Five minutes after, another wave arrived, followed closely by the rear guard.
“We lost three for certain,” one of the lieutenants said after quickly taking inventory with his men. “Five are unaccounted for, including Gregoric and Rudolfo.”
Petronus cursed under his breath and looked toward the south.
Resolute
Pope Resolute the First had entered the Entrolusian camp just hours before the hostilities broke out. Sethbert had received him coldly, making his displeasure of his cousin’s decision obvious with every word. “You’ve left your people without a leader,” the Overseer said, his jowls shaking with rage.
“I am the Pope,” Resolute said, his own anger flaring. “I will decide what’s best for my people.”
Four days on the road and his nerves had frayed. And the first news he’d heard upon arriving was that someone claiming to be Petronus was this hidden Pope Vlad Li Tam had spoken of.
Initially, he’d laughed it off. He’d attended Petronus’s funeral when he was a younger man. He’d even had a bit of a roll-about with one of the women who had served at the state banquet afterward. Coming back from the dead was not a hallmark of the Androfrancine Papacy.
But when Sethbert assured him that it was true, it had added to his foul mood.
“You may be the Pope,” Sethbert had said, his voice low, “but you have me to thank for that.”
At that point, the alarms had sounded. Not long after, squads of scouts and infantry flooded the Overseer’s tent, and Oriv found himself crowded into the corner with his Gray Guard escort.
“We’ve word from the spies,” Lysias said, out of breath as he ducked into the tent. “Rudolfo’s Gypsy Scouts are on the hunt.”
“On the hunt for what?” Sethbert asked.
Lysias’s reply was nearly a sneer. “You,” he said, through clenched teeth.
Resolute watched the exchange. Sethbert’s command of this man was tenuous at best. It took no expert in statecraft to see that, just as it took no military training to see that the Entrolusian army was divided and growing more so as the winter came on and the pressure increased.
Sethbert bellowed for his sword, and an aide belted it onto him. They heard the sound of fighting grow outside, and Lysias kept himself between Sethbert and the door. A wall of Delta Scouts, magicks shimmering in the lamplight, crouched with ready blades, and Grymlis and the two Gray Guard drew their swords as well. Then, near the back of the tent Resolute heard another sound, and it caught his attention. He’d heard it before, wandering the library, but that seemed impossible to him. Nonetheless, he heard the gears, heard the pumping bellows and the solid sound of metal feet upon the ground.
“Mechoservitors?” He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until he saw Sethbert staring at him.
“What did you say?” Sethbert’s face went pale, then a deep rose color replaced it.
“It sounds like mechoservitors, but…” Resolute felt the realization of it grip him. Sethbert had told him all had been lost but for the spell-caster.
“They’ve freed the metal men,” a scout said at the door. “They are running north to Windwir.”
“It was never about me,” Sethbert said in a low voice.
Lysias cursed and stormed from the tent, barking orders. Sethbert followed.
As the tent cleared, Resolute looked to Grymlis. The old Gray Guard captain studied him, and still feeling short-tempered, Oriv snapped at him. “If you’ve something to say, Captain, say it.”
Grymlis pulled himself up. “I will say it,” he said. “I know Petronus. If he is truly alive, you will be no match for him.” The captain’s voice dropped. “And I question the viability of a war of succession.”
“I concur,” he said. But Resolute’s doubts went even further than whether or not this war would be viable.
Deeper than that, he questioned whether or not he should fight at all.
Ride to Petronus now, some part of himself said. Do not let this tragedyaet › ‹ become worse than it already is.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it aside. It couldn’t be Petronus. Petronus was dead. And if, somehow, it truly was that long-dead Pope miraculously back from the dead, then it would be a matter for the committee to investigate.
Meanwhile, until such time as a committee could be convened to their work, Resolute would perform his duty for the light.
Rudolfo
Rudolfo heard Gregoric’s cry and leaped toward him, his blades ready. His enhanced vision picked up the outline of a man, crouching and facing him. Rudolfo slowed and stepped to the right and the crouching figure turned with him. As he drew near, he made out the Entrolusian lieutenant’s ripped uniform and saw that the officer now held Gypsy blades. The blades turned as if following Rudolfo’s movement.
He sees me, Rudolfo thought. Certainly there were sight magicks, but none so powerful as to see a magicked scout. Though there were rumors that the Androfrancines had a magick to undo all magicks. But how would this lieutenant get access to something like that? Those sorts of secrets were gone now with the Great Library, unless Rudolfo managed to bring some of it back. And to do that, he needed Gregoric. And to get Gregoric, he had to kill this man.
Rudolfo charged with his knives out and ready.
The man did not fight like an Entrolusian. He moved too fast, with confidence and skill. Rudolfo heard Gregoric gasping near his feet and pressed the lieutenant back, sparks striking from the knives as they met.
They spun and thrust and slashed at each other, their knives moving in time with one another.
Rudolfo heard commotion outside, and heard the whistle that meant the mechanicals had cleared the edge of camp. It was time to go.
He heard Gregoric sputtering on the tent floor, and realized in an instant that his first captain was trying to give the whistle to pull back. He feinted with one knife, thrust with the other, and gave the whistle for his men to fall back.
The shouting grew nearer and Rudolfo pressed his opponent, bringing his dominant, left-handed knife to bear after setting him up to follow the right. The Entrolusian lieutenant adjusted fast, and Rudolfo felt the skill and strength in his opponent’s two hands.
He is better than me, Rudolfo thought, the realization hitting him as solidly as any fist. And he’s trying hard not to show me?"3" that.
The tent flaps rustled, and two soldiers entered. They were down before Rudolfo could blink, their throats cut with expert precision. He smiled at the work of his Gypsy Scouts even as he cursed their disobedience.
We must flee.
And as if the Entrolusian heard him, he suddenly opened himself. It was not much of an opening-and one that someone less skilled than Rudolfo or his Gypsy Scouts might not have noticed. But it was an opening, and Rudolfo took it even as he wondered why it was offered.
He put the first knife in through the man’s kidney, and because it was Gregoric at his feet, he twisted it until the man cried out and dropped his blades. Then he put his other knife into the man’s heart, and as he fell, brought the first up and swept it quickly across his throat.
Before the man fell, Rudolfo clicked his tongue and heard three tongues click in reply. He followed the sounds of Gregoric’s labored breathing, and sheathed his knives. “Guard me,” he hissed to his men.
More soldiers entered the tent, and his Gypsy Scouts dispatched them with quick brutality.
His hands scrambled for Gregoric, found him and lifted him. He couldn’t tell if his first captain was conscious, but he found his arm, wet and slippery with blood, and pressed words into it.
Hang on, friend. I’ll see you safely home.