Chapter XII. The Battle of Augustin
XII
THE BATTLE OF AUGUSTIN
“ALL HELL brOKE loose then.”
Gabriel’s stare was fixed on the chymical globe, his voice low and deep.
“The gate was rising, the once-trapped soldiers now flooding through, Joaquin and Dior among them. I think I heard her roar my name amid the cannon fire and screams. But I was deaf to all at that point; bloodshot eyes drifting up from Phoebe’s corpse to the monstress who’d decapitated her.
“Raising her bloody scythe, Kestrel smiled.
“‘All shall kneel.’
“Madness took me at that moment. I’d lost Valor in my almost-fall, hands empty now. But reaching to my belt, I drew my twice-broken blade from her sheath. Lightning gleamed on cracked starsteel, Ashdrinker’s broken silver song filled my mind.
“Live esh’nadai d-dov nem da.
“And I threw myself at the Maiden.
“All about us, Dead fought the living, men fled for their lives or stood their ground or shit their britches and wailed for Mama.
A thousand stories, a thousand little wars, each with victor and vanquished.
But for Kestrel and I, there were only two, colliding in that storm of cannon blasts and splintering stone, marble flesh against broken blade, iron heart versus a heart that had perhaps taken one blow too many.
“Four tablespoons of b-b-buhbuhbutter …
“I can’t recall the ebb and flow, nor recount the blow for blow.
She blooded me twice, I gifted her the same, Ashdrinker ringing as she bit Kestrel’s plate, her blade cracking further with each blow.
At the last, the Maiden caught me, burying her longblade in my belly.
But unmoored, unmade, for the bride I’d lost, the lover dead at my feet, I stepped forward, pushing myself deeper on her sword and wrapping my hand about her throat.
“‘I’ll see you in h—’
“The blast struck the wall beside us. Blinding. Deafening. The cannoneers up on the battlements of Rive C?ur were still firing into their own troops, desperate to hold back that flood. And one of their shots had found us.
“We were blown apart, Kestrel and I; her back into the gatehouse wall, and me over the shattered railing. I fell twenty feet, struck the rocky slope of the northern bank, feeling something break inside. And then I was rolling, crashing down the snow-clad stones toward the Béni below. It could’ve been worse, I suppose—a straight fall onto solid ice from that height would’ve splashed me like a dropped bottle.
But as it was, I was still a broken mess by the time I tumbled to rest fifty feet below.
“Ashdrinker lay on the ice beside me, a few feet from my outstretched hand. But I could do nothing but gasp and watch the battle above. A few thousand had made it back through the gates, the Dead held off by a valiant rearguard action led by little Lieutenant Deveraux. But those defenders had been engulfed now, a horde of wretched pouring over Lastbridge. Someone had tried to seal the city again, but enough corpses now clogged the entrance that the gate couldn’t fall. And through that breach, the Dead came.
“Flat on my back, struggling just to breathe, I stared into the heavens above. I remembered my cousin’s words—that the Almighty’s hand was felt on this earth through the work of men like me. And I cursed God for a fool.
“Because in the end, what good had I done?
“I could hear them coming; more wretched, scrabbling across the ice toward me. And there I lay, too broken to move. I supposed this was as good a place to die as any. Somewhere dark. Somewhere small. And looking up to those empty heavens, I spoke. To that father who never loved me as a son.
“‘I’ll not beg your forgiveness,’ I hissed. ‘I’ll not ask you for a single thing. But if I was ever your hand on this earth, I demand payment due.’
“The Dead were close enough to feel the chill off their skin. Smell the blood on their teeth. Opening wide at the sight of me, sprawled broken and helpless on the ice.
“‘You keep them s-safe. Or I’ll crawl up out of hell to choke you m-myself.’
“The first one struck, a little boy with moldy skin and ragged clothes, leaping atop my chest and sinking sticky teeth into my throat. I tried to fight, but another fell on me then, another, a pack of hungry dogs, tearing at the fallen lion.
“Dark closed in. Snow falling from the empty above. I saw her then. Untouched by the hands of fate or the teeth of time. Long black hair and deep black eyes and a shadow that weighed a ton. Astrid reached out for me, across the wall of death. Her hand touched my cheek. Her whisper broke my heart.
“Not yet.
“The shot rang in the night, silver and sizzling. The Dead boy atop me lifted his head, the others hissing hatred. More shots rang then, five in total, boom, boom, boom. And as the foulbloods fell away, beyond the cannon fire and screams I heard a familiar song.
“Shuffshuffshuff!
“Horns pierced the storm, mechwork bows humming, the foulbloods about me left in cinders.
Rolling onto my belly, gasping, bleeding, I squinted through the tumbling snows, eastward upriver.
And though the dark was near bottomless, my heart was lifted up to see them; thousands of my countrymen, marching down the frozen flows toward the beleaguered city.
They bore the standards of my house, twin lions and twin swords emblazoned on their tabards and in their hearts.
I could see a figure running at their fore, glowing silver, a brace of wheellocks across his chest and a greatsword of silversteel in his hand.
And at their head stood a lioness, burning sword raised high as she roared.
“‘Long live House de León! ’”
“But they left you.”
The Last Silversaint glanced up from the chymical globe.
“Lachlan,” Jean-Francois said. “Charlotte. They abandoned you to save their own skins.”
Gabriel shook his head then, eye alight as he sighed.
“I pity you, vampire.”
Silence rang in the cell, a long and hollow moment.
Jean-Francois glowered, tapping his quill on the page.
“The soldiers of León came onward,” Gabriel continued.
“Flaming arrows streaking through the night, infantry charging under cover of their archers. The Endless Legion were spilling into Rive C?ur now, and I could hear battle in the city beyond. But under Charlotte’s command, the army of León was flooding up through the broken defenses of the Nord.
I saw the stratagem in it, same as Lachie had used in Maergenn; the Dead were pushing into the C?ur, but our troops were cutting behind them, catching them between hammer and anvil.
And I realized we might still win this night.
“Red drool spilling through my fangs, I crawled up onto hands and knees. My bloody and broken fingers found Ashdrinker, closing slow about her hilt.
“Live esh’nadai-dov nem da.
“Four tablespspspspoons—
“‘Godssakes, Ash, g-give it a r-rest.’
“I slipped her home, trying to stand but collapsing to my knees. Strong hands grabbed me then, the glow of silver enveloping me like the arms of an old friend.
“The arms of a brother.
“‘Ye look like shite twice stepped in, ye crusty bastard,’ Lachlan smiled.
“‘I’m thirty-four, you little p-prick.’
“I grasped him tight, unable to even stand.
But Lachie held me upright, fumbling in his bandolier for his pipe.
As he loaded a dose, as the men of León poured up the banks through the shattered walls of Rive Nord, I fixed my eyes on their commander, stalking across the ice toward me.
She regarded me with a wry smile, dark eye flashing as she spoke.
“‘You laid it on a little thick, I thought.’
“I coughed bloody, raised a brow in question.
“Charlotte shook her head. ‘It’s the last page of our lives that matters most’?
“She reached into her hauberk and handed it back; the journal I’d gifted her at San Maximille, along with those parting words. The book was opened to the final page, and there upon the bloodstained parchment, I could see the message I’d writ for her.
“‘Do you love it enough to die for it? ’ I murmured.
“Charlotte smiled then. ‘You’d have made a good baron.’
“I drew her into a fierce embrace, tears burning in my eyes.
“‘You make a better one.’”
“Touching, de León.”
Jean-Francois turned a page, slowly dipping his quill.
“Most touching indeed.”
Chocolat eyes glanced across the river, one brow arched.
“And where were you during this heartwarming reunion, Mlle Castia?”
The Liathe hung her head, black curtains of hair tumbling over her face.
“Drenched in blood, Marquis. That gate had been opened by our hand, and every death thereafter was another stain on our soul. But as we re-formed upon a rooftop in Rive C?ur, our eyes were not really fixed on the drama below, but beyond.”
Celene’s gaze drifted to the river now, those black and rushing depths.
“While we’d spilled our blood in the gatehouse, one tiny drop of it had crawled farther into the Forever King’s tent. And while we had fought, it had watched.
“It was among strange company to be sure. For while tens of thousands of men and corpses did bloody battle but a few miles distant, the gathering within that tent was serene. The Forever King sat at table’s head with black gaze upturned, steering the battle through the minds of his brood.
His presence filled the room. Froze the very blood.
In the distance could be heard ringing horns, booming cannon, but that Court of Blood was utterly still.
“Baptiste Sa-Ismael sat by a brazier of softly burning coals, shivering in that terrible cold.
His husband sat beside him, tense as steel.
Aaron had been disarmed, but there was little point in binding him—he dare not raise a finger to a vampire as powerful as the First of the Five.
Instead, he sat with hands clasped, pale blue eyes on the porcelain angel opposite.