The Master of Verona

"You can't escape. Give him to me and I'll let you walk out of here."

"I said drop your sword." Pietro hesitated, and Pathino pressed the flat of the thin dagger into the child's flesh. It drew no blood, but that could change with an ounce of pressure, a flick of the wrist.

"You can't hurt him," said Pietro. "The Count would never forgive you."

"You have no idea what the Count wants with the boy. Drop your sword."

Reversing his blade so that it pointed down, Pietro rammed it into the soft earth.

"Now step away from it."

Pietro obeyed, easing sideways, putting the fire pit between them. Pathino remained where he was, holding Cesco upright in his grasp. "Sit down." The knife left Cesco's throat as the kidnapper gestured to an old crumbling log close to the fire's edge. Pietro sat, trying to hide his shivers. His bare arms and chest dripped with cold water, and though he warmed himself by the blaze, his eyes remained locked on the scarecrow.

Pathino lowered himself onto a rock on his side of the fire. He roughly shoved Cesco down to his knees, then pulled the boy's head up. His knife remained ready. Cesco's wide eyes were looking curiously at Pietro.

"Everything will be fine," Pietro told him.

Pathino's expression was smug. "For him, perhaps. I wouldn't take a wager on your own life, though. Who are you?"

"Someone who's wanted to meet you for a long time." He was imagining how Cangrande would handle this situation. "How did you know I was here, by the way?"

"Answer for an answer, boy. Like eye for an eye."

"Pietro Alaghieri."

"Ah. Ser Alaghieri. I should have known. To answer your question, I saw your sword reflecting the firelight."

Pietro nodded, too tired to feel foolish. "This is one of the old Montecchio caves, isn't it?"

"Yes. I grew up near here. I found this cave as a boy, and always remembered where it was. Though I had a scare last week as I was setting up. Two girls came in to explore."

"Did you murder them, too?"

"Hardly. I merely pretended to be an animal and scared them off."

"You didn't have to pretend. What's the plan?"

"You'll sit there until we're joined by my patron."

"You mean the Count of San Bonifacio." When Pathino didn't respond, he said, "Then what?"

"Then, I imagine, you will die."

An idea occurred to Pietro. "The Count's dead. Killed at Vicenza."

Was that a shadow of fear? "You lie."

"Sadly, no," said Pietro, sounding much calmer than he felt. "I took his armour for myself to wear and impersonated him before his men."

Pathino's voice carried nothing but scorn. "Then where is it?"

"I shed it when I started after you."

Clearly disbelieving Pietro's words, Pathino said, "I guess we'll just have to sit here to find out. By midnight the Count should be with us."

"A long wait."

"If you wish to save some time and open your wrists, I won't stop you. I may even bury you, though not on holy ground of course."

"And lose the pleasure of speaking with you?" The bravado rang hollowly in his own ears. He directed his gaze to the boy. "Cesco? Detto's fine."

In spite of the knife resting on his collarbone, Pietro saw the child visibly relax.

"So, Ser Pietro Alaghieri, cavaliere of Verona," hissed Pathino, "tell me — what do you want to spend your last hours speaking of?"

Shivering, Pietro said, "I want to know what brought you here."

The rain beat down on the tiled roof of the Nogarola palace, but didn't drown out the captive's words. "…and he died a broken man, longing for nothing more than to return to his childhood home. Your uncle and your father took control of Verona, destroying the natural order of things. We have no kings here, no Caesars. No one man can be allowed to rule over his fellows."

"Yes, I can see how the Bonifaci suffered all those centuries as unelected rulers of the Feltro."

The Count sneered. "My family rose to the top because of ability."

"I'm sure the hoarded wealth of generations had nothing to do with your prosperity."

"Ability shines in my family."

"As it does in mine. Not just in my brother. There's Cesco."

"Indeed there is, indeed there is. Or there was."

"So, to avenge your father, you'll murder Cangrande's heir?"

The Count made a face. "Nothing so simple as that. When I heard about the boy I saw new possibilities. Nothing else could have moved Pathino to my side."

"Pathino, yes. Why would you want him? He made a hash of that first kidnapping attempt."

"True. He barely escaped with his life, I hear. To be fair, though — " Vinciguerra had to break off for a bout of coughing blood into a napkin. "To be fair, none of the others I sent were successful, either. They couldn't even get close."

"I would say the two who tried to kill him got fairly close."

The Count looked puzzled. "I never tried to have him killed. That would have spoiled my plans."

"Then your minions were confused — they hacked his bed to pieces."

"When was this?" demanded Vinciguerra.

"August of last year. Tell me that, at least, was a mistake."