Justi thought he saw irritation in the man’s scarred face, in the way his skin folded around the silver nose glued to his skin. Justi saw the Numetodo envoy standing next to ca’Rudka along with A’Offizier ca’Montmorte. The Archigos was nowhere visible, and he wondered where she was.

“The battle is here,” Justi said to the commandant, “and I intend to fight this time. Word came to me that you were retreating. I will not have us retreat, Commandant.”

“I fell back at need, Kraljiki,” ca’Rudka answered, making no pretense to hide his scowl now. “But we’ve turned again.”

“Then we waste our time here, Commandant. I have brought the chevarittai with me, and they are ready.” The riders with him shouted agreement, their horses stamping impatiently.

“Kraljiki, you should remain here, so that we can place your men where they will do the most good. The pages will bring us news.”

“News?” Justi howled. “You’d have me wait here like a doddering

matron? I sent you forward to stop the Hirzg; you have not. Now I will do it myself.”

“Kraljiki. .”

“No!” Justi shouted. The man denied him his moment, and he would not have that. Better to die on the battlefield than in the Bastida.

Better to die as Kraljiki than as a prisoner. “You can remain here if you wish, Commandant, but I go forward to lead my men in defense of their city. I listened to you at Passe a’Fiume, and you gave up that city quickly. If you have courage, then join me; otherwise, stay here. Who is in command here?”

“You are, Kraljiki,” the commandant said. At the mention of Passe a’Fiume, his face had gone ruddy, and a scowl had twisted the mouth under the silver nose. Justi saw ca’Rudka glance at the ca’Montmorte, at the Numetodo, at the offiziers and pages around them. “Bring my horse,” the commandant said. “We ride with the Kraljiki.”

Justi nodded, grim-faced. He drew his sword and gestured up the Avi, to where the sound of battle was loudest. “Ride, then!” he cried.

“Ride!”

They pounded away, the chevarittai around him, the banner of the Kraljiki snapping angrily in the wind, not waiting for the commandant and the others. The Garde Civile shouted encouragement as they galloped past their ranks, and their cheers drove Justi forward harder.

Ahead, he could see the melee of the spreading front line, and he and the chevarittai plunged into it, breaking the line of infantry and plow-ing through into the ranks beyond.

The fury of battle banished any other thoughts.

Justi hacked at a spear thrust toward him, hewing off the hand that held the weapon, and the man’s lifeblood spurted out as he screamed and fell under the hooves of Justi’s horse. Justi began to strike blindly, at anything that moved wearing silver and black. Around him, his chevarittai tore through the Firenzcians like a plow through earth, blood and death in their trail. They were deep behind the lines now, and the Firenzcian chevarittai had noticed the banner of the Kraljiki and were pushing toward them. “Kraljiki!” Justi heard Sergei shout from behind him. “You’re too isolated here! We must fall back to our own line!”

“No!” Justi shouted over his shoulder. “I will not be called a coward!”

He struck at the nearest man, heard a howl as glittering red spattered his sword arm. He pushed forward. He heard the challenge of the enemy chevarittai, and he shouted back at them defiantly.

They came.

Justi managed to take down the first chevaritt who reached him-a man whose face was vaguely familiar, a ca’ who had perhaps once been at the court or to whom Justi had been introduced on one of his so-journs to Brezno. He didn’t know the man’s name, only knew that his own sword was growing heavier even as their blades met and he thrust hard into the space between helm and chestplate, finding flesh above the collar of the man’s surcoat. Justi tried to pull his sword back as gore splashed over the surcoat’s embroidered crest, but his blade was snagged on bone or armor. There was no time to think; another chevaritt was on him and he could not defend himself. He let go of the sword (the chevaritt tumbling from his saddle) and brought up a hopeless arm, hoping the steel of the vambrace could deflect the blow. . but ca’Rudka’s horse slammed hard into Justi’s attacker, the commandant’s sword slicing through the Firenzcian’s hauberk. The chevaritt slid to the ground under their destriers with a scream.

“Kraljiki-” Sergei started to say, but there was no time. They were caught, snared in the press of foot soldiers and chevarittai. The young chevaritt holding Justi’s banner was down. To his left, Justi saw ca’Montmorte borne under, skewered on a spear, his surcoat and hauberk feathered with arrows. Near ca’Montmorte, the Numetodo ci’Vliomani gestured and fire exploded, but his war-fire was pale and ineffective.

Everything was chaos: screaming and shouting and movement. Pain lanced Justi’s right leg and he cried out in shock, glancing down to see his greave rent and blood streaming from the gash in the metal. Hands clutching at him, threatening to pull him down.

Justi knew that he was about to be captured, if not slain outright.

If either happened, this war was over. Any parley for his release would include his abdication. He struck at the hands with a dagger pulled from his belt, kicking at his destier’s side. But the destrier was hemmed in and though he saw Sergei still fighting desperately at his side, they were surrounded now in a sea of black and silver.

Justi screamed in fury.

Karl ci’Vliomani

He had nothing left. The spells he had prepared so carefully before the battle were gone, and it would take too long and he was far too exhausted to call up new ones. His arm was already exhausted from using his sword-and swordplay was hardly his strength, in any case.

He wondered what death was going to feel like. He wondered-briefly-what he might say to Cenzi if He were there in the afterlife.

He heard the Kraljiki scream and saw the man surrounded, about to be borne down.

But the earth answered the Kraljiki’s scream.

The ground erupted as if some demon of the Moitidi had risen from the depths: an explosion of mud and trampled wheat tossed away from them anyone in black and silver, though it left the Kraljiki, the commandant, and the remaining chevarittai of Nessantico untouched.

And Karl.

For a moment, there was silence.

That was a spell. Ana? Where did she find the strength?

Karl saw the commandant grab for the reins of the Kraljiki’s horse; the Kraljiki himself swayed in the saddle, clutching at his leg.

“Retreat!” ca’Rudka shouted to the others. “Retreat while we have the chance!”