The Ruined City Page 10

  “We digress,” observed Innesq. “I am trying to tell you that we have received affirmative replies from three sources. Ojem Pridisso of Iron Hill and Littri Zovaccio of Frinnasi will both embark from Taerleez within hours. Needless to say, they will use all arcane skills at their command to speed their own journey. As for young Nissi, she is already on the move. With the addition of Vinz and myself, that is a total of five arcanists of the Six.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that you need half a dozen?” Aureste objected.

  “That is the traditional quorum. An examination of the old accounts, however, leads me to believe that five should suffice. And who knows? Perhaps others will join us.”

  “What if it’s the opposite? Suppose someone backs out, gets sick, dies, or simply disappears?”

  “Ah, then we have reason to fear. I hold fair confidence in the combined power of five genuine talents, but that is the minimum. We cannot make do with less. But come, do not look so grim. Remember, this is no impossible undertaking. The cleansing of the Source by human agency has been accomplished in the past upon several documented occasions. Are we less skilled and determined than our ancestors? Can we not do what those who went before us have already proved possible? It is a challenge that others have met, and we shall do as well, or better. Will you believe that?”

  “At the moment I’m concerned less with belief than logistics,” Aureste told him. “These arcanists you’ve secured—are they coming here, to Vitrisi?”

  “No, we have agreed to meet at the Quivers. It is thought that the Source’s underground circuit throughout the Isles approaches the surface at that locale, but nobody truly knows. Whatever the reason, the site is undoubtedly infused with power certain to support our efforts.”

  “And how do you propose to travel? You’re scarcely accustomed to gadding about on your own.”

  “I anticipate little if any solitary gadding. Vinz has invited me to travel with his party.”

  “Has he indeed? Now, there’s generosity for you.”

  “Truly. His attendants will look after me well enough.”

  “No they won’t. D’you imagine I’d allow it?”

  “Allow?”

  “Pardon me, I choose my terms poorly. I know too well that I can’t stop you, once you make up that obstinate mind, but a moment’s thought will surely persuade you. To begin with, consider the loss of personal dignity. You, a Belandor, abroad in the world without benefit of your own vehicle, horses, servants, Sishmindris, bodyguards, weaponry, provisions, and all other necessities. You, occupying a few spare inches in the Corvestri’s second-best carriage, like some penniless spinster aunt. It won’t do.”

  “He’s right, Innesq,” Nalio interjected. “Only think how it would look!”

  “I believe the Belandor family honor capable of sustaining the blow,” Innesq reassured them kindly.

  “Appearances are scarcely the greatest cause for concern,” Aureste continued. “Once you assume the role of Vinz Corvestri’s passenger and dependent, you place yourself entirely in his power. You’ll be out in the wild, far from family and friends, unprotected, and there he’ll do as he pleases with you—torment or kill you for the sake of the hatred he bears our House, or perhaps he’ll simply content himself with ripping the knowledge and arcane secrets out of your head, thus adding your wealth to his own mental hoard.”

  “These are idle fears. I assure you, Vinz fully comprehends the gravity of the situation, and he has set aside personal animosity, for the moment at least. I trust him for that.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, but I cannot afford to stay for your approval. There is no time to be lost, and I fear we have tarried too long already. Therefore, since I have made no arrangements of my own, I am obliged to embark with Vinz Corvestri tomorrow morning.”

  “No you aren’t,” Aureste informed him. “I feared something of this sort, so I’ve made arrangements on your behalf. There’s the small brown carriage, which is light in weight and capable of navigating difficult roads. When the roads cease, there’s a sedan chair for you. The guards and servants have been selected and they’ve received their preliminary instructions. The supply wagons are fully loaded and ready to move.”

  “Really, you are most efficient and generous, but I hardly think—”

  “Rest assured, when we set forth for the Quivers, we shall travel in a style befitting two members of House Belandor.”

  “We? Pardon me, but surely you did not mean—”

  “I mean that I’ll accompany you on this expedition. You appear thunderstruck. I trust my presence isn’t entirely distasteful to you?”

  “No, certainly not. You have taken me by surprise, that is all. I must confess, I do not quite see your motive. What point in going, Aureste? What precisely do you expect to accomplish?”

  “I’ll safeguard Belandor interests. I’ll see to it that you take no harm in the midst of the Corvestri vipers.”

  “No need. What will it take to convince you that the interests of Houses Belandor and Corvestri have currently merged?”

  “You are brilliant and talented, but not a worldly man. You must grant my superior knowledge of the world, and listen when I tell you that it’s fatal to trust in the honesty of our enemies. Don’t trouble to argue the point. I won’t abandon you to the questionable mercies of Vinz Corvestri, and there’s an end to the matter. Tomorrow morning we head north toward the Quivers in our own party, among our own people. Resign yourself.”

  “I see that I shall not dissuade you. But what of your search for Jianna?”

  “About to expand in a new direction. As we travel north, I’ll question the locals and spread word of the reward that I offer.”

  “And if she returns to Vitrisi to find you absent?”

  “If I thought that likely, then nothing would pry me out of this city. But weeks have passed, and I’ve given up hope that she’ll simply appear at our door. Something prevents her. If I should happen to be wrong about that, however, then she’ll be welcomed home by her uncle. During our absence, Nalio is left in charge.”

  “I shall—shall—shall not disappoint you, brother.” Nalio’s narrow face flushed with pleasure. “Your trust in me is not misplaced.”

  “I know it isn’t.” Aureste decided to throw his youngest brother a scrap. It was good policy, after all, to reward a faithful underling. “And while we are gone, you are authorized to proceed with the restoration of Belandor House. The work you’ve already done in cataloging damages and necessary repairs is outstanding. I know that the same care and discriminating judgment will shape the future of our home. Carry on as you’ve begun, brother, and we shall all find ourselves in your debt.”

  “I will—indeed I will!” Nalio’s eyes shone. “I shall bring Belandor House back to its former self, and more. Give me just a little time, and you’ll see!”

  “I’ve every confidence in you. Where are you off to, Innesq?” Aureste demanded as the middle brother pushed his chair away from the table.

  “My room. I must contact the others and inform them of our plans,” Innesq replied. “The vehicles, you say, are ready to move?”

  “Anytime you like.”

  “Very well. We shall depart tomorrow, at first light.”

  “First light” in Vitrisi at this time just barely exceeded no light at all. In the early morning, the heavy mists of winter blending with the ever-present pall of smoke held back the dawn. The streets lay in nocturnal darkness. The rooflights burning overhead barely penetrated the gloom, and there was only the solemn tolling of the hour from the bell tower at the bottom of Summit Street to confirm the arrival of the day.

  Having breakfasted lightly in his own chamber, Aureste was dressed and ready to leave at the appointed hour. Warmly cloaked against the weather, he made his solitary way along the north wing central corridor, down the stairs, through the entrance hall, and out of the building, to discover the brown carriage waiting before the door, along with the loaded s
upply wagons, mounted guards and outriders liveried in slate and silver, assorted menials and footmen presently huddling for warmth. Aureste’s practiced eye scanned the scene by the light of the carriage lamps and the links clutched in the chilly fists of a couple of servants—human servants, for no Sishmindris were to be included in this expedition.

  His orders appeared to have been carried out properly. He nodded, satisfied, but could not arrest the flight of his memory to a similar scene of the not distant past: morning, sharp air, carriage and guards waiting at the door, ready to carry Jianna away. And they had taken her, and she had vanished, solely as a result of her father’s choices … Not the time to think of it.

  He realized that he had halted. Before he resumed progress, the whir of a well-oiled mechanism alerted him to his brother’s arrival. Innesq was there, attended by a brace of those Sishmindris to which he was so unaccountably partial. Aureste caught one of the creatures watching him with its unreadable protuberant eyes, and an odd sense of angry guilt flashed across his mind. Resisting the impulse to turn his face away, he stared back coldly, and the Sishmindri’s gaze fell. Only then did he allow his own regard to shift to Innesq’s face, tranquil in expression, but haggard and terribly pale.

  Tired, and still unwell. Unready to embark upon so demanding a venture, but nothing in the world would stop him.

  Along with Innesq had come Nalio, a wholly superfluous presence. Presumably the junior Belandor deemed it appropriately dutiful to bid his siblings farewell.

  But Nalio did not appear particularly dutiful. He was looking quite unmistakably—cheerful; happier than he had looked, in fact, since the slaughter of his wife. Contentment lurked in the curve of his lips and the luster of his eyes. There could be but one cause. It was the small measure of temporary authority, of course; clearly it had gone straight to his head. For the first and probably last time in all his life, he would rule Belandor House. And rule it at a critical juncture—at a time when hundreds or thousands of small decisions would be made, each decision imprinting itself upon the very structure of the mansion. Now he would be free to pore over his beloved lists and catalogs, to commune with architects, masons, carpenters, plasterers, artists, and artisans of every description, to his heart’s content. His decisions of today and tomorrow might well resonate through the centuries. Of course he was happy. This was his finest hour.

  Innesq’s chair advanced to the carriage and halted. Courtesies and farewells were exchanged, then the attending Sishmindris deftly transferred their charge into the waiting vehicle. Thereafter the wheeled chair was collapsed in accordance with its cunning design and passed to the roof, where it was tied down by one of the human attendants. The amphibians retired in silence.

  Aureste issued a mouthful of new commands to the guards, paused to take leave of the dewy-eyed Nalio, then climbed in and took his seat. The riders deployed themselves and the party embarked.

  In recent weeks he had discovered the luxury of traveling about the city in anonymity. No such option existed now, in the midst of a group so large and conspicuous, but that substantiality furnished its own protection. In the presence of those armed guards, no rocks or refuse pelted the Belandor carriage; no insults or epithets erupted in its wake. They passed through the Clouds without incident, and the navigation of the White Incline proved similarly uneventful.

  Aureste, unconsciously braced against some form of aggression, felt the tension seeping out of him. He let his eyes turn toward Innesq, whose own gaze was fixed on the passing cityscape. Dingy and dark it was, smothered in vapor, devoid of color, and at this early hour largely devoid of life, yet Innesq drank it in with obvious relish. Understandably so: it was unfamiliar to him. He had spent most of his youth and all of his adult life at home. His mind and inner vision had traveled unimaginable realms, but his body had remained sequestered within the confines of Belandor House—entirely by his own choice. Now circumstances had forced him to a different choice, and he appeared to be enjoying the novelty, achromatic though it was.

  On along Harbor Way rumbled the carriage with its satellites, and gradually the grim air lightened a little, buildings began to distinguish themselves, and the street came to life. Human voices rose—the vendors were already at work—and above them, the cries of the Scarlet Gluttons. Innesq smiled at the sound, almost as if those discordant squawks possessed charm. Perhaps for him they did.

  The smoky air was already scratching at the back of his throat. Almost unconsciously—so ingrained had the habit become—Aureste applied a handkerchief to his nose. The linen was scented with the musk of tunnel scitter—difficult to obtain and absurdly costly, but thought to offer the most powerful possible protection against airborne contagion, far outperforming the old-fashioned pomander. In addition to the treated handkerchief, he had taken to drinking infused chicory, and, thus doubly guarded, felt himself safe as a man could reasonably expect to be.

  He saw his brother’s gaze shift, and followed it through a gap in the warehouses lining this section of the street out to the harbor, where the Searcher loomed, just barely visible through the smothering mists. The colossus’ bronze lamp, formerly so brilliant, now glowed faint as a dying ember. Never in all his life, not even at the height of the Taerleezi invasion, had he seen that light so diminished.

  The carriage clattered on, and the Searcher receded behind it. Aureste fell into frowning abstraction, his mind busying itself with a thousand practical details of the journey. Innesq, captivated by the most mundane scenes of city life, watched Vitrisi flowing by. Some minutes passed before they found the way blocked by a barrier of recent construction, its raw planks flaunting the red X of the quarantine.

  “Useless,” observed Innesq. “They cannot contain this pestilence with barriers of wood.”

  “They can at least prevent the diseased rabble from troubling healthy citizens,” Aureste returned. But in this he soon found himself mistaken.

  A change in course, another few moments, and the street widened into a small open square containing a public well. Assorted neighborhood residents had gathered there, buckets empty and likely to remain so, for the way to the water was blocked by a group of the undead.

  There were four of them standing beside the well—two men, a female child, and a being of indeterminate gender—their altered state revealed by the onset of decomposition, unmistakable even by the weak morning light. The Belandor coachman pulled up at once. The wagon drivers and mounted attendants did likewise.

  Annoyed, Aureste looked out, and the reproofs died on his lips. The coachman’s hesitation was excusable; the obstacle was considerable. Unwillingly fascinated, he studied the undead quartet. Deteriorating grey flesh, thin tufts of colorless hair clinging to pallid scalps, filthy rags swathing rust-jointed bodies, and then their eyes, milky and empty … But he did not wish to look at their eyes, and his attention shifted to the hapless locals, who huddled in frightened clumps. Witless sheep, confused and in need of leadership. But then, honesty compelled him to acknowledge, their situation was difficult. He could hardly fault their reluctance to engage the undead. As he knew from personal experience, the plague victims were nearly invulnerable to ordinary methods of attack. Their control demanded the skills of a true arcanist. Therefore he turned to his brother and asked, “Can you do something about this?”

  Innesq said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the undead, his face bloodless. His lips moved, shaping inaudible syllables.

  “We don’t want another meandering detour, we’ve lost too much time as it is,” Aureste persisted. “Clear them off. I know you can.” Still receiving no reply, he added in a lower tone, “I’ve seen you deal with such things.”

  “Quiet,” Innesq commanded.

  “Take care, brother. Even you do not possess unlimited license.”

  “Do you not feel it? Is it not there in your mind and heart?”

  “Feel what? What are you talking about?”

  “The change. Surely you sense it. Push the trifles from your mind an
d let yourself perceive the world.”

  At such moments, Aureste deferred instinctively and without argument to his brother’s superior knowledge. Shutting his eyes and employing a technique taught him by Innesq, he willed his intellect into a state of receptivity. Upon achieving the requisite clarity, he found himself curiously reluctant to open his eyes. More than reluctant—afraid. Formless dread threatened paralysis.

  Nonsense. He opened his eyes, and his dread intensified. It took a moment to understand why; a moment to sort through a jumble of conflicting impressions. Initially he imagined himself transported to another world; or dreaming, or perhaps dead and finally confronting the eternal punishment with which so many optimistic enemies had so often threatened him. But no. Surely he was still alive, still in Vitrisi, still in his own carriage, with his brother sitting in the opposite seat. He was certainly in Vitrisi, for he saw the square, the well, the undead, and the cowed citizens; but saw them now in a different way, distanced and slightly distorted, as if they all belonged to some imaginary realm. They had no weight, no solidity, no home in the world of reality.

  Nor did he himself belong to this place. He was an interloper here, unwelcome and unfit to live.

  Aureste rejected the intolerable sensation with such ferocity that the world was shaken back into its accustomed aspect, or nearly so. A slight wavering of outline remained, which might have been ascribed to the heavy mists. That visual disturbance, combined with a sense of uncomprehending horror, told him that the anomaly persisted.

  “What is it?” he demanded harshly.

  “It is the will of the Overmind,” Innesq replied in a whisper. His eyes never strayed from the undead quartet. Almost he seemed dazed, or perhaps awed. “It uses the physical resources of its hosts to generate its own thoughts and intentions, which are born of the old energy, the energy of the Reversed Source that once animated the ancient world. These sad puppets are the instrument by which the Overmind seeks to re-create its former home.”

  “You’re telling me that those strolling cadavers over there are somehow causing this—whatever it is—this madness, this impossibility?” Aureste’s gesture encompassed an injured universe.