The Game Called Revolution - - (free ebook reader for iphone txt) š
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The deck seemed to be mostly intact, only missing sections of railing. Everyone waited a minute to see if there would be another explosion, or if the whole thing would collapse under them. When it didnāt, they all got to their feet, friends and enemies alike.
Pierre was now in the deckās center. āIs everyone all right?ā He asked, although he was not really sure why since he was mostly surrounded by enemies. By now the ringing had died down for the most part.
āUnh. I think so,ā Victor said from across the deck. He was rubbing the back of his head which bled slightly.
Lefebvreās men, it seemed, were no longer in the mood to fight. āI canāt believe that bastard! He really fired on usāhis own men!ā one of them said.
āWe should have never followed his orders,ā agreed another.
A third one said to Pierre, āI thinkā¦we owe you an apology. We were fighting for the wrong side today.ā
āI guess we canāt really blame you,ā Pierre said. āWeāve followed our share of orders over the years. Iām just glad we donāt have to fight anymore.ā
He looked towards the blackened area where Lefebvre had been standing. The steam cannon had exploded, leaving twisted metal and blackened ash all over the place. There were charred pieces of what looked like body parts strewn about, but Pierre couldnāt be sure what they were.
Suddenly Victor cried out, āHubert!ā Pierre ran over to the starboard side where Victor was leaning over the edge, looking at something down below. When he got there, the sight of the giantās massive form on the ground bleeding profusely from many wounds greeted him. Hubertās tree trunk-like left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, probably from the fall.
āHe must have gotten knocked off when the shell hit us,ā Victor said.
Pierre and Victor lowered the ramp and went down to check on Hubert. Pierre knew it was pointless; the giant had clearly lost too much blood from injuries made much worse by his fall. Still, they had to do something so they could at least say they tried when Jeanne came back and wanted to know what happened.
As they both expected, they found no pulse on the big man. What Jeanne had feared had now come to pass. āHe saved all of us up there,ā Victor said.
āYeah.ā
āHeās a hero.ā
āI just wish he could go home and tell everyone that himself.ā
The two of them carried Hubertās body up to the deck. Everyone up thereāeven Lefebvreās menāpaid their respects to the deceased giant.
Celeste then poked her head out of the hatch. āIs the fighting over?ā Her glasses were cracked and one of the lenses was missing.
āFor us, at least,ā Victor replied.
Pierre walked over to her. āThat shell should have destroyed us. Why didnāt it?ā
She shrugged. āThe only thing I can think of is that our attack must have slowed it down just enough so it didnāt have the velocity.ā
āDoesnāt matter to me how we lived,ā Victor said.
āCome on, Victor; we have to get over to the Tuileries and help the Commander,ā Pierre said.
āI wouldnāt recommend that,ā Celeste said.
Pierre spun around to face her, shocked by what she had just said. āāWouldnāt recommendā it? Itās the Commander weāre talking about! We have to help her.ā
Celeste shook her head and pointed to the central tower. āWith all due respect, sirā¦I donāt think we can.ā
Pierre turned around and looked at the tower. By now the electrical currents completely covered it; crackling blue energy ran the complete length of the tower and was even striking the ground around the palace.
āIf we try to go in there, weāll get electrocuted,ā Victor realized.
The young engineerās eyes were getting moist. āThe Commander is my idol. Sheās everything I want to be,ā she said. āBut you all are also important. Please donāt throw your lives away.ā
As much as he wanted to, Pierre couldnāt argue with her logic. Trying to save Jeanne would be a suicide mission. He could only hope that Farahilde would see her through this.
It was at that moment that a single drop of rain hit his head. āTimeās running out,ā he said, despair creeping into his voice.
11
Tussaudās scythe created sparks as it traced a horizontal slash along the wall where Farahildeās head had been a split second before. Farahilde ducked the attack and slashed at her with her gauntlet.
But once again, Tussaud proved to be just a step faster, and sidestepped the attack while simultaneously bringing down her blade in an attempt to split the young Austrian in half. Farahilde barely managed to get out of the way; the scythe gave her collarbone a superficial cut.
This is one frƤulein I really cannot stand. Her oversized blade has not yet managed to find its mark, but she keeps getting closer and itās only a matter of time. Meanwhile, I havenāt been able to cut her at all. Meine gauntlet simply doesnāt have the range to get to herā¦Wait a minute! I just thought of something.
Farahilde dashed to the opposite wall with Tussaud right behind her. While running, she frantically (and painfully) grappled with one of the blades on her gauntlet.
When she reached the wall, she grabbed another chair with her gauntlet hand and threw it at Tussaud. The blonde woman, however, wasnāt about to fall for that again. She easily pirouetted around the piece of furniture and readied her scythe for another swing at Farahilde.
However, for a split second Tussaud was open, and Farahilde wasted absolutely no time taking advantage of this, throwing the blade she had pried from her gauntlet into her enemyās midsection. She didnāt have time to aimāshe simply let it fly. The razor-like object imbedded itself just below Tussaudās left breast.
Tussaud staggered back, butātrue to formānot a sound escaped her lips.
āHow did you like that, weibchen?ā Farahilde crowed. Her right hand bled from having grabbed the sharp implement directly, but she could deal with the discomfort. āStill want to continue?ā
Tussaud stared at the blade sticking out of her body for a few moments, then casually grabbed it and ripped it out. Her head flinched slightly at the pain, but otherwise she showed no aversion to the act she just committed.
Dammit. The blade was too slippery from meine own blood for me to throw it with full force. Wellā¦Iāve still got another blade on meine gauntlet, and this woman should be hurt enough to have lost a step.
Not quite.
Tussaud dropped the small blade and resumed her attack with full force. Farahilde tried to jump out of the way, but it seemed her luck had finally run out. The scythe carved a serious gash down half of her upper body.
She suddenly felt cold, as if Tussaudās curved blade had somehow sucked all the warmth from her body. She fell to the ground at Tussaudās feet, being able only to weakly put out her right hand to break the fall.
āGood. Your face is undamaged,ā Tussaud said. Her voice still conveyed no feeling.
She gripped the handle of her weapon to pick it upā¦but found she couldnāt. The blade was imbedded in the floor again, and her right hand was wet with blood because she, too, had grabbed the sharp edge of Farahildeās makeshift projectile when she ripped it from her midsection. Thus, she couldnāt get a good grip on her own weapon, and it remained stubbornly resting in the floor.
This presented an opportunityāher enemy was presently unarmedābut Tussaud might as well have been on the moon for all the good it did her. Farahilde was shaking from the cold caused by the blood loss, the shock, or both; how could she possibly take advantage of this.
āYou will make a good death mask, just like the queen,ā Tussaud said.
Had she heard that right? āWhat did you just say?ā
āThe queen. This one made a death mask from her severed head. It was still bleeding.ā
The coldness suddenly left Farahilde. There was no longer any paināonly a furious desire to cut flesh. Summoning all the strength she had left (while possibly creating new strength), she began to rise. First to one knee, then to the next. Then to one leg.
āStay down,ā Tussaud said. Farahilde ignored her and made it to her feet. However, the young Austrianās energy failed her, and she collapsed onto the handle of the scythe, which Tussaud was still clutching. She held on to it to remain somewhat upright. āDo you see? It is fruitless. This one will kill you in the name of Lord Robespierre.ā
Upon hearing his name, Farahilde found herself with one last burst of energy. Seizing, it, she roared and plunged her remaining blade into Tussaudās heart. While she couldnāt see most of her face behind the mask, she could feel the homicidal French womanās surprise.
Tussaud coughed up fresh blood, most of which was blocked by her mask. āNoā¦must getā¦mask.ā With that, she fell backwards onto the floor, which was being painted a fresh shade of crimson beneath her.
āDer Teufel wartet auf dich,ā Farahilde said. The devil is waiting for you. She then sat down against the nearest column.
What was she to do now? She had won her battle, but she didnāt feel like her work was finished yet. She knew she wouldnāt have enough energy to go into the central tower and get her revenge on Robespierre. Sheād be lucky to get out of this room alive. If I ever want to get back to meine Austria, Iād better lay low and try to find someoneāa doctor, maybeāto heal me. That might be difficult, but Iāve gotten through worse situations.
That would mean forgoing her revenge on Robespierre, but what the hellāJeanne had just as much right to kill him as she did.
Although there wasnāt much time left, part of her hoped Jeanne would kill him slowly.
12
Jeanne struggled to gain the upper hand on Robespierre atop the cylinder in the central tower, but it was a futile effort; he was nearly as skilled as herself, and every inch of his body was covered by armor. At this rate, she didnāt see how she could defeat him in the precious few minutes she had left.
āIām merely playing with you, you know,ā he said from behind his demonic visage as he lunged at her with his rapier. āI donāt even have to fight you at this point. Itās not like you can even hurt me.ā
She deftly performed a fencing technique called a pasatta-sotto, hitting the floor with her hand and ducking under his attack. She thrust at his torso, but as she expected, her blade could not penetrate his alchemically-created armor.
He laughed at the pointless exercise, and then retreated into en garde position. Under other circumstances he would have been a fool to not take advantage of his opponentās mistake, but time was on his side. Jeanne had to defeat him; he did not have to defeat her.
She wasnāt in the mood to trade words with him at this point. Instead, she initiated an attaque au fer, pressing her sword against his. She pretended to try and match him in strength, but in actuality this was a coulĆ©, a feint. She slid along his rapier, gaining her leverage which she used to force his blade downwards. She ended this with a savage kick to his armored stomach, sending him reeling backwards
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