Winter's Reach (The Revanche Cycle Book 1)

by Craig Schaefer

  The axman shrugged, looking back at his handiwork with a lazy smile.

  “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

  “These people haven’t done anything to you. They’ve done nothing to deserve this!”

  “They can’t stop us,” the axman said, giving an indifferent shrug.

  Amadeo’s hands balled up into fists.

  “Then I will.”

  The axman laughed. “Come on, Father. You’re joking.”

  Amadeo couldn’t think, for all the smoke and blood-stench curling inside his skull. His heart jackhammered against his ribs and his fists trembled at his sides, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. He was beyond fear. This was fury.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I died the night I plunged into the river,” Amadeo seethed. “I had no right to ever wake again, but I did. Every minute since, and every breath in my lungs, is a gift. A man who’s died once isn’t afraid to die twice.”

  “This time,” the killer told him, hefting his ax, “it’s gonna stick.”

  Amadeo took a lurching step forward, spurred by adrenaline, and raised his fists for the first time in his life. “Let’s find out. Come at me!”

  The axman took two steps before a fist-sized rock whipped out of the shadows and cracked him in the side of the head, leaving a bloody gash. He yelped and staggered back, grabbing his wound, and Amadeo turned to see Freda and four of her fellow urchins standing at his back. They clutched sacks laden with stones.

  “Why are you still here?” Amadeo shouted. “You should have been on the boat with Livia!”

  Freda rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Father. You know she wouldn’t leave like that. She’s warning people on the other side of the district. Thing is, they got—”

  The axman charged, bellowing. A hurricane of rocks drove him back, clanging off his armor and forcing him to drop his weapon and throw up his arms to protect his face.

  “They got the Via del Popolo gate open and more knights are coming and we gotta go now!” Freda shouted in one pent-up breath. Amadeo didn’t need coaxing. The children threw another hailstorm of rocks to cover their retreat and ran, turning down a twisting alley and leaving the carnage behind.

  The exodus had already begun. The harbor was thick with boats, casting off from the docks and sailing away from the battle as fast as they could. Most had more passengers than they could manage, desperate survivors dangling from hulls and clinging on for dear life, the weight pushing the rickety boats down to the waterline. It was standing room only on the deck of the Morning’s Glory, but they didn’t cast off just yet, holding their lines until Amadeo and the children clambered aboard.

  “Now!” Livia shouted up to the captain. “That’s the last of them.”

  A column of knights rode up to the docks as the Glory slid away on black, restless waters. The urchins’ rocks fell short, pelting uselessly onto wet timbers, but the knights didn’t try to pursue them. They just waited there, watching.

  The axman stood in the line. He and Amadeo locked eyes. The axman grinned, flashing blood-stained teeth, and offered a mocking farewell salute.

  Behind them, the Alms District burned.

  As the sun rose across the waters, painting the sky in shades of pink and tangerine, the refugee fleet sailed south.

  * * *

  Livia didn’t speak until the Holy City was a speck on the horizon. She stood out on the edge of the fishing boat’s deck, staring into the distance.

  “How many?” she asked. Amadeo blinked at her, not understanding. “How many did we save?”

  He craned his neck, looking across the waves. A flotilla of small and motley boats limped along in the wake of the Morning’s Glory.

  “Hard to tell. Two, maybe three hundred?”

  “And how many people lived in the Alms District?” she said.

  Amadeo’s voice was soft. “You know how many. Livia, don’t torture yourself—”

  “Two hours,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  Two hours, she wanted to say, was how long it took me to find the nerve to use Squirrel’s spellbook. The sleep-curse was working. I had another trick ready for the guards at the door. That done, I could have freed myself without your help.

  You thought I was some damsel in distress, and you came running to the rescue. And now hundreds of people are dead. They died in my name. But that’s not your fault, Amadeo. It’s mine. Because I knew what needed to be done, and it took me two hours to find the courage to do it. By then it was far too late. I valued my own soul over their lives, and this is what happened.

  Never again.

  “It’s my fault they died,” she said.

  Amadeo touched her arm.

  “No. It’s my fault. I had no idea Carlo’s thugs would retaliate like this. If I’d known, I never would have risked it—”

  She tugged her arm away and stared at the waves.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Mari woke with the dawn, lying in the dirt beside the dying embers of the campfire. Birdsong filled the air, drifting down from the treetops and washing over the sound of Werner’s heavy snoring.

  A folded piece of parchment rested at her side, weighted down by a small handful of gold coins. A cool gust of wind ruffled the paper’s edges.

  Dante was gone.

  Mari sat up, brushed some dead leaves from her tangled hair, unfolded the parchment, and began to read.

  “Mari,” Dante had written, “you poor, lovely mad girl. Is it strange to say that I have no desire to live as you do, but I admire you all the more for it? The world needs people like you, to keep people like me in check. But that is exactly why I had to leave.

  “You seek the truth above all else. Veritas. A fine ideal but one that has no place in politics. Werner, for his part, seeks to protect the church he was raised in. Understandable, respectable, I’ll grudgingly admit, but ultimately shortsighted. I can allow neither of you to influence my decision, nor do I have the right to drag you into the danger I’m about to face. There are steep cliffs and deep chasms ahead, and I can only trust that I’m the skilled climber I used to be.”

  Mari looked over at her sleeping partner. His chest rose and fell sharply with every snore and wheeze.

  “Werner,” she said. “Werner. Get up.”

  The snoring stopped. He sputtered and rubbed his eyes.

  “I was once a man of influence and power,” Dante wrote, “and with the aid of these letters, these blades of paper that can cut sharper than any assassin’s knife, I will be so once more. This is my concern. It isn’t about the Church, or the truth, or the fallout, or who gets hurt. It’s about me, and what I can get for myself. Do you scorn me for that, Mari? I suppose you must. Part of me hopes that you do. It would be a tragedy if you ever became so corrupted as to understand me.”

  “Whatsis?” Werner grunted.

  “Dante’s gone.”

  That woke him up. Mari pointed to the small pile of gold coins on the ground as she read the ending of the letter out loud.

  “‘I would ask that you not try to find me, but I know you better than that. Hence, the coins, the last bits of gold from Mayor Barrett’s treasure coffer. I am hereby and officially hiring you not to hunt me. I am quite certain, Mari, that you would not take a man’s money and then break your word. The gold is yours, as is the job. Easiest job you’ve ever taken.’”

  “He’s got that right,” Werner said, scooping up the coins.

  “‘Perhaps one day our paths will cross again,’” Mari read aloud, “‘and on that day, I hope that time and trouble will have faded none of your zeal, even if it means I must face your wrath. I will sleep easier at night, thinking of you, knowing there is a spot of light in the world to contrast my banal and tawdry darkness. I remain, faithfully yours, Dante Uccello.’”

  Finishing, Mari stared at the letter in her hands, head cocked, not quite understanding.

  “He knows he’s wrong,” she said. “He knows he’s being greedy and people are going to get hurt.”

>   Werner nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  “But he’s doing it anyway.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Mari folded the letter.

  “What now?” she said.

  Werner grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, cupping a hand over his weathered brow as he surveyed the clearing.

  “Merchant road should be an hour’s walk that way. Lots of traffic. We could hitch a ride on a trader’s caravan, make our way to a nice big city. Anyplace but Lerautia. Think we’d better steer clear of the Holy City for a while.”

  “What then?” Mari said.

  Werner looked up at the sky and shook his head, smiling.

  “All this mess,” he said. “Politics, blackmail, popes, and bloodlines…it’s not our world, Mari. We’re hunters. So we’ll do what hunters always do. Live high on what we’ve earned for a week or two, and then, when the coin runs low, we’ll look for a new job.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  Werner shrugged. “Life can be simple sometimes, if you’ll let it. Job’s done. We got paid. Leave it be.”

  They walked silently through the forest until the tree line broke and they emerged onto the wide and worn merchant road. As the morning stretched into afternoon, when their calves were long past aching, they heard the rattling of a wagon in the distance. They edged over to the side of the road as it approached, drawn by a pair of black horses with shiny, well-groomed coats.

  The wagon rolled to a stop. The owners, a man and woman sitting side by side on the driver’s perch, looked down at them. The woman had olive skin and braided black hair, and she flashed uncannily white teeth as she smiled.

  “Long way to go on foot,” she said.

  “Wasn’t our original plan,” Werner said. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a little extra room on your wagon? We’ve coin to pay for passage.”

  “Keep your coin. There’s plenty of room, and we’d be cruel not to help a pair of travelers in need. Where are you headed?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  The woman laughed. “An adventurous spirit! I’m Despina, and this is my brother Vassili.”

  “Werner Holst. This is my partner, Mari.”

  Mari’s eyebrow rose, just a bit, as Despina and Vassili shared a fleeting glance and a knowing smile.

  “Why don’t you climb in back and make yourselves comfortable?” Vassili said. “As my sister said, we’d be terribly cruel not to help, so come along with us. We insist.”

  As she clambered in back, finding a place to crouch amid lashed-down barrels and crates, Mari could only think of Dante Uccello.

  You have the letters, she thought, but I still know the truth.

  And I will not be silent.

  “We’re on our way to see an old friend,” Vassili told them, glancing back with a chipper smile as Werner followed Mari up into the cart. “A teacher of ours.”

  Despina grinned, taking up the horses’ reins. “I’m sure she’d just love to meet you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The dawn in Mirenze didn’t catch Hedy sleeping. The fledgling witch was already up and about in her tiny servant’s room at the Hen and Caber, toting a satchel packed with the few items she couldn’t leave behind—like her bone mouse mask, tucked safely behind a concealing flap of cloth. She’d remained in the city for one last night, working a double shift at the tavern to earn as much coin as she could for the journey ahead. She was surprised to bump into Renata at the bottom of the stairs, lugging a cheap and overstuffed bag of her own.

  “Where are you going?” they both asked at the same time.

  “I—I have to leave town for a while,” Renata said. “I just need some distance from things.”

  “I have family,” Hedy said. “Sick family. I just got word.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is it your mother? Your father?”

  “Yes,” Hedy said. “I mean, both. At once. I liked working with you, Renata. You’re a nice person. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  The Owl’s words swam back to Hedy’s mind, unbidden. Make a friend. Someone you can use as a patsy, just in case anyone sniffs out what you’re really up to. You can pin everything on them and disappear.

  “Say,” Hedy added, “which way are you headed?”

  Renata shook her head. “I haven’t decided yet. Anywhere but here.”

  Hedy smiled. “Come with me, then. To the Holy City. Travel is cheaper and safer for two than it is for one.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Renata said. “I’ve never been there, and I hear it’s beautiful in the fall.”

  Hedy took her hand, suddenly giddy, tugging her toward the door.

  “You’re going to love it. And we’re going to have so much fun…”

  * * *

  A mad impulse seized Renata as the girl pulled her toward the tavern door. Her nightmares had been awash with tangled images of Felix, and she couldn’t shake how different he seemed now. Harder. There was a current of darkness under his placid waters, one she’d never seen before.

  Passed through fire and fallen into the hands of wolves, she thought, and he’s still trying to protect me.

  Then it hit her, a flash out of the morning sky. People like the Grimaldis made enemies. They had competitors, people with the power and the influence to do them harm, even in the Holy City. She could use that. Make contacts. Trade what she knew.

  Felix, she thought, you’re trying to protect me, love, but right now you’re the one who’s trapped, and I’m free. I have a voice and the courage to use it.

  “I will not be silent,” she murmured aloud.

  “Hmm?” Hedy said.

  Renata shook her head. “It’s a line from an old hymn. Haven’t heard it since I was a child, but it just…popped into my head. Funny.”

  Hold on, Felix. I’m coming.

  And I’m going to rescue you.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  He wears it well, Lodovico thought, seeing Carlo in his ermine robes of office. An amulet bearing the symbol of the Gardener’s Tree, the same one his father had worn, dangled at his throat.

  In the end, thanks to subtle intimidation from the “knights” and the unexpected last-minute show of support from Cardinal Accorsi, there was no doubt which way the College would lean. White smoke flew over the Holy City, and Carlo was given his throne with very little fanfare. Most of the city was too deeply in shock to pay much attention, after a wildfire—caused, it was widely believed, by an errant cow kicking over a farmer’s forgotten lantern—laid half the city slums to waste.

  Carlo’s first speech had been a eulogy for the brave, tragic dead of the Alms District, and a pledge to rebuild and improve the lives of the scattered survivors.

  Lodovico went down on one knee before Carlo’s throne. Carlo extended his hand, sullen, and Lodovico brushed his lips against his ruby ring of office before standing once more.

  “For someone who just became the most powerful man in the world,” Lodovico said, “you seem a bit downhearted.”

  “I don’t get to go out at night anymore,” Carlo said. “Too dangerous, they tell me. I don’t get any privacy. Have to watch everything I say, mind my language. There are always people…wanting things from me. Every time I turn around, another open hand wanting to be filled.”

  “Well, I’m not one of them, my friend. I only came to congratulate you on a job well done. And to let you know that it’s time we moved on to the second stage of our plan.”

  Carlo’s eyes, bleary and bloodshot, narrowed dangerously.

  “You’re sure about this?” he said.

  “The orders were dispatched days ago. You can’t call an arrow back to the bow after it’s been loosed, Carlo. I hope you’re not having second thoughts.”

  “No, no,” Carlo said, waving his hand. “Just having a hard time sleeping. It makes my head hurt. I don’t…I don’t suppose…”

  Lodovico smiled at the puppy-dog hope in Carlo’s eyes. He reac
hed under his cloak and, with a dramatic flourish of his wrist, produced a bag of crushed purple velvet. Carlo snatched it up greedily and looked inside. Tiny twists of dried root nestled inside, and a musty, earthy smell drifted out.

  “The salamander root helps me think,” Carlo said, sounding sheepish as he pulled the drawstrings tight.

  “I know it does,” Lodovico said. “No worries, I can always get more for you. Call it my tribute to our new Holy Father, long may he reign.”

  Carlo’s eyes went distant.

  “Whenever I imagined sitting in my father’s chair,” Carlo said, “I always thought Livia would be here. My whole life, Vico…she’s always been right beside me.”

  Lodovico shrugged. “I’m sorry she was unworthy of your trust. You’ll always be worthy of mine.”

  Carlo reached out and squeezed Lodovico’s hand. His expression was lost, lonely, desperate.

  “And you of mine,” Carlo said.

  “Cheer up,” Lodovico told him. “You’re just getting oriented. Facing a new and exciting change in your life. Soon enough you’ll have everything you ever dreamed of and more. I guarantee it. Just stay quiet and stick to the plan.”

  He took his leave, strolling the marbled halls of the papal estate until Weiss appeared from a darkened doorway and fell in at his side. The knight’s polished mail rustled as he walked, and candlelight played on the black and gold curves of his Imperial eagle pauldron.

  “Are your men in place?” Lodovico said, not breaking his stride.

  “They’re ready to move tonight. I thought there were supposed to be three targets?”

  Lodovico nodded. “I set my man Simon on the first. He’s had a bad run of luck lately, and I need him back on top of his game.”

  “Long as we’re paid the same, means nothing to me.”

  “Your troops went a little wild in the Alms District,” Lodovico said, keeping his tone light.

  “They were pent up for too long with nothing to do,” Weiss said. “They’re excitable boys. Don’t worry, it was all covered up. No one’s saying a contrary word, at least nobody anyone will listen to.”