Then Orisian rolled free. He got on to one knee, fighting against pain, the mud and the weight of rain.
The butt of a staff swept by his face so close he felt it pass. Anyara flung herself at his assailant, shouting furiously. The man slithered sideways, twisting too late to fend her off. Orisian scrambled back to Tomas.
The First Watchman was writhing in the mud, pawing vaguely at his throat. Orisian seized his sword and, forgetting everything Rothe had ever taught him, hacked wildly at the man with the staff. The blade found the knee joint and he went down, taking Anyara with him. Orisian staggered to his feet, the sword dragging in the mud, water pouring from him. He gasped for breath, struggled to find Rothe. Ame's dead eye, streaked with dirt, met him. The Second Watchman lay on his side, his neck broken and his battered helm lying in the road collecting rainwater.
Rothe was roaring, howling like some beast in a blood-rage. The two Watchmen he faced were backing away from him, glancing nervously at one another.
'Lannis! Lannis!' Rothe bellowed at them, and at the rain-swept sky, and they ran.
Orisian raised the sword with two hands. The last of Tomas' men had thrown Anyara off him; she sprawled helplessly in the road as he hauled himself upright, leaning heavily on his staff.
'Go,' Orisian shouted and thrust the sword forwards. Rothe was coming too, reeling as if he was drunk but still roaring. The Watchman hesitated for a moment, saw that he was alone and hobbled away.
Rothe helped Anyara up. He used his right hand only; his left arm hung limply at his side.
'You're hurt?' Orisian called.
'It'll come back,' Rothe grunted. 'Don't think it's broken. Lucky that Inkallim's hound didn't have longer teeth, or I'd be no use at all.' He nodded at the sword Orisian carried and held out his good hand.
Without hesitation, Orisian presented the sword to him hilt-first. Even with only one arm, Rothe could put it to better use. The shieldman smiled harshly as he took hold of the weapon.
'Feels better to have my hand on a sword again,' he said. He grimaced as he peered at the blade. 'Even if it's not been cared for as it should.'
The alarm was being rung again, more furiously even than before. It sounded closer too, but in all the tumult of the rain it was hard to be sure. It was, in any case, abruptly cut off. Tomas still lay on the road, struggling to breathe. His teeth were bared. His eyes seemed to be roving about blindly. Orisian, calmer now, felt a moment of horror at what he had done to the man. He saw Rothe eyeing the First Watchman purposefully.
'Leave him,' he murmured.
'We should go,' Yvane said. 'Now.'
The rain pounded on the roofs around them, churned the roadway. Other sounds were rising up to compete with the storm. There were cries: panicked voices blurred with the sound of rain. Perhaps even the sound of battle. It was impossible to say where the noise was coming from, but it was not far.
Rothe made them go down the centre of the street, fearful that doors or alleyways might hold a surprise.
Every muscle in Orisian's body sang with the desire to run, but his wound was acutely painful and Rothe acutely wary. They went cautiously to a corner, and turned into a road that angled towards the sea.
'I hear horses,' Yvane said.
Orisian tried, but he could not disentangle the blur of sounds assailing his ears. Perhaps there were hoofs buried in the cacophony.
'Can't tell,' shouted Rothe. He was at the rear, constantly turning this way and that, constantly seeking threat. Then, 'Here's trouble,' he cried.
They all looked, and saw two Koldihrvers staggering out into a junction. The rain put an illusion of distance on the scene, muffled any sound. The men paused, as if unsure of where to go. One of them stared at Orisian and the others. Then three great horses came plunging through the rain and mud, their riders swinging swords. They rode over the Koldihrvers, slamming them down. The horses slithered around. Their hoofs carved troughs into the sodden ground. The riders leaned down and hacked at the fallen men. No cries, no screams, reached Orisian. He saw the riders straighten, though, and master their mounts and come on. The horses stretched their legs and surged through plumes of spray.
'Black Road!' Anyara was shouting.
Rothe had both hands upon the hilt of the old sword now. The riders were bearing down on him; beyond, deeper into the grey rain, Orisian could see more horses appearing.
'Get into a house,' Rothe urged through gritted teeth.
Orisian spun, and found two more warriors galloping towards them from the other end of the road. A wild-haired woman was in the lead, leaning forwards over her horse's neck, sword held out to the side as if she meant to take a head in the first charge.
'They're behind us,' he cried out.
Even as the words left his mouth, a lean, pale-haired figure sprang out from between two houses, lunging to punch a spear into the side of the first horse's neck as it passed. The animal twisted in mid-stride. It crashed down in an eruption of mud and water, flinging its rider loose. The spear splintered and cart-wheeled away. Orisian started forwards but Ess'yr was ahead of him, whipping out a knife from her belt. She threw herself on to the woman, stabbing precisely for the throat. The fallen horse was thrashing around, unable to rise. The second rider slid to a halt beyond it. Varryn came swiftly and silently from the same alleyway as Ess'yr, and drove his spear up into the man's back. He hooked the Black Roader out of the saddle and cast him down, impaled.
Orisian wheeled about. The three other horsemen were moments from Rothe. The shieldman stood with his feet well spaced, the sword held out before him.
'Come,' Ess'yr was shouting at Orisian. She had his arm in a powerful grip and dragged him towards the alley she had emerged from.
'I have to get a sword,' Orisian said, casting about for one dropped by the two fallen warriors.
Then Anyara was pushing him from the other side, crying right into his ear, 'Move, move!'
Yvane barged into them all and knocked them down.A Black Road horseman surged past, the scything sweep of his blade cutting only the sodden air where Anyara had been standing. They scrambled for the safety of the alley. The road behind them was suddenly full of horses, bursting through the veils of rain.
'Rothe!' Orisian yelled. He could not see his shieldman in the chaos. Varryn ran forwards, darting between two rearing horses.
'I will bring him,' the Kyrinin snapped over his shoulder as he went.
Orisian thought he heard Rothe shouting, 'Make for the ship, Orisian.'
Anyara was pulling him down the narrow path. Yvane and Ess'yr were already ahead.
'I'm not leaving anyone,' Orisian shouted at his sister.
'They'll find us,' she replied without looking round. 'You don't want to die here, do you?'
They heard wailing from one of the houses they rushed past. They were moving away from the sea, away from the safety of Delyne's ship, but the alley offered no side turns. It channelled them along its length and spat them out into another street.
There was a woman screaming as she ran down the road. She was hauling a girl after her, dragging her through the mud. The child was crying.Battle spilled into the road beyond them: half a dozen of Koldihrve's Watchmen locked in a doomed struggle with three Horin-Gyre riders. One of the horses reared and twisted away in panic. Its rider was thrown. The other two slashed about them with their swords. Orisian glimpsed a spray of blood; it looked black at this distance, through the rain.
Ess'yr led them away from the fight, pressing close to the houses fronting the street as if they could give some shelter from the horrors consuming Koldihrve.
'Wait,' gasped Yvane. She gestured at a shabby house next to them. 'There's a path on the other side of these, I think. We can cut back to the sea.'
She pushed rather weakly at the door. It opened partway and then stuck. Orisian kicked at it and it smacked open. They tumbled inside. There was only one room: a bed with threadbare blankets, a table, chair and ash-filled fireplace. The occupants had fled, or we
re fighting or dying somewhere. The rain shook the thin roof. Water ran from their hair, their clothes.
'We can't leave Rothe,' Orisian said.
'He knows where we're going,' Yvane said. 'He'll come to us.' She was struggling with the latch on a closed window at the far side of the room. Orisian went to help her.
The shutters came open. Yvane leaned out. Ess'yr was watching the door.
'You left your own people to come to us,' Orisian said to the Kyrinin.
Her hair was clinging to the side of her face. Rainwater ran in fine rivulets over her skin. She blinked, and there were droplets upon her eyelashes: silvery beads of rain.
'I must see you safe,' she said.
'We have to go,' Anyara insisted.
'All right,' Yvane said. 'I don't see any trouble out on this side. Hammarn's is close. Follow me.'
She clambered out of the window on to a wooden walkway that ran along the backs of the houses.
Anyara went after her, and then Ess'yr. Orisian put his hands on the window frame to pull himself out. He swung a leg up and over, and then stopped. A pale glint by the fireplace took his eye: the blade of a thin knife hanging from a hook. He pulled himself back inside. He went across and took the knife in his hand.
It was a plain tool, but it was sharp.
'Orisian.'
He turned, and thought his heart would stop. A lean, powerful man stood in the doorway. He was half-stooped, for the frame was too low for him. He held a sword; blood and water were dripping together from its blade.
'That is your name, isn't it?' the man said quietly. 'Mine is Kanin oc Horin-Gyre.'
The crashing of the rain receded; Orisian's vision tightened upon the man standing before him.
Kanin took a single, long step into the room. He straightened up, lifted the point of his sword until it was level with Orisian's chest. Orisian edged towards the window. Kanin surged forwards. Orisian hurled himself at the window, launching himself up and out into the rainstorm. He cleared the walkway and sprawled in the road. Mud filled his mouth and nose. He rolled, spitting, in time to see Kanin oc Horin-Gyre putting a foot on the window sill, pulling himself up into the aperture. Ess'yr was standing to one side, and as the Thane emerged she swung her bow like a club and smashed it into his face. There was a spray of blood and Kanin fell backwards into the house with a cry of shock and pain. The impact broke the bow's back, and Ess'yr cast it away as she sprang down into the roadway.
'No sitting around,' muttered Yvane as she pulled Orisian to his feet.
They flew down the street and around an acute corner. They cut between houses and came out within sight of the sea. Orisian recognised where they were. Hammarn's hut was there, the door open, Hammarn himself peering out with wide and frightened eyes.
'Is it you? Is it you?' he shouted as they rushed up.
'Yes,' Yvane said. 'Time to come with us, friend.'
The old na'kyrim looked startled.
'Can't you hear?' Yvane asked him. 'This town's no place to be.'
Hammarn cocked his head. Cries and screams were still rising up through the rain.
'Perhaps so,' Hammarn grunted. 'Maybe so. Better gather myself.' He ducked back inside.
'Hammarn . . .' Yvane started to say.
'Let him get what he wants,' Orisian said. 'We'll wait for Rothe as long as we can. And for Varryn.'
Yvane looked back the way they had come.
'That would not be wise,' she said.
Orisian faced her without a moment's uncertainty. 'Wise or not, I will give them the chance.'
He darted around the side of the house, hunching his shoulders fruitlessly against the downpour. The sea was a great shiver of ripples and impacts beneath the rain's assault. Edryn Delyne's ship had its sails set.
Figures were moving about on the deck. Orisian waved and shouted, but there was no sign that anyone saw him. He glanced along the storm-swept, muddy shore. There was a long, low rowboat tied up at the nearest of the crude jetties. He returned to the others. They were gathered just inside the doorway.
Hammarn was rummaging deep in a pile of driftwood, muttering softly to himself.
'There's a boat we can take,' Orisian reported, 'but we don't have much time. Delyne's making ready to sail.'
He looked at Ess'yr. An unfocused glaze had settled over her eyes. A blurring sheen of rainwater overlay her tattoos, making them seem damaged, impotent.
'What of the vo'an?' he asked her.
She gave the slightest shake of her head. 'The enemy have come. Many of them.'
'I'm sorry.'
Orisian felt a hand upon his arm. Anyara was at his side. Her face was mournful. He tried to smile for her.
'I know,' he said. 'No more time. We can't wait.'
Hammarn had collected nothing but woodtwines. He bound a scrap of cloth around the little bundle of carvings and clutched them to his chest like a baby.
'Got it,' he said to no one.
Orisian led the way out and made for the shore. He had gone only a few paces when he saw Rothe and Varryn burst out from a side street and come running towards them. The Kyrinin was limping a fraction.
Rothe's left arm hung with an ominous looseness. It had taken no mere numbing blow this time: there was blood sluicing away in the rain.
Orisian felt a tremendous surge of relief rush through him.
'Is it bad?' he asked as the shieldman came up to him.
'Not as bad as it could have been,' Rothe said with a lopsided smile. 'Lucky there's plenty of places too narrow for horses in this dismal town.'
When they reached the shore, water running out from the town was cutting channels for itself down the beach. Shells and stones were appearing, eroded out of the mud by the hard rain. They slipped and slithered to the jetty and ran out along its uneven length. The boarding felt treacherous.
Two ropes held the boat. Yvane went to one, Orisian the other. The swollen knot felt huge and solid beneath his numb fingers. He could not get any purchase. He pulled the knife out from where he had tucked it into his belt and began to saw at the sodden fibres. He shot a glance at the ship. Men had gathered at its rail and were gesturing towards them.
'Let me cut it,' Rothe said, raising his sword. 'Blade's not the sharpest, but it'll do.'
Orisian backed away. Rothe's first blow went partway through the rope.
'We go now,' Varryn said quietly.
Orisian turned to him. The Kyrinin warrior was impassive, looking not at Orisian but Ess'yr. She did not reply at once. Orisian sought for the words he needed. This once, this one time, he wanted to say the right thing to her.
'Kanin!' Anyara cried. 'It's Kanin.'
There were riders pounding along the shore, ten or twelve of them. Orisian wiped rain from his eyes.
Kanin was to the fore, driving his horse on with wild energy. Orisian heard the chop of another sword blow from behind him.
'It's free,' Rothe said. 'I'll cut the other.'
Yvane gave up her unequal struggle with the second rope. She stood at Orisian's side. The Black Road warriors were close. Fountains of mud and sand erupted at their horses' feet. Orisian could hear the wet thumps of the hoofs.
'Quickly, Rothe,' he said.
He watched Kanin coming. He could see the fury in the man's face now, and the great bloody wound Ess'yr had put there with her bow. Orisian was strangely aware of the leaden weight of his soaking clothes. He squeezed the hilt of the knife. Rothe's sword smacked against the rope. The shieldman cursed. Kanin hauled at his reins. His horse came to a ragged halt at the base of the jetty.
The other riders gathered around him. They looked as if they had ridden out of the rain-riven sky itself, a wild expression of the storm. Kanin held out his sword, pointing it at Orisian.
'Hold,' he cried. 'Hold there.'
Warriors were dismounting. Orisian could see crossbows being readied.
'Rothe?' asked Orisian without looking round.
'Done!'
A crossbow bolt sna
pped out, flashing darkly through the rain and past them, out over the sea. An answering arrow sprang from Varryn's bow. It darted past Kanin, thudded into the warrior behind him.
'Get into the boat,' said Orisian. 'Everyone.'
'Oh dear, oh dear,' Hammarn was muttering over and over again.
He and Yvane, then Anyara scrambled into the boat. A flurry of bolts hissed down the length of the jetty. Orisian flung himself at the rowboat. Rothe, there beside him, gasped as one quarrel found his shoulder. The boat rocked as the shieldman slumped into it. Orisian struggled to his feet. Yvane was fumbling with an oar; she was staring, as if in surprise, at the crossbow bolt transfixing her upper arm.
Varryn, still standing with Ess'yr on the end of the jetty, loosed another arrow.
'Come on,' Orisian shouted at the Kyrinin. 'Get in.'
'Pull, pull,' Anyara was screaming at Hammarn as the two of them hauled at oars. The boat jerked away from the jetty. Orisian reached for Ess'yr.
'Don't be stupid,' he shouted. 'You can't stay here.' Kanin was rushing down the jetty, his warriors coming behind him like a dark flock of crows stooping out of the rain-lashed sky. Orisian heard Kanin's inarticulate scream of fury. Varryn and Ess'yr looked silently at one another for an instant and then leapt from the jetty. They landed together in the rowboat's stern, so lightly and precisely that it hardly bucked.
Orisian scrambled over Rothe's prostrate form. The warrior was moaning softly. Orisian saw the blood soaking through his shieldman's shirt, but would not allow the sight to touch him. Not yet. There were four oars. Hammarn and Anyara were pulling at two, Yvane struggling with a third.
'No,' Kanin was shouting as the boat took another unsteady lunge away from the shore.
More bolts: dark flickers darting out to the boat, slicing through the rain.
'Get down,' shouted Orisian, and hunched over his oar. A couple of the quarrels thudded into the hull, the stern; another flew over their heads. He felt his oar shiver and saw a bolt stuck in it, next to his hand.
Then nothing. The warriors on the jetty were hurrying to reload. Kanin stood at the furthest point, arms and sword upraised as if to threaten the thick, grey sky itself.
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