Children of Earth and Sky Read Free Page B

Vitruvius was from Karch. He was pale-blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, as many were in the north, and intelligent enough for his tasks. He was utterly loyal to the chancellor, which was critical at any court, and he knew how to kill people.
    The chancellor tugged at his moustache, a habit. “I don’t know yet. It depends on the Osmanlis, somewhat.”
    â€œMost things do,” Secretary Hanns said.
    He, as it happened, was too clever for his current position. There was a need to consider promoting him to a state office this winter. A useful man should not be allowed to become unhappy.
    Savko favoured him with a rare smile. “You are right, of course,” he said. “Pour yourselves wine, both of you. It is a miserable afternoon.”
    His mood, despite that, was benign. His foot wasn’t hurting, for one thing, and he enjoyed minor mysteries of the sort this new envoy posed. He’d held office for fifteen years, half the emperor’s reign. He knew he was good at what he did.
    He’d kept a challenging emperor seated and secure, hadn’t he? Well, largely secure. Money remained a vast, intractable problem, and the Osmanlis had been pushing forward just about every spring the last few years.
    He’d be receiving the report on the state of their fortifications soon, since the campaign season had now ended. He wasn’t looking forward to reading it. There was a probability the great fort of Woberg would be under siege again next spring, in which case repairs would be urgent, and expensive.
    â€œI still think this new man is a fool,” Vitruvius said, pouring wine.
    â€œLet’s set about finding out, shall we?” the chancellor said mildly.
    He would think about the border forts when proper information arrived. A portion of his skill lay in not addressing matters until he had the facts he needed. He was endlessly aware of what he saw as a defining truth of the world: power almost always decided things.
    Looking out the rain-blurred window as a wet evening descended, he gave quick, exact instructions concerning Orso Faleri, who appeared to like women, perhaps especially on cold autumn nights. This matter of a new ambassador he could begin to consider now. He’d done this before, many times.
    â€”
    IT WASN’T AS IF SERESSA was sunny and warm in late autumn. Indeed, if he was being honest he’d have to say his city on its lagoon could be colder than Obravic. Fog and damp that could find your chest and bones, even in a palace on the Great Canal. There weren’t enough fireplaces in the world, Orso Faleri was thinking, to entirely ease a wet autumn or winter night back home.
    Even so, even so. You felt the cold more when you were away. Men were like that, the world was. An unfamiliar house among strangers, darkness having descended to the sound of rain. Poets wrote about such things.
    When he was younger he had done his share of travelling for the family, journeying east on their ships (his father’s ships, then), enduring what came to a man at sea or in alien ports where, when bells rang, it was to summon Asharites to infidel prayers.
    He had made a point of going once into the desert of Ammuz, an escorted journey inland from the port of Khatib, before sailing home with grain. He had looked up at the innumerable stars from outside a tent at night. He’d been bitten by a spider, he recalled.
    If there was any pleasant aspect to growing older, it was that he’d reached a point where others made those journeys for him. He didn’t regret tasting the wider world. A man needed, he thought, to know the bitterness of far-away beds and tables, danger and hardship and strangeness away. Spider bites in a desert night.
    It made you appreciate what you had at home.
    He was appreciating for all he was worth tonight. The afternoon’s rain had not eased. He’d thought it might turn to snow, which would at least be delicate, white on the bare branches