Though the door was open almost at once, Turghurt had heaved himself clear of the window before they reached him. And though Cythen protested her health and survival, they made more of a fuss over her and the ruined silk than they did over the escaping Beysib.
'He won't get far. Not without any clothes,' Myrtis assured her, holding up the discarded turquoise pantaloons.
'He'll be bleedin' naked!' one of the other women tittered.
Cythen had already learned that the pain was bearable so long as she didn't try to talk, so she ignored the chaos of conversation and searched for the panel that concealed her proper clothes and knife. The Beysib wasn't naked, she was sure of that. Somehow he'd managed to exchange his bright silks for dark clothes such as the Harka Bey had worn. He hadn't been able to change his boots, though, and the light leather should be easy to spot - if he wasn't already safe at the palace by now. She shoved Ambutta aside and pulled on her own boots.
'You aren't going after him, are you? The garrison has men at both ends of the Street. They'll have him by now. I've already sent for a physician to see you.' Myrtis reached gently towards Cythen's battered face, and Cythen warned her away with an animal growl.
With her hair still loose and glittering, she shoved her way to the door. Maybe Walegrin really was out there; it would be the first good thing that had happened. Maybe they had already caught Turghurt. She'd rather have Thrusher tend her v/ounds than some cathouse doctor. She kicked at the doorman when he tried to stop her and burst out into the Street.
Although the walls of the Palace were closer, they were more dangerous. She guessed Turghurt would have gone south past the Bazaar and into the Maze before heading back to the palace. It had not occurred to her that he might still be on the Street until a hand loomed out of the shadows and closed over her mouth. Her throat tore with an almost soundless shriek and she lashed back with her heels and fists before hearing a familiar voice.
'Damn you, bitch! We've got him cornered in a loft not a hundred steps from here.'
She pried Walegrin's fingers from her face and stood before him, tears streaming down her cheeks and her whole body trembling.
'What happened to you?'
'I... got... hit,' she said slowly, moving her mouth as little as possible.
'Did you get the proof?'
She shrugged. Was the ring and his attempt to kill her proof he had killed Bekin or the Beysib men and women?
'C'mon, Cythen. He broke out of there like a bull. He didn't punch you out 'cause you're ugly -'
She shook her head and tried to explain what had happened, but her mouth was too sore for so many words and he could make no sense of her gestures.
'Well, all right, anyway. Maybe we can pry something out of him now. We think he's found a regular hideout behind some of the older Houses.' Walegrin led the way off the street to a dark jumble of buildings where two of his men waited.
'It's as quiet as a tomb up there,' the soldier informed his captain; then, noticing Cythen, added: 'What happened to you?'
'She got hit. Don't ask questions. Now, you're sure he's still up there?'
'There's only two ways out and he ain't used either of them.'
'Okay.' Walegrin turned back to Cythen. 'You get him at ally She shook her head to say no and he looked away. 'Okay. Thrush, you come with me. Jore, you bellow if you see something. And Cythen,' he tossed her a scabbard. 'Here's your sword; redeem yourself.'
They dashed across an open space and flattened themselves against the rough stucco walls of the building. It had been abandoned for some time. Chunks of stonework broke loose as they made their way to the gaping doorway. The central column of stairs to the upper room was only wide enough for one person and missing a good third of its boards as well. Walegrin drew his Enlibrite sword and started up them, motioning for the others to remain behind.
He moved smoothly and silently until, while he was raising his leg over two missing steps, the lower board gave way. The blond man lurched forward, using his sword for balance, not defence, and another sword swished through the air above him and bit deep into his arm. Metal began to sing loudly against metal; green sparks danced in the air. By their faint light it was clear that Walegrin, with a cut in his shoulder and his legs entangled in the ruins of the stairs, was taking a beating.
Thrusher shouted outside for help, though with Walegrin wedged in the stairway, there was no easy way to reach Burek, nor to protect their captain - but there was one way. While Thrusher watched in surprise, Cythen drew her own sword and prepared to get up to the second floor by running up and over Walegrin. With a handful of his hair and one foot planted hard on his thigh, she propelled herself over him, hoping that the sheer audacity of her move would keep Burek guessing for the moment it would take for her to regain her balance. She raised her sword just as his blade arced towards her - and Walegrin reached out to parry it aside.
The Beysib circled away from the stairwell, and Cythen edged along the walls. This room was not the dusty wreckage the lower parts of the building had been. Someone had been using it recently. Knives littered an otherwise clean table and a crude map of the town hung on the wall. There was another curved Beysib sword on the wall as well, but Turghurt hadn't taken it. The room was too small for the swirling double-sword style the Harka Bey had used. His stance was not that much different from her own, though his reach was substantially longer.
Walegrin, still struggling to free himself from the stairs, broke through another board and fell from sight, shaking the entire structure as he landed. From the commotion, Cythen knew they were trying to improvise a human ladder, but at that moment Turghurt was easily parrying her best cuts and she doubted they'd reach her in time.
She wouldn't have the strength to ward off many of his thunderous attacks. She could stall and hope they'd get something together in time, or she could charge him and hope for the same sort of clear shot as she'd gotten at the Harka Bey though that would kill him and might make everything worse.
He guessed her intention to attack and back-pedalled across the room, laughing to himself. He was silhouetted by a hole in the walls where a window might once have been and he seemed very large, but perhaps his laughing had made him drop his guard just a fraction. She sprang at him.
His eyes went wide with disbelief. He was falling towards her before she touched him, the disbelief becoming a fixed, deathlike stare. His momentum pushed her backwards and off balance, knocking her sword aside. But he was no longer attacking, only falling. They both went crashing to the floor and through it, as the old wood gave way beneath them. Cythen heard a scream - her own - then nothing.
3
The sun was bright in the courtyard of the palace. Cythen, the swelling still apparent in her face, and Walegrin, his arm in a sling, stood with the Hell Hounds in the places of honour. There were, as yet, no Beysibs in sight. Enas Yorl let the curtain fall from his hand and sat back in the shadowed privacy of his study. It seemed the whole population of the town had crammed around the high platform whereupon the Beysa would pronounce judgement.
'Would you have stopped him for the courtesan's sake alone?' he asked the darkness beside him.
'The girl-soldier has conquered her fears and her past. We have made her a part of our sisterhood. We, too, must adapt. Her vengeance is ours,' the voice of a Beysib woman replied.