Marcus shook his head. Before he could reply, the first of the attackers scrambled up and over the barricade, musket held in one hand. Marcus sighted carefully and shot him in the chest as he stood up. He toppled backward without a cry, and two more men replaced him, clawing their way up the wagon and edging forward. They raised their weapons like spears, and for a moment Marcus thought there was something wrong with their eyes. They glowed red from the inside, like they’d been replaced with hot coals.
The sergeant finished loading, shouldered her weapon, and shot one of the men. The second one, dressed in Murnskai white instead of Vordanai blue, dropped off the wagon in front of her, and she slammed him in the face with the butt of her musket. Bone crunched, and he went down. But another three were already climbing, while musket-?fire went on and on from the buildings all around them. How many can be left? How can they keep coming?
One of the rankers, a small, mousy girl with long brown hair, shot wildly and missed. The other, a brawny teen built more like the sergeant, managed to catch one of the next wave of climbers, his head disintegrating in a shower of bone. The three on the wagon jumped down, coordinating with the ease of men who’d fought together before, though one was Vordanai and two Murnskai. The sergeant gave ground, parrying the stroke of a bayonet, and the two rankers stepped up beside her. Marcus drew his sword and joined them as two more attackers came over.
For a few moments, he lost his awareness of the larger situation in the heat of thrust and parry. The attackers were good, quick and well trained, working together smoothly and apparently completely without fear. Marcus got the better of one of them, getting around his bayonet and breaking his arm with the pommel of his saber. His wounded opponent closed in, taking a deep cut to the side but fouling Marcus’ stance, and he was forced to jump sideways to avoid being skewered by another. In the clear for a moment, he saw the sergeant bury her bayonet in one man’s chest only to be struck from behind—?the man whose jaw she’d broken had levered himself up and thrust his own weapon into the small of her back, heedless of his injury. She stiffened and stumbled forward, and two more attackers cut her down. The mousy girl was bleeding, her left arm hanging useless, and the other ranker was cornered. Her attacker tossed his weapon aside, grabbing her by both shoulders and pulling her close as if for a kiss.
Marcus charged, saber swinging. He chopped through one assailant, spun, and put his weight behind a swing that took the ranker’s attacker in the neck and nearly removed his head. He crumpled in a welter of blood, and Marcus spun back to the other ranker just in time to see the remaining enemy bat her weak parry aside and spear her in the gut with his bayonet. Shouting with rage, Marcus opened the man’s back with a downward slash, his dirty white Murnskai uniform turning crimson as it soaked up the gore. The mousy girl, hand pressed to her wound, slowly slid down the wall of the alley, leaving a smear of blood when she tried to prop herself up. He looked at him, and then behind him, and her mouth moved in a warning.
Marcus lurched sideways. Not far enough. A bayonet jabbed into his left shoulder, a hot spike of pain that left him breathless. He spun away, the weapon tearing free from the wound. His saber was already coming around, and he was expecting to see another man in dirty blue or white—
It was the ranker, the brawny teen, musket in hand. She’d just bayoneted him, and she was winding up for another try. Her eyes glowed bright enough to cast flickering shadows.
Marcus’ arm moved automatically. He sidestepped her thrust and rammed his saber home, blade going in just under her breastbone. She let her weapon drop and stumbled forward, hands grabbing at his arms. As her breath bubbled in her throat, she tried to pull herself up, raising her crimson eyes to stare into Marcus’. He felt paralyzed, one hand still on the saber embedded in her chest. The red light grew brighter, nearly filling the world.
Then the girl’s legs gave out, and the moment was broken. She collapsed, sliding off of Marcus’ sword, and flopped motionless in the dirt.
Saints and martyrs. For a moment all Marcus could see was red. What in the name of all the fucking saints was that? Why would she...?
The other ranker moaned. Marcus shook himself and went to her side. She was sitting up against the wall of the alley, breathing in quick, ragged gasps, one hand pressed over the hole in her gut, fingers already slick with blood. A glance told Marcus that she was finished, if not immediately from loss of blood then later, when the gut wound festered. But he crouched beside her anyway, shrugging out of his coat and laying it over her, gripping her free hand with his own. Her head turned toward him, eyes very wide, and he waited as her breath came slower and slower until she finally went still.
Behind him, from the direction of the river, there was a dull boom, much louder than a cannon-?shot. Marcus didn’t need to hear the sounds of stone tumbling into water to know what that meant. Janus’ men had blown the bridge.
The battle of Satinvol was over.
13
Winter
In the three days since the lupine assault, Winter had heard a few more howls in the night, but they hadn’t seen any sign that the animals were still close. Three Haeta had died in the attack, but those who’d been wounded had all recovered, thanks to Abraham’s talents. The revelation that Alex, too, was a “blessed one” had most of the Haeta behaving uncertainly around their three southern allies, but no one seemed ready to suggest that they turn against the power that had saved them all.
Leti increasingly deferred to Winter, asking her advice whenever they came to a fork in the path or needed to choose where to camp. It made Winter uncomfortable—?she had no right to be giving orders to the Haeta—?but it made things easier, especially since the rest of the young women obeyed Leti without question. They held their course northwest as best the terrain would allow, crossing another ridgeline and beginning a long, slow descent. The forest here hadn’t suffered as badly from the abnormal weather, and some of the trees were still green. Hunting got better, with the occasional deer added to their diet of rabbits and squirrels, and the scouts occasionally brought back wild vegetables.