I run for my horse. She shies but does not bolt. Grabbing ahold of the saddle, I haul myself up, then wheel around to join Beast and the others.
The attackers—there must be fifty of them at least—have raised a blockade, trapping the rear guard on the second bridge along with the litter, leaving only the queen’s guard, a score of noblemen, and myself with the duchess.
From behind, more shouts go up, and I glance over my shoulder. Another fifty or so armed men emerge from the trees along the hilltop, swords, pikes, and lances drawn as they rush down the slope toward us.
Merde. There are but thirty of us here to defend the duchess, fifty attackers from the under the bridge, and now this onslaught. My heart sinks.
My gaze searches out Beast. He nods—in encouragement? farewell?—and calls his men to him, the battle fever already filling his eyes with its strange unholy light. Fighting side by side has always felt like an exciting adventure, one that is eagerly greeted. But each time grows harder—especially with so many we care about at stake.
He leaves half the men to guard the duchess and takes the rest with him to repel the second advance. As they gallop up the hill toward the enemy, he gives a bloodcurdling battle cry. The sound of it hangs in the air like a storm cloud before it bursts. Battle-ax in his left hand, sword in his right, he rides straight for the descending soldiers. Captain Lannion pauses long enough to toss me his crossbow before hurrying to catch up to the others.
Once before I stood and watched as Beast took on an army with naught but a handful of men. I cannot do it again. Even those blessed by Saint Camulos are only so lucky.
Besides, the first wave of assailants has cleared the bridge and is upon us. Our one advantage is that we are mounted, but the pikes and halberds will quickly neutralize even that small boon. There is a deafening clash of steel on the hill behind me. I turn from it and focus on the enemy in front of me.
We form two circles around the duchess with the most skilled swordsmen closest to her to defend against any that breach the outer defense. Aeva and I are part of that, as our bows are more useful at that range.
But Lannion’s crossbow has only a dozen bolts.
Even so, I make good use of them.
I shoot the foremost pikeman in the middle of his forehead, reload, and aim for the next. I catch him in the throat, but another man is just behind him. As I frantically reload, a black arrow pierces his chest. Aeva. The deafening clash of steel and soldiers’ shouts are joined by the twang of Aeva’s bows as she fires off a series of arrows in such quick succession that she takes out three men before I can reload my next bolt.
The valley is awash with frantic racing heartbeats. So many of them! It is like being pelted by a hailstorm.
I glance over at Beast, leading the charge up the hill, his ax and sword cutting through the descending infantry like the bow of a ship cuts through waves.
Between Lannion’s crossbow and Aeva’s arrows, we are able to thin the number of men the guards must fight by hand. When I am nearly out of bolts, I reach for the rondelles tucked inside my belt. With a flick of my wrist, I send one sailing through the air. It strikes one of the pikesmen just under his jaw, the impact snapping his head back.
The second rondelle goes wide, taking off the ear of its target. The man hesitates, lowering his halberd and giving Chalons enough time to run him through with his sword.
I pause, breathing hard. Chalons is spattered with blood, but unhurt. He nods his thanks. “It helps that they want to take her alive,” he says before diving back into the fray.
The sounds of fighting on the hillside have dimmed somewhat. Bracing myself, I look over to see Beast standing in his stirrups, still swinging his ax. His sword is nowhere to be seen.
Men lie all around him like red leaves from an autumn tree.
The attackers—the few that are left, gallop up the hill, Captain Lannion leading a half dozen men in pursuit. I hold my breath, waiting to see if they will ride them down or capture them for questioning.
Just as the attackers crest the hilltop, a score of archers step into view, bows drawn. The pursued men slip in behind the archers just as they release their arrows.
“No!” Beast’s bellow of agony echoes through the small valley as Captain Lannion and his men take the full brunt of the volley. Lannion takes three in the chest, the force of them knocking him from his horse.
Instead of advancing farther, the archers withdraw behind the trees. Beast plucks one of the arrows from his arm and continues up the hill. Does he think to take them all on single-handed? Even a man in the throes of battle fever cannot hold against twenty archers.
Alone on the hill, he is also an excellent target. I check to ensure the duchess is no longer in danger, then wheel my horse around so I can lend Beast some cover.
That is when I see what is happening on the second bridge.
Another group of assailants is climbing up the side. A second wave? No, I realize with foreboding. A small, select force. It is headed for the litter.
Merde. Louise and Charlotte and Tephanie have only Tola to protect them.
“Beast!” My bellow echoes throughout the valley, piercing through the din of the battle. He pauses, jerking his head in my direction. “The litter!” I point toward the bridge.
He comprehends immediately. Wheeling his horse around, he races back down the hill. Not sure he will make it in time, I turn my mount toward the bridge and break into a gallop.
There are ten—no, fifteen men crawling up the sides of the bridge. Their absolute silence sends prickles down my spine.
I use Lannion’s last bolts to take out the two closest to the bridge. Aeva draws up alongside me and fires her bow at the next two. “I am out of arrows,” I tell her.
“It is a good thing we have knives.” The grin she gives me is nearly as feral as any of Beast’s. Together we charge toward the blockade.
However, if we are to use knives, we will need to get closer. When we reach the bridge, we quickly dismount.
My knife greets the first man over the railing. As Aeva’s long curved blade meets the second, an arrow flies out of the litter, catching the third man in the chest and knocking him off the bridge.
Thunderous hooves clatter along the stone shore of the river, followed by a furious splash as Beast plunges into the water. The attackers are strung along the bridge railing like so many rats climbing a wall. Rising up in his stirrups, Beast begins hacking with his ax. Within seconds, the water is churning with blood and bodies.