Sabak snorted at a fly buzzing around his snout. For all the world, it sounded like a huff of laughter.
Finally, the death knight leaned close to Magda and said, "We both know too well that we would slay our beasts in a moment, should they turn against us."
Soth seemed willing to continue the conversation, but a distant thunder shook the forest to the north. Birds burst up from the tree line and raced across the red-gold sky. Through her boot heels, Magda felt the rolling tread of a group of large creatures. She glanced at her companions. Both Soth and Sabak remained utterly still, as if they'd been carved from the bridge's stone. Magda was not so calm; her pulse quickened and a flush suffused her cheeks.
Malocchio Aderre had arrived.
Thirteen ogres served as the procession's vanguard. The lumbering brutes marched along the verge of the narrow road, stomping the undergrowth and shoving aside trees. Like most of their kind, these were large, hulking giants, with little intelligence lighting their purple eyes. Some stood partially erect, but most crouched in an apelike fashion. Their orders must have been to clear away any flora that impeded their movements, so their posture saved them some work.
Magda studied the ogres as twelve of the thirteen arrayed themselves into a semicircle to either side of the road, sealing off the Invidian end of the bridge. At first glance, they weren't particularly impressive, even for ogres. A few wore rusted, poorly fitting chain mail, while most sported ratty furs or other lice-ridden bits of clothing. A closer look at their weapons told another story, though. Their clubs were notched from countless battles and darkly stained with the blood of fallen adversaries. The thirteenth ogre, Onkar by name, stood out from his kin. He was neither dirtier nor coarser than the others, of average height and build. What set Onkar apart was an unusual feature, or rather, a lack of one. When this ogre approached the bridge, he squatted down in profile fashion and balanced on the balls of his feet. Because of this angle, Magda could see he was quite clearly missing his nose.
Before the Vistana could wonder what became of the ogre's snout, and what price his foe had paid for taking it, the semicircle opened at its center to admit a single rider: Malocchio Aderre.
He rode a black stallion large enough to carry one of his monstrous soldiers with ease. A cloak the color of midnight flowed out behind him like the wings of some immense predatory bird. His breeches, boots, shirt, gloves, everything he wore was of the same ebon hue. Only his face, as white and smooth as bleached bone, presented a contrast. That was all that there was to him: black and white. He was all extremes and nothing else. He brought his mount to a stop with a casual tug of the reins. Behind him, a score of armed riders and another dozen ogres clattered to a stop. Malocchio kept his gaze locked upon Lord Soth as this rearguard arrayed itself along the banks of the river. A slight frown creased his pallid mask of a face when the death knight offered no reaction to this obviously superior force.
In one easy motion, Malocchio swooped down from his mount, cape aflutter, black spurs jangling. Just as he alighted, a pair of neatly attired soldiers approached. They were identical twins, half-elves, Magda guessed. Such crossbreeds were common enough in Sithicus but not so in Malocchio's domain. Malocchio has trotted them out for some reason, Magda mused. But what?
Lord Aderre strode purposefully to the bridge's terminus, the very brink of Invidia's southern border. Even had he wished it, he could have gone no farther. Within their domains the dark lords ruled supreme, but those same domains were prisons, too.
The half-breeds took up positions flanking Malocchio, but a few respectful paces behind him. They kept their gazes turned down, their slender-fingered hands clasped before them like monks at prayer. The rest of Aderre's forces moved restlessly among the horses and trees, clearly ill at ease. The ogres and human soldiers didn't really appreciate the restraint required for this sort of politicking. Their style of negotiations involved clubs and burning brands.
For a few moments, neither Soth nor Malocchio spoke. It was as if some unwritten rule decreed the first exchange would be an admission of weakness. The stalemate might have continued until the sun set and long after had Magda not spoiled the game.
Whatever dread Malocchio had inspired in the Vistana was gone, banished by the man's appearance. Such was often the way with fear, she'd found; the half-hidden beast was always more frightening than the thing crouched in the open- not less dangerous, of course, but easier to cope with.
"How long do you two proud birds plan to perch in this spot?" she asked brusquely. "Winter's not far off, you know. If it's going to be a long wait, we should look for something warm to feather our nests with."
"Silence that refuse clinging to your cloak," Malocchio spat. When he realized he'd been baited into speaking first, he reflexively warded himself against Vistani magic. With a V formed by two fingers of his left hand, he bracketed his eye.
Magda smiled inwardly at the superstitious sign. She'd needed no magic to trip Aderre's tongue. For all his facade of composure, this butcher was not so certain of his footing here. That might explain the show of force, too. The louder the clatter of arms, the less noticeable the quaver in the general's voice.
Lord Soth, too, seemed to sense the young man's uneasiness, for his first words were as provoking as they were unexpected. "My ally is unskilled in the ways of nobility," the death knight began. "I will not ask you to forgive her, for it would be below one of your rank not to do so."
Malocchio swallowed whatever caustic reply leapt to his tongue. From the pained expression on his face, it burned like molten lead. He gestured to one of the half-elves, who stepped forward and unrolled a piece of parchment. In a voice that held far more confidence than it should have, he read: " 'In the name of justice and honor, the citizens of Invidia demand the extradition of Magda Kulchevich and all Vistani traveling with her, be they formal members of the band of thieves known as the Wanderers or merely-' " "Enough," Soth said.
The half-elf glanced up from the page. Whether he was supremely foolish or merely convinced of his safety because of his proximity to Lord Aderre, he dropped his gaze back to the edict and continued. " 'Or merely those citizens of Sithicus known to her as carrying the taint of Vistani blood. Her crimes are many, but include-'"
Lord Soth spoke again, this time a single word of magic. Only one person heard the word. As soon as it left Soth's lips, the half-elf who so boldly proclaimed the extradition edict dropped his parchment. A startled look crossed his face before he doubled over in pain. He sprawled on the road for a moment, twitching violently, as the word did its work. A thin ooze that had been his brains seeped from his ears and nose. He vomited up the tattered remnants of his guts. Still the word of power careened inside his increasingly hollow shell, slicing through everything in its way, until finally the half-elf's skin lay empty on the ground.
"I did not come here to listen to the demands of 'the people of Invidia,'" Soth noted. "But they have my answer anyway. Now, Lord Aderre, we have matters of state to discuss."
"He was under my protection," Malocchio said darkly.
"I understand," Soth replied, "but I told him to stop. His impudence is to blame for his death, not your failings as a protector."
Malocchio mocked a bow. "How kind of you to clear my name."
Soth acknowledged the remark with the barest tilt of his head.
As the lord of Invidia straightened, he produced a dagger. "I'll be certain to offer you the same courtesy after I've corrected that Vistani witch for her earlier impertinence."