Tor saw the falcon lift from the cover of the trees and circle high above them. From the corner of his eye he also saw the ghoul appear but he refused to look at Alyssa squarely.
You look lovely,
he whispered across the link.
The Spinsters of Minstead would be proud of you.
She did not give him the satisfaction of a verbal response but he felt a spike in his ribs such as he had not felt in years. It was classic Alyssa trickery and he had to cover up his ‘oof!’ by pretending to drink some of Xantia’s wine and then coughing theatrically.
Getting slow in your old age, Tor? You should’ve felt that coming.
He agreed. He winced and walked to where Xantia patiently waited and handed her the wine.
‘Won’t you share a cup with me, Tor?’
‘Of course. But I just have to speak with Elder Iris who is looking for me. If you’ll excuse me briefly, Xantia, I’ll be right back.’
She nodded and he made his escape with barely a moment to spare before Goth and his main party of riders arrived at the gates.
Tallinese horses from the King’s stable were well disciplined and rarely needed to be tethered. The Inquisitors let the reins fall as they dismounted, knowing their horses would content themselves with
nibbling at the grasses at the roadside and remain where they left them.
A distinct hush spread itself amongst the happy mob at Goth’s arrival. Many had witnessed his despatch of the young gypsy girl earlier that day and almost all the townsfolk had heard about the despicable deed.
Goth smiled behind his demon mask. He did so love to ruin the fun. As the music struck up again and people forced themselves to return to their dancing, drinking and conversations, Elder Iris met Goth at the gates. She wore a stern mask of a bull. Her mood at seeing him matched the bull’s expression.
‘Inquisitor Goth. I can’t stop you joining us, though I wish I could.’ She paused.
Fucking witch, the demon thought as it bowed courteously.
The bull continued, just as sternly. ‘Though I can prevent you and your men entering these gates. The last time you visited the Academie you left it strewn with bodies. I heard about the gypsy girl. It grieves my soul that I look into your cold eyes and see no remorse.’
As well you might, you old whore, he thought.
‘Elder,’ he said, ‘my men and I come simply to enjoy the festivities. We will be gone directly after the main ceremony, I assure you.’
‘Good,’ Elder Iris replied. ‘Then please remain outside these gates.’
‘Actually, there is something you can help me with right now,’ Goth said, unperturbed by her attitude.
‘And that is?’ she said curtly.
‘I have a friend here at present. Physic Gynt is representing the Palace, as I understand it. Perhaps you might ask him to step outside. But please, Elder Iris, don’t tell him I’m here…let me surprise him.’
A woman in crimson stepped forward. She wore the mask of the Virtuous Maiden. ‘He wears the pig head, Inquisitor,’ Xantia said, delighted that this man of such legendary cruelty, and strange connection to Alyssa, was here. ‘I’ll find him if you wish.’
Elder Iris turned on her. If Xantia could have seen her expression beneath the bull’s head, she would have shrivelled. But there was no going back now. This was a chance to hurt Alyssa.
‘Oh, and Inquisitor Goth,’ she said sweetly, ‘Alyssa is wearing a fox mask if you’re looking for her too.’
‘Xantia!’ Elder Iris admonished loudly. ‘Hold your wicked tongue, girl.’
‘Alyssa…’ Goth turned the name over his rubbery lips.
If Xantia had not been standing in front of the raging bull, she would have hugged herself. Alyssa’s secret early years were shaping themselves in her head now and she was sure that before the night was ended she would have the full story. She revelled in the thought of her former friend’s downfall. She would peel away the layers of lies which she was now convinced Alyssa lived beneath and reveal her closely guarded past to the Elders. She would see to it that Alyssa never became an Elder. She came out of her reverie to hear Elder Iris addressing her.
‘Be gone, Xantia. Prepare yourself for the ceremony, after which you will return immediately to your rooms and await my summons.’ She turned to Goth. ‘Excuse us, sir.’
‘Oh, by all means,’ Goth said, bowing again. The moment the women left he ordered his men to go in search of pigs and foxes. He could already see there were many but his prey were distinctive; they could not conceal themselves with masks alone. He would have them both before dawn.
Whilst Elder Iris was admonishing Xantia, Tor had slipped away. He returned now for the ceremony. He could see Alyssa lurking at the back of a big crowd of people; she was well hidden for the time being. He followed suit, slinking deep into the shadows away from Xantia’s prying eyes. The girl’s freedom was limited, however. Elder Iris had given firm instructions that she remain at the side of another Elder, who had no intention of allowing the acolyte to disobey orders. Tor could almost smell Xantia’s frustration and allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. They had won a small battle there but the war was still to be fought.
Now the Elders and the key masked figures were preparing for the formal part of the festivity. Many hundreds of people had gathered, spilling into and out of the famous Caremboche gates. So many people milling around would aid Tor and Alyssa’s chances of disappearing amongst them.
So far Goth’s men had been kept at bay; they mingled amongst the crowd, pulling at the masks of the countless pigs and foxes they encountered. Tor had chosen well. They were easily the most common headwear.
Goth did not participate in this humiliating exercise. He left that lowly task to his men. Behind his demon mask, his sharp eyes never stopped moving, briefly resting from time to time on tall, dark-haired men or young women with golden hair. He would know his prey immediately. He had already guessed that Alyssa may hide her hair so he also carefully checked every dark-haired woman who passed across his line of sight. And Alyssa could not disguise her slight build. He knew it all too well, having touched it so intimately. After seeing her only today he knew she had not put on much height, just become slightly curvier perhaps.
The acolytes were being summoned to form the lines which represented some event from legend centuries earlier when the sentient Masters of Goldstone had been murdered. Goth cared nothing for legend and even less for any empowered people, myth or not. He thought about Alyssa instead. He would have only moments to talk to her. He briefly wondered if he could snatch her away, but the Untouchable status she now possessed cowed even his devil-may-care attitude.
He would make do with forcing her to engage in the Death Dance with him. It meant he could hold her against him. She could not refuse, of course; even the old witch could not refuse it for this was high tradition. He wished he was still whole and could push that part
of his body against her which would frighten her. He desperately wanted to see the fear in her eyes again.
Goth shook himself free of these thoughts. He had almost forgotten the physic. He must find him and deal with him. He gave orders to Rhus to step up the search. He needed Gynt found and taken.
A cart edged its way to the fringe of the mob, stopping as close to the Academie gates as possible. It was small, drawn by two nags. Beside it was tethered a donkey. The driver was a tall, broad man with longish dark hair and the mask of a pig. Despite the poor light and deep shadows, he looked familiar to Rhus who began fighting his way back through the crowd towards Goth. He knew this would make his chief very happy.
The solemn chimes of a bell sounded as the ten characters of the Czabba legend began to make their slow way, chanting words none of them understood. Behind them walked the figure of the handsome young man in his prime; the one responsible for all the devastation.
Women’s voices were raised in beautiful harmony as all the members of the Academie erupted into song. Xantia felt Elder Li pinch her, forcing her to sing the song they had practised for months; nevertheless, she studied all the girls around her, searching for Alyssa. It infuriated her that she could not see her. Not a fox head in sight; not even her giveaway small frame and light hair.
Custom dictated that the acolytes must be registered on the night of Czabba by answering to
their name when called. The Elders took this part of the ceremony very seriously and the group was counted and checked to ensure all were present. Both Goth and Xantia clearly heard Alyssa answer to her name. Goth smiled but Xantia, knowing it was Alyssa’s voice but not being able to see where she spoke from, became more frustrated.
She found her chance when the acolytes were required to walk out of the main gates through the crowd which parted for them. There they would meet with the eleven characters, their songs intermingling to a crescendo of voices. The finale would be the Dance of Death, which began slowly but gradually increased in intensity. Everyone would join in. Xantia was sure Goth would take the opportunity to reunite himself with Alyssa.
In the move towards the gates, Xantia was able to slip gradually further behind until she could see all her companions. Alyssa was there but not there. Where amongst this group had she hidden herself? Somebody tripped ahead and caused several of the girls to stumble. In that moment of confusion Xantia caught sight of a boot with a heel she had never seen the like of before. It was gone in a second, covered by crimson.
She stopped her singing and wildly searched the figures. She locked onto a person wearing very loosely fitting robes. The lifeless hair was unfamiliar and the figure wore the head of a ghoul, a mask she had not seen on any of the acolytes earlier in the evening.
‘Alyssa,’ she whispered and then she yelled as loudly as her voice would allow, ‘Alyssa!’
The ghoul turned then broke from the group of women. Pandemonium ensued.
At the same moment Xantia spotted Alyssa’s boot, Rhus finally reached his chief.
‘I have Gynt, sir. Over there.’
Goth looked over and saw the physic standing on a cart just ahead of him. The pig mask swivelled, as if on cue, and then Gynt whipped the startled horses who wasted no time in galloping off. As Goth watched with disbelief, he heard someone yell ‘Alyssa!’ Emerging from behind some bales of hay at the back of a cart, he saw a figure throwing off a blanket to reveal the head of a fox and golden hair cascading behind.
‘After them!’ he shrieked.
Despair that he had allowed her to slip away like this, and that bastard physic with her, fuelled his anger to breaking point. He was the first man mounted on his horse and whipped its flanks mercilessly as they gave chase.
Tor, hidden just inside the gates, raced out onto the road. He removed the horse’s head he had changed into and watched the Inquisitors disappearing through a haze of dust. Alyssa pushed through the crowd and ran to his side awkwardly on her tall heels. Xantia was close by, screaming from behind her Virtuous Maiden’s mask and Elder Iris arrived just moments later.
‘Physic Gynt…what occurs here? Alyssa, Xantia…what is this behaviour?’
No one answered. Xantia began to pull at Alyssa’s mask but Alyssa held onto it firmly, determined not to show her face.
Above the confusion Cloot spoke calmly to Tor.
Stop the horses and you will stop the men.
Tor, his arm around Alyssa, gathered the Colours within him. He knew the glamour would be wearing off by now but Saxon did not have far to go before reaching the fringe of the Great Forest. He and Sorrel would be safe there. Cloot was right: all it would take was to slow down the horses.
He cast.
Saxon was laughing wildly although his eyes saw nothing. Kythay and the nags were under one of Cloot’s spells and seemed to know exactly where to gallop and in which direction.
It was one of the few times since Saxon’s disfigurement that Sorrel had heard his voice. She pulled off the fox mask and noted Saxon had already thrown off his pig’s head. She could hardly believe it when she saw Kythay leading the gallop in pace with the horses. The donkey’s eyes were as wild and wide as Saxon’s.
She clung to the side of the cart, frightened of being tossed over the side, and looked behind her. She did not need to see Goth’s men; she could hear them and they were closing fast. She swung back and looked ahead to see the Great Forest; one of its long fingers was reaching towards them. Tor had said they only had to make it to the woods and there they would find sanctuary. He had also warned them that
Goth must not recognise Saxon. Once the trick had worked, he was to be well hidden.
Saxon was no longer holding the reins; there was no need. The horses galloped as though possessed, following Kythay who seemed to have no intention of stopping until he had reached the forest’s cover.
‘Get behind the bales,’ Sorrel yelled at Saxon. She pushed Saxon’s head down and looked behind them again. Just in time. She swore she could see the whites of Goth’s eyes. In sudden defiance of his menace, she echoed Saxon and his wild laughter.
The ruse had worked; all the filth had followed. Sorrel heard Goth curse when he finally saw his prey close up. The Inquisitor realised he had been duped superbly and there was murder in his eyes.
Sorrel felt her knees weaken. There was no laughter in her wrinkled face now; only fear.
‘I will make you suffer.’ The effeminate voice sounded clearly above the din and she prepared herself for death. As she closed her eyes Sorrel suddenly felt the thrum of powerful magic being wielded.
The horses carrying the Inquisitors were almost close enough to leap aboard the cart but suddenly the beasts began to slow; the riders could do nothing. It made no difference whether they whipped or kicked at their mounts. As one, the horses slowed to a walk. Aghast, Goth guessed that magic was being wielded.
Sorrel just laughed louder as the cart swung into the safety of the trees of the Great Forest, which seemed to part and then close behind them, surrounding them with peace.
Saxon climbed out from behind the bales and looked around in wonder as the Heartwood’s sanctuary welcomed another of its precious Paladin.