What did it matter? I had nowhere to go. I faltered, the pain in my lungs struggling against hopelessness for my attention.
Mounteban was nothing like Moaradrid. He wouldn't try to take me alive. He didn't care about questioning me. If the darker rumours I'd heard in Muena Palaiya were true — and I was confident now that they were — then his method of dealing with problems like me was to make damn sure they never bothered him again.
That was the message the bouncer's cudgel sent, like a clarion into my brain. I couldn't tear my eyes from it. As he galloped nearer, each crack of hooves sent light glinting from those fiendishly spiked points. The thing was fully as long as my leg. Every time it tore the air, I could feel, with clarity beyond imagination, what it would do to flesh and bone.
I'd almost staggered to a halt. He could easily have trampled me where I stood. Instead, he reined in, steadying his mount for a blow. The horse whickered furiously as he forced it through a tight half circle, striving to cut in front of me. I dropped to one knee and flung an arm over my head — as though that would do anything to stop the club from shattering both arm and skull. He gave me an almost friendly grin, perhaps grateful I was making life easier by staying still. Tug ging the reins harder, digging with his heels, he controlled the panicked horse. Then he lifted the obscene cudgel, almost casually.
I pulled my new knife from its sheath and jabbed it into his thigh.
I did it more from spite than any hope of saving myself. It was hardly more than a prick; the blade was no longer than my middle finger. Insomuch as I'd thought the attack through, I'd hoped to pull it free for another try.
The bouncer ruined that plan by tumbling down his horse's other side and onto the cobbles, landing with a bone-crunching thud and muffled cry.
Damn it, why could I never hold onto a knife?
Still, a horse was some recompense.
Bolstered by my unexpected victory, I leapt up and clutched the reins. I thought the horse might fight the unexpected change of rider, but apparently he was as eager to be off as I was. He shot to a gallop with the barest encouragement, and didn't flinch when our course took us directly towards the men ahead. For a moment, their heads swung between the figure crumpled on the cobbles and the excited animal bearing down on them. Then the line broke. Two of them dashed one way, three the other, and we sailed between.
I tried to guide us towards the nearest turn-off. I'd had more than enough of this street. However, the horse didn't seem terribly interested in my opinions. Only at the last possible instant did he decide to acquiesce, and we clattered round the corner. I nearly sobbed with relief when no one appeared to block our way.
Then my brain caught up with the sounds behind me.
What I'd thought was one set of hooves, the one beneath me, was actually more like half a dozen. Now that I realised, I could make out their individual tattoos upon the cobblestones. It could only be the rest of Mounteban's bodyguard. They weren't on us yet, but they were close and gaining.
I was no kind of horseman. I'd never have made it this far if my mount didn't have an agenda of his own. Whatever slim advantage I'd gained was about to vanish. Maybe I'd changed the rules of the chase, but they were no less stacked against me.
Nearing the end of our current road and left to its own devices, my horse made a beeline for an alley that cut towards the Market District. I approved in theory — except that this particular alley was chiselled through two buildings, its ceiling so low that a man could barely pass without crouching…
"Not that wa-"
Just in time, I realised ducking would serve better than arguing. I bent double over the horse's neck, as timber beams scuffed my hair. The too-close walls shrieked by. We broke back into open air, and another wider passage. This one ended in a ninety-degree turn — which my horse chose to ignore. He ran straight towards the wall. Only when it seemed far too late did he skid to a halt, neighing manically, as though the obstruction was some completely unpredictable impediment that had appeared to vex him.
I yanked hard on the reins, trying to tilt his head towards the turn. Eventually, he understood. He set off again, barely slower than before.
The next turn deposited us somewhere familiar, the main thoroughfare of the Market District, which ran west from the docks towards the palace. From behind, I could hear the pursuing riders navigating the alleys. Our lead was rapidly diminishing. I couldn't carry on like this. My horse was no less determined to kill me than the men closing upon us.
I had to get off the streets.
But where could I go? The gates were barred. Even if I could make it to Franco's, he'd turn me in the first chance he got, and there was no way I was chancing the sewer again. Better death than that. Alvantes should still be waiting beneath the Sabre, but it would be guarded and barricaded, and if they had any sense they'd have upped the guards manning the dockside too. What did that leave?
On any other night, nothing.
Tonight, however, I had a brand-new length of rope.
Maybe the walls would be crawling with men. More likely, they'd have been drawn into the hunt. To anyone without a new rope, the ramparts were too high to offer an escape route, just as the city was too cramped for them to offer any useful vantage in my pursuit. Anyway, what choice did I have? I could rationalise all night — or for the seconds it would take someone to catch and murder me — but there were no other options. A slim chance was better than none.
My best hope lay in taking the fastest route, regardless of where it brought me out. I drew my horse round, spurring him with a sharp dig of my heels, and we shot off westward through the Lower Market District.
From behind came the clamour of our pursuers joining the main road. By then, we were passing beneath the arch that joined Lower and Upper Market districts, into the luxurious stretch of shops reserved for the Altapasaedan rich. Ahead, a patrol of four men burst from a narrow sideway. My horse, with his usual indifference to obstructions, made no effort to avoid them. In the fraction of a second they had to judge the situation, they made the right decision. We left them sprawling in the street. The subsequent cries told me they'd proved more of a hindrance to our pursuers than they had to us.
Another grand arch brought us out at the curved junction where Market and Temple districts met. I edged the horse right, to keep our westerly course. To either side, lights burned with bright chemical blues and greens, casting brief, wild shadows of our passage. In cages above, vividly plumed birds screamed their outrage. I was glad I held no belief in the northerner gods; riding at full pelt through their mundane home was sure to be all kinds of blasphemy.
On we went, into the great square around the palace. I had just time to notice how the ornate palace gates had been caved in before we were past. My single-minded horse was in his element in so open a space. I didn't think our followers had gained at all. Now the walls were in sight — and sure enough, no one was visible upon their crest.
However, nothing lay beyond the walls at this point but the ragged highway we'd travelled the night be fore. I'd barely be safer out there than I was in here. Fortunately, this road ran almost the entire inner circumference of Altapasaeda. I didn't want to push my luck much further, but I let the horse continue, until I thought we must be near the outskirts of the Suburbs. Only then did I guide him towards one of the intermittent sets of steps that led upward.
I wasn't sure he'd stop when I reined in. He did, though so suddenly I almost tumbled over his head. I swung giddily to the ground. "Good horse," I mumbled. "Fine, brave horse."