A Magic of Nightfall

Sergei ca’Rudka

Sergei found it difficult to believe all that Karl and Varina told him. Sergei had seen the smoke of the fires in Nessantico and the wind had brought its scent to them and he knew that the city suffered, but this: Nessantico conquered, much of it in ruins…

He had not expected this.

There was too much he had not expected. Sergei was feeling very old and frail indeed.

“Archigos ca’Cellibrecca is here? ” Karl said, and Sergei nodded in acknowledgment. Karl’s face was hard and set, his voice clipped and grim. “Then take me to him, Sergei. Let that be the payment for releasing you from the Bastida. Just take me to him and walk away. You don’t need to be involved in the rest.”

“It’s not that simple, Karl,” he said.

“Actually, it is that simple,” Karl retorted. “The man killed Ana, and I want justice for her murder.”

“I can’t give you that,” Sergei told them. “Not here, and not now. But I can tell you that Hirzg Jan has no great affection for the man. I think that the same can be said of A’Hirzg Allesandra-at least for the moment. Karl, let me deal with this. Please.” Sergei looked at Varina for support; she leaned close to Karl.

“Listen to him,” she said. “Or listen to Ana-what would she tell you?”

The trio were in Sergei’s tent in the Firenzcian encampment, where the two had been brought by the first soldiers they’d encountered. Sergei had been amazed and pleased to see the two Numetodo; after their separation, he’d been afraid that they’d been caught and imprisoned, or worse. If their tale had caused him distress, it was the thought of Nessantico laying ruined that was too painful to imagine.

He also knew that the Hirzg and A’Hirzg, at the very least, would also have been informed of their arrival; he was somewhat surprised he hadn’t yet heard from either of them. And when Archigos Semini learned that the Ambassador of the Numetodo was in the encampment… He needed to prepare against that. Allesandra and Jan were another issue; he wasn’t quite certain how they would respond. He’d do his best to protect Karl and Varina, but…

“Karl,” he said. “I promise you this: when the time comes, I will help you with ca’Cellibrecca. The man is a blight and an insult to the robes Archigos Ana wore. We both agree on that. When the time comes, I will gladly help you make his death as painful as you like.” Sergei almost smiled, thinking of Semini ensconced in the Bastida. Yes, that would be delightful. That would be… enjoyable.

Varina’s eyes widened somewhat at the statement, but Karl, tight-lipped, nodded. There was a discreet clearing of a throat at the tent flap a moment later. “Enter,” Sergei said, and the flap opened to reveal one of the Hirzg’s pages. “Regent, Hirzg Jan requests that you bring your two guests-” the boy’s eyes flicked across to Karl and Varina, “-to his tent. He’s set a supper for them and wishes to hear what they have to say.”

“Tell the Hirzg that we’ll be there directly,” Sergei told the page, who bowed deeply and withdrew. “You’ve nothing to fear from Hirzg Jan,” he told the two. He hoped that was the truth. “I rather like the young man. In some ways, he reminds me of myself…”

“Archigos Semini will counsel me that the Numetodo are heretics and liars, and dangerous to me physically as well as to my eternal soul,” Hirzg Jan said.

“Archigos Semini is a liar and a fool, and an ass besides,” Sergei answered. “If I may be forgiven my bluntness, Hirzg.”

Jan grinned. “Sit,” he said to Karl and Varina, gesturing to the table where bread and cheese and a pot of meat stew sat. Plates of dull pewter were set before them. “Enjoy the little comforts we have here in the field, since I can’t give you the full hospitality of Firenzcia.” When they hesitated, Jan’s smile broadened. “I assure you that I share the opinion of the Regent when it comes to Archigos Semini.”

Varina managed a smile; Karl still looked uncertain. “And what is the Hirzg’s opinion of the Numetodo?” he asked.

“One of the things that Regent ca’Rudka has taught me is that I should judge people not by what they are, but by who they are. I have no opinion on the Numetodo yet-until now, I’ve never met one.” Jan gestured at their seats again. “Please…”

Sergei bowed. A moment later Karl did the same, and the three of them took their seats across from Jan. “Will the A’Hirzg be joining us?” Sergei asked.

Jan’s smile vanished at that. “No,” he said, the single word nearly bitten off. Sergei waited, expecting more explanation; none came. He wondered what had happened between matarh and son-he’d had no more than a glimpse of Allesandra for a day and half now. Even while the army crawled at a maddeningly slow pace closer to Nessantico’s walls, Allesandra had kept to a covered carriage, without either her son or the Archigos as company.

But he wasn’t going to ask the Hirzg to explain. Jan was looking instead to Karl and Varina. “I would like to know your story, from your own mouths,” he said.

For the next turn of the glass, that is what they did, with Jan leading the two with occasional questions. Sergei listened for the most part-inwardly amused at some of the explanation that Karl left out from the tale. When Karl described the black sand, and how it had been used by the Westlanders in their assault on the city, and how the makings of more of it were in the city, Jan leaned forward.

“You say that this black sand is the key to the Westlanders’ success? This is the same magic we’ve heard of them using in the Hellins?”

“It’s not magic, Hirzg,” Karl said. “That’s the interesting thing. It’s alchemy. Varina has some idea-from what Talis has said and from the samples I brought back from Uly’s rooms-of how to mix the black sand. I’ve seen-we’ve all seen-the terrible things it can do.” A dark shadow seemed to pass over Karl’s face with that, and Sergei knew what he was recalling: Ana’s assassination. It was a horror that would never be erased from either of their minds. “They set the city afire with it; they killed hundreds. Perhaps thousands. Hirzg, with this black sand, no army needs war-teni or their spells. No armor can withstand it, no number of swords can prevail against it.”

“And you know where the cache of this black sand is?”

Karl nodded. “I do. So does Varina. We can take you there, Hirzg. But the Westlanders will be after it also. Talis… I suspect that he may be already leading them to it. They may already have it.”

“Hirzg,” Sergei interrupted. “I understand why you’ve let your army idle here. I might have made the same decision, if I were you-even though my heart breaks to see the city burning and to hear that the Westlanders are trampling in the ruins of the places I loved most of all in this world.” He rubbed at his false nose, saw Jan staring at the motion, and dropped his hand. “But-if you’re willing to listen to my counsel at all-I would tell you that the time to wait has passed. I’ve witnessed the effects of this black sand, too. If the Westlanders have time to create more of it, then it’s your own soldiers who will pay the price for hesitation. Hirzg, listen to what my friends are telling you. The Garde Civile of Nessantico has been defeated. That battle’s over. We must strike now-not at Nessantico, but at those who defeated her: before they come to Firenzcia.”

Sergei thought that his plea would have no effect. Jan was looking away, his gaze searching the firelit canvas above him as if an answer were written there in smoke. The young man sighed once. Then he clapped his hands and a page entered.

“Call the starkkapitan to come here,” he said to the boy. “There are immediate preparations I need him to make. Hurry!”