Rora by James Byron Huggins Read Free Book Online Page A

retreat. They had brought this fight to him on their terms—terms they considered well enough when they thought they would be slaughtering defenseless victims with no fear for their own lives.
    No, that would not stand.
    Gianavel would finish it on his terms.
    Followed by his men, the Captain of Rora raced along the slope, firing again and again to drop ten more before the chaotic flight from the unexpected ambush reached the first switchback. And to the very last, at the farthest limit of what the rifle could reach, Gianavel dropped his final man, using elevation to throw the musket ball in the high arch of a rainbow, before the panicked soldiers were frantically gone.
    When it was over, the air was thick with gunpowder, and the barrels of their weapons were hot to the touch. Gianavel looked down through the ravine to see the wounded writhing on the trampled frost, howling and pleading and screaming in agony and fear. He raised his face to see Bertino step from hiding on the distant slope, the stock of the matchlock hard against his shoulder.
    Bertino looked at the wounded. At Gianavel.
    Frowning, Gianavel stared across the wounded. Rora had no prison to hold them. To take them into the village would occupy half the population with tending the wounded, and their people and resources were already too few.
    This was the fundamental truth of men who terrorized men: They considered mercy and compassion to be weaknesses of their victims until they themselves were met with terror and stopped cold. Then they begged for mercy, hoping the compassion of their intended victims would be their salvation.
    Stoically, sadly, Gianavel drew his sword. He turned to those around him, head bent, and they repeated the movement. They stood sword in hand, waiting for the command. Gianavel's voice was cold and controlled and tragic.
    "Be merciful ... Do it quick."
    ***
    Gaping, Pianessa stared in silence at Captain Mario's ravaged figure. Bloodied and bruised, his face swollen from contusions, the captain held his cap with uncharacteristic humility as the marquis had absorbed the details of the battle. It took Pianessa a long time to decide upon a suitable reply, which sounded not so suitable when spoken.
    "Fifty?" he asked. "They killed fifty of my men?"
    Mario nodded tightly.
    Pianessa was silent, then, "And they wounded forty more?" For some reason he was compelled to repeat it: "They killed fifty and wounded forty more?"
    Mario held out his hands. "It was an ambush!"
    "How many were there?"
    "Perhaps ... a hundred."
    " A hundred !''
    Mario gazed about as if someone would help him, but no one came forward. His voice was tentative. "They must have hired mercenaries."
    "Mercenaries!" Pianessa scoffed, and jerked back angrily. "And what would they pay them with? Sheep?" He stared away and fell to brooding, gazing at nothing. "No, not mercenaries ... no ... what did those peasants call this man?"
    A second Inquisitor now accompanied Incomel—a heavyset man whose gray robe stretched taunt over his expansive gut. He was totally bald and also seemed to have no hair on his hands or face or eyebrows, as if he was completely shaved or totally hairless from some unnatural means. It was certainly a strange appearance—even disturbing.
    Mario searched the queer, dolphin-like image for a long moment before looking again at the marquis.
    Pianessa continued to gaze into shadows with a peculiar fixation. He did not seem as confused; he was merely astounded. He mused deliberately, "I killed over fifteen thousand of these peasants without losing a single man. And this man has already cost me fifty ..."
    Incomel spoke, "Should I inform the Duke of Savoy of your casualties?"
    Pianessa s eyes were like blackened coals, smoldering with a heat beyond white. The threat of violence burned there, deeply fed and closely banked. "Thank you, Inquisitor, but I shall inform Savoy with what he needs to know.... Do you understand me?"
    Incomel bowed. "Of course."
    Now that the