The wytch didn’t even bother to quench the spark as it flew a good ten feet wide of him. He turned, bridling almost fifty feet of fire as if it were a living thing and turning it in his hands to follow Solon.

The spark hit the cart horse’s flank. The old beast was already terrified by the blood, the sounds, and the flash of unnatural fire. It jerked against the cart and then reared and lashed out with its hooves.

The Vürdmeister never even heard the horse’s whinny beneath the roar of the flames. One second, he was reining the stream of fire down the bank of the road onto Solon, and the next, a hoof caught him in the back. He dropped on all fours, not knowing anything but that something was terribly wrong. He gasped and turned to see the horse regain its balance. Then horse and cart ran right over the man, crushing him into the road.

Solon pulled himself out of the water and mud of the rice paddy as the cart horse ran as it must not have run in ten years. His own horse was dead, of course, its skull a smoking ruin and the smell of burnt hair and cooked meat mingling over its half-ruined corpse.

The wytchfire was barely smoldering on the bodies of the dead guards now. Even as he watched, it guttered out. Wytchfire spread horribly fast, but only lasted about ten seconds.

Ten seconds? Has it only been that long?

The sound of hooves brought Solon back into reality. He looked up at Duke Gyre, whose face was still and hard.

“You’re a mage,” the duke said.

“Yes, my lord,” Solon said heavily. The lines were written now, by Solon’s silence. The duke had no choice. Confronted with such a surprise, a more clever man would have pretended to have known Solon was a mage all along. Then he could have decided what to do with him later. Duke Gyre was too straightforward for that. It was his strength and his weakness.

“And you’ve been reporting on me to other mages.”

“Only, only to friends, my lord.” It was weak, and it made him sound weak to say it, Solon knew, but he couldn’t imagine that it could all disappear like this. Surely his friendship with Regnus, surely ten years of service were worth more than this.

“No, Solon,” Duke Gyre said. “Loyal vassals don’t spy on their lords. You’ve saved my life this day, but you’ve been betraying me for years. How could you?”

“It wasn’t—”

“For my life, I give you yours. Begone. Take one of the horses and go. If I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you.”