Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (18 page)

Errollyn dropped to the ground beside her, took his bow from her hand, and said, “Let's go. I'll cover us, I don't think they'll have any archers.”

One saving grace—bows were expensive in a big city where good wood was rare, and all expensive things were rare in Riverside. They ran out together, Sasha in the lead. For a moment, their emergence met with no response. Then a yell from behind. Errollyn spun, an arrow from his hip quiver abruptly on his string, even moving backward. The pursuers flinched, breaking away in fear…one charged and Errollyn's bow thumped. The man spun like a top, knocked clean off his feet, a shaft through his shoulder. Errollyn had another arrow on his string almost immediately and the pursuers fled for the cover of walls.

Sasha slowed to let him catch up, more shadows fleeing their approach. Further ahead was a confusion of running, shouting, hand-waving men amidst a dancing chaos of light and shadow. They seemed to be departing away from the river, and now there were large numbers of men running straight toward the crowd, from the far end of the road. They'd been outflanked, Sasha realised in that instant, the primary escape route downriver had been blocked. It would take a very large number of men to do that. The mission was well and truly off; escape now the only path left, and the only way was south, straight through the swarming, stinking, angry slum.

Sasha turned right and ducked into a dingy alleyway. It was nearly too dark to see and she stumbled over some debris before her eyes adjusted. A dog fled, barking madly, as the alley wound back and forth between squalid dwellings and piled refuse. A girl screamed in fear from a doorway as they ran past. Ahead, Sasha could hear fighting…although it seemed to be coming from many locations. The alley joined another, became larger, and Sasha paused, crouching by a wall that stank of urine.

Footsteps and shouting came past, very close. Sasha wiped sweat from her eyes, staring furiously into the dark. They could be ambushed around any corner…Errollyn covered the way they'd come with his bow. She briefly considered letting him lead, considering his eyesight, but then thought better of it. Whoever ran into a mudfoot in the dark had better be holding something sharp. Her breath was coming in hard gasps. There was no room, no light and no fresh air.

A little boy ran from a doorway not five paces away, stopped, and then stared at her. He was ragged, his hair a mess, and there were sores about his mouth. Sasha moved past him, Errollyn following, and the boy just stared at them dumbly. Another bend, and a darker patch of shadow…she stepped in some foul water, then froze to see some men gathered ahead in a patch of light. Their weapons were rough—rusty knives, some clubs with nails or spikes, an improvised spear. Crude, but effective enough at close quarters.

Movement behind the wall at her right caught her ear, and she stepped back a little…then dived as a spear thrust came fast through a gap in the wall, fending with one arm. Ahead, the men saw and yelled. Errollyn shot one as Sasha raced back past him, her forearm stinging. They ran toward the little boy once more, his mother emerged to grab him and screamed…Sasha saw a narrower alley to the left and took it, Errollyn in close pursuit.

“Keep right!” he shouted, and she hugged the right wall, missing some obstacle she could barely see in the gloom. The alley's end was blocked so she darted through an open door, to the horror of residents—a pregnant woman clutching a sickly infant, an old man lying on a dirty blanket on a bare dirt floor, a small fire for light and the air thick with smoke. In the adjoining room, a huddled family leapt screaming for the walls. Sasha hurdled their little fire, spying a doorway beyond, and went through it. Rats scurried in the lane, squealing as she passed, and into a wider alley.

Several men ran by, then halted at the sight of her. They were ragged and dirty like the rest, but better armed. One had a long staff, with a rusty blade jammed in the end, another held a genuine sword.

Sasha moved before they could decide what to do, cutting the man's staff clean in two. He stumbled and another tried to dart past, but she slashed his
arm and he fell, clutching a shallow wound. The big man swung his sword, but his terrible technique was made worse by his panicked fury…she knocked it aside, kicked him in the groin, then cracked his skull with the hilt.

The others ran, but now there were rocks flying past—someone behind her was throwing stones. She made another turn and ran, desperately trying to recall her bearings…a woman ahead fell to the ground and covered her head, Sasha simply hurdled her. “Which way?” she yelled to Errollyn.

“Next left,” he said, close behind. He knew cities better than she did. She'd always thought her sense of direction excellent, but now she had no idea which way she was going.

She took the left and realised that somewhere near, something large was burning. Light danced on rooftops and shadows wavered. There were many voices yelling. And fighting, very near.

Peering about the next intersection, she found trouble. Three fighters, clearly Nasi-Keth, were trying to move down the alley. At least twelve mudfoots pursued. Two Nasi-Keth turned to slash at their pursuers, keeping them back, the third coming ahead…and now, three more mudfoots emerged from a door between Sasha and the Nasi-Keth. The twelve charged, emboldened. Sasha ran. Errollyn shot one of the near three in the back, the arrow hissing past Sasha's ear.

One of the remaining two did not notice—wielding a big axe in fury. His Nasi-Keth opponent was small and not particularly good, awkwardly dodging one blow, barely parrying a second. The second man noted his companion's fall, and spun about, his club raised. Sasha feinted left, sprang right and slashed him across the middle. The axeman disarmed his opponent with a slashing blow and aimed the next to kill, only for Sasha to drive her blade through his middle before the axe could fall.

“Move!” Sasha yelled at the besieged Nasi-Keth behind. Both were fighting desperately, several bodies on the ground and another falling as the big Nasi-Keth felled him. And suddenly Sasha recognised Rodery and Liam. Errollyn shot one mudfoot, somehow finding a gap in the confined space, Liam barely parried a blow from a sword, retreating as he went, and then a spear thrust found Rodery's leg. He stumbled and a mudfoot bodily tackled him, pulling him down. Another angled a long knife for a killing blow—Errollyn's bow thumped, and arrow punched through skull like a melon.

Sasha charged, but already there were more mudfoots coming from further along. A wall of them, yelling and waving weapons. Liam took the hand off one attacker, then Sasha arrived at his side, and killed the next two with fast, simple blows.

“Go!” she yelled at Liam. And looked back to Rodery, to find a mudfoot had already driven a spear through his throat, and was twisting it viciously. A girl behind her screamed—the disarmed Nasi-Keth, a rare woman. But the wave was almost on them.

Sasha ran after Liam, and Errollyn sent another arrow past her, felling the leader of the wave whose fall tangled those behind. Someone tried to club Sasha from a doorway as she ran, Sasha replied with a slash that took the club and half the wielder's face with it. Only as she ran on did she realise it had been a woman.

Stones came at the four of them as they ran, ducking along new alleys. A stone struck the top of Sasha's head, stinging but not felling her. Children on the roofs, she realised, glimpsing a small shape against the firelit sky. All of Riverside was trying to kill them.

She did not know how far they ran. Gloomy alleys and lanes became a blur, the occasional stone thudding nearby, the yells of pursuit and other, nearby fighting. Sometimes they would come across bodies, corpses dealt by some other group of Nasi-Keth. Several more times they had to fight clear—Sasha killed two more men, Liam one, and wounded several more between them. Errollyn began to run low on arrows, sometimes firing into the dark at targets Sasha could not see. His earlier mercy, it seemed, was all evaporated. The girl was Yulia, and she'd not recovered her lost sword. Mostly, she was crying and terrified, and tried hard to keep up and stay out of the way, with little more than her belt knife for a weapon.

Finally they emerged onto the banks of a dark lake. Its level was low, and the water putrid, afloat with debris. Sasha, Errollyn, Liam and Yulia ran along the muddy, exposed lake bed headed toward the eastward hills of Backside and the high ridge beyond. Shouts and yells pursued them, armed men gathering on the lake edge beyond, waving weapons and torches. Some threw stones and bits of wood, but their aim was poor in the dark.

“Walk!” Sasha gasped to the others, her boots sinking in the foul mud. “Walk. They'll not venture beyond Riverside.” Above the lake, and beyond, larger houses rose, several of them grand and old, surrounded by fields and trees. Old lands, not yet claimed by the expanding city.

A stone made a wet smack nearby, another splashed in the water. Yells reached a crescendo and men began pouring off the lip and onto the muddy lake bed. Sasha swore, pulling a knife and noting that Errollyn had only three arrows left. He shot the most well-armed man first—a sword—drew fast and shot the next squarely through the chest. Her target struggling slowly through the mud, Sasha had plenty of time to aim and throw, and hit her man in the gut. Several of the attackers faltered, save one who came straight at
Sasha, and died immediately after from the simplest of swings. The others turned and ran back the way they'd come.

Sasha shook her head in disbelief and trudged through the mud to reclaim her knife, sidestepping stones as she went. The screams of abuse grew louder. The man she'd struck was still alive. Then she saw his face, wide-eyed and panicked, and barely more than thirteen. She swore and pulled her knife clear—it would increase the bleeding, but there was no choice if the wound was to have any chance of healing.

“Here,” she said in Torovan, and barely recognised her own voice—hard, tired, devoid of emotion. She bunched up a handful of his ragged shirt and pressed it hard onto the bleeding gash. “Press hard.
Hard
, understand?” She placed his hand over it and made him press. A stone hit her shoulder, another hit the boy's leg. Shit-eating fools didn't care who they hit.

“Sasha, come on,” said Errollyn, directly behind her. He swayed aside from a stone lazily. The last arrow was on his bowstring. “The kid has no chance, not in this cesspit.” He was right, of course. The wound would turn nasty and the kid would be dead in two days. They couldn't take him with them, that would just invite pursuit, and the look in the kid's eyes as he stared at her suggested he would fight any attempt to save him, if such help came from the likes of her. “Witches!” they screamed on the rim of the lake. “Demons of Loth!”

Errollyn yanked her backward as a stone whistled through the spot where she'd been. She staggered to her feet and stared darkly at the gathering line of hysterical slum dwellers. A new man arrived in their midst, holding a makeshift spear with something dark and hairy on the end. A human head. He lofted it skyward and there were screams and shouts of furious, frightened triumph. Sasha could not recognise the head in the chaos of fire and shadow, but she was certain it was someone she knew.

Errollyn raised his bow as the spear holder turned side-on to address the crowd. The bow thumped and thrummed, and the arrow skewered its target in one ear and out the other. People scattered in panic as body and spear-stuck head toppled. Sasha stared at Errollyn. Grey hair wild and matted, his face wet with sweat, his green eyes burned like the torch fires themselves. A demon of Loth indeed.

“Who was it?” she asked him quietly.

Errollyn looked as though he'd like to kill several more. He took a deep breath, and lowered his bow. “Never mind. Let's go.”

“Errollyn,” said Sasha, in rising alarm. Her heart stopped. “Surely it couldn't be…”

Errollyn saw. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not Kessligh.” Her heart restarted. “It was Aiden.”

The foursome limped tiredly across a field, headed for some tall poplar trees along the next wall. A farmhouse loomed near—three floors, like no farmhouse Sasha had ever seen in Lenayin. The night was dark and shadowy against the dim background light, occasional hung lamps and lit windows on the Backside slope above. Grass felt wonderful underfoot. How long had it been since she'd walked on grass? All in Petrodor was stone. Across the vast arc of sky above, a swathe of stars.

Yulia walked quietly, except for an occasional, shaking inward breath. Errollyn had unstrung his bow and walked now with sword in hand. Liam limped on a twisted ankle, but said nothing and refused to slow down. As the heat of battle left her, Sasha felt aches and injuries that she did not recall accumulating. Her head was cut from a stone, her temple swollen from where she'd bashed it on a corner in the dark. Her shoulder ached from that last stone and her right forearm had been gashed from the first spear thrust through the wall. But mostly, she was worried about the other Nasi-Keth, scared for Kessligh, and her other friends. They'd not seen anyone else on this walk away from the battle. Surely many others had taken different directions. Riverside was large and there were many, many routes of escape, she told herself with each aching, worrying step.