Bauchle Meyne sprang up, his high complexion scarlet with fury.
'You, you little bitch!' He lunged for her, grabbed her, and backhanded her across the face. 'You've ruined me for spite!'
The blow knocked her to the ground. This time Bauchle Meyne did not laugh at her. Half-blinded, Wess scrambled away from him. She heard his boots pound closer and he kicked her in the same place in the ribs. She heard the bone crack. She'dragged at her knife but its edge, roughened by the abuse she had given it, hung up on the rim of the scabbard. She could barely see and barely breathe. She struggled with the knife and Bauchle Meyne kicked her again.
'You can't get away this time, bitch!' He let Wess get to her hands and knees. 'Just try to run!' He stepped towards her.
Wess flung herself at his legs, moved beyond pain by fury. He cried out as he fell. The one thing he could never expect from her was attack. Wess lurched to her feet. She ripped her knife from its scabbard as Bauchle Meyne lunged at her. She plunged it into him, into his belly, up, into his heart.
She knew how to kill, but she had never killed a human being. She had been drenched by her prey's blood, but never the blood of her own species. She had watched creatures die by her hand, but never a creature who knew what death meant.
His heart still pumping blood around the blade, his hands fumbling at her hands, trying to push them away from his chest, he fell to his knees, shuddered, toppled over, convulsed, and died.
Wess jerked her knife from his body. Once more she heard the shrieks of frightened horses and the curses of furious men, and the howl of a half-starved wolf cub.
The tent shimmered with wizard-light.
I wish it were torches, Wess screamed in her mind. Torches would burn you, and burning is what you deserve.
But there was no fire, and nothing burned. Even the wizard-light was fading.
Wess looked into the sky. She raked her sleeve across her eyes to wipe away her tears.
The two flyers soared towards the moon, free.
And now -
Quartz and Chan were nowhere in sight. She could find only terrified strangers: performers in spangles. Sanctuary people fighting each other, and more guards coming to the rescue of their lord. The salamander lumbered by, hissing in fear.
Horses clattered towards her and she spun, afraid of being run down. Aristarchus brought them to a halt and flung her the second horse's reins. It was the skewbald stallion from Satan's cart, the one with the wild blue eye. It smelled the blood on her and snorted and reared. Somehow she kept hold of the reins. The horse reared again and jerked her off her feet. Bones ground together in her side and she gasped.
'Mount!' Aristarchus cried. 'You can't control him from the ground!'
'I don't know how -' She stopped. It hurt too much to talk. 'Grab his mane! Jump! Hold on with your knees.' She did as he said, found herself on the horse's back, and nearly fell off his other side. She clamped her legs around him and he sprang forward. Both the reins were on one side of his neck - Wess knew that was not right. She pulled on them and he twisted in a circle and almost threw her again. Aristarchus urged his horse forward and grabbed the stallion's bridle. The animal stood spraddle-legged, ears flat back, nostrils flaring, trembling between Wess's legs. She hung on to his mane, terrified. Her broken ribs hurt so badly she felt faint.
Aristarchus leaned forward, blew gently into the stallion's nostrils, and spoke to him so quietly Wess could not hear the words. Slowly, easily, the troll straightened out the reins. The animal gradually relaxed, and his ears pricked forward again.
'Be easy on his mouth, frejojan,' the troll said to Wess. 'He's a good creature, just frightened.'
'I have to find my friends,' Wess said.
'Where are you to meet them?'
Aristarchus's calm voice helped her regain her composure.
'Over there.' She pointed to a shadowed recess beyond the tent. Aristarchus started for it, still holding her horse's bridle. The animals stepped delicately over broken equipment and abandoned clothing.
Quartz and Chan ran from the shadowed side of the tent. Quartz was laughing. Through the chaos she saw Wess, tagged Chan on the shoulder to get his attention, and changed direction to hurry towards Wess.
'Did you see them fly?' Quartz cried. 'They outflew eagles!'
'As long as they outflew arrows,' Aristarchus said dryly. 'Hurry, you, the big one, up behind me, and you,' he said to Chan, 'behind Wess.'
They did as he ordered. Quartz kicked the horse and he sprang forward, but Aristarchus reined him in.
'Slowly, children,' the troll said. 'Slowly through the dark, and no one will notice.'
To Wess's surprise, he was quite correct.
In the city they kept the horses at the walk, and Quartz concealed Aristarchus beneath her cloak. The uproar fell behind them, and no one chased them. Wess clutched the stallion's mane, still feeling very insecure so high above the ground.
A direct escape from Sanctuary did not lead them past the Unicorn, .or indeed into the Maze at all, but they decided to chance going back; the risk of travelling unequipped through the mountains this late in the fall was too great. They approached the Unicorn through back alleys, and saw almost no one. Apparently the denizens of the Maze were as fond of entertainments as anyone else in Sanctuary. No doubt the opportunity to watch their prince extricate himself from a collapsed tent was almost the best entertainment of the evening. Wess would not have minded watching that herself.
Leaving the horses hidden in shadow with Aristarchus, they
crept quietly up the stairs to their room, stuffed belongings in their packs, and started out again.
'Young gentleman and his ladies, good evening.'
Wess spun around, Quartz right beside her gripping her sword. The tavern-keeper flinched back from them, but quickly recovered himself.
'Well,' he said to Chan, sneering. 'I thought they were one thing, but I see they are your bodyguards.'
Quartz grabbed him by the shirt front and lifted him off the floor. Her broadsword scraped from its scabbard. Wess had never seen Quartz draw it, in defence or anger; she had never seen the blade. But Quartz had not neglected it. The edge gleamed with transparent sharpness.
'I forswore the frenzy when I abandoned war,' Quartz said very quietly. 'But you are very nearly enough to make me break my oath.' She opened her hand and he fell to his knees before the point of the sword.
'I meant no harm, my lady -'
'Do not call me "lady"! I am not of noble birth! I was a soldier and I am a woman. If that cannot deserve your courtesy, then you cannot command my mercy!'
'I meant no harm, I meant no offence. I beg your pardon ...' He looked up into her unreadable silver eyes. 'I beg your pardon, northern woman.'
There was no contempt in his voice now, only terror, and to Wess that was just as bad. She and Quartz could expect nothing here, except to be despised or feared. They had no other choices.
Quartz sheathed her sword. 'Your silver is on the table,' she said coldly. 'We had no mind to cheat you.'
He scrabbled up and away from them, into the room. Quartz grabbed the key from the inside, slammed the door, and locked it.
'Let's get out of here.'
They clattered down the stairs. In the street, they tied the packs together and to the horses' harnesses as best they could. Above,. they heard the innkeeper banging at the door, and when he failed to break it down, he came to the window.