“What did you see?”
“Espani soldiers. Probably Pizzaro’s men,” said Lorenzo. “The soldiers were on the far side of the river, and they were demanding that the priests use their boat to bring the soldiers across the water. The priests refused. And then the soldiers began wading across the river. That’s when I left my room. I meant to talk to the soldiers, to call them off, but I never made it outside. I collapsed in the large common room outside my doorway, still too weak to do anything. Lying there, I saw the priests run past. They carried a sort of litter or stretcher between them. Whatever was on the stretcher was covered with a cloth. The priests ran outside and a moment later I heard the soldiers screaming in agony, and through the high narrow window of my room I saw steam rising from the river. Soon the screaming stopped and the priests returned. This time the stretcher was uncovered and I saw what was on it. A stone. It was about the size of a man’s head, mostly round but a little lumpy, and a dark fiery orange color, like copper, or red-gold.”
“What happened to the soldiers?” Qhora asked.
“I learned later that they were boiled alive when the priests placed the stone in the water.” Lorenzo shook his head. “It’s unlike anything else in nature. This stone, this metal, can be perfectly cool from just a few inches away but still burning hot to the touch. It can melt steel, scorch the earth, and boil the water just by touching it. The only way to handle the stone safely is with clay, as the priests used on their stretcher.”
“So, the stone only had to touch the river to kill all the soldiers in the water?” Qhora felt a sick twisting in her belly.
Lorenzo nodded. “Over the next few days, I managed to learn a few things about the priests and their stone. Not much. They said it fell from the sky, and made certain sounds and lights across the heavens as it fell. It matches Sister Ariel’s description of the skyfire stone in every way.”
“I see.” Qhora looked down and began smoothing her Espani skirts across lap. Her hands trembled and she rolled them into fists. I should have killed Faleiro. I should have slit his throat when I had the chance. Now there’s going to be more war and death. More killing. More innocents being killed. “So your little hobby, this rock, this skyfire stone, whatever it is, is actually a deadly weapon. And you couldn’t tell me that?”
Lorenzo shook his head. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t think of it that way. It’s really so much more than a weapon. It could help rekindle our faith, and it could help to rebuild our cities or improve crops for generations to come. How many ways might Espana benefit from something that provides endless warmth to anything it touches?” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, really. But this had to remain a secret, and I know how much you enjoy talking to other people about…me.”
Qhora stared at him. Only because no one has any interest in discussing me and my homeland. Did it ever occur to you that they all see me either as an invader or the spoils of your conquest? “And why shouldn’t I talk about you? You’re a warrior and a hero, despite all your Espani modesty. You’re as fierce in battle as you are wise in counsel and pure of heart, and most of the men on this continent aren’t fit to lick your boots!”
He smiled a little. “I don’t know if I would phrase it in quite that way.”
She exhaled and looked away, one hand massaging her forehead. She said, “So now this stone of yours is a weapon, and Faleiro and Admiral Magellan are going to use it to slaughter people all across the Middle Sea. They might even take it back across the Atlanteen Ocean and start the wars with my people all over again.”
“Well,” Lorenzo said, “only if they find it before we do.”
Chapter 3. Taziri
Winter in Rome was far colder than she had remembered. Taziri stood in the little office at the edge of the airfield with her bare hands wrapped around a steaming cup of some noxious sludge that the Italians called coffee. The three young men stationed at the field were babbling in Italian, which was, as far as she could tell, exactly the same as Espani except much faster with more violent hand gestures. A light flurry of snow was falling outside on the yellowed grass and the gravel roads, and two men in orange Mazigh flight jackets identical to her own were trudging in long slow circles around the hangar across the lane. Trails of pale vapor streamed from their faces as they talked. Taziri wondered how they could stand the weather. And then she realized that her fellow officers had left the airfield office immediately after the Italians had started talking, and suddenly the bitter cold didn’t seem so uninviting.
“Do you know the time?” She raised her voice to interrupt them.
The Italians all turned to glance at her, glance at each other, shrug, and then resume their conversation.
“How can you run an airfield without a clock?” she muttered as she paced the length of the room. This was her fifth flight to Italia and she had to admit that it was actually going better than the others. At least so far there hasn’t been a fight between the Italians and the major, and Kenan hasn’t gotten lost in town, and the weather hasn’t grounded us. Yet.
Taziri set her steaming drink down on the little table, which drew a few confused frowns from the Italians. She turned and wandered back to the windows for the hundredth time and there, up the lane, she saw two figures coming down toward the field. “Finally.”
Through the light flurries, the two figures resolved from dark blurs into a tall man and short woman, both dressed in several layers of coats and cloaks and hats with scarves and veils all fluttering and streaming about them like a regatta taking sail. From a muddle of grays, their dress took on brighter and brighter hues as they approached. The man wore blue and silver from his tricorn hat to his laced boots and woman was checkered in violet and pink from headdress to corset to bustle and skirts. Each of them carried a single small bag in one hand.
Taziri tapped on the glass to get the major’s attention, but the other Mazigh officers were too far away, still circling the hangar. Pulling on her gloves, she shouldered through the door and jogged across the lane to catch them. “Major! They’re here. Two of them, anyway. Kenan, get the engine running, please.”
The lieutenant snapped a quick salute with a grin and jogged into the hangar. Major Syfax Zidane frowned down at her. He was a huge slab of a man under his heavy orange coat, with a thick neck rising to a bullet-shaped head that he kept shaved. His eyes were always half-lidded, sometimes out of boredom and sometimes with squinting. His deep voice spilled out words with a slow and lazy cadence, ranging from rather bored to mildly threatening. She’d heard him laugh a few times, but it wasn’t much of an improvement. Syfax thumbed his nose and sniffed. “It’s about time.”
“Are you going to pat them down for weapons?” Taziri smiled as she led him back toward the gate.
“Out here? Hell no. I’ll do it when we’re in the air. If they’re carrying anything, I’ll drop them in the Middle Sea and let the sharks sort them out,” said Syfax. “Are we going to be okay in this snow?”
“I think so, as long as it doesn’t pick up much more.” Taziri glanced back at the office. “The local weather service wasn’t very helpful.”
“Oh yeah? What’d those jabber-jaws say?”
Taziri mimicked the Italian accent, “Maybe it snows more, maybe not.”
He grinned a little. “So who are we picking up this time?”
Taziri pulled the slip of paper from her pocket. Her scrawled notes were almost illegible. “A political advisor visiting the queen, a tourist from Eran, and a chemist of some sort.”