chased after them with his mind; alongside him, Atl was doing the same. The chase was as exhausting as any physical one. So close to the moment, the threads of possibilities were snarled and interwoven. Images kept rising from the mist and it was difficult to see them long enough to understand their meanings.
There: the face of a king, or so Niente assumed it was from the golden band around his head, waved a sword with a host behind him dressed in black and silver, rather than the blue-and-gold livery of the army of the great city. Niente remembered those colors-the colors of the army that had come to the succor of the city after Tecuhtli Zolin had taken it. Niente trembled, seeing that…
But the mist rolled over the king, and he saw a queen sitting on a glowing throne with red fire all around her. A young woman lifted a knife that glittered in the fire’s glow, and a man stood near the throne as well, and the furious blaze within the room seemed to issue from his uplifted hands…
Cold mist extinguished the fire and bore it away. Now Niente stared down at ranks of people, but these were not soldiers in glittering armor, but plain-clothed folks, and they pointed odd devices toward Niente, not unlike the eagle claws that the nahualli used for sacrifice. The devices spat smoke and fire, and black bumblebees came spitting from them, rushing toward Niente…
But the mist took them, too.
A wind blew through the mist, and there before him, for an enticing moment, he glimpsed again the Long Path. It had changed since the last time Niente had seen it. This future was still strewn with the fallen banners of the Tehuantin. Far down the path, he saw the banners of the Tehuantin flying alongside the blue-and-gold banners of the Easterners, and two men underneath, one with the red eagle tattoo of the Tecuhtli and a woman wearing the clothing of the Easterners with a golden scepter in her hand. The two stood together, and they smiled at each other, and there was no animosity between them at all. They stood on a hill, and to one side were the odd, domed buildings of the Easterner and to the other stepped pyramids like those of Tlaxcala, and people were passing back and forth between them.
The mist hid the middle ground of the Long Path, but close to Niente, the mists now rolled away, and he saw Citlali there, dead, and a nahualli alongside him. Niente bent closer to the bowl. On the nahualli’s youthful, muscular arm, gold sparkled: the band of the Nahual. Standing over them, as if responsible for their deaths, he glimpsed the back of another nahualli: an old man’s bald skull, a wisp of hair, and-as the nahualli turned-a crumpled and scarred visage with a blind left eye.
Niente recoiled with a gasp…
“No…” Niente whispered, and the breath of his denial shifted the mists so that the Long Path vanished, only to reveal yet another Long Path. At the end of this one, he could see Tlaxcala, but the floating city burned in the center of the lake and the great pyramids were broken and tumbled. As with the previous vision of the Long Path, the middle ground again was obscured, but images flickered closer to him. There, Tecuhtli Citlali sat on a glowing throne under a domed roof, with the blue-and-gold banner on the tiled floor before him, and several Easterners prostrate before him as if ready to be sacrificed to Axat and Sakal so that the rest of their people might live.
Niente breathed again, and the cold green vapors wrapped around his face. He felt his face suddenly wet, and he realized that he had touched the water of the scrying bowl. With the touch, the visions dissolved and he was staring only at a bowl.
He came back to reality slowly, gasping for breath as if from a long run. Tecuhtli Citlali was staring at him grimly, and at his left, Atl had already lifted his head from his own bowl. Several of the lesser nahualli came forward quickly and took away the bowls and tables. “Well?” Citlali said. “What did Axat show you?”
Niente said nothing; from the side of his vision, he saw Atl glance briefly at him. “The vision I saw still shows our victory, Tecuhtli,” he said. “I saw you on the Easterner’s throne.”
Citlali’s gaze had remained on Niente. “And you, Uchben Nahual? Is that what you saw also?”
Niente lifted his head. He could feel his hands shaking, and one of the lesser nahualli came rushing forward to hand him his spell-staff. He took it gratefully, leaning heavily on it. He blinked, trying to clear his head of the visions. The Long Path… Axat has gifted you with two choices… “I saw the same, Tecuhtli,” he said truthfully.
“Hah!” Tecuhtli Citlali rose to his feet, stamping once on the ground as Tototl and the other High Warriors roared their approval. “Then we go forward, and we will take their great city, and we will make widows of their wives and orphans of their children if they resist us.”
RESURRECTIONS
The Gathering Storm
Jan smelled of horse, sweat, smoke, and blood. But then, so did Starkkapitan ca’Damont and Commandant ca’Talin. There’d been no time for them to bathe or change clothes. They’d stripped themselves of their sweaty and battered armor after the engagement with the Westlanders and ridden hard back to Nessantico, leaving the grudging retreat of the Garde Civile to the a’offiziers. Their boots clattered-grimy, mud-splattered, and out of place-on the polished tiles of the Kraljica’s Palais on the Isle; the hall gardai, the servants, and the courtiers milling in the corridors stared at the trio apprehensively, as if trying to gauge from their faces and demeanor the severity of the threat to the city.
If they could read those expressions correctly, they would be frightened.
Allesandra’s aide Talbot met Jan as they passed the outer reception chambers, and escorted them through the private servants’ corridor to the Council of Ca’s chambers. He gestured to the hall gardai to open the doors as they approached. The murmur of conversation within stopped. Allesandra was waiting for them there, with Sergei ca’Rudka and the councillors; a map of the surrounding area already open on the table.
They all looked at Jan expectantly.
“If you’re looking for good news,” he told them without preamble, “I have none.” He stopped. A woman standing alongside Allesandra turned from perusing the map to face him. “Brie? I thought-”
Brie went to him, embracing him as openly as if he wore finery for a ball. He tried to step back, knowing how he looked, but if she felt any revulsion at his smell or appearance, she showed none of it. She kissed his stubbled cheek, then his mouth; it took a moment, but he returned the kiss. “I came with our army, my dear,” she said. “The children are in Brezno, but I felt my place was here, with my husband in the city he will rule one day.”
“You shouldn’t have come, Brie.”
“ Why should I not have?” she asked, her head cocked. The tone of her voice was strange-almost coy and too light. He could sense another question underneath, one she wasn’t asking.
“That’s not obvious?” he answered. “It’s dangerous for you to be here.”
“I thought it might be more dangerous for me to not be here,” she responded. He could hear a subtext in her words, but the meaning eluded him. She smiled at him: again with the same strangeness. “I’m here, my husband, and I have brought your army with me. Why, you should be pleased.”
Jan nodded-yes, there was more going on here with Brie than what she was saying on the surface, but there was no time for him to puzzle it out now, and to try to do so would only make him angry with her. He kissed her again, perfunctorily, then looked around at the others in the room.
Focus…
“Kraljica, Ambassador, Councillors-the Westlanders have a force significantly larger than ours, even with the Firenzcian addition,” he told them. He went to the map, sweeping a hand across the inked features. “They are advancing along a front that would have them entering Nessantico all along the western edge on the north side of the A’Sele, from the banks of the A’Sele to above the Avi a’Nostrosei or even to the Avi a’Nortegate. That’s bad enough, but our scouts tell us that they’ve sent another force across the river to attack the city from the south. At the moment, we have no more than twenty war-teni, all from Nessantico; we’ll need at least a few hundred to even try to match the Westlanders in that respect. And judging from what they did at Villembouchure, they also have adequate supplies of black sand, which means that none of the buildings here are safe if they come close. As for what they did at Karnmor, well, we can only hope that they have no way to repeat that horror. If they can, then there’s no hope at all.”
“You make it sound as if we have already lost and should be emptying the city,” his matarh said, and Jan shook his head.
