I wrote myself into the ground a long time ago. So sorry for those who came for the Ranger's Apprentice bits, but more is happening with the Assassins right now and I'm sorry if it bores you. Hopefully I can wrangle the two storylines together soon.

Recap: After tracking a Templar to a villa in Northern Italy, Will finds himself accepting the owner's hospitality. There he's given more insight into the Templar Order and is offered a place in their ranks. He refuses, preferring to think it over, knowing he needs more information regarding both Templars and Assassins before choosing a side. The master of the villa also warns the Rangers will have not have the Templar's protection if Will refuses to take the bounty on Ezio Auditore, the Assassin grand master. Feeling trapped, Will returns to his companions.

Ezio, Lauro and Dante set an ambush to free Pedro and reacquire a Precursor box stolen by smugglers.

~16~ Ambush

"Vercelli? I've never heard of the place," said Halt.

Will huddled closer to the fire. The ride from the Templar's villa to reunite with his companions had been a cold one, despite the heat that had cooked him during the day. The trees did little to dissuade the wind, its charge unhindered by the farmlands beyond. Gilan, Horace and Alyss were asleep, which suited him fine – he only wished for Halt's ear right now, with all he has learned.

"It's east of here, from what I understand. I'll check the map tomorrow."

"And you believe this contact will speak with us? Tell us what we need to know about the Liberator?"

Will reached into his pocket and pulled out the Templar pendant. "If I show him this, yes."

Halt frowned at it. "Where did you get that?"

"Philippe Dumont. The man who killed those Assassins in the Alps." He put it away as his former mentor nodded in recollection. Will decided not to tell him that the pendant was not given to him then, but rather before, in Lyon, after Will witnessed the murder of an Assassin by the White Liberator. Doing so could also force him to bring up the fact that he also had an Assassin vambrace, one with a special hidden blade.

"These Templars have taken a liking to you, it seems," Halt said blandly.

"If it helps us find the Liberator, I'm willing to let them lead me around a little," said Will, "because I have you to watch my back."

Halt's gaze was steady across the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes. "What do they want in return?"

Will sighed through his nose. "Because I lied to them, two things. One, they want me to kill someone. Second, they want what you possess."

"...Come again?"

The younger Ranger couldn't help but offer a wry smile. "As soon as you give me a straight answer as well. What is that silver cube thing you have?"

"That's none of your concern," Halt growled.

"It is now. Because they know Crowley used to have it, suspect you have it, and I've had to feign ignorance of its existence because I don't know what it is or why the Templars want it." Will met his flame-reflected gaze. "I want to see it."

Long minutes went by, Ranger testing Ranger for his patience. Will refused to speak further until he saw that cube, and Halt knew it. So, at last, he pulled the artifact from his cloak and tossed it over the fire to Will. He caught it, and immediately wanted to drop it.

"What is this?" It felt alive in his hands. It didn't move, of course, but it was like static electricity between his fingers. He wanted to cast it away and covet it at the same time. And...it made his teeth hurt.

"I wish I knew," was all Halt said.

Will turned it around and around. The size of an apple, it was constructed of several smaller cubes, four wide, for high, four deep, all inscribed with part of an image. Only one side had been "solved."

"Does it always feel so...?" He sought the word.

"What?"

"It feels...sort of..." Alive. "...Charged. You know. Like when you rub fabric and..." He trailed off, Halt's confusion blatant. "Never mind." He turned one of the faces, wanting to solve the puzzles. But there wasn't much he could do without wrecking the one finished side.

"So Crowley did have this."

"Yes."

"Where did it come from?"

Halt shrugged one shoulder. "Somewhere other than England. Which leaves the rest of Europe, and beyond," he added flatly.

"...I'm going to have to scramble this face in order to solve the whole thing."

Now Halt frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know. I just feel it must be done."

"...It's just a toy, Will."

"Then why do you carry it around? Why did Crowley, and his predecessors? If it's nothing but a tinker toy, then I'll just chuck it into the trees right now—"

"Don't!"

Will smirked, arm raised to throw. Halt had half risen from his seat on a log.

"See? You think it's important too. Especially now that you know the Templars are interested in it."

Halt sank back onto his rear, grumbling. "Then by all means, master, try to solve it. Let me know how that goes."

"I will." He slipped it into his cloak, to await daybreak. No, he had no intention of giving it to the Templars; he earnestly wished to solve the six faces, even if he had little hope in doing so. If several generations of Ranger commandants couldn't figure it out, what chance did he have?

"Now. Who is it that the Templars want you to kill?" asked Halt. "I'm guessing an Assassin."

"Not just any Assassin. The grand master of the Italian Brotherhood, Ezio Auditore of Florence."

Halt frowned thoughtfully. "The name rings a bell..."

"Allegedly he killed Pope Alexander VI last year."

"Ah, yes. That caused quite the stir. I also heard it was actually the pope's son who murdered him."

Will shrugged. "I'll ask Ezio when I meet him."

"...You're not seriously considering taking the contract?" Halt leaned in closer, brow furrowed.

"I'm not going to confront him head-on, if that's what you're asking. But if he is consorting with the Liberator..." Another shrug. "I highly doubt I'd be able to arrest a man like him. And if I do kill him, the Templars would have our backs forever. I'm just not convinced that's a good thing either."

"I should think not," Halt growled. "Better we stay out of their war, and observe from afar."

The Rangers fell silent, retreating to their own thoughts. Will was shuffling through the many faces he'd seen over the years, those of high standing in castles and forts, churches and courts. How many of them were of the secretive Order, manipulating kings and commanders, advising the advisors? The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became. And on the other flank were the Assassins. They had murdered Ranger Toryn for speaking with a suspected Templar. Or at least, it looked like the Assassins had killed him, just like it looked like they had attacked Crowley...

He couldn't swallow the yawn before it split his face. Halt shooed him.

"Get some rest. We'll make for this Vercelli place tomorrow. It's the best lead we've got."

Will nodded, retreating to his sleeping roll, upwind of Alyss. He nestled deep inside and curled towards her, and was soon asleep.

Dawn brought both relief and dread to Pedro. Slivers of light found him through the trees, warming patches of his body, but that did not relieve the searing pain he felt every time he breathed. His wrists were still tied to two trees, leaving him kneeling with his arms out to either side. He hadn't slept a wink.

The smuggler camp woke with the birds, rising with discipline and downing a light breakfast before stomping out fires and dismantling tents. They ignored the Assassin. The Carver did not.

She approached with food and a bundle Pedro hoped was a change of clothes. He knew not why she was doing this herself, as she was clearly a leader of this rabble, but he had a hunch it had to do something with her wanting to turn him into a Templar.

She would have better luck turning a strawberry into a sardine.

Saying nothing, she set the food and clothes down and began to undo the drawstring at his waist.

"Sorry, I'm not really in the mood," he said.

Ignoring him, the scarred woman pulled off his soiled pants and began slipping on a fresh pair. Dark green and trimmed with gold, they looked fine enough to belong to an officer.

"Do they come in blue?"

Finally a knife flashed into view, hovering dangerously close to his manhood.

"Alright, alright, I'll shut up," said Pedro, trying to cross his legs protectively. The knife vanished back up her sleeve.

Although he appreciated the change of pants, he really needed to bathe. But he said nothing as she fed and watered him. And then she pulled something out of her doublet.

"Do you know what this is?"

Pedro raised his eyebrows. "It's a box."

In fact it was the very same box Lauro had found in the cellar containing the stolen goods: small, black, etched with strange characters. Lauro must have dropped it before he escaped.

The Carver scowled in annoyance – or maybe it was thoughtfulness, he really couldn't tell – as she said, "It was recovered by me a few years ago, but I've yet to open it."

"'Recovered,' hm? Well good job, I suppose. Quite the prize—ouch!"

He gritted his teeth, the fresh cut on the back of his upper arm extra painful because of the sensitive skin.

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

"I think I'm adorable."

She banished what might have been amusement from her eyes and said nothing more to him, pocketing the black box and having his bindings cut. He grunted as his arms sagged, shoulders screaming. He was given less than a minute of reprieve before he was hauled to his feet by his guards and coerced onto a horse by the pointy ends of swords. There his wrists were bound to the saddle, another rope tying his ankles together under the belly of the beast. It would be in his best interest to not lose his balance.

"May I ask what happened to my affects?" he asked the Carver, who rode up beside him as the rest of the company assembled. Two wagons in front, two behind him, with several riders flanking the caravan of stolen goods.

"You won't be needing them," she replied coolly.

"When I get away, I will. Robes are not cheap, and my sword is priceless. I promise minimal carnage when I escape if I get them now."

The call to march echoed throughout the dell, and they set off. Pedro's horse had no reins but the animal needed no steering, plodding after the wagon second in line.

"Your robes are what led you to this situation to begin with," said the Carver. "If anything, you should be cursing the one who gave them to you."

"In that case, you should be thanking the one who gave them to me, because they brought me to you."

She gave him a withering stare, her face like a well-seasoned leather shield, scratched and pitted and taut. Her eyes were bright, though, bright as a bird's.

"Trust me when I say, Assassin, I take no pleasure in meting out your fate. I believe every man can be saved."

"Every man?"

"Every last one of them."

"I shudder to think of your idea of 'saved.'"

"So should you, if you insist on fighting the truth."

"Again, I doubt we have the same definition of such a powerful word."

They rode in silence for almost a mile.

"What's your name?" Pedro asked at last.

"Not one you'll ever need to know."

"You cut my face and threatened my yam bag. I think I have the right to know."

He could almost hear her eyes rolling. "You may call me Teresa."

"A pleasure, Teresa. I'm Pedro."

She grunted, but Pedro considered it a start. Get your captors used to small requests, and eventually, they'll trust you enough to do bigger favours. So long as he could swallow his pride long enough to view the world as a Templar does without vomiting.

He looked skywards.

Lauro, I hope you haven't forgotten about me yet...

Lauro, of course, had not forgotten.

"They're coming this way," he said, joining his companions in the thicket. He was breathing hard, having been riding and running through the forest all night and long into the day, gathering what they needed to set up their ambush. His latest task had been to scout for the Templar caravan, which he'd done without his horse, for discretion. His robes were muddy, as were those of the others, to help hide them from eyes watching for white in the forest.

"You're absolutely sure?" asked Ezio.

"There are limited routes for a single rider, let alone a wagon," said Lauro. "This bridge must be their way forward."

"Did they see you?" Dante demanded. Lauro rolled his eyes.

"Yes, and I invited them to tea. Of course they didn't see me!" He turned from the rat-faced Milanese Assassin dismissively. "They should be here within the hour."

"Good. All is ready here." Ezio began to slip away. "Take your positions. We shall wait in silence, no matter how long it takes."

Lauro clasped his right fist over his heart and bowed his head before breaking cover, darting across the road to another thicket. He watched Ezio trot over the wooden bridge, across the river. Like the river, Lauro knew the man to be calm and flowing on the surface, but he ran deep and dark and dangerous for the unwary. Then he shook his head. He had to stop thinking such thoughts about his Mentor. Ezio was a man like any other. He had flaws, weaknesses, and he could die if Lauro made any mistakes.

The grand master vanished in the gloom of the trees on the far side of the river, none of the afternoon's rays able to pin him below the canopy. Lauro's clothes felt heavy with mud; it had been a wise decision getting them so filthy. They were much harder to spot now.

Minutes plodded by. Lauro shifted, again, unable to hold still in such a position. He could suspend himself with his hands for ages but bundle him up on the forest floor and he squirmed like a worm. It was cold, smelly, and he was ravenous. But even if there was someone to listen, he would not utter a sound.

What if he's dead? What if they decided Pedro was too much trouble to take along?

They haven't killed him. If they haven't by now, they intend on keeping him.

Then why? What if they only want him around to play with? What if he's doomed to some Templar's torture chamber?

Doesn't matter, because we're getting him back.

But your plan is flawed. Anything could go wrong. Pedro could end up in the river, and then no one will have him.

The poisonous thoughts continued to haunt him, and he shifted and writhed, body mirroring his mind's unrest. If he didn't take control immediately, he would certainly make a mistake.

Sitting up, he crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, head bowed, eyes closed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale, four heartbeats. Exhale, four more. Feel the ground beneath, the breeze above. Listen to the world, and it will listen back. Brace against doubt, heed the risks, and decide if the choice is worth the consequences.

Yes. Yes, it is worth it.

Lauro opened his eyes, at peace. He lied back down on his belly again, and waited.

The road stretched straight a hundred feet on either end of the bridge, which meant Ezio saw the caravan of stolen goods from a long ways away, rounding the corner at a steady pace. Two riders led four wagons, which weren't huge or bulky, so they could be hastened away to safety – if safety could be reached. The drivers' head and shoulders were visible above the wagons, constantly turning to scout their surroundings.

Ezio waited inside the hollowed stump of a long-gone tree, its innards black with rot and smelling of decomposition. The earth was soft beneath his feet, which he didn't like, but it was the best hiding place, as none of the branches of these trees could bear his weight.

His heart was going too fast. His palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his pants and grasped the wood axe he'd used to fell a tree hours ago, and he focused on the lead riders. They had kicked their steeds into a trot, crossing the bridge before the others. The first wagon was already on when the vanguard tried to stop them.

"Halt! A tree blocks the path. Stay where you are!"

That's your cue, boys.

Lauro had tensed as the company lumbered past, but with anticipation, not dread. Four wagons, several riders, including a woman who rode beside Pedro in clothes marking her as a Templar.

It was all he could do to not break cover now, cut Pedro's bindings and bid him to ride as far and fast as he could. That was not the plan. Stick to the plan. Stick to it.

Normally he didn't like plans. Not when there were multiple players. One misjudged variable could throw an entire plan out the window. But there were only three Assassins, and against several greedy Spaniards and Templars, they could lose both Pedro and the black box, not to mention their own lives, should they deviate from the plan.

The last wagon and the rearguard had gone past, but still Lauro did not move. He knew Dante was on the other side, and prayed he would not jump the gun.

Then, from the head of the company, came the cry:

"Halt! A tree blocks the path. Stay where you are!"

It wasn't for several feet that the worn animals came to a stop, their whole lives spent hauling wagons until the sun fell or they were surrounded by buildings or docks, not trees. The riders and drivers grumbled and threw up their hands with impatience, their own animals sensing it and stamping restlessly. A few were ordered to cross the bridge to help the vanguard move the impeding log, but two wagons were already on the bridge, and they could not get across. Voices and tempers rose.

"Now." Lauro drew the pin of a small ball filled with chemicals that didn't like each other. He threw it behind the rearmost riders and wagon, catching movement in the thicket opposite as he did so. It was Dante, rising and taking aim with Ezio's miniature crossbow, loaded with a tipless bolt.

Lauro was counting down the seconds until the bomb's insides reacted, as would Dante.

Three...two...one...

Crack!

He didn't see the quarrel zipping through the air, but he saw the reaction of the horse that was hit in the meaty part of its hind leg. It reared, screaming angrily, and its rider fell in the dirt.

Again!

Lauro threw another bomb, waited five seconds, grinning as it popped and a second rider was thrown, his horse believing itself to be hurt, the men thinking them shot. The animals bolted, bruised but otherwise unharmed, as the other members began to panic.

"Ambush!"

The cry spooked the first two wagons, which rolled further across the bridge. But the felled tree would prevent more than one wagon from getting off on the opposite shore. The panic swelled.

Lauro threw another bomb, and Dante shot another blunted bolt. One of the horses drawing the rearmost wagon kicked, head coming around to bite at nothing. Its partner lurch forward into the next wagon, jarring it, which made those animals rear, the driver unable to retain control.

The Templar leader was shouting orders, in Spanish and Italian, and the single riders began to form a line, backs to the river, guns appearing in their hands.

Lauro dared throw a fourth bomb, even with the Spaniards on the lookout for the "shooter." Unfortunately, the Assassins had only the one crossbow, and if they didn't engage the second part of their plan, they would be found out.

Rising slightly, the young man scuttled towards the river, wary of being spotted by the Spaniards' questing muskets, until he was abreast with the third wagon in the row. It was not only right behind Pedro and his captor, but had forced them forwards onto the bridge. Lauro took a deep breath.

"The river! They're in the river!"

In the chaos they didn't recognize his voice as not being one of their own. The riders turned and pressed towards the water, leaving the rearmost wagon defenceless, seeking the attackers that weren't there. Even as Lauro watched, one of the animals screamed in outrage and stumbled into the river, hit by one of Dante's blunted bolts, and its rider fell forward into the water. Lauro winced, hoping he could swim.

The smugglers were distracted. Lauro seized his chance.

Breaking cover, he darted onto the road and leaped onto the rearmost wagon, clambering over its back, to the driver. A foot to the head knocked the man out and Lauro hauled him off and away, before returning to free the horses. He slapped their rumps and darted for the trees again, leaving behind an obstacle just feet from the bridge. The other three wagons had no hope of retreat until the fourth was moved, and it was Lauro's job to prevent that.

He drew his next toy. Bartered from a Turkish merchant months ago, he had yet to see its wonders; a clay jar filled with materials he'd forgotten the names of, but not their properties. Supposedly, when thrown it exploded in an inferno that could not be quenched by water. The merchant had called it Greek Fire.

He gripped it tight. Took careful aim. And let it fly.

Clay shattered, chemicals reacted, fire spread, engulfing the wagon with a whoosh! The riders lining the riverbank twisted around in their saddles and hollered in alarm before wheeling their steeds about and spurring them on, calling for someone to save the treasures inside. None of them dared to try.

Ezio frowned. Lauro had been thirty seconds late setting the fire. But it was done, and now it was his turn.

He stepped out from the hollow stump and charged, bounding over the log blocking the road with the ease of a man half his age. The two head riders turned too late, shouts cut off as Ezio struck one with the top of the wood axe and the other with the butt, knocking them senseless. Abandoning the axe, Ezio sprinted for the first wagon, trapped on the bridge. The driver cried out in alarm and cracked the whip, but before the horses could charge him down, Ezio jumped onto the pull bar between them, then onto the wagon itself, smashing his knee into the driver's face. The man howled, clasping his nose, as the Assassin kept going, two strides taking him off the first wagon and onto the backs of the horses of the next.

This driver had had warning, and he lashed his whip at Ezio with a vengeance. The Assassin raised an arm, steel protecting flesh as the end of the whip wrapped around his vambrace. Ezio seized it with his other hand and yanked back, hauling the driver forward and off his seat.

The ordeal had taken no more than ten seconds. But he had still been too slow. Riders on the far bank had turned from the burning wagon and raised their muskets at the muddy figure leaping his way towards their leader and their captive, who rode side by side on the bridge. The latter was bound to the saddle, defenceless, while the Templar drew a pistol and took aim at his head.

Ezio took in the scene as he sailed over the back of the wagon, pouncing at the Templar. Her horse reared in alarm and – to Ezio's undying embarrassment – he collided with its head and forelegs.

"Oof!"

Winded, Ezio just managed to wrap his arms around the beast's neck as it came down on all fours. His weight was too much and it stumbled trying to keep its head up. It fell to its knees, trapping his legs beneath its chest, but he reached up, grabbing the woman by the front and hauling her off the saddle.

Now that she was out of sight, her smugglers took their chance. Aiming their muskets, they fired as one.

"Pedro!"

Lauro could only watch in horror as the smugglers raised their weapons, aiming towards the centre of the bridge where their leader had fallen. He couldn't see Ezio, but he could see his friend tied to a panicky horse that could not flee, trapped between two wagons.

"No!"

His cry was drowned by the cracking of gunpowder, plumes of smoke bursting from half a dozen muskets and spitting roundshot towards the bridge.

Perhaps it was the weapons' inaccuracies, or the shooters' lack of skill, or perhaps it was sheer dumb luck – Pedro was not hit. His horse, however, took the fire, and its head came around as though to bite the wounds in its side. But it was already dying, and it toppled, shattering through the bridge railing and plunging into the river, taking Pedro with it.

Ezio saw his disciple fall, and his innards evaporated. He released the Templar as her horse pushed itself off its knees, unpinning his legs, and he tried to rush to the broken railing. But something grabbed his ankle and he went down again. Like a snake held by the tail, he rolled until the grip loosened, getting to his feet to confront the Templar woman. Her face was horribly scarred, but she must have been beautiful once.

"Auditore," she growled.

A line creased his forehead briefly. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

As she pushed herself up, something fell from inside her cloak, and he looked only briefly, to see a black box etched with Precursor symbols.

He didn't waste time thanking fortune or gods or fate. He threw his shoulder into the Templar, knocking her back against her horse before scooping up the Precursor box and stuffing it in his robes.

"That does not belong to you, Assassin!"

"It belongs to no one."

"Mentor!"

Ezio's head whipped over towards the shore at Lauro's warning. His peripherals caught the Templar lunging towards him with a naked blade. Without hesitation he turned and dove off the bridge, a second volley of musket shot barely missing him as he plunged into the water.

But he'd felt her grasp his robes as his feet left the bridge, and although he was a strong swimmer, the Templar was an anchor, arms wrapping around his waist from behind. He kicked and thrashed as they sank, the current dragging them on, surrounding them in cold darkness. But she would not let him go. His exhaustion from a sleepless night, plus the weight of the Templar as well as his own clothes and armour, leeched the last of his strength.

Panic set in despite his efforts, his special sense flaring with his adrenaline. The water around them darkened, but he could see ribbons of silver swirling around him and the red life aura of the Templar. She'd been shot.

It seemed heinous to kill her when she was in such a vulnerable state, but if he didn't act, he would drown with her. Bubbles escape his lips as he looked up, up towards the light, and he saw the blue life force of an ally dive into the water from the shore. They didn't see him, he was too deep down. But they did see the other figure struggling further downriver, which Ezio knew to be Pedro. At least he was still alive, although he looked to be having difficulties keeping his head above the surface as the dead horse he was tied to floated on.

The first figure could only be Lauro, exposing himself to musket fire to save his best friend. Ezio wouldn't ask for his aid even if he could.

With hands strengthened by decades of scaling and combat, he gripped the Templar's wrists and pried her arms from around his waist, kicking back at her as he did so. But when he let go, she grabbed his leg, and his air-deprived brain made him think she was doing this on purpose, letting herself die so long as he died with her. The little voice that insisted she was simply too scared to do anything else got quieter and quieter until the only order he could understand was the order to kill her.

He turned his head from the surface, hidden blade darting from its sheath at his forearm, and he pulled his knees to his chest to bring her within range. The blade plunged into her arm, and with his Vision he saw more silvery blood swirl away with the current. She let go, but he could still see her red aura, and he withdrew the blade, kicking away from her before clawing skyward.

Ezio broke the surface, coughing up water before gasping raggedly. In moments his head was clear and he stopped thrashing, treading water as it carried him on. The bridge was out of sight, as were any smugglers.

He pushed himself in a circle, expecting the Templar to surface once she realized she was her own only hope. But she didn't.

Why he came to his next decision, he didn't know. But he cursed himself colourfully for it before diving again, spotting her fading life force with his Vision. She was deep and further downriver. He kicked his way down, moving with the current and coming at her at an angle, like a hawk diving for its prey in slow motion. He grabbed her by the shoulders. She didn't struggle as he pushed her around and drew a knife. Slashing through a layer of clothing and yanking off her boots, she was suddenly half her weight, and he hooked his arms under hers before kicking off the riverbed.

It was still a struggle, but he made it up, blinded by hair and his hood. He wrapped one arm around the Templar's waist to keep her head above water while his freed hand pushed hair and hood from his face.

"Ezio! Over here!"

He spotted Lauro and Pedro hauling themselves onto the shore, and there they waited to help him out and up the bank. They said nothing about the Templar, who started to vomit water when Ezio squeezed her too hard around the middle. He dropped her rather unceremoniously and stepped away, scanning his two charges for injury. Aside from a few cuts on Pedro's face and arm, they looked unharmed.

"I'm sorry, Mentor," said Pedro, misinterpreting Ezio's stare. "I am to blame for all that has happened."

Ezio frowned. "A curious claim, boy. Much has happened in the world, and much more will happen in days to come. Trust me, you aren't that influential."

Pedro shifted, as though unsure if he was supposed to be chastened or amused. Ezio sighed through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Why not instead take credit for the recovery...of this?" He pulled the Precursor box from inside his robes. Lauro's face brightened.

"How did you get that?"

"This Templar was kind enough to drop it at my feet." He turned it over in his hand. It matched the Apple of Eden's vision and Lauro's description, and according to Arabelle of the Milanese Bureau, it had never been opened.

"What is it?" Pedro asked.

"And why did you save her?" Lauro was staring at the woman. She was on her hands and knees, shuddering.

"We'll speak of it later," said Ezio. "Let's find Dante, collect the horses, and return to Milan. Lauro, bind her hands."