S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“Indeed,” Sergei answered.“The Kraljica and the Hirzgin must be the ones to give them that. Commandant cu’Ingres, I’m afraid, is still troubled by his injuries, and A’Offizier ci’Santiago is, well, let’s just call him inexperienced.”

“Where is the Kraljica?”

“On her way, I expect. We should see her any time now.”

Brie made a noise of assent. He saw her lean forward in her saddle, leather creaking. She was peering toward the south. “Is that another of our scouts? He’s riding fast…” She pointed, and Sergei saw a cloud of dust far away along the avi. His own vision was poor, and he couldn’t quite make out the rider or the colors.

“It may be,” he said. “Whoever it is, they’re coming fast. There must be news.”

The two of them flicked the reins of their horses, cantering down to the road to meet the rider. They were joined by A’Offizier ci’Santiago as the rider came galloping up, his mount lathered with effort. The rider saluted them.

“The Westlanders,” he said, panting. “Not far down the road… A thousand or more… All along the road.” He stopped, catching his breath. “A few turns of the glass and they’ll be here,” he said. “They’re coming at a fast march, and they have several of their spellcasters with them, and the makings of siege machines with them as well. We need to be ready.”

Ci’Santiago nodded, but he did nothing. Sergei sighed. “We’ll need to send for Talbot and the sparkwheelers-A’Offizier, perhaps you can give this man a fresh horse and have him bear the message. Hirzgin.. .”

“I’ll take the field command of the troops until the Kraljica arrives,” she told Sergei. “Ambassador, you and Commandant cu’Ingres can see to the main strategy here in the command tents.” Sergei could see her already looking at the landscape and deciding where to place the troops for best advantage. “I’ll need signalers, cornets, and runners, and I’ll want to talk to the offiziers. A’Offizier ci’Santiago, I need you to arrange that immediately. What are you waiting here for? There’s no time, man. Go!”

Ci’Santiago was gaping at her, but he shut his mouth and saluted as Sergei stifled a laugh. The man turned his horse and galloped away; the scout following him. Brie was staring south, her mouth set. Sergei thought he could see smoke rising from the horizon.

“I do believe you frightened the poor man,” Sergei told her, and she sniffed through her nose. “He’s probably already complaining about the demon woman from Firenzcia.”

“I’m happy to be the demon woman if it means we survive this,” she told him. “Do you think we can, Ambassador?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” he answered, and hoped she couldn’t hear the lie.

Nico heard the lock to the house gates snick open under Rochelle’s ministrations; she grinned toward Nico as she slipped the thin pieces of metal back into their packet. “Easy,” she said, pushing the gates open; Nico slid inside ahead of her, but he felt her put a hand on his shoulder almost immediately. He glanced back at her from under the hood that masked his head, the cloak that disguised his green robes heavy around him.

“Something’s wrong here,” Rochelle said.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” she answered.

The street outside the gates was crowded with people leaving the city. They could hear their voices: the calls, the arguments, the cries of children too young to understand the panic of their parents and relatives. There were the creak and groans of the carts, the shuffling of feet on the pavement, the whistles of utilinos vainly trying to direct traffic and quell the inevitable confrontations. “There’s all this noise out there,” she told him. “But inside here-the staff should be scurrying around, getting things ready for whatever, but there’s nothing. The shutters to the windows are all closed and probably locked, and I don’t hear anything at all. It’s too quiet here.”

“What are you telling me?” His voice was a husk. He already knew the answer, could feel it in a despair that settled low in his stomach.

“I don’t think she’s there, Nico. I think she’s gone already. I’m sorry.”

Nico pushed past Rochelle, striding angrily toward the front doors of Varina’s house. It was locked, but rather than wait for Rochelle, he kicked hard at it and the wood around the lock cracked. He kicked again, and the door opened.

“Subtle,” Rochelle said behind him.

He ignored her, stepping into the marbled entranceway. He was certain now that Rochelle was right; the servants should have come running, perhaps ready to defend the house, but there was no one in sight. “Varina?” he called. He thought he saw a cat dart across the hallway ahead of him. Otherwise, there was no response. He heard Rochelle enter the house behind him; glancing over his shoulder, he saw that she was holding her knife, the blade naked in her hand. “We won’t need that,” he said.

“Probably not. But it makes me feel better.”

He shrugged. He walked slowly down the hallway, glancing into the reception rooms to either side. The furniture there was covered with sheets; the cat glared at him from atop a blanketed couch, then went back to licking its front paws. He continued to move through the house: the sunroom, a library, the kitchens-they were all the same, empty, with every indication that Varina didn’t expect to return here soon. He heard Rochelle calling him from upstairs, and he followed the sound of her voice. She’d put the knife in its sheath, and was standing at the door to what had to be a nursery. The furniture here, too, was covered. She opened the drawers of a dresser along one wall. “Empty,” she told him. “I told you-Serafina’s not here, Nico. The Numetodo’s taken her elsewhere.”

Nico was shaking his head. “Varina’s still here in the city. I can feel it.”

One eyebrow rose on Rochelle’s face. “Well, if she is, she’s not staying here, and the baby’s not here either.”

“She’s sent Sera away,” Nico said.

“I gathered that. So can Cenzi tell you where?”

He scowled at her, a warning about blasphemy on his lips, but he held it back. She seemed to realize it as well, holding up a hand. “All right, so you don’t know. What do we do now?” Rochelle asked, but Nico could only shake his head.

“I don’t know,” he told her. After his confrontation with Sergei, he’d hoped to take Sera, to leave the city with his daughter and his sister, and find a place to think and pray: to know what Cenzi wanted of him, to know how to assuage the guilt and pain he bore… He’d hoped-he’d prayed-that Cenzi would give him his daughter, but it seemed that Cenzi still had other plans for him. He looked upward. “Cenzi, what are You trying to tell me?”

He listened to the whispers in his head and in his heart, and his face grew grim. “I think it’s time for us to part for a while,” he told Rochelle.

In the late afternoon, the sun hung low in the west, but where there had been clear sky before, a storm had birthed itself across the River Infante. Thunderheads rose high in the sky, though these were clouds that lurked impossibly close to the ground. Underneath them, the army of the Tehuantin was cloaked in shadow, and the storm walked itself forward on jagged legs of flickering lightning. The black, roiling clouds stretched off southward along the front the Tehuantin had established. Jan’s horse shifted uneasily under him, nostrils flaring as low thunder growled like some great beast. There was a sharp odor in the air that wrinkled Jan’s nostrils.

“War-storm,” one of the chevarittai near Jan muttered. “The cowards-they won’t even give us a chance for honorable single combat first.” Jan nodded-he’d heard of the Tehuantin war-storms, called up by their spellcasters: a cooperative spell. The Westlanders had used them to great effectiveness when they’d last been here, as well as during their battles with the Holdings in the Hellins, but Jan had never seen one himself. He doubted he was going to enjoy the firsthand experience.