All around them, sounds of pursuit echoed in the dark. Harsh voices organised search parties and doors banged open near them, feet clattering down stairs and across cobbles.
'No one's going to open a gate for us,' said Yron. 'Any ideas?'
'The postern door by the west gate,' said Erys, breathing hard. 'It's small enough. I can focus a ForceCone, probably crack it.'
'Probably?'
'Definitely,' said Erys. 'It may not burst but a kick should finish it.'
'You'd better be right,' said Yron.
'Your turn to trust me.'
Yron waited while Erys gathered himself and formed the shape of a ForceCone in his mind. His eyes moved under closed lids, his hands teasing at the mana Yron would never see. The captain was in awe of mages; they were blessed with a vision he couldn't imagine and an ability at which he could only guess. Erys opened his eyes.
'Let's go,' he said, voice elsewhere as he concentrated hard.
Yron led off, pacing evenly down the passage, keeping himself hidden in deep shadow. Twenty yards ahead, a team of soldiers ran across their path. Yron slowed further, approaching the crossway. Beyond it a short run and then the open space by the west gate. It might be full of men and mages. There was only one way to find out. He listened at the crossway. All was quiet in the immediate surroundings. Offering a short prayer, he hurried across the space, Erys behind him. His ears strained for the shout that would tell them they had been seen but he heard nothing.
He began to hope. Dangerous, he knew, but he did it anyway. At the end of the passage he could see flickering lights and hear more voices. He crept up to the corner; the walls to left and right were the mana bowl and the infirmary. Three paces from the end and a figure strode into the passage, tall and masked. Yron's heart sank and he drew his sword.
'Keep behind me, Erys,' he said.
The Protector marched towards them, axe and sword ready. He stopped in front of Yron, looked at him briefly, and walked on.
'Now or never,' said Erys over Yron's relief.
The postern gate was a forty-yard run directly across the marshalling area for the Xeteskian cavalry. Only a few soldiers were there and all were moving to join the search.
'When you start, keep running, Captain. I have to stop to cast then I'll be right behind you.'
Yron nodded. He didn't want to leave Erys but there was no choice. 'Don't get caught,' he said. 'Ready? Let's go.'
The two men sprinted into the yard and had covered ten yards before the shouts went up. Left and right, soldiers ran in to cut them off. Yron pushed harder. Crossbow bolts skipped off the ground at his feet. He heard Erys slide to a stop.
'Good luck,' he breathed and, giving Erys clear sight of the door, ran on.
The air was full of torchlight and shouts for him to stop. Behind him, he heard Erys's command word, felt the shadow of the spell rush past him and saw the postern gate buckle outwards, hearing timbers creak and snap. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the mage surge to his feet and chase after him.
Left and right, his former colleagues closed in, yelling warnings, urging him to give himself up. Fresher and mostly younger, they were gaining fast, and he knew if he stopped at the gate he'd be caught. Already feeling the pain he was about to experience, he ate up the last few yards and shoulder-charged the spell-weakened iron-bound oak gate.
As he struck he didn't think it would give, but, with the crack of splitting timber, the gate gave way and he sprawled out into the streets of Xetesk. His shoulder shrieked in pain as he dragged himself to his feet, sparing a glance back inside.
'Come on, Erys!' he shouted.
The mage was running hard, head down, legs and arms pumping. Framed in the gate arch he seemed so close to freedom. But from the side, a soldier rushed in, swung his sword and caught Erys a glancing blow across the shoulder. Yron saw the blood spray and Erys tumble heavily onto the cobbles before an arrow whipping past his head brought him back to himself and he tore off into the maze of roads, alleys and passages that made up Xetesk's artisans' quarter, cursing all the way. Merke and her Tai were deep inside Xetesk. They and seven other TaiGethen cells were scouting the city at night, looking for information, looking for weaknesses but above all looking for a way into the Dark College itself. For all the Xeteskian soldiers and mages marching to battle the other colleges, the walls, the Protectors and their watchers, the TaiGethen had pierced the city defences easily enough, scaling the walls in four places and scattering into the night.
Three cells were combing residential areas, two were around the markets and three studied the college itself, including Auum's. But for once he had not chosen the right place. From where Merke, Inell and Vaart were hidden, overlooking one of the gates of the college, they had seen an extraordinary sight.
Right before them, a side gate had buckled. Heartbeats later, a man had crashed through, rolling over, dragging himself to his feet and running from the college, heading down an alley not twenty yards from them. They waited for the pursuit and it duly came: men with swords and the masked Protectors, splitting into groups of three, four and five, scattering into the blank shadows of the warehouses and stinking foundries. Some ran straight past them, others took the alley their quarry had used.
Merke looked at her Tai. Vaart shrugged.
'The one running is more likely an ally than an enemy.'
'It'll do as a reason for now,' said Merke.
The Tai moved, ghosts over the ground, unslinging bows, un-snapping jaqrui pouches and scabbard covers. Merke was ahead, Inell and Vaart left and right, emerging from the alley where they'd watched it all unfold, across the front of a warehouse and down its far side.
The blank walls of its neighbour were no more than fifteen feet away, sheer sides rising up better than thirty feet to angled tiled roofs. They hemmed in the TaiGethen like no rainforest ever could, the smells of city life mixing with the drab buildings to produce a place Merke couldn't believe any sane man would want to live. But live here they did. And die.
Merke whispered over the ground, sword and jaqrui ready, bows flanking her. Ahead, she could make out the figures of four men hurrying down the alley. They turned left and disappeared. She heard calls and shouts and upped her pace, rounding the corner. It led to a dead end and a man trapped against a high stone wall.
He was facing the quartet like a warrior, upright, with his axe ready as they approached him, two of them in masks, one weaponless, the other with a crossbow. They were speaking to him and he was shaking his head.
'Left and right,' she whispered.
Arrows flew, punching through the necks of the masked men, who fell without a sound. Her jaqrui wailed away, its keening sound setting roosting birds to flight. The weaponless man, a mage, turned in time to see it flash into the bridge of his nose. He screamed and fell.
Taking his chance, the hunted man leaped forward, one arm hanging limp, the other holding his axe effectively enough. Panicked, the crossbowman fired, taking him in the thigh, but he came on, blade smashing into the man's face around his mouth, splitting the base of his skull and sending him crashing against a wall to slide dead to the ground.
He ignored the corpse and sized up the Tai, Merke a little confused at his reaction. There seemed to be no relief that he had been saved, only a sort of weary resignation. He stooped, wiped his blade clean and resheathed the weapon in a gaudy impractical-looking holster and held out his hands in a gesture of peace.
Merke walked forward, her Tai with bows ready and tensed.
'Please,' he said in serviceable elvish. 'I have what you need. Let me help you.'