by Diane Nelson
Andreas muttered, "There better damn well be another entrance." He turned to Nico and asked, "What are you going to do?"
Nico gave him a feral grin and said, "Even the odds."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nico would have preferred not to have his targets split, the two men guarding the door, the other two off on a stairwell he couldn't see from his vantage point. While he appreciated Stefano's effort, in truth the boy had never been much of a tactician when it came to fighting. He'd been more likely to charm an opponent into joining him at a tavern than defeating him in a show of strength.
Measuring the heft of his sword, he appreciated the fine balance and honed edge. Counting off the seconds, he gave the cleric enough time to scurry out of sight. Sheathing his weapon, he boldly strode around the corner and casually approached the startled men.
Imperiously he walked to the door and raised a fist as if to pound on the wood, only to have a guard move between him and the reinforced door.
The man barked, "Hold."
Nico heard a sword being unsheathed behind him. To the man blocking his path he growled, "Do you know who I am?"
The guard nodded and gave a quick glance to his henchman. The Duke's men were not known for being simple-minded. It wouldn't take long for them to err on the side of their orders which were to protect the Duke's privacy at all costs.
He kept his left hand at his side, the stiletto palmed with the blade shielded by the sleeve of his tunic.
"I was told my brother visits the Duke." He waved his right hand in the direction of the stairwell. "I was directed to this location."
The guard grunted but refused to move. He stared up at Nico suspiciously.
"I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with my brother." He pressed close to the man, towering over him, using his size to intimidate him into moving. It didn't work. He felt the prick of a blade against the back of his neck.
The man in front of him grinned and said, "The Duke does not wish to be disturbed."
Nico raised his right hand and backed away, the point of the sword still knicking at his flesh. He muttered, "Well then," and allowed the hilt to slip across his palm. "When you see my brother, will you give him a message—?"
Dropping to a knee, he flipped the stiletto to his right hand and rammed it down through the guard's instep, then rolled, narrowly avoiding the broadsword arcing past his shoulder blade. Continuing the roll, he came to an abrupt stop against the wall, his knee impacting the cold stone with a painful crack.
The din in his head threatened to disorient him, the distraction of men shouting an alarm, racing feet, screams of panic, the fierce stab of pain, blood trickling in warm rivulets. Bracing against the wall, he pushed himself upright and drew his sword.
The one guard bellowed his distress. The other advanced with a look of anticipation, the promise of sport overriding what should have been caution.
Nico shut down the competing sensations and focused on the man circling to his left, effectively splitting his attention between the cursing guard struggling to extract the blade from his foot and the unwieldy weapon pointed at his throat.
Unlike Tonio, he could not take control, could not shut down the mind of an opponent, but he could use their thoughts to anticipate next moves. For that he needed clarity, not the cacophony of sensations swamping him. On instinct he dodged to the right barely avoiding the metal connecting with stone, showering the dimly lit area with sparks.
Damn it. That was close.
He was boxed between the two guards with little room for maneuvering and in the recesses of his mind he knew more would join them shortly. He needed to end this now.
****
Andreas pressed an ear to the opening but the heavy tapestry muffled sound from the two men situated at the end of the room farthest from his location. From what he could hear, it was not a pleasant conversation. Risking detection he moved the material away from the wall and peered into darkness.
Extending his senses he detected a large device partially blocking the opening. If he were lucky he could shelter behind the object until opportunity presented itself. Wriggling through the gap he crawled to the right and crouched, fighting to keep his breathing under control. Whimpering off to his left nearly drove him insane. Veluria was awake … and in pain.
Did he dare attempt penetration into her fractured psyche? The urge to sooth her fears—to ease the agony—was almost too much to resist, yet he knew in his gut that was an unacceptable risk. She could interpret his invasion of her core as yet more torture and alert the Duke and Stefano to his presence with damning words.
The Duke spoke in his native tongue but Stefano answered, "Yes, that is my work as you put it." His voice held a strange mix of pride and regret.
"Most impressive, my boy." There was a shuffling noise followed by a strangled moan. It sounded like the Duke had gagged Veluria to keep her from crying out.
What in God's name did the madman plan to do?
"They are lovely, are they not?" Stefano grunted non-committally. "These are banned, you know. Pity. I find them oddly … arousing." He laughed, the tone pitched high like a girl's giggle.
Andreas shivered. He suspected the Duke was planning to adorn Veluria's body with illicit piercings, something that even in his day was viewed with distaste and carefully regulated. Such ornamentation in the brotherhood was anathema to their vows of austerity. He had no objections one way or the other if one of his brethren chose to flaunt themselves in that manner. But he did object to wanton disfigurement of the work of art that was Veluria.
Muted sounds of scuffling and shouting pierced the air. Andreas stood and peered around the edge of the device, the size of a small wardrobe, just large enough to contain … a body. His gut clenched at the thought. He couldn't see Veluria but the Duke and Stefano were in his line of sight, both men glancing at the door with curiosity.
The Duke kept his eyes trained on the door but said to Stefano, "So you brought your friends."
"Friends…?"
"Do you think me a fool, boy? Your brother, your former mistress. An armed escort. This bears your meddling father's touch." The man stalked toward Stefano, driving the young man toward the far wall.
Stepping awkwardly away, Stefano drew his blade, his face set in a grim line as the Duke advanced, sword in hand, thrusting with controlled, precise movements. Flicking his wrist with practiced ease, the older man scored first blood, the slice shallow along the young man's ribcage.
Stefano hissed a breath and rolled his shoulder, shaking off the sting. Blood blossomed on his tunic, a thin red line. He continued to retreat under the Duke's unrelenting attack, the echo of steel-on-steel reverberating throughout the room, punctuated by the more distant clash of weapons beyond the thick walls.
Stefano tripped and stumbled, unable to find his footing amidst the clutter of instruments and devices littering the room. Only youth and quickness saved him from being skewered against a wooden platform, though his opponent connected with a deep gash to his sword arm, severe enough that Andreas feared the young man's arm had been rendered useless.
Friedrich surveyed the damage and chuckled, "Cosimo should know better than to send a boy to do a man's job."
Andreas could do little more than watch. His instincts told him to free Veluria while the combatants were engaged, yet they remained too close to wherever the Duke had secured her—probably strapped to a platform of some type. If he exposed his presence, the Duke would surely lop his head off in one fell swoop. Dead he did none of them any good.
The war beyond the walls ebbed and flowed with no end in sight. At least the boy's older brother had sufficient skills to keep the guard occupied and ignorant of the drama unfolding in the room—not that the Duke required assistance.
Andreas cared little if Friedrich dispatched the boy—he was willing to delegate that responsibility to one far more skilled than he. However, in that event, that left him and Veluria at the Duke's tender mercies. That outcome
was not one he wished to contemplate.
He needed to get to the door, unbolt it and allow Nico access. Without his help, all was lost.
Bare feet slapping the packed dirt floor, he bolted toward the door only to be brought up short at the vision of Veluria strapped to a table, her body in obscene display as she twisted weakly against leather bonds slicing through tender flesh. Fascinated he watched blood pool and dribble off the table to fall with desultory ease onto the floor, the reddish-brown stain instantly absorbed.
Eyes wild with panic, she followed the two men sparring just within her field of vision, mouth grimly wrapped about the gag. He backed toward the door, willing her to see him, to know he was there. Turning to be sure he was headed in the right direction, he lost sight of her momentarily. When he turned back, he found her staring at him, the recognition lining her face with hope.
When she opened to him he nearly lost himself in the sensuous caress of all that she was. Precious moments passed as he sought to reassure her but she turned away to watch the Duke toying with her former lover.
Stefano struggled gallantly but the Duke would soon tire of the game and dispatch the young man, either killing him outright or disabling him enough that he would provide additional entertainments later.
The evil of the man's essence poured off him in waves. Andreas had never believed in a devil … or hell.
Until now.
Racing to the barricade, he threw the bolts and yanked the heavy door open to a world awash in carnage such as he'd never dreamt possible.
****
Staggering to the right, Nico yanked his stiletto from the guard's foot and shoved him out of the way. Tensing, he sensed the air shift and dropped his shoulder as he launched his body against the swordsman, burying the stiletto to the hilt in the man's gut. Though not a killing blow, it dropped the man in his tracks. Hands sticky with blood he grappled with the sword and swung it in a high arc—the sharp edge making a clean slice. Grimacing as the metal impacted hard stone, he gasped and steadied himself for the next wave.
As he suspected, the guards from the stairwell had come to see what the fracas was about. With little room to maneuver, and the stone slippery with blood and other bodily fluids, he was hemmed in and outmanned.
More shouts, the clash of swords…
Nico weighed his options. The newest arrivals moved cautiously but steadily on his position. With his back to the wall, he had no place left to go. Injured, bleeding copiously from wounds to his torso and thigh, he was no match for fresh troops. If he surrendered, he could live to another day, perhaps barter his freedom in exchange for concessions from his father.
But I'm not the only one to consider. If I surrender that still leaves Veluria in the hands of a pervert. I am worth a ransom but she has no value other than a plaything.
Hands trembling, Nico lowered the heavy sword and bowed his head in a posture of surrender. He edged toward the door, stepping over the prone form of the decapitated guard, keeping his mind blank as he booted the head away to roll past his newest antagonists.
Flicking his eyes from one to the other, he waited for them to make their move. In the distance, echoes of more fighting gave him a frisson of hope that his men might be advancing to his position. He need only hold these two off long enough.
A flash of steel to his left, the trajectory froze in his peripheral vision, offering a choice. He swiveled to take the blow on his shoulder blade, using the downward turn to hack through the gauntlet protecting his opponent's wrist to his right. Sword and severed hand fell away as he reeled from the ice penetrating the muscles of his back.
More men poured into the hallway, some advancing with weapons raised, others backing in, the clatter too loud in the confined space to make sense of who fought whom. Paulo had brought the battle to him.
Inside and outside the walls, all he detected was anger, panic, and senseless death. He needed to get inside but he was rapidly losing his strength.
A blow knocked him against the barricade, setting his head ablaze with pain. Something gripped his jerkin and yanked him backwards.
Nico fell through the open door and landed on the dirt floor in a daze.
****
Andreas hissed, "Get up. Get up, damn you!"
The man was a dead weight as he tried to haul him to his feet. Once upright he staggered drunkenly using Andreas' body to hold himself steady.
"Can you fight, man?"
Nico nodded wearily but Andreas wasn't sure he had enough left to handle a skilled swordsman like Friedrich. Grunting, he spun Nico's huge form around and said, "She's alive but not for long."
The room settled into a profound silence, not even the racket from the battle outside the walls seemed to penetrate the barrier of evil cocooning the scene playing out before their eyes.
Friedrich held a blade to Veluria's throat, the whisper of a thin slice across her windpipe leaving a fresh trail of blood to trickle in meandering streams across pale flesh. The hands holding the blade were obscenely delicate, long-fingered and elegant. The Duke placed a hand on her blue-black hair and stroked the tangled strands, quieting her frantic motion as her eyes took in the tableau: Andreas propping her injured lover, the man's sword hanging uselessly at his side, the Duke to her right, looming, enjoying the moment.
Stefano lay in a crumpled heap behind the Duke, his life force pooling darkly under his torso. There was no indication that the boy lived or died. At that moment it mattered little.
Nico visibly relaxed, his senses opening to Andreas.
Remove the bonds. You must get her out of here.
But…
My men are outside. They will see you to your destination.
I cannot take her with me.
But you will see her safe.
Yes.
Then prepare yourself.
Friedrich must not live.
I know.
Are you strong enough…?
I am strong enough for this.
Hissing as he stepped aside, taking his weight on his injured leg, the tall man hefted his sword and angled away from the table on which Veluria lay.
Nico challenged the Duke, his voice resolute, "Let us finish this."
Friedrich sneered, "As you wish." He followed Nico to the center of the room, his sword held easily in his right hand. "It will give me great pleasure to send my condolences to Cosimo. Such a tragedy to lose two sons on the same day."
Whatever Nico said was lost in the clang of steel and the clatter of bits of wood hitting walls and floor. Andreas ran to the table on which Veluria lay and tore at the unyielding straps. He pulled his stiletto from the folds of his robe and hacked madly at the restraints, moaning "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," as he connected with soft tissue on her wrists. When her hands were free, he pulled the gag out of her mouth and set to work on her legs. After helping her to sit up, he searched for something to cloth her battered body.
Veluria nodded at a nearby chair and croaked, "My dress." He slipped it over her head, carefully smoothing the soiled fabric along her petite frame.
She pointed to an ornate ladies' stiletto lying by Stefano's body. He shook his head and said, "Leave it. We must hurry." Taking her hand he guided her toward the tapestry and the escape opening.
This was not how he imagined that first touch, that loving burst of sensuous pleasure, fingers entwining in wicked warmth, exploring. Instead all he felt was bile rising in his throat as he fought against the anger threatening to consume him. None of them was worthy of her. Even damaged she was more precious than gold.
He'd set in motion what needed to be done. His last task in this world was to save the only thing worth salvaging, even if he never touched or saw her again.
This was the truest test of his worth.
He would not let her down.
****
Nico was only barely aware that Andreas and Veluria had made their escape. The Duke continued to taunt and tease him, inflicting minor damage, weakening him until he had no r
ecourse but commit a fatal error.
He gasped, "What did you hope to gain, you bastard?" Advancing, he pressed Friedrich toward a pile of debris on the floor behind him but the man cleverly sidestepped to a clear area.
Chuckling, the man refused to engage, preferring to let his sword speak on his behalf. It was a debate that for once Nico was not going to win. Too late to dodge, his reflexes lost to pain and weariness, he felt the blade slide in, aware only of a comforting warmth, not even sure what part of his body bore the blunt trauma.
Sinking to his knees he swung wildly, the weight a burden he could no longer bear. Stars danced in his eyes as he awaited the final blow. He hoped Tonio would greet him with forgiveness in his heart. For Stefano, he simply prayed that God would show mercy for a misguided young man.
Locking eyes with the devil himself, Nico lifted his sword to parry the blow one last time. Friedrich's dark eyes turned smoky, savoring the pleasure, lips parted in anticipation, pink foam speckling his cruel mouth as he sighed his last breath.
Stefano released the stiletto jammed into the duke's throat and let the man slide boneless to the floor. Sinking to his knees, he stared into his brother's eyes and murmured, "Tell Papà I died well, Nico. Don't let him know…"
Nico caught his brother as he pitched forward. When Paulo and his men burst into the chamber, he sat cradling Stefano's body, staring dry-eyed at the wreckage of his life.
His last thought before slipping into oblivion was, I did what you wanted. I hope to hell your world is worth it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Andreas nervously fingered the braided wool cincture loosely resting on his hips.
"Hold still, boy." Matteo fiddled with the amice, wrapping it around Andreas' neck and shoulders. He smoothed the fabric over the long linen garment, murmuring, "…helmet of salvation…"