But it was not a snake that leapt into the saddle of the empty horse, it was but a flesh and blood man. It was Kerraunus.
Did anyone see the transformation? It seemed to Hurrus that a man simply jumped onto the horse from where an instant ago a giant white snake had stood.
Kerraunus and Nefer raced to the horizon. The eagle-men were too shocked to give chase. Other snake-men tore off after them.
In truth, there was not a man in the field that day who was not happy to see them go.
Chapter 26
Xanthippus and Nydeon paused at the mouth of the clearing. Menleco's great pavilion, a tent the size of a palace, stood at one end, while the newly arrived troop of Shadow Riders with their prisoners congregated at the other. A large cookfire burned between them. A handful of black figures turned a spitted carcass slowly over the flames. The dancing blaze, along with the light of a dozen torches planted in the ground, gave a ghastly air to the skull-faced Riders. Their frozen death's-head grins seemed to shift and stir as if alive. If Xanthippus had indeed peeked inside the gates of hell as he had claimed to Myrtilus, he was certain that this was what he would have seen.
He had no doubt that he would have also spied Menleco there as certainly as he did now, for even in the darkness there was no mistaking him. Though aged well past his prime, his power was still clear to see, not only in his build, but also in his bearing. He strode boldly before the Riders, his authority over them seeming obvious and unquestioned. Xanthippus could not hear his words, but it was clear to see that he was in no happy mood. He stomped from one end of the line of Riders to the other, the firelight glaring as red on his bald pate as Xanthippus imagined the rage in his face.
After a moment, Menleco turned and stalked off across the clearing. His guards straightened when they saw him coming. He disappeared into his tent. The Riders he had left behind shuffled aimlessly for an awkward minute. Then they dispersed into the dark avenues among their own tents, happy to be out from under the gaze of Menleco's fury.
Xanthippus waited a minute to allow the Riders a chance to clear out.
"Remember, Thalen," he said behind his skull-faced mask, "you are an Irrylian traitor. Try to act like one."
Thalen stood between the men with his wrists bound together at his waist. He had been watching the assembled Riders in terror, looking every bit as if he were peering into the underworld. Xanthippus now saw doubt flash in his eyes. He thought to murmur some small reassurances to him, but before he had a chance to speak, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a bareheaded man dressed all in black grinning at him. He held a Rider's helm under one arm. The other he had wrapped amiably around Xanthippus' shoulders.
"You boys have arrived late to the party," he said, slapping Xanthippus on the back. "I don't blame you. I wish I had stayed here and watched too, instead of getting my ass chewed. The old man was in rare form today."
Xanthippus tried to step away from the man's encircling arm, but he held him fast. He felt like a coiled sinew himself now. His impulse was to shove the grinning oaf aside and be on his way, but he was a Rider now, a brother of the skull.
"And what was it vexing the general?" Xanthippus asked, stupidly, he feared.
The man scoffed a little laugh and rapped a knuckle on Xanthippus' helm, as if to see if any intelligence lurked within. Xanthippus could conceive of nothing more irritating than that little gesture. "Because no one brought him the man Clautias. What else? Ardonis smiled when he sent Menleco to us unarmed, or there certainly would have been bloodshed."
Xanthippus did not reply. The Rider took a step back and regarded both of their masked faces with a frown. "I don't believe I know you two fellows," he said. "You don't have to wear those helmets in camp, you know."
"Can't you see we have a captive here?" Xanthippus said. "Stand aside." Grabbing Thalen with one hand by the scruff of his neck, Xanthippus shoved the man away with a sweep of his other. The man stumbled but made no move to stop them.
"A captive?" He laughed as the trio walked off into the clearing without him. "If he's not Clautias, you might want to wait 'til morning," the Rider chortled after them.
When they were out of earshot, Thalen complained. "I wish you would stop doing that!"
"Shut up," Xanthippus said. He looked past him to Nydeon. "I hate these damned Riders."
Nydeon reached over and rapped on Xanthippus' helmeted forehead.
"The next man to touch my head dies," Xanthippus said, much to Nydeon's amusement.
The outer wall of Menleco's tent seemed an imposing edifice, though it was mere canvas. Once they entered, there was a chance they would not be leaving again. Nearby, the group of black figures was still working around the fire. Xanthippus could see their faces now, the firelight dancing over their features, could hear the crackling flames. A whole city of tents surrounded the clearing. A single shout from either of the guards at Menleco's door would bring a hundred armed men running. Xanthippus had been close to death before, but rarely had he marched toward it so knowingly when it would have been an easy matter simply to walk away.
One of the guards stepped forward from the general's door and barred their way before they had approached to within ten feet of the tent. Helmetless and holding a spear across his chest, he was dressed all in black in the manner of the Prathian Guard, not unlike the Shadow Riders themselves.
"Where do you think you're going?" he challenged them as they approached.
Xanthippus saw at once the baleful look in the lad's eyes. He was used to that hateful glare from the young men of the guard. The kid was no doubt some cutthroat hellion, whisked out of a hangman's noose by one of Menleco's recruiters. There was as much loathing in him as there was arrogance in the Riders.
"You dare stand against the Riders?" Xanthippus asked.
"I stand against all who approach Menleco's tent," the guard said. He looked at both the Shadow Riders and then suspiciously at Thalen. "What business have you here?"
"Shadow Riders' business," Xanthippus said. "Why don't you lie down at my feet so I can wipe my boots on your cloak?"
Even in the gloom, Xanthippus could see the lad's face redden. "I don't care if you are a Rider," he snarled. "I'll run you through where you stand."
"As you can see, I'm not standing. I'm walking." Xanthippus shoved him out of the way and strode past him. "I have an appointment to see Menleco."
Before he had gone a step, he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, turning him. The guard held his spear in a thrusting position now. Xanthippus grabbed the shaft in his gloved hand and pulled the lad in close to his face.
"Are you going to stop me?" he hissed.
The guard struggled for an instant but could not break Xanthippus' grip. "I might," he said manfully.
It was so like something Xanthippus himself would have said that he burst out laughing.
"You are Prathian Guard?" he asked.
The lad nodded, holding Xanthippus' gaze, though there was a hint of confusion swimming behind the look.
"You went through the Prathian School?"
Again, he nodded.
With a little shove, Xanthippus let go of the spear, pushing the guard backward. "And Menleco has no more use for you than to guard his little palace here? Guard it from what? Field mice?"
"Perhaps I guard it from Shadow Riders, like you," the young Guardsman said. He had regained himself, leveling his spear at Xanthippus. But he did not seem likely to use it now.
"I know your master is in a foul mood tonight," Xanthippus said. "But what I have for him will cheer him up. You wait and see."
"This Irrylian?" the guard asked uncertainly.
"The Irrylian - and then some, my friend."
"You don't sound like a Shadow Rider."
"I know," Xanthippus said. "I sound like you."
The boy's face broke into a smile. "Go on in," he said. "Who am I to stand in the way of the Riders?"
The three men walked past him. Before entering, Xanthippus loo
ked back. "Just be sure you don't kill us when we come out again," he said. Then he ducked his head and entered Menleco's tent.
Inside, it looked as if they had caught Menleco in the middle of something. His lady, Lyssa, sat where she had fallen. Her gown pooled on the floor around her. When Menleco heard the men enter, he whirled on them in fury. Xanthippus saw he was gripping his heavy leather gloves in his right hand. On Lyssa's cheek was a mark of blistering red, suspiciously glove-shaped. In her eyes flared anger, sadness, pain…and when she saw the men, hope.
Xanthippus was glad for his mask; for he knew at that moment, his face would have betrayed him, even if it were not known to all in the room. There she sat where Menleco had struck her down, the most beautiful woman in Prathia, the royal beauty. As Menleco's right hand, Xanthippus had grown accustomed to seeing her in his presence. She was unforgettable, not only for her comeliness, but because she was the unhappiest lady he had ever laid eyes on.
One day in a fit of despair, she had whisked Menleco's dagger from his belt and held it to her own breast.
"I would sooner die," Xanthippus remembered her saying, "than spend another day with you!"
Xanthippus could not believe what he was seeing play out before his eyes. He felt embarrassed and horrified. Not that anyone could tell. He had become proficient at keeping his thoughts from his face. He stood at Menleco's right hand as if he had no opinion of a lady about to take her own life.
Menleco had only laughed. "You have not the courage to plunge that blade into your heart. Go ahead! I'm waiting. Do it!"
He lunged toward her as if he would thrust the knife in himself. "Do it!" he cried, just inches from her face.
She screwed her eyes shut as her muscles tensed. Her hands jerked and her breast sprouted red. "No!" Xanthippus cried out, unable to control himself any longer. His voice seemed to break the spell that had fallen over her. She let the dagger fall and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Tendrils of blood spilled from the flesh wound on her milk-white breast.
If not for his voice, Xanthippus was certain she would have gone through with it.
Menleco bent down and retrieved his dagger from the floor. He wiped away a spot of blood from the blade and sheathed it at his belt. "I didn't think so," he said. "Your heart is too precious for the blade. Your heart that you give freely to others," he added, "but withhold from me."
She looked up from her hands, her eyes streaming. "How could anyone love you? You are ugly and cruel."
"Oh, you're just trying to flatter me now."
"I have given my heart to another, and you should let me go," Lyssa pleaded with him.
Xanthippus knew that that was the wrong thing to say, and he winced. He was certain that had shown on his face. But Menleco could not have noticed it, for his own face went suddenly red with rage. Xanthippus had never seen a fury emerge in someone so quickly.
"Who is this you speak of?" he raged, reaching again for his dagger. "Tell me - or this blade will find your heart. Not by your hand, but by mine!"
"It is him!" she pointed at Xanthippus. Menleco's mouth hung open in shock as she rushed to Xanthippus' side and grasped his arm in both of her hands. "It is Xanthippus I love."
Xanthippus remembered wondering at the time if there was not a grain of truth in what she said. He knew that there would be more than a grain of truth in his reciprocation of it. Menleco had stolen her. She was his wife only because he called her that. Stolen from Areus, King of Prathia, a man who feared Menleco, feared his Riders and his Guard… Gods help him; he had to wonder.
Looking back now, he wondered if that had been his death sentence, sent to die in the Tygetian desert, an assassin's blade in his hand - and another in his throat.
He found his eyes scanning her breast to see if the blade had left a mark where it had pierced her flesh. Sure enough, there it was, a little raised welt over her heart. He felt it was something they shared from that day a lifetime ago, though Xanthippus' scar was on his heart, not over it, and could not be seen with human eyes.
"What are you men doing in here?" Menleco shouted at them. Having just struck Lyssa to the floor, his eyes bulged in fury as he whirled to face the Riders and their captive.
"We bring you a prisoner," Xanthippus said, recovering himself quickly. He had not expected to find Lyssa here. Her presence changed everything. Could he commit murder before her eyes?
Menleco calmed himself almost immediately. He straightened and flashed a mocking smile. "A prisoner? I see that this one is not Clautias, either," he observed. "What is he, then? Food-taster? Stable boy? What?"
"Irrylian traitor..." Xanthippus began, but stopped when he realized Menleco had sauntered around behind them. Xanthippus wondered what he intended, but none of the three dared look. Lyssa had regained her feet. She stood rubbing her bruised cheek, her eyes glued to Thalen's face.
"Yes, 'Irrylian traitor'... Go on..." Menleco urged at their backs.
"We found him colluding with the Epirians…" Xanthippus continued uncertainly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Menleco lifting Thalen's mustard cloak, peering beneath it.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Menleco said, cutting Xanthippus' rehearsed statement short. "I wasn't listening. I was just looking to see if Clautias might be hiding back here behind this worthless fellow you have brought me. You see, the Irrylians hired the Shadow Riders - that's us - to capture this man Clautias. You may have heard. They told us where to find him, even. And yet," - he came sauntering around from behind them and, still holding his gloves in one hand, lifted Thalen's chin with them to get a better look at his face - "and yet my Riders bring me worthless trash such as this…" In disgust, he gave Thalen's chin a hard shove. He turned his back on them and walked a few steps towards Lyssa.
Now, Xanthippus thought. He could feel the weight of the dead Shadow Rider's unfamiliar sword hanging on his belt. The first time he unsheathed it would be to drive it through Menleco's guts. Yet, something stayed his hand. Menleco's life was his. But he found that he did not want him to die so soon.
"Perhaps the general fears the Irrylians," Xanthippus said. He caught a glimpse of Nydeon's skull face turning towards him in shock.
Menleco spun on his heel. "If your wits and your blade were as sharp as your tongue, Rider, it is Clautias who would be standing before me. Instead, you bring me some harmless boy the Irrylians would no doubt not even recognize were I foolish enough to bring him to them. If your blade were as sharp as your tongue, perhaps you might have captured the Huntress. Yet, that was a task left to me alone. I suppose I will have to capture Clautias myself, too."
"Maybe the boy is one of your lady's suitors and that is why we bring him to you," Xanthippus said. He could feel a rage building in him. "See how she looks at him? Perhaps the general wants to have this boy killed, to prevent his lady loving him."
Menleco narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked. "How dare you speak this way--?"
"I can't take anymore of this killing!" Lyssa cried out. "I suppose you're going to kill this boy, too."
Menleco turned and struck her again with his gloves, knocking her to the floor. Xanthippus' hand went to the hilt of his sword, but he resisted drawing it.
"Does this captive mean something to you?" Menleco growled at Lyssa where she lay on the floor. "Is he known to you?"
"Of course not!" Lyssa cried. "I have never seen him before. The black Rider tells tales..."
"Isn't that what the general does?" Xanthippus went on, his blood rising. "He kills off those whom his lady loves? He sends them off to die, no matter how nobly they have served him. There is only one captive in this room, and that is the lady Lyssa herself. Perhaps we will take her with us when we leave here."
"Lift your helm, Rider, and let me see your face!" Menleco cried. Xanthippus made no move but to put his hand back on the hilt of his sword. Menleco's face deepened several shades of red and the cords in his neck strained as though they would burst from his flesh. "Lift it, or, by the gods
, I will lop your head from your shoulders and remove the thing myself!"
"You can try," Xanthippus said. He saw Lyssa staring at him, her eyes searching his masked face. Even through her pain, he could see her hope and fear. He had no wish to torture her further. He wanted to whisk off his mask and make himself known to both of them. Then, with the look of shock still on Menleco's face, he wanted to plunge his sword into one side of him and out the other …
From outside the tent, he heard angry voices, a scuffle, and then a single sharp crack. The young guard spilled into the tent, falling backwards through the door. Stepping over the prostrate guard, three men strode in purposefully. They made their way fearlessly to Menleco, shoving the Riders out of their path. All three of them wore blue and yellow headscarves and carried yellowwood staffs, short swords sheathed at their belts.
"Blue men!" Xanthippus gasped under his breath. "Nydeon, do you see this?"
Nydeon nodded.
"Blue men? Who are blue men?" Thalen asked, becoming fearful. "Cut me loose," he whispered frantically. "Damn you, cut me loose!"
"Your men have failed," the leader of the Mejadym said with a thick Tygetian accent. He poked Menleco in the chest with the tip of his yellowwood, causing the general to stumble backward. Xanthippus was intrigued to see the look of fear in Menleco's eyes. He had forgotten all about his Riders. Before entering Tygetia, Xanthippus had never heard of the Mejadym, but clearly, Menleco had. He did not seem surprised to see them, and he knew them well enough to fear them.
"What do you mean?" he asked. In his terror, he seemed not to notice the tip of the yellowwood right under his chin. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Your men, your Prathians, have failed in their mission. That's what I mean. Prince Hurrus lives, you fool! He lives!"
"That is not possible," Menleco said. "Surely you are mistaken."
"The only mistake is yours, Menleco, if you think we are going to let this pass." The blue man resumed poking him in the chest with his yellowwood. "The barbarians you sent cut a swath of murder through Tygetia, to be certain. Yet they touched not a hair of Hurrus' head. It was the Mejadym who suffered at their hands, and the Mejadym alone. This will not be tolerated--"
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