S Farrell - A Magic of Dawn

“Actually, if you don’t mind the correction, you made two poor decisions-you also backed his vatarh.”

She started to argue. No, let him have that much of a victory here. He’s uncertain and worried. “I’ll accept that.” She nodded to Sergei, Varina, and ca’Damont, who sat silent through the exchange. “I’m sorry all of you had to witness that. I hope you know how much I value your advice and your counsel, Sergei, Varina. Both of you are vital to the Holdings, especially now. And Starkkapitan ca’Damont, your expertise will be essential in the coming days. Now… Let us talk of what faces Nessantico, and how we might prevail…”

It took two days to catch up with the supply train of the army, and another half-day to move through seemingly endless triple lines of infantry toward the command battalion. The soldiers cheered as her carriage approached with the insignia of the Hirzg on its side. They moved off the road to allow the carriage to pass, and she waved to them. She also saw riders being sent ahead of her farther up the line, galloping through the fields and meadows alongside the road, and she knew that word of her arrival would be going to the offiziers, and from them to Jan. Brie expected Jan to be among those to greet her when she finally came within sight of the banner of the Hirzg and the starkkapitan, but it was instead Armond cu’Weller, a chevaritt and a’offizier, who strode up to the carriage as the driver pulled the reins. Brie pushed open the door of the carriage and descended the steps before either the Garde Brezno riders with her or cu’Weller could move to help her.

“Hirzgin,” he said, saluting her. His face was worried and anxious, and he glanced from her to the trio of mounted Garde Brezno gardai with her. Around them, the army had come to a sluggish halt. “Is there a problem? Was your train attacked? The children…?”

“The children are fine, and should be in Brezno by now,” she answered. “I returned to be with my husband, that’s all, and to stand with him when he meets the Kraljica. If you would tell him that I’ve come, I’d appreciate it. I thought he’d be here…”

Cu’Weller looked away a moment, his lips pressing together. “I regret, Hirzgin, to have to tell you that the Hirzg, Starkkapitan ca’Damont, and several of the chevarittai had ridden ahead of the army. They are likely in Nessantico already.”

“Oh.” The vision of Jan standing in flame came back to her, and the mysterious woman with him… She bit at her lower lip, and that gave cu’Weller the chance to hurry in. He opened the door of the carriage for her, as if expecting her to immediately return inside.

“I’m sorry, Hirzgin.” He glanced again at the mounted gardai with him. “I’ll assign a squad of additional troops to accompany you back to Stag Fall, and give you new horses and driver. The cook can put together provisions for the road…”

“I won’t be leaving,” she told him, and surprise lifted his eyebrows.

“Hirzgin, this isn’t a place for you. An army on the march…”

“My husband isn’t here. That means that I am the authority of the throne of Firenzcia, does it not, A’Offizier?”

Cu’Keller looked as if he wanted to protest, but shook his head slightly. “Yes, Hirzgin, I suppose so but…”

“Then my commands supersede yours, and I will continue on with you to Nessantico,” she told him, “until such a time as the Starkkapitan and my husband return. Do you have an issue with that, A’Offizier?”

“No, Hirzgin. No issue.” The words were an acceptance, but the look on his face belied them.

She didn’t care. Something told her that she needed to be with Jan, and she would. “Good,” she told him. She opened the door of the carriage, one foot on the step. “Then let us not keep the army waiting,” she told him. “We’ve a long march ahead.”

The waters of Axat betrayed him. He could see little of the Long Path in the mist. Even the events just before them were clouded. There were too many conflicting signs, too many possibilities, too many powers in opposition. Everything was in flux, everyone was in movement. He could no longer see his Long Path at all. It was gone, as if Axat had withdrawn Her favor from him, as if She were angry with him for his failures.

He saw only one thing. He saw himself and Atl, facing each other, and lightning flashed between them, and through the mist, he saw Atl fall…

With an angry shout and a sweep of his arm, Niente sent the scrying bowl flying. The trio of nahualli who had brought him the bowl and the water and were in attendance on him, scrambled to their feet in surprise. “Nahual?”

“Leave me!” he told them. “Go on! Get out!”

They scattered, leaving him alone in the tent.

It’s gone. The future you sought to have has been taken from you. Can you find it again? Is there still time, or has the possibility passed entirely now?

He didn’t know. The uncertainty was a fire in his stomach, a hammer pounding on his skull.

He collapsed to the ground, burying his head in his hands. The bowl sat accusingly upside down on the grass before him, orange-tinted water dewing the green blades. The foreign grass, the foreign soil.. .

He didn’t know how long he sat there when he saw a wavering shadow against the fabric, cast from the great fire in the center of their encampment. “Nahual?” a tentative voice called. “It’s time. The Eye of Axat has risen. Nahual?”

“I’m coming,” he called out. “Be patient.”

The shadow receded. Niente pulled himself up. His spell-staff was still on the table. He took it in his hand, feeling the tingling of the spells caught within the whorled grain. Can you do this? Will you do this?

He went to the flap of the tent, pushed it aside. He stepped out.

The army had encamped along the main road where it descended a long hill. The tents of the Nahual and the Tecuhtli had been placed on the crown of the hill, surrounded by the tents of the High Warriors and nahualli. Below, Niente could see the glimmering of hundreds of campfires; above, the ribbon of the Star River cleaved the sky, dimmed by the brilliance of Axat’s Eye, staring down at them. The High Warriors and the nahualli stood in a ring around the trampled grasses of the meadow. Near the campfire, blazing in the open space between the Nahual’s tent and that of the Tecuhtli, stood Tecuhtli Citlali, Tototl, and Atl. His son was bare to the waist, his skin glistening. He held his spell-staff in one hand, the end tapping nervously on the ground.

“You still want this, Atl?” Niente asked him. “You are so certain of your path?”

Atl shook his head. “Do I want it, Taat? No. I don’t. But I am certain of the path Axat has shown, and I’m confident that the path you want us to take leads to defeat, despite what you believe. You were the one who taught me that even when someone in authority tells you that they’re right, they might still be wrong-and that in order to serve them, you have to persist. You said that was the Nahual’s role to the Tecuhtli, and that of the nahualli to the Nahual.” He took a long, slow breath, tapping his spell-staff on the ground again. “No, I don’t want this. I don’t want to fight you. I hate this. But I don’t see that I have a choice.”

Citlali stepped forward between the two. “Enough talk,” he said. “We’ve wasted enough time on this already-and the city waits for us. Do what you must, so I know who my Nahual is, so I know which of you is seeing the paths correctly.” He looked from Niente to Atl. “Do it,” he said. “Now!”

He stepped back, gesturing to Niente and Atl. Niente knew that Citlali wanted them to raise their spell-staffs, wanted the night to blaze suddenly with lightnings and fire, to see one of the two of them crumple to the ground broken, burned, and dead. He could see it in the eagerness of the man’s face, the ways the red eagle’s wings moved on the sides of his shaved skull. The nahualli, the High Warriors, they all shared that same hunger-they stared and leaned forward, their mouths half-open in anticipation.