But the ambushers were moving too. Three Blackguards went down in the first wave of fire missiles. In defending Gavin first, they couldn't fix their own shields in time. A gout of red luxin jetted in from four sides, trying to drench the entire bridge so they could set it alight. Blue and green Blackguards threw up shields to divert the flows off the sides of the bridge while a yellow threw light-burst grenadoes at everyone she could see.
Gavin looked forward and saw that the ambushers weren't blocking the way across the bridge. There was only one reason for that. They wanted Gavin and the Blackguard to flee headlong into something worse.
Projectiles were sparking and whining off his shields, grenadoes' explosions were rocking the rooftops, and huge blue knives like icicles were being fired by two of the color wights behind them. The Blackguards were compressed tight around Gavin, using their shields and, if that failed, their bodies to keep him safe.
"Let's move! Cross the bridge!" the commander said. She was young. Orholam, had they lost so many that this young woman was in charge?
All this was according to the Blackguard training, too. Protect, secure, decide, act. No hesitation.
"No!" Gavin shouted. He pointed off the side of the bridge and drafted a new walkway in green from the middle span to a point thirty paces down.
"Flash!" one of the Blackguards yelled. She was a yellow. She launched a flash bomb a mere ten paces into the air. Gavin and the Blackguards covered their faces as it exploded with so much force that Gavin could feel it rock his shields.
Then they ran across the new green bridge, even as the bridge behind them, no longer protected from the red luxin streams, went up in flame.
One of the blue wights dropped into the street in front of them as they made it back to land, determined to steer them back into the secondary ambush. A dozen Blackguard hands went up and the beast was riddled with luxin bullets and cudgeled aside instantly.
A Blackguard fell, though Gavin hadn't seen what cut him down. "No! No! No!" the man was yelling. His partner split away from them. The Blackguard who had fallen rolled over onto his back. His partner, a woman near forty, Laya, Gavin thought her name was, stood over him.
"I'm sorry," the fallen Blackguard said. "Too much. Too much."
Laya pulled an eyelid up to get a good look at the fallen Blackguard's halo. She whispered something, kissed her fingers, touched them to the fallen man's eyes, mouth, and heart. Then she cut his throat. The rest of the Blackguards didn't wait.
They ran past an alley and found themselves looking at the backs of dozens of musketeers, all in formation, muskets up, pointed the other way where the ambush had originally tried to steer Gavin. The men were so intent on waiting for their quarry to appear in front of them that they didn't see Gavin behind them. As they ran past, Laya slopped red luxin over them. A lot of red. The whoosh of flame was so intense as she set it alight that Gavin saw shadows half a block away-which meant the flames had leapt for a moment above the rooftops. The screams followed. Men burning to death.
One more river crossing. This time, Gavin led the Blackguards to a blank section and drafted his own green span across. No need to risk another ambush.
They made it to the docks and found hundreds of soldiers there, muskets loaded, facing out. The boats were still being boarded, mountains of luggage pushed aside, left behind, now gathered for use as barriers. There was a stream of boats already heading out, a line disappearing into the distance, going through the Guardian's legs as she stood guard. Every ship in the entire harbor had been used. And most were already gone. Two huge barges crafted of blue and green luxin and wood had been constructed and were already heading out too. That left one luxin barge that was rapidly filling even now, with far too many men to fit in it.
The soldiers here were locals mostly-where the hell had all the Ruthgari soldiers gone? Boarded earlier ships no doubt. Someone would pay for that, but not now. The soldiers who remained looked resolute, and their countenances lifted as they saw Gavin. These were men who thought they were going to die to give their families a chance to get away. Men who were willing to pay that price.
"Who's in charge?" Gavin asked.
"I am, sir. Lord Prism. Sir." A mousy Ruthgari with oddly kinky hair for his pale complexion and a look in his eyes like he was scared to death stepped forward. In another time, Gavin would have laughed to see the awkward little man. "We've got almost all the ships we have loaded. Men gathered who will fight. We need room for another three hundred, if no one else comes from the city."
"Any sign of General Danavis or Commander Ironfist?" Gavin asked.
"No, sir. Lord Prism. Sir."
"Sir is fine," Gavin said. "Blackguards, any of you who can draft without breaking the halo, help me. We'll make one more barge while we wait."
"Wait, sir?" a Blackguard asked.
"General Danavis is coming. We finish one more barge. Then we go. He'll be here by then."
A trumpet sounded. The pale Ruthgari shouted, "Enemies coming! Ready!"
"Can you hold while we make a barge?" Gavin asked.
The man was still small, still mousy, but his face was resolute, and anything comical about his appearance was gone. "We'll hold, sir. To the last man."
Chapter 90
Karris selected one of the Mirrormen's horses that looked like it still had some wind and spirit left. Its barding was mirrored, and it shone in the morning sun. She might as well paint a target on her back. Well, she wasn't exactly inconspicuous herself.
They didn't have long. The four hundred paces between Lord Omnichrome's color wights could only be crossed through a maze of alleys or rubble-strewn streets. It would slow them, but not much. Some things, though, had to be done. Karris moved to check King Garadul's body, gritting her teeth against the gore.
He was definitely dead. She felt a peculiar emptiness. She'd wanted him dead. He deserved it. Now he was just gone. And, quite possibly, it hadn't accomplished anything. She saw her bich'hwa on the ground next to him. Sonuvabitch. She picked it up, and scanned the ground, but there was no sight of her ataghan.
No more time. Corvan Danavis's men were finishing collecting gunpowder and shot or replacement weapons from the dead and forming back up. Kip looked as bad as Karris would have expected. Corvan said, "It's called being lightsick, Kip, and it might do anything to you. Make you feel weak as a puppy or strong as a sea demon. I've seen modest men tear off all their clothes because they couldn't bear anything touching their skin. And shy women, well, never mind."
"Hey, that was just the one time," Karris protested, mounting up. When you could, it was good not to let a drafter sink too deep into themselves after drafting too much.
Corvan laughed. "I don't know that I'd call you 'shy,' on any day, Karris White Oak." He glanced down at her leg. "Certainly not today."
Karris followed Corvan's eyes. Oops. She'd managed to tear the slit in her dress practically to her hip, and sitting on a horse didn't help. Well, what was she going to do? Go change?
"Time's up!" Corvan shouted to his men. "We head for the docks! Catch up or die." One of his officers came to him with a question, and he was swallowed up by his duties.
Which left Karris with Kip. She would prefer to be unencumbered during a battle, but she wasn't going to abandon him, not again. There were things more important than her freedom. She sidled her horse over to the platform. "Come here, Kip," she said with a little more edge than she meant.
Obviously dazed, Kip clambered up, and they were off.
At first, Karris thought they were going to get away cleanly. Then they came to the bridge. The far end was blocked with wagons and carts that must have just been set on fire moments before Corvan's men arrived or they would have seen the smoke.