The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,99

born.

The stars above the camp were high and bright, the constellations clear and increasingly familiar after a couple of years in this strange world. The moon was behind cloud and Tycho dipped his head in homage to Amelia’s goddess, wondering where the Nubian was.

On her way to the far south and home? Already returning to Venice? Or out there somewhere, watching? He wouldn’t put that past her. He didn’t include Amelia’s goddess in those he didn’t believe in. Tycho liked deities he could see and he could see the moon even when she was hidden.

Tycho made himself wait for the footsteps that drew near and then faltered, turned away and came back again. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Prince Frederick jumped as if ambushed.

“Always hard to sleep the night before a battle,” Tycho said. “Well, I find it hard. You might be better?”

Frederick shook his head. “You think tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Tycho assured him.

“I’m glad,” Frederick said. “I find waiting . . .”

“Everyone does. Come dawn Marco’s archers will loose their fire arrows and what choice will Alonzo have? Come out and fight or stay inside and burn.”

“Fire arrows?”

“What else? I won’t be able to join you until darkness falls.”

“If the battle takes that long . . .”

If it doesn’t, Tycho thought, you’ll have lost.

Numbers meant little enough in a battle like this. The Red Crucifers might be outnumbered but they were hardened soldiers, while half of Marco’s army were recent recruits, simply there to be killed. The Nicoletti and Castellani would die well for their duke – but they would die. The battle would turn on the bravery of Marco’s knights and archers, and Alonzo had knights and archers of his own. If the Red Cathedral were stone Alonzo could simply wait his besiegers out, watching them starve while his men hid inside. But it was wood and Marco’s secret plan involved fire arrows. Tycho was surprised Frederick hadn’t worked it out for himself.

If Alonzo could keep them from his walls he could drag this out for days. The Venetian forces had brought little enough food and found almost nothing in the village when they arrived. If Tycho were Alonzo he’d do everything to drive Marco’s archers back. If he were Marco he’d go for a fast and bloody victory.

“Remind Marco to tell his men to stay away from the moat.”

“Why?” Frederick asked.

“There are monsters in the water.”

“Why don’t you remind him?”

Tycho glanced to the east and knew dawn was close, the night had passed beyond the black-thread moment and he would soon need to hide. Giulietta’s life was in her own and this boy’s hands. “Ever been in a real battle?”

“Skirmishes only. Why?”

“Afraid to die?”

“After Annemarie died it was all I wanted. Now,” he glanced at Giulietta’s tent, “I want to live.”

Serves me right for asking. “A simpleton duke, a raw boy and a man so brave he’s afraid of daylight. What damsel could hope for braver champions?”

Frederick shot him an uncertain glance.

“Ignore me,” Tycho said. “She does.”

Frederick nodded doubtfully. He looked young for his seventeen years and scared at where he found himself. Tycho had to remind himself this was a krieghund. No, with Leopold’s death, this was the krieghund, and his follower would die to the last man at his orders. “You’ll carry the WolfeSelle?”

“You think I should?”

“You’re the master of the Wolf Brothers. Until Leo is big enough the sword is yours to carry in battle. Of course you should . . . I saw Giulietta.”

The prince looked at him.

“We talked,” Tycho said. “Things change.” He left the boy standing there and made a rapid circle of Marco’s camp, judging its defences. Not a single sentry saw him. Tycho didn’t expect them to.

40

“How do you extract a s-snail from his s-shell?”

Lady Giulietta looked at her cousin, wondering if it was a riddle or a serious question. “Marco?”

“If you use a p-pin he hides. Of course, you can s-stamp on h-him, b-but then you have lots of p-pieces of shell.” Marco grinned. “You c-cook him. M-mother taught me that.”

“But then it won’t be alive.”

“Not b-by the end,” Marco agreed, freeing his sword. “Now, y-you must let the men see you.” He gripped Giulietta’s reins and walked his horse forward so they rode a dozen paces in front of the army as it began to move. Prince Frederick immediately kicked his spurs and positioned himself on her other side.

“Ahh,” Marco said. “Her faithful hound.”

Frederick scowled. The WolfeSelle had a new handle of white leather wound with gold wire and a scabbard