Kushiel's Scion (99 page)

Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

BOOK: Kushiel's Scion

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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.

"There!" someone else cried as another bloom appeared.

Two… five… a dozen. There, a blazing arrow arched across the night like a shooting star, and fire bloomed where it landed. There, an unseen figure raced along a furrow, lit torches in both hands, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The red blossoms took root and spread.

And Valpetra's cavalry responded, trying to outrace the flames, trying to ride down the perpetrators. The infantry was in retreat, horns blowing, organizing a swift march toward the river. The cavalry was in pursuit.

Dark figures on dark horses, silhouetted against a rising sea of fire. They cut down anyone on foot. They cut down Gallus Tadius' conscripts; they cut down folk from the outlying villages, fleeing for the river.

I felt sick.

Luccan riders within the walls came with reports from the north and east; the vineyards were burning. Atop the walls, we watched as the olive grove to the west was set alight. For a time, it seemed as though the ancient olive trees would withstand their efforts, but Gallus Tadius had armed his men well. They flung oil-filled bladders which burst against the bark, and the fire clung and spread until the gnarled trees were engulfed in flame.

"Firestorm," Deccus Fulvius murmured.

I glanced at him, remembering how he had spoken against this. He looked old; old and weary. He met my gaze and forced a smile, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Is it worth destroying a thing to save it?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said humbly.

Deccus squeezed my shoulder. "Nor do I."

Beyond the walls of Lucca, everything was ablaze. The burning fields flung a roaring blaze of heat and light upward, as though night had become day and earth had become sky. The air was filled with smoke. I prayed silently that the moat and wall would prove an adequate firebreak. Captain Arturo shielded his eyes, gazing out toward the roaring maelstrom.

"That's it, then," he muttered, then raised his voice. "Guards! Lower the millstone!"

There was a grinding sound as they hove to. The millstone rolled over the edge of the canal and entered the water with a deep, resounding splash. It sank beneath the surface and settled into place.

"Captain!" My voice emerged high and taut as I pointed.

A figure, a lone figure, running like a coursed hare, burst into view. His soot-blackened face was set in a rictus of terror and exhilaration, teeth bared. He hit the edge of the moat and dove without a pause.

"Oh, sodding hell," Captain Arturo said quietly.

There were three Valpetran cavalrymen on his heels, singed and furious. By the time he breached the surface of the moat, they were fifty paces away. He trod water, calling to us. "Something's wrong! I can't get through!"

Captain Arturo cursed. "Run! Run, you idiot, run!"

There was light; too much light. A sea of flame by which to see Valpetra's men close the distance and draw rein as Gallus' exhausted conscript sought to drag himself out of the moat. A lone figure, damp and bedraggled, a sodden length of red cloth tied around his upper arm.

"Guards!" Captain Arturo shouted. "Crossbows!"

There was a quick flurry of exchange as weapons were discharged, and I saw none of it, borne down by the weight of Deccus Fulvius, who flattened me atop the wall. I heard the whizzing sound of a flung javelin passing overhead, and the squeal of a horse struck by the bolt of a crossbow. When Deccus' weight rolled off me and I lifted my head, there was only the vast, roaring silence of fire beyond the walls, speaking in inhuman tongues of flame.

Valpetra's cavalrymen were gone, riding for the river.

A lone figure floated in the moat, two javelins protruding from his back.

Captain Arturo heaved a sigh. "Go," he said to Deccus and me. "Back to your patrol."

We climbed down the rope ladders and reclaimed our mounts. The Bastard was nervous, rolling his eyes and stamping. I didn't blame him. Once I got him quieted, we resumed our patrol. There were no stars visible, not anymore. Only a low ceiling of clouds and dense smoke, lit from beneath with a hellish glare. Beneath it, we passed from sentry-point to sentry-point, carrying reports. Every one was the same. All was burning; the enemy had retreated.

Once again, Deccus was quiet.

I gazed at his profile as we rode together, set in somber lines. And I did not think about Claudia, but only about how he had been kind to me the first time we met; in the baths, where Gilot and I, newly arrived in Tiberium, were acting like fools together, splashing about.

It hurt to remember.

Deccus Fulvius had always been kind to me.

We were relieved of duty beneath a sullen, smoky dawn. Everything that could burn, had burned. It was left only to smolder. I dismounted wearily and handed over the Bastard's reins. Outside the Tadeii villa, I made a deep bow to Deccus Fulvius. Although he didn't know it, in the D'Angeline court it was a bow accorded a superior.

"My lord Deccus," I said softly. "I was careless atop the wall. I owe you my life."

He dismounted with a grunt, rubbing the small of his back. "War's war, lad. It's an ugly business. 'Tis a petty mind keeps score." He summoned a tired smile. "Let us hope your Dalriadan friend enjoyed his wedding night, eh? The cost was a trifle higher than I reckoned."

"Than any of us did," I agreed.

Deccus grunted again. "Except Gallus Tadius."

Chapter Fifty-Five