A Magic of Nightfall

The Battle Begun: Sergei ca’Rudka

For most of the morning, Sergei had ridden alone in the midst of the Firenzcian troops, lost in ruminations that were keeping at bay-at least for a bit-the growing ache in his back from the long ride. His thoughts had not been kind or gentle ones. And his body was no longer used to long days in the saddle, nor to evenings spent under a tent.

You’re getting old. You won’t be here much longer, and you have much to do yet.

“Regent, I would talk with you.”

At the hail, Sergei glanced over, seeing the stallion draped in the colors of Firenzcia that had come alongside him unnoticed. Old. Once, you would never have missed his approach. “Hirzg Jan,” he said. “Certainly.”

The boy brought his war stallion alongside Sergei’s bay mount, the mare’s ears flicking nervously and rolling her eyes at the much larger destrier. Jan said nothing at first, and Sergei waited as they rode along the Avi, dust rising in a cloud around them. The army was approaching Carrefour, with Nessantico another good day’s march farther. The Nessantican forces had vanished, dissolved; gone the afternoon of the parley. “Matarh says that you have lost two good friends,” Jan said finally.

“I have,” Sergei told him. “Aubri cu’Ulcai was on my staff for many years in both the Garde Kralji and the Garde Civile, before I was named Regent. He was a good man and an excellent soldier. I don’t look forward to speaking to his wife or his children and telling them what happened. I especially don’t relish telling them that his loyalty to me was responsible for his death.” Sergei rubbed at his metal nose, the glue pulling at his skin as he frowned. “As for Petros… well, there wasn’t a gentler person in the world, and I know how important his friendship was to the Archigos. I don’t know what the news will do to Archigos Kenne. Killing them was cruel and unnecessary, and if Cenzi grants me a long enough life, I will make certain Councillor ca’Mazzak regrets the pain he’s given to me and those I care about.”

The young man nodded. “I understand that,” he said. “I truly do. Someday, I will find out who hired the White Stone to kill my Onczio Fynn, and I will kill that person myself and the White Stone with him. I liked Fynn. He was a good friend to me as well as a relative, and he taught me a lot in the short time I knew him. I wish he’d been alive long enough to teach me more about…” He stopped, shaking his head.

“There’s no book learning one can do to be a leader, Hirzg,” Sergei told Jan. “You learn by doing, and you hope you don’t make too many mistakes in the process. As to revenge: well, as I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that the pleasure one gets from actually achieving the act never matches that of the anticipation. I’ve also learned that sometimes one must forgo revenge entirely for the sake of a larger goal. Kraljica Marguerite knew that better than anyone; that’s why she was such a good ruler.” He smiled. “Even if your great-vatarh would disagree strongly.”

“You knew them both.”

Sergei couldn’t quite tell if that were statement or question, but he nodded. “I did, and I had great respect for both of them, the old Hirzg Jan included.”

“Matarh hated him, I think.”

“She had good reason, if she did,” Sergei answered. “But he was her vatarh, and I think she loved him also.”

“Is that possible?”

“We’re strange beasts, Hirzg. We’re capable of holding two conflicting feelings in our heads at the same time. Water and fire, both together.”

“Matarh says you used to torture people.”

He waited a long time to answer that. Jan said nothing, continuing to ride alongside him. “It was my duty at one time, when I was in command of the Bastida.”

“She says the rumors were that you enjoyed it. Is that part of what you were talking about-the ability to hold two conflicting feelings in your head?”

Sergei pursed his lips. He rubbed again at his nose. He looked ahead of them, not at the young man. “Yes,” he answered finally, the single word bringing back all the memories of the Bastida: the darkness, the pain, the blood. The pleasure.

“Matarh is, or was, anyway, Archigos Semini’s lover. Did you know that, Regent?”

“I suspected it, yes.”

“Even though she loves him, she was willing to sacrifice him and hand him over for judgment as U’Teni Petros asked. She’d made that decision; she told me so herself when she came back from the parley. ‘Let his sins be paid back in lives saved,’ she told me. There wasn’t a tear in her eye or a trace of regret in her voice. The Archigos.. . he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know how close he was to being a prisoner. For all I know, the two of them may even still…” He stopped. Shrugged.

“Water and fire, Hirzg,” Sergei said.

Jan nodded. “Matarh said that you love Nessantico above us all. Yet you ride with us, you saved Matarh and me in Passe a’Fiume, and you would put Matarh on the Sun Throne.”

“I would, because I’m convinced that would be best for Nessantico. I want to see the Holdings restored, with Firenzcia once again its strong right arm.” Sergei paused. They could see the first outliers of Carrefour before them in the road, the tops of the buildings rising beyond the trees. “Is that also what you want, Hirzg?”

Sergei watched the young man. He was looking away, over the long line of the army stretched along the road. “I love my matarh,” he answered.

“That’s not what I asked, Hirzg.”

Jan nodded, still gazing at the armored snake of his army. “No, it’s not, is it?” he answered.