S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

She nodded to Pierre, who flicked the cover from the table. Pierre’s original sparkwheel sat there, gleaming and beautiful, already primed and ready. Varina plucked it up without a word, cocked it, and aimed at the sweetfruit.

She pulled the trigger.

The sparkwheel clicked. The black sand in the pan flashed and flared; the sparkwheel bucked in her hand with a loud report. At the end of the room, the sweetfruit seemed to explode, spattered chunks falling to the floor as the broken remnant jumped in its stand. In the silence that followed, they could hear the bright red juice of the shattered sweetfruit dripping to the floor.

The symbolism, as Varina had expected, was lost on none of them.

“No magic?” Talbot muttered. “None?”

Varina shook her head. The report of the sparkwheel still rang in her ears; a thin line of white smoke curled from the muzzle. “No magic,” she said. “A few pinches of black sand, a lead pellet, and Pierre’s craftsmanship. And it’s repeatable. Back away…” She called out to the others, some of whom had gone to examine the broken sweetfruit or the oaken planks behind it, where the pellet was embedded. She reloaded-the work of a few breaths-cocked the sparkwheel and fired it again. This time the rest of the sweetfruit collapsed entirely and the stand fell backward. Varina put the sparkwheel back on the table.

“Pierre has made a sparkwheel for each of you here,” she said, “and I will teach you how to use it.”

“A’Morce, this…” Talbot said. He was looking at the ruined sweetfruit on the floor. “Why?”

“I’m afraid that the Numetodo are about to be under attack again,” Varina said. “With these, you don’t need skill with a blade, physical strength, or magic to defend yourself. All you need do is aim the device and pull the trigger. I’m afraid we will need all the protection we can arrange.”

Leovic had gone to the table. He was turning the sparkwheel in his hands, examining the mechanism. Varina could already see his mind at work. He glanced at her. “It’s warm,” he commented. “What if that were a garda in armor?”

“He would fare little better than the sweetfruit,” she told him. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

Muscles bunched in Leovic’s jaw, as if he were holding back the reply he wanted to make. “Any competent craftsman could make something like this,” he said finally. “If not as ornate as Pierre’s creation. And learning to use it?”

“I can show all of you in a few marks of the glass,” Varina answered.

“You can give us all the potential to kill someone from strides away, even if they were in armor?” That was Johannes, his voice hushed and almost reverential.

“Yes,” she answered.

“You truly want to release this power?”

“It’s already been released,” she answered. “That power was loosed when the Tehuantin created the black sand. If we destroyed the sparkwheels right now and never said anything about them again, someone else would come to the same realization I did and make them again. You all know Karl’s…” At the mention of his name, her voice choked and broke. She swallowed hard, apologetically. Talbot nodded to her in sympathy. “… Karl’s saying that knowledge can’t be hidden. Even those of the Faith have a saying for it: ‘Once the Moitidi has been created, there can be no Unmaking.’ This is no different.”

“Still, A’Morce…” That was Niels, shaking his gray, long locks. “The possibilities…”

“I can imagine them as well as any of you here,” Varina answered. “Believe me, they’ve haunted my dreams since Karl’s funeral and the Morellis’ murder of our people. But I can also imagine what might happen if we don’t have all the resources available to protect ourselves. And that scares me more.”

She nodded to Pierre, who brought out a long box from the side of the hall. He set it down by the table and opened it. Inside, steel and wood gleamed. “There’s a sparkwheel there for each of you,” Varina said. “Take one, and a vial of the black sand, and a packet of the paper cartridges, and I will show you how to use them…”

“The young woman on our personal staff named Rhianna,” Jan said to Rance. “What do we know about her?”

The aide raised a single eyebrow. He had just brought in Jan’s daily calendar of meetings, going over the plans for the day-it was, as always of late, too crowded and full. It was one of those days when Jan felt the weight of his responsibilities; it was one of those days that he felt old before his time; it was one of the days when he felt restless and trapped.

But the young woman… He had thought of her more than once since their encounter, and he found himself looking for her when he entered a room. There was often a faint smile on her face whenever she saw him, though she never broke propriety, never tried to approach him or talk to him, but concentrated on her work and left when it was finished.

He liked that. She knew her place. It boded well.

“She’s from Sesemora,” Rance told him, “though she has very little of the awful accent, thankfully. She had excellent references from the ca’Ceila and ca’Nemora families. She takes direction well and works hard. I could use a dozen more servants who perform as well as she does. And,” he added, “she’s not difficult to look at, as I’m sure the Hirzg has noticed.”

“I had, in fact,” Jan said. This was a dance that he and Rance had performed more than once over the years, and they both knew the steps.

“Would the Hirzg prefer that I assign her to your personal quarters?”

“That might be good. She seems an excellent fit.”

“Then I’ll do that,” Rance said. “I’ve heard whispers that the Hirzgin thought Felicia was rather short with her last week; Rhianna might make a good replacement. I’ll have the change made today.”

Jan shrugged. “Whatever you think best, Rance. It’s your staff to run. I’ll leave it to you. Now, is there something we can do about the audience with the A’Gyula? Perhaps the Hirzgin could see him. He’s such a tedious boor…”

“Good night, children…” Jan kissed each of them in turn: Elissa, Kriege, Caelor, and little Eria. He nodded to the nursemaid, and she began to shepherd the children out of the room. Elissa hung behind stubbornly, a fierce scowl on her face. “I should be allowed to be at the ball tonight,” she said. “I’m not even the least bit sleepy, Vatarh.”

“Next year,” he told her.

“Next year isn’t until forever, ” she answered, with an emphatic stamp of her foot.

Jan heard Brie snicker. He was sitting in the chair at Brie’s bedroom desk. She stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. She wore only her shift, her hair unpinned and her jewelry on the dressing table. Jan could smell the perfume she’d just applied as she leaned down close to his ear. “She’s your daughter,” Brie whispered. “I hear you in her voice.”

Jan smiled. He gestured to Elissa to come to him. She did so, with a dramatic pout on her face. “If I say that you can attend the ball, then I’m going to have Kriege saying he should be allowed to be there, too.”

“Kriege’s only nine,” Elissa answered. “He’s practically a baby. I’m eleven. Nearly twelve.”

Jan felt Brie’s fingers tighten on his shoulder. He grinned. “I know,” he told her. “I’ll tell you what. If you go with the others now, I’ll have the nursemaid get you up and dressed in a turn of the glass, and you can come down to the ball for a bit. But you mustn’t let your brothers know.”

Elissa beamed and clapped her hands once together, then dropped them to her sides, putting a comically solemn look on her face. “Yes, Vatarh,” she said loudly, for the benefit of her brothers, still in the doorway with the maid. “I’ll just go on to bed, then.” Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then her matarh’s. “Goodnight, Vatarh, Matarh.”