After the Fall by Morgan O'Neill Page A

Warriors — legionnaires — surged into view, some on horseback, most on foot, slaughtering people she knew, people she loved.
    A Roman soldier ran toward her, sword raised, and she grasped a burning branch from the flames, swiping at his face. He ducked and she swung again, striking him across the unprotected skin of his neck. His flesh sizzled and the air reeked of burned pork. Roaring, the Roman lunged and knocked the firebrand from her hand, then stumbled on the rocks ringing the fire pit and dropped face-first onto a jagged edge. His body went still as blood flowed, soaking the ground beneath him.
    Gigi ran to her tent. Diving inside, she grabbed for the leather scabbard, which held the dagger Magnus had insisted she wear at all times, cursing herself for not heeding his request. Her flute hung beside the blade in its own leather cover, but she didn’t bother to separate the two, flinging both over her head and shoulder.
    Panting, she glanced outside. In the distance, she saw two small children lying on the ground and she screamed in defiance. When she got to them, she cried out in agony. Two little girls. Throats slashed. She recognized them as playmates of Berga’s. Oh, God, where is she?
    She heard a great cry rise over the din of battle, and turned to see Randegund drive a spear through a Roman’s heart, her silver hair loose and whipping in every direction. She was covered with blood, but Gigi couldn’t tell whether it belonged to her or someone else.
    Sounds of anguish and terror filled the air. Intent on reaching the children’s tent, Gigi dashed down an alleyway, but the swirling smoke was so thick, so dark and acrid, she couldn’t see a thing, and stumbled over something. The mutilated body of an elderly man lay grotesquely contorted on the ground, staring out with lifeless eyes. She coughed hard, fighting nausea and the smoke, and then moved on, gagging, groping, feeling her way.
    Gigi stopped when she heard some noises — grunts, groans — as horrible as they were familiar. Rage engulfed her, and she thrust her dagger through the wall of the tent, rending it to the ground. Inside, a Roman looked up, startled at the interruption of the rape he was committing on a woman.
    Gigi roared her fury, and thrust her blade into his right side, then wrenched up as hard as she could, opening a deep gash. The man simply stared at her in astonishment.
    “Bastard!” she spat at him, but his eyes were already blank, and he crumpled to the ground.
    Gigi took the woman in her arms. “Laita? Can you talk? You take care of Verica’s children, don’t you?”
    The woman was weeping and incoherent, but there was no time for that.
    Desperate, Gigi shook her. “Laita! Where are they? Does the queen have them with her?”
    “She … I think she has the twins, but Berga and Theodoric are with me,” she replied, sobbing.
    Gigi frantically looked around. “Where? Where are they?”
    “Th — there,” Laita pointed to a pile of blankets in the corner.
    Gigi raced over and started pulling the covers away. Soon, Theodoric stared up at Gigi, and then Berga’s head popped out beside her brother’s.
    “I could have fought!” Theo told Gigi, his eyes brimming with angry tears.
    “No!” Laita hissed. “The Roman would have murdered all of us if we had fought. This way … it was my job to protect you — this was the only way you could hope to survive.”
    “We can talk about it later,” Gigi insisted. “We have to get out of here. The soldiers are everywhere, and everything is burning. Grab a blanket — one for each and — hold on.” Gigi looked outside and saw little through the roiling black smoke, except a vinegar barrel, a mandatory fire-fighting tool kept within reach of every communal cluster.
    Gigi took Laita by the shoulders. “Can I count on you?”
    The woman nodded, grim resolve replacing her tears.
    “All right,” Gigi said. “There’s nobody out there right now. Dunk the blankets in the vinegar.