The soldiers managed only one step forward before Hadrian drew his swords. The rest followed his lead. To his left, Degan stepped up, and beside him Magnus held his hammer. To his right the elves advanced to stand in front of Royce, causing him to sigh. Even the boys drew daggers, except for Kine and Mince, who did not have any, but they put up their fists, nonetheless.
The soldiers hesitated. Luret drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. “I said arrest them!”
One of the soldiers near Royce jabbed forward with his spear. The nearest elf severed the metal tip from the shaft. The guard backed up, holding the wooden staff.
None of the others moved.
Luret’s face reddened. “You are defying arrest! You are challenging an imperial envoy and duly appointed magistrate and executor of this estate. I demand you surrender at once! Surrender or by the power invested in me by the empress herself I will have you shot where you stand!”
No one moved.
“I don’t recall investing anything in you, much less the power to kill members of my personal entourage,” Modina said as she walked forward from the rear of the party.
Luret put a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun and squinted in her direction. “Who is this now?”
“You don’t recognize me?” Modina asked in a light and lilting voice. “And yet you are so quick to evoke my name. Allow me to introduce myself. Perhaps it will jog your memory. I am the slayer of Rufus’s Bane, the high priestess of the Church of Nyphron, Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Majesty, Empress Modina Novronian.”
She cast off the blanket.
Several people in the crowd gasped. Arbor staggered backward, causing Dunstan to catch hold of her, and Hadrian was certain he heard Armigil mutter, “I’ll be buggered.”
The empress stood in her lavish gown. She was also adorned in the long black velvet mantle embroidered with the imperial crest, which she’d put on before presenting herself.
“This—No, it’s not possible!” Luret muttered. “It’s a trick. A trick, I say! I won’t be hoodwinked. Look at this child. She is an impostor. A fake. All of you lay down your arms and come peacefully and I will only execute the blacksmith’s son and his companion. Defy me and all of you will die!”
At that moment, the six soldiers with the crossbows began to sniffle. They blinked hard, their eyes watered, and they crinkled their noses. One by one, they began to sneeze, and then the thick sinewy skein of the crossbows snapped in loud pops, the metal bolts dropping helplessly to the dirt.
Hadrian glanced at Arista, who smiled mischievously at him.
“Before you get yourself into any more trouble,” Modina said, addressing Luret, who was now clearly concerned, “allow me to introduce the rest of my contingent. This is the princess—or rather now Queen Arista of Melengar, conqueror of Ratibor, and sorceress extraordinaire.”
“I think she prefers wizardess,” Myron whispered.
“Pardon me, wizardess. This is Royce Melborn, newly crowned king of the ancient realm of Erivan. With him, as you may have noticed, are three of his elven lords. This short gentleman is Magnus of the Children of Drome, a master of stone and earth. Beside him is Degan Gaunt, leader and hero of the Nationalists. Over here is the legendary sword master Count Pickering of Galilin. This is the Marquis of Glouston, the famed and learned monk of Maribor. And while he shouldn’t require any introduction, before you stands Hadrian Blackwater, Teshlor Knight, Guardian of the Heir of Novron, champion of the empire, and hero of the realm.
“These defenders of the empire have passed through the underworld, fought armies of goblins, crossed treacherous seas, entered and returned from the lost city of Percepliquis, and this very day halted the advance of an unstoppable army and defeated the being who long ago murdered our savior Novron the Great. They saved not only the empire but all of you as well. You owe them your lives, your respect, and your eternal gratitude.”
She paused to stare at the wide-eyed Luret. “Well, envoy, magistrate, and executor, what say you?”
Luret looked at the faces around him. He saw his men laying down their weapons. He glanced at the faces of the villagers, then kicked his horse and bolted. He did not head back up the road to the manor but rather fled out to the open fields.
“I could make him fall off the horse,” Arista mentioned, but Modina shook her head.
“Let him go.” She looked at the soldiers. “The rest of you can go as well.”
“Wait,” Hadrian said. “Lord Baldwin is imprisoned at the manor, is that right?”
The soldiers slowly nodded, their faces coated in concern.
“Go free him at once,” Modina said. “Tell him what you have seen and that I will be visiting him and his household tomorrow. In fact, tell him he will have the honor of hosting me and my court until such time as I arrange more permanent accommodations.”
They nodded, bowed, and walked backward for a dozen steps before giving up, turning, and running up the street.
“I think you made an impression,” Hadrian told her, then looked at the villagers.
They all stood like posts, staring at Modina, their mouths agape.
“Armigil, you do still brew beer, right?” Hadrian asked.