Torrent

by Lisa T. Bergren

  But he warned them, warned them all. Even Rodolfo…He asked him to return with us when he rescued me from Roma. But Rodolfo chose Firenze. Of all the stupid—

  I found the rest of the guards at last. They were here, taunting the servants, trying to startle them so they would fall, laughing at them. Five of our own were spaced out like sentinels watching over the castle wall. The nearest was Giacinta, with tears slipping down her face. Her auburn hair, loosed, blew in the wind. One guard caressed the curve of her buttock, knowing she couldn’t move. She cried, choking on her own snot and spit.

  I grit my teeth in fury, easing a dagger from my waistband. Being right-handed, I’d have to roll and toss it.

  Dad peeked too, then readied his own dagger. He nodded to it, then touched the hilt of his sword. I’d roll as he sent his knife flying, then toss mine. Then we’d take to our feet and attack the nearest men with swords, perhaps before they had a chance to draw their own. If we could take four that quickly, it’d only leave four, on our side of the wall at least.

  The Sienese drums came to an ominous stop.

  I was counting down, three, two—

  When I heard him. Paratore.

  Laughing.

  I dared to peek around the corner again and saw his back. He stood between Rodolfo and Tomas, both with their hands bound behind them. “I knew you’d come, Forelli!” he shouted downward. “I knew you couldn’t stand the thought of your precious friends dying within sight of your castle! So predictable, you Sienese! ’Tis one thing to send your loyal servants to battle, but ’tis another to order their deaths!” he taunted. “You do not have it in you, Marcello. You stand there, helpless, unable to accomplish either task—save your brothers or conquer my castle.”

  We all heard the thrum of a cut rope, the drag of a massive stone over wood and then saw the massive stone—a discarded stone from Castello Forelli?—sailing in our direction.

  The servants cried out and gasped.

  “Stand in position!” Lord Paratore shouted.

  “Take cover,” I grunted to Dad, rolling to the ground and wrapping my head and neck in my arm.

  The first stone struck the top of the gates. They held, but the massive timbers cracked and splintered inward, leaving a six-foot crater.

  “Now,” I grunted, guessing it’d take our guys a couple minutes to reload.

  The first two knights went down, both of them with our daggers in their backs.

  Dad ran forward and struck at the first man to draw a sword.

  I cut apart the rope at Giacinta’s wrists and roughly pulled her down from her perch. I set her, trembling, against the short wall. “Stay down,” I cried, moving to back up Dad. But the passageway was too narrow. All I could do was stand behind and watch.

  And that was when Paratore lifted his head and saw me across the corner of the wall. His nostrils flared, and his eyes got big as he stared at me with hatred. Then he laughed in delight and strode toward me, pausing only to shove a male servant over the edge, sending him to his death. I saw the rope over the wall grow taut, wriggle, and then still. I gasped in horror, literally lost my breath for a moment.

  Rodolfo and Tomas looked over their shoulders at me as Paratore plowed toward us. Seeing their chance, they both jumped down to relative safety, but they were still tied. Guards rushed in their direction.

  My eyes returned to my enemy. He was moving toward the next servant, taunting me with his eyes full of threat, glancing toward the next prisoner.

  “Nay!” I cried, jumping to the wall and passing Dad, who still battled the third of the five knights remaining between me and Paratore. I flung myself at the next man as he drew his sword, pulling him against me as I rolled, somehow landing on top. He shoved me backward, and I hit the far wall, which left me dazed for a moment. I forced myself up, pulling another servant down from the wall and cutting apart his tied wrists. “The others,” I said urgently, handing him my dagger as I drew my sword to face my assailant, who was up on his feet again.

  “Down, Gabs,” Dad growled. I ducked, hoping he was aiming at the dude coming at me and not some other guy ahead.

  He was.

  The servant I’d just saved had reached a young woman I recognized as a scullery maid, but the next Paratore guard was struggling with him, trying to take his dagger. Pressing him backward, driving the point toward his throat. I ran and brought down my sword on his attacker’s back, hoping the impact wouldn’t drive the dagger point into the boy’s flesh.

  I didn’t stop to find out if I’d been successful because the next guard was upon me, swinging his sword in a wide arc. I bent back, feeling the blade pass by my side, then turned and struck him on the arm. The sword sank into the thick leather, probably drew blood, but held. It was almost stuck. As I struggled to pry it out in time to meet my opponent’s next blow, I found Paratore again.

  Waiting for me to watch him.

  He stood next to a servant girl who was pleading with him. I glanced at the knight before me as I finally wrenched my sword from its grip in his shoulder armor and dodged to one side as he thrust his short sword toward my belly, just missing me. I could see her mouthing the words—Please, m’lord, mercy—but Paratore was looking at me as he put a hand on the backs of her thighs and shoved.

  I winced, ducked, anticipating the knight’s next sideways strike, and took out his legs beneath him, then ran onward as he fell.

  The next catapult stone struck the front wall, sending a teeth-jarring rumble through the stones beneath us. I reached out to hold on, thinking for a second that it was all coming down.

  “That’s some kind of friendly fire,” Dad grunted, moving past me.

  “We gotta let him know we’re here,” I said.

  “On it.” He grinned, like he just had to pick up the closest cell and was going to make the call.

  “Dad!” I screamed, seeing what was behind him a half second late. My cry seemed to hover in the air, slowing time and action.

  The knight—the only remaining one between me and Paratore—with both hands on the hilt of his sword, lifted it still higher, its deadly point a foot from my father’s back.

  He did not pause. The sword plunged downward.

  I gasped and wavered on my feet—as if feeling it myself—as the blade went entirely through, poking out the front of his shoulder.

  “Dad!” I cried out again, as my father sank to his knees. No. No, no, no! Not Dad. Please, God, not Dad. We can’t lose him again. We can’t…we can’t…

  Fury displaced my fear again as the knight put a boot to his back to pull the sword out, and I surged forward.

  I was wild in that moment. I didn’t know what I did or how I did it, but as the man drew back to finish my father off, I took him down, crashing him against the far wall. I was rising, backing away from the knight, whose neck was now at an awkward angle. Looking to Dad, still on his knees, thinking I had to get to him, staunch the blood—

  When I felt the blade biting into my neck.

  “Lady Forelli, I hear it is now,” Lord Paratore said in my ear, lifting me bodily backward. “I bid you proper welcome, again, to my castello.”

  Another massive stone hit the front wall, sending a shudder through us all. Unsteadied, we fell forward, and Paratore used the momentum to strike my hand against the short, outer wall. My fingers opened involuntarily from the pain, and my stomach sank as I watched my sword go clattering over the edge.

  I growled and used my knee to force him backward, pushing with everything I had in me. He grunted as we hit the other wall, but he didn’t release me as I had hoped.

  “Take care, m’lady. The knife is sharp,” he hissed, pulling the flat of it back against my throat with both of his hands now, choking me. I gasped, but I couldn’t grab it. Every time I did, I cut my hands. My vision was clouding, a tunnel forming, blackness closing in.

  Belatedly I wondered if I still had any daggers left.

  He laughed, feeling me thrash about, and easily guessed what I was after.
He took out the remaining daggers at my waist and tossed them over the edge. Then he dragged me toward the front castle wall, easing the pressure at my throat just enough to keep me from passing out.

  “I think I shall cut off your ears,” he said, “just before I push you over the edge. You’ll die in front of your husband this night, m’lady. And he’ll be so shattered, my men shall retake his castle, once and for all.”

  Another stone hit the wall, this time at the top right, breaking through and sending stones ten feet long and four feet deep to the courtyard below. I glimpsed Lia and Mom on the far wall, doing battle with two remaining knights, and Rodolfo—thankfully free of his ropes—sneaking up on the nearest before Paratore and I fell to our knees from the impact. My enemy hauled me back up after a moment.

  But I rose with the dagger from my calf sheath in my hand.

  He held me close, too close to see what I’d done, but if I waited for just the right moment…

  I clawed at his arm, trying to pry it from my neck as if I were desperate. “Cease your pawing, She-Wolf,” he grunted. “There is only one way this ends. With me as victor. You shall go to your death knowing you crossed the wrong man.”

  He dragged me up beside Father Tomas, who remained on the crosswalk below the wall. I wondered what he was doing, why he hadn’t run. But the priest was whispering, praying. He didn’t cease when he saw me held against Paratore. But his bushy brow lowered.

  My captor leaned me up against the wall, which was shoulder height, and we stared down below. Forty feet didn’t look so high before. But from this vantage point, it was horrific. I could see the catapult now, the men scurrying about it, getting the next stone ready to fly toward the castle gates. “Forelli!” Paratore screamed. “Marcello Forelli! Show yourself!”

  We stared toward the men, saw others in the brush.

  But no Marcello. Was he hurt? Injured? Or worse?

  I couldn’t see well—even with the rising moon. The men were but dim forms.

  My eyes widened as I saw a man go to the lever and release the next stone. Did they not see us? Marcello! Luca!

  The stone was dragged along its platform, lifted, then arced and sailed toward us. We could see every deeply shadowed crevice as it came right toward us.

  “Tomas!” I cried. “Jump!”

  Paratore whipped me to the right, and perhaps by instinct, perhaps to protect his prize, he covered me with his body. The stone slammed into the crosswalk, and I felt Paratore’s grip loosen.

  And then felt the stones drop out from beneath me. I slid and felt the pads of my fingers scrape away, my nails tear as I clawed about. I had no choice; I released the dagger and tried to find any handhold I could as I fell three, then four, then five feet, when my foot abruptly found a crevice. I immediately cast to either side, pushing against either side of my Channel of Death in order to stay put.

  But, yeah, it was seriously iffy. I couldn’t hold out for long.

  “Come, m’lady,” Paratore said behind me. “Reach out your hand, and I’ll lift you to safety.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. He was on a small ledge and had but two steps to go to make it to a stable place on the other side. I laughed without humor. “Take your hand so you can push me to my death yourself? I think not.”

  I heard the metallic slide of his sword from his sheath. “Take my hand, or I shall deal you the same death blow your father received.”

  My arms were trembling, protesting, begging me to let go.

  “Gabriella!” Rodolfo shouted, peering down at me. Mom and Lia looked right over his shoulder. But they were too far away to reach me.

  And then I heard the scrape of another stone upon the catapult. Seriously? I thought. I wanted to scream. Was Marcello not there to stop it? Could he not see us here, atop the front gates, fighting to stay alive? Did he not see me?

  I couldn’t make it through another impact. I’d already fallen a good eight feet. Below me was a hole…Even if I survived, falling the remaining thirty feet would make me wish I was dead.

  There was no choice.

  “All right,” I ground out, meeting Paratore’s gaze. “I’m reaching for your hand on the count of three.” He sheathed his sword and reached for me. “One, two, three.”

  I didn’t think about it, couldn’t think about it. I turned and grasped for Paratore’s hand even as I was again sliding. He grabbed me, and for a moment I hung, suspended, legs dangling over the hole. I felt the draft of cold up my skirts, the distance to the ground like I had some sort of radar-sensors.

  “Tempting,” he grunted, “but I have use for you yet.” He glanced up and over at Rodolfo, his voice strained with the effort of holding me. “Back away! Drop your weapons and back away, or I’ll drop her!”

  I held my breath, wondering how long he could hold me. If he’d even have the strength to lift me. But he did then, hauling me upward and into his arms, then up the two steps to safety. He deposited me on my knees, clenching my hair in his fist. “Forelli!” he roared, back over the wall. “I demand to see Marcello Forelli! Tell him I have his bride!”

  He wound another coil of my hair around his hand and hauled me to my feet, pushing me to the edge of the front wall. “Bring Lord Forelli to the light!” he screamed.

  “I am not down there,” Marcello growled from behind us, to the left, “but rather in the shadows of your own perch.”

  Paratore automatically whirled, leaving me behind him, but his hand was still wound in my hair. Ten of the Lerici archers were behind Marcello, on the wall, arrows pointed at Paratore.

  “’Tis over, Cosmo,” Marcello said. “Release Gabriella and step away from her.”

  Paratore cried out and turned, ripping me in the opposite direction, throwing me off balance. Tossing me aside. I heard the thrumming sound of arrows released, closed my eyes, once again preparing myself for impact…

  I wasn’t hit. But I was falling again, now bumping down the opposite side of the crosswalk, toward the hole again—

  I saw Marcello dive above me and Rodolfo dive above him. Then Father Tomas. Marcello grabbed my hand, pulling me to an abrupt stop, and when we both began to fall, Tomas grabbed him. Rodolfo fell across the chasm, shoulder first, taking a firm hold on Tomas.

  I couldn’t breathe. I could feel my legs dangling again. Over way too much space.

  Two more faces appeared above the other men, both grunting and gasping for breath, trying to hold on. The archers. Then Luca, eyes wide. “Hold on!” he cried.

  I could feel my wrist slipping in Marcello’s hand. I looked up at him in horror, and then felt sadness, such sorrow, sorrow that this was the way it was to end.

  “Hold on, Gabriella,” he grunted, upside-down, pulling with everything he had. But he was in the wrong position to save me. I could see it. He could see it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

  “I love you,” I gasped, having trouble breathing well, let alone speaking, as I hung there. “I’ve always loved you.”

  He cried out in frustration, red-faced, veins bulging from the effort at trying to pull me upward.

  “Marcello!” Tomas cried, sounding like he was about to lose his grip. “Don’t move!”

  “She’s slipping!” Marcello yelled, his voice tinged in panic. He looked at me with such extreme grief, it made me want to weep. “Gabriella…nay.”

  “Marcello. I know. My fault. Mine, for being here.” I didn’t want him to blame himself for what was about to happen.

  “Gabriella!” Luca called, tossing down a rope with a loop at the bottom.

  I glanced at it, six inches from our hands. If Marcello released me, could I grasp hold of it? Before I fell? Did I have the strength to hold it, or would I slide too far? Miss it altogether?

  Marcello could see my dilemma. “Tomas, Rodolfo! Let us go.”

  “Let you go?” Rodolfo grunted. “Are you mad?”

  “’Tis the only way to reach the rope,” Marcello coaxed. “Now,” he said, his voice suddenly all commando. “Now!”<
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  Marcello slid toward me, even as I started to fall, but in the process, he gained a better grip on my wrist, as I did on his. He reached out with his right hand as we gained momentum, and I knew we had one chance—just one chance—and felt a grief pierce me that I hadn’t felt since Fortino, since Dad…

  I was not only falling to my death. I was taking my husband with me.

  I felt a tug again and swung toward the wall, my feet touching the splintered wood of the gate, and then moving outward. I looked up and let out a breath of total wonder as we swung. Together. Alive.

  Marcello held me anew. In a grip that said I. Shall. Not. Let. Go.

  The men lowered us down to the ground, and when my feet were on it, Marcello released me. I knelt and inhaled the scent of dirt and stone, so glad to be on it. In reality I didn’t think my shaky knees could hold me upright. Marcello leaned down and covered me with his body, hugging me, sheltering me. “Ahh, Gabriella,” he moaned.

  Trembling, I rose up to my knees, and he pulled me into his arms for a brief hug, then lifted me to my feet. With one arm around me, holding me up, he moved toward the men down below. Behind us I could hear shouts and cries and gradually remembered that a battle was still taking place.

  When my knees gave way, Marcello bent and swept me into his arms. He turned and looked to the parapets high above us—so high, I could barely look at them, too close to my Near Death Experience. But above, two flaming arrows crossed in the sky, a signal. And then I saw the long ropes, the last of the Lerici knights making their way down, and on the ground, my mother, sister, Rodolfo, Tomas—

  “Our people are safe!” Marcello cried, a couple of minutes later. “Take down those gates, once and for all!”

  A hundred feet away the Sienese cheered and launched the next stone missile directly at Castello Paratore’s splintered gates.

  At last I dared to say, “My…my father’s body. Marcello—”