Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [323]
"Lucca owes him a debt," he murmured. "I won't forget."
I nodded. "Thank you."
He turned to Eamonn, smiling slightly. "Prince Barbarus."
Eamonn grinned. "Lucius Tadius."
They clasped one another's hands, strong grips vying to make the other wince. Neither did. They parted with a laugh, and Lucius turned to me. In the clear daylight, his face was as open as a book. "Good-bye, Montrève."
I hugged him, hard and fierce, feeling him stiffen, then relax and return my embrace. I held him tight enough that I could feel his heart beating in his breast, strong and steady. Turning my head, I kissed his cheek. "Good-bye, Lucius."
Thus we took our leave.
The Bastard took all my attention, sidling and chomping at the bit. It wasn't until we reached the gate onto the Tadeii grounds that I had him under control. I turned back in the saddle. Lucius was still standing in the courtyard. I raised my hand, and he did the same. And then we entered the street, and I lost sight of him.
We passed swiftly through Lucca. Despite the damage, it was bustling and lively. It seemed strange to see it thus. I'd only known it as a city under siege. Now, only the ruined bell-tower stood as a stark reminder, a hollow shell pointing toward the heavens, its scorched walls hinting at what lay beneath it.
An earthen pit.
A portal to hell.
At the gatehouse, we found the portcullis raised, the drawbridge lowered. The sentries on duty saluted as we swept through. "Captain Barbarus!" one of them called, and Eamonn waved in acknowledgment. He'd ventured into the city early yesterday to bid farewell to all the surviving members of Barbarus squadron he could locate. I felt a twinge of guilt at having failed to do the same, but only a twinge. We had been brothers in arms, and strangers out of them. The moment had already passed.
Our mounts' hooves clattered over the drawbridge, the wheels of the wagon creaking. There was a whiff of stagnant water from the moat, and then we were past and and through, and the walls of Lucca were behind us.
I drew a deep breath, tasting freedom.
The rest of LeClerc's men were waiting on the outskirts of the Tiberian encampment, and fell in alongside us as we passed. Marcus Cornelius and his company would remain in the city for a few weeks until Lucca could be adequately secured. Although the speed of Tiberian foot-soldiers was still legendary, we could travel quicker without them.
We rode alongside the fire-razed, flood-sodden fields, the twisted stumps of the ancient olive grove visible in the distance. One of the guards lifted his voice in song; a L'Agnacite hymn to Anael, who taught us husbandry and to be good stewards of the land. Several other clear D'Angeline voices joined in, and I felt tears sting my eyes at the beauty of it.
"Pretty," Eamonn commented.
"Yes." It made me yearn for home. I gazed at Gilot's casket, jolting along in the wagon, thinking how he'd never really wanted to leave Terre d'Ange. "It is."
Beyond the fields, the road began to wind into the mountains. I called out to Quentin LeClerc before we entered the gorge. Our company halted, and I turned for a last look at Lucca.
It looked peaceful and pleasant, save for the stark fields surrounding it. None of the damage was visible, not even the crumbling gap on the far side of the city. The red-tiled buildings were warm and beckoning, the mighty oaks rose up from the vast wall, spreading their crowns, a few russet leaves clinging to the branches. No unwitting traveller could guess what had transpired there.
I sat in the saddle and remembered it all. The smoke rising from the bell-tower, the mundus manes. The cracked death-mask, and Gallus Tadius. Arrows singing from the trees, blood spouting from the stump of Valpetra's wrist. Gilot. Nights of patrol, the firestorm and Deccus Fulvius atop the wall.
Rain, and endless drilling.
Helena.
The breaking dams, the flood. The cracked mask and the maelstrom, the bottomless pit sheeting with obsidian water.
The battle, and Valpetra.
Canis.
The defeated living carrying their dead; the victorious living burying