S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

Ca’Rudka yanked at the reins of the Kraljiki’s mount. Karl kicked his own horse into movement, dropping the useless sword to better hold the reins. They galloped back toward the Nessantico lines through the tumbled bodies.

Black and silver merged into blue and gold: they were through and behind the lines as the sounds of battle arose anew behind them. “We need a healer!” Sergei shouted to a page as they halted. The commandant was helping the Kraljiki down from his saddle; Sergei slid from his own horse to aid him, but the commandant nearly fell himself with his own wounded leg. The Kraljiki was moaning and fighting their hands; Sergei saw blood pulsing from the wound in the man’s thigh. He and ca’Rudka looked at each other as they lay the Kraljiki on the grass and mud. Sergei was already stripping off his coverlet, ripping the cloth and stuffing it into the wound. “Get his greave off so we can bind the wound,” he said to Karl. “Quickly.”

Karl cut the straps of the plate mail with his dagger and pulled it free of the torn links of the mail leggings underneath. More blood gushed over his hands. The spear, he saw, had come in at the top of the plate and pierced deep into the muscle. He glimpsed white bone before Sergei packed the wound and bound another strip above the gash. The flow of blood slowly subsided, though the Kraljiki’s face was pale and he’d lapsed into unconsciousness.

“He may lose that leg, if not his life,” the commandant said to Karl as the healer arrived, and ca’Rudka stood up, watching as the healer fussed over Justi. “This was so unnecessary. The Archigos, though, she might be able to help.”

Karl shook his head. “Ana has no strength left. The Kraljiki is in the hands of the healers for now.”

A nod. The commandant was looking back, toward the line of battle. The gloom of twilight was beginning to deepen, aided by the dark fan of a storm front. A few large drops of rain were beginning to fall and the wind had picked up. “We’ve done all we can do,” the commandant said, glancing up. “The city is safe for another day, at least.” He gestured to a nearby page. “Find the horns. Have them call ‘Disengage.’

Tell the a’offiziers to fall back toward the city. I doubt the Hirzg will follow this time.”

He looked down again at the Kraljiki. Karl watched him shake his head.

Jan ca’Vorl

“They’re pulling back all along the line,” ca’Linnett said to Jan. The Starkkapitan’s face, like Jan’s own, was spattered with mud and blood smeared by the driving rain, and the edge of his sword was badly nicked. “If we press, they will turn and fight; if we allow them, they’ll retreat.”

Jan grunted. He wiped at sodden eyes. He was surprised that therain did not hiss like water dropped on heated steel as it struck him, the anger burned in him so hot.

The carriages had come forward as the line of battle had pushed on toward the city. Allesandra, wrapped in an oilcloth against the wet, was at his side again, looking up at him as ca’Linnett gave his report. U’Teni cu’Kohnle stood by ca’Linnett, his hair plastered to his skull and dripping with the rain; he looked as if he’d not slept in a week, drained by the efforts of his spells. Ca’Cellibrecca was present as well-unsoiled, untouched, protected from the rain by a large umbrella held by an e’teni, yet somehow managing to look as if he’d suffered worst of all.

This was not a victory. At best this was a draw. Jan stared at the men in black and silver laying unmoving in the field as the rain pummeled them. This was a defeat. He knew it. The Numetodo illusion had wasted their war-teni’s efforts, and they’d been unable to counter the war-fire that had been sent after them. The Garde Civile had fought like madmen rather than halfhearted conscripts, and the chevarittai of Nessantico had shown their worth. Jan had felt some hope when he’d glimpsed the Kraljiki’s foolish advance beyond his own lines, but another unusual spell-was it the Numetodo again, or the false Archigos? — had saved the idiot.

Now darkness threatened and the rain poured down on them.

“Pursue,” he said, furious. “I don’t care. I will rest tonight inside the walls.

“Hirzg,” ca’Linnett persisted, “they’re not fleeing in panic. Their retreat is orderly and slow, and they will fight all the way back if we press them, on ground they know better than we do. Who knows what these Numetodo can still do? Our war-teni need to rest, and we could use the time to prepare our siege engines.”

Jan was shaking his head at the argument. “Hirzg,” cu’Kohnle broke in, “the starkkapitan is right. My war-teni are exhausted; we have nothing left. Give us the night, though, and we’ll be ready for a final assault in the morning.”

“Are you not listening to me?” Jan spat at them. “I want this city.

I will have it. If you won’t help me take it, then I will find offiziers and teni who will.” He glared at them, and was gratified when both ca’Linnett and cu’Kohnle bowed their heads. Ca’Cellibrecca, in his ornate robes under the umbrella, was looking away, as if fascinated by the Avi behind them.

“Vatarh.” Allesandra tugged at his cloak. He glanced down at her serious face, blinking against the raindrops pelting them. “The starkkapitan and the u’teni are right. They’ll do as you tell them to do because they respect you, but they’re right. I know you want the city, and I know you’ll give it to me as you promised. But not tonight, Vatarh.

Tomorrow.” She smiled at him, and the fury inside him cooled somewhat. “Or even the next day,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. The Firenzcian army is strong, and you are their leader. You will take the city, but it doesn’t need to be this day.”

“I promised you, Allesandra,” Jan said. With his forefinger, he brushed dampened curls back from her cheeks.

“I can wait, Vatarh,” she answered. “I can wear the lights of the city for the rest of my life. Another day won’t matter. I can wait.”

He took a breath. Thunder grumbled overhead, but the rain was lessening, and the lightning was flickering east of them, toward Firenzcia.

“We’ll make camp here,” he said. “U’Teni cu’Kohnle, make certain

that the war-teni sleep and are ready for tomorrow. Starkkapitan, you’ll prepare your offiziers and troops for the final assault, and I will meet with both of you later this evening. We’ll move at first light tomorrow.”

He hugged Allesandra to him. “And you shall have your jeweled city tomorrow,” he told her.

Mahri

Ana was dozing in her chair, but she must have sensed his presence. Her eyes fluttered open. If she was surprised to see

him standing in her apartments near the Archigos’ Temple, she didn’t show it.

“You don’t agree to my advice?” he asked her, chiding her gently.

“You won’t use the gift I gave you?”

He saw Ana touch her robe at her right side. He could see how the cloth rounded there over the enchanted glass he’d given her. She said nothing. “I heard the gossip in the city, Archigos. They say that you saved the Kraljiki’s life with a spell,” he continued.

“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I don’t know. .” Then her eyes widened a bit.

“Yes,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have interfered, but if I hadn’t, my gift to you would have been wasted.”

She stirred, sitting up in the chair in which she’d fallen asleep. Her hand brought out the ball. He could see the glowing colors within it; he could feel the power he’d placed within the glass for her. “Here, then,” she said. “I give it back to you. Use it yourself if you’re so certain.”

“I can’t.” He kept his hands at his sides, refusing to take it. After a moment, she placed it on the stand next to the chair, on her untouched dinner tray.