Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1)

Kushiel's Scion (Imriel's Trilogy #1) Page 84

For the space of a few heartbeats, Lucius surfaced.

I saw it; I saw his satyr's mouth twist in a familiar, wry smile. "Prince Barbarus and his shield-maiden?" he whispered.

"Yes," I said. "Will you celebrate it with us?"

Lucius was there; and then he was gone. He yanked his head back and swatted my hands away. "Jupiter! Get off me, you damned D'Angeline, before I have your balls for juggler's toys." I stepped back, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "Right," he said, breathing hard. "We've a special mission planned for tonight. I'll need you to report early, both of you."

"Gallus Tadius." Deccus Fulvius swung himself off the couch. "I will be taking Prince Eamonn's place tonight that he might spend it with his bride."

"Oh, you are, are you?" Gallus gave him a hard look, but Deccus stood firm. At length, Gallus shrugged. "As long as you follow orders," he said, then jerked his chin at the banquet table. "Clean this up. And don't let me see anything like it again."

With that, he strode away.

"Well," I said. "That could have been worse."

The Lady Beatrice had tears in her eyes. "My poor boy! This is devouring him from the inside out. Is this worth it? Is Lucca worth his suffering?"

"Lucca," her husband murmured vaguely. "Oh, yes."

"I don't know, my lady," I said to her. "I wish I did."

Deccus Fulvius cleared his throat. "Come on, lad. We'd best be off."

"No, my lord." Eamonn rose. "I can't let you take my place. It's not right. Whatever Gallus Tadius is planning, it may be dangerous."

"Bah!" Deccus chuckled. "Do you take me for a milksop, lad? I was holding a sword before you were born. There's fight in the old republican yet. Isn't there, my love?" he added to Claudia. She smiled at him with genuine fondness. Deccus nodded at Eamonn and Brigitta. "Take your happiness where you find it, children, and don't ask too many questions. Life is too short and uncertain to do otherwise."

Eamonn protested; Deccus prevailed. And so it was that he and I reported for patrol duty together that evening.

The square was already crowded by the time we arrived. The usual riders were there, as well as a squadron of the city guard and a handful of the newer conscripts on foot. The latter wore dark clothing and no armor, though they had the scarlet band of the Red Scourge tied around their upper arms.

Gallus Tadius waited until we were all assembled, the riders in a neat double line, the foot-soldiers clustered in front of us. Behind him, the burned hulk of the bell-tower loomed in ominous warning.

"All right, lads!" he shouted. "Tonight we set fire to the fields!"

Almost to a man, they cheered. Deccus and I exchanged a glance. "Surely he jests," he murmured.

I shook my head. "I think not."

He didn't. In a few broad strokes, Gallus Tadius outlined his plan. Over the last two days, he had prevailed on Lucca's carpenters to build a crude trebuchet atop the gatehouse, hidden behind the parapet. Others had scoured the city's parks and gardens for rocks and boulders large enough to make suitable missiles. Once darkness fell, he meant to launch an attack on Valpetra's forces.

It was unlikely to do much damage, but in the darkness it would sow confusion. And while Valpetra's men were distracted, a detail of handpicked conscripts would exit the city by way of the dismantled sluice gate. Once they were out, guards atop the wall would lower bundles of weaponry—hunting bows, pitch-tipped arrows, torches, and oil-filled bladders.

"It's a dangerous detail," he said grimly, then raised his voice to a roar. "But there's gold and glory for any man who makes it back alive! What do you say, lads? Are you game?"

They roared back at him. "Gallus! Gallus! Gallus!"

He flashed a feral grin. "Then come forward and be anointed!"

Twenty men crowded forward, touching his stirrup, his saddlecloth, his booted foot. Eager faces strained upward. Dipping into a pouch at his belt, Gallus Tadius leaned down and smeared a dark substance on each face; a streak on both cheeks and one down the center of their brows. Ashes, I thought. Ashes from the burned bell-tower. Fire for fire.

"This is madness," Deccus said quietly. "Is it always like this?"

"No," I said. "This is new."

"Right!" Gallus straightened and pointed. "Off you go to await my signal!" He watched them pelt through the streets of Lucca, then turned to the rest of us. "Riders, heed. This mission's to be run from the walls. You'll patrol as usual, but your primary job is to carry orders; mine from atop the gatehouse, and Captain Arturo's from the sentry-point near the canal. The watchword is 'firestorm.' You hear it, you do whatever you're told and ride like hell. Understood?"

"Aye, sir!" we called.

He dispatched us in short order and headed off toward the gatehouse. Deccus was quiet as we set out on patrol together. It was a cold, cloudy evening. He wore a heavy wool cloak fastened with a gold brooch. I wondered if Claudia Fulvia had fastened it for him. It was the sort of Tiberian wifely gesture she did so well.

There were no orders at the first sentry-points we passed. At the canal, we found a throng of men clustered under the shadow of the wall, their soot-streaked faces eerie in the twilight. "Any word?" one called eagerly.

"Not yet," I said.

"Firestorm!" a voice hissed from above. "One campfire in range, a dozen of the enemy posted. No movement. Continue and report to Gallus Tadius."

I gave a wave of acknowledgment and we rode onward.

Presently, Deccus spoke. "They're dead men, you know."

My skin prickled. "You sense it?"

"What?" He glanced at me. "Oh, the lemures, aye. It's been turning my stomach long enough I'm nearly used to it. I meant those poor lads." He frowned. "Glory and gold! They don't stand a chance. They might get out safely, and they might even succeed. But there's no way they're getting back alive."

I didn't think so, either.

"And if Gallus Tadius is half as ruthless as I think he is," Deccus added in a low voice, "he knows it, too. He's sending those lads to their deaths."

We reached the gatehouse without event, although I could barely make it out. Full darkness had fallen. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and only a few stars were visible. I called out my report to the unseen faces atop the gatehouse. It felt as though I were talking to myself.

"Firestorm!" A voice floated down from above. "Report to Captain Arturo, now!"

Deccus grunted. "We can't damn well see!"

"Now!"

I leaned over in the darkness. "Follow me, my lord."

Without waiting to see if Deccus followed, I nudged the Bastard's flanks. His hooves rang on the cobblestones as he shifted into a smart trot. I could barely see, either; but I could hear. The nearer we were to the wall, the more muted the echo of his hoofbeats. Closing my eyes, I could hear the difference.

Behind me, Deccus huffed. "What are you, lad, a bat?"

I smiled. "Can you see?"

"I can see your damned spotted horse," he retorted. "And that's all."

"That's enough," I said.

Behind us both, we heard a deep thumping sound as the trebuchet released its first missile. Atop the gatehouse there were cheers; and beyond the walls, a distant thud and shouts of alarm. Again and again, the sounds were repeated. We could hear them all the way to the acqueduct.

"Firestorm!" Captain Arturo's voice rang out, exultant. "The enemy is moving away! Report to Gallus Tadius, now!"

"I'll go," I said briefly.

Deccus nodded. "Take care."

I gave the Bastard his head. He stretched into a canter, veering only once to avoid a pair of startled riders picking their way cautiously along the wall. I daresay his night vision was better than mine. I grinned as we whipped past them. Deccus was right; this was madness. Still, there was somewhat infectious about it.

"Enemy at the sluice gates moving away!" I shouted up at the gatehouse.

The trebuchet thumped, its counterweight slamming into the roof. Another load of rocks was launched toward Valpetra's army.

"Firestorm!" roared the voice of Gallus Tadius. "Tell Arturo, now!"

I saluted. "Aye, sir!"

I rode the Bastard at a hand-gallop, trusting to my ears and his eyes. We tore a path along the wall, his striding legs eating up the cobbled streets. At the aqueduct, there were torches lit and men waiting, conscripts and guardsmen alike. In the sudden blaze of light, I reined the Bastard hard.

"Captain Arturo!" I cried. "Gallus Tadius says, now!"

"Firestorm!" came the reply. "Red Scourge, go!"

Gallus' handpicked troops swarmed into the canal. One by one, they dove beneath the dark waters, shadowy figures disappearing beneath the wall. I shivered at the thought, knowing damn well how cold it was. Atop the wall, there was an anxious, waiting silence. After what seemed a dangerous length of time, we heard faint splashing sounds on the far side of the wall.

A pair of rope ladders slithered down from the sentry-tree. "Weapons up!" Captain Arturo ordered. "Riders, lend a hand."

The bows and torches were bundled into sacks, each one tied with a generous length of rope, and stacked along the inner wall. Already, the guardsmen were beginning to ferry them up the ladders. Dismounting, I grabbed one and slung the sack over my shoulder. It was awkward work, climbing the slack, twisting ladder with one hand, an ungainly array of weapons banging at my back, the dangling rope entangling my legs as I climbed.

On the other ladder, Deccus Fulvius puffed and grumbled. "Surely there's a better way to do this."

I reached the top and set my sack down. "Toss me the end of your rope."

It felt strange to be atop the wall in open air. The work went quicker once the other guards saw what we were doing and followed suit, letting those of us already on the wall hoist the weapons. I suppose they hadn't dared earlier, with the enemy sentries watching. We worked as quietly as we could. Below, Gallus' troops hauled themselves dripping from the moat and fanned out along its outer edge. Except for the whites of their eyes, they were nearly invisible in the darkness.

"Lower weapons!" Captain Arturo ordered in a strident whisper. "And mind you clear the moat."

One of the guards slung his sack of weapons toward the far side of the moat, letting it fly. It landed with a loud splash, not even halfway across. I winced at the sound.

"Damn it!" Arturo hissed.

"Sorry, sir!" The guard cringed. "It's farther than it looks!"

I studied the sentry-tree. "Help me a moment," I said to Deccus. He followed with both weapon bags as I scrambled up the tree-ladder. It was a sturdy old oak, good for climbing, with low, broad limbs. I shinnied out onto one, wrapping my legs around it, then leaned down and extended one hand. "The rope."

It took a couple tosses, but once I had it, I started swinging the heavy sack of weapons, getting a good momentum going and trying to gauge the distance. The captain watched without comment. When I thought I had it, I let it fly at the height of its arc. Until I heard the rattling thud of impact, I wasn't sure that it had cleared the water.

"Good work," the captain said laconically. "Next!"

Another guard took a post on a different limb, and between the two of us, we managed to get all twenty sacks of assorted bows, arrows, torches, and pitch across the moat. Vague figures scrambled to retrieve each one as it landed, melting away into the night. I lay along the tree limb for a moment, gazing out at the darkness.

Over at the gatehouse, the trebuchet was still thumping sporadically, but Valpetra's troops had retreated out of range. From this height, I had a clear view of their abandoned campfires and the milling mass of soldiers beyond. Here and there, riders peeled away, torches streaming with sparks as they began to scour the perimeter of Lucca. Either Valpetra or his condottiere was growing suspicious. I thought about our twenty soaked, shivering conscripts lugging heavy bags of weapons, and I liked their chances even less.

Somewhere behind me, I heard slow, plodding hoofbeats and a scraping sound. Something heavy was being dragged along the streets of Lucca on ill-made skids.

"All right, lads." Captain Arturo's voice was low and grave. "Get it in place."

I didn't want to look. The rough bark was oddly comforting beneath my cheek. It made me think of happier times, like Queen Ysandre's Festival of the Harvest. And then I remembered that I'd promised Anna Marzoni's daughter Belinda that I'd teach her to climb a tree and the feeling vanished, so I climbed back down to the wall.

Below, the boy with the bucket-helm was stroking his lathered plowhorse's neck and praising him. Captain Arturo's guardsmen were rolling a massive millstone into position at the edge of the canal. One careful shove, and it effectively would seal off the sluice gates.

I looked wordlessly at the captain.

"Gallus Tadius' orders." His face was stoic. "We'll wait as long as we dare."

Deccus Fulvius was watching the fields. "There!" he said suddenly, pointing. "Fire!"

It was quite a distance away; farther than I would have thought anyone could have gotten on foot carrying such a burden. I wondered if Gallus Tadius had chosen his twenty recruits for fearlessness, loyalty, or merely foot-speed. A low orange-red blossom of fire, blooming and spreading. It hadn't rained since we'd arrived. I reckoned the wheat fields were good and dry.