The Ruined City Page 28

  “Jianna Belandor.”

  “That’s it. Now you lose the rest of your teeth.” Chenno swung the haft of his halberd at the impertinent maimed mouth. To his astonishment, the weapon was arrested in mid-arc and wrenched almost effortlessly from his grasp. He would never have dreamed that the limping ruin before him possessed such strength. He had scarcely begun to marvel before the halberd swung again, its ax blade sinking deep into his skull.

  For some time Onartino Belandor stood quite still, regarding the dead man at his feet. Eventually his eye rose from the sentry to the gate, which remained closed and locked. Beyond the gate rose the partially reconstructed house, presently out of reach. The atmosphere about him vibrated with a kind of squawking yammer, reminiscent of the call of the Scarlet Gluttons, but more annoying. He let his bloodshot gaze travel, and discovered himself surrounded by excited citizens, all observing from a safe distance. Some internal voice must have advised him to depart. Turning his back on Belandor House, he hobbled away along Summit Street, and all in his path hastily drew aside to let him pass. Moments later, the smoky mists swallowed him whole.

  Nobody presumed to follow.

  FOURTEEN

  Early morning, and the camp was awake and astir, cookfires jumping, pots bubbling, voices babbling. As the Magnifico Aureste emerged from his tent to greet the new day, he discovered a scrap of paper pinned to the canvas flap masking the entrance. How it had come there, placed by what hand, he did not know. His lips tightened. His past experience of anonymous notes was consistently unpleasant. He did not welcome additional unpleasantness now. Nevertheless, he plucked the paper from its place, unfolded it, and beheld handwriting almost familiar as his own, even after all these years.

  Meet me at the fallen tree.

  That was all she had written. No signature, no time specified, no clear identification of the fallen tree. She had known that none would be needed.

  He did not bother with breakfast, but lost no time in making his way back a few hundred yards along the faint dirt track that was all that remained of the Nor’wilders Way. His step was brisk, his mind aflame with curiosity tinged with uneasiness; for she would not have summoned him lightly.

  The fallen tree lay several feet from the roadway, its presence partially obscured by weedy undergrowth. Nevertheless, he had noticed it in passing, the previous day’s late afternoon. Indeed, it would have been hard to overlook, for the long prostrate carcass was charred and blasted, presumably by lightning, while the blackened stump still stood upright, dramatically crowned with sharp spars and fragments.

  She was standing beside the stump, her back toward him. She was wrapped in her long, dark green cloak, but the hood was down and the chestnut glint of her hair offered the one touch of warm color in the muted landscape.

  “Magnifica.” He halted at a courteous distance.

  She turned to face him. She was beautiful as ever, but pale and—to him—visibly unhappy.

  “Magnifico. Thank you for coming.”

  “Madam, I am honored to attend you.” What’s wrong, Sonnetia?

  “I’ve requested a meeting at this time because I find that I must ask a favor of you.”

  She would hate to ask anything of him. Nothing less than dire need would drive her to it. He produced the correct words. “Madam, it is my privilege to serve you. All my powers and resources, such as they may be, are yours to command.” Now, what is this?

  “You are most generous. Briefly, then—I desire you to speak to your brother Innesq Belandor upon my behalf.”

  “I’ll speak willingly, of course. But you must name a topic.”

  “The topic is my son Vinzille.”

  “A little more specific, please.”

  “I would entreat you to ask your brother Innesq to watch over Vinzille. To guard his health and safety. Your brother’s talents are exceptional. I know he could do this.”

  “I daresay. But—forgive me, madam—are the talents of the lad’s own father not likewise exceptional? The Magnifico Corvestri appears to have forged a certain bond of friendship with my brother Innesq. Even so, I can hardly suppose that he would relish Belandor interference in the private affairs of House Corvestri.”

  “Perhaps he wouldn’t. But my son’s welfare is far more important than the Magnifico Corvestri’s approval.”

  She spoke with her habitual composure, but Aureste, still attuned to every inflection of her voice, caught a note of resentment or defiance that piqued his curiosity.

  “You’ve reason to fear for your son?” he probed cautiously.

  “I’m certain of it. Have you not noticed how ill he’s been lately?”

  “I thought the lad looked peaked for a few days. He’s well now, isn’t he?”

  “Yes—now. He’s improved remarkably overnight. But how long will he remain well? His malady is arcane in nature. Even the Magnifico Corvestri admits as much. But for reasons of his own, my husband is unwilling to protect our son. He and I are very much at odds on this.”

  “I see. A most difficult situation,” Aureste sympathized gravely, careful to conceal every outward sign of satisfaction. He and I are very much at odds … The words were music.

  “Your brother will understand the nature of the problem. He has the skill and power to combat it. Beyond that, he’s generous in nature, and seems fond of Vinzille. I believe he will help.”

  “All of that is true, but one point puzzles me. Why do you need or want my intercession? Why do you not approach Innesq directly? Permit me to observe that your powers of persuasion are formidable, far exceeding my own. Moreover, the fears of a mother for her child are compelling, and certain to engage the sympathies of listeners far harder of heart than my brother. Speak to him yourself, Magnifica—he’ll not refuse you.”

  “I can’t speak to him.”

  “Once upon a time, you were less timid.”

  “I’m not timid now.”

  He studied her. Her eyes were downcast, her face colorless. She appeared agitated, unhappy, and even, he fancied, embarrassed or ashamed.

  “Then what is the difficulty?” he asked, as gently as he knew how.

  “My husband has forbidden it.”

  “Is that all? Surely you don’t trouble yourself over such a trifle?”

  “A husband’s legal authority is no trifle. Ask any magistrate.”

  “True enough, but in this case a technicality, surely? The magnifico would scarcely presume to enforce it.” The little pipsqueak wouldn’t dare. “It’s my understanding that he’s always afforded you the greatest respect, as indeed he should—House Steffa stands behind you.”

  “House Steffa has declined, and I doubt that its present master would concern himself overmuch with the complaints of a kinswoman who married into House Corvestri so many years ago. As for the Magnifico Corvestri, your understanding is correct—he has always afforded me respect. Until lately, that is. Lately he has altered.”

  “How and why?”

  “He displays a peculiar determination to assert mastery within his household. I say ‘peculiar’ because it’s redundant. His position as head of the family has never been challenged or questioned. Certainly not by me. I’ve always taken care to address the Magnifico Corvestri with the courtesy and deference that his position demands.”

  That can’t always have been easy. He had a sudden sense of her courteous, deferential life, and unwonted sympathy touched him.

  “But it hasn’t been enough. In recent weeks, he’s been treating me like some sort of unruly Sishmindri in want of discipline,” Sonnetia continued. A flush of color had crept into her cheeks. As she spoke, the rigid formality of her speech insensibly relaxed. The words hurried out as if released from prison. She looked and sounded years younger. “He’s turned into a bullying tyrant, and I don’t know why. I’ve an idea, but I don’t know for sure. I keep telling myself that it’s all temporary—that the troubles will end and he’ll be himself again—but time passes, and it doesn’t happen.”

  “
Has that creature dared to raise a hand against you?”

  “No, no, he hasn’t, so far.”

  “So far?”

  “Sometimes I think—but no, he’s never struck me. Probably he never will. I’ve told him I won’t endure it.” She paused and frowned, as if wondering at herself. “I can hardly believe that I’m speaking aloud of such things—and to you, of all people.”

  “Once in a quarter century or so can’t hurt.”

  “Probably it would have been best if I hadn’t insisted on coming along on this trip. I could have stayed at home, had some time without him, and it would have been so sweet, so free. But I was worried about Vinzille, you see. I wanted to watch over him, and it turns out that I had cause to fear. He’s been attacked in some arcane sort of way. His father won’t protect him, and when I told Corvestri that I meant to seek assistance elsewhere, that’s when things got worse than I ever expected.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was furious. Told me he wouldn’t allow me to humiliate him. Told me that he’d confine me to our carriage if I disobeyed. And finally, suggested that I’m likely to find my powers of speech suddenly curtailed, along with my ability to write.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. So you see, I really can’t approach Innesq. But nobody’s forbidden me to speak to you.”

  “But this is unbelievable. Are you telling me that the little scorpion is actually threatening to turn his arcane power against his own wife?”

  She nodded.

  “Arcanists don’t do that, at least not openly. There are civil and criminal laws in Vitrisi, not to mention generally accepted codes of conduct. Ethical standards. Quite stringent, I’m told.”

  “Perhaps a little less stringent, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We’ll see about that. We’ll learn the verdict of his peers when I tell every single one of them, including the Taerleezis, exactly how he’s abused you.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Do you think I want to cause discord among the arcanists? They need to work together, ‘as one,’ as your brother puts it. That’s difficult enough under the best of circumstances. You mustn’t do or say anything to make it harder. Think of our purpose, and hold your peace.”

  “Very well, I’ll say nothing to the arcanists. I’ll simply go to the Magnifico Corvestri and inform him quietly that he will honor you as you deserve, else I’ll personally thrash him to within an inch of his life.”

  “You will not. Don’t make me sorry that I’ve confided in you.”

  “Why confide in me at all if you don’t expect me to act? Shall I hear you describe your ill treatment at the hands of an unworthy man and do nothing? What do you want of me?”

  “I’ve already told you. I want you to ask your brother Innesq to watch over Vinzille. That’s all I ask.”

  “Not enough.”

  “More than enough. You’ll have to content yourself with granting small favors.” She offered him a smile at once ironic and forlorn.

  He had, without conscious intention, drawn near her as they spoke. Now he stood close enough to catch her faint, clean fragrance. For a moment the urge to touch her was almost overpowering. He mastered it with an effort and stood very still, looking down into her eyes.

  “They are together,” Nissi whispered.

  “You’re certain?” Yvenza demanded.

  The white head bobbed. The moonbeam eyes remained shut.

  “What do you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t quibble. What do you perceive, then?”

  “Their tracks upon the epiatmosphere have come together.”

  “Epiatmosphere? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Where are they?”

  “They have gone back the way we came. Not far.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Do not know, or will not say?”

  No answer.

  “Look deeper,” Yvenza commanded. “Try harder. Put some effort into it.”

  “That … will not help.”

  “I insist.”

  Nissi’s brow creased. Her hands began to shake. Her eyes opened and sought the ground.

  “It is gone, now,” she confessed, almost inaudibly.

  Yvenza regarded her trembling protégée narrowly. “So I see. You’re too easily distracted. Your concentration’s weak. You must improve.”

  Without raising her eyes, Nissi nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Work on it every day. That’s what your friend Innesq Belandor would tell you, isn’t it?”

  No audible or visible response.

  “In the meantime you’ve given me enough, assuming that you’re right. I’m relying on your accuracy. If you misinform me, I’ll look foolish—something I don’t enjoy. You, with your talents, can surely foresee the consequences.”

  Nissi wrapped both arms tightly about herself.

  “But come, girl. Behave properly, and we’ll do well enough. For now, your first concern is self-improvement. I want you to practice long and hard. You understand me? Practice.” Without awaiting confirmation, Yvenza turned and walked away. Her quick paces soon carried her across the campsite into Corvestri territory, where the servants were engaged in dismantling the tents and harnessing the horses. The morning cookfires still burned, and beside one sat the Magnifico Corvestri, balanced upon a collapsible stool and peacefully consuming his breakfast.

  She went straight to him and halted.

  “Magnifico, I bid you good morning.” An amiable, courteous inclination of the head accompanied the greeting.

  Vinz glanced up with a look of surprise and rose to his feet at once. “Magnifica Yvenza. I am honored, madam. Good morning to you. Pray be seated. Will it please you to share the morning meal with me?”

  “I thank you, sir, but no. I would not presume so far upon your good nature. In fact, I do not mean to trouble you at all, but come only in search of your lady wife. I am here to beg a favor of her, but it seems she hasn’t yet returned to hear my suit.”

  “A favor? Perhaps I can assist you, madam?”

  “Oh, I doubt it, sir. Unless, perhaps, you’ve spent a considerable span of time toiling in a stillroom. I’m told that the Magnifica Corvestri has devised or possesses a sovereign remedy for the grinding joints, and I would beg the recipe of her. But it seems that she hasn’t yet returned.”

  “Returned?”

  “One of your fellows told me an hour or more ago that the Magnifica Sonnetia had walked off. No doubt she’ll be back soon enough. I’ll catch her up sometime today. There’s no call for haste.”

  “Walked off? Walked off?” Vinz Corvestri’s affability congealed. “I don’t know what you mean. She hasn’t gone anywhere. What fellow of mine told you this? Who spoke of her? Point him out.”

  “Magnifico, you appear displeased.”

  “Indeed I am displeased, and with reason. The Magnifica Corvestri should not risk her safety wandering about on her own, out here in the wild. If one of the guards saw her walking away, he should have followed and protected her, whether she would or no. The guard was remiss. Which of them was it?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t say, I hardly marked. But truly, you’ve no cause for concern. The lady never wandered off on her own. She was, I’m told, accompanied by the Magnifico Aureste Belandor, who’s doubtless capable of furnishing all the protection that any frail female could possibly need or desire. Your wife is safe in the hands of a great nobleman. Therefore, sir, be at ease.” Smiling, she bobbed a reassuring nod.

  Vinz Corvestri failed to take her advice. His face appeared to crack in places and resettle. For a moment he stood staring through her, then collected himself so far as to mutter a nearly incoherent promise to send his wife to the Magnifica Yvenza at the first opportunity. With that, he turned and hurried away.

  Had his tent remained standing, Vinz would have sought that refuge. As it was, he made do with the shelter and comparative privacy of the Corvestri
carriage. Once inside, he pulled all the shades down, excluding the eyes of the world and throwing the small space into deep gloom. For a few moments he sat there, jaw tight, belly aflutter with apprehension and nauseating suspicion. Very soon, however, the expertise born of endless practice enabled him to compose himself. He sat, breathing deeply and slowly. Presently he swallowed a small white lozenge that further cleared and expanded his mind, permitting suppression of all guilt over the personal use of precious arcane power. It was, as his wife would have it, a legitimate and necessary expenditure.

  A small satchel stocked with an assortment of carefully chosen items reposed beneath the seat. Vinz retrieved the satchel, drawing therefrom a flask of clear, colorless liquid that was not water, and a shallow bowl. He set the bowl upon his knees, poured a quantity of fluid into it, laid the flask aside, and went to work.

  So deeply satisfying, to drink strength at the Source once again after much deprivation, but he was in no fit state to enjoy it. His technique was far more sophisticated than Nissi’s, granting him visual access to subjects sufficiently close at hand. He flexed his mind, and the sharp, clear images formed themselves in the bowl.

  At the moment he could see the little pictures easily, despite the dimness of the atmosphere. And it was as she had said, as he had known it would be—

  His wife and Aureste Belandor, off somewhere out of sight, together. At least the two of them weren’t touching. Both were fully clothed, standing up, and not touching. They were talking, though. Their mutual attention appeared intensely focused, their conversation meaningful to both, and he couldn’t hear a word of it. No arcane procedure or sequence presently at his command would allow him to listen in.

  Vinz’s ravenous gaze shifted from face to miniature face. He soon discovered that he lacked the ability to read lips. He could distinguish a word here and there, nothing more; not enough to tell him anything. But the faces—he could not look away from them. Both were so animated, so expressive—although of what, exactly, he did not know. Especially hers. She was standing close to Aureste Belandor, looking up at him, and her face was mobile, changeable, while her eyes were filled with something atypical. Tears? No—light. Her eyes were brilliant, remarkably alive. He had never seen her look quite like that before. He had not even known that she could. He had some vague sense then that in all the long years of their marriage, he had never really beheld her full beauty. She had always managed to withhold something, and he had deemed her cool or remote by nature—a creature lovely, graceful, and essentially unreachable as some exquisite fish glistening in a garden pool.