If I Should Die

“I don’t know,” he admits.

 

We reach the wall and stow Charlotte safely under a stone overhang. Turning, I see Louis’s corpse just yards away, lying where he had fallen with the arrow through his head.

 

“Help me get him over here with Charlotte,” I say, and head toward the body, crouching as I run to avoid a barrage of arrows.

 

“Um, Kates. Isn’t that a numa?” Jules asks, looking confused as he arrives beside me and sees Louis.

 

“No . . . yes,” I stammer. “I don’t have time to explain. Just help me get his body to safety.”

 

Jules hesitates for a moment, and then, as a firebomb explodes nearby, he leaps over to help me. As we pull Louis to safety, Jules glances up and gives me a funny look.

 

“What?” I ask as I kick aside a dropped battle-axe.

 

“Not that I knew any revenants before they animated,” he says, pausing to wipe off the sweat dripping into his eyes, “but Kates, you look exactly the same as before.” He grins. “Figures.”

 

I return his smile and give Louis one last tug as we arrive at the outer wall, then tuck the arm I was pulling gently over his chest.

 

We hear a shout from Vincent. We look in the direction he is running. I see a squadron of giant numa dressed in matching uniforms marching into the arena. There must be two dozen of them, and they are armed to the hilt.

 

“Who the hell are they?” I cry, my heart dropping as I realize my optimism about our chances has been way too premature. These guys look lethal.

 

“Lucien’s elite fighting squad,” Jules answers. “We’ve been wondering where they were. It looks like Violette has been hiding them away, keeping them fresh for the decisive round of the battle. In our previous war with the numa, they were always called in to do the sweeping up.”

 

He points to the blond hulk of a man leading the pack. “Their captain, Edouard, the last of Lucien’s hierarchy, if you can even call it that.” I shudder as the man scans the battlefield and calls out an order that has his men fanning out and running with swords raised.

 

They are upon the bardia in no time. One group has surrounded a handful of Paris kindred and are cutting them down in quick succession. Among those trapped within their circle are our kindred: Arthur, Jean-Baptiste, and Gaspard.

 

Vincent is sprinting in their direction, and Jules and I race to join him. When the numa see us coming, their circle splits. Those nearest us turn to engage: one each for Jules and me, four for Vincent. They weren’t there for my showdown with Violette, so they don’t recognize me. But they know who he is: the new leader of France’s bardia. The prize.

 

Vincent has drawn his second sword and swings both powerfully as he battles them solo. He is outnumbered and injured, and the numa Jules and I are fighting are intentionally keeping us from coming to his aid.

 

The captain, Edouard, moves forward. His soldiers remain motionless, letting him advance. I am guessing that he will deliver the deathblow, and the others will transport his body to the bonfire before we can rescue it. It’s a strategy that was obviously planned.

 

I won’t let it happen. I won’t lose him again. I run toward Vincent, but before I can reach him someone else has pushed his way through the ring of numa and in front of the blade that is already thrusting its way toward Vincent’s chest.

 

Jean-Baptiste stands with the numa’s sword run through his chest and out his back, the blade tip just inches from Vincent’s own heart. I hear a cry from Gaspard and see him rush toward Jean-Baptiste’s body, only to be fought back by a wall of numa.

 

With a feral roar, Vincent takes on Edouard, making quick work of the numa captain, while I engage the two enemies to his right. Bardia and numa rush in from all sides, and the battle escalates into a fevered blur of metal and wood and arrows and spurting blood and screams and cries; and I have forgotten my injury and am fighting like a machine, without thinking, until the frenzy of battle clears and the only ones left standing are bardia.

 

Those numa who are not slain have run off. I can see red vertical beams moving quickly away from the arena grounds. Let them run, I think. It will be easy enough for me to find them later, and I realize that that is exactly what I will do. Lead my kindred to destroy any numa who remain. Except for those like Louis, I think. Although I saw no red auras tonight containing that golden glimmer of hope, I suspect others exist.

 

I rush to Vincent, and help Arthur lower him to the ground. “I’m fine,” he says.

 

“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig,” I retort, as Arthur gingerly pulls his T-shirt over his head and wraps it around his torso to staunch the blood loss from a deep cut to his ribs. I use my good hand to help straighten the improvised bandage, and he smiles at me. “Who was bandaging whom about a half hour ago?” he comments, glancing at my sling.

 

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