Surrounded at the top of the tower, Agnes and Laincourt believed they were doomed when, thrown from above, grenades with blazing fuses bounced among the stupefied swordsmen who were threatening them, provoking panicked pushing and shoving before the missiles exploded one after another in clouds of fiery powder, their burning shards ripping through those who had not been able to retreat toward the keep's walkway.
Rearing up and flapping its wings to slow its approach, a wyvern set down on the tower.
"Captain!" Agnes exclaimed in relief when she saw who was riding the reptile.
"Hurry!" yelled La Fargue.
He held out a gloved hand to her, but the young woman pointed instead to Laincourt.
"He's coming too!"
"What? No! Too heavy!"
"He's coming too!"
It was not the time or the place for an argument: around them, the hired swordsmen were beginning to rally themselves.
Agnes and Laincourt climbed onto the reptile's rump behind La Fargue, who dug in his spurs to launch the wyvern. The beast took a few lumbering steps toward the parapet. Seeing his prey escaping, Savelda ran toward them, taking aim with his pistol while yelling at his men to move out of the way. He fired and the pistol ball passed through the wyvern's long neck at the very instant when it was taking to the air. The reptile flinched. Its surprise, pain, and the over-heavy load on its back toppled it over the edge, and it fell. It opened its wings as the ground approached and La Fargue hauled with all his might on the reins . . . and the wyvern pulled out of its dive at the very last second. Its belly brushed against the cobblestones and its claws scraped over them, raising a spray of sparks. It was moving too fast across the small courtyard to have any chance of climbing again. La Fargue barely succeeded in turning its head toward the keep's gate. The reptile swept at full speed beneath the vault. But its span was too wide and the impact broke its leathery wings. The wyvern screamed. Moving like a rock down a hillside, it crossed the lowered drawbridge, rolled over in a whirlwind of dust and blood, and threw off its passengers before finally crashing into one of the great bonfires that had been lit for the ceremony.
* * *
Ballardieu saw the wyvern burst forth from the keep and three bodies flying through the air.
"Agnes!" he screamed as the reptile with its broken wings smashed into the flaming pyre and vanished beneath it.
He vaulted over the parapet, landed six metres below, and began to run without paying any heed to the pain from a sprained ankle. Two drac swordsmen attacked him. He did not slow down or even draw his sword. Instead, taking his sack, weighed with a few remaining grenades, by its bandolier, he swung it round, crushing a temple and dislocating a scaly jaw. Still running, shoving aside everyone in the terrified crowd who stood in his way, he yelled at the top of his lungs: "AGNES . . . ! Agnes . . . !"
He saw La Fargue picking himself off the ground and went to him.
"Agnes! Where is Agnes?"
The captain, in a daze, was staggering on his feet. He blinked and almost tripped over. Ballardieu had to steady him.
"Captain! Where is she? Where is Agnes?"
"I ... I don't know. ..."
Marciac arrived.
"What's GOING ON?" he asked, trying to making himself heard over the din of thunder that accompanied the magical lightning bolts.
"It's Agnes!" explained the old soldier anxiously. "She's here! Somewhere! Help me!"
Grimacing, with a dazed look in his eye, Laincourt struggled to drag himself from the ground, remaining for a moment on his hands and knees. He coughed and spat out a mixture of dirt and blood.
Then he stood up.
Around him the chaos of the battle drawing to a close blended with that of the incredible storm above, whose windy moans were rising to a high-pitched screech. The destructive bolts of lightning gained in intensity and the furious roaring shook the entire castle to its very depths, dislodging its stones. No one thought of fighting any longer, only of escape. The surviving followers and mercenaries of the Black Claw pressed toward the gate which Ballardieu no longer defended with his grenades.
Laincourt, too, should have been fleeing without delay.
But he had one last task to accomplish.
* * *
Still holding the unconscious vicomtesse in his arms, Gagniere arrived in the courtyard of the keep at the same time as Savelda and his men, coming down from the upper floors.
"We're under attack!" said Gagniere sweating.
"Yes," replied the one-eyed Spaniard. "And we've already lost. . . . Give her to me."
Without waiting for a reply, he seized hold of the vicomtesse.
The marquis let him take her, too stunned by the turn of events to even protest.
"We must flee!" he said. "By the passageway. Quickly, while there's still time!"
"No."
"What?"
"Not you. You stay."
"But why?"
"To protect our retreat . . . against him."
Gagniere turned around.
Saint-Lucq was entering from beneath the vault, armed with a rapier in his right hand and a dagger in his left.