S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

An army of soldiers with sparkwheels… She could imagine that, and the vision made her hands tremble.

That could change warfare. That would change warfare. Completely. As the black sand itself was beginning to render the use of war-teni far less important, so skill with a heavy blade would no longer matter, not when all one needed was the strength to pull a trigger and eyes to sight down a barrel.

Anyone could be a warrior. Anyone could dispense justice.

Anyone could exact revenge. Or slay a mad dog.

Anyone could murder needlessly. For the worst or most trivial of reasons.

Anyone. Even herself.

What have I done this time, Karl?

She blinked. Her hand stroked the silken varnish of the handle. An irony, that: a beautifully-crafted instrument dedicated entirely to destruction.

She rose from the chair finally and went to the table. She stoppered the vial of black sand, gathered up the paper cartridges she’d prepared. She placed the vial, the cartridges, and the sparkwheel in a leather pouch and slung it over her shoulder. She blew out the lanterns that illuminated the room, opened the door, and locked it again behind her.

The pouch heavy around her shoulder, her hands still remembering the feel of the sparkwheel as it had fired, she ascended the stairs.

“… our troops were easily a day’s march past Il Trebbio’s borders before we had any sign that we’d been noticed. We did have a small skirmish with a company of Holdings chevarittai. Two of them were killed by our war-teni, and they turned and fled after that; none of our own people were seriously harmed. Given our last discussions, after a day there I brought the battalion back over the border. From everything we’ve learned in the last several months, Hirzg Jan, it would appear that the Holdings borders are rather porous, and Il Trebbio is certainly one of the weaker points. Kraljica Allesandra doesn’t have enough-”

Armen ca’Damont, Starkkapitan of the Firenzcian Garde Civile, halted his report to Jan as the door to the room burst open, the doors slamming hard against their stops. A trio of children entered in the wake of the disturbance, trailed distantly by one of the staff servants with another, smaller, child in her arms. “Vatarh!” Kriege, Jan’s eldest son, was the first into the room. He stamped his foot, glaring back at his older sister. Caelor, a year younger than Kriege, stood beside his brother, nodding vigorously and echoing the glare. “We were playing Chevarittai, and Elissa cheated! It’s not fair!”

The nursemaid rushed in, looking harried, and bowed awkwardly to Jan and ca’Damont with Eria, Jan’s youngest, now in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Hirzg,” she said, not looking up. “The children were playing fine and I was dressing little Eria, and there was an argument and they were running to find you…”

“It’s fine,” Jan said, grinning at ca’Damont. “Don’t worry yourself. Now then, Kriege, what’s all this about cheating?”

“Elissa cheated, ” Kriege repeated, scowling so fiercely that it was nearly comical. “She did.”

“Elissa?” Jan said sternly, his gaze moving to his daughter.

Another child might have looked at the floor. Jan knew that Caelor would have, with even the hint of a rebuke, and even Kriege looked away now. But Elissa gazed placidly back, glancing once at ca’Damont’s thin face marred and disfigured with the ridged memories of old battles, then fixing on Jan. She brushed back brown-gold strands of hair that had escaped her braids to flutter around her eyes. “I didn’t cheat, Vatarh,” she said. “Not really.”

“Yes she did, ” Kriege interrupted, stamping his foot again. “She lied. ”

Elissa didn’t bother to look at Kriege. Her regard stayed with Jan. “I did lie, Vatarh,” she admitted. “I told Kriege that I’d help him if he attacked Caelor’s keep with his soldiers.”

“She said she’d use her war-teni on her next turn and help me,” Kriege interrupted again. “And she didn’t. When it was her turn, she attacked me instead and I lost all my keeps and most of my chevarittai. She cheated.”

Jan glanced again at ca’Damont, who was stifling his own grin. “Is that true, Elissa?”

She nodded. “It is,” she said gravely. “You see, Caelor had the most keeps and soldiers left on the board, and Kriege and I had about the same. I knew I couldn’t beat Caelor by myself, so I told Kriege that I’d help him because I knew Caelor would take lots of his soldiers and Caelor would lose enough of his so that he couldn’t attack me, and then, when it was my turn, I could take most of Kriege’s keeps and capture enough soldiers that I’d probably win the game.” She glanced at her brothers. “And I would have, too, if Kriege hadn’t gotten mad and knocked the pieces all over the floor.”

Ca’Damont’s snicker was audible, and he turned his blade-scarred face away for a moment. Jan had to fight to hold back his own amusement, though it was tempered by just how much Elissa was like her great-matarh Allesandra. Jan could well imagine her doing the same as a child; it was what he’d watched her do as an adult.

“So…” Jan said to her, “you offered your brother an alliance that you didn’t intend to keep so you could win? Is that right?”

A nod. Jan looked at the two boys. “I think your sister has just taught you an excellent lesson,” he told them. “In war, sometimes a person’s word isn’t enough. Sometimes your enemy will lie to you in order to gain an advantage. And there’s more to war than simply moving your soldiers about. You should remember this. Both of you.”

“But she cheated! ” Kriege insisted, stamping his foot again.

Jan stroked his beard, trying not to laugh. “What do you think, Starkkapitan?” Jan asked ca’Damont. “Should I punish Elissa for her cheating?”

“No, my Hirzg,” ca’Damont answered, and Jan saw Elissa’s face relax slightly-so she had been worried about what he might do. “But I would say that there also is a lesson for her from this-that when one gives her word, others will be upset if that word’s not kept, and sometimes their reaction may prevent one from gaining the advantage they’d hoped to gain. Now no one will ever know which one of you might have won the game.”

Jan clapped ca’Damont on the shoulder. “There, you see,” he told the children. “You have it from the Starkkapitan himself. He knows war better than any of us. I hope you’ve learned well, so when one of you is Hirzg…”

“Let’s pray to Cenzi that isn’t for many decades yet, my husband.” The voice lifted up Jan’s head, and he saw Brie standing in the doorway and smiling in at the scene. He went to her, kissing her and embracing her briefly. She smelled of jasmine and sweetwater, and her hair-once the same color as Elissa’s, but darkening now-was soft even in the tight Tennshah braids that were currently so popular. If her figure had become heavier after bearing their children, well, that was like the scars on ca’Damont’s face: a sign of the sacrifices she had made.

Rance had told him that it was Brie who had sent away Mavel cu’Kella, and why. After his initial irritation, he was pleased: it saved him the trouble of doing the same.

“What’s going on here?” Brie asked. She looked at the children, at the servant holding Eria, at the nursemaid. “Rance told me you were still in conference, and we’re to be at the temple for the Day of Return blessing in a turn of the glass.” She shook her head, though the expression on her face was indulgent and serene. “And none of our children are dressed yet.”

“I’m sorry, Hirzgin,” the nursemaid said, curtsying. “It’s my fault. I’ll get them ready. Elissa, Kriege, Caelor-come with me now. Quickly…”