Then came a brief frantic scuffling.
Three figures came running silently out of the dark-ness. Yatsu raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
‘We let three get through before we killed them, then we killed two in the gap,’ said one. ‘Left them all skewered on their own swords and wedged there. That’ll slow them down.’ Yatsu nodded and turned his attention back to the others. ‘Quickly, form a ladder. I can’t see the alley, but we’ll have to go over the top.’
Two men climbed through the gap in the roof and Isloman followed them.
Yatsu beckoned Hawklan urgently. ‘Get Arinndier and Dacu across first,’ he said. ‘We’ll fetch the other Lords.’ Hawklan looked out through the gap and felt his knees start to buckle. He deduced they were above the archway at the end of the alley, but he could not see it, nor the storeys above it. He could see only the pitched roof that topped it. It was not too long, spanning the narrow alley as it did, but it was some distance below where he was standing and it fell away very steeply from its pointed ridge down into the alley. A chasm whose base he could not see.
‘Quickly, man,’ said Yatsu, as he hesitated in the gap. The two Goraidin had clambered down on to the roof and, with one sitting on the shoulders of the other, they leant against the wall to form a human ladder down on to the ridge. Isloman was standing slightly bow-legged, straddling the ridge at the far side, where it continued past the high wall of the opposite building to form a valley in which they could move in comparative safety, and unseen from below.
Without allowing himself the luxury of any further thought, Hawklan levered himself through the opening and gingerly slithered backwards down the roof and down the two men until his feet touched the narrow ridge. Cautiously he looked up and saw Dacu being lowered down the same route. He reached up and caught the man’s belt as he was released. But Dacu was a Goraidin and, injured though he was, needed little help. He twisted round Hawklan and scuttled along the ridge almost before Hawklan realized what he was doing.
Arinndier, however, proved more of a problem. Fit as he was for his age, he was no Goraidin, and he was a big man. Hawklan heard the two men breathing heavily as they took his weight, and saw feet shifting on the sloping tiles, and hands gripping the wall as they struggled for a better hold to accommodate the unbalanced fumblings of the injured man.
As he touched the roof, he lurched backwards and, staggering into Hawklan, fell heavily across the ridge. A substantial groan escaped his gagged mouth, and his eyes dosed in pain, but he was safe enough. Hawklan was less fortunate. As he staggered to regain his own balance, one foot skidded from under him and sent him sprawling forward. His left hand reached out for the ridge, but fell short.
As he watched his hand sliding over the tiles, he felt the narrow alleyway at his back luring him down with a dark siren song. A fearful screeching filled his ears as his fingernails dug into the hard tiles seeking purchase in their tiny blemishes to slow his slide. He saw Arinndier’s eyes opening in horror and Isloman starting forward with appalling slowness.
Abruptly he felt his feet slide over into nothingness and an eerie calmness came over him. Now will come all my answers, he thought, but reflexively the fingers of his right hand found an open joint between two tiles and drove themselves into it ferociously. For a fraction of a second this stayed his slide, then his left wrist was seized in a powerful grip to stop it completely.
Seeing Hawklan fall, Isloman had seized the ridge with one hand and flung himself after his friend. Now he dragged him up the slope and unceremoniously draped him over the ridge next to Arinndier before pulling himself back up. ‘Stay there,’ he whispered unnecessar-ily.
In the few seconds that he lay there, gathering his wits, Hawklan realized the Goraidin were retrieving Arinndier and shepherding the Lords over him. As he tried to stand up, two pairs of hands gripped him and dragged him the remaining short distance to the comparative safety of the valley gutter on the far side of the alley.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Yatsu casually, as he stood looking alternately after the rest of the party departing along the roof and at the hole in the roof they had just left.
Hawklan glared at him balefully. ‘No, you… ’ he began, but was checked partly by the flicker of a smile on the Goraidin’s face and partly by a cry from behind. Turning he saw a Mathidrin emerging from the hole. He was calling to attract the attention of others, presumably below.
‘After the rest, quickly,’ said Yatsu, ushering Hawk-lan along and at the same time reaching into his pouch. Looking round after a few paces, Hawklan saw the Mathidrin ducking rapidly from sight, then he saw Yatsu’s arm swinging forward and a large piece of tile go flying through the hole. The second one, he presumed.
‘Every moment counts,’ said Yatsu, by way of expla-nation as he came up to him. ‘We’ve got a good chance if they don’t spot our first few turns. These roofs spread a long way.’
‘I’ll gain us some more then,’ said Hawklan and, putting his fingers into his mouth, he gave a long penetrating whistle that echoed round the surrounding rooftops and down into the street that fronted the houses they had just left.
It seemed to the trooper who was guarding the horses there that the large black stallion they had found bowed its head as if listening and then spoke to the others. But he did not survive to tell of his impression: a blow from Serian’s flailing hoof dispatched him instantly, and the Mathidrin troopers scattered in panic as the horses galloped screaming from the street.
Chapter 39
Dan-Tor’s satisfaction grew apace. So, Hawklan, he thought, you’d hunt me? Me of all creatures. And hunt me to my own lair. He smiled as he arranged the recent events into their new pattern. With Urssain’s report of the rooftop escape it was clear beyond doubt now that Hawklan had used disaffected High Guards to start the rioting and effect the release of the four Lords from the Westerclave.
He felt almost jovial. True, Hawklan had eluded him yet again, and the High Guards had shown themselves to be resourceful and terrible fighters, but a bloodied nose would do the Mathidrin no harm, and the benefits that would accrue from Hawklan’s error would be consider-able.
Only one solitary stain of unease marred his grim rejoicing. Hawklan’s reach was far longer than he had imagined. Had not a survivor of a border patrol caught in the rioting reported escorting Hawklan from the border to the City in the guise of an envoy from Orthlund, with a message for Lord Dan-Tor? Before the rioting!
The stain spread and clouded his thoughts. Hawklan had moved subtly, silently, and with great cunning in his preparations, and had erred in his plan only because he, Dan-Tor, had seen the play and joined the game. Indeed, Hawklan’s strategy in attacking what he saw as the source of his troubles, and his tactical skill in planning and launching the attack while seemingly absent, showed him to be a dangerous enemy.
Safe from the use of the Old Power because of my own doubts about your true nature, healer, he thought, and now increasingly alert to your peril as a man-how deep have you penetrated unfelt into my side, you green-eyed thorn…?
Dan-Tor set the thought aside. No matter how diffi-cult the task, Hawklan would have to be brought down and bound. Well bound.
But still softly. Very softly.
‘Urssain.’ Dan-Tor ended his musings abruptly as the spectre of his own Mathidrin patrols rose in front of him.
The waiting Commander snapped to attention.
‘This man, Hawklan-the Orthlundyn-I know him. He’s dangerous and very able. While he guides the Lords they’ll be difficult to find and, once found, their taking will be expensive. We’ve too much to do with our City force consolidating the success of the last few days, to have them wasted in a futile search for these renegades which could only end in conflict.’