Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [313]
And behind them was the cavalry.
"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn whispered. "Why are they here?"
There was no time. No time to wonder, no time to form a new plan. Elsewhere in the city, the sentries' horns were calling anew. I almost fancied I could hear a familiar voice roaring orders. No time to decipher it, no time to guess. There was only now.
Eamonn gathered himself and stepped forward. "Now, hares!"
He beat his shield with the flat of his blade, jeering and shouting insults to the Valpetran army. We all did. They held formation and advanced steadily. Not what we wanted, not what we'd planned for. And then one of them pointed, calling out to his fellows. Halfway down the street, a few in the forefront broke into a jog.
From the doorfronts and alleys, hidden soldiers of Senecus squadron stepped forth to challenge them, sowing chaos in their ranks. But they were too few, outnumbered. They'd laid their traps to catch stragglers, not an entire company. I watched them fight and die, their grizzled commander holding off several attackers, and my feet began to carry me forward unthinking until Eamonn's shield blocked my path.
"Hold," he said grimly.
Senecus' commander was borne down in a mass of men. Valpetra's men resumed their advance. One of the fleeing Luccan conscripts stumbled and was cut down from behind. We beat our shields and shouted. The other two conscripts reached us. One flashed past us without pausing. The other halted and grabbed my sword-arm.
"He wants you," he said in an rusty, accented voice. "Run!"
I stared blankly into Canis' face, blood-streaked beneath his helmet. "Who are you?"
And then Valpetra's men were on us.
"Hares, go!" Eamonn shouted.
I shook off Canis' hand and ran, darting beneath the eaves of the inn. There were footsteps behind me, and then the cobblestones trembled beneath my feet as two heavy barrels crashed down from above. I heard groaning and cursing. Overhead, the sentry's horn gave a new, frantic call, no signal we'd agreed upon, high and clarion.
I ran.
Never in my life had I felt more vulnerable. Not even in Daršanga, stripped naked and shivering, awaiting the Mahrkagir's lash or Jagun's brand. The space between my shoulder blades itched, protected only by a metal-studded leather jerkin. One arrow, a single well-thrown javelin, and I was dead.
It didn't come.
The charge through the city had taken its toll; Valpetra's men were down to hand weapons. I drew abreast of Matius and the other two, passing them as we raced up the marble steps of the baths and through the arched doorway.
An army followed at our heels. I didn't look back; I didn't dare. With the grunt and clash of swordplay ringing in my ears, echoing in the vast space, I ran past the openings onto the caldarium, the tepidarium, ducking into the room that held the frigidarium. The pool was brimming with floodwater and there was a single narrow plank laid across it. Discarding my shield for the sake of balance, I ran across the plank. It dipped and bent beneath my weight, but it held me. I turned around to find that a full score of Valpetra's men had followed me.
"Come on, then!" I shouted, settling into a two-handed stance.
Valpetra's men hesitated, arraying themselves around the edge of the pool. One ventured onto the plank. I jerked my chin, beckoning him onward. He edged toward me, wavering.
"Bar-bar-us! Bar-bar-us!"
A half dozen of my comrades emerged from hiding to charge them from behind. No skill, no finesse, simply a hard, shoving charge, shields to the fore. Valpetran solders staggered, tumbling into the flooded pool, flailing, borne down by the weight of their armor. It was chest-deep; too shallow to drown them, but deep enough to render them ineffectual.
I pointed my blade at the exposed face of the nearest. "Surrender your swords."
He grimaced at me. "Die, D'Angeline."
'Tis a terrifying thing to feel how easily sharp steel sheers through human