A surprising number of imperial soldiers had already formed themselves into rows on the far side of the square. Each one was impeccably dressed in hauberk, helm, sword, and shield. They stood still, straight, and confident. Looking at Emery’s men, Arista saw nervous movements and fear-filled eyes.
Four knights rode into the square. Two bore the imperial pennant at the ends of tall lances. On the foremost horse rode Sheriff Vigan. Beside him came Trenchon, the city’s bailiff, splashing through the puddles. Hooked to Vigan’s belt, in addition to his sword, was the whip. Vigan’s face was stern and unimpressed by the hastily assembled, slightly skewed lines of peasants. He rode up and down, trotting menacingly, his mount throwing up clods of mud into the air.
“I know why you’re here,” Vigan shouted at them. “You’re here because of one man.” He pointed at Emery. “He has incited you to perform criminal acts. Normally, I would have each one of you executed for treason, but I can see it’s the traitor Emery Dorn, and not you, who has caused this. You are victims of his poison, so I’ll be lenient. Put down those stolen weapons, return to your homes, and I’ll only hang the leaders that led you astray. Continue this and you’ll be slaughtered to the last man.”
“Steady, men,” Emery shouted. “He’s just trying to frighten you. He’s offering you a deal because he’s scared—scared of us because we stand before him, united and strong. He’s scared because we do not cower before his threats. He’s scared because, for the first time, he does not see sheep, he does not see slaves, he does not see victims to beat, but men. Men! Tall and proud. Men who are still loyal to their king!”
Vigan raised his hand briefly, then lowered it. There was a harsh crack followed immediately by a muffled thwack! Emery staggered backward. Blood sprayed those near him. A crossbow bolt was lodged in his chest. An instant later, the fiery red-haired boy fell into the mud.
The line wavered at the sight.
“No!” Arista screamed, and shoved through the men and collapsed in the mud beside Emery. Frantically she struggled to turn him over, to pull his face out of the muck. She wiped the mud away while blood vomited from his mouth. His eyes rolled wildly. He wheezed in short, halting gasps.
Everyone was silent. The whole world stopped.
Arista held Emery in her arms. She could see a pleading in his eyes as they found hers. She could feel his breath shortening with each wretched gasp. With each jerk of his body, she felt her heart breaking.
This can’t be happening!
She looked into his eyes. She wanted to say something—to give him a part of her to take with him—but all she could do was hold on. As she squeezed him tightly, he stopped struggling. He stopped moving. He stopped breathing.
Arista cried aloud, certain her body would break.
Above her the sheriff’s horse snorted and stomped. Behind her the men of the rebellion wavered. She heard them dropping weapons, discarding shields.
Arista took in a shuddering breath of her own and turned her face toward the sky. She raised one leg, then the other, pushing herself—willing herself—to her feet. As her shaking body rose from the mud, she drew Emery’s sword in a tight fist, lifted the blade above her head, and glared at the sheriff.
She cried in a loud voice, “Don’t—you—dare—break! Hold the line!”
As Hadrian lay on his back, chained and stretched out in the mud, a shadow fell across his face and the rain stopped hitting him. He opened his eyes and, squinting, saw a man outlined in the morning light.
“What in Maribor’s name are you doing here?”
The voice was familiar and Hadrian struggled to see the face lost in the folds of a hooded robe. All around him, rain continued to pour, splashing the mud puddles and grass, forcing him to blink.
The figure standing over him shouted, “Sergeant! Explain what goes on here. Why is this man chained?”
Hadrian could hear boots slogging through the mud. “It’s Commander Parker’s orders, sir.” There was nervousness in his voice.
“I see. Tell me, Sergeant, do you enjoy being human?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“I asked if you liked the human form. For example, do you find it useful to have two hands and two legs?”
“I, ah—well, I don’t think I quite understand your meaning.”
“No, you don’t, but you will if this man isn’t freed immediately.”
“But, Lord Esrahaddon, I can’t. Commander Parker—”
“Leave Parker to me. Get those chains off him, get him out of that mud, and escort him to the house immediately, or I swear you’ll be walking on all fours within the hour, and for the rest of your life.”
“Wizards!” the sergeant grumbled after Esrahaddon had left him. He pulled a key from his belt and struggled to open the mud-caked locks. “Get up,” he ordered.
The sergeant led Hadrian back to the house. The chains were gone but his wrists were still bound by two iron manacles. Hadrian was cold and hungry and felt nearly drowned, but only one thought filled his mind as he watched the sun rising in the east.