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

Blessed Elua, I thought, I am not made for this.

On my right, Calvino's buckler cracked and split, pierced by a Valpetran spear. It had saved my life, but it cost him his. He grimaced at it, and the Valpetran ran him through. Spitted, he sagged. I had a glimpse of his hands rising to touch the shaft of the spear that had killed him, and then the Valpetran line pushed forward and he was gone, trampled underfoot.

"Barbarus, hold."

I didn't want to hold. I wanted the retreat to sound, wanted to run. I had Matius to the right of me once more. He'd dropped his spear and was shoving futilely with his shield. I saw the Valpetran opposite him grin and race forward, his sword raised. I hated him without knowing him. Taking a step forward, I dropped to one knee and planted the butt of my spear, wedging it in a crevice, letting him hurl himself on it. The shaft snapped under the impact.

It didn't pierce the Valpetran's armor, but it drove the breath from his lungs. He gaped, fish-mouthed, clutching at the dent in his breastplate. His helmeted head bowed, baring brown curls at the nape of his neck.

I drew my sword and struck him there. Half-severed, his head lolled, exposing the bone-white knuckles of his vertebrae. I had killed my third man.

No time to vomit.

After that, I lost count. There were others I struck, but I don't know if any of them died. Mostly, I tried to stay alive. My shield-arm felt jarred to the bone with the blows I turned aside. I shouted at Matius to draw his sword, to fight. Somewhere, he found courage and did. It was exhausting and brutal and awful, and it seemed like forever before the horns blew, sounding our retreat.

"Anchor and Rock," Lucius roared. "Anchor and Rock!"

"Barbarus, go!" cried Eamonn.

Our outside line peeled away. Those of us caught inside struggled to disengage. And then the men of Anchor squadron stepped forward past us, fresh and ready, driving back the Valpetran line with leveled spears and forging an opportunity.

We fled.

Through the damp city, past the empty square, panting in our makeshift armor. All across Lucca, the squadrons that had gone before us lurked in streets and alleyways, calling out encouragement, offering us pumped fists in salute. Women and children called to us from the rooftops and the upper stories of buildings.

"Is it well?" they asked.

"Well enough!" Eamonn called, answering for us. "Be ready!"

We didn't stop until we reached our designated territory. Our first stand—and hopefully our last—was outside the deserted public baths. Eamonn called a halt. There was a clatter of shields and weapons dropping as we all doubled over, gasping for air.

"Who's gone?" someone asked.

"Calvino," I gasped.

"Adolphos."

"Orfeo."

The names kept coming; seven, all told, dead or wounded too badly to flee. It hurt with a numb and distant fury, in a way I couldn't have imagined. I hadn't known them well, but I had known them. They were my brothers in arms. Orfeo had been my sparring partner. I hoped he'd gotten a taste of his revenge before he fell. Calvino had saved my life, and I hadn't been able to save his. It had all happened so fast.

"Grieve later, lads," Eamonn said soberly. "We've work to do."

Across the city, Luccan horns were sounding the final retreat, picked up and echoed by sentries on the rooftops. Anchor and Stone would be turning tail and fleeing for all they were worth, scattering down a myriad of streets. With luck, Valpetra's army would pursue them in disarray. Splinter and divide, and fight them on our ground. That was Gallus Tadius' plan.

Lucius' plan, now.

I prayed he was safe.

On Eamonn's orders, we regrouped, checking our weapons and binding our wounds. There was a cache of bandages and waterskins in the baths. I'd taken a graze to my left thigh that was beginning to sting, and a slight cut on my upper right arm that I'd not even felt. There was a dark blotch of blood spreading on my red armband. Since it didn't hurt, I left that one alone. The knot on the armband held; Lucius had tied it securely.

For luck.

Mostly, I was thirsty. When Matius passed me a waterskin, I drank deep, as much as I could hold. Lowering it, I remembered the first man I'd killed, the glimpse of the wooden shaft between his gaping jaws. I turned away and vomited up the water I'd drunk, splashing my boots.

"Steady, Imri." Eamonn clapped a hand on my back.

"Sorry." I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

"I puked, too, my first time." He nodded at the waterskin. "Drink more, you'll need it. It'll stay down this time." I obeyed, and Eamonn raised his voice. "Listen, lads! You did a good job, a damn good job."

" You did, Captain Barbarus!" Baldessare called. "You were so deep into their line, I thought we'd have to send a scouting party to retrieve you!"

Eamonn grinned. "All, we all did! Imriel here killed… how many?"

My stomach lurched and a mixture of bile and water surged into the back of my throat. I swallowed and kept it down. "Only three, I think."

Someone gave a low whistle.

"Three!" Eamonn said cheerfully. "How do you like that, eh, lads? Now we've got ourselves a little game of hare and hounds coming, and I've a mind to make it a merry chase."

Was three a lot? I didn't know and I didn't have time to wonder. The sentries' horns were calling out a warning: Valpetra's men were advancing throughout the city. They hadn't reached us yet, but they were drawing near. On Eamonn's orders, we laid our traps and took up our new positions. The majority of the surviving members of Barbarus lurked in the baths themselves, and a handful took posts behind the columns in the portico.

I was a hare.

There were five of us; Eamonn and me, Matius and two others. We walked slowly to the corner of the street that marked the farthest end of our territory, conserving our energy. There was a jeweler's shop on one side of us, boarded tight against flooding and looting. On the other side was a wineshop and inn. The innkeeper was a conscript, but his family was there. They were assembled atop the roof, along with one of the sentries, recognizable by his crimson gambeson. Eamonn sketched a salute and the sentry nodded in brief acknowledgment.

Although the flood-swept street in the block before us appeared empty, we could hear fighting and shouting elsewhere in the city, accompanied by periodic crashes. Lucca's citizens were hurling objects—furniture, kettles, whatever they had—from the rooftops, raining down missiles upon the invaders. I squinted at the roof of the inn, nudging Eamonn and pointing. There were two empty wine-barrels perched at the edge, grim-faced women poised to roll them over.

"Have to lead 'em close to the eaves," he said. "I don't imagine they'll get much distance with those. Can you do it, Imri? You're probably the fastest."

"I'll try." The barrels made me think of Canis. I wondered if he was still alive.

Eamonn nodded. "Good."

He carried his kite-shaped shield lightly, seemingly untired. He was still bareheaded, rain sparkling on his coppery hair. I wished I'd thought to grab him a helmet from one of the dead, but there hadn't been time. It seemed there was never time in battle, except when there was too much time and nothing to be done.

Like now.

"I hate this." Matius shivered, shifting from foot to foot. "I hate the waiting."

"Be glad you're alive to do it." Eamonn's gaze was fixed on the far end of the street. I was glad he was our commander. I opened my mouth to tell him so, when a sentry's horn blew somewhere in the next block. Our sentry atop the inn echoed the call, loud and piercing. "Here they come, lads!"

Valpetra's men.

There must have been over a hundred of them, driving in a hard wedge. Too many, too many to have come this far with their numbers intact and unchallenged. Three men of the Red Scourge pelted before them; not playing hare and hounds, but running for their lives.

And behind them was the cavalry.

"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn whispered. "Why are they here?"

There was no time. No time to wonder, no time to form a new plan. Elsewhere in the city, the sentries' horns were calling anew. I almost fancied I could hear a familiar voice roaring orders. No time to decipher it, no time to guess. There was only now.

Eamonn gathered himself and stepped forward. "Now, hares!"

He beat his shield with the flat of his blade, jeering and shouting insults to the Valpetran army. We all did. They held formation and advanced steadily. Not what we wanted, not what we'd planned for. And then one of them pointed, calling out to his fellows. Halfway down the street, a few in the forefront broke into a jog.

From the doorfronts and alleys, hidden soldiers of Senecus squadron stepped forth to challenge them, sowing chaos in their ranks. But they were too few, outnumbered. They'd laid their traps to catch stragglers, not an entire company. I watched them fight and die, their grizzled commander holding off several attackers, and my feet began to carry me forward unthinking until Eamonn's shield blocked my path.

"Hold," he said grimly.

Senecus' commander was borne down in a mass of men. Valpetra's men resumed their advance. One of the fleeing Luccan conscripts stumbled and was cut down from behind. We beat our shields and shouted. The other two conscripts reached us. One flashed past us without pausing. The other halted and grabbed my sword-arm.

"He wants you," he said in an rusty, accented voice. "Run!"

I stared blankly into Canis' face, blood-streaked beneath his helmet. "Who are you?"

And then Valpetra's men were on us.

"Hares, go!" Eamonn shouted.

I shook off Canis' hand and ran, darting beneath the eaves of the inn. There were footsteps behind me, and then the cobblestones trembled beneath my feet as two heavy barrels crashed down from above. I heard groaning and cursing. Overhead, the sentry's horn gave a new, frantic call, no signal we'd agreed upon, high and clarion.

I ran.

Never in my life had I felt more vulnerable. Not even in Daršanga, stripped naked and shivering, awaiting the Mahrkagir's lash or Jagun's brand. The space between my shoulder blades itched, protected only by a metal-studded leather jerkin. One arrow, a single well-thrown javelin, and I was dead.

It didn't come.

The charge through the city had taken its toll; Valpetra's men were down to hand weapons. I drew abreast of Matius and the other two, passing them as we raced up the marble steps of the baths and through the arched doorway.

An army followed at our heels. I didn't look back; I didn't dare. With the grunt and clash of swordplay ringing in my ears, echoing in the vast space, I ran past the openings onto the caldarium, the tepidarium, ducking into the room that held the frigidarium. The pool was brimming with floodwater and there was a single narrow plank laid across it. Discarding my shield for the sake of balance, I ran across the plank. It dipped and bent beneath my weight, but it held me. I turned around to find that a full score of Valpetra's men had followed me.

"Come on, then!" I shouted, settling into a two-handed stance.

Valpetra's men hesitated, arraying themselves around the edge of the pool. One ventured onto the plank. I jerked my chin, beckoning him onward. He edged toward me, wavering.

"Bar-bar-us! Bar-bar-us!"

A half dozen of my comrades emerged from hiding to charge them from behind. No skill, no finesse, simply a hard, shoving charge, shields to the fore. Valpetran solders staggered, tumbling into the flooded pool, flailing, borne down by the weight of their armor. It was chest-deep; too shallow to drown them, but deep enough to render them ineffectual.

I pointed my blade at the exposed face of the nearest. "Surrender your swords."

He grimaced at me. "Die, D'Angeline."

'Tis a terrifying thing to feel how easily sharp steel sheers through human flesh. I cut him; I cut him a-purpose, the tip of my blade etching a thin line across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. It wouldn't kill him, but it would scar. Blood ran down in a sheet, making a scarlet mask of the lower half of his face, stirring crimson tendrils in the water.

"Surrender your swords," I said softly.

This time, they did.

"Imriel!" Canis pushed his way through the members of Barbarus squadron as they collected Valpetran arms. He ran lightly across the plank, balancing his shield with ease. "They're coming. You've got to get out of here."

"They're sodding well here, Canis," I said. "Where do you expect me to go?"

He shook his head impatiently. "Not just Valpetra. Help from Tiberium. Didn't you hear the horns?"

"What?" I gaped at him.

Inside the baths, Barbarus was whooping with unexpected triumph. Our ambush had been a success. Dead Valpetran soldiers blocked the doors and temporarily barred further pursuit; live ones splashed and floundered in the pools. The tiled floors were awash with blood and water, and it stank of death and mildew. It was a scene out of some macabre farce. Outside, the sound of battle continued to rage, too fierce to be limited to a handful of resistance.

"Go!" Canis began shoving me back along the plank. "This will be over in an hour, but if you don't damn well get out of here and hide, you're like to be dead before they get here."

"You want me to desert?"

He bared his teeth at me. "I want you to live!"

Others were beginning to stare. I glanced around desperately for Eamonn; as my friend, as my commander. We needed him. I didn't know whether to believe Canis, whether to heed him. No one knew whether we should attempt to hold the baths or retreat out the rear entrance to the fabric warehouse that was our next stronghold. Remembering my earlier reget, I snatched a helmet discarded by one of the Valpetrans who had surrendered.