Part 33 (1/2)

She watched the scene, her arms unknowingly hugging herself in sympathy. She wanted to feel pleasure at this scene that must be common enough, but what she felt was the hot flush of jealousy. ”Yes, that's what you'll never have,” Fynn crowed inside her, and the others joined in. ”You can never have that. No one will ever love you that way. Not even the child you carry. Never.”

”That's not true,” she told them, feeling tears streaming down her cheeks. ”No, it's not true.”

”It is. It is.” A chorus of denial. ”It is.”

She turned and fled them, pursued by the voices. She walked hurriedly, not even knowing where she was going, pus.h.i.+ng through crowded street markets and along half-deserted avenues, past shops and businesses. She found herself finally on the northern bank of the A'Sele near the Pontica Kralji. There, uncaring of the mud and the foul smell, she sat hugging her knees to herself, trying to ignore the screaming voices in her head as she rocked back and forth. If anyone saw her, they thought her deranged and left her alone. She sat there for a long time, her thoughts frayed and chaotic until pure exhaustion calmed her and the voices receded. She sat panting, rubbing the swelling mound of her belly and imagining the life inside.

”I will protect you. I will keep you safe,” she whispered to her.

Somewhere across the A'Sele, on the Isle A'Kralji, almost as if in response, there came the sound of sudden thunder, and she saw black smoke billowing up from somewhere among the crowded buildings of the island. Not long after, the wind-horns of the city began to wail, though it was already past Second Call.

She wondered what had happened.

ENGAGEMENT.

Audric ca'Dakwi.

Niente.

Kenne ca'Fionta.

Karl Vliomani

Jan ca'Vorl

Allesandra ca'Vorl

Nico Morel

Niente

Karl Vliomani

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

The White Stone.

Audric ca'Dakwi.

SOMEONE WAS SCREAMING. Over and over and over.

S When Audric opened his eyes, everything was tinged with red as if the world had been painted with blood. Clots of it swam over his vision. His breath was a rasp, a husk; he could barely draw breath. He seemed to be in his own chambers, in his own bed, but he couldn't move his body at all. His face itched, and he wanted to bring his hand up to scratch it, but he could not lift either hand or move his feet. He was afraid to lift his head and look down, afraid of what he might see.

And the pain . . . There was so much pain, and he wanted to scream but he could only moan, a thin, eternal cry. He could feel hot tears running down his face.

”You can't die. You can't . . .” Her voice was as torn and ragged, a bare whisper.

”Great-Matarh?” he asked. ”Where are you? Marlon? Seaton? Where is Kraljica Marguerite?”

His voice came from an impossible distance. His ears were full of a continuous roar, as if the city were falling around him. ”Marlon? Seaton?” he called again. The pain surged over him like a great, breaking wave. He tried to scream, but nothing emerged from his open mouth.

A face loomed over him and he blinked. He thought he recognized Archigos Kenne. Teni-chants mixed in with the roar in his ears. ”Archigos?”

”Yes, Kraljiki. I came as soon as I heard.” He could barely hear the Archigos, the words lost in the roaring in his ears.

”What happened?” The two words each weighed as much as the great marble blocks of the palais facade. He could barely spit them out. He closed his eyes.

”We're still not certain, Kraljiki. O'Offizier cu'Kinnear . . . he may have been a Numetodo, or . . .” The Archigos' voice faded. Audric opened his eyes again; the Archigos' mouth was working as if he were still speaking, but Audric could hear only the red-tinged roar, and it swelled and with it the pain again, and he tried to scream along with it, but it was only a gasp. ”. . . never know now . . . Councillor ca'Ludovici terribly injured . . . Marlon and Seaton dead . . .” the Archigos was saying, but Audric was no longer listening.

He had glimpsed the painting of his great-matarh. It leaned against the wall near his bed. The thick frame was shattered along its left side, and there were great rents in the canvas itself, frayed wounds crawling over Marguerite's face. He moaned again. ”No!” he tried to shout, as if the denial could push it all away and change everything.

He remembered. He wasn't certain. The o'offizier approaching the Sun Throne, a flash . . . then nothing until now.

You can't die . . . !

The pain rushed in once more, and this time he felt his whole body shaking and jerking in response, the middle of his body arching up, and the Archigos was pressing him back down and shouting urgently to someone else in the room. ”. . . whatever you can . . . the Ilmodo . . . Cenzi will forgive . . .”

The pain threatened to tear him in half, to snap him like a winter branch, but suddenly it was gone. Gone. His eyes were open, and he could see Archigos Kenne screaming at the palais healer and the woman teni in her green robes, and there were other people in the room and they were all shouting but he could hear nothing, nothing but the roar growing louder and louder. ”You can't die,” and the pain at least was gone and he wanted to lift his hand toward his great-matarh but his body still would not move and he could not even pull in his breath even though his lungs ached and he tried . . . and tried . . . and . . .

Niente.

HE HAD HOPED that the taking of the island of Karnmor would have been enough, that Tecuhtli Zolin would have been satisfied with that demonstration of Tehuantin power and they would take to their s.h.i.+ps and return home. But Zolin had looked east instead. ”Weto have struck a wound to the body,” he said, ”but the head remains, and the body will heal unless we strike. I know what you'd tell me, Nahual, but now is the time to strike. I feel it. Ask Axat. She will tell you.” Niente stared into the scrying bowl, sprinkling the herbs over the water. Maybe it was because the water here was less pure, or maybe it was because the land of his own G.o.ds was so distant, or maybe it was that his own ability had waned, but again the images he saw reflected there were too confused and too fleeting, and they left him uneasy.

. . . A boy on a glowing throne, but his face was a fleshless skull, and there: was that the Easterner he had ensorcelled? A woman lurked in the background, hard to see . . . But the water swirled and when it cleared again Niente saw another boy on another throne, and a woman behind him also, with a green-robed, dark-haired teni beside her . . . Armies crawled over a broken land with banners swaying, marching over ground strewn with bodies . . . Fire and a temple, and ranks of people in green robes praying . . . A great city with a river running through its midst, and smoke rising from its great buildings . . . A Tehuantin warrior on the ground, a spear through him, and the body of a nahualli alongside with a broken spell-staff, but the water was murky now and he could not see the faces that lay there to know who they were, though a queasy roiling churned in his gut, and he suddenly didn't want to see . . .