A Magic of Nightfall

Jan ca’Vorl

The temple at Brezno was smaller than the Archigos’ Temple in Nessantico, and not as venerable and sacred a place as the Old Temple on the Isle a’Kralji (or with as impressive a dome). But Brezno’s dome and several of its famous frescoes had been painted by the great Firenzcian artist cu’Goslar, and they were stunning. Cu’Goslar’s oddly-elongated figures loomed and twisted over the supplicants at the temple, draped in gauzy clothing or sometimes nothing at all: Cenzi, yes, was prominent, but there were also those of Firenzcia who had been important to the Faith. There was Gareth ca’Lang, the first a’teni of Brezno, his sword lashed to his handless arm as he fought his hopeless battle against the heretics of the Karinthia Sect; there was Pewitt the Hopeless, the Moitidi swarming around him, tearing and ripping the flesh from his living body, mocking the man by consuming his body as he watched in torment; there was Ursanne ca’Sankt, the great martyr who many thought would have been Archigos had she lived, desperately trying to fend off her Tennshah rapists, from which unwilling union would come the great Firenzcian Starkkapitan Adalwulf, who would later drive off the Tennshah from their settlements around Lake Firenz.

Jan was surrounded by history and swaddled in faith-driven fury. It seemed appropriate. His reconciliation with the realization that his matarh intended to vie for the Sun Throne had been a struggle as titanic as any of those depicted here, it had seemed to him. He’d confronted her after his long talk with Sergei ca’Rudka. But in the end, he had told her that he understood, even if he didn’t approve. Jan wasn’t certain if that was the truth or that after their several turns of argument, the statement at least let him get some sleep, but she had accepted it.

Jan had accompanied Allesandra to the temple at Archigos Semini’s request, and he stared upward at the dome as they waited for him. “I remember the first time I saw these paintings,” he said, trying to fill the awkward silence. “They scared me; I thought they were ghosts. I could imagine them moving, and coming down from the painting to chase me…” He laughed; it seemed that he had laughed far too little since the events that had ended with him as Hirzg. “Now I think they’re just overdramatic, and not all that well-painted.”

“Don’t tell Semini that,” his matarh said to him. “He loves cu’Goslar… Ah, there he is.”

Semini was striding quickly toward them from behind the High Lectern on the quire. Midway between Second and Third Call, the temple was mostly deserted, and the gardai who had quietly entered before Jan and Allesandra now stood silently several strides away, having emptied the main chamber of all straggling visitors. They were as alone as it seemed possible for him to be lately.

“My Hirzg,” Semini boomed, his voice reverberating from the dome above as he gave the sign of Cenzi to Jan. “And A’Hirzg.” Jan saw him smile at her-Semini seemed almost ready to take her hand, though that would have been a terrible breach of etiquette. But he stopped a careful few steps from her, closer than perhaps he should be, but not so close as to be extraordinarily obvious. Some of the irritation returned to Jan-he could hardly blame his matarh for pursuing an affair when his vatarh had betrayed her so many times. Yet the knowledge bothered him. The vision of the two of them together, their bodies entwined as his had been with Elissa… No-he shivered, shaking away the vision.

“Thank you both for coming,” Semini continued, still looking more at Allesandra than Jan. “As I said, a message has been delivered to me, with-I’m told-an identical message for the Hirzg. I have it here.”

He handed Jan a sealed, rolled parchment, watching as Jan examined the stamp in the blue wax-the mailed fist that was Nessantico’s sigil since Kraljiki Justi’s time. Jan unfurled the paper and scanned the inked words there with a rising fury. He could almost hear his Onczio Fynn’s voice rising inside him-he knew how Fynn would have reacted to this. Silently, his lips pressed tightly together, he handed the parchment to Allesandra; he heard her draw in her breath almost immediately. Wordlessly, she handed the scroll back to Jan.

“How dare he talk to us this way?” Jan spat. He opened his hands, letting the paper fall to the marble-tiled floor. The word “dare” echoed in the chamber long after he’d finished. It seemed to stir the gardai, who shifted nervously. “He talks to us as if Nessantico still ruled Firenzcia. ‘Return the former Regent to us in a month, or we will take decisive action to recover him.’ How dare he make such threats?” Another echo. “Let him try-we’ll crush him.”

He glanced upward at the dome. Ghosts… None of them would tolerate this; I can’t either. This is a slap in the face.

“Jan, I understand your feelings; believe me, I have the same reaction,” his matarh said.

“ ‘But…?’ ” Jan spat angrily, turning to her. “Is that what you’re about to say, Matarh? ‘But…’ What possible ‘But’ could there be?”

Strangely, she smiled. “My dear, you sound like Fynn, or perhaps Vatarh. I’ve heard them both roar just like that when they thought themselves insulted.”

Her amusement served only to increase his irritation. He glanced past Semini to the mural behind the High Lectern, at the bloody strips of Pewitt’s flesh clutched in the clawed hands of the Moitidi, trying to stifle his annoyance.

“The ‘But,’ my son, is what we’ve been considering,” she continued. “Perhaps this is just the opportunity we needed. The excuse to act.”

“The excuse?” he began. For a moment, he felt much younger, a child again. “Oh,” he said. That word did not echo at all. It floated in the air between them, lost in the great expanse of the temple. He looked down at the paper half-unrolled over the marble tiles, the suspicion growing in him. “Strange that a message like this would lead to exactly the situation you wanted, Matarh. A bald provocation against us by Nessantico. What wonderful timing.” He raised his eyebrows toward her.

She was shaking her head in denial. “I knew nothing of this until now,” she told him. “I had nothing to do with it. The message is genuine. Ask the Archigos.”

Semini nodded hurriedly. “The letters came sealed and via diplomatic routes,” he said. “If the Hirzg doubts that, I can have the courier brought here.”

Jan waved a hand, looking away from them toward the murals of the dome. “No. There’s no need. It’s just…” His gaze came back to his matarh. “It would seem that Cenzi wants what you want, Matarh.” Perhaps it was coincidence. His matarh had appeared genuinely shocked. Perhaps this was a sign. He was not delighted by the prospect.

“Oh, indeed,” Semini responded. “The Kraljiki has played directly into our hands, or Cenzi has caused him to do so. The Kraljiki has threatened the Coalition and our Faith directly, and we have no choice but to respond to protect our borders and our interests. This is the moment, Hirzg. This is the time. Much of Nessantico’s Garde Civile has been sent westward to the Hellins; it will take time for them to muster the chevarittai and the remaining Garde Civile, to prepare the war-teni who remain available to them, and to draft the necessary foot soldiers they would need to make good this threat.” Semini smiled, nodding to Allesandra. “Your matarh knows this. It’s time for you to show your generalship, and take the Garde Civile and the chevarittai of Firenzcia to war. You will restore the Holdings to the whole it once was, Hirzg Jan, and your name will be remembered forever for that.”

“I don’t know…”

“I do,” Allesandra told him. Her voice was firm and proud. “You’re ready for this, Jan.”

He hesitated. He was still bothered that she would use him for her own purposes; he was also troubled by his own uncertainty as to whether he could be the Hirzg that he wanted to be. “I also think that a good Hirzg listens to the message even when he has difficulty with the messenger.” Sergei’s words. They calmed him. They decided him.

A breath later, he nodded. “You were right the other night. I’ll need to consult with Starkkapitan ca’Damont and the chevarittai. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, Matarh?”

If she heard the faint mockery in his voice, she didn’t react to it. “I’ll come with you, Jan. I know the Starkkapitan, and I know the Garde Civile. I can be your mentor in this. Go on and have Roderigo summon them. I’ll follow in a moment.”

Jan’s eyebrows rose, annoyed at the obvious dismissal, but he gave Semini the sign of Cenzi and bowed slightly to his matarh. “Thank you for relaying this information, Archigos,” he told Semini. “We will need your strength and guidance in this. Matarh, I will talk with you later.”

He left them, all but a few of the gardai forming around him as he departed the temple. “Your son will be a fine Hirzg,” he heard Semini growl in his low voice as he reached the doors. He assumed that it was timed so he would overhear it and think the praise genuine.

He smiled to himself. He would be a fine Hirzg. He would surprise both of them with just how effective a leader he would be.

He suspected they might not like the result.