Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [315]
A lot more of them attacked me then.
I don't know how many. I didn't count. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd caught a flash of red-gold hair some distance from the portico, backed up against the ledge surrounding the baths. I fought my way toward him. No shield; no shield line. No comrades in arms to worry about. I fought in the Cassiline style. They weren't men anymore, just obstacles to surmount. Shields to dodge, blades to parry, bits of moving armor to pierce. I didn't care about killing them, I only wanted to get past them. Somewhere behind me, I could hear a voice cursing steadily in a language that sounded like Hellene, but wasn't.
I saw Eamonn go down, and I cursed, too.
It was the helmet, the damned lack of a helmet. A big Valpetran with a thrusting spear gave him a glancing blow to the head and his knees began to sag. A helmet would have turned it. I'd taken several. Small wonder my ears were ringing.
"Eamonn!" I shouted, and he turned his head. Blood was spilling down one side of his neck. Our eyes met and he pitched forward. The Valpetran grinned and raised his spear for the finishing thrust.
Whispering a prayer to Blessed Elua, I ran for the edge of the portico and leapt. His arms began to descend. There was no time to strike a blow. I simply lowered my head and ran into him. He dropped his spear as the impact sent us both sprawling. I landed atop him, losing my sword in the process.
There were more horns blowing, a confusion of horns. There were hoofbeats on the cobblestones. Someone was shouting an order to surrender. It didn't sound like Lucius, or Gallus Tadius. The Valpetran soldier beneath me glared and heaved, nearly throwing me off him. I fumbled for the dagger in my boot-sheath and planted it between his eyes, sinking it to the hilt. His glare faded, eyes fixed and open.
A heavy weight fell across my back.
"Surrender arms!" the voice shouted.
For the first time, I panicked, flailing out from beneath the weight. A body. Finding my sword, I scrambled to my feet, gripping the hilt in both hands and breathing hard, terrified of what I might see.
D'Angeline banners and Tiberian soldiers massing on the outskirts of the battle.
Silvanus the Younger calling on his men to surrender.
Lucius making his way through the throng, accompanied by three guardsmen.
Canis at my feet, clutching the haft of a javelin, his lips drawn back with pain.
And Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, seated astride a black horse. His men, Silvanus' men, had drawn back to give him a wide berth. Lucius was yet to reach us. We might have been alone on the street. Although we were strangers to one another, a strange sense of intimacy settled between us. He gazed down at me, his fleshy, rain-streaked face impassive. One hand ended in a bandaged stump. In the other, he held a javelin, cocked and ready to throw.
"I've been looking for you, D'Angeline" he said conversationally. "I blame you for all of this. I'm not sure why, but I do."
I nodded. "I carry a lot of guilt, my lord."
"Valpetra!" Lucius' voice; Gallus' voice, raised in an earsplitting roar, carrying over the mass of soldiers. "It's over! Your condottiere has surrendered! Drop your weapon!"
"Ready to die?" Domenico Martelli asked me, ignoring him.
"Not really," I said honestly.
Lucius shouted an order, and a trio of crossbows sang out over the crowd. Martelli jerked hard as one bolt struck home, jutting from his left shoulder. The other two missed. Lucius shouted again. The guardsmen struggled to reload, but it was a slow process. At my feet, I could hear Canis moving feebly. Martelli gathered himself, cocking his right arm and setting his javelin, aiming its point at my heart. Now, at last, I wished I had my shield.
"Well," said the Duke of Valpetra. "Ready or not."
I bowed to him in the Cassiline manner. I wished there was sunlight to cast a shadow, I wished I'd thought to remove my helmet so I could hear better, I wished my ears would stop ringing. I closed my eyes and listened, shutting out the din and clamor. Hard, harder