Irenicon (34 page)
Every normally successful Concordian advance was undone with such strange ease that each unit was more cautious than the last. But still the odds were weighted heavily in Concord’s favor—and then blind luck lent a hand. A burning siege tower managed to reach the wall and drop its drawbridge. Though most of the crew was struck down, some survived to run along the wall to the northern gate, the focus of the battle. At the same moment another tower to the east fell into a concealed trench and tottered, creaking, like an old tree in a forest, then crashed against the wall; though its crew was crushed to death, soldiers behind quickly clambered up the accidental bridge to join the struggle at the gate.
The hidden pikemen vanished suddenly, and sensing weakness, more infantry rushed the barbican and managed to lift the portcullis—it jammed less than halfway up but left space enough for the Concord men to squeeze into the town in ones and twos. “Now, by God, now! Show no mercy!” the new general whooped. “To the breach!”
Strangely, no Rasenneisi attempted to stop them.
They rushed into the streets, bawling challenges, howling like wolves. By tradition, when Concord soldiers first breached a besieged town, they abandoned their normal strict military order
for a short carnival of brutality. After a taste of anarchy, the unfortunate town’s population would beg for martial law to be imposed. From a commander’s point of view, the worse the soldiers behaved, the better; it was that wilding hour that veterans reminisced over, bragged about, and prayed for.
The pack spread out, prowling for townsfolk, and found . . .
Nothing.
Just like Rasenna’s walls, the streets ignored them. The men’s great excitement and the narrowness of the steep alleys made orderly advancement impossible. On every street corner, a Madonna glared down, not a Mother of Mercy but a vengeful She-Devil, reproachfully displaying the slain babe at her breast. Under that pitiless, omnipresent gaze, penned into the restricted streets and isolated by the impenetrable mist and an imperious silence, wolves became sheep.
The town must be abandoned
, the young soldier concluded.
The gate had been defended just long enough for the rest to escape. Clever ploy.
Something came out of the mist; he swiped his sword but missed—
Just a pigeon
. He laughed nervously, thankful that the mist hid his blushes from the others.
Then he realized there were no others.
He retraced his steps, holding his blade up to the whiteness. He wasn’t lost; that was something: he recognized this particular four-alley intersection. He looked down each one for his colleagues.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.
He listened—was that something? There was a fluttering sound, then silence. More pigeons?
Too late, he thought to look up.
The bandieratori were patient. They let the Concordians get drawn out before picking them off; Uggeri’s decina was especially effective at this. Occasional screams were
allowed
to be heard, which made them all the more chilling. The streets, the fog, and the silence
were the Rasenneisi’s allies in this battle. Some soldiers, scared into witlessness, dropped their swords and waited for the end; others roared challenges into the mist and ran, slashing at the fearful emptiness. Concordian fell on Concordian, crying
Mercy
, crying
Traitor
, just crying.
Others ran, more terrified than ever in their lives.
The wheezing soldier turned corner after corner until, quite by accident, he reached the river. He was a veteran of Gubbio, of Veii; to die in Rasenna of all places—it didn’t make sense! In the middle of the bridge, a hooded figure crouched over a curious device. The soldier uttered a despairing oath, finally beginning to understand: Rasenna had
engineers
! Why hadn’t the Apprentices warned them?
He turned around and saw what was impossible to see in between the clustered towers: each of the towers was connected in a great web of rope bridges, and they were all manned by bandieratori turned archers, shooting deadly darts into the mist below.
He made an especially easy target.
A week passed before the Ariminumese dared venture from their walls. Where the condottieri camp had been, they found a newly erected gallows, and under a wooden sign with the word “Traitors” burned into it were Captain Scarpelli and a dog, both hanged by the neck.
The doge understood the dog was his proxy and trembled. The only question was how long before the condottiere returned for justice.
The Hawk’s Company, justly famed throughout the peninsula for its speed, moved quickly, but for once John Acuto did not lead the march. In the last carriage of the baggage train Sofia watched helplessly as the old bull deteriorated by the hour. He demanded water but could not drink; he demanded paper to write but could not hold
a quill steady. Finally, sinking in and out of delirium, he lay back and surrendered to fevered memory.
“She asked me what I hoped to earn, Sofia, and when I said I’d be rich, she accused me of abandoning her for Fortune. I told her I’d write, but she turned her back on me. You know women—Fortune’s jealous, brooks no rival lovers. She stopped answering my letters!”
“You’re tiring yourself, General,” Sofia said. “Hush.”
“My boy, Harry, came to me—that was later. He followed me to Etruria to tell me that after I left, Plague made a cuckold of me. Or was it Fortune? She stole her, then tired of me . . . she stopped answering my letters . . .”
Yuri rode with Levi up to the carriage. “Thought you’d want to know, Sofia. We’re in sight,” Levi told her.
She heard the strange note in Levi’s voice. “What is it?”
“It’s not how I remember.”
“You tolded me it was poor!” said Yuri reproachfully.
She leaped down from the cart. “I want to see.”
The First Apprentice placidly studied the battle though his magnifier. “General, it’s time to pull your men back.”
“But my Lord, we’ve breached—I mean to say, we’re
winning
!”
“The opening round goes to Rasenna. It’s just that nobody’s escaped to tell you yet. Here—look east.” He thrust the scope at the general. “
East
, I said!”
“Why—it’s an army!” the general said.
“Well deduced, General! You certainly
are
earning that promotion.”
“Perhaps it is our allies, come to lend aid?”
“The Ariminumese don’t fight their own battles—they’re certainly not going to fight ours. Look at the Standard.”
“Ah.” The new general paled noticeably and unconsciously took a step back. “Perhaps we
should
retreat to a better position. Of course we can defeat the Hawk’s Company again, but if they meet us here—”
“Yes, we will be under siege ourselves; rather ironic. But there’s nothing for it. My colleagues shall deal with Rasenna; you deal with John Acuto.”
The general saluted. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Keep our horses ready. We will need a quick exit.”
And the three Apprentices marched into the fray, and their colors were soon obscured by the mist and smoke.
Only the towers were the same. Sofia didn’t know which she felt more, dread or elation. Rasenna’s walls were standing proud and strong and keeping a Concordian legion at bay. If this was the engineer’s work, what was its end? What was the point of further subterfuge if he was in league with the Apprentices? Perhaps Rasenna was only a pawn in a larger game and this was about reclaiming his Family title from the Apprentices.
She knew only one thing for certain. When the Darkness touched her, she realized that her heart was a traitor. Her choice now was whether to betray her heart or Rasenna.
“I have to get in there,” she said.
“Impossible.” Levi pointed. “Look, they’re turning. They’ve seen us.”
The forces that had not yet been committed were maneuvering away from the walls; the rest were pulling back slowly.
“Attacking their rear is all we can do for Rasenna now.”
“That’s plenty,” said Yuri.
“I’m surprised Rasenna’s withstood this long—most towns would’ve surrendered already.”
“Not Rasenna. I need to get in!”
“Sofia, we can’t just charge at them. Our best tactic is to draw them away.”
“It can’t wait that long. I have to get in there or there won’t be a Rasenna to help. I’ve
seen
it, Levi! Another Wave is coming, and I’ve got to stop it!”
Clad in his hauberk, John Acuto climbed from the carriage. “How?” he growled.
“I don’t know yet, but I know I have to get in there to do it. Please believe me, General!”
“Sofia, we’re outnumbered three to one. Unless there are men in there to fight, men who’ll leave the safety of their walls to help us, we’ll be riding to our doom.”
“They’ll fight, Levi! Even if it’s just women and children left, Rasenna will fight.”
“So be it. I’ll clear you a path, Contessa.”
Levi dismounted. “This is madness. General; you are in no condition to ride.”
“I’m in no condition to be living at all. Let me leave life as I should have lived it, as a knight!”
“You’re fortunate to still be alive.”
“Damn it, Fortune has nothing to do with it! We make our own fortunes for good or ill. All the excuses we use—Concord, money, kings—it’s nonsense. Nothing stops a man but himself. We can be
knights
, Levi! Knights!”
Levi didn’t argue, and Yuri gave a shrug. “Why not?” They both saw the strength it took the old bull to keep standing.
“Then let me help you, General.”
Once in full armor and heaved into the saddle, Acuto said quietly, “This needn’t be pure folly. A nice rain of arrowheads will puncture their confidence, so get the Welsh lads out first. I’ll lead the cavalry, and we’ll smash their lines wide open.”
Levi passed the order on and then rode up to the line to get a better look at the Concordians. Sofia rode up behind him.
“Was a doomed charge in the five-year plan?”
Levi shrugged. “Don’t underestimate condottieri pride. Treachery beat us at Tagliacozzo. You’re going to see how we do in a fair fight.”
“Why are
you
doing this, Levi? For the money?”
Levi laughed. “Not this time. This
is
Etruria’s fight. Scarpelli might have been right, chivalry may be a myth, but look at the old bull: half dead already and still ready to fight. If it’s a myth, then what a myth! If there’s nowhere left in Etruria for condottieri, I suppose
I’ll be a knight, fighting for lost causes.” Levi rabbit-punched her arm. “And fair damsels like you.”
Sofia smiled thinly and said nothing.
“Are you afraid we won’t break through?”
“I’m afraid of what I’ll find in there.”
Levi touched her shoulder, gently this time. “Whatever it is, Contessa, you’re equal to it.”
In the shadow of the walls the press of dying men was bitter. Their cries did not distract the Apprentices. Nothing distracted them.
Morning retreated before noon, and dark clouds gathered in the north, blown in on the same wind that had begun to scatter the mist.
Arrows flew by from both directions as they climbed up a fallen siege tower and leaped down onto the walls. For the first time, Bernoulli’s heirs looked upon Rasenna.
“Handsome bridge,” said the Second Apprentice.
“That’s where the Captain will be,” said the man in red. “I must congratulate him. The Contessa’s sure to be protecting the fail-safe. Remember, destroying her is more important than destroying it. It’ll be on a tall building somewhere.”
“There,” said the Second Apprentice, pointing, “that tower on the northside slope with the orange trees.”
As Sofia rode back to the line, John Acuto spurred his horse forward, winking at her as he passed. The men watched as he stopped to look down at the Concordian Army.
After a moment, he turned back and unsheathed his sword. “Impressed?”
“No!” the Company roared mightily.
“Then look again!” he roared back, and waited, letting an uneasy silence spread over the line.
“Look: see their famous discipline, their numbers, and their engines. That is what you face. If you are afraid, this is what you fear. So look again. Are you impressed?”
There was no answering roar this time, and the general spit. “I’m not impressed. Concord’s strength is drills, numbers, machines, and I’m not impressed because I know the quality of the men they face. You may have forgotten; look at the man next to you. Thank the Virgin that you will not face
that
man in battle! Look at the ranks of knights behind you! Thank the Virgin that you will not face
them
! You, my men,
you
impress me. If you faced that knight, these ranks, this company, you would be wise to fear.
But you do not!
”
He pointed his sword down at the Concordians. “These are slaves! They know condottieri who surrender and retreat. They have never faced knights who fight and win! Do they even remember what a charge sounds like? By God, we’ll show them!”
The Company’s roar was like thunder, thunder soon joined by the rumble of a thousand horses advancing.
The bandieratori capos went to the northern wall to discover why the Concordians were not attacking.
“They’re retreating,” Pedro explained morosely.
“Porca Madonna!”
Uggeri said.
“What’s the problem? We got them on the run.”
Uggeri looked at Mule scathingly. “It’s disastrous.” He too had been party to the Doctor’s planning; stalling the Concordian Army’s machinery was only half of a plan that relied on attrition and terror: Giovanni and his engineers would repulse forays during the day, and decini would “raid” the Concordian lines by night. This sudden withdrawal was more than a surprise; it might be a fatal setback.
“Doc thought we could sap their strength for days. What do we do now?”
“Listen,” said Pedro.
On the walls, the ripples in the buckets grew until they tipped over.
“Sappers?” shouted Mule.
Pedro turned the magnifier east. “I don’t think so.”
A wall of gleaming silver filled and then spilled over the horizon. The legion turned to meet it, but the maneuver wasn’t executed with typical precision—it was impossible to assemble a unified line under fire from Rasenna’s walls. By the time they turned, the approaching condottieri were in ballista and archer range.
He focused on the cavalry’s first row. The rider in front looked like a charging bull, but something behind him had caught Pedro’s eye—a banner, black and gold. He knew it well. It was the banner depicted in the Vanzetti crest, their finest piece of work.
He searched among the debris on the wall until he found what he was looking for, dragged loose the discarded grappling hook, hurled it over the wall, and pulled the attached rope taut around a merlon.
“Contessa!” he cried, but his voice was lost in the growing clamor. The hook had landed in front of the embankment just as the first riders reached it.
There was no way she could hear him unless—
“Hey!” Mule exclaimed as Pedro snatched his banner.
The cavalry crashed into the Concordian lines, spears snapping, pikes driving into breasts of horse and man, hooves crushing helmets and punching through armor. The wave of beast, man, and steel broke the line and poured through the breach.
Following in its wake, Sofia saw someone on the walls waving a banner. She read the signal and saw the lifeline. Ahead, the tumult of hacking, screaming bodies was fast approaching. She took her feet out of the stirrups and pulled herself up until she stood crouched on the saddle, holding the reigns loosely. As her horse leaped into the fray, she leaped too.
She caught the rope and hung there for a moment, looking down at the ground, which was churning with dying men. In the center,
John Acuto was slaughtering prodigiously before the Concordian pikemen took courage. And she watched, hot tears pouring unnoticed down her face, as the old bull dropped, skewered from all sides and with blood pouring from his lips like a stricken bull. Looking up, he caught her eye. His face was ecstatic. “See what I earned!” he bellowed, and then had done with the world, declining payment like a king.
Pedro helped Sofia over the top, and she bent down to catch her breath and wipe her face.
Then she looked up and she saw that the bandieratori lining the wall were southsiders and northsiders and they were all carrying the same flag, and she understood, as only a Rasenneisi could, that all had changed.
But there was no time to wait. “Pedro, there’s a Wave coming.”
“No, we’re blocking it.” Pedro handed her his spyglass. “Doc’s protecting the first transmitter, but Giovanni’s alone on the bridge.”
Now that she looked more closely Sofia could see that Tower Bardini was the hub of the rope bridges and that two black ink stains were fighting their way toward it. The mist was blowing away, and with it the Rasenneisi’s advantage. With nowhere to hide, bandieratori became embroiled in fatally brief duels with the black specters.
She looked down at the bridge and saw a hooded figure. Her heart skipped a beat and then skipped again when in Piazza Luna she saw another ink stain, red like blood, marching calmly toward the bridge. A familiar cold chill crept over her.
“The Doc can take care of himself,” Pedro said quietly.
Mule took back his flag from Pedro. “I’m coming with you, Contessa.”
She flinched; she had not expected to be addressed that way again. The bandieratori were looking at her, familiar faces like Mule’s, new ones like Uggeri’s, but all with the same expectation and the same loyalty. She was their Contessa still, whatever flag they now carried.
“I’ll need a new banner. This one’s too old,” she said, and threw down her family colors.
In the silence, a boy stepped forward. “Take mine.”
“The Hawk’s Company fights for Rasenna now,” Sofia said. “They need our help.”
“We know what to do,” said Uggeri.
“Good.” She turned to Pedro. “Keep attacking the Concordian rear; throw everything you’ve got at them. There’ll be no second chances.”
She was right. This was the type of fight Concordians excelled at, and it wasn’t long before they were presenting the condottieri with a closely packed line of impermeable advancing steel.
After John Acuto fell, Levi took up the Standard and rallied the Company. The Concordians made a renewed effort and pushed them back from the wall. In the chaos, Levi was thrown from his rearing horse. He left the Standard where it fell, remounted, and turned tail, and the majority of the Hawk’s cavalry followed in disarray.
Sensing a rout, the Concordians broke their newly formed lines to pursue. General Luparelli would have recognized the old ploy, but his replacement, leading the charge, did not.
The condottieri suddenly spun around and recharged their pursuers, riding them down in a maelstrom of mud and blood and flailing hooves. The maneuver gave them space, but the advantage could be only temporary: in a grinding competition of strength, inevitably numbers would tell.
The Doctor, studying the inexorable approach of the two Apprentices, began to cut the ropes leading to Tower Bardini. There were archers stationed in the surrounding towers, but the Apprentices’ speed and their billowing robes, yellow and orange, made them impossible targets.
The Third Apprentice was getting closer. The boy, fast as a wharf rat, climbed along the rope to get to the bandieratoro firing on him from a nearby tower, advancing fearlessly in the face of the onslaught of arrows. He reached the tower and snatched the
bandieratoro’s bow away, and the Doctor watched, lips tight, as the Rasenneisi fell screaming from the tower. When he looked back, the boy had vanished behind the slanted roof.
He turned and scanned in all directions for the yellow, recognizing the distraction for what it was too late. An orange shape crashed into his side and as he was sent sprawling, his flag went over the edge. In the center of swirling orange robes the Second Apprentice’s face was inhumanly calm as he watched the Doctor get to his feet.
The Doctor didn’t wait but leaped at the youth; a moment later, he went crashing down onto the table. As he got up, the Apprentice kicked him hard in the chest and sent him skidding to the tower’s edge. He stopped himself in time and in desperation picked up an orange-tree pot, but before he could throw it, the Apprentice lunged forward and jabbed him in the neck. The Doctor gagged and released the pot. It smashed down on his own head.
The Apprentice drew a dagger but instead of finishing off the unconscious Doctor turned his attention to the transmitter. A white shape leaped from nowhere with an angry whine, and there was a ripping sound as the Apprentice pried Cat off his face and flung it from the tower. Cat caught a banner hanging from a neighbor’s tower and scrambled inside, its moment of heroism over.
But before the Apprentice had recovered his equanimity, the Doctor dived at him, and the young man sidestepped just as the Doctor had hoped he would—he hadn’t been going for the man. His precipitous fall over the edge of the tower was halted suddenly as the cape snapped taut, and the Doctor climbed back up until he reached the strangling Apprentice and then let himself fall again, still holding the cape. The Apprentice’s face slammed into stone, and the Doctor scrambled up over the unconscious body and sat down hard, breathing strenuously, and mumbled, “Thanks, Cat.”
The Twelfth Legion pushed until they were out of range of Rasenna’s wall. With that danger out of the way, it was easier to sustain order, though Pedro did all he could to disrupt it by flooding the remaining canals.
Levi’s horse had been killed, and Yuri’s too, and now they fought side by side, trying to hold the hard-pressed line together. Both were conscious what a disaster a true rout would be.
“Levi,” cried Yuri, “look!”
And the bandieratori of Rasenna came marching from the gate, spinning their flags like reapers at harvest. This was no mad charge; instead they assembled three rows deep and advanced steadily, each row spinning flags in a different rhythm. The motion all together was like an approaching wave, unbreakable and unstoppable.
“Madonna!”
Levi whooped. “Our Contessa came through!”
When the last rope he had to cut twitched, the Doctor leaped to his feet and shouted, “Come on!”
A sudden tightness in his chest made him gasp, and he glanced down. An arrowhead stuck out from his chest, and as he watched, it was joined by another. He turned just as the Third Apprentice fired again.
The Doctor caught the arrow and roared, “Come fight like a man!”
The boy shook his head and calmly nocked another arrow.
“You don’t die easy, do you, Doctor Bardini?” said a strangled voice behind him.
The Doctor turned and watched helplessly as the Second Apprentice cut the cord, then cast the transmitter from the tower. He heard the impact it made just as another arrow struck his back. He lurched toward the side of the tower.
When the boy drew closer to deliver the killing shot, the Second Apprentice hissed at him, “Torbidda, why are you still here? It’s coming! Go. I’ll follow if I can. If I can’t, it doesn’t matter.”
“What about the First Apprentice? If the Contessa’s not here, she must be on the bridge.”
“I’ll help him, but don’t worry about us. Our time is over. You know what to do.”
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“We are but vessels,” said the boy, and without a backward glance scrambled away on the rope.
Giovanni double-checked the readings and realized that the transmitter had stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Tower Bardini.
“Captain Giovanni,” said a tuneless voice. The First Apprentice was leaning against the Lion, watching him with a smile.
“My Lord,” he said, maneuvering himself in front of the machine as the man in red approached.
“I see you don’t lack for conviction anymore.”
“I’m a Rasenneisi now. They don’t come lukewarm.” Giovanni swung a fist, but the man in red slapped it and him aside in one easy motion. Giovanni’s head struck the balustrade. He didn’t get up.
The First Apprentice examined the apparatus Giovanni had failed to conceal. Professional interest satisfied, he unplugged the Whistler and shattered it on the stones.
“Looks like rain,” he said wistfully.
Sofia and Mule raced toward the river, first topside and then twisting through the alleys. The sounds of battle outside the walls, the clash of metal and the screams of the dying, filled the air, but the streets were eerily empty. Every man, woman, and child of Rasenna was either defending the walls or outside them, having joined the battle.
Even as the Hawk’s Company rallied, the legion’s rear ranks were forced to turn once more and defend themselves against this second assault. Even veterans had never faced fighters or tactics like these: not men but a wall of dancing color, and the sounds attacking their ears were not war cries but a hypnotic
whoopwhoopwhoop
of spinning flags. Without warning the rhythm would get faster, and a bandieratoro would burst though the red and gold to attack, then vanish behind the color again, leaving only cries of agony as the flags slowed to a soothing
whoopwhoopwhoop
.
And for the first time in two decades, squeezed between condottieri and bandieratori, the strength of a Concordian legion broke.
On Tower Bardini, the Second Apprentice touched his cheek as a raindrop stuck. The water mingled with the bloody claw marks. “Perfect. We’ll all be wet soon. Can you hear the rumble, Doctor? Can you feel it?”
The Doctor groaned.
“I pray you will excuse me. I must assist my colleague.” The young man leaned his weight on the Doctor’s neck and pressed down. “But don’t worry. You won’t miss a thing. I’ll leave you here, where you can see it coming.”
The Doctor looked down on the bridge, and something familiar caught his eye: a banner he hadn’t seen for twenty years.
Madonna
, they could win this fight yet!
He grabbed and twisted the Apprentice’s foot until it cracked, then pushed himself up with a roar and wrapped his arms around the man. “You won’t steal her again!”
But it was like trying to grasp water: the Apprentice twisted in his grasp until he had only a weak one-arm choke hold. It wasn’t enough. Laughing as he did it, the Apprentice stabbed down and stabbed again, but as the dagger sank into the Doctor’s flank, as his blood spilled, still he held on. An Apprentice could fight, but the Doctor could suffer.
“You can’t stop me, old fool. You can barely stand,” the youth said mockingly.
The Doctor took a step back into empty air, dragging the Apprentice with him. The air howled as it passed by, and the workshop rooftop hurtled toward them, the Apprentice struggling like a demon while the Doctor held him tightly, eyes closed, still as the world moved. They crashed through slate and into the boards an army had trained upon, spilling blood together on the wood shavings, the Second Apprentice’s robes turning red at last.
The Doctor smiled. It was an inelegant death and yet a good one.
When Sofia and Mule reached Piazza Luna, the rain was falling more heavily. It was still early, but it was getting dark, and it wasn’t the storm clouds. Sofia did not notice the body covered in a golden shroud; her attention was solely on the bridge, where
he
was waiting. And the question: If a Wave
was
coming, why was he here?
