It was then I knew. This display was meant for me. This particular form of pain. My people. My friend. Even my priest…since when did I have a priest? But there he was, in the distance, his round, brown-robed form taunting me, making me shiver with fury. And Rodolfo, who’d saved me, freed me—
I could almost hear my enemy whispering in my ear…You thought you could take my ears without retribution, She-Wolf? Behold, the price…
We all stood there a minute longer. The temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun slipped over the horizon, sending five rays up in what could’ve been a Tuscan tourism photo—if you didn’t realize that men and women were dying beneath it. I thought about the servants on the far wall, shivering as the chill penetrated their bones.
“So,” Lia said. “You need this?” she asked, pulling aside her cape and showing me the claw and rope beneath.
“Or this?” Mom said, letting me peek at the crossbow beneath her cape.
Dad gave me a tender look. “Marcello has a fine network of men, brothers to ride to his aid. But I think it’s time we show him just what kind of family he married into, don’t you?”
CHAPTER 30
We went wide, riding hard around the far side of the tumuli hill, to come at Castello Paratore from the back. Of course, there were about eight patrols of twelve continuously jogging the road around the perimeter of the castle. We huddled beneath a cliff, behind some brush, and counted it out. It wasn’t like clockwork, but we seemed to have about two minutes between patrols.
Up on the wall were other knights, pacing back and forth, peering down at the forest growing deep with shadows as the last of the sunset faded. My family and I could see them far better than they could see us, given their torches. In time I hoped we’d meet up with some of the Sienese knights or some of Marcello’s secret groups of men. But at this point it was best it was just the four of us. It’d be tough to get a larger group up and over the wall.
“Here,” Lia said, handing me and Mom two strands of leather each. She bent and gathered her skirts, tying one side, then the other, leaving her calves exposed and her pantaloons showing.
“I see London, I see France…” I muttered.
“Dresses are not the most convenient attire for battle,” Mom said, bending to work on her own gown.
“Dresses are not the most convenient, period.” I looked up the wall. This side of the castle wall was higher, since it had been built on a small cliff face. “How tall do you think that is, Dad?” I asked, tying the left side of my gown in a knot.
He considered it. “A good forty feet. Think you girls can manage it?”
“Oh, we can manage it,” I said. “The question is, can the old man?”
“Bring it,” he said with a grunt, lifting his chin.
I smiled. But then I saw the next patrol was coming. “Ten seconds till launch,” I warned. “Ready?”
All three of them nodded. Lia pulled back the crossbow until it clicked into place. The massive claw was at the end, making it so heavy that Dad had to help her hold it steady. The group of men passed, chanting some song like a medieval Marine’s sound off, and our eyes went to the knight who walked along the top of the wall. “C’mon,” I moaned, wanting him to hurry away.
I drew an arrow across a regular bow, intending to hand it to Lia as soon as she was done. Mom stood ready with two more arrows across her arm. If this didn’t go perfectly—
I heard the dull clang of metal on metal and glimpsed the claw sail through the air, like a football toward field-goal posts, glinting in the torchlight. Even before it landed, Lia had grabbed the bow and arrow from me and was aiming at the knight who’d just passed, waiting for him to turn, see what the noise was, show the breadth of his back.
Dad held on to our end of the rope as the claw arced and began racing down on the other side, the loops disappearing at our feet. At last it stopped, and I held my breath. We could not hear the noise inside. But the guard obviously did. As soon as he peered over the far edge, Lia let the arrow go.
It sailed faster and surer than I’d ever seen, striking the man in the back. He bent over with the impact, rose, then crumpled out of view.
“Go, Gabi,” Mom grunted, handing Lia another arrow.
Dad was madly pulling on the rope, bringing in the excess as if he were hauling in a shark, while I was running to the small cliff face. We had maybe forty seconds until the next patrol rounded the corner. I rammed my toe into the clumpy clay and climbed, pulling myself up and over the six-foot cliff, rolling to my side. I went to the wall and heard another guard cry out above me. Quickly I cut the rope, allowing Dad to pull the rest toward him and out of the path of the next patrol.
Twenty-five seconds. I leaped up on the rope, found my footing against the wall, and began hauling myself up. There was no time to cinch it around my waist or form safety knots. Lia was a far better climber than I, but we needed her down below, picking off the guys who’d try and pick us off from above. Eighteen seconds, seventeen…I counted, glancing back. I was still too close to the ground. No way will they miss you, Gabs! I put everything I had into it, up fifteen feet, then twenty. But then I was out of time.
I held on with one arm and pulled up the rest of the dangling cord so it was out of their way, so it wouldn’t alert them. And then I prayed. That their attention would be out toward the woods. That God would make me invisible. That my family could take down any man who aimed an arrow at my back. I heard them coming, another chant on this group’s lips. My legs were shaking as I struggled to stay still in my odd position. I closed my eyes and squinted, unable to watch their approach, just wanting it over with, one way or another. C’mon, c’mon…
They rounded the corner, the beat of their boots on the loose gravel a new kind of rhythm in my ears. I braced, listening, trying to detect any variance in the beat, any hint that I’d been spotted, hovering halfway up the wall above them.
First it was one—near the back? Then a second. The dreaded skid and stop. A shout. I turned and began hauling myself upward, aware now that it was a race. A race between me getting to the top and the patrol below aiming the first arrow and letting it fly. My technique was panicked and sloppy, which in turn made me more lame-tastic. I wasn’t making better time; I was working against myself—
I heard the whirr of oncoming arrows and braced for them to enter my back. Wondered what would hurt worse—the initial strike of an arrow piercing my back, or my fall to the ground beneath me. Neither close enough to reach the top, nor low enough to survive a fall. Then I heard the sickening sound of arrows entering flesh, the anguish and surprised cries…but they were not my own. They were below me. I turned and dared to glance down for the first time and saw all twelve men, dead or dying. On the far hill, above where my family was hidden, I saw the brush move and then become still. Movement beyond it on the rocky slope. The Lerici archers.
They were running northward. Probably to intercept the next patrol before the soldiers turned the corner and spotted all the dead men beneath me. Giving me some time, some space.
Man, those dudes rock, I thought, turning and trying to climb again with trembling hands. I’m gonna give them all kisses when I see them. And all my gold. I seriously love those guys.…
Somehow I made it to the top, saw there were no guards still alive on this portion of parapet, then threw my leg over the edge and rolled over and onto the floor. I lay there, panting, my heart thundering, before I forced myself upright to stare across the courtyard, to where the servants, Rodolfo, and Tomas stood on the far wall.
Still there, I saw, closing my eyes in relief and sinking back, trying to catch my breath again, gasping. When I could finally breathe evenly, I peered over the edge, saw Lia coming fast. Her proximity strengthened me. I wouldn’t be alone for long. I forced myself to a crouch, hurried over to the first dead knight and bodily lifted him to a standing pos
ition, leaning him against one of the small towers and wrapping a rope around his chest to keep him upright. He looked awkward, but at first glance, he might fool anyone into thinking all was well.
Like Paratore.
Lia was doing the same with the next knight, struggling with his bulk, while trying to keep an eye out for Mom and Dad. I stole over to help her, scanning the perimeter for our enemies. So far they all seemed unaware of our presence.
Dad rolled over the edge of the wall then, with a grunt. “Man, glad I haul rock for a living,” he quipped between breaths. He peeked over at Mom’s progress and then came back. “I’ll wait here for her. You two’d better move out.”
We nodded at each other and went in opposite directions. Why weren’t there more men on guard? Where were they?
Maybe the poison had reached a good number of them before they’d figured it out. Or maybe they were all up front with the prisoners, enjoying the spectacle, trusting the safety of the far walls to the patrols below.
Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Our goal was to get to the prisoners and cut their hands free, if not cut the nooses themselves, before they could be pushed to their deaths.
Or before Marcello began firing the catapult.
CHAPTER 31
All we needed was about five minutes. Five minutes without being seen as we took down a dozen more guards and reached the servants on the far wall. I knew it was a stretch, but a girl could dream. I pressed on and soon saw Dad stealing toward me.
“Duck, Gabs,” Dad said, and I instantly obeyed as he threw his dagger.
I turned around and saw the man who had just come up and over a small staircase that crossed a lookout tower. The man gripped the dagger in his chest, as if he intended to pull it out, and then fell to his knees and down to his face. We pressed onward, entering the wider space of the lookout platform, backs to either side of the far entrance as we caught our breath.
I dared a peek over the wall to my right. Across the courtyard, above it, I glimpsed Mom and Lia making their way too. I couldn’t believe it. We were getting closer. Paratore’s men seemed to be entirely focused on the front wall.
And then I heard it—the drum beat. A Sienese drum beat. The catapult would soon be in place, and rocks and hot oil fired…
Wait, Marcello, I said in my mind, willing him to hear me. I edged my cheek around the corner, peeking at the parapet ahead. Would seeing Rodolfo there, too, make him pause just long enough? Could he truly order the death of his friend along with Tomas and the servants?
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 kni
ght’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.
The River of Time Series Page 92
