An armored rider came at him, and Ogedei fumbled for his sword, his fingers slipping off the hilt. The charger’s hooves pounded against the ground, and he could hear its heavy breathing. He finally got his hand on his hilt, pulled the sword halfway, and realized he wasn’t going to get it free in time.
He looked up, deciding he would rather see his death coming, and was suddenly buffeted as another horse and rider passed between him and the approaching rider. The armored man’s horse wheeled, nearly throwing its rider, and Namkhai, suddenly between him and his death, battered at the armored man with the long pole of the Spirit Banner.
Namkhai swept the banner around again, and the armored man hesitated for a second. Ogedei could not fathom why the man faltered. Had he felt the power of the banner? Had he seen the endless sea of horses that lived within the banner? Did he realize how pointless his efforts were? The empire was endless. It would run from horizon to horizon, from mountain to sea. It could not be stopped.
“Ride!” Namkhai screamed at him, startling him out of the ecstatic fervor that had suddenly gripped him. Namkhai hit the rider one last time with the banner, knocking him out of his saddle, and then his Torguud protector was reaching for him. Ogedei let go of the pony’s reins and swung his right leg out of the way as Namkhai brought his horse closer. He leaned over, grabbing a fistful of Namkhai’s trousers, and with a grunt he pushed off from the pony’s saddle. He floated through empty space for an instant, and he was certain he had mistimed his leap, and then the back of Namkhai’s horse slammed against his thighs. He snaked his arm around Namkhai’s waist as the horse, now carrying twice the weight, stumbled briefly before finding its balance again.
Screaming a wordless battle cry as if he dared any man or spirit to stand before him, Namkhai urged his horse to run harder. The ground flashed beneath them, and Ogedei buried his face against Namkhai’s broad chest, hanging on for dear life.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Orsini strode toward the waiting room. He was agitated by Cardinal Fieschi’s messenger, and while he had immediately sent the captain of his guard off to mobilize his men, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was chasing a wild horse that would never be tamed. Fieschi had made promises, and at first it seemed that the Cardinal might actually be able to produce the results he said he could, but in the last few days, Orsini was beginning to doubt that the Cardinal had the situation under control. And if the Cardinal wasn’t running things, who was?
A priest waited at the door, and when Orsini nodded, he pulled the bolt back and opened the door for the Senator. Orsini took a deep breath and assumed his most imposing attitude-shoulders back, gut forward, forehead glowering-as he entered the room.
The woman stood across from the door, quietly dignified, arms folded across her chest. She gave him such a look of knowing expectation that he almost stumbled, even though the floor was smooth and even. The muscles in his legs twitched, an autonomic response to an instinctual nervousness.
“Senator,” she said.
Orsini tried to regain his swagger. “Lady,” he replied, not quite mocking and yet still respectful. He stopped just inside the door, a wider stance than felt quite natural. He mirrored her, mockingly, by crossing his arms across his chest.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said. “I am Lena, recently of the court of the Holy Roman Emperor, though I am not bound to his court.”
Orsini sneered, catching the inflection of her words. “You are one of them,” he said. “A Binder.”
“I am,” Lena replied. “And I have come to ask of my sisters who live in Rome.”
Orsini dismissed the sneer from his lips. “What of them?” he shrugged.
“You are the Senator of Rome,” Lena reminded him. “You don’t know your city well enough to know what has happened to my kin-sisters? Or is there a different excuse you would like to offer?”
“I don’t have to offer you anything,” Orsini snapped. “You are an agent of the Holy Roman Emperor, and given his recent attitude toward Rome and the surrounding cities, he has almost declared himself a true enemy of the people.”
“Almost,” Lena said, emphasizing only one of his words. “The resolution of that question may hinge on your answer.”
Orsini chewed on his lower lip, gauging the woman before him. Was she bluffing? Would Frederick dare invade Rome simply to find out what had happened to a few witches, none of whom would truly be missed.
“The Cardinals have elected a new Pope,” she said, changing the subject when it was clear he wasn’t going to answer her question.
“A new Pope,” Orsini said. “Yes, I know. They finally chose one yesterday.”
She shook her head. “No, earlier this morning. Castiglione is their chosen man.”
Orsini glowered a little longer at the woman, and when she was unmoved by his best impression of his namesake, he relented. “Of course he is,” Orsini sighed, wondering how this disaster could have happened. What happened to the crazy priest that would have been so pliable? he wondered, and then his stomach tightened with doubt. Had this been Fieschi’s game all along?
“He has taken the name Celestine IV,” Lena continued.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Orsini asked, tiring of this woman. “That Castiglione has been elected Pope? What does this matter to me?”
“It matters a great deal,” Lena said with a smile, and Orsini found himself disliking her smile. “My sisters,” she repeated. “Where are they?”
“You don’t belong here,” he snarled at her. “You are a spy for the Holy Roman Emperor. You are an agitator and a witch. I am going to call for my guards. You can join your-” He caught himself, barely in time.
“Ah,” Lena said. “They are still alive. Well, that is fortuitous news.”
Orsini waved his hand at her, no longer interested in hearing what she had to say. At the very least, he thought as he turned away to call for the guard, I can ransom her back to Frederick.
“Senator Matteo Rosso Orsini,” Lena commanded. He found himself stopping and turning back to face her, against his better judgment.
She put her closed hand over her heart. “Senator Orsini,” she said. “I am bound to you with a message from Pope Celestine IV.”
“What nonsense is this?” he demanded, striding toward her. Intending to shut her up-forcefully, if necessary.
“The Pope wishes to inform you that his first act as Pope is to express his displeasure at the treatment of the Cardinals in the Septizodium by ordering that you be excommunicated from the Holy Roman Church.”
She smiled as she finished. Orsini tried to speak, but found he could not even open his mouth. An oak plank smashing him on the head would not have left him more stupefied than this.
Lena, after a polite pause, announced, “Thus delivered of my message, I am like the wind, unbound here but bound elsewhere.”
She paused again, but he could do nothing more than stare at her, stunned. Excommunicated…
“I would expect that the Pope might reconsider his order,” she said pleasantly as she started to walk toward him, “if you were to demonstrate some contrition for your acts of heinous torture against the citizens of Rome. Since the Cardinals are no longer imprisoned in the Septizodium, perhaps you might think of some other poor souls who have been wrongly imprisoned.”