Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [311]
"My thanks!" I gasped as the spear came free.
He grunted.
On my left, Eamonn was singing. An Eiran song, fierce and bloody, filled with grim joy. He'd gone to his sword and was laying about him left and right, half-hidden behind his tall shield. Where he struck, men cried out in pain. The sheer force of his blows was devastating. Already, they were trying to give him a wide berth.
Blessed Elua, I thought, I am not made for this.
On my right, Calvino's buckler cracked and split, pierced by a Valpetran spear. It had saved my life, but it cost him his. He grimaced at it, and the Valpetran ran him through. Spitted, he sagged. I had a glimpse of his hands rising to touch the shaft of the spear that had killed him, and then the Valpetran line pushed forward and he was gone, trampled underfoot.
"Barbarus, hold."
I didn't want to hold. I wanted the retreat to sound, wanted to run. I had Matius to the right of me once more. He'd dropped his spear and was shoving futilely with his shield. I saw the Valpetran opposite him grin and race forward, his sword raised. I hated him without knowing him. Taking a step forward, I dropped to one knee and planted the butt of my spear, wedging it in a crevice, letting him hurl himself on it. The shaft snapped under the impact.
It didn't pierce the Valpetran's armor, but it drove the breath from his lungs. He gaped, fish-mouthed, clutching at the dent in his breastplate. His helmeted head bowed, baring brown curls at the nape of his neck.
I drew my sword and struck him there. Half-severed, his head lolled, exposing the bone-white knuckles of his vertebrae. I had killed my third man.
No time to vomit.
After that, I lost count. There were others I struck, but I don't know if any of them died. Mostly, I tried to stay alive. My shield-arm felt jarred to the bone with the blows I turned aside. I shouted at Matius to draw his sword, to fight. Somewhere, he found courage and did. It was exhausting and brutal and awful, and it seemed like forever before the horns blew, sounding our retreat.
"Anchor and Rock," Lucius roared. "Anchor and Rock!"
"Barbarus, go!" cried Eamonn.
Our outside line peeled away. Those of us caught inside struggled to disengage. And then the men of Anchor squadron stepped forward past us, fresh and ready, driving back the Valpetran line with leveled spears and forging an opportunity.
We fled.
Through the damp city, past the empty square, panting in our makeshift armor. All across Lucca, the squadrons that had gone before us lurked in streets and alleyways, calling out encouragement, offering us pumped fists in salute. Women and children called to us from the rooftops and the upper stories of buildings.
"Is it well?" they asked.
"Well enough!" Eamonn called, answering for us. "Be ready!"
We didn't stop until we reached our designated territory. Our first stand—and hopefully our last—was outside the deserted public baths. Eamonn called a halt. There was a clatter of shields and weapons dropping as we all doubled over, gasping for air.
"Who's gone?" someone asked.
"Calvino," I gasped.
"Adolphos."
"Orfeo."
The names kept coming; seven, all told, dead or wounded too badly to flee. It hurt with a numb and distant fury, in a way I couldn't have imagined. I hadn't known them well, but I had known them. They were my brothers in arms. Orfeo had been my sparring partner. I hoped he'd gotten a taste of his revenge before he fell. Calvino had saved my life, and I hadn't been able to save his. It had all happened so fast.
"Grieve later, lads," Eamonn said soberly. "We've work to do."
Across the city, Luccan horns were sounding the final retreat, picked up and echoed by sentries on the rooftops. Anchor and Stone would be turning tail and fleeing for all they were worth, scattering down a myriad of streets. With luck, Valpetra's army would pursue them in disarray. Splinter and divide, and fight them on our ground. That was Gallus Tadius' plan.
Lucius' plan, now.
I prayed he was safe.
On Eamonn's orders,