blade struck more dark sparks from Aldrick's armor, cutting through it like paper. The thrust missed, though it drew blood in a long scarlet line across Aldrick's belly. Aldrick recovered, parrying another thrust, and another, while Pirellus followed him up with determined strokes.
The swordsman seemed, to Amara, to be waiting for something. It became apparent what, in the next few seconds. Blood, running over Pirellus's eye, forced him to blink it closed, and he snapped his head to one side in an effort to clear it.
In that moment, the swordsman moved. Aldrick slipped inside the Parcian's slow thrust and lashed out with his foot in a short, hard kick, a simple stomp, as though he'd been driving a spade into the earth. But it wasn't a
spade his boot hit. It was Pirellus's already wounded knee. The bones broke with a clean, sharp crack, and Aldrick drove his shoulder into Pirellus's, throwing him to one side.
The Knight Commander's face showed nothing but determination, but as he stumbled, he put weight on his knee, and it simply could not support his body any longer. He crumpled to the ground, turning for another cut at Aldrick as the swordsman stepped toward him.
Aldrick parried the blow aside with casual power, more indigo sparks erupting.
Then, with a step to one side and a swift cut, he took Pirellus's head from his shoulders.
Blood spurted in an arch as the Knight Commander's body fell to the stones of the courtyard. His head rolled to a stop several yards away. His body lay twitching, his sword arm, even in death, slashing left and right.
Amara stared at the fallen Knight in horror, as her instincts screamed at her, forced her to remember that Fidelias was still on the move and had not been stopped. She rose, uncertain what she could do to stop what was happening in the courtyard. Aldrick turned on a heel and, without even pausing, began to stalk, alone, toward the legionares guarding the gates.
Before he could reach them, the wood of the barricade groaned, let out a tortured scream, and began to warp and writhe. Splinters and shards of wood exploded out, sending legionares reeling back from them in stunned horror. Then the wood itself began to writhe and move, the legs of tables twisting and clutching, planks shattering, the wagon letting out a tortured scream and then collapsing upon itself.
The Marat, on the other side, began to shove hard against the barricade, and without the hastily constructed stability of the various pieces, the barricade itself began to wobble and crumble in.
Fidelias appeared, not far from Aldrick, and then turned to signal one of the Knights in the air. The man swept down and grabbed Fidelias beneath the arms, lifting him back to the roof of the barracks, and Aldrick ex Gladius stepped over Pirellus's fallen corpse to lead the other handful of mercenaries after them.
The legionares at the gate formed up to face the incoming Marat, but the invaders leapt on them with an unyielding savagery and began to drive the men near the gates back step by slow step.
Amara rose and rushed into the stable to shout to the archers, "Take up
a shield and sword! Hold the gate!" Men rushed about in the stable's interior, taking up weapons and rushing outside to join the defense at the gate.
When Amara returned to Bernard, he had regained his feet. "What's happening?"
"Their Knights came in. We bloodied them, but they managed to weaken the barricade. Pirellus is dead." She looked at him. "I'm not a soldier. What do we do?"
"Giraldi," Bernard said. "Get to Giraldi. He'll send more men to reinforce the gates. Go, I'm not up to running yet."
Amara nodded, and fled, sprinting across the courtyard and up the steps to the wall. The fighting there was more hectic, and she stepped over the body of a Marat, proof that they had gained purchase on the wall at least once.
"Giraldi!" she shouted, when she reached the command area over the gates. "Where are you?"
A grim Legion shieldman, his face half-masked in blood turned to her. It was Giraldi, his eyes calm despite the bloodied sword in his hands. "Countess? You said you were looking for the hordemaster. And there he is, finally," grunted Giraldi. "There, see?"
"It doesn't matter," Amara said, her voice numb. "Pirellus is dead."
"Crows," Giraldi said, but his voice was too tired for it to be much of an oath. "Just seems like someone should pay him back for this."