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

"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

On the next day, the D'Angeline delegation arrived.

To his credit, Gallus Tadius sent for me as soon as their banners were spotted; or mayhap it was due to Lucius' prompting somewhere deep inside him. I couldn't say, and didn't care. All I knew was that I was glad beyond telling to see them.

For all of that, the view from the gatehouse was devastating. The delegation rode slowly along the road to Lucca. On either side of them, the once-fertile plains were scorched and smoking. Overhead, the sky was low and angry, the color of tarnished silver. It seemed as though all the brightness in the world was concentrated in the approaching company of D'Angelines.

They were a squadron of embassy guards, I guessed. They rode fully armed, some thirty strong, with surcoats and cloaks of Courcel blue. There on their banners were two of the seals I'd longed to see—the golden lily and stars on a green field that represented Elua and his Companions, flying above the silver swan of House Courcel.

And, too, they carried the pure white banners that requested a peaceful parley.

Valpetra's cavalry interecepted them before they reached the gate, galloping across the blackened fields. I watched with my heart in my throat, praying they wouldn't be turned back. After an interminable length of time, one of the cavalrymen headed back toward their new encampment on the far side of the river. The rest waited out of range while the D'Angeline contingent moved forward.

Gallus Tadius pulled me back from the window. "Hold, D'Angeline. Don't be hasty."

I glared at him. "They're my people!"

"And it's my city." He shrugged. "Let's just see, shall we?"

Outside the gate, the delegation drew rein. Gallus nodded to his guards, who took careful aim at them, crossbows cocked. "State your business!" one of them called.

"Quentin LeClerc, servant of her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange, commander of the Tiberian garrison of her ladyship the ambassadress Denise Fleurais," came the reply in D'Angeline-accented Caerdicci. "We come seeking the ransom of his highness, Prince Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange!"

Gallus glanced at me with a hint of amusement. "I take it that's you, fancy-boy?" I nodded. "Well, I'll have a word with them."

Without further ado, he ducked through the outer door and sauntered out onto the wall. From the tower chamber, I watched him fold his arms and address them.

"Right," he said easily. "I'm Gallus Tadius, Prince of Lucca, and as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to the whelp. But unless your whoring Queen's sending a few thousand more like you to guarantee the bargain, I'd think twice about it." He jerked his chin toward the north. "You want safe passage for him, barter with Valpetra."

"My thanks, your highness, on behalf of her majesty and Terre d'Ange, for your generosity. We will negotiate with the Duke of Valpetra." The unseen commander's tone was circumspect. "Might it be possible to speak to Prince Imriel? I would confirm his well-being."

"Why not?" Gallus beckoned. "Come on out. You've leave to talk as long as you like," he added, passing me and heading back for the tower. "It's your lookout if you get shot by the enemy. And mind, the guards have orders to shoot you themselves at the first hint of treason." Ah, Elua! All the homesickness I'd been holding at bay overwhelmed me at the sight of my countrymen. D'Angeline faces, clear-cut and handsome. I found myself beaming involuntarily at Quentin LeClerc. He was a tall man with dark brown hair braided in a tidy cable, a bemused look on his face as he peered upward. He accorded me an uncertain bow from his saddle.

"Your highness?" he asked in D'Angeline. "Prince Imriel?"

In my haste to see them, I'd thrown on last night's worn, dirty attire. I hadn't had a proper bath since before Eamonn's wedding, either, just another cursory wash at the basin. I dragged my sleeve over my face, smearing lingering soot-stains. "Forgive me, messire. Last night's patrol was… eventful."

"So I see," he said.

One of the guards laughed. "That's him, my lord. He turned up at the embassy dressed like a beggar and smelling somewhat fierce one day."

I flushed, remembering. "Not me. It was the satchel."

"Oh, aye!" He winked and bowed. "The satchel it was."

"No mind." I sat on the edge of the wall, dangling my legs over the moat. The water was higher than it had been since Gallus Tadius ordered the sluice gates blocked. "Messire LeClerc, how did her ladyship get word so quickly? We expected it might take weeks."

Quentin LeClerc shook his head. "I couldn't say, your highness. All I know is that she received an urgent dispatch and sent us posthaste." He paused. "We? There are others with you?"

"Friends," I said. "Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada and his wife, and Senator Deccus Fulvius of Tiberium and his wife. I'd like safe passage for all five of us. And there is the matter of my man-at-arms, Gilot, who was slain during the fighting. I promised to bring him home."

"Of course." He nodded. "May we be confident that the Prince of Lucca will honor his word? I thought…" He hesitated again. "Forgive me, highness, but I understood Gaetano Correggio was the Prince of Lucca, or so Lady Denise told me. And it seems to me… as a student of military history, it seems to me that Gallus Tadius is… was…"

"Dead?" I lowered my voice. " 'Tis a long story, messire. Get me out of here, and I'll tell you. But yes, I think he'll honor his word. And anyway, he's right. It's Valpetra we need to worry about." I gazed at the calvalrymen watching us from the smoldering wreck of Lucca's fields, and my last trace of gladness ebbed away. "I don't suppose he'll be in a good mood."

"No." Quentin LeClerc followed my gaze. "I don't imagine so." He squared his shoulders. "Still, he's no cause to blame you, has he?"

"Ah, well." I smiled ruefully. "He might."

I told him about cutting off the Duke's hand, and watched his face turn grave. When I finished, he gave me a resolute bow. "Sensible men understand the vicissitudes of war. I will beg an audience with him and pray I find him reasonable. I will return, your highness."

They rode back across the barren landscape, vivid banners bobbing in the grey air, carrying all my hope with them. I watched them join Valpetra's cavalrymen and head toward the river. I offered a silent prayer to Blessed Elua for their success, then descended back through the gate tower and went to report on the latest doings.

At the Tadeii villa, I found Claudia. Deccus Fulvius hadn't risen yet, nor had Eamonn and Brigitta, though I daresay for different reasons. Claudia listened intently, requesting that I repeat our conversation in its entirety.

"There was no other news?" she asked when I was done. "No promise of aid from other quarters?"

"No." I frowned. "Should there have been?"

She sighed. "Not necessarily."

"The Unseen Guild?"

Although the two of us were alone, her nod was almost imperceptible. "If word has reached the D'Angeline ambassadress' ears, then surely the Guild knows, too. Such news spreads swiftly. There would have been word if they meant to act. They don't."

"I'm sorry." I took her hand. "But what could they have done?"

"Oh, plenty of things." She smiled, but her eyes were red-rimmed and weary. "They could have prevailed on the Duke of Firezia to intervene. He's a vested interest in Lucca's trade and a considerable standing army. Or they could have dispatched an assassin to take out Valpetra, though I suppose it wouldn't be easy under the circumstances." She shrugged. "Perhaps they have. We can hope, I suppose."

"The Guild employs assassins?"

"The Heptarchs do, or at least so it's rumored. Possibly the epopts." Claudia rubbed her eyes. "I told you, Imriel, I'm only a journeyman." She gave me another wry smile. "And a failed one at that."

I held her hand tighter. "I won't leave without you. I swear it."

"Don't be stupid." Her gaze sharpened. "If you have a chance, take it. This is no time for foolish heroics. Speaking of which…" She withdrew a letter from her bodice. "This arrived."