Prince Thief (24 page)

A gap had already cleared around the giants, leaving a circle of ground churned into waves by the passage of so many feet. Beyond it, however, the Pasaedans were regrouping. If the appearance of the giants had thrown them, it was a temporary disruption at best. They’d faced this threat before, after all, and I had no doubt that the story of how Saltlick had been cut down had been bandied round night after night over the campfires. Now, every man knew that the giants could be hurt by weight of numbers – and without risk of retribution.

I looked towards the Suburbs. There too we’d been cut off. The giant-sized shields were impressive, but what would a battering ram do to those hastily bound planks? How well could they stand up against catapults or ballistae? And even if the Pasaedans chose against such dramatic shows of force, there were other ways to halt our creeping progress.

“Archers!” someone roared; I thought I recognised the steel-edged voice as Ludovoco’s. “Archers, forward. Make ready!”

It seemed I’d considered nothing our enemies hadn’t. The giants’ armour was piecemeal, concentrated towards their fronts; the Pasaedans need only fire over their heads. One arrow might be like a thorn prick to a giant, but a hundred at once?

I looked once more to the Suburbs. I could have run the remaining distance in less than a minute. At our current pace it might take ten times as long – and it was time we’d never be allowed. The enemy were clustered thickly in the gap now. No doubt they’d guessed what I knew for a fact, that Saltlick would order a halt before he’d risk hurting a single one of them.

“Archers...” I had just time to decide that it was definitely Ludovoco’s voice before the next word came: “Fire!”

I flung myself forward, pressed into the gap between the nearest giant’s feet and huddled close. I had no idea how it would protect me, but there was nowhere else to go. I scrunched myself small as I could, closed my eyes and hoped that death might at least be quick.

Perhaps it would have been better to look, though. To do nothing but hear – the relentless swish of arrows cutting the air, the dry
thunks
where they struck the earth, the wetter sounds where they found flesh and the occasional, horrible sobs and gasps of pain – was almost unbearable. It seemed as if it would never end, and through every moment I felt certain I’d be next.

But in the end, the rain did slacken – and, finally, did stop. While it might have been a concession to mercy, I thought it had more to do with the need to reload. In the silence, I could hear a gurgling sound, weird and unfamiliar. Though I knew my hiding place hadn’t done a thing to protect me – the three arrows spaced haphazardly up the giant’s leg were ample testament to that – I didn’t want to leave it. Even an illusion of safety seemed better than none, and I was sure I was better off not knowing what made that odd, unsettling noise.

Then again, it was moving nearer. Maybe ignorance wasn’t so beneficial after all. I untucked my head from beneath my arm and dared a glance.

There was no question of where to look. At least a dozen of our small troop had been hit, but where their wounds had left them alive, they were expressing their anguish with familiar and very human cries and groans. I had to turn my eyes higher – to where one of the giants had stepped back from the circle, barely avoiding the survivors he’d been trying to protect. He turned slowly around, and at the same time crumpled to his knees, a wheeze escaping his blubbery lips – as if there was nothing but air holding him up and it was all escaping now.

There were any number of arrows in him, embedded into his back and thighs and shoulders. But I was sure it was the one rooted up to the fletching in his eye that had done for him. When he had no lower to sink, he toppled forward, and with a last, tectonic twitch, lay still.

The remaining giants, perhaps too stunned to move, made no attempt to close the gap in their ranks. Therefore I could see the Pasaedan lines clearly beyond them, the rows upon rows of archers each readying another arrow. And there, towards their front, I recognised the man who’d given the order that had just killed a creature out of legend. The smile upon Ludovoco’s lips was almost worse, in its smug cruelty, than the horror I’d just witnessed.

I wasn’t the only one to have seen him. Stepping quickly into the breach, Alvantes barked at the very top of his lungs, “Ludovoco! Will you end this with a massacre? Have you no honour?”

The archers were almost ready for another volley. In unison, they were raising their bows, angling to fire once more over the giants’ shields. They weren’t hurrying – and why should they? They could keep this up all day, which was more than could be said for us.

When at the last moment Ludovoco raised his hand, I didn’t believe the motion could possibly be enough to hold back the coming tempest. Yet as one, the archers dipped their bows – and all of them watched him a little curiously.

Ludovoco took a few casual steps towards Alvantes. By the time he came to a halt, he was almost as close to our side as his own. “What do you propose?” he asked, his tone amused. “That we let you leave now, and go through all the trouble of breaking down your gates to kill you later?”

“We began a duel, all those days ago,” replied Alvantes. “Would you care to see how it would have ended?”

“I
know
how it would have ended,” replied Ludovoco. “And I know how it would end now. You never stood a chance then; now, you can barely stand. Will you really be so obvious, Captain? A last, noble sacrifice to buy the lives of your friends?”

“A sacrifice?” Alvantes smiled – not a reassuring expression on his granite, blood-spattered face. “Why don’t we find out?”

“So,” said Ludovoco. “It’s clear what you gain if you kill me. I promise to let you leave, yes? And our army has one less commander, of course. But what can you possibly offer me?”

Alvantes didn’t hesitate. “Not a thing, Ludovoco. I’d promise you our surrender, but everyone in Altapasaeda knows what you’ll do to them if you get inside those walls. All I can offer is the pleasure of killing me by your own hand, rather than standing by and watching like a coward.”

I’d heard better offers. If I’d been in Ludovoco’s place, I’d have ordered another volley without hesitation, and probably gone for a cup of wine, far enough away that I wouldn’t be bothered by the sound of our dying screams.

But Ludovoco wasn’t me, of course. And something told me that the possibility of getting his hands bloody might just be the best news he’d had all day. “Yes,” he said. “I think that will do nicely.”

I’d thought I had a fair idea of what Ludovoco’s standing in the Pasaedan camp might be. Now I was sure. A quiet word from him had brought their entire army to rest; not only that, it had turned them into his audience, an expectant throng clustered round to witness his martial prowess. Too, there was the fact that no one had dared challenge him. I could see others who, from their elegant dress and decorated armour, were evidently officers of high rank; yet no one had thought to suggest that the war for a city shouldn’t be reduced to a scrap between two men.

No, with the King vanished, presumably hustled off to some point far from danger, it was obvious who was running this show – which meant that while Alvantes’s gesture was undoubtedly reckless, it at least wasn’t stupid. Taking Ludovoco out of the picture might really buy us a chance at escape.

It was only a shame Alvantes hadn’t the faintest hope of beating him.

If Alvantes had reached the same conclusion, however, it wasn’t evident from his manner. He had his sword in hand and was wiping it busily with a fold of his cloak. I hadn’t much experience of such matters, but I guessed it was bad manners to fence with an opposing officer while your blade was soiled with the blood of their soldiery.

“A duel, then,” he said finally, once the blade was glisteningly clean. “To the rules of the Crown Academy?”

“Of course,” replied Ludovoco, with a none-too-pleasant smile. “What other rules are there?”

“But – to the death.”

“Oh, certainly. I’d say this is sufficiently a matter of honour.”

It was Alvantes’s turn to smile. “Or the lack thereof, Commander Ludovoco.”

Ludovoco failed to disguise the anger that flushed his narrow face. “But then,” he said, “aren’t such questions always decided by the winner? I assure you, Captain, that when they speak of your death, and of how you let your city fall, and of the things that happened there in the days that followed, not one of the words they use will be
honourable
.”

Alvantes twirled his blade in a tight figure of eight, as if experimenting to see how well it carved the air. “Maybe,” he said. “But fights aren’t won by talking.” He took a step forward, raised the sword in nonchalant salute.

Ludovoco mirrored the gesture. I could see his good cheer was returning now that the prospect of violence was near, for there was a lightness to his movements that hadn’t been there an instant before.

“One moment, Commander!”

I looked to where the call had come from, recognised Ondeges. He had broken free of the surrounding circle of men and stood now just inside, watching Ludovoco and Alvantes intently. “I never trained in the Academy,” Ondeges said. “But isn’t it the case that there ought to be seconds? I mean, according to their rules?”

“I hardly think that...” Ludovoco began.

“That there’s anyone suitable?” said Ondeges quickly. “I put myself forward, Commander. I’m far from your match, but since you’re hardly likely to need me...”

Ludovoco gave his fellow officer a sullen glare. “Not likely at all,” he agreed.

“Then again,” said Ondeges, “it wouldn’t do for anyone to misinterpret this as a mere brawl.”

“No,” Ludovoco said with heavy irony, “that wouldn’t do at all.” Then, louder, he continued, “I nominate Commander Ondeges of the Altapasaedan Palace Guard as my second in this combat. Should I be incapacitated and unable to fight on, he will take my part. As for yourself, Captain Alvantes?” Ludovoco looked with contempt towards our small band of survivors. “If you have nobody left who’s up to the task, I’m sure we can offer someone from amongst our ranks.”

Alvantes’s gaze swung over the handful of survivors, settled on Navare, his surviving sub-captain – and there was no mistaking his disappointment. For Navare was sagging beneath a savage gash to the right shoulder; he was only on his feet because another guardsman supported him. Navare wouldn’t be seconding anyone.

Estrada started forward then – but before she could speak, a palm on her shoulder held her back, and Castilio Mounteban moved to take her place. “I’ll do it,” he said. “No one else has the right.”

“Castilio...” Estrada’s tone was imploring.

Ludovoco held up his free hand, waved it in mocking exasperation. “That’s settled then. Is there anything else, before we begin? Anything anyone wishes to contribute?”

“No,” replied Alvantes, “I think we’re done here,” – and almost before the last word was free of his mouth, he was in motion.

If he’d thought to surprise Ludovoco, however, it was a wasted effort. The Pasaedan slipped smoothly into a guard stance, his footing perfect despite the spoiled ground. The defence lasted not even a split second, for in less time than that he’d whirled round and swung for Alvantes’s head. It was all Alvantes could do to twist his upper body, jar up his arm to fend away the blow and trip back into space.

Vivid memories of the last time these two men had fought sprang to my mind. Then, Alvantes had only held his own by fighting dirty. Now, it was obvious that something – no,
everything
– had changed. Ludovoco was both more confident and more wary. As he adjusted his stance once more, I noted how he held his arm outstretched, keeping Alvantes at a distance. Even without Alvantes’s disabling wound, Ludovoco had the advantage of height, the advantage of reach, the advantage of not having spent the last few minutes battling for his life. So far as I could see, all he had was advantages.

Alvantes readied to attack, a mere twitch of a muscle – but Ludovoco was faster, his blade whipping low. Alvantes was forced again to turn his own blow into a block, their blades ringing discordantly. Before, Ludovoco had fought with cruel persistence. Now he was pressing his offensive straight away, his sword point cavorting in a whirl. All Alvantes could do was to keep his own weapon up and retreat. Mere seconds in and sweat was already sheeting from beneath his grey-flecked hair; I could hear his laboured breathing even from where I was.

Then Ludovoco’s blade snuck past Alvantes’s guard to nick his arm. A thread of blood trailed in its wake. Just a scratch – but even as Alvantes recoiled, Ludovoco had scraped the tip of his sword in a neat line across his opponent’s thigh.

Alvantes gasped, tripped back two full paces. Did he realise how close he was to the Pasaedan lines? Once he was forced against that immovable barrier of men, any shred of hope he might have was vanished.

But perhaps Alvantes
did
recognise the danger, for he tried to counterattack then. Even one-handed, he was the stronger man; he thrust wildly for Ludovoco’s left side, and as soon as the Pasaedan countered, hacked at his right. Each blow Ludovoco slid aside was followed by another, another. It was clear what Alvantes was trying for: to wear down the lighter man, or at least to drive him away from his own lines.

Either goal was as futile as the other. Ludovoco parried almost carelessly; to see the way he tipped each blow aside, or else stepped smoothly to avoid it, it was hard to believe Alvantes was even trying to hurt him. In the meantime, attacking was costing Alvantes more in exertion than defending was Ludovoco. Even regaining ground was beyond him; Ludovoco was making sure that all Alvantes managed was to wade in helpless circles.

To see Alvantes lumbering, flailing, was like watching a blind bear try to wrestle an acrobat. This was play to Ludovoco. And it was clear from his face, from the glimmer in his dark eyes and the smile tugging always at his lips, that it was play he dearly loved. I knew then without a doubt that whatever had guided Ludovoco to his current position, whatever excuses he’d made, whatever gifts of birth had eased his way, it was
this
that drove him. As Alvantes had said back in the palace, the man was a killer – and this game would end the moment it bored him.

I didn’t have long to wait. Alvantes’s thrusts were growing cruder, more desperate; Ludovoco’s defence had only grown more graceful, as if in direct proportion. He’d never been moving slowly, but this time, as Alvantes drove for his flank, the Pasaedan was almost quicker than my eyes could follow. One moment he was before Alvantes. The next their blades met, flashed – and their chime hadn’t even begun to fade before Ludovoco was at Alvantes’s back and raking his sword across it.

Maybe it was Alvantes’s leather brigandine that saved him. I could see it through the slice in his cloak, despite the blood already darkening both garments. More likely, though, was that Ludovoco could have killed him then had he wanted to. For while Alvantes was panting, sweating, barely keeping his feet, the only effort I could see in Ludovoco’s face was the strain of concealing the fullness of his pleasure.

Though Alvantes turned in time to fend off another blow, it was obvious Ludovoco had left him that moment’s opening. It went likewise for their next few exchanges, Alvantes escaping each by only the slightest of margins. Ludovoco wasn’t giving him a chance, or even a moment’s breath – only whittling him down. This was no longer a fight, if it ever had been. It was simply a protracted murder.

Then – and I couldn’t say what tipped me off, perhaps a change in Alvantes’s posture or in the tempo of the fight – it struck me that maybe things weren’t quite so simple. I’d seen him fight many a time now, known him for longer than I cared to think about, and I felt more than saw the change in how he was handling himself.

Finally I understood. Alvantes had used the same ploy when he’d fought against Mounteban. It was a move unexpected enough to win him an edge – the sort of edge he urgently needed.

Even as I realised it, Alvantes dropped back on his right foot, lowering his defence a fraction. He was luring Ludovoco in, drawing the Pasaedan’s focus away from his left side – because the last thing Ludovoco would expect from an enemy with a stump in place of a hand was a punch to the face. It would hurt Alvantes far more than it would Ludovoco, but it would buy him a moment’s surprise – and just then, any chance was better than none.

Alvantes stumbled. For all his obvious exhaustion, his acting was impressive. Even I couldn’t be sure whether this was his final gambit or just the last of his strength failing. His sword dipped further. In a moment, helplessly propelled by his duellist’s instincts, Ludovoco was thrusting for his opponent’s right side. But the stumble became a pivot, as Alvantes rolled on his left foot, shifted all his strength into his left arm – and lashed out.

Ducking effortlessly beneath the clumsy swing, Ludovoco flicked his blade across Alvantes’s calf. Alvantes didn’t cry out, but as he staggered, he did moan through gritted teeth.

“Really, Captain?” asked Ludovoco, with a joyful chuckle. “A cheap trick for so
honourable
a fighter.”

Alvantes dropped to his knees. He looked surprised – whether at Ludovoco seeing so easily through his ruse or because his body had finally refused to stay up, I couldn’t guess.

When Ludovoco took a step closer, Alvantes flailed for his legs. Ludovoco blocked, forced Alvantes’s blade down, and – so quickly I could hardly register it – sliced Alvantes’s arm. As his sword slipped from his grasp, Alvantes cried out for the first time, a sob of hopeless rage. He made to cradle his bleeding right wrist with his left hand. Then, realising the impossibility, he pushed to his knees and tried instead to fling himself at Ludovoco.

Ludovoco sidestepped; his foot crashed into Alvantes’s ribs, sent him tumbling sideways. An instant later, it was followed by the point of Ludovoco’s sword.

Behind me, Estrada screamed – a sound so naked and pained that I couldn’t believe it could come from a human throat. It was almost loud enough to muffle Alvantes’s own choked cry.

Ludovoco stepped round, careful to avoid Alvantes’s hand, which still grasped spasmodically for his ankles. He put his foot on Alvantes’s shoulder; it seemed to take only the slightest pressure to drive him down into the mud. Ludovoco levelled his sword, adjusted its angle carefully.

“A last mercy, Guard-Captain,” he said. “A quick death. Much more than you deserve.” As he raised his blade, I saw where it would land: across Alvantes’s bared throat.

“Stop, damn you!” Mounteban’s roar was huge amidst the unnatural silence; it actually froze Ludovoco in place. “Captain Lunto Alvantes is incapacitated,” Mounteban cried. “Your fight is with me now.”

Ludovoco looked as if he had every intention of going through with his execution, regardless of what Mounteban or anyone else thought. But Mounteban already had his own sword in hand, had already halved the distance between them; in the time it would take to end Alvantes’s life, Mounteban would be on him. Reaching a swift decision, Ludovoco stepped away and dropped easily into a defence.

Mounteban hit him like a bull charging – and Ludovoco actually staggered. He span away into clear space, a half dozen quick steps carrying him free of Mounteban’s first furious assault. Caught off guard, Ludovoco seemed momentarily to forget just who he was fighting, for when he scythed a blow towards Mounteban’s left side, his steel span off a buckler in place of Alvantes’s missing hand. Mounteban shoved the almost-delicate stroke aside and continued to chop wildly, pressing Ludovoco back still further.

Did Mounteban really think he could beat a fighter of such calibre by chopping like a woodsman? But whatever else he’d achieved, he had managed to drive Ludovoco away from our fallen guard-captain. As the two fighters paced round each other like angry dogs, Estrada was already running to recover Alvantes. Without quite thinking about it, I fell in behind her. As we drew near, Alvantes managed to push himself up onto hands and knees. He was alive, then – for the moment, at least.

Meanwhile, Mounteban had barely paused in his attack. Nor had it become less clumsy; it was still more a charge than an assault. I couldn’t see what he hoped to gain by so inelegant a tactic. Rather than trying to hit his foe, it was almost as though Mounteban were flinging himself at him – which meant that for Ludovoco, it could only be a matter of waiting for the right opening.

Yet, for all its inevitability, when the end came it still caught me by surprise. One moment, Mounteban was hurling another blow at Ludovoco’s head. The next, Ludovoco had flicked his entire body sideways, stepped with feline grace inside his opponent’s defence. His sword wove a sinuous pattern in the air; it danced from Mounteban’s thigh to his arm, and ended in a leisurely swipe across his forehead.

If Ludovoco had expected to stop him, however, he was bound for disappointment – for all the injuries did was make Mounteban press on all the harder. Though he was limping, hardly holding his sword, half blinded by blood, Mounteban opened his mouth and bellowed mindlessly and ploughed forward. Ludovoco’s eyes went wide with shock that edged straight away into fear. For an instant, I thought he might really be in trouble.