Niente had learned long ago that one never showed fear to a High Warrior. The Scarred Ones already considered the nahualli to be little more than a weapon given human form, and they had nothing but contempt for those they considered weak. Niente forced a grin to his face. “Not if Zolin has a brain to go with his strength.”
Citlali snorted another laugh. “Oh, he has that,” he said. “He learned from Necalli himself. Now it’s time for the student to supplant the master, the son to replace his father’s brother.” Niente could feel Citlali staring carefully at Niente, his gaze sliding up and down his body. “You’ve been tired lately, and those are new lines on your face. You should be careful yourself, Niente. Necalli has used you badly, as he did Mahri. It’s a shame.”
Niente gave a careful nod. It was what he’d thought himself, more than once.
The chant and the pounding of the beat abruptly stopped. They could hear the forest birds settling again. The silence nearly hurt Niente’s ears. Necalli and Zolin were two strides away from each other, in the center of the court.
Zolin roared. He charged. His sword flashed, but Necalli’s sword came up at the same time, and the blades clashed loudly as the warriors shouted approval. For a moment, the two men were locked together, then Zolin pushed Necalli away, and the Tecuhtli retreated.
“You see,” Citlali said. “As they are in battle, they are here. Zolin attacks, while Necalli waits.”
“And if Necalli finds a flaw in Zolin’s attack, or if Zolin is impatient-then it will be Necalli who is still Tecuhtli. There are advantages to waiting.”
“We’ll see who the gods favor then, won’t we?” Citlali grinned. “Care to make a wager, Nahual? Three goats say that Zolin will win.”
Niente shook his head; Citlali laughed. Below, Zolin feinted a new charge, and Necalli nearly staggered as he brought up his sword against the anticipated strike. Zolin slid right, then quickly shifted left, his sword carving a bright line in the air. This time Necalli’s response was late. Zolin’s blade struck Necalli’s body where the chest armor tied into the arm plates, slicing through the leather straps there and cutting deep into the shoulder of Necalli’s sword arm. Necalli, to his credit, only grimaced as Zolin tore the sword out again, blood flying to spatter both of them. Zolin stalked Necalli as the Tecuhtli staggered backward, his armor dangling as he switched the sword into his left hand. Blood was pouring down Necalli’s right arm, dripping from his fingers. Zolin cried aloud again, raising dust from his sandaled feet as he charged once more. Necalli brought his sword up, but the parry was weak, and Zolin’s blade continued downward, tearing into the side of Necalli’s bared skull and burying itself in the neck below his left ear. Zolin released the blade as Necalli dropped to his knees, his sword clattering onto the ground. For a long moment, Necalli swayed there. His left hand pawed ineffectually at the hilt of Zolin’s sword. His eyes were widened as if he were seeing a vision in the air above him; his mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but only blood poured out.
He swayed hard to the right, and fell over. Zolin’s roar was matched by the shouts of the thousands watching. Citlali screamed next to Niente. “Tecuhtli Zolin!” he shouted, raising a fist into the air. “Tecuhtli Zolin!”
Below, Zolin wrenched his sword from the body of Necalli. He thrust it high, and the shouting redoubled as he turned, looking up at those watching. His gaze seemed to find each of them, triumphant.
This time, Niente took up the cry, too. “Tecuhtli Zolin!” he shouted, raising his spell-staff toward the sky. But he stared more at the body of Necalli.
Nico Morel
Nico was confused and scared by the commotion. Too much was happening too quickly. There’d been the furious knocking at the door, and the man who was watching him had made a strange motion with his hands before they’d heard the Ambassador’s voice on the other side. The door was flung open, and several people rushed in-they were half-carrying Varina, whose tashta was soaked with blood. Nico tried to run to her, but someone pushed him back on his crude bed with a snarl. There was lots of shouting and there were too many people in the small room. In the candlelight, everything was a confusion of shadows. He could only catch bits of what they were saying.
“… need Karina; she has the healing talent…”
“… can’t stay… recognized us…”
“… tell the others to make themselves scarce…”
“… Garde Kralji will be out scouring already…”
“… torture and kill any of us they catch…”
“… the child has to go…”
Nico sat on his bed, wanting to cry but afraid that it would draw attention to him when he wanted nothing more than to be invisible. A face came out of the chaos and loomed over him: Karl. “We have to leave Nessantico,” he told Nico. “Varina told you that, right? You’ll be coming with me, Nico. We can’t leave you behind, not with no one to look after you.”
“I can stay in my old house,” Nico said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Matarh would look for me there, or Talis. And I know the people who live in the other houses. I’ll just stay here.”
“We left a note for Talis in your rooms, telling him where you were,” Karl said. “He didn’t come.”
“He’ll come,” Nico insisted. “He will.”
The man looked as doubtful as Nico felt inside. “I’m sorry, Nico,” he said. “But we need to go quickly, and you’ll need to come with us.”
Nico looked over Karl’s shoulder toward the tumult in the room beyond. There were several people in the room, and he couldn’t see Varina. “Is Varina going to die?” he asked.
“No.” The man shook his head emphatically. “She’s been hurt, but she’s not going to die.” Nico nodded. “Nico, you’re going to need to be very brave, and very quiet. If we’re found, well, Varina would die, and me, and maybe you as well. Do you understand?”
He nodded again, though he didn’t. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “That’s a good young man, then,” Karl said, ruffling Nico’s hair like Talis sometimes did, and Varina, too. Nico wondered why adults always did that when he didn’t like it. He knew that Karl had children and great-children in Paeti-his matarh had once mentioned to Talis that the Ambassador and Archigos Ana were “too close,” so maybe those were the children of the Archigos. He imagined what it might have been like, to be a child growing up in the dark, cavernous confines of the temple, with the painted Moitidi fighting on the domes overhead and teni-fire blazing in the huge braziers around the quire.
“Nico! Come here.” Karl was gesturing, and Nico went to him.
“… the city gates will all be closed at any moment,” a gray-haired man was saying, and Nico realized with a start that it was the Regent of Nessantico: it must be him, with that nose made of silver shining in the candlelight. Nico stared at it: he’d glimpsed the Regent a few times on the ceremonial days, sitting next to Kraljiki Audric as the royal carriage made its way around the Avi a’Parete. Nico couldn’t understand why the Regent would be here, or how there could be danger if he was. Matarh had shivered when she talked about him, telling Nico tales about how the Regent had once been the commandant, and how he had tortured people in the Bastida. The Regent’s face seemed more tired than dangerous right now. “Commandant cu’Falla knows the city as well as I do-I taught him-and that’s a problem. He knows we need to get out, and he’ll have people out looking for us.” The Regent tapped his nose. “Some of us are far too recognizable.”
“Then we avoid the gates,” Karl said. “If we can cross the Avi near Temple Park, well, the old city walls are down there, and if we can get through the north neighborhoods into the open farmland during the night, there’s a heavily-forested strip of land there, just about a league farther on in which we could stay during the day. Maybe go on to Azay, and…” The Ambassador stopped, shrugging. “Then we do whatever we need to do. Right now, we’re wasting time.”