I’m a crow who over the years has dined on the remains of many victims who failed to listen to me or who said I was mistaken. I never take much satisfaction in that sort of meal, but it’s one I suspect I’ll continue to enjoy. Perhaps soon.”
The man’s fork scraped along his plate. Brie snickered nasally. Jan hurried into the conversational gap. “Villembouchure has already fallen, Ambassador. Nessantico will fall, too-again-if Firenzcia doesn’t come to her aid. Do you agree with that?”
Sergei nodded. “I do. Emphatically. Commandant ca’Talin is an excellent leader and I have nothing but respect for his martial skills, but he doesn’t have the resources he needs.”
“Why should I provide them?” Jan asked. “Why shouldn’t I let the Tehuantin flail against Matarh’s Garde Civile? Even if they do take the city, they’ll be so wounded in the process that I could take them with half the army I have here, and take the Sun Throne for myself-without waiting, without this treaty she’s sent. The Tehuantin will likely even take care of the Morelli problem. That’s what Starkkapitan ca’Damont and Archigos Karrol are advising me to do.” From down the table, ca’Damont grunted assent. “Why shouldn’t I follow their advice, Ambassador?”
Sergei sat silent for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his nose. “Because you’re a better man than I am, Hirzg,” he said. “If it were Brezno facing invasion, and Kraljica Allesandra were considering whether to come to your aid, I might give her the same advice the Starkkapitan and Archigos are giving you now. Remain aloof; let the invaders wear themselves out first, then go in and take everything for yourself afterward. But I know her as well as I know you. She wouldn’t take that advice from me, any more than you will. She would come to your aid, if circumstances were that dire.”
“You’re awfully confident in your assessment.”
“I’m the Crow. I’m Old Silvernose,” Sergei answered with a wry, gap-toothed smile. “And I know that you, Hirzg, even if you were willing to abandon your matarh entirely, you don’t care to inherit a broken empire and a broken city, so ruined that repairing it will make Firenzcia herself a pauper nation. Nessantico holds your heritage, as it does the heritage of everyone in the Holdings or in the Coalition. It is too precious a jewel to simply cast away.”
The man was warped and twisted. His predilections were odious. But Jan knew of no one alive who knew the intrigues of the nations so well-and the man had once saved his life, as well as his matarh’s. And, in this, he was right.
Jan nodded. With Sergei’s words, the decision had come to him, falling into place and erasing all the doubts. “That is why I will sign the treaty,” he told them. “I will take Matarh’s offer, and we will ride to Nessantico-if only to preserve the empire that will one day be mine.”
ILLUMINATIONS
Niente
Citlali was not one to hide his anger and displeasure. Niente suspected that was true of all Tecuhtli-when everyone is below you in stature, there’s no need to conceal your feelings.
Citlali’s face was nearly as ruddy as the eagle tattooed on his bald skull. Even the black, geometric lines of the warrior across his body were dimmed. Behind him, the well-muscled form of the High Warrior Tototl loomed. Citlali pointed at Niente as he entered the tent. “You’ve lied to me,” he said without preamble.
Niente grasped his spell-staff tightly, feeling the power of X’in Ka trapped within it, and wondering if he would need to use that today. He forced his bowed back to straighten as best he could. He ignored the screaming of his muscles and the urge to sit down. He lifted his face to Citlali and Tototl, let them see the scarred and withered horror that his use of the scrying bowl and the deep enchantments made in the name of the Tecuhtli over the years had made of him, how he aged far more than his years in the service of the Tehuantin. His blind and white left eye stared at Citlali. “Tecuhtli, I have never-”
“Your own son tells me this,” Citlali interrupted. That, Niente realized, explained why Atl had avoided him this morning, remaining far down the army’s column from the Tecuhtli and Nahual’s escorts. “He says that he also has the gift of Axat’s far-sight,” Citlali continued, “and he insists that your path at Villembouchure nearly led us to disaster. No, be silent!” he roared as Niente started to protest. “Atl said that had we followed the path that Axat showed him, we would not have needed to leave our fleet blocked and tangled in the A’Sele, that we wouldn’t have had the losses we had in the river or at Villembouchure. He says we could have gained an easy victory there, and have sailed with the fleet on up the A’Sele to Nessantico.”
“And after that?” Niente asked, almost afraid to voice the question. “What did he see past that point?” If Atl could glimpse the twisting paths of the future that far ahead, there was nothing he could do. He would fail in his task, now, and the future he’d seen would slip away entirely.
Tototl’s face was impassive, but Citlali shrugged. “Atl said that Axat granted him no glimpse of the future past that point. Still, an easy victory at Villembouchure, not having to abandon the river for the road…”
The army of the Tehuantin had taken all they could from the ships, the deep channel they needed hopelessly blocked by the wreckage of the lead vessels of the fleet, the A’Sele effectively barricaded by their own wrecked, halfsunken ships. Now it was the army who carried everything on their backs, or on groaning, scavenged carts pulled by stolen horses and donkeys. Where the wind could have carried them on the backs of the ships without effort, now they were obliged to walk the long miles to Nessantico, to arrive later, to endure the constant attacks of the defenders who would sneak toward their lines, shower them with arrows or attack them with black sand and vanish again.
Niente understood Citlali’s foul temper.
“If Atl could see nothing beyond Villembouchure, that is the issue,” he told Citlali and Tototl, and that statement deepened the scowl on the Tecuhtli’s face. “Atl does have Axat’s gift. And I forgive him for coming to you-it was his duty to tell you what he’s seen, Tecuhtli, and I’m pleased that he understands his responsibility. But his far-sight isn’t as deep as mine, and that’s where he’s mistaken. As he admits, he doesn’t see far into the mist. Yes, there was another path that would lead to victory, one that seemed easier and better. But had I advised you to follow it and had you taken that advice, it would have led to our destruction later. We would never have taken Nessantico.”
Citlali narrowed his eyes, the wings of the eagle moving in concert, and Niente hurried to continue his explanation-to give Citlali the lie he’d prepared against this. His voice was quavering; that only seemed to lend verisimilitude to the tale: the worried Taat explaining the mistakes of the inexperienced son. “In a few days, the remnants of the Easterners’ own fleet would have caught us-from both behind and forward. We would have been snared in their trap, and our army would have drowned in the A’Sele without being able to fight. That was the fate that awaited us, Tecuhtli Citlali. Now…” Niente lifted his hands. “Now our ships hamper those coming up the A’Sele in pursuit and the rest of the fleet can turn to handle them; with our army on the road, the rest of their ships can do nothing to us. This is the way of victory, Tecuhtli, as I told you. I never promised that it would be an easy path, or is it that the High Warriors are now afraid of the Easterners?”
The last was a calculated risk-the Nahual should be outraged that his skill was being questioned. There should be anger in response to anger, and if he could blind Citlali by the accusation, then perhaps the lie might be accepted easily.
“Afraid?” The roar was the response Niente had expected; the flush deepened on Citlali’s face, as well as on the face of Tototl. Tototl’s hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to hew Niente’s head from his shoulders should the Tecuhtli order his death. Niente grasped his spell-staff tighter.
This was one of the futures he’d glimpsed, and in it, his life was exceedingly short from this point…
But Citlali laughed, suddenly and abruptly, and Tototl’s fingers loosened on his sword hilt. “Afraid?” Citlali roared again, but this time there was no fury in his words, only a deep amusement. “After the dead Easterners I’ve already left behind me?” He laughed again, and Tototl laughed with him, though Niente saw him gauging Citlali closely-Tototl would undoubtedly be the next Tecuhtli, if they all lived long enough. “You promise me that you see me in their great city, Nahual Niente?” he asked. “You promise me that you see our banner flying over their gates?”
