The swordsman seemed, to Amara, to be waiting for something. It became apparent what, in the next few seconds. Blood, running over Pirellus's eye, forced him to blink it closed, and he snapped his head to one side in an effort to clear it.
In that moment, the swordsman moved. Aldrick slipped inside the Parcian's slow thrust and lashed out with his foot in a short, hard kick, a simple stomp, as though he'd been driving a spade into the earth. But it wasn't a
spade his boot hit. It was Pirellus's already wounded knee. The bones broke with a clean, sharp crack, and Aldrick drove his shoulder into Pirellus's, throwing him to one side.
The Knight Commander's face showed nothing but determination, but as he stumbled, he put weight on his knee, and it simply could not support his body any longer. He crumpled to the ground, turning for another cut at Aldrick as the swordsman stepped toward him.
Aldrick parried the blow aside with casual power, more indigo sparks erupting.
Then, with a step to one side and a swift cut, he took Pirellus's head from his shoulders.
Blood spurted in an arch as the Knight Commander's body fell to the stones of the courtyard. His head rolled to a stop several yards away. His body lay twitching, his sword arm, even in death, slashing left and right.
Amara stared at the fallen Knight in horror, as her instincts screamed at her, forced her to remember that Fidelias was still on the move and had not been stopped. She rose, uncertain what she could do to stop what was happening in the courtyard. Aldrick turned on a heel and, without even pausing, began to stalk, alone, toward the legionares guarding the gates.
Before he could reach them, the wood of the barricade groaned, let out a tortured scream, and began to warp and writhe. Splinters and shards of wood exploded out, sending legionares reeling back from them in stunned horror. Then the wood itself began to writhe and move, the legs of tables twisting and clutching, planks shattering, the wagon letting out a tortured scream and then collapsing upon itself.
The Marat, on the other side, began to shove hard against the barricade, and without the hastily constructed stability of the various pieces, the barricade itself began to wobble and crumble in.
Fidelias appeared, not far from Aldrick, and then turned to signal one of the Knights in the air. The man swept down and grabbed Fidelias beneath the arms, lifting him back to the roof of the barracks, and Aldrick ex Gladius stepped over Pirellus's fallen corpse to lead the other handful of mercenaries after them.
The legionares at the gate formed up to face the incoming Marat, but the invaders leapt on them with an unyielding savagery and began to drive the men near the gates back step by slow step.
Amara rose and rushed into the stable to shout to the archers, "Take up
a shield and sword! Hold the gate!" Men rushed about in the stable's interior, taking up weapons and rushing outside to join the defense at the gate.
When Amara returned to Bernard, he had regained his feet. "What's happening?"
"Their Knights came in. We bloodied them, but they managed to weaken the barricade. Pirellus is dead." She looked at him. "I'm not a soldier. What do we do?"
"Giraldi," Bernard said. "Get to Giraldi. He'll send more men to reinforce the gates. Go, I'm not up to running yet."
Amara nodded, and fled, sprinting across the courtyard and up the steps to the wall. The fighting there was more hectic, and she stepped over the body of a Marat, proof that they had gained purchase on the wall at least once.
"Giraldi!" she shouted, when she reached the command area over the gates. "Where are you?"
A grim Legion shieldman, his face half-masked in blood turned to her. It was Giraldi, his eyes calm despite the bloodied sword in his hands. "Countess? You said you were looking for the hordemaster. And there he is, finally," grunted Giraldi. "There, see?"
"It doesn't matter," Amara said, her voice numb. "Pirellus is dead."
"Crows," Giraldi said, but his voice was too tired for it to be much of an oath. "Just seems like someone should pay him back for this."
Amara lifted her head, something hot and hard and terrible pulsing in her belly. The fear, she realized, had vanished. She was too tired to be afraid, too afraid to be afraid anymore. There was a sort of relaxation that came with inevitability, she realized, a sort of mad, silent strength. "Which one is he?"
"There," Giraldi said, pointing. An arrow shattered on his shield, and he didn't flinch, as though he was too tired to let it bother him. "See, the tall one with the birds all around him and the Aleran spear."
Amara focused on him and saw the Marat hordemaster for the first time. He was marching steadily through the ranks of Marat hurling themselves against the walls, his chin lifted, an arrogant smirk on his mouth. Black feathers had been braided into his pale hair, and several of the herdbane stalked behind him like some deadly guard of honor. Other troops went before, chanting.
The hordemaster's troops began to part for him, crying out in a steady chant as they did. "Atsurak! Atsurak! Atsurak!"
Amara brought up Cirrus in a visioncrafting, determined to learn this
man's features, to find him and at all costs to kill him for leading the horde against them this day She memorized the shape of his nose and cruel mouth, the steady breadth of his shoulders beneath a thanadent-hide cowl, the-
Amara caught her breath, staring, and willed Cirrus to bring her vision even closer to the hordemaster
Riding at his hip, through a thin braided twist of cord he used as a belt, was the signet dagger of an Aleran High Lord, its gold and silver hilt gleaming in the morning sun Even as Amara stared, Cirrus let her see the dagger's hilt, the crest wrought in steel upon it Aquitaine's falcon
"Furies," she breathed Aquitaine Aquitaine himself No one more powerful in the realm save the First Lord Aquitaine's Knights, then, Aquitaine who subverted Fidelias, Aquitaine who had attempted to gain knowledge of the palace from her, in order to-
In order to kill Gains He means to take the throne for himself
Amara swallowed She had to recover that dagger at any cost To bring such a damning piece of evidence before the Senate would finish Aquitaine and terrify anyone working with him into loyalty again She could prove who the true culprit behind today's vicious deaths had been, and though she had thought she hated the hordemaster now striding toward the buckling defenses of Garrison's gates, she felt a sudden and furious rage against the man whose ambitions had engineered the events of the past several days
But could she do it? Could she recover the dagger?
She had to try She now realized why Fidelias had wanted her out of the fortress He had wanted to hide this very thing from her, knowing full well that only she and perhaps two or three other people in the fortress would recognize the signet dagger for what it was
She shook her head, forcing her thoughts to focus, to take one thing at a time "Giraldi! We need reinforcements," she stammered "The gate is about to fall'"
Giraldi grimaced, and as she watched, his face fell, the lines in it deepening, making him look as though he had aged years in the space of a breath "Doesn't matter," he said, and jerked his chin toward the field below the fortress "Look "
Amara looked, and when she did, the strength went out of her legs She leaned hard against the battlements, her head swimming, her heart pounding in light, irregular beats
"No," she breathed "No It's not fair "
Out on the plain, beyond the savage horde of Marat below, there had come another horde, every bit as large as the first. This one included elements of cavalry, though she could make out little beyond that. Cavalry, useless for taking a fortified position, but the ideal troops for raiding into an enemy's lands. Fast, deadly, destructive. The sheer numbers of the newly arrived enemy had, she knew, abruptly changed the fight from a desperate battle to a hopeless one. She looked up at Giraldi and saw it in his eyes.