I suspected Veron had taken some strange delight in the whole process. It was like he was a god who arranged worldly events purely to see what happened. ‘Are her people, the Atrewens, good with horses?’
I scoffed the last of my pastry before replying. ‘I can’t speak for her people. I don’t think horses are part of their heritage in the same way as the nomads in Koton, but Leana’s always been a good rider. She’s never worn a saddle to my knowledge, but riding across a plain is a good deal different to riding at speed on that dust track.’
‘That is a safe assumption,’ he said.
‘You’ve grown fond of Leana.’
For a moment Veron let his mask slip and I got to see the man behind. ‘Every time she opens her mouth I dream of far-away lands… I never went on military campaigns like Maxant. Never really ventured too far across Vispasia, such is my rather dull life. And there was a girl, when I was younger, who I once met in a tavern on the border of Maristan, and who I managed to remain attached to for a month at the most… She was probably the only woman I felt a genuine, deep affection for, and Leana reminds me of her greatly.’ Veron trailed off and regarded the track. ‘The things we can and cannot do in our station of life, right, Drakenfeld?’
It’s a lot worse at the stations lower than ours, I wanted to say, but decided not to. ‘It’s never too late to walk down old roads.’
‘It depends if one knows where those roads are to be found. I have no such maps. One gets such reflections when you get to my age, Drakenfeld. Leana reminds me of simpler, more honest times in my life – nothing more, nothing less.’ Veron tipped the rest of his wine down his throat and threw the cup to one side. ‘I’ll tell you more about it some day.’
‘At least you’re kind towards her. Those other senators—’
‘Oh, ignore those bastards. They’ll never change. They think anything that doesn’t come from within Detrata’s borders is either to be feared or turned into a slave.’
A horn blew and there was an announcement by one of the criers; the crowd noise flared up once again.
‘She’s on.’ Veron steered me further along the way to a better spot to view the race. I glanced around behind me, interested to see if any of the men from earlier were still following.
‘You look as if someone’s trying to kill you,’ Veron said.
‘No, simply taking it all in, senator. There she is!’ I called out. I recognized Leana’s nimble frame atop her horse. Again she had refused a saddle, wore a light breastplate with a black vest pulled over the top, as well as a steel helmet, and a sword clutched in one hand. Another two dozen riders in various colours crowded around her and she was soon lost in their energetic mass. Above them, the sun roasted the spectators in the midday heat.
‘How long are they going to take until it begins?’
‘Relax,’ Veron said.
Another announcement, another cheer, and the horses thundered off into the distance, leaving only a cloud of dust.
‘There they go!’ Veron shouted.
My heart beat so fast it hurt to breathe. I waited to see what happened, but the raised dust obscured the view. Moments later, the yellow cloud arced in the distance and I saw the riders heading back towards us. Eventually, even the determination on the riders’ faces could be perceived.
To my utter amazement, Leana was in the first three.
She seemed to hang back on the corner then lurch across behind the path of the leaders, undercutting them slightly; one of the others jabbed a spear towards her and she managed to lower herself forwards and yank back the spear, in a display that surprised even me. Her attacker collapsed from his horse and went skidding across the dirt before he slammed into the barriers.
The crowd hollered; the race moved on.
‘Impressive stuff.’ Veron seemed even more excited than me.
Again we waited, my hand tapping repeatedly on the barrier. The crowd gave off a deeper boom while the riders were out of sight and I simply hoped that Leana had not fallen.
Moments later, there she was, this time in the middle of the pack. The front rider and his horse collapsed, taking two other riders out with them: one rider slammed into a barbed post, ripping open his chest, while the rest of the pack veered around the carnage and raced off into the distance again.
‘I’d wager that hurt,’ Veron called, cringing. ‘The best he could have hoped for was a quick death.’
The process repeated itself several times, each occasion bringing me to the edge of my senses. I was a man who appreciated logic and control where possible: my mood did not improve when matters were in the hands of the gods like this. Each time Leana passed us, the field around her had been thinned considerably, but all that mattered was that she was there.
‘Oh, do cheer up, Drakenfeld. Stop looking so glum. It’ll all be over before long.’
Finally, on the last lap of the race, none of the riders seemed to pay much attention to fighting each other: they were simply engaged in a sprint to the finish. Leana was towards the front of the field, but not first, and she remained fully in sight all the way to the finish, where her head was down as she crossed the line.
I cannot describe my relief or elation as it all came to an end: the crowd’s energy peaked and fell, back to the background murmur. The horses slowed, the excitement died away.
Leana rode towards a man in red clothing, who shook her forearm in solidarity – I assumed he had won the race, but I wasn’t yet sure. The results were recorded in a ledger and the criers commenced the announcement. The man in red came in first, Leana following only a few paces behind, before two other riders and, eventually, what was left of the rest of the pack.
‘Tryum’s thunder,’ Veron declared, ‘Cettrus the Red won the race. You remember the fellow from the party, Drakenfeld? He was only fairly new to the sport at the time, but now this will improve my credentials even further. I will be seen as an excellent judge of character. Soothsayers will soon be coming to me for advice…’ Veron was losing himself in the creation of his own mythology.
Waving for Leana’s attention, I watched her face crease in delight as the nation of Atrewe was called out by the nearest crier. She rode over to us, carefully jumped down and tied her horse. Her leg was bloodied with a surface wound across her thigh, and I helped her back through the gap in the barrier.
I embraced her hot, dust- and sweat-covered body, as she mumbled into my shoulder, ‘Now at least they have heard of my country.’
‘They certainly have.’
‘A shame I did not win,’ she replied, acutely aware that we were showing more affection now than we had ever done before.
‘And a shame you bet on her winning, Drakenfeld,’ Veron interrupted, and congratulated Leana on finishing an honourable second.
‘Actually, I placed money on her finishing in the top three. I’m not reckless.’
‘Logic prevails,’ Veron smirked. ‘Now, let’s see if we can find Leana a decent physician. There is meant to be a fine fellow from Koton around here somewhere. They know a thing or two about medicine. He’ll patch up that leg soon enough.’
Evening Games
It was enjoyable heading back into the tiers of the stadium to see the expressions on the senators’ faces. Leana hobbled up the steps, injured but with her pride intact. Only one of the senators swallowed his own pride and mumbled his congratulations to her, the others remained cool and distant. Some looked as if the event had well and truly ruined their day. Two of them spat on the floor in front of us.