“It’s indeed a shame that you, who have served your Kraljiki so well, should come back to see that. My a’teni would disagree, but I blame Archigos Ana for this state-and look what it got her: the thrice-damned Numetodo killed her anyway. Archigos Kenne…” The o’teni made a gesture of disgust. “ Phah! He’s no better. Worse, in fact. Why, in Nessantico you see people flaunting the Divolonte openly these days: the Numetodo tell them that anyone can use the Ilmodo, that it doesn’t require Cenzi’s Gift, and they show them how to do their small spells: to light a fire, or to chill the wine. They won’t use the spells openly, but in their homes, when they think Cenzi isn’t watching…” The o’teni shook his head again.
“The Numetodo are a blight,” Eneas said. “Old Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca had the right idea about them.”
The o’teni looked about guiltily at the mention. “That’s not a name one should bandy about openly, O’Offizier,” he said. “Not with his marriage-son claiming to be Archigos in Brezno.”
Eneas gave the sign of Cenzi again. “I apologize, O’Teni. That’s another sore point for a soldier like me, I’m afraid. The Holdings should be one again, and so should the Faith. It pains me to see them broken, as it pains me to see the Numetodo being so brazen.”
“I understand,” the o’teni said. “Why, here in Vouziers, the Numetodo have their own building.” He pointed down one of the streets leading off the plaza. “Right down there, within sight of this very temple, with their sign emblazoned on the front. It’s a disgrace, and one that Cenzi won’t long allow.”
“On that point, you’re right, O’Teni,” Eneas answered. “That’s exactly what Cenzi tells me.” With that, the o’teni glanced at Eneas strangely, but Eneas gave him no chance to say anything else, bowing to him and moving off quickly across the plaza toward the street that the man had indicated. He whistled a tune as he walked, a Darkmavis song that his matarh had sung to him, long ago, back when the world still made sense to him and Kraljica Marguerite was still on the Sun Throne.
He found the Numetodo building easily enough-the carving over the lintel of the main door was a seashell, the sign of the Numetodo. There was an inn across the lane from the building, and he went into the tavern and ordered wine and a meal, sitting at one of the outside tables. He sipped the wine and ate slowly, watching the place of the Numetodo as the sky went fully dark above him between the buildings.
Three times, he saw someone enter; twice, someone left, but neither time did Cenzi speak to him, so he continued to wait, eating and occasionally touching the leather pouch on the ground alongside him for reassurance. It was nearly two turns of the glass later, with the streets having gone nearly empty before refilling again with those who preferred the anonymity of night, that he saw a man leave the Numetodo building, and Cenzi stirred within him.
That one… Eneas felt the call strongly, and he shouldered his pack, left a silver siqil on the table for his meal and wine, and hurried after the man. His quarry was an older man: bald on the top with a fringe of white hair all around. He was wearing tunic and pants, not a bashta, and was bareheaded-it would be difficult to lose him even in a crowd.
It was quickly apparent why Cenzi had chosen this one; he walked down the street toward the temple plaza. The teni-lights were beginning to fade, and there were few people in the plaza, though the temple domes themselves were still brilliantly lit, golden against the star-pricked sky. Eneas glanced quickly around for an utilino and saw none. He hurried forward, and the Numetodo, hearing his footsteps, turned. Eneas saw the spell-word on the man’s lips, his hands coming up as if about to make a gesture, and Eneas smiled broadly, waving at the man as if hailing a long-lost friend.
The man squinted, as if uncertain of the face before him. His hand dropped, his lips spread in a tentative returning smile. “Do I know-?”
That was as far he got. Eneas pulled the leather sack of pebbles from his pocket and, in the same fluid motion, struck the man hard in the side of his head with it. The Numetodo crumpled, unconscious, and Eneas caught the man in his arm as he sagged. He draped a limp arm over his shoulder and pulled up on the man’s belt. He laughed as if drunken, singing off-key as he dragged the man in the direction of the temple’s side door. Someone seeing them from a distance would think they were two inebriated friends staggering across the plaza. Eneas cast a last look over his shoulder as he reached the doors; no one seemed to be watching. He pulled on the heavy, bronze-plated door, adorned with images of the Moitidi and their struggle with Cenzi: that much hadn’t changed-the temple doors were rarely locked, open to those who might wish to come in and pray, or to the indigent who might need a place to sleep during the night at the price of an Admonition by the teni who found them in the morning. Eneas slipped into the cool darkness of the temple. It was empty, and the sound of his breathing and his boot steps were loud as he dragged the Numetodo’s dead weight up the main aisle, finally dropping him against the lectern at the front of the quire. He unslung the pack from his shoulder and put it on the Numetodo’s lap, uncoiling the long cotton string from the top. He fed it out carefully as he backed down the aisle.
I will show you your own small Gift, Cenzi had told him only this afternoon. I will show you how to make your own fire. The chant and the gestures had come to him then, and though Eneas knew it was against the Divolonte for someone not of the teni to use the Ilmodo, he knew that this was Cenzi’s wish and he would not be punished for it. He spoke the chant now near the temple entrance, and he felt the cold of the Ilmodo flowing in his veins and the Second World opening to his mind: between his moving hands there was an impossible heat and light, and he let it fall to the end of the cord and the fuse began to sputter and fume.
“Hey! Who’s there! What’s this!”
He saw a teni come from one of the archways leading off from the quire-the o’teni he’d spoken to earlier-and Eneas ducked down quickly, though the spell left him strangely tired, as if he’d been working hard all day. He heard the teni give a call and other footsteps echoed. “Who’s this? What’s going on?” someone said, as the fire on the fuse traveled quickly away from Eneas toward the lectern. When it was nearly there, Eneas rose to his feet and ran toward the door. He caught a glimpse of the o’teni and few e’teni, walking quickly toward the slumped, unmoving Numetodo, and someone pointed to Eneas…
… but it was already too late.
A dragon roared and belched fire, and the concussion picked Eneas up and threw him against the bronze doors. Half conscious, he fell to the stone flags as bits of rock and marble pelted him. When the hard, quick rain passed, he lifted his head. There was something red on the floor in front of him: the Numetodo’s leg, he realized with a start, still clad in his loose pants. Near the front of the temple, someone was screaming, a long wail interspersed with curses. Groaning, Eneas tried to sit up. He was bleeding from cuts and scrapes and his body was bruised from his collision with the bronze doors, but otherwise Cenzi had spared him. The doors of the temple were flung open in front of him, and an utilino rushed in and past Eneas, blowing hard on his whistle. Teni were rushing in from the alcoves. The high lectern had toppled, laying broken in the aisle, and there was blood and parts of bodies everywhere. The Numetodo… he could see the man’s head and the top of his torso, torn from his body and tossed into the aisle. The rest of him, where the bag of black sand had lain… Eneas couldn’t see the rest.