The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [170]
Grunting, Cazio tried to push the dead weight off, but his body didn’t want to cooperate. He summoned the image of Austra, helpless in the carriage, and finally managed to roll the man off and stagger back to his feet, leaning on Acredo just in time to meet five more of the Sefry, who were spreading to surround him.
He heard someone behind him.
“It’s me,” z’Acatto’s voice said.
Cazio couldn’t help a tired grin as the old man’s back came against his.
“We’ll hold each other up,” the mestro said.
From that simple touch, Cazio felt a rush of strength he had no notion still lived in him. Acredo came up, fluid, almost with a life of its own. Steel rang behind him, and Cazio shouted hoarsely, parrying an attack and drilling his rapier through a yellow-eyed warrior.
“Glad I came?” z’Acatto grunted.
“I had the upper hand anyway,” Cazio said. “But I don’t mind the company.”
“That’s not the impression I had.”
Cazio thrust, parried a counter to his arm, and sent his enemy dancing back from his point.
“I sometimes speak too quickly,” Cazio admitted.
The two Sefry he faced came at him together. He bound the blade of the first to strike and ran through the other, then let go of the blade and punched the first man in the face. He reeled back, during which time Cazio withdrew Acredo and set it back to guard.
He heard z’Acatto grunt, and something stung Cazio’s back. He dispatched the staggering Sefry, then turned in time to parry a blow aimed at z’Acatto. The old man thrust into the foe’s belly, and suddenly they were alone. Around them the battle was nearly over, with z’Acatto’s men surrounding a small knot of the remaining Sefry.
Z’Acatto sat down hard, holding his side. Cazio saw blood spurting through his fingers, very dark, nearly black.
“I think,” z’Acatto grunted, “it’s time we drank that wine.”
“Let’s bind you up first,” Cazio said.
“No need for that.”
Cazio got a knife, cut a broad strip from a Sefry shirt, and started wrapping it tightly around z’Acatto’s torso. The wound was a puncture, very deep.
“Just get the damned wine,” the mestro said.
“Where is it?” Cazio asked, feeling the apple in his throat.
“In my saddle pack,” z’Acatto wheezed.
It took Cazio a while to find the horse, which wisely had moved away from the fighting.
He dug one of the bottles of Zo Buso Brato out and then raced back to where his swordmaster still sat waiting. His head was down, and for a moment Cazio thought he was too late, but then the old man lifted his arm, proffering a corkscrew.
“It might be vinegar,” Cazio cautioned, flopping down next to his mentor.
“Might be,” z’Acatto agreed. “I was saving it for when we got back to Vitellio, back to your house.”
“We can still wait.”
“We’ll have the other bottle there.”
“Fair enough,” Cazio agreed.
The cork came out in one piece, which was astonishing, considering its age. Cazio handed it to z’Acatto. The older man took it weakly and smelled it.
“Needs to breathe,” he said. “Ah, well.” He tilted it back and took a sip, eyes closed, and smiled.
“That’s not too bad,” he murmured. “Try it.”
Cazio took the bottle and then hesitantly took a drink.
In an instant the battlefield was gone, and he felt the warm sun of Vitellio, smelled hay and rosemary, wild fennel, black cherry—but underneath that something enigmatic, as indescribable as an ideal sunset. Tears sprang in his eyes, unbidden.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Perfect. Now I understand why you’ve been trying to find it for so long.”
Z’Acatto’s only answer was the faint smile that remained on his face.
“I’ll tell them I did it,” Mery said. “I’ll tell them you weren’t even here.”
Leoff shook his head and squeezed her shoulder. “No, Mery,” he said. “Don’t do that. It wouldn’t work, anyway.”
“I don’t want them to hurt you again,” she explained.
“They’re not going to hurt him,” Areana promised in a