Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [203]
Without Eamonn, I daresay we would have been trapped. He waded into the fray, heedless of his own safety, tossing people aside like jackstraws. I felt a fierce grin stretch my lips as I followed in his wake. Brigitta stuck like a burr to his back, and I swatted away the hands that reached for her, Lucius hard behind me, and Gilot bringing up the rear. He had managed to draw his sword, and he walked backward with it, warding off pursuit as we spilled onto the street.
It worked for the space of a few heartbeats.
At first it wasn't even a fight; just a throng of bodies pressed against one another, pushing, shoving, and cursing. Too many people in the street, too many pouring from the wineshop. The throng surged in response to forces I couldn't see. I couldn't move, and my arms were trapped at my sides. I couldn't even raise my dagger. Bodies, pressed all around. Torchlight streaked the night, but it was hard to see. Nothing but swathes of cloth, bits and pieces of faces. Anyone who fell would be trampled, and it was hard to keep one's feet in the swaying, surging crush.
For the first time, I panicked and found myself struggling to breathe. Brigitta was no longer in front of me. I couldn't tell if Lucius was behind me, couldn't even turn my head. Someone's elbow was lodged in my ribs. Someone's heel stomped hard on my toes; hard and deliberate. I would have hopped with pain if I could have. As it was, it made me lurch. I felt another foot planted in the back of my left knee, and my leg buckled.
Somewhere, Gilot was shouting my name; "Imri, Imri!"
I heard it, then I didn't. Someone had gotten to him, silenced him. And I was off balance, and the rioting throng was like a dark tide, threatening to pull me under. My left foot was trapped and I couldn't free it, couldn't straighten, couldn't move with the tide as I ought. A fist plowed into my bowed spine, driving me downward. Another blow, hard as a hammer. Helpless and furious, I pitched forward.
Somewhere above me, I heard a voice mutter, "Told to tell you, that's for Baudoin."
An intensified shock of panic ran through me. This was more than random violence; someone wished me harm. And if I fell, I'd never rise in one piece. Bodies, all around, thrashing and stomping and churning. No air, nothing to breathe. Only strange bodies, all too willing to crush the life from me. My attacker had hundreds of oblivious accomplices. I couldn't see faces, now; only backs and buttocks, legs and trampling feet. Before my eyes, the dim cobbled streets loomed close.
And somewhere, a faceless enemy.
Claudia had tried to warn me, but not hard enough.
Stupid, I thought as I fell, still holding the useless dagger, my arm pinned beneath me. Mayhap if I was lucky, I would fall upon its point and put an end to my foolish existence. I should have drawn them both, should have fought my way free. So what if I shed innocent blood? I could have claimed asylum at the D'Angeline embassy.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What a stupid way to die.
Somewhere behind me, there was an anguished cry of pain; and then another. And then the throng shifted and the press abated and there was space, a little bit of space. I drew a ragged breath and yanked my left leg hard. With an excruciating twist of my ankle, it came free, and I nearly fell on my face once more. I thrashed, trying to get to my feet before my enemy struck again, but I was still unbalanced and flailing.
"Montrève!" Lucius was there, ducking under a reaching arm. He was wild-eyed, his hand clutching at my wrist, steadying me. "Give me your dagger!"
I let it go, drawing the second one from my boot-sheath as I forced myself upright. "Behind me!" I shouted. "Who is it?"
Lucius shook his head. "Never mind! Just get out!"
Of a single grim accord, Lucius and I planted ourselves shoulder to shoulder and fought our way free of the fracas, prodding with our daggers when a threat