The Exiled Blade (The Assassini)

44





Marco turned from the battle before the last of paladins died, or whatever happened after they fell through the ice. He decided not to gather his spearmen together or order a coordinated withdrawal. The last thing he did before riding for his camp on the lake’s edge was order the destruction of the barrel bridge. This trapped his troops with Alonzo’s own inside the moat.

He had a right to that decision.

“S-so,” Marco said later. “Why d-did I do t-that?”

He was talking to Lady Giulietta, who’d been looking back at the burning cathedral as they rode through the ruined village and headed up the valley side on the road that led to the pass over the mountains.

She shrugged.

“G-Giulietta?”

“Because you’re a c-c-coward?”

One of Marco’s courtiers gasped and Marco grinned. “Fair g-guess,” he said. “But w-wrong. T-try again.”

Head down to watch her mare pick a way across a rocky fall that littered the road with scree, Giulietta thought about Marco’s question as Tycho watched from where he rode slightly behind. Frederick rode ahead. Only two horses could ride abreast on the narrow road and Marco had claimed the space beside her. Behind Marco came his knights, what remained of Frederick’s krieghund and those who’d been guarding the lakeside camp.

“W-well?” Marco demanded.

“Don’t try to turn your cowardice into a guessing game.”

“Those c-creatures are d-dead, the p-paladins are g-gone . . . The thin ice in the m-moat will soon be h-hard enough for people to w-walk. But, m-most importantly, Alonzo won’t attack the m-men we left. Not n-now.”

“What?” She sounded genuinely puzzled.

“He’ll l-look for m-me and d-discover I’m gone. He won’t r-risk his remaining t-troops in a b-battle for no reason. He’s too g-good a soldier.”

“He’s going to come after us?”

“Of c-course h-he’s going to c-come after us. What d-do you expect?” Marco sounded almost happy about it. Either that, or he hoped to steady those around him. His knights had to know how desperate things were. The ex-Regent might spare what was left of the archers and spearmen. The flipside of that coin was that the Nicoletti and Castellani who made up most of those forces would feel no duty to attack him. Leaving him free to track Marco if that was what he wanted.

Tycho nudged his mount slightly forward.

“You t-think w-we should h-hurry?”

“Yes, highness.”

“You’re p-probably right.”

They rode until dawn, higher and higher. The air thinned, and the wind rose when they climbed above the treeline, their horses steaming with sweat as the beasts fought for each step. Far below, the cathedral burnt bright enough to redden the mountainsides until the coming day paled the effect to elegant pink.

“C-cover yourself,” Marco ordered Tycho.

“Highness, leave me here.”

Instead the duke ordered that Tycho be tied to his own saddle and hidden by horse blankets until his soul returned. “You d-don’t sleep,” he said. “N-not like we d-do. You abandon your b-body. W-well, so I’m t-told.”

Giulietta blushed.

Frederick just looked hurt.

When he woke, Tycho knew instantly something was wrong. His group was too quiet, the atmosphere too strained. He shook his head free from the horse blanket covering him and found his wrists lashed beneath his mount’s neck and the animal led by Marco himself. “Shush . . .” Marco whispered.

Leaning across, the duke pulled at a knot and Tycho’s hands came free. He reached back to check his sword was loose in its scabbard. Frederick looked tight-faced, his followers watchful. Captain Weimer pale but resolute. Giulietta’s thumb was in Leo’s mouth to keep him quiet. She looked terrified.

“Alonzo . . .?”

Marco raised a finger to his lips.

Fire flamed the mountain ridge behind him and Tycho realised he’d woken to the very last of the daylight. The peaks burnt so bright he turned back to the track and had to close his eyes. There were riders on the mountain below them. Their mounts stumbled on the rocks and steamed with exhaustion, but they kept coming. Perhaps twice as many men as in Marco’s party. With Frederick’s krieghund and Captain Weimer’s troops they should be able to set an ambush. Tycho wondered what the other problem was.

Frederick pointed to the cliff above.

Shadows flickered along the moonlit top, fleeting and mostly visible out of the corner of his eye. They were swift and silent and kept easy pace with those using the treacherous track below. The clear sky and almost full moon made Marco’s party easier to see. Dropping back, Tycho found Captain Weimer. “How long?”

“Less than an hour, my lord. I thought it an ambush, but . . .”

Whoever held the high ground, they were fresh enough to move at speed, and they could stop or slow Marco’s progress enough to let Alonzo catch up if that was their aim. They had done neither. “Bandits?”

“If we’re lucky.”

“Can we outrun Alonzo?”

“Not without abandoning those on foot.”

“Then do it,” said Tycho, shocked the captain hadn’t done so already. The infantry could make a stand and hold Alonzo back long enough for Marco and Giulietta to ride ahead and find safety.

“The duke forbids it.”

“Of course he does. Bloody idiot.”

Marco turned and smiled, almost as if he knew he was the subject of their whispered discussion.

“Then we must all make a stand.”

Captain Weimer nodded. “My thoughts. Unfortunately, it’s not my choice.”

“Have you suggested it?”

The captain looked at him strangely. “I’ve been doing so all day. His highness said no decision could be made until you woke. Well, you’re awake, so perhaps you should go talk to him . . .” The man turned away, lost in his crossness at nobles and aristocrats who refused to fight wars properly.

They had nine horses, four knights, two princes, a future duchess of Venice if she lived that long, an infant of less than eighteen months, nine krieghund sworn to defend the infant to the death, ten light infantry, Captain Weimer, who made up for in experience what he lacked in numbers, and Tycho.

He could become a demon. He could become an angel.

In recent years, in the middle of battle, he had become both. But here and now, watching the cliff top and worrying about the prickling at the back of his neck, with Giulietta and Marco having a hissed argument, he felt only sad it had come to this. When Frederick fell back, looking nervous, Tycho simply nodded . . .

“What are our chances?”

“Bleak. Unless you have a brilliant idea?”

“You’re meant to be the strategist, the man who pulls victory from defeat and work miracles . . .”

I am? “Not me,” Tycho said. He doubted he was a man at all.

“Who will win that?” Frederick meant the other battle, the one being fought up ahead in furious whispers between Duke Marco and Lady Giulietta as they hurried their mounts forward.

“Marco, obviously. He has less to lose.”

“His life? His dukedom?”

“Giulietta has Leo. Her own life and you . . .” Tycho had to grab Frederick’s bridle to keep him moving. The look in the princeling’s eyes was unreadable as he stared at the couple riding in front of them. Leaving Frederick to his thoughts, Tycho edged his horse forward. There was barely room for two animals to ride abreast and he had to nudge Marco’s horse before the duke noticed him.

“Well,” Tycho whispered. “Is it decided?”

“You stay out of this,” Giulietta hissed.

“It’s d-decided,” Marco said. “My c-cousin and Leo will t-take the horses and ride ahead. We will stay h-here to buy them t-time. If we g-get lucky and k-kill Alonzo . . .” He shrugged. “Well, we’ll just h-have to catch them up.”

Lady Giulietta opened her mouth to object.

“It’s d-decided.”

“You’re the duke,” she said.

“And you’re the n-next d-duchess.”

“That’s just a label,” she said furiously. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Marco smiled at her. “S-see,” he said. “You’re learning. You could even r-reintroduce your b-beloved republic if you w-want to cause r-real chaos. Now let us d-dismount and you can t-take two of the knights, and all the horses. With replacements you c-can d-definitely outride h-him. We’ll m-make s-sure of it.”

“Frederick should go with her,” Tycho said.

They both turned round to look at him.

“I’d t-thought of s-sending you.”

“Frederick and the krieghund,” Tycho said firmly. “They will die to protect her, and even if they wouldn’t, they’d die to protect Leo.”

“S-so would y-you.”

“There are more of them.”

Marco looked at him sadly. “You’ve d-decided t-then?”

“Don’t worry,” Tycho told Giulietta. “We’ll deal with Alonzo and catch you up afterwards. Wait for us at Castelnuovo.” He named the port where they’d landed. The one the locals called Sveti Stefan.

“Tycho . . .”

“If I may . . .?” Tycho said.

Marco edged his horse forward to let Tycho take his place alongside Giulietta. Reaching across, Tycho took her hand and she closed her mailed fingers on his. She’s changed and so have you . . . I can do this, Tycho told himself. I can say goodbye well enough to let her ride away.

Giulietta had tears in her eyes.

Tycho felt his own spill over and tightened his fingers, not trusting himself to speak. When he looked up, Giulietta was staring at him.

“I didn’t know you could cry.”

Tycho let go her hand and reined in his mount, falling back until he was next to Frederick. “You’re to go with Giulietta,” he told the princeling.

“I’ll stay and fight . . .”

“Those are Marco’s orders. You take the krieghund and the horses and ride for the coast as fast as you can. We do everything we can to buy Giulietta and her son time.”

“This is suicide.” Frederick looked to where Lady Giulietta sat stiff-backed next to her cousin. “Does she realise you’ll all die?”

“I’ve told her we’ll meet at Sveti Stefan.”

“And she believed you?”

Personally, Tycho doubted it.