Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [211]
"Captain!" It was the D'Angeline spokesman, sounding as startled as Kazan looked. "I have orders to bring her to Prince Benedicte!”
"Yes," the Captain said mildly. "And I have orders from my lord Marco Stregazza to make certain you do no such thing. This woman is a spy and an escaped criminal, and if your doddering princeling has some idiotic fear of D'Angeline curses for shedding her blood, be assured that Lord Marco does not. She dies here, guardsman, and let your Prince take it up with Lord Marco. For the good of the Serene Republic, I have my orders."
"Kazan," I breathed; I had begun shaking. He stared at me, still dumbstruck. "Will you let them do this thing?"
He made no reply.
"Ah, right," the Captain said thoughtfully. "Your gold, pirate." He drew his sword, pointing at a pair of coffers sitting on deck. "Take it and begone, then, with our thanks. Though if I were you ..." He glanced meaningfully toward the distant island, where two war-galleys were easing into view around the curve of coast, single-masted biremes propelled by a double bank of oars. "I would go with haste, for our bargain ends the instant you take it. The girl's life is worth more than yours to the Serene Republic ... but not by much."
"Kazan!" I cried.
His head bowed as he averted his face. "Rachlav, Zaiko... take the gold."
I stood in disbelief as the Illyrians moved to obey him, two men each on a coffer, under the watchful eyes of the Serenissimans. The others warded them, forming a line on either side of the galley as the coffers were handed down into the Illyrian vessels.
"Good enough." The Captain was pleased. "If you move fast enough, you may even escape, sea-wolf, though Asherat grant you fail. You ..." he snapped his fingers at one of his men, "... and you. Do it now. It is to be done on the instant, Lord Marco says."
They moved swiftly, doubtless hand-picked for discipline and loyalty. I struggled briefly, to no avail, and was forced to kneel on the deck. I heard a voice cry out a protest in Illyrian, quickly stifled; Lukin, I thought. And then a handtangled roughly in my hair, dragging my head back to bare my throat for the sword. It was all happening so fast, I scarce had time to feel the terror of it until I saw a Serenissiman soldier move in front of me, drawing his sword back for the swing.
I understood then that I was going to die.
It is fixed in my mind, that moment; sunlight glinting off the edge of the blade, the Captain's impassive face behind my executioner, even the feel of the sun-warmed planks beneath my knees. And Kazan's wordless shout, building full of rage and fury until it seemed it would crack the very sky.
I never saw the blow that separated my would-be executioner's head from his shoulders, only his body crumpling at my knees, blood pooling about his truncated neck. My gorge rose and I suppressed a wave of sickness, scrambling away from the soldier who'd held me. By the time I gained my feet, chaos reigned on the deck of the galley—and in the center of it all was Kazan Atrabiades, wielding his sword like a man possessed.
Outnumbered, the Illyrians fought to secure their retreat, aided by a volley of javelins and fire-arrows from the outlying ships. Set aflame, the pitch-soaked rags wrapped about the arrows set a dozen small fires on deck, adding to the confusion. Kazan and the Serenissiman Captain alike were roaring orders, half-heeded by skirmishing soldiers and pirates. And then I saw no more as one of the latter grabbed me about the waist, hauling me over the railing and handing me down into the waiting arms of Glaukos, waiting anxious-eyed in the ship below.
How long it lasted, I could not say—hours, it seemed, though I daresay not more than a span of heartbeats had passed before the rest followed, of those that might, and Kazan himself came over the railing. Our ship wallowed under their staggering weight,