The Blessed (54 page)

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,” she repeated, advancing behind Abramo even as he advanced on her priest, driving him nearer the rock of San Galgano. Amidei lifted his head, distracted from the priest by her words, the same words that had fought him off on his own dark isle. “The angels sing in the heavens at the mere sound of his name, our Savior, our King,” she said.

“Cease,” he spat over his shoulder at her, striking with more fury than ever at Piero. But she was distracting him. Piero bravely lunged forward, then turned away, bleeding at the cheek.

“We fight in the name of the One who was, and is, and is to come,” she said.

He tried to ignore her.

“We fight in the name of the One who was, and is, and is to come!” she cried, grabbing a sword from the wall and ramming it down toward Abramo's right clavicle.

He whirled as her stroke came downward, but Ciro lunged forward, narrowly blocking Daria's stroke. He tossed Tessa to his lord.

Abramo pulled the girl to him, his sword edging into her throat.

Daria stilled.

“Ahh. At last the women are silent,” he said.

Ciro turned and rammed his sword down upon Piero behind him, who just barely managed to block it.

Daria let her sword tip fall to the ground, staring into Tessa's eyes. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

“It is not necessary,” the girl whispered back. “We fight in the name of the One who was, and is, and is to come,” she shouted. “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

Abramo, enraged at the sound of the Name above all names, whipped her away from him, hurling her in an arc toward the stone of San Galgano.

The child sailed through the air and struck the rock, seeming to hover there for a moment, and then slid down the side of it, limp as if lifeless.

“Nay!” cried Daria, watching with wide eyes stinging with tears as the girl landed in a slump at the base of the rock.

But Abramo had turned back to her.

 
GIANNI could see Daria, Tessa, and Piero in the chapel, but could not get to them, no matter how hard he tried. No sooner had he dispatched one knight than another took his place. They seemed endless, tireless, and his armor had begun to feel heavy upon him.

He turned and saw that Hasani had suffered a chest wound and yet labored on in the fray, refusing to give up. But he was on the other side of the entrance hall.

Gianni fought off another knight, turned to see Abramo fling Tessa through the air, but then a Sicilian with a wicked sword was back at him, narrowly missing his jugular with a strike, then his belly with a thrust of a dagger. He whirled and swung his sword wide, hoping to catch him and did, but even as the enemy fell, another advanced. He glanced into the chapel and saw Father Piero receive a terrible blow from Ciro, a strike with such force and momentum from his shield—an unexpected blow—that the priest's head snapped backward and he slumped to the ground beside Tessa.

Now both men moved upon his wife. He had to get to her. Had to. But how, with three knights between him and the entrance?

 
SHE could not reach Piero and Tessa. Abramo advanced fast upon her, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. Daria saw no other recourse. She turned and ran, lifting the bar from the huge, ornately carved doors of the sanctuary and tearing down the hill outside. Were Vito and Ugo truly dead? Might she reach them in time? Could someone yet come to her aid?

She could hear Abramo running after her, his footfalls louder and louder. There was the smell of smoke upon the wind.
Nay, Lord, nay . . .
she cried out. But Abramo was impossibly close. At last she turned and whirled, facing him, panting.

He laughed and circled her, saying nothing, breathing nearly as hard as she did. She had to prolong this encounter, as much as she wanted to see its end. It was her only hope.
Please Lord,
she cried out silently. She reached out her hands, as if in surrender.

“You think you and yours can best me?” he whispered, his breath still coming in a hot pant. “That the house of men purporting to be
holy
could protect you?” He took a step away and held the tip of his sword out toward her, tracing her shoulder, her breast, her arm, her back, up the nape of her neck, as he circled her, stopping behind her. With a quick slice he cut apart her hairnet and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, reaching her waist.

Daria whirled around to face him again, and he swore under his breath, shaking his head in naked admiration.

“By the stars, Daria de Capezzana, you are beautiful. Despite all, I confess to still desiring you. No woman has denied me. No woman has dared bring me bodily harm. But it builds inside me, this need for you. Fall, fall to your knees and I shall yet spare you. Walk beside me, and I shall raise your brat as my own.”

She laughed without mirth and shook her head. “Never.”

He sighed heavily and advanced upon her even as she backed away. “I shall bring your beloved Gifted in chains, so you can watch them die before you give in to death. I shall not leave a one of you alive.” He took another step. “And you shall suffer much before death relieves you.”

 
PIERO looked to the child, who yet lived but was blissfully unaware of what was transpiring about her. He looked for his short sword, now beyond Ciro and Gianni, who battled fiercely. The armory was similarily out of reach. He knew Daria had run outside, with Abramo in pursuit. He had to go to her and do what, fight off Abramo alone? Nay, better to try to distract Ciro so Gianni could save his wife.

His eyes moved about the sanctuary for a weapon. A brass torch? The chalice on the altar? His eyes moved over the saint's sword in the stone and onward, then abruptly back. Could it be? He searched his heart as the urge overtook him. Nay. It was impossible. Had not many a man tried and come up short?

But then he felt that this was what he was called to do, and there was no time to argue with the Holy. He gently set Tessa to the ground, said a prayer of protection over her, and crossed around the rock. He eased over the ornate fence that circled the stone and climbed atop the smooth granite on all fours, until he was atop the boulder. Placing one foot on either side of the sword, sunk deep within the rock, he said a prayer. For blessing. For favor. For the same numinous power that allowed Galgano to sink the sword, to now allow him to release it.

He looked to Gianni. He had just suffered a torturous blow to the chin, sending him reeling. Ciro advanced upon him.

“Ciro!” he called, staring at the knight. “Ciro!”

Reluctantly the hulking knight turned, panting as he glanced his way.

But Piero had already reached for the sword.

Slowly it eased from the stone as simply as from a sheath. “Surely a sword that God took from Galgano and housed here for two hundred years was meant for you and no other,” Piero said, raising the heavy sword with both hands and jumping the four feet down from the rock.

Ciro smiled down at him. “Should such a small priest be carrying such a mighty sword?”

Piero returned the grin. “I am no priest.”

Ciro's smile faded. “Here. Give it to a man who can handle such metal.” He lifted his chin, daring Piero near.

Behind him, Gianni rose and rammed the flat of his sword into the side of his head. Ciro fell heavily and then closed his eyes.

“If God chooses to spare him, I want to see him on trial before the Nine,” Gianni said.

Piero raised Galgano's sword in victory. And then both remembered at once.

Daria
.

 
DARIA backed up, aware that the light of day was quickly fading. Her eyes cast desperately left and right, seeking aid, weapon, escape. But there was nothing but towering juniper and cypress and Bormeo, sailing overhead, screeching in agitation.

Abramo lunged, and she narrowly avoided his grasp. He lunged again, and caught her hair this time. He wound it in his hand, pulling her toward him, even as she reached out to scratch him.

He took her right arm and pinned it against her side, reaching around for the other as well, easily holding both behind her. “Easy, kitten. Easy. I have but one eye left to scratch out.”

He let her struggle against him, seeming to enjoy it, so she ceased, motionless except for her breaths, which came in quick succession.

“Ahh, yes. 'Tis a pity you and yours must die. But there is nothing for it. Our battle ends here.”

“They shall find you. You shall stand trial before the Nine.”

“With whom to accuse us? My men and archers have certainly killed the others by now.”

“Marco had my letter,” she said.

“Letters are lost at times.” He pretended to grimace. “Even poor Vincenzo, who is most culpable for the acts accused, is now dead behind us. And Marco may come to an unfortunate end as well, should he not see the error of his ways.”

“You shall spend eternity in hell,” Daria said, aghast to again face such utter depravity. She panted now, not in fear, but at the harrowing chasm she sensed between them. She closed her eyes, wanting to block the utter terror, the sheer sense of
void
that was Abramo's future. “The abyss, Abramo. The devil lays no claim other than upon those who are willing.”

It was then she saw it, the hovering shadow, just behind him. Cold, so cold.

Tessa would be screaming in terror by now.
The enemy! The enemy of old!
Her heart screamed at her to be away.

Abramo saw her take note of his master and smiled. “Ah. But m'lady, you continue to think I am a begrudging servant.” He looked over his shoulder and let her go. But before she took a step, he pinched her throat in his right hand and lifted her up off the ground. “I serve the dark and no other. Your light, m'lady,” he said through clenched teeth, as he lifted her higher, “is about to be . . . extinguished.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

GIANNI ran down the hill, watching as Abramo lifted Daria to her tiptoes and then into the air. He let out a roar, intending to distract his enemy, but Abramo did not so much as turn, so focused was he upon Daria.

A sting ran through the back of Gianni's knee, and he stumbled, wondering what had torn into him. As he rolled to the ground, Piero rumbled past him, grunting Ciro's name even as he ran toward Daria and Abramo.

Gianni rolled and with each turn, took excruciating note of the cause of the tearing within his knee. An arrow. He had taken yet another of Amidei's archer's arrows.

He moved to try to rise, had to get to Daria, to cut away Amidei's arm, when what felt like a boulder ran over him, driving him to the ground.

Ciro. Impossible.

But the man was above him, atop him, cruelly twisting the arrow at his knee, making him scream in pain.

Unable to reach the man's neck nor kick him from his torso, Gianni reached for one of the daggers at his belt, digging through the dirt and grass beneath him, even as Ciro again moved the arrow at his knee, laughing as Gianni cried out.

 
“JESUS,” Daria said, fighting for breath, pulling at his fingers.

Bormeo screeched and swooped past, narrowly missing Abramo with his talons.

“What did you say?” Abramo asked, lifting her higher.

He was distracted, by her bird and her words.

“Je-sus!” she cried. “Christ! Liv-ing! Lord!”

With a cry of fury, he cast her down to the side.

His master moved behind him, and gasping for breath, Daria tried to keep her vision from swimming. Bormeo swooped by again.

“Behind me?” Abramo muttered, as if the master had warned him.

And so it was that he was perfectly in place.

Piero, charging down the hillside with the sword of San Galgano, roared as he struck the Sorcerer, driving the sword through his belly with such momentum that he fell atop Abramo Amidei, even as the man at last toppled to the ground.

 
GIANNI reached the dagger and swung it upward, driving it into Ciro's head, just above his temple. But it was at an awkward angle and glanced off the bone, so it did nothing more than enrage him. He stood up and kicked at the arrow shaft, broken now but still lodged through Gianni's leg, making Gianni roll away, swallowing a scream. Ciro lifted his sword and straddled the knight, holding it with both hands with the clear intent to drive it into Gianni's neck.

 
ABRAMO, sitting halfway up on account of the sword through his belly, touched the blood that spread up his jerkin and lifted his fingers, as if seeing odd paint atop the tips.

“Killing a man,” he said to Piero, “shall land you with me in hell.”

“Killing you,” Piero said, pushing harder on the shaft of the ancient sword, panting, “shall save other souls from the abyss. I shall leave my fate to God's judgment.”

Abramo looked down as if in odd amusement at the sword and the priest, and then paused, as if struggling for breath.

Daria moved to her knees, still struggling for breath of her own.

Hasani raced past them, leaping over a boulder as he moved toward Ciro, just then pulling his sword in a downward thrust. Ambrogio was right behind him.

Daria turned and screamed, but little sound came out of her wounded throat.

But Piero's attention remained on Lord Abramo Amidei, who at that moment took the last breath he would ever take.

 
HASANI cried out and whipped his arm across, driving his curved sword down toward Ciro even as Gianni sank yet another dagger into his leg. Hasani's blow abruptly stopped Ciro's downward momentum and Gianni pushed the sword, hovering just inches from his chest, away. Ambrogio struck next, plunging his sword into Ciro's chest.

The hulking knight wavered above Gianni, still looking down upon the wound at his chest as if in wonder, then down to his leg, gushing blood as Gianni pulled the dagger back out.