IV | Death is Come
He rode into the village at full gallop—with the hooded, black cloak of his calling flapping wildly about him (so that it appeared Shekalane, who was seated behind him, wore a cloak also) and the horse’s hooves churning up clouds of orange-red dust in their wake. Schools of ignudi exploded skyward as he drove them into the heart of Flax, the little winged women making their entrance a dramatic one—which served his purpose precisely, for it was his belief that, given that there was no other route back to the gondola save through the heart of the village, their best hope at passing unmolested was to do so forcibly.
Only when they had gained the main thoroughfare, where merchants had begun resurrecting their tents and stands and shops, did he slow to a more casual gait. W
