Hal had very little experience of horse-riding. Brought up in the city, there had been no need to learn the skills involved in controlling the steed on which she now found herself. While fairly placid, the beast appeared to have its own ideas as to the direction they should be taking or the places in which they should stop. She cursed at times, and was often compelled to dismount and tug at the reins when her new companion revealed an excessive degree of stubbornness.
She continued along the track that Marc had indicated, which wound its way through copses and fields. Turning her head to the west, she observed the hazy outline of mountains far on the horizon. Purplish in shade, the line rose in height to the North, reaching the summit of a distant peak and then gradually dropping away again. The Eagles' Nests, she was aware, perched upon a long outcrop which span out eastwards from these same mountains, a natural border severing the North from the South.
She saw few people as she passed across open countryside. From time to time the road cut through land which had been cleared for farming, where a few villagers worked the fields, bringing in the last dregs of the harvest. They observed her with silent curiosity as she passed, and then returned to their work. Pangs of anxiety assailed her as the relative security of Colvé grew further from reach, and this more homely scenery of hamlets and farmland gradually morphed into the untamed wilderness of the moors. The pain of her wounds was becoming unbearable. The bandages about her legs were all but useless and blood had begun to soak through her jacket from the cut on her arm. She tried to ignore the queasiness in her stomach and the trance-like state into which her mind often wandered. If she fainted on the road, she would probably not get up again.
The light was fading and she knew that, with the cloudy autumnal sky above her, the darkness of the night would be absolute. It would be so much easier to stop at the next village and seek lodgings there. But such a decision would attract far greater attention than a night spent in the town of Caraden. So she continued, deliberately suppressing the memory of the fight and above all of Orla's death. There would be time enough, she thought, to grieve for the girl, if she could only make it to safety now.
The howl of an animal reached her from distant forests ─ possibly a wolf. Sounds of scuttling and rustling broke through the wet foliage and bracken which lined the track. She dug her heels into the horse's flanks and as if sensing her concerns the animal sped up.
Eventually, to her relief, a tiny light appeared, hovering far away in the distance. Another sprang into view, and then more could be discerned. Hal urged the mare on, denying herself the luxury of relief. It could, after all be just another hamlet or village. She had really no idea how far she was from Caraden. Perhaps, she thought, panicking, she had veered off course and missed it altogether. But then she noticed the outlines of buildings. Straining her eyes to make out their shapes, Hal realised that they were far bigger and grander, far more solid than the shacks and shanties of the villages she had passed through. More lights twinkled and for the first time that day she experienced something like hope. Gathering her thoughts together, she moved on towards the town.
She halted in front of a pair of insouciant guards who were controlling passage through the main gatehouse. Over their shoulders, she observed a few candles in windows, taunting her with the promise of comfort and warmth.
"Stopping here for the night, are we?"
"I hope so."
"Papers of any description?"
She was entirely unprepared for such a request.
"What papers?"
"Well, young Sir, in order for you to enter this mighty metropolis of ours, we generally request some papers."
Hal sighed and slunk forward, burying her face in the horse's mane for a few moments. Then she looked up to observe the man examining the bandages on her legs critically.
"Been in the wars, have we, laddie?"
It would be safer if he assumed she was a boy, she realised. "Something like that."
"Listen, we don't just let anyone through here, you know. Especially not suspicious looking coves like you with no papers."
She thought desperately, her mind swirling once more with fatigue. "Do you know the Senator, Marc Remigius?"
"Remigius? Of course we do. Old dog that one, isn't he?" the man gave the other soldier a conspiratorial nudge.
"What?" she gasped in surprise and pain.
"Never mind that," the man snapped. "He's not here now, is he?"
"Yes but he could vouch for me."
"I said he's not here." His tone had become threatening.
She thought desperately, then plunged her hand into her pocket to pull out the bag of money Marc had given her earlier.
"Maybe you gentlemen would care to take a few drinks at my expense?"
"Well now," the soldiers' eyes rounded in greed. He snatched the bag from her hand and peered into it.
"Well, well, well. I say he's just a young lad. Can't do no harm, can he?"
"You can't take it all," she protested. "I'll need it."
A mock serious expression on his face, one of the guards stepped forward, placed his hand on her leg and squeezed. She gritted her teeth as the pain nearly caused her to fall from her horse. The man maintained the pressure.
"Listen, sonny. It's either a night out here in the cold, which frankly you don't appear to be in much of a state for, or you give us the cash and enter our fine town here. What's it to be?"
"Keep it," she half-whispered.
"Very sensible. In you go." He released his hand, and she managed to steer her way through the gates, the noise of the soldiers' laughter echoing behind her.
Hal had no idea where to go and without any money, she realised that it may well have been better to continue north. Yet now there was no hope for it but to keep searching for the elegant building of which Marc had spoken.
She appeared to be on a main street and reasoned that it might lead to the market place. In contrast to Colvé, the buildings of this provincial town were not so grandiose, built to withstand the high winds which buffeted the place from the east. Few people were about at such a time, and none of those who were cast her a second glance. With heads down they went about their business, clearly eager to get home out of the cold evening air.
The street fanned out into a cobbled space which she took to be the town square, a motley assortment of architectural misfits arranged along its edges: some squat, timber-framed dwellings nestling between the more solid fronts of businesses and shops. To her right a tall, slim building constructed of dull yellow sandstone stood out amongst a cluster of ramshackle wooden constructions. This must be the place Marc had told her of.
She lowered herself down from the horse, which seemed to visibly appreciate being relieved of its burden, and clung to the saddle for a few moments for support. Then she steeled herself against the waves of exhaustion and nausea, and pulled at the bell rope to one side of the building's enormous, studded oak door. A latch clicked back and a girl's eyes peered furtively through a peephole.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Hal Thæc. I need lodgings. Senator Marc Remigius told me I would find them here. He said to ask for Lavinia."
The shutter slammed back. Her heart sank. Perhaps this was the wrong place? She turned to go and then the door was yanked open. Hal almost sank down in relief, but summoning her final reserves of strength, she led the horse through a short tunnel and then into an open quadrant of courtyard. To her surprise, there was no sign of the girl.
The light had all but gone, but she could just make out the upper tiers of the building along which a series of balconies ran from wall to wall. Ivy wound its way around pillars and balustrades, giving the place a fresh, verdant appearance. In the centre of the courtyard, despite the chill autumn weather, a fountain bubbled away with candles around its base and leaves floating upon the surface of the water. From deep inside the building came the faint strumming of a guitar, the hum of conversation, and occasional peals of women's laughter. What was this place? She clung onto the horse's saddle once again and waited.
Footsteps echoed across the courtyard and turning slowly, Hal realised she was being watched. The woman was tall, striking, not perhaps so young, maybe about forty years, but she was nevertheless perhaps the most beautiful person Hal had ever seen. Auburn hair lay in tresses to her waist, her eyes were almost emerald in shade, and her body indicated an exquisite grace of movement and gesture which could not be feigned. She was accompanied by a younger woman who, in spite of the cold, appeared to be wearing little more than a shift. Hal recognised the same brown eyes that had shone out at her through the peep-hole.
"Are you Lavinia?"
The tall woman nodded. The rich fabrics of her gown swished over the cobbles as she moved over to Hal and took the duellist's face in her hands, scrutinising her critically. Embarrassed, Hal looked away.
"My name is..."
"Don't tell me ─ I already know. Come, Halanya." Lavinia extended her arm to the duellist. "Anka, take her horse."
"Of course, Lavinia." The girl took the mare's reins and headed back through the tunnel.
"How do you know my name?"
"Marc has described you on many occasions."
Grateful, Hal took hold of the woman's arm and allowed herself to be led inside the building, aware of women peering down at her from the balconies.
She entered a luxurious looking salon and sank down amongst the silken cushions which were strewn across a chaise-longue. A fire crackled in the grate and the heavy red drapes around the curtains and vibrantly-patterned rugs exuded warmth.
"Your wounds are fresh."
"This morning's."
"They need stitches. Here...drink this." Lavinia poured a strongly-scented liqueur into a glass. Hal took it, her hand trembling.
She raised the fluid to her lips and drank without a second thought. It coursed through her veins, expelling the sensations of tiredness and pain with a drowsy warmth. "What is it?" she asked, unable to prevent a slur entering her voice.
"It will help you sleep."
"But I don't need help," she protested weakly.
Anka had returned now with a bowl of warm water and clean cloths. Lavinia unrolled one to reveal a set of needles.
Hal watched Lavinia working with passive disinterest. It were as though she had been detached from her own body and could observe everything from the side or above. "What are you doing?" she asked at last.
"You don't expect me to stitch you up while you're still conscious, do you? Go to sleep now, Hal."
Her eyelids fluttered and then closed as she finally sank back upon the pillows.
***
Daylight streamed in between parted drapes. She woke with difficulty, disoriented and tried to piece together the events which had led to her arrival in Caraden. The wounds upon her arm and legs throbbed and pulsed, yet it was a different kind of pain which caused her to groan out loud. Details of the duel came back to her in ever-increasing clarity: Léac's bitter words, Jools's despair, and above all Orla's fury as she had lain dying. She bit down on her knuckles, stifling a sob.
"So you've woken up at last."
Hal turned her head in the direction of the speaker, to observe Lavinia sitting in a high-backed armchair by the window.
"How long was I asleep?"
"It's midday now. You slept restlessly, though. I was afraid you had a fever."
"I'm alright," she lied. She shifted uncomfortably beneath heavy blankets.
"I'll have the girls prepare a bath for you. We'll put herbs into the water. That will cleanse the wounds. And bathing may cleanse more than just the body."
"Look, I'm grateful to you but I must move on. I would like to reach the Eagles' Nests by nightfall."
Lavinia's laughter sounded like a peal of bells. "Yes, you do rather live up to Marc's description."
"Why? What did he say? And how come you know him?"
"He said you were your own worst enemy." She pointedly ignored Hal's second question. "You need to rest, to bathe and eat. Besides, I don't think you'll be getting very far without your clothes!"
"What?" She lifted the blankets and gasped. "What have you done with them? Who are you people?"
"Don't worry. I gave them to the girls to wash and mend. You can wear this for now." She flung a length of faded blue material across the room. Hal caught it and held it critically to the light.
"A dress?" she asked, almost in horror.
"It looks about your size. You're not a prisoner here, my dear. If you wish to ride to Hannac half-famished, exhausted and wearing a dress, be my guest. If, on the other hand, you take the more sensible option of spending one more night in Caraden, the girls will give you back your clothes and you can ride tomorrow."
She was left with little choice, it seemed. "Very well. But I can't pay for my stay here. The soldiers, they..."
"Did they take your money?"
"Yes. All of it."
"Typical. Incompetent thieves. Don't worry, Hal. We'll get it back from them."
"What do you mean you'll get it back from them? What kind of place is this?"
Anka stuck her head around the door. "We've prepared a bath for the guest as you requested, Lavinia." She looked Hal up and down appraisingly and grinned. The duellist scowled as she pulled the dress over her head.
"Shall we?" Lavinia stretched out her hand.
They made their way along a corridor hung with rich tapestries and paintings to a smaller chamber at its end. A large, round bath stood in the centre, hot water steaming, spreading the air thick with the heady-scent of rose petals.
Lavinia and Anka then left her alone to bathe, closing the door quietly behind them. She pulled off the dress and climbed in, flinching as the hot water made contact with her wounds. And then she lay soaking, wrestling with herself as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her once more. Sinking beneath the surface, she released a soundless scream, bubbles of air escaping from her nose and mouth. There was no point in giving way to rage and anguish this time. Nothing, she realised, would bring Orla back or change the look of despair that she had witnessed on Jools's face. She raised her head above the surface and raked her hands through wet hair. It was time to move on ─ and for the first time in her life, she experienced a genuine urge to make Cara pay for her crimes.
Lavinia re-entered the room, carrying fresh towels over her arm. Wordlessly, she laid them down next to the bath, observing her guest for a few moments, her eyes softening as she beheld Hal's grief.
"Come," she said at last. "The water will get cold and you'll be ill." She held Hal's arm, guiding her from the tub. "What happened?"
"I killed someone yesterday. No, I murdered someone."
"Was it a duel?"
"Yes."
"Well it was no murder then, was it? The dead person was a friend or an enemy?"
"Both, as it turns out."
Lavinia was silent for a while. "I remember the first time Marc spoke of you," she said at last. "'Like a moth near a candle.' I think those were his words."
Hal hissed in sudden anger. "He talks too much," she threw back. "And you haven't answered my question. How do you know him?"
Lavinia's emerald eyes betrayed a sudden bitterness.
"For all you're a city girl, you really are naïve, aren't you, Hal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get dressed and join us for dinner below." Lavinia handed her one of the towels. "Oh, and welcome to The Serpent ─ the empire's most exclusive house of pleasure!"