Eldric still hesitated. Abruptly he fell on his knees and took the Queen’s hand in both of his. Words formed on his lips but he could not speak them.
Suddenly there was the sound of running feet in the passage and the third guard entered. ‘The others are here,’ he said urgently. ‘Hurry. We’ve not much time.’
Eldric rose to his feet and after a quick glance around the room signalled the others to follow.
As they hurried out, Sylvriss took Yatsu’s arm. ‘Goraidin Yatsu. Secretary Dilrap and the young servant are to be trusted,’ she said. ‘But that knowledge is for you and the Lords alone. They’re in continual danger.’
‘Majesty,’ said Yatsu, concerned. ‘You’re certain you’ll be safe?’ She nodded confidently and ushered him after the others. He hesitated for a moment, his face anxious, before bowing and striding off rapidly down the passage.
Sylvriss rubbed her wrist ruefully as she watched him go then, throwing her hood forward, she walked quickly and silently back the way she had come. On the journey she passed two dead Mathidrin.
It was Serian, rather than any decisive horsemanship by Hawklan, that led Hawklan and Isloman from the crowd. He had reared and screamed as if in panic, and then charged straight into the mob, splitting it open before him like wood under a cleaver. Isloman’s horse followed suit down the widening cleft, its rider content-ing himself with hanging on desperately. Eventually they came to a halt in a narrow and relatively quiet street.
Hawklan leaned forward. ‘Thank you, Serian,’ he said breathlessly.
The horse chuckled again. ‘Great fun, great fun,’ he said.
‘Don’t do that again,’ said Isloman, riding to Hawk-lan’s side. ‘You frightened me to death.’
Hawklan shrugged. ‘It was the horse’s idea,’ he said. ‘Left to our own devices that crowd would’ve had us down very quickly.’
Isloman grunted at this disclaimer. ‘What did they attack us for?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think they were attacking us,’ Hawklan re-plied. ‘I think they were attacking those Mathidrin. Cockroaches, they were calling them.’
‘Good name,’ said Isloman, who had reached the same conclusion about the Mathidrin as Hawklan during their journey.
‘Still,’ Hawklan continued, ‘we could have been badly hurt in all that confusion. We’re well out of it.’ He patted Serian’s neck.
‘What shall we do now?’ asked Isloman.
Hawklan stared up and down the street. Figures were flitting here and there, and at both ends he could see crowds milling around. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d like to find out what’s happened here before we make any decisions.’
That, however, proved to be harder than he had imagined. Those passers-by who were prepared to stop and speak to him left him with more questions than he had started with. The Mathidrin had launched an unprovoked attack on a crowd. The High Guards were attacking the Palace. Malcontents disguised as High Guards-or Mathidrin-were trying to seize the City. Mathidrin-or High Guards-disguised as ordinary citizens, were trying to do the same. Several parties had, of course, started the fires. They had also been started by accident. The fumes had driven the people mad, etc, etc.
Eventually Hawklan stopped trying and sat down on a short flight of steps leading to an upper walkway that ran along the street. Out of the mounting gloom, two stumbling figures emerged. A man, staggering badly and holding his hand to his tunic, and a woman, trying to support him and encouraging him between near hysterical sobs.
Hawklan stood up just as the two slithered to the ground. Instantly the woman disentangled herself and, struggling to her feet, tried to help the man. But he was obviously too weak. He rose to a kneeling position, supporting himself with one hand on the ground, but could do no more. Hawklan and Isloman ran across to them and Hawklan knelt down by the man. Gently he took the man’s hand. It was clenched in front of his tunic and as Hawklan pulled it away he saw that the man had been holding in part of his intestines. Hawklan grimaced in spite of himself and Isloman, eyes wide, involuntarily raised his hand to his mouth as if to silence himself.
The woman screamed and cradled the man’s head desperately. Hawklan drew his hand across his forehead, which was suddenly damp. He knew before he touched the man that he was dead, but to comfort himself in the immediate pain of his discovery, the healer in him had to search for signs of life.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to the woman, easing her to her feet. ‘I’m sorry.’
The woman fell suddenly silent. Ghastly in the yel-lowing light, she stood motionless, her eyes and mouth wide, as if all the flailing hysteria had wound itself into a tight, unassailable ball within her. When at last she spoke, her voice carried a harsh calm. ‘Why should you be sorry?’ she said. ‘You didn’t kill him did you? The cockroaches did it. We were just trying to get away from the crowds and the fighting.’ She was not talking to anyone. She was looking back through the darkness to a brighter, happier life only a few minutes past. ‘They chased us, and stabbed him for nothing.’
Hawklan looked at Isloman having no words to speak. Another concussion shook the street and for a few seconds a flickering light filtered down over them. Then the sound of the nearby crowds rose suddenly. Hawklan looked at the woman, now kneeling silent by her dead man, her hunched shadow fading as the light disappeared upwards into the thickening mask. The sight cleared his mind. He took Isloman’s arm.
‘We go where the sick and injured are, then we find Dan-Tor,’ he said.
Isloman looked uncertain. ‘What about the woman?’ he said.
Hawklan’s face twisted, as if the words he had to speak were sour in his mouth. ‘There’s nothing I can do for the man, and only time can help her now. At least she’s not lost. There’ll be some of her own nearby… somewhere.’ Isloman seemed about to protest, but the pain in Hawklan’s face stopped him. Hawklan closed his eyes to shut out his friend’s reproach. ‘Right now, people are suffering who I can help. I have to do something before the stench of pain and terror over-whelms me.’ Isloman looked again at the silent woman, and then nodded reluctantly. Hawklan turned and began walking in the direction the couple had come from. Isloman followed.
The two men were scarcely halfway to the end of the street when a scream from the woman cut through the gloom. Turning, they could make out several figures moving round the body of the fallen man. The scream rang out again and the movement resolved itself into a struggle. Without hesitation, both Hawklan and Isloman began to run back up the street. As they neared the group, they saw that the figures were Mathidrin. Two of them were holding the woman and a third was threaten-ing her with a knife. Her dress had been ripped wide open. Four other Mathidrin were standing by laughing and shouting encouragement.
Isloman hesitated momentarily. The intent of the Mathidrin was quite obvious and it could well be followed by murder. What action he should take was also quite obvious-but there were seven of them, and all armed. In the brief moment it took him to dispatch this thought, he felt Hawklan surge away from his side like a wild hunting animal and, before he could collect himself, he saw the Mathidrin with the knife fall to the ground senseless. It was the sound of the knife clatter-ing across the patterned stones that brought Isloman’s faculties sharply into the present. A distinctly dangerous present. The Mathidrin were drawing their swords. So was Hawklan.
Isloman caught a glimpse of the now discarded woman and then the dead man lying in his own entrails. A spark of vengeance lit up his mind, transforming his fear into an ancient rage. Stepping forward, he drew his iron-bound club-his stone and Loman’s metal. A terrible weapon it had once been.
Hawklan faced the two who had been holding the woman. Eyes cold, he swung his sword high and purposefully with his right hand. Instinctively, the two men raised their own swords to block a downward cut but, even as they did so, Hawklan stepped in low, striking one full in the throat with his left hand, to send him choking to the ground. Then bringing his right hand down and across, he smashed the pommel of his sword into the other man’s temple.