There was a flash that illuminated the entire landscape as if by a lightning stroke, and a booming thunderclap that drowned out Eneas’ involuntary cry and sent the horses whinnying nervously and pulling against their hobbles. Ca’Matin’s eyes and mouth went wide, though his expression seemed strangely ecstatic to Eneas, as if in his final moment Cenzi had touched him with glory.
Ca’Matin toppled, the device falling from his hands. His stomach was a bloody cavity, torn open as if a clawed fist had ripped him apart. Gore and blood spattered the ground underneath him, as well as the legs of Westlanders around him. The Westlander offizier raised his hands again, as the singing began once more. With a strange reverence, the two soldiers who had brought ca’Matin to the fire now wrapped his body in a cloth dyed with bright colors set in geometric patterns. They hurried the bundled corpse away into the shadows.
Eneas forced himself to move again, more desperately now. He didn’t know what sorcery had been forced on ca’Matin, but he had to find a way back to Munereo: to warn them. Help me do this, Cenzi… . He began to crawl toward the horses. If he could pull himself up on one and throw his injured leg over… They might pursue him, but he knew this land as well as the Westlanders, perhaps better, and night would cover him.
He was to the horses now. These were captured Nessantican destriers, fitted with the livery he knew well, and more importantly, still harnessed with their bits and saddles. They were slower than the Westlanders’ own steeds, but hardier. If he could get enough of a head start, the Westlander horses might tire before they could catch him.
With Cenzi’s help…
Eneas unhobbled the legs of a large gray, keeping the animal between himself and the fire. The destrier nickered, showing the whites of her eyes in the moonlight, and Eneas whispered softly to her. “Shh… shh… It’s all right… You’ll be fine…” He grasped at the straps of the saddle and pulled himself upright, keeping weight off his injured ankle. He took the reins in one hand, stroking the animal’s neck. “Shh… Quiet, now…” He would have to balance himself at least partially on his bad ankle to get a foot into the stirrup; gently, he put the foot on the ground and slowly gave it weight, biting his lower lip in his teeth at the pain. He could do it, for a moment. That was all it would take…
He lifted his good foot and put it in the stirrup. A wave of knife cuts lanced from his ankle up his leg as for a moment it held all his weight, and the agony nearly made him faint. Desperately, he swung the bad leg over the horse’s spine, almost crying out as the ankle slammed against the animal’s thick body on the other side. But he was on the destrier now, half-laying on the mount’s thick, muscular neck. He flicked the reins, kicking with his good leg. “Slow…” he told the gray. “Very slow now. Quietly…”
The gray tossed her head, then began to walk away from the other horses, heading back up the slope and away from the firelight and the encampment. The singing of the Westlanders covered the sound of iron-clad hooves on the ground. As soon as he was in the darkness again, as soon as he could put the shoulder of one of these hills between himself and the Westlanders, he could kick her into full gallop.
He was beginning to dare to think it was possible.
He nearly didn’t notice the shape that moved to his left, the fragment of darkness that suddenly lifted and hurtled itself at him. He caught only a glimpse of a grim face before the man struck him from the side and bore him off the saddle. Light flared behind his eyes as he struck the ground, and Eneas screamed with the pain of his tormented leg, twisted underneath him. He heard the destrier galloping away, riderless, and then the shadow of a Westlander warrior was standing over him, his arm raised, and Eneas fell again into the dark.
Allesandra ca’Vorl
“ I would like to apologize for my wife, A’Hirzg. She… well, the subject of the Witch Archigos always upsets her. They have a… history together, after all. Still, she should not have been so outspoken at dinner last night, especially toward you as the host.”
Allesandra nodded to Archigos Semini. They were seated on a viewing platform high on a slope behind the Hirzg’s private estate-the palais at Stag Fall, well outside Brezno. They faced east, the platform overlooking a wide, long meadow of tall grass dotted with wildflowers. There, below them, they could see a cluster of figures and horses: Fynn, Jan, and several others. On either side of the meadow, in the tall fir forest, drums echoed from the flanks of the steep, verdant hills that formed the landscape: the sound of the beaters, herding their prey toward the meadow and the waiting Hirzg.
Behind Allesandra on the balcony, servants bustled about with drinks and food as they set a long table for dinner. Otherwise, Allesandra and the Archigos were alone; all the other favored ca’-and-cu’ who would be dining with them that evening were with the Hirzg’s party in the meadow. Allesandra had little desire to be in such close proximity with her brother for that long. She wasn’t certain why Semini had remained behind at the palais-Francesca was in the meadow with the others.
“Please believe me when I say that I took no offense, Archigos,” Allesandra told the man. “Even though I have far more sympathy for Archigos Ana, I understand how your wife might feel that way.”
She glanced at Semini and saw him smile. “Thank you,” he told her. “That’s kind of you.” He glanced carefully at the servants, then pitched his voice low enough that they couldn’t overhear. “Between the two of us, A’Hirzg, I wish that I could have convinced your vatarh to name you as his heir. That boy-” he pointed with his chin down to the gathering in the meadow, “-would be a perfectly adequate Starkkapitan for the Garde Civile, but he hasn’t the vision or intelligence to be a good Hirzg.”
“I do believe I hear the Archigos speaking treason.” Allesandra kept her gaze carefully away from him, her attention on Jan astride his horse next to Fynn. She wondered whether she could believe what ca’Cellibrecca was saying, and she wondered why he would voice it aloud to her. He had a reason for doing so, she was certain: Semini was not a man for accidental statements. But what was the reason? What did he want, and how would it benefit him?
“Did I perhaps speak what is also in your heart, A’Hirzg, even if you don’t dare say it aloud?” Semini answered in the same hoarse, low whisper. He turned toward her. “My heart is here, in this country, A’Hirzg Allesandra. I want what is best for Firenzcia. Nothing more. I have given my life in service to Cenzi, and in service to Firenzcia. I shared your vatarh’s vision of a Holdings where Brezno, not Nessantico, was the center of all things. He nearly achieved that vision. He would have accomplished that, I’m convinced, if it hadn’t been for the heretical sorcery of the Witch Archigos.”
There was hatred in his voice, genuine and heated. And also a strange satisfaction.
Vatarh would have succeeded if Ana hadn’t taken me hostage, if she hadn’t snatched me away from Vatarh and used me to end the war. As long as Allesandra remained in Nessantico, as long as her vatarh refused to pay the demanded ransom, his defeat was still incomplete. There was still hope that the results might change, and it had taken him a decade and more to lose that hope.
That’s what she’d told herself. That’s what Ana had told her. Ana had never spoken an unkind word against Hirzg Jan; she had always cast him in as sympathetic a light as she could, even when Allesandra fumed and raged against his slowness to ransom her.