Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [316]
And I heard an indrawn breath, softer than a lover's gasp.
I didn't wait for the exhale. By the time he threw, it would be too late. I straightened, sweeping my vambraced forearms before me, my eyelids flying open. All around me was knife-edged brightness. The jolt of the javelin's impact against the outer vambrace struck me to the bone, my arms aching at it. Everything ached. For the space of a heartbeat, I wasn't sure if I was alive or dead. Then I heard the javelin clatter harmlessly to the cobblestones and the crossbows sang once more.
This time they were closer. No one missed.
Bristling like a pincushion, Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, slumped sideways and fell off his horse. He landed with a dull thud and lay without moving.
"You alive, Montrève?" Lucius called.
"Yes," I called back. "I think so."
"Good."
They were surrendering, all of them; laying down their arms and surrendering. I supposed I was glad. If Eamonn was alive, I would be. I made my way to his side. He was slouched against the ledge, one hand clamped to his head. Blood trickled down his neck and leaked between his fingers.
"Are you—?" I asked anxiously.
"I'll live." He gestured with his chin, then winced. "Look to him."
Canis.
He was still alive when I returned, though barely. The javelin had pierced him clean through, the bloody point exiting from his chest. Like me, he wore only a leather jerkin. He was curled on his side, his hands clasped loosely around the head of the shaft. I knelt beside him, understanding what he'd done. Valpetra had cast two javelins, and the first when my back was turned. Canis had taken the death-blow meant for me.
"Why did you do it?" I asked softly.
There was a froth of blood on his lips, but his brown eyes were clear, filled with a mixture of pain and rue. Canis the Cynic; the cheerful philosopher-beggar; Canis the deaf-mute; Canis the Unseen Guilds-man; Canis the soldier. All along, he had been there. I had a thousand questions and he held a thousand answers, but time to speak only one. I had to bend low to hear his faint voice.
"Your mother sends her love," he whispered.
There was no more. With a quiet, bloodstained smile, Canis died.
The siege was over.
* * *
Chapter Sixty-Three
In the days that followed, I pieced together all the varying accounts to make sense of what had transpired. Gallus Tadius' plan had worked to a point. Bent on looting and slaughter, most of Valpetra's men had scattered throughout the city, falling prey to traps and ambush. A good many had surrendered of their own will. I daresay the madness that had befallen everyone when the mundus manes was uncovered had begun to disperse after Gallus Tadius sent the floodwaters to hell.
Not Valpetra's.
He'd held a core of his men together and gone hunting me, consumed with the notion of revenge. When Lucius realized it, he'd rallied the Red Scourge in pursuit, turning the hunted into hunters. The sentries atop the walls had spotted the approaching army of D'Angeline and Tiberian forces, and their appearance in the city had tipped the balance; Silvanus the Younger had cut his losses and surrendered.
And Canis…
No one knew for sure. Cutpurse squadron had sustained heavy losses, and none of his fellows remembered seeing him after their initial retreat. They'd assumed him dead. I could only guess that he'd deserted. Like Valpetra, he'd gone looking for me.
Your mother sends her love.
I knelt beside his body for a long time, there on the cobbled streets of Lucca, rain dripping from my helmet. I was too tired to know what I felt, other than pain. All around me, there were men—cheering and groaning, sullen, wounded, dying. I would like, I thought, to spend a good deal more time in the company of women.
More hoofbeats; an uncertain voice. "Your highness?"
I pried myself to my feet,