Before long he also found sign of horses. That was less encouraging. He silently thanked Totelun for his sullen lessons in hunting; at least this little part had stuck. If there was fresh horse droppings, then horses couldn’t be far off, and potentially riders. He followed the hoof marks for three hours, slowly coming to the inevitable conclusion that the boy was dead. His trail and that of the horses converged many times; they were clearly tracking him also.
The steppe was never completely flat; every now and again it rolled a little, making small peaks and valleys washed smooth. That evening he kept moving instead of making camp. He knew the basic direction, he didn’t need tracks for that. But if he was going to catch up, he needed to make up time.
A few hours beyond evening he found his prey. A small fire. And Crescen was there next to it. He hadn’t learnt anything. But where were the horsemen? Was it possible they hadn’t-?
His question was answered by a loud war cry that was audible for a mile. He bolted for the fire. He could hear hoof beats thundering down the side of the shallow incline not far from him. Two, maybe three horses.
Crescen was up and looking about frantically. There, the firelight glinting from the horseman’s blade as he galloped down on him. Crescen ducked the first rider, who made his horse stomp through the fire with a squeal, throwing up sparks and smoke. Naus drew his blade and yelled.
Half a second later, as the second rider arrived, Naus was there. He caught the horseman’s sword on his own, a clash of steel loud in the night, as the horse galloped past. Naus leapt at the third, kicking him bodily off the back of his mount. He didn’t have time to scramble to his feet before Naus whipped the sword through his neck.
The first man circled back, reining his horse in, and then shouting his hoarse war cry again. He dug his heels in, pushing the creature to a wild pulsing gallop. Naus watched the raised blade carefully, level during the run then suddenly slashing at him as the man used his horse as a battering ram. Naus dived to one side, ducked the slicing blade and stabbed his own into the rider’s chest. It took all his strength to not get ripped off his own feet and instead knock the man off the back of the horse. The stunned horse whinnied and cantered away.
That left just one. Naus’ arms hurt from the first man, and he rotated his shoulder in its socket as he pulled the blade from the dead man’s ribs. The last man circled around. He was angry, yelling Terracon insults at them in the guttural language Naus had never learned. He had been watching his colleague’s attacks and instead of going straight for Naus, he went for Crescen, riding down on the boy in a matter of seconds. Crescen would be trampled to death. Naus checked his aim and launched his sword; it wasn’t a great throw, certainly he would never have been able to hit a galloping rider. But he hadn’t been aiming for the rider. The sword plunged into the horse’s flank behind the front leg. What might have been a clean cut, was made deadly when the horse’s legs pistoned once more, the muscles and bones ripping the sword back and forth inside its chest. Its front legs gave way on the next footfall and the horse crashed down, dead before it hit the ground, insides ripped to shreds.
The man wasn’t so lucky; he tried to jump free but got a foot caught. As the horse fell, his leg was crushed beneath it.
He yelled and pleaded now for those he had intended to kill just a moment earlier to help him, to show mercy. Naus yanked his blood-soaked sword from the dead horse and put the screaming man out of his misery with a wicked downstroke.
Three horsemen out this far on their own. ‘Their leaders are dead,’ he said aloud. ‘This place is lawless once again. King Isingr brought a little order to the Steppe. At least then they only rode down his enemies.’ But was that true? It was possible that it was a scout party, they usually rode in threes.
Crescen stood and shook himself off. He had been cowering in the dust. He looked at the carnage; only three dead, but the splattered blood coming from the horse made it look like ten. ‘You saved my life,’ he stammered.
‘I told you, it’s safer to travel together.’ Naus felt great. Like he’d reclaimed a little of his stoic brashness. The lesson was well learnt. Maybe that would also be the end of the questions. ‘This is why most travellers know how to use a blade.’
He didn’t say a further word to Crescen as he cleaned the blade on the dead horse’s flank, then rounded up the other two. They shied at first, but these were war horses, at ease with blood, and they soon allowed him to take their reins.
As he brought them back, Crescen said. ‘There’s no saddles.’ It was true; the horse lords generally eschewed such restraints on their free creatures. He’d only ever seen them when they went into war.
‘You will have to ride bareback,’ Naus grunted. ‘Either that or I leave you here.’
Crescen didn’t complain again and though they took it slowly riding at night – he didn’t want to lame the horses immediately on an unseen ditch – Naus was pleased they would make far better time on horseback.
Chapter Twenty Two
Aurelia
There had been reports in the night of another Medusi attack. Aurelia had woken in darkness to the sound of screams in the streets below. From her terrace she could see the small fires where soldiers from the Argentor reserves threw burning pitch over surrounded Medusi; it made a hideous mess, but that clinging sticky fire was a surprisingly good defence. It didn’t require anyone to engage the creature in combat, and few if any of the city’s militia were blade masters. Some fires inevitably raged and took hold in the lower districts, but even these conflagrations were under control come morning.
The reports she gleaned from the courtiers who straggled in smelling of smoke, were of a swarm of wild Medusi blown in over the lake from the south. From the direction of Theris, she thought, but did not say. No sense adding to the panic now. She was already convinced the first and second Medusi attacks in this region for decades and Noctiluca’s ascension to the throne were no coincidence.
Was it possible she was testing the city, its defences? Or its complete lack of any, Aurelia corrected herself. If the sorceress attacked tomorrow, she’d thrall the city in a single night; from noble to pauper, all would be hers, none would survive. Aurelia still had to convince them to use the army, to fight; she’d let Faibryn distract her for too long.
She was surprised in the large court foyer when Terietta approached her. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I tried your rooms.’
‘I came to find out about the attack,’ said Aurelia. ‘I’m free to come and go as I please, I am betrothed to the Marquis. Yet you still treat me like a political prisoner.’
Terietta rolled her eyes. ‘You do not deserve that boy.’ Aurelia still had no idea how Faibryn had wrapped this officious crone round his fingers, but he had. ‘I don’t know what his father was thinking naming you as consort. That poor Nepheli. Even now she waits patiently until whatever spell you have placed over this palace is lifted and he comes to his senses. You will never marry him, not while I’m alive.’
‘What did you want?’ Aurelia interrupted. She had less and less time for the woman’s diatribes.
Suddenly reminded of her gossip, Terietta’s tone changed even though her audience was still the same hated witch. ‘Well, it’s most irregular, but you have an invitation to attend the council of Premiers. They are in session this afternoon and have asked for you.’
Finally, she thought. Something might just be going my way.
*
Nestled in the central plaza of the city just a stone’s throw from the palace complex, the Citadel of the Premiers rose from the surrounding buildings like the soft bud of a young flower that would never blossom; a large dome topped with a splayed crest as if it were about to open to the morning sunlight. Aurelia had been able to see it in all its glory from her terrace, its edifice glinting with the light rain overnight, dominating the skyline like the legacy of the Premiers dominated the city. As she approached at ground level, the citadel’s façade assailed her with its swooping lines and
regal shapes; the building had none of the gaudy gothic carvings, gargoyles or recessed tableaus of Theris architecture, but a splendour all its own.
The square outside was clear of people this morning, the market area nearby, a victim of the Medusi attack. Aurelia could see the remains of a street battle; the burnt jelly of Medusi carcasses that hadn’t yet been cleared, still aflame in places, a few spots of blood in the dust. Nothing compared to what will come, she thought, when Noctiluca stops testing and attacks.
The imposing double doors opened, and the sound echoed round the abandoned square, giving her a chill; she could be attacked at any moment. She had gone out without an escort, Terietta too busy with the ailing Duke suddenly, and Chrysaora on her special mission. Strange to think the Medusi attack had actually afforded her some safety. The general opinion of her hadn’t changed; she was still a war criminal, a witch and a sorceress, just depended on who you asked. But with the streets abandoned, she wasn’t in danger.
An old man at the door bowed low before she could see his face. ‘Empress Aurelia,’ he said, with reverence.
She recognised the voice, but it made no sense. Was that-?
The old man raised his head. ‘Ennius?’ she said.
Without thought, Aurelia rushed in and embraced him. Ennius smiled, holding her close. ‘Oh, my dear Aurelia. I am so glad to see you alive. When the city fell, I feared the worst.’ When she eventually let him go, Ennius closed the door. ‘Come follow me, Empress.’ He began to lead her into the citadel. ‘You are a little early for the audience. Would you allow your proud old teacher to give his favourite student a tour of his home?’
‘Of course,’ said Aurelia, beaming. She was so pleased, she could hardly contain it. Someone from her old life, someone from the palace in Theris where she had grown into a young woman, had survived. The palace tutor, Ennius had taught Aurelia, Cassandra and Anthrom everything they knew, often acting as a surrogate parent, or at least grandparent. He had also been her father’s trusted advisor, the Grand Premier until he became too old to perform his duties and retired, leaving the way open for Verismuss’ election.
With her world so changed since the siege, she had been too overwhelmed to grieve for a friend she thought lost, but now she wondered; Ennius had vanished from the palace during the death throes of the siege, and no one knew where he had gone. She was intrigued.
He led her through a large foyer of blushed sand-coloured brick and marble, and then began to slowly climb the room’s large staircase. She caught up to him easily.
‘So?’
‘Empress?’
‘Where have you been?’
‘I have been here in Argentor.’ He looked at her kindly.
‘No, I mean how did you get out of Theris during the siege?’
As he climbed, Aurelia noticed how frail he had become. He’d been old since she had known him, but Ennius now looked to be on the edge of collapsing. ‘I appealed to a few old friends who owed me favours,’ he said, ‘and arranged for them to help me quietly out of the city one night. It was close to the northern edge where neither army had much presence, for fear of encountering each other, and destroying their fragile alliance. Once outside, I met a caravan I had arranged by message to my brethren here, heading back to Argentor ahead of the main force. I have been here since.’
She’d thought the siege an impenetrable noose strangling her city, but it had been more of a sieve. Ennius had found a way through, Harling had moved in and out, and she had escaped when the time came.
‘Why did you leave me?’ she blurted, feeling young as she said it.
‘Oh, my child,’ said Ennius, in that way that showed a love she had never felt from her parents. ‘I didn’t want to leave you, but sometimes, the elder generation just has to get out of the way. I can’t move fast, so I needed time to get out of the city, but more than that it was your time. If I had stayed, you would have asked for my advice in all things. You would have relied on me. My advice never helped your father, just look where we are now.’
‘That was his fault,’ Aurelia countered. ‘He didn’t listen to you. I did.’
‘It’s true, sometimes he didn’t listen. But sometimes I was a terrible advisor. I often failed him. I couldn’t help Anthrom either; I watched him as he fell further and further under the sway of Verismuss. I will tell you a secret, an embarrassment to an old man.’
Aurelia frowned.
‘I feared for my life. Verismuss wanted me out, and all but threatened to have me killed. He felt I was interfering.’
‘Why didn’t you come to me?’
‘What, and admit I couldn’t handle my problems?’
Aurelia didn’t quite know what to say. Some strange combination of pride and cowardice had meant Ennius had left her to deal with the siege alone. When she had needed him most.
Ennius continued, ‘I felt it best to let you make your own decisions. I trusted you, Aurelia. I still do. I taught you well. But in my shadow you would never have become the leader you have.’
‘But I lost it all, Ennius. I lost the city, and even now I have no way to fight back. I failed you.’
‘Oh, hush,’ he said sharply. ‘You did not fail me. You did not fail anyone. We were all caught by surprise by the Order. Their plans to take the city had been unfolding for twenty years, maybe more. We had become complacent. You did the best you could taking the reins at the last minute.’
‘It’s over isn’t it? They’ve won.’ Aurelia helped him as he stumbled up the last step on the upper interior balcony.
‘Since when?’
‘Since I lost the city.’
Ennius shook his head, incredulous. ‘Let me show you something that might put this in perspective.’
‘You going to teach me something?’ Aurelia smiled, amused suddenly despite the sad subject.
‘If you force my hand like this.’ He smiled to match hers.
Ennius led Aurelia to a long hallway, one side of which held large old canvas portraits of what seemed to be Premiers. The walls were wood panelled and the carpet was threadbare with the comings and goings of generations of scholars, but its pattern still hurt the eye with its gaudiness. ‘This is the Hall of Grand Ancestry,’ said Ennius. ‘Hallowed Grand Premiers throughout the ages are immortalised here when their tenure is over.’ A few metres down the hall, Ennius stopped at a blank wall. ‘This space will hold a portrait of Verismuss one day, one of the youngest Grand Premiers ever elected.’ Aurelia didn’t want to ask why his portrait was not there already, she did not know the fate of her traitorous advisor. Ennius also ignored the subject of the traitor from among his own. He turned instead and gestured to the next panel. It was a half-finished rendition of him, looking a little younger, but not much, less frail, his hair a little thicker. ‘It’s very flattering, but hopefully not too much artistic license. The painter is a dear friend.’
They continued down the hall and as each portrait came and went, Ennius would tell Aurelia the name of the Premier, when they served, and something about them. ‘This is Rudolfus, his service more than a hundred years ago now. He was the first Grand Premier to serve who had previously been a soldier in the Primes.’ Or, ‘This is Scarmaius the Just, who is infamous for wresting control of Argentor from the Emperor in Theris some two hundred years ago because he felt one of your ancestors corrupt. History repeats you see. He eventually became a tyrant, administering beheadings in the street by guillotine and was himself deposed. And quite violently.’
Finally they reached the far end of the hall. Aurelia’s head was swimming with the history of the Premiers, recited backwards from modern times back almost four hundred years. She felt the age of the place. The portraits down the hall varied in style, but slowly became more classical and simplistic as they crept back through the centuries. They came to the final panel.
‘This is Thonranius the Grand, first of the Grand Premiers,’ Ennius announced proudly. ‘Much mystery surrounds him, as this was long before the first detailed records
were kept. What is known is that he founded the Premiers as a schism of Medology in direct contention to the rise of the Order of the Medousa, which was just beginning at the time, claiming followers and growing in influence. He established the Primes and the Premiers, a light against the encroaching darkness that he foresaw if the Order ever got the kind of power they clearly desired. The kind they have now.’
Aurelia had grown tired of looking closely at each of the portraits, but as Ennius spoke she found herself more interested in this first Grand Premier. She peered up at the painting…
…and recognised the old man depicted there. She gasped. ‘That man fights for us even now, Ennius. His name is Nausithorn.’
Ennius looked at the picture and back at her. ‘Are you feeling okay, Empress? Thonranius died hundreds of years ago.’
‘No, he didn’t. I’m sure it’s him. I would not mistake a face.’ Cassandra had told her one night that Naus’ history went back even further. ‘The Thorn, Eleutheria’s assassin from the old legends you used to teach us, is the same man as Thonranius, the founder of the Premiers. And he is also the man who arrived at the palace and warned me about the Medusi army just before it took the city.’
Ennius considered it for a moment, for which she had to give him credit. An indulgent grandfather. ‘But he’d be well over a thousand years old.’
‘I know it sounds crazy. But if you ever met him you would see the resemblance. That’s him.’ She pointed emphatically at the painting. ‘He is a nomad who travels the continent never staying in one place for long, lest he is recognised for who he is. Circumstances have forced him to once again take up a role in the struggle against the Medusi. He almost came here with me, but has instead travelled to the Order’s Temple in Terracon. He intends to infiltrate it while the Order is otherwise distracted in Theris.’
Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2) Page 31