Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [301]
For the space of a heartbeat, we all stared at one another.
The Lady Beatrice went white.
"Get your gear," Eamonn said to me, taking charge. And to Publius Tadius, "My lord, you know what to do. Will you see the horses are led to high ground?"
"I will." His jaw was set. "Go!"
We donned our gear in haste and raced for the basilica. My heart was beating like a Jebean war-drum. This was the part of Gallus Tadius' plan that remained vague, the part he had devised with his priests. He'd given no counsel to the Red Scourge. We only knew that we were to assemble atop the basilica.
Eamonn and I pelted down the rain-slick streets of Lucca. Everywhere, from every doorway, other conscripts poured into the streets. We exchanged fierce grins, recognizing one another by our motley arms and tattered red armbands.
Behind them, families scrambled to seek refuge in the upper stories of townhouses and insulae. Shopkeepers and innkeepers barred their doors and abandoned their places of business. All the warehouses were already sealed, perishable goods raised out of the flood-path. All across the city, horns blared atop the roofs, issuing the same warning.
Flood, flood, flood!
There were four stairways leading to the roof of the basilica, and two hundred and fifty men trying to crowd their way up each one, all of them carrying shields and spears. I got caught up in the crush and felt the breath pressed out of me. It was as bad as the riots in Tiberium, except that the stairway was deadly narrow and everything smelled of damp stone and unwashed flesh. I shoved hard with my buckler against someone's back, cursing.
"Slow and orderly, lads!" Eamonn bawled behind me, nearly deafening me. "Slow and orderly!"
It worked.
We spilled out atop the roof of the basilica. All the squadron leaders were shouting for their men to assemble. Eamonn spotted the city guard sentry poised at the northwest edge of the roof, his horn at his lips and his crossbow slung over his back, his padded crimson gambeson dark with rain. He nudged me. "Over there."
The roof of the basilica was made of red tile. It had a shallow peak, merely enough to shed the rain. We ran easily across it and reached the sentry.
"Is it coming?" I asked, panting. "The flood?"
He barely spared me a glance, pointing. "They're breaching the dam."
"Barbarus!" Eamonn shouted, hoisting his tall shield. "Barbarus, to me!"
By twos and threes, they came; all of them. All of us. The Red Scourge assembled atop the roof of the basilica, and by virtue of Eamonn's quick wits, Barbarus squadron had the best vantage point. We clustered along the edge, spouting water pouring beneath our feet, and peered toward the river. Valpetra's men were tiny and distant, swarming over the upper dam with prying bars.
"Where's Gallus Tadius?" someone asked.
The sentry pointed again. "There."
I craned my neck. Gallus Tadius was in the gutted bell-tower, along with a handful of priests. I recognized the flamen dialis by his pointed hat. I didn't know the others. They were arrayed along the winding stair. One of them held a black lamb, struggling and half-grown.
"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn frowned. "What do they think—"
"The mundus manes," I said. "He means to—"
And I got no further, for in the distance, the upper dam gave way.
The river was unleashed.
It wasn't a mighty river. I'd seen those; I'd nearly drowned in one and I'd sailed on others. The Nahar's majesty is unprecedented. Even the Aviline River, which threads the City of Elua, is larger. But this was an angry river, rain-swollen and held in abeyance. It burst through the upper dam in a half a dozen spots, and I daresay it took a half a dozen of Valpetra's men with it. It dashed itself against the barrier of the lower dam, throwing up mighty grey waves. I found myself chanting under my breath, hoping the dam would burst.
It leaked, but it held.
As the waves crashed back upon themselves, the pent-up force of the river seized upon the outlet that it was afforded.