He crawled over the top of the woodpile, moving away from the flames. Leon followed in spite of the angry shouts hurled at them by the crowd.
An arrow whizzed past Noel’s ear, missing him by inches. He froze involuntarily, but the heat was escalating. He couldn’t breathe. The urgent need for survival clawed at his throat, threatening to conquer his powers of reason.
He leaned over and shouted in Leon’s ear, “We have to jump off together-”
“No! It will make us a bigger target. Jump in opposite directions.”
Horses and riders came galloping into the square, closely pursued by their attackers. At once all became confusion, with horses trampling, women screaming, people running in all directions, swords clanging upon armor and shields. Through the hazy orange of the flames, Noel could see the pennons of d’Angelier and Byzantium flying boldly.
“Come on!” he shouted to Leon. “Jump!”
“We can’t,” said Leon. “It’s too late. The fire has ringed us. God, I’m burning!”
Noel kicked him. “Jump, damn you!”
Eyes shut and head ducked to protect himself as much as possible from the flames, Noel leapt through them and felt the horrifying heat consume him. He landed on the ground and fell, rolling himself over and over to extinguish the fire in his clothing. The stench of singed wool and hair stung his nostrils. Coughing and half-blinded, he staggered out of the way of a plunging horse and saw Sir Magnin rein his mount around to flee.
Men in the d’Angelier colors of brown and crimson hemmed him in, and Sir Magnin reluctantly faced a rider in black mail and a surcoat of resplendent purple. By now the fighting was nearly over. Wounded men lay upon the cobblestones, and blood stained the water in the fountain. Riderless horses darted here and there in a panic.
Lord Theodore took off his helmet and the fading sunlight struck glints of red from his chestnut hair. Ablaze with triumph, his blue eyes swept the scene, then returned to Sir Magnin.
For a moment nothing was uttered between them, then Lord Theodore spoke: “Where is my seal of office?”
Sir Magnin’s face twisted with defeat and bitterness, but he replied clearly enough, “It lies in my chamber within the palace.”
Lord Theodore turned to one of his men. “Go straight and fetch it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man rode away at a gallop.
Lord Theodore returned his attention to Sir Magnin. “Your rule is over. Mistra is once again within the empire. Frederick, strike that flag and see that the imperial eagle rises in its place.”
Frederick stepped forward, bloody over one eye, but alight with eagerness. “Yes, my lord.” He grinned at Noel as he ran to do Theodore’s bidding.
“These men here, my lord,” said a knight. “They are bound up and about to be burned. What is to be done with them?”
“They are witches,” said Sir Magnin. “Be careful of them.”
Lord Theodore raised his hand swiftly. “Cut them loose.”
“But, my lord-”
“Cut them loose! They are not witches, but rather my agents sent here to cause what mayhem and confusion they could.”
Lord Theodore’s gaze met Noel’s as the ropes were cut away. He nodded, and although nothing more was said, Noel knew he had the man’s thanks.
As soon as he was freed, Leon tried to dart away, but Noel caught him by the sleeve. “Not so fast. We have a bracelet to discuss.”
They moved from the square, and people parted to let them pass. Behind him, Noel heard the orders being given to disperse the townspeople, to round up the survivors of Sir Magnin’s force, to take care of the myriad details necessary in a change of power.
“And me?” said Sir Magnin’s deep voice. “Am I executed in the morning?”
“Your life depends upon the will of the emperor,” said Lord Theodore.
Noel glanced back. He had many questions. In whose keeping had they left the injured Lady Sophia? Had Frederick’s message caused them to ride on with their fighting force? Would Theodore remember not to surrender to the Turks when they came up the river in a few days? Would the Milengi tribe be punished more than it had already suffered at Sir Magnin’s hands? Would the rebellious part of the province swear fealty to Theodore?
His questions would never be answered completely. He could only consult the history texts to learn what had become of these people.
“We’ve got to find a hiding place,” he said to Leon, shoving him along the steep streets. “Quickly. It’s growing twilight.”
Leon shifted irritably in his grip. “Let me go. I don’t care what becomes of you-”
“You’ve proven that’s a lie,” said Noel grimly. “I’m not going to miss my only chance to get back because of you. Hurry!”
He quickened his pace, peering into doorways or down steps leading to shops lower than the street, searching for somewhere private. The keening wail of a grief-stricken woman rose upon the air, joined by others. There would be no merriment tonight in the streets of Mistra.
He saw a girl huddled in the crossroads of two streets. Her tangled auburn hair identified her. Startled, Noel dropped his hold on Leon’s arm and went to her.
“Elena,” he said.
He touched her shoulder, only then realizing she was weeping. She straightened on her knees to glance up at him, and he saw Sir Geoffrey lying dead there with her. The young knight’s blood had stained her gown where she knelt. Her wild, vital face looked aged, and Noel regretted the loss of that untamed innocence that had marked her before. Her eyes were old too, and he did not think they would lighten again.
“I thought it was Sir Magnin you loved,” he said, unable to put into words what really needed to be said.
“He never saw me,” she whispered. “I know now that Sir Geoffrey always did. But it is too late.”
He gave in to the impulse to touch her head, to dig his fingers gently through the thick texture of her hair. She wept against his leg.
“I killed you. God forgive me now, and you forgive me too, ghost of Noel. I did not want to kill you.”
The lost note in her voice made tears sting his eyes. He looked at Leon, standing a short, wary distance away. “Make her whole again,” Noel said urgently, anger filtering through his voice. “You did this to her. Put her back the way she was.”
Leon shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“Try.”
“I have tried.” Leon threw out his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘Things don’t always work for me. Don’t you understand? I can’t-“
“Then for God’s sake stop meddling,” said Noel, and his voice cut. “Leave people alone. They aren’t toys.”
He looked down at the girl and stroked her rough hair. She reached up blindly in her grief, and he saw the copper bracelet shining upon her wrist.
He gasped and snatched it from her, holding it up to examine it, afraid it might not be his LOC. But the metal warmed beneath the touch of his fingers.
“LOC,” he said, relief and gladness filling his voice. “LOC, activate!”
The device hummed softly and shimmered into its true, transparent form. The glow from its internal circuits shone dimly upon his face and hands as the shadows deepened around him.
Elena looked up at him with a gasp and scuttled back. “Have mercy upon me!”
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly, unable to hold back his smile. He fitted the LOC around his left wrist, wincing at the sore stiffness along his entire arm. An entire catalog of bruises and aches were making themselves felt, but he didn’t care. He was going home.
Glancing about to make sure no chance passersby were watching, he said softly, “LOC, scan data retrieval. Find Theodore of Mistra.”
“Acknowledged,” said the LOC.
