Kushiel's Scion (112 page)
"I'll try." The barrels made me think of Canis. I wondered if he was still alive.
Eamonn nodded. "Good."
He carried his kite-shaped shield lightly, seemingly untired. He was still bareheaded, rain sparkling on his coppery hair. I wished I'd thought to grab him a helmet from one of the dead, but there hadn't been time. It seemed there was never time in battle, except when there was too much time and nothing to be done.
Like now.
"I hate this." Matius shivered, shifting from foot to foot. "I hate the waiting."
"Be glad you're alive to do it." Eamonn's gaze was fixed on the far end of the street. I was glad he was our commander. I opened my mouth to tell him so, when a sentry's horn blew somewhere in the next block. Our sentry atop the inn echoed the call, loud and piercing. "Here they come, lads!"
Valpetra's men.
There must have been over a hundred of them, driving in a hard wedge. Too many, too many to have come this far with their numbers intact and unchallenged. Three men of the Red Scourge pelted before them; not playing hare and hounds, but running for their lives.
And behind them was the cavalry.
"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn whispered. "Why are they here?"
There was no time. No time to wonder, no time to form a new plan. Elsewhere in the city, the sentries' horns were calling anew. I almost fancied I could hear a familiar voice roaring orders. No time to decipher it, no time to guess. There was only now.
Eamonn gathered himself and stepped forward. "Now, hares!"
He beat his shield with the flat of his blade, jeering and shouting insults to the Valpetran army. We all did. They held formation and advanced steadily. Not what we wanted, not what we'd planned for. And then one of them pointed, calling out to his fellows. Halfway down the street, a few in the forefront broke into a jog.
From the doorfronts and alleys, hidden soldiers of Senecus squadron stepped forth to challenge them, sowing chaos in their ranks. But they were too few, outnumbered. They'd laid their traps to catch stragglers, not an entire company. I watched them fight and die, their grizzled commander holding off several attackers, and my feet began to carry me forward unthinking until Eamonn's shield blocked my path.
"Hold," he said grimly.
Senecus' commander was borne down in a mass of men. Valpetra's men resumed their advance. One of the fleeing Luccan conscripts stumbled and was cut down from behind. We beat our shields and shouted. The other two conscripts reached us. One flashed past us without pausing. The other halted and grabbed my sword-arm.
"He wants you," he said in an rusty, accented voice. "Run!"
I stared blankly into Canis' face, blood-streaked beneath his helmet. "Who are you?"
And then Valpetra's men were on us.
"Hares, go!" Eamonn shouted.
I shook off Canis' hand and ran, darting beneath the eaves of the inn. There were footsteps behind me, and then the cobblestones trembled beneath my feet as two heavy barrels crashed down from above. I heard groaning and cursing. Overhead, the sentry's horn gave a new, frantic call, no signal we'd agreed upon, high and clarion.
I ran.
Never in my life had I felt more vulnerable. Not even in Daršanga, stripped naked and shivering, awaiting the Mahrkagir's lash or Jagun's brand. The space between my shoulder blades itched, protected only by a metal-studded leather jerkin. One arrow, a single well-thrown javelin, and I was dead.
It didn't come.
The charge through the city had taken its toll; Valpetra's men were down to hand weapons. I drew abreast of Matius and the other two, passing them as we raced up the marble steps of the baths and through the arched doorway.
An army followed at our heels. I didn't look back; I didn't dare. With the grunt and clash of swordplay ringing in my ears, echoing in the vast space, I ran past the openings onto the caldarium, the tepidarium, ducking into the room that held the frigidarium. The pool was brimming with floodwater and there was a single narrow plank laid across it. Discarding my shield for the sake of balance, I ran across the plank. It dipped and bent beneath my weight, but it held me. I turned around to find that a full score of Valpetra's men had followed me.
"Come on, then!" I shouted, settling into a two-handed stance.
Valpetra's men hesitated, arraying themselves around the edge of the pool. One ventured onto the plank. I jerked my chin, beckoning him onward. He edged toward me, wavering.
"Bar-bar-us! Bar-bar-us!"
A half dozen of my comrades emerged from hiding to charge them from behind. No skill, no finesse, simply a hard, shoving charge, shields to the fore. Valpetran solders staggered, tumbling into the flooded pool, flailing, borne down by the weight of their armor. It was chest-deep; too shallow to drown them, but deep enough to render them ineffectual.
I pointed my blade at the exposed face of the nearest. "Surrender your swords."
He grimaced at me. "Die, D'Angeline."
'Tis a terrifying thing to feel how easily sharp steel sheers through human flesh. I cut him; I cut him a-purpose, the tip of my blade etching a thin line across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. It wouldn't kill him, but it would scar. Blood ran down in a sheet, making a scarlet mask of the lower half of his face, stirring crimson tendrils in the water.
"Surrender your swords," I said softly.
This time, they did.
"Imriel!" Canis pushed his way through the members of Barbarus squadron as they collected Valpetran arms. He ran lightly across the plank, balancing his shield with ease. "They're coming. You've got to get out of here."
"They're sodding well here, Canis," I said. "Where do you expect me to go?"
He shook his head impatiently. "Not just Valpetra. Help from Tiberium. Didn't you hear the horns?"
"What?" I gaped at him.
Inside the baths, Barbarus was whooping with unexpected triumph. Our ambush had been a success. Dead Valpetran soldiers blocked the doors and temporarily barred further pursuit; live ones splashed and floundered in the pools. The tiled floors were awash with blood and water, and it stank of death and mildew. It was a scene out of some macabre farce. Outside, the sound of battle continued to rage, too fierce to be limited to a handful of resistance.
"Go!" Canis began shoving me back along the plank. "This will be over in an hour, but if you don't damn well get out of here and hide, you're like to be dead before they get here."
"You want me to desert?"
He bared his teeth at me. "I want you to live!"
Others were beginning to stare. I glanced around desperately for Eamonn; as my friend, as my commander. We needed him. I didn't know whether to believe Canis, whether to heed him. No one knew whether we should attempt to hold the baths or retreat out the rear entrance to the fabric warehouse that was our next stronghold. Remembering my earlier reget, I snatched a helmet discarded by one of the Valpetrans who had surrendered.
"Eamonn!" I shouted. "Where's Eamonn?"
There was a surge at the door. Two Valpetrans burst through. Constantin and another Barbarus member killed one; the other retreated. Outside, it was getting louder. I craned around, looking for a glimpse of copper-bright hair, half a head taller than anyone else.
"Imriel." Matius touched my arm. "Eamonn never made it to the baths. He—"
His lips continued to move, forming words I couldn't hear. There was only a high-pitched ringing sound, the sound of fury. It coursed through me in waves, filling my veins with dark fire. I could taste it on my tongue, acrid as steel.
Enough.
I don't know if I thought the word or spoke it. I tore away from Matius' grip, from Canis' urging, and made for the arched doorway at a dead run. Members of Barbarus squadron turned their heads slowly. I plowed past Constantin and hurdled a Valpetran corpse. There was another Valpetran in the doorway, a live one. He stared at me open-mouthed. I ducked under his raised sword and slid past his shield, dropping to one knee and executing a one-handed backward thrust. As though from a great distance, I heard him bellow as my sword pierced the back of his thigh. Without pausing, I yanked my sword free and continued onto the portico.
"Eamonn!" I shouted.
It was madness outside the baths. The streets were clogged with almost two hundred Valpetran infantry and mounted men, and hundreds of Luccan soldiers. Hundreds. They must have rallied from every quarter of the city. As though a door had been flung open wide, my hearing returned, and the sound of it slammed into me: clashing, grating, deafening. Over the top of it all rode the sound of the horns calling out an alarum. Somewhere through it ran the thread of a familiar roar. There was a mounted figure amidst the advancing Red Scourge, clad in gilded armor, a crest of crimson horsehair bobbing.
Lucius, alive. Not Eamonn.
"Eamonn!"
I couldn't hear my own voice in the din. I shook my head in frustration. Another Valpetran charged across the portico toward me. Realizing I still held the useless helmet, I flung it in his face. When he staggered backward, I plunged the point of my blade in a gap beneath his armpit.
A lot more of them attacked me then.
I don't know how many. I didn't count. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd caught a flash of red-gold hair some distance from the portico, backed up against the ledge surrounding the baths. I fought my way toward him. No shield; no shield line. No comrades in arms to worry about. I fought in the Cassiline style. They weren't men anymore, just obstacles to surmount. Shields to dodge, blades to parry, bits of moving armor to pierce. I didn't care about killing them, I only wanted to get past them. Somewhere behind me, I could hear a voice cursing steadily in a language that sounded like Hellene, but wasn't.
I saw Eamonn go down, and I cursed, too.
It was the helmet, the damned lack of a helmet. A big Valpetran with a thrusting spear gave him a glancing blow to the head and his knees began to sag. A helmet would have turned it. I'd taken several. Small wonder my ears were ringing.
"Eamonn!" I shouted, and he turned his head. Blood was spilling down one side of his neck. Our eyes met and he pitched forward. The Valpetran grinned and raised his spear for the finishing thrust.
Whispering a prayer to Blessed Elua, I ran for the edge of the portico and leapt. His arms began to descend. There was no time to strike a blow. I simply lowered my head and ran into him. He dropped his spear as the impact sent us both sprawling. I landed atop him, losing my sword in the process.
There were more horns blowing, a confusion of horns. There were hoofbeats on the cobblestones. Someone was shouting an order to surrender. It didn't sound like Lucius, or Gallus Tadius. The Valpetran soldier beneath me glared and heaved, nearly throwing me off him. I fumbled for the dagger in my boot-sheath and planted it between his eyes, sinking it to the hilt. His glare faded, eyes fixed and open.
A heavy weight fell across my back.
"Surrender arms!" the voice shouted.
For the first time, I panicked, flailing out from beneath the weight. A body. Finding my sword, I scrambled to my feet, gripping the hilt in both hands and breathing hard, terrified of what I might see.
D'Angeline banners and Tiberian soldiers massing on the outskirts of the battle.
Silvanus the Younger calling on his men to surrender.
Lucius making his way through the throng, accompanied by three guardsmen.
Canis at my feet, clutching the haft of a javelin, his lips drawn back with pain.
And Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, seated astride a black horse. His men, Silvanus' men, had drawn back to give him a wide berth. Lucius was yet to reach us. We might have been alone on the street. Although we were strangers to one another, a strange sense of intimacy settled between us. He gazed down at me, his fleshy, rain-streaked face impassive. One hand ended in a bandaged stump. In the other, he held a javelin, cocked and ready to throw.
"I've been looking for you, D'Angeline" he said conversationally. "I blame you for all of this. I'm not sure why, but I do."
I nodded. "I carry a lot of guilt, my lord."
"Valpetra!" Lucius' voice; Gallus' voice, raised in an earsplitting roar, carrying over the mass of soldiers. "It's over! Your condottiere has surrendered! Drop your weapon!"
"Ready to die?" Domenico Martelli asked me, ignoring him.
"Not really," I said honestly.
Lucius shouted an order, and a trio of crossbows sang out over the crowd. Martelli jerked hard as one bolt struck home, jutting from his left shoulder. The other two missed. Lucius shouted again. The guardsmen struggled to reload, but it was a slow process. At my feet, I could hear Canis moving feebly. Martelli gathered himself, cocking his right arm and setting his javelin, aiming its point at my heart. Now, at last, I wished I had my shield.
"Well," said the Duke of Valpetra. "Ready or not."
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