Audric ca’Dakwi
YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT to be
furious. In truth, you must be furious,
so that they will fear you.
He heard his
great-matarh’s voice, her words sparking in his head, her own anger
apparent. He could see the scowl reflected in the painting at his
right hand as he sat on the Sun Throne.
I was the Spada Terribile—the Awful Sword—before I was the
Généra a’Pace, she raged. You must
follow my path, Audric. You must show them the steel before you can
give them the glove of velvet, so that they know the steel is
always inside. Hidden.
“I will,” he told her
grimly. Then he turned to Commandant cu’Falla, standing with his
head down before him, a small bandage around his neck. The Council
of Ca’ whispered in their seats behind the commandant.
“Commandant!” he barked, though the harshness of the word gave him
a spate of coughing. He looked up, his lace kerchief bunched in his
fist, to see cu’Falla staring at him. “You are informing me that
the former Regent ca’Rudka was able to escape the Bastida and my
order of execution?” He had to stop for breath. He could hear the
echo of his voice against the stones of the hall. Lower your voice. You sound shrill, like a child. Show
them that you’re their equal. “I understand,” he said to his
great-matarh, then realized that they were all watching him, and he
pretended that he’d been starting another sentence. “. . . that the
Regent can’t be found in Nessantico, and has likely escaped the
city entirely?”
“Yes, Kraljiki,” the
commandant grated out. His jaw clenched, muscles bunching under his
beard, his lips tightly pressed together after he uttered his
response. He looked as if he were caging the words he wanted to
say, and Audric waved a regal hand in the man’s
direction.
“Go on,” he said.
“Enlighten us.”
“Kraljiki,” he said,
then glanced back over his shoulder to the others. “Councillors.
This was a concerted attack on the Bastida by Numetodo—by how many,
we’re still not certain. The main gates were torn down with a
spell, and I lost two men there when the northern supports fell as
a result. I immediately had the tower where the Regent was being
held locked down, fearing that what would follow would be a direct
assault through the wrecked gates, and I dispatched a rider to the
temple to have téni sent to counter the Numetodo spells. But it
seems that the assault on the gates was merely a feint to draw our
attention. When no attack materialized, I personally took gardai to
the under-corridors of the Bastida, but Ambassador ca’Vliomani and
his cohorts had already made their entrance—probably well before
the attack on the gate.”
“You’re certain the
man you saw was Ambassador ca’Vliomani?” Audric asked.
Cu’Falla nodded.
“Absolutely, Kraljiki. When it was obvious that there was to be no
assault on the gates, I took a squad to the under-corridors, as I
said. We confronted Ambassador ca’Vliomani and the Numetodo Varina
ci’Pallo with the prisoner; there was at least one other Numetodo
in the corridors. They used their spells on us.” He swallowed hard.
“My men and I were incapacitated.”
Audric raised his
eyebrows. “Incapacitated,” he said, rolling the word around as if
tasting it. “But not killed, though I understand that you were . .
. wounded. A scratch on the neck? No worse than the nick of a
razor? How fortunate for us all.”
There was laughter
from the councillors, with Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s snicker
prominent among them. Cu’Falla’s face visibly
reddened.
“Kraljiki,
Councillors, I have known Sergei ca’Rudka since I joined the
Garde,” he said. “He was my commanding offizier and my mentor. He
promoted me through the ranks; he—through your vatarh,
Kraljiki—assigned me my current post as Commandant of the Garde
Kralji. I considered him my friend as well as my superior. I assume
that his friendship is why I and my men are still alive,
Kraljiki.”
Audric didn’t need
his great-matarh’s cackling to propel him from his seat at that. He
pointed an accusing finger at the commandant. “Your friendship and
your relationship with him is why ca’Rudka was allowed to escape
at all,” he roared shrilly, forcing the
cough down. “How convenient that you
are rendered unconscious just at the right moment. How convenient that the Numetodo knew about this hidden
passage from the river. How convenient
. . .” He couldn’t go on. The coughing overwhelmed him then, and he
huddled on the Sun Throne with the lace cloth to his face as his
body was racked. He barely heard the commandant’s litany of
denials.
“My duty is to the
Kraljiki and Nessantico,” cu’Falla insisted. “That supersedes any
friendship I might have with the Regent. I assure you, Kraljiki,
that I did exactly as you ordered. I assure you that I would have
carried out your order to execute the Regent, had you decided that
was to be his fate. Several of my men were injured or killed in the
assault; I would never, never have
allowed that to happen. I would not abandon my duty and my oaths of
service for the sake of friendship. Never.”
Audric was still
regaining his breath, wiping his lips on the lace. Marlon, kneeling
and leaning forward on the steps of the throne’s dais, held out a
new kerchief; Audric took it and gave the servant the stained one.
It was Sigourney ca’Ludovici who answered cu’Falla, and Audric
listened as he coughed softly into the fresh cloth. “Those are
fine, honorable words, Commandant, but . . .” She glanced
portentously around the hall. “Why, I see neither the Regent nor
Ambassador ca’Vliomani in irons before us, and from what we’re
told, all the known Numetodo in the city have fled, too. As the
Kraljiki has said, how convenient that
they had the time and opportunity to do so.”
“Councillor
ca’Ludovici,” cu’Falla said, “I must take offense at these
accusations. As soon as I regained consciousness, I sent out the
Garde Kralji to guard the gates and scour the city; I contacted
Archigos Kenne and had him alert the utilino on their rounds; I
sent word to the Keeper of the Gates and had all the inns and
hostels searched. You can verify all those orders with my
offiziers.”
“But your
friend ca’Rudka and his cohorts managed
to escape this fine, wonderful net you placed around the city,”
ca’Ludovici answered. “How clever of him.” Again laughter followed
from the other councillors.
Audric had regained
his composure. He folded the blood-spotted lace in his hand.
Cu’Falla’s face was now even redder than before and Audric raised
his hand to stop the commandant’s protests. “I hereby decree that
Sergei ca’Rudka no longer has rank at all in the Holdings. Let the
Gardes a’Liste write his name simply as Sergei Rudka henceforth.
The same for Ambassador ca’Vliomani—he is stripped of his
diplomatic status and is now only Karl Vliomani, with no standing
here. When they are found, the penalty for them will be immediate
death.”
He heard the murmur
of pleasure from his great-matarh, and the susurration of agreement
from the Council of Ca’. “As for you, Commandant cu’Falla,” he
said, and cu’Falla straightened his shoulders, seeming to stare
past Audric. “There must also be judgment.”
“Kraljiki,” cu’Falla
said, his chin high, his eyes guarded, “I have family here, and I
have given faithful service to the Sun Throne since my sixteenth
season. I ask you to consider that.”
“We do,” Audric told
him. “We also consider that you have failed your oath and failed
your Kraljiki.” Show them. Show them that you,
too, can be the Spada Terribile. Show them your strength and your
will. Audric pushed himself up from the Sun Throne, tucking
the lace kerchief into the sleeve of his bashta of blue and gold.
He walked the few steps to stand in front of cu’Falla, feeling the
approving gaze of Marguerite on his back. His head came only to
cu’Falla’s chest; he had to lift his head to see the man’s face,
and that made him angry. “We demand the sword of your office,
Commandant.” He held out his hand.
Cu’Falla’s expression
went stern and empty. He unbuckled the belt of his scabbard, the
metal clasps jingling musically. He placed the weapon into Audric’s
outstretched hand. Audric thought he saw a glimpse of satisfaction
in the man’s face as the unexpected weight of the steel nearly made
Audric drop the sword, his hand drooping low and the leather belt
of the scabbard looping on the marble flags of the hall. Audric
half-turned from the man, sliding the blade from the scabbard. The
steel rang: it was a warrior’s weapon, not the polished, engraved,
and bejeweled showpieces most of the Council of Ca’ bore. Audric
held up the blade admiringly, gazing at the fine scratches where
the edges had been recently honed, at the sheen of protective oil
on the surface. A warrior’s blade. A blade that spoke of much use,
and much death.
Audric
smiled.
Without warning, he
brought the blade horizontal and spun quickly on the balls of his
feet, thrusting the honed, triangular point of the sword deep into
cu’Falla’s stomach, grunting at the unexpected resistance of cloth
and muscle. Cu’Falla sucked in a gasping breath, his eyes wide and
mouth open. His hands went around the blade as Audric continued to
push with all his strength, burying the sword deep in the man’s
gut; as blood spread quickly and flowed down the central gutter
toward the hilt that Audric held; as cu’Falla took a second,
rattling breath and blood began to flow from his open mouth; as the
man’s knees buckled and he fell, tearing the sword from Audric’s
grasp; as Audric heard the councillors rise as one from their seats
in horror.
As his great-matarh
laughed inside his head.
That was well done, she told him. Well done indeed!
Audric walked over to
the writhing body and looked down into the dying man’s eyes. “Now
we don’t have to worry about your incompetence at all,” he told the
man. He coughed violently from his exertions, but he didn’t care
about the fine red droplets that spattered the man’s face and
chest. Cu’Falla blinked up at him, staring. Audric wrenched the
blade from cu’Falla’s stomach. He placed the tip over the man’s
chest, feeling the tip slide between his ribs. “And we grant you
one last favor: a quick death.” He put all his weight behind the
hilt and pushed. More blood gushed from cu’Falla’s mouth, and the
man went still.
Excellent! You are indeed my true heir, so much stronger
than your vatarh. . . .
Audric turned to the
Council of Ca’ and spread his bloodied hands wide. Sigourney
ca’Ludovici’s face had gone pale and she stared more at cu’Falla’s
corpse than at Audric.
“It seems we have
need of a new commandant,” he told them.