"The General passes! Make way for Menleco!" Xanthippus looked toward the voices and saw the Riders at the head of the column shouting in all directions and to all ears. "It is Menleco!" they bellowed. "Stand down! Stand down!"
Their voices boomed with authority and for an instant, the mayhem of the panicked throng ceased and even the killing stopped. There was a momentary stillness as the panic gave way to mere confusion. The Prathian Guard halted. Riders stormed through the exit and into the field.
"No!" Xanthippus cried. "Stop them! They must not escape!"
Even as he shouted, he could already see Riders sweeping around the flank of the frozen shield wall and into the night beyond. Rider by Rider, the glut loosened and horses began to surge forward. Xanthippus followed briskly. He had almost reached Lyssa when her horse began to move away again.
"Xanthippus!" she cried, reaching behind her. "Do not leave me to these men!" She stretched her hand out to its fullest extent. He could see her terrified eyes, and knew she remained but a bare moment away from being whisked back into Menleco's grasp forever. His heart yearned to reach her. He stretched out his own hand, but his fingers barely brushed hers. The Rider turned and scowled at him. When he leaned away to draw his sword, Xanthippus knew it was now or never.
With a desperate lunge, he hurled himself at the Rider, knowing it was his last chance to stop him. In mid-air, he realized with dawning horror that he would come up short. His body slammed against Lyssa's thigh, crushing it against the horse. He heard her cry out in pain. He felt himself bounce sideways. He made a desperate grab for the Rider, but could only feel his body falling through space. It wasn't until he had slammed into the ground that he realized his fingers had snagged something. The weight of it wrenched his shoulder as he tumbled in the road. It was the Rider's cloak. His fingers had tangled in it and he had pulled the man from his mount. They had fallen together onto the hard-packed earth of the causeway.
Xanthippus immediately rolled to his feet. Instinctively, his hand went to where his sword should have been sheathed at his side, but it was gone. Weaponless, he squared on the fallen Rider, ready to pounce. Another surge sent horses flying past them. Xanthippus dodged, but the Rider was not so lucky. He had not yet found his feet when a horse trampled him where he lay. Xanthippus could hear the cracking of the man's skull as the massive creature tumbled over him. The beast fell to its knees, throwing its Rider. For an instant, he thought it would plunge head over hoof into the ditch, but by thrusting its head and neck forward and kicking its front legs, it managed to regain its feet, and it stood dazed astraddle the man it had just killed. Xanthippus rushed up to it and grabbed its reins before it could think to flee. He looked around and saw Lyssa nowhere.
A moment later, he saw her white gown again, this time out in the field. Her horse was carrying her away in an uncontrolled panic. Xanthippus swung onto the horse and spurred it to follow.
He broke free from the clogged causeway and burst out of the camp into the field. Lyssa's horse had carried her off to the right and it was now wheeling back again towards him. He could see that it was headed straight for Menleco's escaping column, so he cut across to intercept it. In the space of a few hoof beats, he found himself riding alongside the wild beast as it charged, oblivious to both its rider and the horse now galloping alongside it. With both arms wrapped around the creature's back, Lyssa gripped it fiercely. When she saw Xanthippus, she cautiously reached out a hand. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him.
He could feel her weight on him as she grasped his shoulder. She reached out her other hand. "Hold on to me!" he cried, and immediately felt her fingers clench. He flung his arm around her waist and whisked her from her mount. He held her tightly to him as he reined his horse to a halt.
Still holding her suspended with one arm, he turned his face to her with the thought of placing her gently onto the ground. Instead, she flung her arms around him and kissed him deeply. He kissed her back.
He felt light and he found that he wanted to laugh. Even in the night, her emerald eyes sparkled with radiance. She beamed with happiness and his heart soared.
"You are free," he told her, still meaning to put her down, but she would not relinquish her hold of him.
"I am not free," she said, her eyes now shimmering with tears, "for my heart belongs to you." She buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh, Xanthippus! I knew you would come back!"
"It is Xanthippus I love!" His heart leapt with joy. He had never dared hope those words were anything more than an unhappy lady's spiteful stab at her tormentor. Did he dare believe it now? How could he?
"Then you knew something I did not," he said, forcing her from him. "I have not yet finished my work." He made to put her down again, but she would not allow it.
"Don't leave me here," she pleaded. "It is not safe for me to be alone. Please take me wherever you go."
The look on her face was a naked blade to his heart. He lifted her again and put her behind him. "Hold on to me," he said, and spurred the horse back towards the unfinished business of the stalled shield wall.
The escaping Riders were a mere trickle now. Perhaps a dozen of them had sped away into the night. No more, Xanthippus thought. He rode in front of the line of spearmen, the men still shuffling in confusion.
"Men of the Guard, why have you stopped?" Xanthippus cried when he had reached to within earshot of them. "Do not let the Riders escape! They have tricked you! Who is in command here?"
"Guardsmen command the Prathian Guard, Shadow Rider!" one of the men called back contemptuously.
"Then listen to a Guardsman when I command you!" Xanthippus called back.
The spearmen muttered and murmured, and loud voices rose above them.
"He is a Rider!"
"Look! He makes to carry off a lady!"
"A Shadow Rider, daring to command us!"
Xanthippus sputtered for a second before realizing that he was still dressed as a Rider. He hastily unclasped his cloak, wadded it in his fists and slammed it to the ground.
"I am no Shadow Rider!" He spat the bitter words at them. "Look upon my face! Those of you with eyes, look upon me! You know who I am! I am Xanthippus of the Prathian Guard!"
"By the gods, it is!" came a cry from the Prathians. The men in the front who could see him passed it along to the men behind.
"Xanthippus has returned!" voices began shouting.
"I am happy to see you, too," Xanthippus cried. Laughter rose from the men. "But we have no time now for happy homecomings, for tonight we are killing Shadow Riders!" He could feel Lyssa's fingers digging into his stomach as she gripped him around the waist. Her fear did not surprise him. If he did not know the men, he would fear standing before them, too. "Those were Riders who commanded you to halt," he went on. "Menleco does not command you! It is Xanthippus who now commands you! Menleco is a dog who must die, and all the Riders with him. Prathian Guard, let none escape this camp!"
A wild cry rose from the men, some cheering, some shouting Xanthippus' name. And then, as one, the spears fell level. "Hrrrummp!" Xanthippus felt the sound in his chest like the booming of great drums. Lyssa shuddered and gasped. The line began to surge towards them. Xanthippus did not move. With a shout, the spearmen broke into a sprint, and the line parted for them like a current breaking upon a stone. The men surged past them so closely they could see their faces even through the concealing shadows of their helms. Their eyes burned like fire. It was thrilling, like being caught in the middle of a barbarian charge and living to tell of it.
Lyssa squealed with delight. Even Xanthippus felt himself laughing. He watched the murderous line as it charged the exit from the camp, still crowded with scattering horses and men. Their cries filled the night air. Behind them, the camp burned.
"Your men love you," Lyssa said. "Look at them! They move as one on your command!"
Xanthippus took a deep breath. "Myrtilus said it was enough just to be alive," he mused. "But, gods help me, it is not."
"Perhaps there is room in your living to be loved by me," Lyssa said.
Xanthippus turned and took her in his arms. "I believe there is room," he said.
She lifted her face and when he kissed her, it was not war cries and booming drums he felt pounding in his chest.
It was love.
Part III
BATHED IN BLOOD
Chapter 29
Menleco pushed past Lord Taler, but a guard at the door, a Bearded Man, stepped into his path. Menleco felt as though he had run headlong into a stone wall. His eyes barely cleared the guard's sculpted beard. When his forehead met the bronze plate, he fell backward onto his ass and slid a few feet across the polished marble floor. He might as well have run smack into the door itself.
Taler sniffed a laugh. Neither he nor the guard stooped to help him up. Menleco was not accustomed to men blocking his way, nor was he used to them standing by when he needed a hand. He clambered to his feet and glared at the giant Bearded Man. An impassive bronze face stared eyelessly back at him. He turned to Taler instead.
"Don't be in such a hurry, General," the spymaster said, still sniffing. His idea of a smile was a crinkled nose that offered an unwelcome glimpse inside his nostrils. "I don't know how eager Demetrius will be to hear your sordid little tale. Or you his reply."
"Oh, he'll want to hear what I have to say to him." Menleco liked the sound of his own voice. That was precisely the tone he was going for - self-assured, edging towards arrogance. That would see him through.
The sounds of angry voices issued from behind the double doors.
"He's not happy with Theon of Lacecia," Taler said. "I believe he will be equally unhappy with you."
Menleco listened. The angry voice he had heard was Demetrius. Long pauses in which a softer voice seemed to be speaking were interrupted by wails of anguish and despair. That, he guessed, was Theon. His confidence melted away. What had he to offer when not even the vile spymaster felt compelled to help him to his feet? And what did it say of his life's struggle when in his time of need he found himself a solicitor outside the door of a man he hated? As he listened to the voices, it occurred to him that Theon probably had his own life questions about now.
The doors burst open and out poured a double file of Bearded Men. In their midst was a man who could only have been Theon of Lacecia. He was draped in chains and shouting at the top of his lungs, pleading for mercy. By the time the Bearded Men had swept him into the corridor and down a set of darkening steps, he was cursing and vowing vengeance. A heartbeat later, the corridor was as quiet as before.
"He allowed a Sethalian garrison into his city when he had promised it to Demetrius," Taler explained. "Oh, don't worry. Demetrius took the city anyway, but not without effort and not without loss. Well, there it is. The way is now open, the king awaits. You'll pardon me if I don't go in with you, but I've just had my lunch…"
Menleco found the king seated on his throne between two tall braziers in which flames seemed to float upon pools of silvery oil. The firelight glittered in the rings on his fingers and shimmered in his oiled beard and hair. Menleco strode between fat painted columns, keenly aware that the only sound in the room was the clicking of his own heels on the stone floor. He had had scant dealings with King Demetrius. Lord Taler was Menleco's man. But he did not fear kings. By rights, he should have been one himself and soon would be. Yet something about this one made him uneasy.
The seat next to him was empty. Menleco saw the queen wrapped around the back of the king's throne speaking words into his ear. The sight of Pylia took Menleco by surprise. His heel lingered above the floor in mid-stride and the thought of fleeing flashed through his mind. If the king made him uneasy, the queen filled him with pure terror. He had only known her as the creature he had seen peering into the dreadful pool. That such a foul thing could walk on two legs and appear in all other respects perfectly human was a fact more terrible than he would have imagined. At his last meeting, his fear had shamed him. By the time his heel hit the floor now, he realized that his shame had been misplaced. Fear was the companion of all who strode between these columns.
Theon had been screaming in anger and despair, Menleco consoled himself, not pain.
"Ah, General Menleco," Demetrius cried. "How good to see you. You may approach the throne. Please, come forward. Come."
The king held out his hand and Menleco sprang boldly up the few steps of the raised platform. There he knelt on one knee and brushed the royal ring with his lips. Pylia rounded the throne and regarded him coolly. She wore a saffron robe with a diaphanous shawl drawn over her iron grey hair. Her face was that of a withered crone. Her eyes were as black and cold as her depthless pool had been. Menleco thought he could see how she might have been a beauty once, but perhaps he was only remembering that the last time he had seen her she was.
At least part of the time. A beautiful seductress…
…with snakes in her hair…
He retreated to the bottom of the steps before she could request anything of him. He wanted his lips nowhere near her.
"You have brought us news of Clautius, no doubt." Smiling faintly, Demetrius leaned back and rested his elbow on the arm of his throne. He opened his hand and Pylia laid a veiny claw on his palm. He closed his fingers around it. Menleco winced inside. "Better yet, perhaps you have brought us Clautius himself?"
"What I have to offer you is better than Clautius."
Demetrius uttered a dark laugh. "You are like my council, General. They are forever trying to convince me that their nothing is better than the something I asked for. This Clautius! Do you know where he is, Menleco?"
"If I knew where he was, I would have brought him with me."
"Oh, but you were told where he was, were you not? And yet, I see only you standing before me." Demetrius looked up at Pylia. "This Clautius, my dear, is proving to be more slippery than even the boy."
"He has slipped through the general's greasy fingers, that is true," Pylia responded. She allowed her own fingers to slide from Demetrius' palm as she took a step towards Menleco. He wondered if he could keep a straight face, for the moment he had dreaded had now come to pass. If he could not hide his horror, could he at least keep his feet planted? "Perhaps your assassins who failed to kill the little Epirian king can find him, for Clautius has gone to Tygetia."
As she came towards him, his eye was drawn to her frail form. The plunging neckline exposed a withered breast, bony and spiderwebbed with blue veins. He meant to tear his eyes from it, but in a flash the wasted flesh was replaced by the voluptuous breast of a fair maiden, plump and brown. He raised his eyes to see not the puckered dry mouth of a crone but lips red, moist and full…with a wisp of a forked tongue darting between them.
Then it was gone. The hag had returned. He felt her cold finger tracing a path along the exposed flesh of his neck as she walked slowly around him. This is not her chamber of horrors, but the king's throne room. There is no ghastly pool here and no chains on the walls…Calm, Menleco, calm…
"Clautius has escaped to Tygetia?" Menleco asked, as if he cared. He did not blame the man for fleeing. With the witch pursuing him, Menleco would not have stopped in Tygetia.
Pylia whispered close to his ear. The feel of her breath on his neck and the brush of her wrinkled lips on his ear sent a shiver through him. "And from what would he be escaping, General? You?" She laughed, dry and hoarse. "No, Clautius goes where Clautius wishes, and he goes to Tygetia to fetch Hurrus, the very thing we had hoped to avoid."
"I am afraid you might have made a mistake coming here, Menleco," Demetrius said. "You reek of failure and defeat."
Menleco stepped angrily out of Pylia's grasp. If he had made a mistake, even a lethal one, he would at least tell them what he had come for. "You have not even heard me out, Demetrius. I have traveled hard from Prathia. It is true, Clautius eludes me. I admit it. But you must listen to what I offer you now."
Demetrius closed his eyes, sighing. "Dare I ask? Ve
ry well. What is this nothing I have not asked for that will please me so?"
Menleco's eyes darted from the king to Pylia - who remained an old woman, at least for the moment - and back again. "I have come here to offer you Prathia."
A loud guffaw issued from the back of the hall. Menleco jerked his head around but saw nothing in the gloom.
Demetrius leaned forward and made a tent of his jeweled fingers. "Now, this interests me," he said. "Prathia, no less. And this is within your power to give?"
Menleco's heart surged with gladness. His Shadow Riders may have been destroyed, the Guard and Lyssa stolen from him, but he was about to acquire the most powerful force in all of Gyriece. The Irrylian army was to be the instrument of his revenge. Did the fool Xanthippus think Menleco would slink away into the night? Not even Pylia frightened him now. With care, he would bend her to his will as well as the king.
"Serusi is a city without walls, Your Highness," Menleco said, speaking of the capital of Prathia. "It is said the city needs no defenses, for the Guard is its walls."
"Yes?" Demetrius' expression grew stern. "No foreign army has ever entered Serusi. Why should it be any easier for us?"
"It is also said that whoever controls the Guard controls Prathia."
There was an empty pause. "You try my patience--"
Menleco spread his arms. "I am the Guard!" he blurted out all at once. He was astonished by their blank looks. Did they not understand the enormity of his offer? "Under my command, the Prathian Guard will not oppose you. This is what I am telling you. I am the Guard."
"The Guard does your bidding?"
"I have used it for extortion often enough. Now, I will use it for conquest, something I should have done years ago. It was said of the old Guard that it would never betray Prathia. But Menleco's Guard will never betray Menleco!" At least, Demetrius must be made to believe it. It was true that the fighting at the Shadow Rider's camp had halted on his command. When the men saw him again, they would renounce their treason.
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