Sergei ca’Rudka
THE PARLEY TENT WAS ARRAYED in the field between the
two forces: just off the Avi a’Firenzcia and about halfway between
Passe a’Fiume and Nessantico. As they approached, Sergei could
already see the shadowed forms of Odil ca’Mazzack and Aubri
cu’Ulcai under the white fabric, along with U’Téni Petros
cu’Magnaoi, there as the Archigos’ representative. The Firenzcian
delegation was Sergei, A’Hirzg Allesandra, and Starkkapitän
ca’Damont, accompanied by the required array of chevarittai and
attendants. Since neither the Kraljica nor Archigos Kenne were
present, the Hïrzg and Archigos Semini, at Sergei’s suggestion,
remained behind. Neither one of them had been pleased with the
arrangement.
“Matarh, I should be there,” Jan had insisted. “I am the
Hïrzg and whatever happens there should be, must
be my decision.” He had glared at Sergei, at
his matarh.
“So it will be, Hïrzg,” Sergei told the young man. “I
promise you that. But for you to be there . . .” He shook his head.
“You are the Hïrzg, as you said. There is no peer in that tent for
you; there is no peer in the tent for the Archigos either. You,
Hïrzg Jan, can’t be expected to parley on equal terms with Odil
ca’Mazzak, who is just a member of the Council of Ca’—you would be
lowering yourself to do so. I can tell you that it’s exactly what
they want you to do. It would be an
admission that the Hïrzg of the Coalition is someone who is lesser
than the Kraljica of the Holdings.”
He had looked to Allesandra and the glowering Archigos
then. “You asked me to give you my knowledge, to help you. That is
what I’m doing here. Appearances matter. They matter a great deal.
They especially matter to those in the Kraljica’s
Palais.”
In the end, with
Allesandra’s support, he had won the argument. Jan, at least, had
been somewhat gracious about it. The Archigos had stalked off
angrily, and they had heard him complaining throughout the
encampment for the next few turns of the glass.
As the Firenzcian
contingent dismounted and servants took their weapons and horses
and offered refreshments, the Nessanticans came forward. Sergei
clasped cu’Ulcai’s arm warmly, smiling at his longtime offizier.
“Aubri,” he said, “I wish we could have met again under better
circumstances. I heard what happened with poor Aris . . .” He
clasped the man on the shoulder and gave the sign of Cénzi to
U’Téni cu’Magnaoi. “Petros, it’s good to see you also. How is
Archigos Kenne?”
“He is well, sir, and
sends his blessing to you,” the older man answered.
Sergei leaned close
to the man as he hugged him. “Has Kenne received my messages?” he
whispered into the older man’s ear. “Does he agree?” Sergei felt
Petros’ faint nod. He also saw the appraising glances of both the
delegations on him as he greeted the two men: Allesandra as well as
Odil ca’Mazzak. They were both suspicious; they both had a right to
be. Sergei nodded to ca’Mazzak and took his seat to the left of
Allesandra.
Ca’Mazzak gestured,
and pages came forward to give Allesandra, Sergei, and the
starkkapitän scrolls of heavy parchment. “This is the offer of
Kraljica Sigourney,” ca’Mazzak said as they scanned the words
there. “Your army will be permitted to return to Firenzcia. The
outlaw Sergei Rudka will be handed over to us. Reparations will be
paid by Brezno to the Holdings for the destruction of crops and
livestock by their army, and for the violation of the Treaty of
Passe a’Fiume. If you find the terms acceptable, all that is
required is the signature of the A’Hïrzg as the representative of
the Coalition.”
It was no more than
Sergei had expected. He’d witnessed Holdings arrogance and hubris
too many times before.
Starkkapitän
ca’Damont gave a snicker through his nose, tossing the parchment on
the table. “And how does the Kraljica intend to enforce this, Councillor?” he asked. “With the few
battalions you’ve given Commandant cu’Ulcai? I’ve nothing but
respect for the commandant, who is a fine offizier, but one doesn’t
fight off an angry bear by threatening him with a twig.” He seemed
to realize then that he’d spoken out of turn. His face reddened
slightly. “My pardons, A’Hïrzg. I’m a simple offizier, but these
demands . . .” He swept the parchment
from the table to the floor; a page scurried over to pick up the
scroll but didn’t return it to him.
“The Garde Civile and
the chevarittai of the Holdings are not a twig, Starkkapitän,” ca’Mazzak blustered. He had
puffed up like a toad, sitting erect in his chair, the wattles on
his thick neck shivering. “You underestimate our ability to quickly
field an army when our lands are threatened. It’s a lesson the last
Hïrzg Jan learned; I’m surprised that anyone from Firenzcia feels
the lesson needs to be taught a second time.”
Allesandra appeared
to be still reading the proposal, though Sergei could see her
listening carefully to the exchange. She set the paper down in
front of her and folded her hands over it. “All right,” she said.
“Let’s forgo the posturing, Councillor ca’Mazzak. We all know that
Nessantico is dealing with a threat to the west. We know what
happened to Karnor; we’re hearing rumors that Villembouchure may
have suffered the same fate—perhaps Commandant cu’Ulcai could
enlighten us on that, since I expect he was there when the Holdings
forces were routed? Everyone at this table knows that you haven’t
sufficient forces to challenge us here. So what is it that the
Kraljica really offers?”
Sergei had suggested
this direct tack to Allesandra, but the stab at Aubri cu’Ulcai had
been the A’Hïrzg’s own contribution. The look on Aubri’s’ face was
enough to confirm that her guess had been correct, and Sergei felt
an upwelling of sympathy for his friend.
Ca’Mazzak looked as
if he’d swallowed unripened fruit. He glanced at Petros, who seemed
to be examining the fields past the edge of the tent, then at
Aubri. “The Kraljica is prepared to offer a compromise,” he said
finally. “Let the Hïrzg and A’Hïrzg return to Brezno with their
Garde Brezno. However, Starkkapitän ca’Damont and the remainder of
the army will remain behind to aid in the defense of Nessantico
against the Westlanders, for which the treasury of Nessantico is
willing to bear the expenses. As for the former Regent . . .”
Ca’Mazzak glared at Sergei. “Kraljica Sigourney still demands his
return to face the charges against him, no matter what agreement we
reach here.”
Allesandra stood at
that; a moment later, Sergei, ca’Damont, and the rest of the
Firenzcian contingent followed. “Then we’re done here,” Allesandra
said. “Regent ca’Rudka is an adviser to the crown of Firenzcia, and
we consider him to be the current rightful ruler of Nessantico
until a legitimate Kralji is named. If Regent ca’Rudka wishes to
return to Nessantico on his own to pursue his claims, he may do so.
Otherwise, he is under the protection of the Hïrzg, no matter what
the person you have named Kraljica wishes.” She bowed to ca’Mazzak
and gestured. Sergei smiled broadly at the man. They turned to
go.
“Wait!” It was Petros
who called to them. Allesandra stopped.
“U’Téni?” she asked,
but ca’Mazzak was already spluttering.
“I am in charge of this delegation,” he said to
Petros. “You will speak when I give you permission, U’Téni
cu’Magnaoi.”
“Cénzi is in charge
of my conscience,” Petros told the councillor. “Not you, nor
Kraljica Sigourney. And I will speak.
A’Hïrzg, Nessantico is in desperate circumstances. Commandant
cu’Ulcai would tell you—if he were permitted to speak—how easily
the Westlanders took the cities, towns, and villages they have
ravaged. Nessantico desperately requires all the allies it can
muster now. Archigos Kenne is prepared to negotiate separately from
the Kraljica, if he must, to achieve this.”
“What!” ca’Mazzak sputtered. He was on his feet now
as well, pounding on the table. “No, no, no. We are done here.
U’Téni cu’Magnaoi, you will be transported back to the city to
answer for this. Commandant cu’Ulcai, order your gardai
to—”
Sergei slapped the
table immediately in front of ca’Mazzak, and the man’s mouth shut
with an audible snap. “You’re nothing but the Kraljica’s yelping
lapdog, Councillor,” Sergei told the man, leaning close to him.
“Sit down.”
Ca’Mazzak glared back
and turned to Aubri. “Commandant, you have your orders. You will
take the u’téni into custody immediately.”
Aubri didn’t move,
didn’t respond. Sergei could feel the tension rising in the tent.
He saw hands sliding carefully toward hidden weapons—he had his own
blades, too, one in his boot, another under the blouse of his
bashta, and his ears sang with the hum of his own fear. He hadn’t
been able to contact Aubri beforehand, and if Aubri decided that
his loyalty to the Sun Throne was more than his old loyalty for
Sergei, then . . . Well, then Sergei didn’t know what might happen
here.
“Commandant cu’Ulcai,
this is treason,” ca’Mazack growled. “I will have your head for
this if you don’t do as ordered.”
Aubri said nothing;
his contemplative gaze still on Sergei. The chevarittai, of both
sides, tensed, ready to move. Sergei placed himself between
Allesandra and the table. “I suggest you sit down, Councillor,”
Sergei told ca’Mazzak. “Let U’Téni cu’Magnaoi finish outlining his
offer.”
For several breaths,
ca’Mazzak didn’t stir. His gaze moved slowly around the tent, and
Sergei knew he was assessing who in the tent would follow him and
who would not. Evidently, he wasn’t pleased with the result.
Slowly, ca’Mazzak lowered himself to his chair again. He stared at
his hands.
“Good,” Sergei said.
For a moment, the ringing in his ears diminished. “Petros, what has
Archigos Kenne to offer Firenzcia?”
“Information,” Petros
answered. “We have proof that Archigos Semini was involved in the
assassination of Archigos Ana. We can give you names to verify
that.” Behind him, Sergei heard Allesandra suck in her breath at
the accusation. He wondered at that—she sounded more alarmed than
surprised. “Because Kraljiki Audric was killed in the same manner,”
Petros continued, “we have to suspect that the false Archigos was
also involved in that. If Hïrzg Jan is prepared to try Archigos
Semini for Archigos Ana’s death before his own court, we will
supply him the evidence we have. In return, the Faith of Nessantico
will work with the Faith of Brezno to repair our rift; Archigos
Kenne will call for a Concordance of all a’téni to elect a single
Archigos to rule the Faith, and he will also step down voluntarily
if he is not elected—though any Archigos must take the Archigos’
Temple in Nessantico, not Brezno. Likewise, the Faith is prepared
to acknowledge Allesandra ca’Vörl’s claim to the Sun Throne.
Archigos Kenne will support her before the Council of Ca’ against
Kraljica Sigourney.”
“No!” Ca’Mazzak
hurtled to his feet again, spittle flying from his mouth with the
explosion of the word. “Archigos Kenne will be thrown into the
Bastida for this, and the téni who support him
purged—”
“And if that
happens,” Petros answered calmly, “then Archigos Kenne will order
the war-téni to remain in their temples rather than answer the
Kraljica’s call. How will the Garde Civile and the chevarittai fare
against the Westlanders without the war-téni, Councillor? How will
they stand against the army of the Hïrzg?”
Again, ca’Mazzak sank
back into his seat. He shivered as if with a fever, stroking his
doubled chin. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and under his arms, the
fabric of his bashta had turned dark.
Allesandra touched
Sergei’s shoulder, and he stood aside. She was smiling grimly. The
A’Hïrzg gave the sign of Cénzi to Petros. “You offer all this for
the trial of Archigos Semini?”
Petros nodded to her.
“We trust the Hïrzg’s court to be fair and impartial. And there is
one more thing: all prosecution of the Numetodo must stop.
Immediately. The Numetodo are innocent of any of this. Ambassador
Karl ca’Vliomani must be restored to his previous
position.”
Sergei could feel the
negotiations hanging on the balance point of Allesandra’s answer to
that last point. She was fingering the cracked globe of Cénzi hung
around her neck. His own life hung there also, as well as that of
Petros and Aubri. If he had guessed wrongly . . .
“I will talk to my
son,” Allesandra answered. “I will relay to him everything that has
been said here.” Sergei thought for a moment that this was the
entirety of her answer, that he had lost. But Allesandra took a
long, shivering breath. “I will suggest that the Hïrzg accept the
Archigos’ offer,” she said. “Councillor ca’Mazzak, Commandant,
U’Téni—we’ll return to the parley tent in three turns of the glass
to give you our answer.”
“If Archigos Kenne
has evidence, I will weigh it,” Allesandra had said to Sergei on
the way back. “And if Archigos Semini is responsible for Ana
ca’Seranta’s death, then . . .” She had pressed her lips together
grimly. “Then I am inclined to convince my son to accept the
Archigos’ offer.”
Somehow, she seemed
to have done exactly that, though Sergei had not been present for
that discussion, though everyone in the camp had heard the
occasional raised voices in the Hïrzg’s tent, and Sergei had
especially noted that Starkkapitän ca’Damont had gardai stationed
around the Archigos’ tent.
He wondered what was
happening in the other encampment. Everything there hung on the
loyalties of the Garde Civile and the téni—and Sergei wasn’t
certain how that would play out. He prayed to Cénzi, hoping that He
was listening.
Three turns of the
glass later, Sergei, Allesandra, and the others rode out again
toward the parley tent.
When he’d been
Commandant of the Garde Kralji, decades ago, Sergei had
occasionally felt a shiver when he’d approached the Bastida
a’Drago: a quivering of the spine almost like fear that told him
when something was amiss in the complex beyond the dragon’s
grinning skull.
He felt that shiver
now as their small party approached the parley tent. It was, first
of all, curious that there were no servants moving about, that the
chairs on the Nessantican side of the table were empty. But what
held him, what made his stomach churn and boil, was the realization
that there was something on the table
itself—two somethings, two rounded objects masked in the shadow
underneath the linen flapping in the breeze. He was afraid he knew
what sat there.
“Hold a moment,
A’Hïrzg,” he told Allesandra. “Please. Wait here.”
Sergei nudged his
horse forward alone, gesturing to Starkkapitän ca’Damont to
accompany him. He squinted, trying to force his aging eyes to make
out what it was sitting there. As he approached, he could hear a
faint buzzing sound that grew slowly louder: the whine of
insects.
He knew then, and the
bile rose in his throat. He pulled his horse up, let himself down
from the saddle, and walked into the shade of the
tent.
On the table were two
heads, sticky, clotted blood pooled underneath them, a carpet of
flies crawling over the open eyes and in the gaping
mouths.
Sergei went to his
knees, making the sign of Cénzi toward the gruesome sight. “Aubri,”
he said. “Petros. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Shakily, he rode to
his feet again, going back to the horse. He rode silently back to
the others. Allesandra’s eyes questioned him; she knew also. He
could see it in the way her hand lifted to her mouth before he ever
spoke.
“Councillor ca’Mazzak
has left us his own answer,” he said. “It seems he doesn’t care
what ours might have been.”