Jan ca’Ostheim
THE STORM SHOOK THE TENTS like a dog worrying at a
stubborn bone. Canvas boomed and rattled above Jan so fiercely that
everyone glanced up. “Don’t worry,” he told Brie. “I’ve been out in
worse.”
“I know it’s silly,
but I worry that this storm’s an omen,” Brie answered, and Jan
laughed, drawing her close and embracing her.
“The weather is just
the weather,” he told her. “It means that crops will grow and the
rivers will run fast and clean. It means that the men will grumble
and curse and the roads will be a muddy ruin. But that’s all. I
promise.” He kissed her forehead. “Paulus and the staff will escort
you back to Stag Fall,” he told her.
“I’m not going to
Stag Fall and Brezno. I’m going with you.”
He was already
shaking his head before she had finished. “No. We have no idea how
serious a threat we’re facing at Nessantico. I won’t have our
children orphaned. You’re staying with them.”
“They’re my children
as well,” Brie persisted. “And I will have to answer to them when
they’re older. If you were to die,
they’d want to know why I was so cowardly as to stay
behind.”
“You didn’t go with
me when we put down the rebellion in West Magyaria,” he countered,
though he knew immediately the answer to that. It came as swiftly
as he expected.
“I had just given
birth to Eria then. Or I would have. Besides, Jan, you need me to
be between you and your matarh. The two of you . . .” She shook her
head. “It won’t be a pretty sight, and you’re going to need a
mediator.”
“I can handle my
matarh.” He grasped her shoulders, holding her gaze. “Brie, I love
you. That’s why I can’t have you there. If you’re there, I’ll be
too worried about you.”
He saw her soften at
that, though she was still shaking her head. She wanted to believe
him. And it was true, at least part of
it. He did love her: a quiet love, not the burning intensity he’d
once felt for Elissa, not even the lust that arose with the lovers
he’d taken. He hurried into the opening. “Give Elissa, Kriege,
Caelor, and little Eria kisses for me, and tell them that their
vatarh will be back soon, and not to worry.”
“Kriege will want to
come after you,” Brie told him, “and so will Elissa.”
He knew then that
he’d won the argument. He laughed, pulling her close. “There’s time
enough for that,” he said, “and given the way of things, there will
probably be ample opportunity as well. Tell them to be patient, and
to study hard with the arms master.”
“I’ll do that, and
I’ll be waiting for you as well,” she answered.
She rose on her toes
and kissed him suddenly. Since Rhianna’s sudden departure, since it
had become obvious that it was unlikely that the young woman would
be found, Brie had been far more affectionate toward him. He’d said
nothing to her about what the girl had stolen—though he suspected
that Brie knew. He had especially not told Brie about Rhianna’s
shocking, unbelievable last words. He was still reeling from them,
though he’d made every effort to pretend otherwise. “I’m your daughter. Elissa’s daughter. The White Stone’s
daughter.”
He wanted to shout
his denial of that to the world, yet he found that the words stuck
in his throat like a burr on the hem of his bashta. You found Rhianna attractive because she reminded you of
Elissa—the Elissa you remembered . . . Was it possible?
Could she be his daughter? Could she, or could Elissa, have been
responsible for Rance’s death?
Yes . . . The word kept surfacing in his
mind.
When this war was
over, he told himself, he would find her again. He would put a
thousand men on her trail, he would track her down, he would have
them bring her to him, and he would discover the
truth.
And if she is your and
Elissa’s daughter? There was no answer to that
question.
So Jan smiled at Brie
and pretended that there was nothing between them, as Brie
pretended the same, as he knew she’d pretended before with the
other mistresses he’d taken. They kissed each other again, and Brie
tucked his rain cloak around him as she might have for one of the
children. “You must be careful,” she told him. “Come back to me a
victor.”
“I will,” he told
her. “Firenzcia always does.”
He embraced her again
for a moment, inhaling the scent of her hair and remembering,
instead, the smell of Elissa. Then he released her, and Paulus
lifted back the painted flap of the tent, and he went out into the
rain, pulling his hood over his head.
Starkkapitän
ca’Damont and the a’offiziers stiffened to attention and saluted as
he emerged, and he saluted them in return. Sergei ca’Rudka was
there as well, dry in a carriage. “It’s time,” Jan said simply, and
ca’Damont and the offiziers saluted again, and ca’Damont barked
orders at them as they scattered off to ready their divisions. Jan
strode through the muck to Sergei’s carriage. In the shadows of the
vehicle, Jan could see the gleam of Sergei’s nose. “Ambassador?”
Jan said. “You have what you need?”
In the dimness,
Sergei’s hand touched his diplomatic pouch. “I do, Hïrzg. Your
matarh will be pleased to see this.”
“I suspect she’ll be
more pleased to see the army of Firenzcia,” Jan said. “You’re
certain you don’t want to travel with the army?”
Sergei shook his
head. “I need to return to Nessantico as soon as I can,” he said,
“if only to let her know that help is coming. I can travel much
faster this way. I’ll see you there.”
Jan nodded, and
gestured to the driver. “May Cénzi speed your path,” he said. “And
may this rain stop before the rivers rise.”
Sergei was about to
respond, but they heard a voice hailing the Hïrzg. Jan
turned—Archigos Karrol’s carriage had arrived. The Archigos was
helped down by his téni attendants, holding a large umbrella over
him. Despite that, Jan could see the gold-threaded hem of the
Archigos’ robe was spattered with mud, and the man seemed out of
breath. “My Hïrzg,” the Archigos called out, waving toward
Jan.
“The Archigos seems
upset,” Sergei said. He’d poked his head out from the carriage
window. Rain plastered the few strands of his gray hair to his
skull and bounced from his nose. “I wonder . . .”
“You wonder what?”
Jan asked, but the the Archigos reached them before Sergei
answered.
“My Hïrzg,” Archigos
Karrol said again, giving the sign of Cénzi. “I’m glad that I found
you. I . . .” He stopped, glancing at the carriage and seeing
Sergei. He scowled.
“Go on, Archigos,”
Jan told him. “If you’ve something to say, I’m certain the
Ambassador should hear it as well.”
“Hïrzg . . . I . . .”
The man paused as if to catch his breath. His eternally bowed head
strained to look Jan in the eyes. “I had ordered the war-téni to
meet with me this morning, to give them a final blessing and my
orders, but . . .” He stopped, let his head drop again. The rain
beat a quick rhythm on the umbrella above him.
“But . . .” Jan
prompted, but he already knew. He glanced at Sergei, who had
withdrawn back into the shelter of the carriage.
“Most of them . . .
They’re gone, my Hïrzg. The ones who stayed told me that a message
came during the night, that most of them left the camp afterward.
The note . . .”
“Was from Nico
Morel,” Jan finished for him. He spat. “Cénzi’s
balls.”
The profanity brought
Karrol’s head up again. Rheumy eyes looked at Jan reproachfully.
“Yes, my Hïrzg,” Karrol said. “The note was from Morel. The man had
the audacity to order the war-téni to
stand down, as if he were the Archigos.
I tell you, Hïrzg, once we find these traitors, I will punish them
to limits of the Divolonté. They will never again listen to a
heretic.”
“And in the
meantime?” Jan asked him. “What is my army to do for
war-téni?”
“There are still two
hands of them, Hïrzg.”
“Two hands of ten.
How impressive. Two hands obey you, and eight hands obey Morel.
Perhaps Morel should be the Archigos.
He seems to have more influence than you.”
Archigos Karrol
blinked. “I’m confident that the others will soon see the error of
their ways. Cénzi will punish them, will make them unable to
perform their spells, will haunt their dreams. They will come back,
repentant. I’m confident of that.”
“I’m so pleased to
hear of your confidence,” Jan replied flatly. He heard Sergei
chuckle softly in his carriage.
“What will bring them
back is Nico Morel’s death,” Sergei commented. “If we kill Morel,
we end whatever authority he has.”
“Or we make him a
martyr,” Archigos Karrol retorted, but Sergei answered
quickly.
“No. Nico Morel says
that Cénzi is leading him, that Cénzi protects him, that he is the
voice of Cénzi. If Cénzi allows him to die, then that gives the lie
to everything that Morel claims to be. The Morellis will vanish
like a spring snowstorm.”
“It seems,
Ambassador, that you and the Kraljica have but one answer for any
problem that faces Nessantico,” Karrol muttered.
“And it seems,
Archigos,” Sergei retorted, “that you have none.”
“Enough!” Jan
snarled. He waved his hand through the rain. A lightning stroke
sliced down nearby, and he waited until the thunder passed. “I
expect that you, Archigos, are willing to accompany me—so that I
don’t lose more war-téni than I already have.” The sour look on
Karrol’s face was enough to tell Jan what the Archigos thought of
the idea, but the man managed to lift his hands into the sign of
Cénzi, and said nothing. His attendants all glanced at each other.
“Ambassador, we’re delaying your departure. Tell my matarh to send
either Commandant ca’Talin or one of his a’offiziers riding toward
us as soon as possible, so we can coordinate with the Holdings’
Garde Civile.”
“Certainly, Hïrzg,”
Sergei said. “And I give you my own thanks—you’ll be a fine
Kraljiki.” With that, Sergei tapped on the roof of the carriage
with his cane. “Driver!” he called out. The driver slapped the
reins and the carriage lurched forward, its wheels digging long and
deep furrows in the mud. Jan turned back to the Archigos, still dry
under his umbrella while the cold rain dripped from the oiled
fabric of Jan’s hood.
“We’re leaving before
Second Call, Archigos,” he said. “I would suggest you make yourself
ready.”
“Hïrzg Jan, I’d ask
you to reconsider. I’m an old man, and I have duties to attend to
in Brezno. Perhaps if my staff remains with you . . .” The umbrella
shook as his attendants’ eyes widened.
“I appreciate your
frailty, Archigos,” Jan told him, “but perhaps it’s time you go
examine your temples in Nessantico, since you need to replace
A’Téni ca’Paim, and since once I’m Kraljiki, the seat of the Faith
will be returning there.” Archigos Karrol didn’t reply, his
eternally-bowed back making it appear that he was examining the
muddy hem of his robes of office. “You’re wasting time, Archigos,”
Jan told him. “I’ll expect to see your carriage join the train of
the army in a half-turn of the glass, without any more complaints
or suggestions.”
With that, Jan spun
on his heel. He called out for his horse and weapons, and made his
way to where Starkkapitän ca’Damont waited for him.
