Instinctively, Vintre straightened up and began making adjustments to his uniform. He brought his horse alongside the carriage and peered inside. Hagen’s body was draped along one of the seats while the unconscious driver had been propped up in a corner. Without realizing that he was doing it, he made his face look concerned. It was as if Hagen’s awful will, too cruel even for death’s domain, might suddenly return to his corpse and open the eyes to find himself the object of a junior officer’s ghoulish curiosity. Even in death, Hagen was frightening.
Only now did Vintre being to grasp the awful magnitude of what had happened. There’d be more than just another purging of the citizenry, there’d be some rare jockeying for position at the highest level – for the ears of the Gevethen themselves – and who could say what benefits such a change could bring to lesser lights further down the chain of command? Vintre’s ambition, already on the wing, began to soar. Yet, like a cloud about to obscure the sun, there hovered the thought – who could have done such a thing? Not, who, after all this time, would have dared assail Hagen of all people, in broad daylight and in a busy street? Or, how many could have been involved to turn over the carriage? But what kind of a person was it who could have stood face to face with Hagen, looked into those awful eyes, and not let their weapon drop from nerveless hands?