Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [252]
And then there they were, and we were bearing down on them. Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, was slow to react. His fleshy face looked surprised, his mouth agape like a fish. His thick-fingered hand, clamped like a manacle on Helena's wrist.
Slow. Too slow.
I turned the Bastard sharply, coming broadside. I brought my sword down in a single swift stroke, severing the link that bound them, severing his hand at the wrist. Blood spurted from the stump. He stared at it in disbelief.
Helena gave a choked gasp.
Everything came back, then. Time flowed in its usual channels, and the taste of fear filled my mouth. I smelled death; blood and feces and rot. Daršanga. Willing my churning gut to subside, I shoved my bloodied sword in its scabbard and grabbed the reins of Helena's mount.
"Lucius sent me," I said. "Hurry!"
She asked no questions, only followed. We fled on horseback, plunging past the fighting. It had grown fierce. Eamonn was in the thick of it, still mounted, laying about him on both sides with his sword. Other guardsmen had come at a run, swords drawn. Gallus Tadius rode along the fringes of the battle, calling out orders. A handful of guards were dragging Gaetano Correggio's limp form to safety. Here and there, a Valpetran soldier fell, picked off by a judicious arrow.
"Retreat!" the Duke shouted, clutching his stump. "Retreat!"
"Attack!" Gallus roared. "Archers, forward!"
Valpetra's men fell back; back to the gatehouse. On the far side of the moat, nearly two thousand reinforcements were hurrying to their assistance. But the drawbridge was stuck at its midpoint, and they wouldn't be able to cross easily. If they reached the moat before we could raise the bridge, it would buy us a few moments. Gallus Tadius' archers swarmed down from the trees, descending on ropes, fierce grins illuminating their faces. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Brigitta, who looked remarkably happy. In the throng, Eamonn made his way toward her.
"Guards, down!" Gallus shouted. "Archers, shoot!"
Their untrained obedience was a marvel. The Luccan guards flung themselves flat and the ragtag band of archers knelt and took aim, shooting over their heads to drive back the invaders. Beneath the shadow of the gatehouse, Valpetra's soldiers began crawling beneath the half-raised portcullis and hurling themselves into the moat, leaping from the steeply angled drawbridge. Some stripped off their armor; others floundered and sank.
A dozen of them clustered around Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, helping him toward the moat. Gallus Tadius issued furious orders to halt them, but the Luccan guards within the gatehouse were still struggling for control of the drawbridge mechanism, and a handful of Valpetra's men had made a stand, guarding his retreat from the onslaught of the guards in the square. Two of them died defending him, and four were wounded. Gallus was right; they were professionals.
The horn sounded an increasingly urgent alarm. "The bridge!" Gallus roared. "Damn you, raise the bridge!" I watched with my heart in my throat. Somewhere in the gatehouse, the mechanism was jammed. For long moments, the bridge stayed at half-mast. Valpetra and his men had made a successful retreat. On the other side of the moat, the entire bulk of his army was massing. It wouldn't be long before they mounted a second attack. If we couldn't seal the city, the lot of us were doomed. We were too few and too disorganized to hold off a sustained assault. And I didn't like my chances as a political hostage, not after I'd lopped off Domenico Martelli's hand.
"What is it?" a trembling voice asked. "What's wrong?" I glanced at Helena Correggio, shivering beside me on horseback, her arms wrapped around herself. Her face was white, and her eyes were all pupil. "The bridge is stuck, my lady."
She swallowed. "Oh."
There was a clamor in the gatehouse; men shouting up and down the stairs. At length, a figure emerged from the right-hand tower and leapt onto one of the chains that held the counterweights. It didn't budge, not at first.