The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [171]
As he had prayed, the spearman was taken aback, seeing a crazy man leaping toward him. If logical thought was his guide, he would step away, watch Cazio grasp at empty air, and laugh as he fell.
Instead, the man reacted instinctively and thrust the spear at his attacker.
Cazio caught the thick shaft just above the wickedly pointed steel, and to his delight, the guard’s second reaction was to yank back. That pulled Cazio toward the wall, and he let go so he could catch the top of the edifice with his arms and upper chest.
The spearman, overcompensating, tumbled backward. The wall was sufficiently wide that he didn’t fall off, but with him down and his companion still a few strides away, Cazio had the time to jerk himself to his feet and draw Acredo.
Heedless, the second fellow lowered the sharp of his weapon and prepared for the attack. Cazio was pleased to see that he was wearing only chain, a breastplate, and a helm rather than a knight’s plate.
As the thrust came, he parried prismo and stepped quickly toward his opponent, lifting his left hand to seize the shaft and then flipping the tip of his blade up for a long lunge that ended in the man’s throat. If it hadn’t been for the armor, he might have tried for a less lethal spot, but the only other exposed place was the thigh, where his sword point might become lodged in bone.
As the man dropped his spear and whistled in despair through novel lips, Cazio turned to the first fellow, who was regaining his feet.
“Contro z’osta,” Cazio said, “Zo dessrator comatia anter c’acra.”
“What are you babbling about?” the man screamed, clearly distressed. “What are you saying?”
“My apologies,” Cazio said. “When I speak of love, wine, or swordplay, I find it easier to use my native tongue. I quote the famous treatise of Mestro Papa Avradio Vallaimo, who states—”
He was rudely interrupted as the man screamed and lunged forward, leaving Cazio wondering exactly how much training these men had been given.
He threw his rear leg back and dropped his body and head below the line of the attack while extending his arm. Carried by momentum, the attacker more or less threw himself onto the tip of Cazio’s blade.
“‘Against the spear, the swordsman shall move inside the point,’” Cazio continued as the man folded over on his side.
Here came another one out of the tower to his left. He set his stance and waited, wondering how many of them he would have to fight before the Craftsmen joined him.
This one proved more interesting, because he understood that Cazio had to come within reach. So he used his feet like a dessrator, allowing Cazio what looked like a good chance to close the distance, when in fact it was a ruse designed to make him commit to his own foolish charge.
Even more interesting were the shouts he heard coming from behind him and the next man running along the wall in the direction he was facing.
With a grim smile, he began teaching the rest of Mestro Papa’s chapter “Contro z’osta.”
Anne watched breathlessly as Cazio, in typical form, did the craziest thing imaginable and somehow survived.
Austra stood there, fists at her sides, growing whiter and whiter as the battle went on, until at last the Craftsmen appeared, swarming up the wall and joining the Vitellian. Then they split up and ran toward the towers. They appeared there a short time later, waving pennants.
Cazio had his broad-brimmed hat clutched in one hand.
“Saints,” Austra breathed. “Why must he always—” She didn’t finish but sighed instead. “He loves fighting more than he loves me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Anne replied, trying to sound convincing. “Anyway, at least it’s not another woman.”
“I’d almost rather that,” Austra replied.
“When it happens,” Anne said, “I’ll take your bearings again.”
“You mean if it happens,” Austra said, sounding a bit defensive.
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Anne said. But she knew better. Men took mistresses,