S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“And in the meantime?” Jan asked him. “What is my army to do for war-teni?”

“There are still two hands of them, Hirzg.”

“Two hands of ten. How impressive. Two hands obey you, and eight hands obey Morel. Perhaps Morel should be the Archigos. He seems to have more influence than you.”

Archigos Karrol blinked. “I’m confident that the others will soon see the error of their ways. Cenzi will punish them, will make them unable to perform their spells, will haunt their dreams. They will come back, repentant. I’m confident of that.”

“I’m so pleased to hear of your confidence,” Jan replied flatly. He heard Sergei chuckle softly in his carriage.

“What will bring them back is Nico Morel’s death,” Sergei commented. “If we kill Morel, we end whatever authority he has.”

“Or we make him a martyr,” Archigos Karrol retorted, but Sergei answered quickly.

“No. Nico Morel says that Cenzi is leading him, that Cenzi protects him, that he is the voice of Cenzi. If Cenzi allows him to die, then that gives the lie to everything that Morel claims to be. The Morellis will vanish like a spring snowstorm.”

“It seems, Ambassador, that you and the Kraljica have but one answer for any problem that faces Nessantico,” Karrol muttered.

“And it seems, Archigos,” Sergei retorted, “that you have none.”

“Enough!” Jan snarled. He waved his hand through the rain. A lightning stroke sliced down nearby, and he waited until the thunder passed. “I expect that you, Archigos, are willing to accompany me-so that I don’t lose more war-teni than I already have.” The sour look on Karrol’s face was enough to tell Jan what the Archigos thought of the idea, but the man managed to lift his hands into the sign of Cenzi, and said nothing. His attendants all glanced at each other. “Ambassador, we’re delaying your departure. Tell my matarh to send either Commandant ca’Talin or one of his a’offiziers riding toward us as soon as possible, so we can coordinate with the Holdings’ Garde Civile.”

“Certainly, Hirzg,” Sergei said. “And I give you my own thanks-you’ll be a fine Kraljiki.” With that, Sergei tapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane. “Driver!” he called out. The driver slapped the reins and the carriage lurched forward, its wheels digging long and deep furrows in the mud. Jan turned back to the Archigos, still dry under his umbrella while the cold rain dripped from the oiled fabric of Jan’s hood.

“We’re leaving before Second Call, Archigos,” he said. “I would suggest you make yourself ready.”

“Hirzg Jan, I’d ask you to reconsider. I’m an old man, and I have duties to attend to in Brezno. Perhaps if my staff remains with you. ..” The umbrella shook as his attendants’ eyes widened.

“I appreciate your frailty, Archigos,” Jan told him, “but perhaps it’s time you go examine your temples in Nessantico, since you need to replace A’Teni ca’Paim, and since once I’m Kraljiki, the seat of the Faith will be returning there.” Archigos Karrol didn’t reply, his eternally-bowed back making it appear that he was examining the muddy hem of his robes of office. “You’re wasting time, Archigos,” Jan told him. “I’ll expect to see your carriage join the train of the army in a half-turn of the glass, without any more complaints or suggestions.”

With that, Jan spun on his heel. He called out for his horse and weapons, and made his way to where Starkkapitan ca’Damont waited for him.

Allesandra had commandeered a balcony that overlooked the plaza. The Old Temple loomed across the way, though it was difficult to see much in the driving rain and the gloom of the storm. Erik stood behind her and at her shoulder, and his solicitude nagged at her.

“Really, Allesandra, you should move back from the window. Those are war-teni inside the Old Temple, and you’ve no idea what they can do, especially if they notice that the Kraljica is watching.”

“I know exactly what war-teni are capable of,” she told him tartly. “Probably better than you, Erik. And I don’t appreciate you talking to me as if I were a child.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but there seemed to be no apology in his voice at all. “I’m just concerned for your safety, my love.”

“And I’m concerned for the safety of my people,” she answered. “The Garde Kralji isn’t the Garde Civile. Their job is to police Nessantico-they’ve never faced war-teni before, they haven’t faced an armed insurrection in a century and a half, and their Commandant is a prisoner in the place they’re about to assault.”

“That’s why I suggested that you place me in charge of them,” Erik said. “They need a strong hand guiding them.”

So I’m not a strong hand, in your estimation? “You’ve never commanded an organized force either,” she reminded him. Truly, the man was becoming tiresome. She was beginning to wonder what she’d seen in him. “I’m the symbol of Nessantico. I rule the Holdings. They deserve to see that I am here, with them. I’d appreciate it if-” She stopped, peering into the rain. “Ah, Varina’s returning… And there’s the signal from A’Offizier ci’Santiago-Morel has refused to negotiate.” Allesandra sighed. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that somehow Varina would be able to negotiate the removal of the Morellis from the temple-she couldn’t see this ending well, no matter how it was resolved. Yet she had no choice. She especially had no choice if Jan were bringing the Firenzcian army here-she had to end this now or she would appear to be extraordinarily weak.

Talbot had placed two flags on the balcony on which she stood: one a deep blood-red, the other a pale green. Both dripped rain from sodden folds. Allesandra plucked the green flag from its holder and let it fall on the stones of balcony. As if in response, a red star rose from below, arcing high above the plaza. It lingered there for a moment, lending a bloody hue to the gloomy afternoon and hissing audibly in the rain.

A breath later, triple arcs of flame shot out from nearly directly below the balcony-from the Numetodo. The flames guttered and spat, trailing a noxious smoke, and arrowed away to slam into the front portico of the Old Temple. There were terrible explosions as they hit their target, flashes of white that shook the entire plaza. Allesandra could feel the balcony shudder under her feet. A moment later, a wave of heated air rushed past Allesandra, lifting her hair. Through the rain and the smoke, it was difficult to tell what had happened, but now the gardai of the Garde Kralji were rushing toward the Old Temple from all around the plaza, shouting as they ran. She could see ci’Santiago leading them-whatever she might think of the man’s competence, he was at least brave.

The gardai were only a quarter of the way across the plaza when the response came from the Old Temple. A dozen fireballs shot from the smoke surrounding the main entrance and from the windows of the buildings attached to the temple. Allesandra heard the Numetodo call out their release words, and all but two of the fireballs from the war-teni sputtered and failed. But those two careened down into the mass of onrushing gardai. Shrill screams rent the storm as they exploded. For a moment, there was chaos in the plaza, the gardai pausing. She could hear ci’Santiago shouting orders as the Numetodo sent their own spells shooting forward toward the Old Temple. The gardai surged forward once more, but choking, acrid smoke was now obscuring the temple plaza, making it difficult to see. Allesandra leaned forward, her hands grasping the rails.

Almost too late, she saw a globe of fire rushing out of the smoke toward her. She recoiled, throwing herself backward into the room. The fireball crashed against the side of the building, billowing out in a great gout of flame a little below and to the right of the balcony where she’d been standing. The building shook, knocking Erik from his feet. The chandelier in the room swayed madly, the cut-glass ornaments clashing and falling. Chunks of plaster and lathework cascaded down from the ceiling, and two long, gaping cracks snaked from floor to ceiling of the outside wall. Part of the balcony on which she’d been standing fell away.