A Magic of Dawn

Jan ca’Ostheim

When Jan read Sergei the contents of the missive from his matarh, the Silvernose didn’t seem startled at all, which told Jan that Sergei already suspected what it said.

“Morel thinks that he has divine guidance,” Sergei said, rubbing-as he too often did-at the metallic nose glued to his ravaged, wrinkled face. “When one truly believes that Cenzi has set you on a course, you have no limitations. It’s a lesson many of the Kralji have had to learn. Now it’s Allesandra’s turn.”

They were gathered at the table in the dining “room” of the palais tents. Hirzgin Brie was there, as was Starkkapitan ca’Damont and Archigos Karrol, who had come down from Brezno. Jan had invited Ambassador ca’Rudka to join them, not only because of the communique from Nessantico, but also because he enjoyed watching Sergei annoy both the starkkapitan and the Archigos.

“You speak like a Numetodo,” Archigos Karrol said to the man, but Sergei shook his head slowly, his jowls wobbling with the motion.

“I believe in Cenzi, Archigos, as firmly as do you,” the Ambassador said, and Jan thought he heard a strange sadness in the man’s voice, almost a regret. “I know that I will go to Him when I die, and the soul shredders will weigh me before Him. I believe.” Then he seemed to shiver, and his gaze wandered away from the Archigos and found Jan’s. “It’s not faith that’s the problem, Hirzg Jan, only blind fanaticism. Morel insists that there is only one true path, and that’s his. Therefore, all the rest of us are wrong. The greater problem is that you have too many teni within the Faith who agree with Morel rather than you.”

Archigos Karrol spluttered at that. He lifted his bent head against the resistance of his curved spine. His long, white beard waggled; his brown-spotted fist banged at the table, rattling crockery. “ I am the authority within the Faith, not this damned Morel. He’s already doomed himself by using the Ilmodo against my direct orders. His hands and tongue are forfeit for that, and his life is mine for the death of poor A’Teni ca’Paim.”

Jan heard Sergei sniff, saw his eyes, now enveloped in tired folds of skin, widen slightly. “Yes, we in Nessantico saw how well the war-teni obeyed A’Teni ca’Paim, whose authority derives from yours, Archigos. I wonder, if you order the war-teni of Firenczia to move against Morel, will you get the same obedience?”

The Archigos’ bald skull was pale against the angry flush of his face. He scowled, turning his head sidewise to glare at Sergei. “My war-teni will do as I tell them to do,” he said. Spittle flew with the comment; he didn’t seem to notice. He looked over to Jan. “Hirzg, Hirzgin, I find that my appetite has left me, and I need to speak with the teni here to give them the news about A’Teni ca’Paim and arrange for services in her memory. If you’ll forgive me…”

Without waiting for an answer, he gave the sign of Cenzi and pushed away from the table. Two o’teni in attendance rushed to help him. They handed him his staff and he shuffled away, his head facing the carpeted ground as he padded from the tent.

“I apologize, Hirzg, Hirzgin,” Sergei said after the servant had closed the tent flaps-painted in trompe-l’oeil fashion as a massive, carved wooden double set of doors-behind the Archigos. “I only told him the truth.”

“The truth is often unappetizing,” Brie answered. She glanced at Jan with that, a quick, sharp look. “I’m surprised any of us can eat at the moment.” Jan set down the knife he was using to cut the slice of roast on his plate. Brie smiled at him blandly. “I’d have the servants take that away,” she said, “but there are so few of our private staff left here. I wonder what keeps driving them away?”

Jan returned the same meaningless smile to his wife.

Sergei didn’t seem to have noticed the exchange. He stirred in his seat. “Archigos Karrol is deceiving himself if he doesn’t think that there are teni who are sympathetic to the Morellis-especially among the war-teni.”

“Our war-teni are here, ” Starkkapitan ca’Damont interjected. “They’re actively working with me.”

“They’re here now,” Sergei answered. “But will they be tomorrow, or the day after? The news from Nessantico is just now arriving, and if it was Morel who asked the war-teni to stand down, as he claims, then perhaps that request is only just reaching them.”

“Sometimes, Ambassador,” ca’Damont retorted, “I believe you’re like an old black crow, with nothing but bad news and gloom to relate. You stink of the prisons you like so much.”

Jan looked over sharply at ca’Damont with the crude remark, but Sergei lifted a hand, shaking his gray head slightly. “You’ll be happy to know, Starkkapitan, that you’re hardly alone in that opinion,” Sergei told him. “But then, I’m a crow who over the years has dined on the remains of many victims who failed to listen to me or who said I was mistaken. I never take much satisfaction in that sort of meal, but it’s one I suspect I’ll continue to enjoy. Perhaps soon.”

The man’s fork scraped along his plate. Brie snickered nasally. Jan hurried into the conversational gap. “Villembouchure has already fallen, Ambassador. Nessantico will fall, too-again-if Firenzcia doesn’t come to her aid. Do you agree with that?”

Sergei nodded. “I do. Emphatically. Commandant ca’Talin is an excellent leader and I have nothing but respect for his martial skills, but he doesn’t have the resources he needs.”

“Why should I provide them?” Jan asked. “Why shouldn’t I let the Tehuantin flail against Matarh’s Garde Civile? Even if they do take the city, they’ll be so wounded in the process that I could take them with half the army I have here, and take the Sun Throne for myself-without waiting, without this treaty she’s sent. The Tehuantin will likely even take care of the Morelli problem. That’s what Starkkapitan ca’Damont and Archigos Karrol are advising me to do.” From down the table, ca’Damont grunted assent. “Why shouldn’t I follow their advice, Ambassador?”

Sergei sat silent for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his nose. “Because you’re a better man than I am, Hirzg,” he said. “If it were Brezno facing invasion, and Kraljica Allesandra were considering whether to come to your aid, I might give her the same advice the Starkkapitan and Archigos are giving you now. Remain aloof; let the invaders wear themselves out first, then go in and take everything for yourself afterward. But I know her as well as I know you. She wouldn’t take that advice from me, any more than you will. She would come to your aid, if circumstances were that dire.”

“You’re awfully confident in your assessment.”

“I’m the Crow. I’m Old Silvernose,” Sergei answered with a wry, gap-toothed smile. “And I know that you, Hirzg, even if you were willing to abandon your matarh entirely, you don’t care to inherit a broken empire and a broken city, so ruined that repairing it will make Firenzcia herself a pauper nation. Nessantico holds your heritage, as it does the heritage of everyone in the Holdings or in the Coalition. It is too precious a jewel to simply cast away.”

The man was warped and twisted. His predilections were odious. But Jan knew of no one alive who knew the intrigues of the nations so well-and the man had once saved his life, as well as his matarh’s. And, in this, he was right.

Jan nodded. With Sergei’s words, the decision had come to him, falling into place and erasing all the doubts. “That is why I will sign the treaty,” he told them. “I will take Matarh’s offer, and we will ride to Nessantico-if only to preserve the empire that will one day be mine.”