Dark Triumph - LaFevers Robin (бесплатная регистрация книга .TXT) 📗
“The second defense we will hit is the massive chain they have strung across the narrow mouth of the bay. If we can cut that down, some of the smaller British ships will be able to sail directly into the town quay and disembark there.
“Last, the majority of our forces will strike here. Lazare and Graelon have developed a plan to immobilize most of the French troops.”
Lazare’s thin serious face breaks into a rare smile. “We will smoke them out,” he says.
It is a bold and desperate plan, and because of that it just might work. Under the cover of night, the charbonnerie will bolt the sleeping garrison in, then set fires at two of the windows and direct the smoke to fill the room. That will leave one window—the one with a twenty-foot drop outside the city walls—through which they can escape. Many broken bones will ensue, and not nearly enough deaths to make the men happy, but it is the fastest way to free the town of the troops’ presence so the British can land.
“Have your men catch some sleep,” Beast tells them. “We will move at midnight so we are in place well before dawn and can strike while the French are still unsuspecting.”
As the captains leave to give their men their orders, I move to stand beside Beast. “How do you do it?” I ask, my gaze on the departing men. “Send men to their deaths?”
Beast looks at me, surprised. “You know they will die?”
I nod without looking at him. “De Brosse and Lorril are marqued. As are a dozen other men, including Winnog and Jacques.”
“They are not all traitors.”
“No,” I agree. “They are not. Which is why I ask you: How do you do it?”
He is silent, then, as he watches the men he will send to their deaths. “I have sworn to support the duchess with my life. I do not ask of anyone that which I am not also willing to do. I believe that this cause is worth fighting for.”
“And is it?” I stare at Jacques, who is laughing with Samson and Bruno, boasting of his hoped-for valor in tomorrow’s mission.
Beast is silent a long moment before he speaks. “That is one of the hardest things, and we will not know until later. Sometimes much later.”
We are both quiet awhile, lost in our own separate thoughts. Finally, I turn to him. “What is my role in tomorrow’s assault?”
At his blank look, I fold my arms and scowl at him. “You cannot think I will sit here quietly and wait with the other women?” But I see that is exactly what he had hoped I would do. So he will not suspect how much his concern touches me, I mock him. “You cannot tell a handmaiden of Death that it is too dangerous.”
He sighs and runs his hand over his head. “I suppose I cannot, although I would like to.” He turns to me then, his piercing blue eyes studying me intently. “Could you see a marque on yourself, if there was one?”
“I do not know,” I admit, his question filling me with curiosity. “But you can be sure of one thing. I will not die until d’Albret is defeated. “
The two parties headed for the north of the bay are the first to leave, for they have the farthest to go. Sir Lannion is leading one group, Sir Lorril another. There are as many charbonnerie in the parties as soldiers, for the plan is not only to take out the men guarding the cannon, but also to find a way to disable the cannon themselves. We talk briefly about using them against the French, but there is no way to do that without also injuring the townspeople, and that we are not willing to do.
I cannot take my eyes off the cheerful, gangly Winnog and the faint black marque that sits on his forehead. Against my better judgment, I search out Lazare, who has also been placed on the cannon detail.
At my approach, he eyes me suspiciously. “What?” he asks.
“I want you to keep a close watch on Winnog.”
“Winnog? You are daft if you suspect him of any trickery or deceit.”
“I suspect him of no such thing,” I say sharply. “I tell you because he is marqued for death.”
Lazare’s dark eyes widen in both fear and awe. “You can see such a thing?”
“Yes, that is one of the powers my god has given me.”
Lazare’s gaze drifts upward as if he would look upon his own forehead. I bite back a smile. “You bear no marque,” I tell him. “I do not know if we can outsmart Death, but I am willing to try. Watch him carefully and keep him as safe as the mission allows.”
Lazare gives me a fierce smile. “If there is anyone who can outsmart Death, it is the Dark Mother. I will watch out for Winnog. And thank you.” Our eyes hold for a long moment, then he joins the main party, moving to stand near Winnog.
I cannot save them all, but the innocents, the ones who do not fully understand the duty they have signed up for, those I shall try to save.
My own party is next to leave. We are to travel west to where the river narrows just before reaching the town, where we will wrest control of the chain and lower it into the river so ships can get through. Sir de Brosse will lead our party, and while I hold no great love for him, it is an uncomfortable thing to see him marqued for death and say nothing. In the end, I cannot stay silent. Just before we leave, I approach him. He lifts one side of his mouth in a lazy smile. “My lady?”
“I just want to warn you to be careful,” I say.
He lays his hand on his chest. “Have my lady’s feelings for me softened?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Just do not do something stupid and get yourself killed.”
He frowns in puzzlement. “I will try not to, my lady.”
I give a curt nod, then fall back to check my knives and Ismae’s rondelles and make certain the crossbow is secure upon its chain. Before I can join the others, Beast draws near. “Are you certain you will not stay here and wait?”
“I am certain. Besides, I must stick close to Jacques and the others. I do not want to be the one to tell his mother that she has lost her son.”
He nods his understanding, and even though he is not marqued, my heart is in my throat, worried for him, for the danger that might find him while I am away from his side. His eyes have begun to burn with some eerie inner light so that they shine like twin blue flames.
He steps closer and places his hands on my arms. “We will meet again on the other side of this, for what is between us is not finished by half.”
“Does your god tell you this?”
He grins. “No—yours does.” Then he leans in and plants a quick, fierce kiss on my lips. A flash of heat and hunger and something so sweet I dare not name it, and then he is gone, striding off to lead the remainder of the men to town.
A quarter moon hangs in the sky, shedding just enough light that we can see where to put our feet but not so much as to expose us utterly, even once we step out of the shelter of the trees. We are most vulnerable while crossing the northbound road, but with the countryside occupied by French soldiers, most of the small folk keep to their beds with their doors and windows locked.
There are only eight of us, but still it feels like far too many. I have only ever fought alone or with Beast and Yannic at my side. I already miss the little jailor’s excellent aim and keen timing.
The night has leached all the color from our surroundings so that everything around us is cast in shades of silver and gray and black. The tall trees are but darker shadows and smudges against the sky. The greenlings blend in well with the others, and I am proud that they make no more noise than do de Brosse and his soldiers. Their nervousness and excitement hangs in a thick cloud around them.
We finally come to a stop on a hillock overlooking the bay. A small copse of trees sits atop it, like a crown. We tie our horses up here and I suggest Claude be set to guard them. He accepts the assignment grudgingly, but up here, out of harm’s way, he will be one less person I must watch after. Careful to stay hidden among the trees, we move to the edge of the hill, the hearty scrub grass cushioning our footsteps. Looking down, we can see the small, square rock shelter built for the chain winch. Beyond it, the water of the bay is flat and still and silver, like a mirror. The thick heavy chain spans the width of it, and on the other side, the full forest descends all the way to the water line.
