A Magic of Twilight

lethargically above them. Justi gestured, and the great portcullis of Passe a’Fiume groaned and protested as it was hauled up and the thick oaken gates of the town swung open. Justi’s entourage was small: no more than twenty of the ca’- and-cu’ chevarittai attending him, Commandant ca’Rudka accompanied by two double-hands of the Garde Civile, Archigos ca’Cellibrecca with U’Teni cu’Bachiga of Passe a’Fiume and a half-dozen war-teni from the Archigos’ Temple.

Justi had watched from the walls of the town as Hirzg ca’Vorl’s retinue entered the field conspicuously just beyond bowshot range of the walls (though not unreachable by war-teni.) The archers remained arrayed on the walls as Justi’s small force advanced out from the gate and onto the Clario bridge. A page in the livery of the Kraljiki waited at the far side of the bridge, a scabbarded sword cradled in his arms. He bowed low as Justi rode slowly up to him.

“My Kraljiki, the Hirzg Jan ca’Vorl has accepted your sword from me and asked me to give you this in return,” the page said. The young man’s voice trembled slightly as he presented the sword hilt-first. Justi leaned down to take the sword as the page, still bowing, backed away.

The sword was plain but obviously well-used: the sword of someone who used the weapon as a tool of war, not in tedious ceremonies. The leather wrapping of the hilt was stained, and the feel was solid. The Hirzg’s initials were engraved in the pommel, the deep-cut, ornate lines filled with glittering lapis, the only touch of ostentation on the weapon.

Justi drew the weapon; it was beautifully balanced in his hand, and the twin edges were polished and keen, with the slight curve that was the hallmark of the Firenzcian saber. The steel was satin and almost dark, and it sang a shimmering high note as it left the scabbard.

The sword was a message, he knew. The presentation sword Justi had given to ca’Vorl had been one of the ceremonial swords his matarh had commissioned as gifts for ambassadors and representatives: more showpiece than weapon, more jewelry than edge.

“Firenzcian steel,” Commandant ca’Rudka commented, coming up alongside Justi. His silver nose gleamed in the sunlight; Justi could see his own distorted reflection in one nostril. “Beautiful, if you like deadly things.” From ca’Rudka’s raised eyebrows, Justi knew that the man understood the significance of the gift. Justi sheathed the weapon and hooked the loop of the scabbard to his belt, and gently nudged his horse forward again as the page stepped aside. The retinue began to move, hooves loud on the wooden planks of the bridge. Justi glanced up toward the tents farther down the Avi, their sides up to allow breezes to enter-and to allow Justi to see that there was no deception. He could see the Hirzg’s retinue in the shadows under the linen cloth.

“We’ll know soon enough whether steel will be necessary,” Justi told ca’Rudka.

“Do you think that’s a possibility, Kraljiki?” Ca’Rudka was looking past the tents to the mountains and the army waiting there.

Justi was wondering the same, but he didn’t answer and ca’Rudka didn’t pursue the question. Justi gestured to the others, and they continued on toward the tents. Pages hurried forward as they reached the greensward: taking the reins of the horses; bringing steps to help Justi and the others alight from their mounts. Servants led the horses away to graze, and others came forward to offer drinks to the retinue. Justi waved them aside, not wanting to put anything in the burning pit that was his stomach. “This way, Kraljiki. The Hirzg is waiting for you.”

A long table had been set up in the middle of the tent, with two ornate chairs at either end. Less comfortable and ornate seating was arranged around the focus of the two ends so that the Kraljiki and the Hirzg could each consult with their advisers at need. Two scribes stood by folding desks with parchment, quills, and fully-charged inkwells, prepared to document the proceedings. Pages and servants stood by along either side, ready to provide refreshment or to ferry documents from one end to the other, or simply to shoo away annoying insects.

As Justi strode into the cool twilight of the tent, Hirzg ca’Vorl rose slowly and almost grudgingly from his chair at the end of the table, though his retinue was already standing. Justi recognized a few of them from his ceremonial trips to Brezno: the stick-figure of Markell, the Hirzg’s secretary and adviser; U’Teni cu’Kohnle, the head of Firenzcian war-teni. But the person wearing the starkkapitan’s eagle wasn’t Ahren ca’Staunton, but some younger offizier whose face was unknown to Justi.

All but ca’Vorl had bowed their heads reflexively as he approached the table with the Archigos and ca’Rudka to either side of him, but Justi could feel them staring as if they were trying to see inside him-all but ca’Vorl himself. The Hirzg simply watched, as if slightly bored by the proceedings. Justi stood behind the chair and stared back, and finally ca’Vorl gave the barest motion of his head to Justi, the shadow of a nod.

“I had hoped to meet you again in more. . pleasurable circumstances, Hirzg Jan,” Justi said as a page pulled back the heavy chair for him and he sat. He nodded to the gathering; the Hirzg seated himself across from Justi, and then there was the rustling of cloth and harsher groan of mail and plate as the others found their seats around them.

Justi glanced at a thick leather portfolio placed on the table in front of him, stamped with the rampant stallion insignia of Firenzcia. “What is this?”

“Those are my terms for your surrender, Kraljiki,” ca’Vorl answered easily. “Let me summarize them for you. You will abdicate your title in favor of me, and hand over control of the Garde Civile to Starkkapitan ca’Linnett. My army will continue through Passe a’Fiume to Nessantico City to retain order during the transition of government. Archigos ca’Cellibrecca will return with me; he would be permitted to retain his title as Archigos as long as I perceive that he is cooperating. For your part, Kraljiki, I will allow you to retain your ca’ status, your title of chevaritt, and the lands of the ca’Ludovici estates in northern Nessantico, but you will absent yourself from all affairs of the Holdings on peril of your fortune and your life. There are, of course, many more details set out in the agreement, but those are the broad strokes. All I require is your signature and we are done here.”

Justi glanced down once at the folio, resisting the urge to spit on it.

The man has always been arrogant, but this is beyond arrogance. . Some of Hirzg’s retinue were carefully smiling, amused by Justi’s discomfiture; his own people sat silent and stunned. Did he know what I’d planned?

Justi gestured, and one of the pages scurried forward to place a portfolio in front of the Hirzg.

“These are my terms,” Justi told the Hirzg. “Your army will immediately retreat beyond the Nessantico borders. Your starkkapitan and all a’offiziers of the army will surrender their arms and commissions to Commandant ca’Rudka. You, Hirzg ca’Vorl, will be taken to Nessantico as my hostage until the ransom I demand is paid by your family, at which time you will exchange your daughter for yourself as hostage.

Firenzcia will also pay damages to the town of Ville Colhelm and for your plundering of Nessantico’s land. Those who disobey any of the decrees in these terms will be declared outlaw by the Holdings, and also by the Archigos of the Concenzcia Faith. Henceforth, Firenzcia will no longer have a Hirzg, but will be under direct control of a representative of the Holdings.”

The smiles were gone from the Hirzg’s retinue now, and Justi leaned back in his chair as he swept the Hirzg’s portfolio contemptuously to the floor and thrust out his famous chin even further. “All I require is your signature, Hirzg ca’Vorl,” he said deliberately. “And we are done here.”

Ca’Vorl glowered and a deep flush covered his face. Justi thought that the man was about to go into a frothing rage, but instead ca’Vorl slapped his hands open-palmed on the portfolio and roared a laugh that was made louder by the silence around them. “Kraljiki Justi, I have underestimated you. When I’ve met you in the past. . well, I confess that I thought you entirely devoid of humor. I see that I was wrong.”

The grin vanished as quickly as it had come. His eyelids lowered, and he stared at Justi. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that I have an army perched before Passe a’Fiume, which is the doorstep to Nessantico, and I don’t believe that you have the forces or the will to stop me from walking through that door. The Garde Civile has been nothing but an adjunct to the Firenzcian army for two centuries now; it is Firenzcia who has fought the Holdings’ battles for the Kralji, not the Garde Civile. So. . let us talk realities here, not dreams. We both know what each of us want; neither will get it without bloodshed.” He picked up Justi’s portfolio and dropped it on the grass next to his chair. “What do you really offer, Kraljiki?” he asked. “What is genuinely on the table for us to consider?”

Justi sniffed. He ached to draw the sword ca’Vorl had given him and strike the man dead-he could do that, he was certain, before the man could react or anyone could respond. He wanted the fight; he could feel it. It would feel good, better than this fencing with blunted words.

It would ease the fury gathering in his chest and the fire in his belly.

Matarh might have enjoyed this word-dancing, but he did not. You have to continue. . You need