Warrior Witch (The Malediction Trilogy #3)(95)

“But you’d be able to pick them out of a crowd, wouldn’t you?” Fred asked. “Feel their power, or however that works?”

“Yes,” Marc said. “But they’ll be hemmed in by civilians on all sides. Attacking them without harming dozens of innocents would be next to impossible. And even if that was a sacrifice we were willing to make, we don’t have the power to fight them all.”

“Can we get word to Trollus?” I asked, wishing there was a way for me to contact Martin. “The trolls there helped those on the water – maybe they’d be willing to help here.”

“We can send a half-blood,” Marc replied. “But even if they’d be willing, I’m not sure they’d make it in time.”

Fred was staring through the arrow slit down at the screaming islanders, not seeming to be paying attention to anything we said. I jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. “Suggestions?”

He nodded slowly, and in a tone that was alarmingly similar to one I often employed, he said, “I think I have a plan.”





Chapter Fifty-Seven





Cécile





It was deathly quiet on the wall, every half-blood in Trianon grim faced as they held their portion of magic reinforcing the stone. Down below, almost every soldier Fred had at his disposal stood armed to the teeth, waiting. Ready to fight the moment the wall was breached.

Almost every soldier.

I paced up and down the narrow walkway, stopping to peer carefully through an arrow slit from time to time to see if I could pick out a familiar face in the horde below.

Under Marc’s watchful eye, several of Tips’s crew had carefully opened the tunnel they’d dug to get under the city wall when they first arrived, allowing Fred and a hundred of his most trusted men to leave Trianon undetected. Dressed in civilian clothes with cloaks to cover their weapons, they’d joined the mass of islanders trying to push their way through the wall, mimicking their wails and mannerisms. Waiting.

“Please go back to the castle, Cécile,” Marc said. “Sabine, Marie, and Joss could use your help, and there is nothing you can do here.”

The women had taken cartloads of sleeping children back to the castle, and it was true that many were injured and needed a witch’s touch. But I couldn’t bear to leave. “My brother’s out there,” I whispered. I’m afraid of losing him, too.

“I can’t spare anyone to stand guard over you.”

“Then don’t,” I said. “I know the risks, and I’m not helpless.” I pulled open my coat to reveal a pair of pistols and a set of blades. “Besides, the castle will be the first place they look for me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head, but he voiced no further argument.

“Let us in, let us in.” I tried not to hear, not to listen, but sweat had already soaked through my shirt despite the chill of the air.

Marc hissed through his teeth. “Báthory.”

“Where?”

“The woman in the red cloak. I’d recognize that strut anywhere.” His hand went to the pommel of the sword at his waist, as though that would be his first line of attack. “There’s another. And another.” Careful to keep out of sight, he pointed out the approaching trolls. All of them wore hooded cloaks that obscured their faces, and other than Báthory, all were doing a fair job of imitating the motions of their human shield. Moving at a speed that would not attract attention, they joined the mob of humans, carefully pushing their way forward until they were hemmed in by islanders on all sides.

“Mark them.” His order rippled softly down the line of half-bloods, those known to have a deft touch lighting the faintest of sparks behind the heads of the enemy trolls. If I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t even have noticed, and I prayed it was enough to guide Fred’s men to their targets.

Sure enough, men began to move slowly toward the trolls, carefully, making it appear as though those around them were pushing them in that particular direction.

“Come on,” Marc hissed. “Get into position.”

And it was then I picked Fred out of the crowd, only a few feet away from Báthory now. “No,” I moaned, my hands turning to ice. “Not her.”

But he was right behind her, now pressed up against her, the troll not even noticing amidst the bumping and jostling of limbs and bodies.

“Brace yourself,” Marc said, and a heartbeat later, a horn blared and everything turned to chaos. Pistols fired and then men surged at their targets, steel blades in their hands. I saw a dozen trolls or more go down, but Báthory was not one of them. One hand pressed over the spurting hole the bullet had left when it exited her chest, she screamed and spun, catching Fred’s blade as it descended and wrenching it from his hand. Plucking it from the air, she sliced with a speed no human possessed, catching him on the arm. He went down, the crowd falling over him, and I screamed his name.

“Báthory,” Marc shouted, then he was over the wall, landing amongst the humans, who even in their stupor seemed to know enough to move. The air charged, magic smashing against magic; then the Comtesse was flying through the air, landing some distance away. Marc sprinted after her, sword in hand, and with a cruel slice, separated her head from her neck.