The clomping of horseshoes and rolling of steel-rimmed wagon wheels sounded obscenely loud in the silence of the nearly deserted streets. Here and there we came across some Thurvacians, three stumbling home from a whorehouse that was leaning so much it looked ready to topple itself; a pair carrying some wooden cages filled with chickens, feathers trailing behind; two beggars on the steps of a building, arguing about something in some dialect I had never heard before; a poacher who was dragging a dead bull crab by one claw and ran into an alley with it as we approached. There were merchants of all kinds opening shops as well, setting up small bazaars, and probably burglars skulking in the shadows, but most Thurvacians ignored us, accustomed to the military might that rode or walked through their city at all hours. My heart beat faster as twice we ran into a pair of town guards, but if they thought anything was amiss, they gave no sign.
We turned down another street, heading east again, toward the gate, and while it was still a ways off, I began to hope we might actually clear Sunwrack without incident. As we passed through a huge stone arch I felt something drip on me and looked up to see the aqueduct that crossed the street high above, and I was about to say something to Vendurro when I heard the commotion ahead. The horsemen with crossbows had them up, loosing them at something ahead of us. I found myself standing, holding on to the bench. Much further up the street, there was a line of Imperial foot soldiers, armed and armored like those in the hippodrome, with banded mail, long shields and spears, and the combined quivers and bowcases on their hips. The composite bows were all in hand now though, and the Imperial troops were shooting more quickly than Braylar’s troops could manage, the arrows striking several horses and riders in the front ranks.
One arrow flew right over us, and Vendurro pulled me back on my seat and got the team moving fast. The riders immediately in front of us turned down a side street and we followed, and I lost sight of Braylar’s men, who were holding off the Imperial infantry as we raced ahead, the horses galloping now, our wagon jumping and rocking on its springs as we picked up speed.
Ahead, I saw arrows flying down a cross street, and then a Jackal horseman came galloping round the corner, the rider with an arrow sticking through his upper arm. We slowed enough for him to report to Braylar, who then shouted an order back, relayed several times. There were more
Imperials marching in our direction down that street, and we couldn’t afford to get flanked. We were to continue riding hard, at speed.
The company set off again, arrows flying as each horseman passed the side street, and I hazarded a look-another battalion of Imperial infantry were lined up, shooting at each of us as we crossed in front of them.
An arrow thunked into the wagon a few feet behind me and another tore through the canvas covering, and then the Imperials were gone. I realized that it happened so fast, I flinched after the side street was behind us. At least our horses hadn’t been struck. Or us. I was closest, and armored in linen.
I turned to Vendurro. “Will we make it? To the gates? Will they be closed?”
His jaw was set as he hunched over, holding tight to the reins. “Can’t say, can’t say, and can’t say.”
We passed two more side streets and there were no more injured scouts or Imperials shooting at us. We were on horse and wagons and so far the Imperials were all on foot. Maybe we could outdistance any warning. Maybe we could still ride clear.
After another scout joined us, reporting something to Braylar, he led our convoy down the next side street, heading toward the eastern gate. And directly into a much larger group of Imperials a hundred yards ahead. There were several lines of infantry with bows and spears in a phalanx, and a dozen cavalry as well, one holding the double Sun and Leopard standard. There were also two Memoridons on horses in front of the soldiers. Both had scale corselets on, one with short blonde hair, the other with a crimson cloak, wielding a ranseur with what appeared to be a red tassel.
Rusejenna. Soffjian. We were doomed.
Braylar called a halt. Two scouts raced past us on either side of the wagon, one still bleeding around the arrow in his arm. They reported to Braylar and his lieutenants. The captain turned his horse in circles, looked back past the convoy and behind us. I craned and looked down the side of the wagon as well. They were still at least three or four hundred yards out, but there was a large battalion of Imperial footmen, and they were marching for us.
Vendurro was doing the same on the other side, then sat again and drove his fist into the bench. “Guessing that answers your questions, bookmaster. Not making it to the plaguing gate.”
We might have been able to fight through men alone, despite bad odds-Braylar had survived worse before-but taking on two war Memoridons as well…?
No. We were captured or dead men. Knowing Braylar, likely dead. I imagined the order for a mad charge at any moment.
The Imperials hadn’t begun loosing arrows at us yet. Then Rusejenna rode her horse down the middle of the street toward us. Very deliberately. Clearly savoring the moment. She might not dance to the captain’s tears, but she was obviously the victor, and in no hurry to see it end.
I expected Braylar to order one of his men to shoot at her, or do it himself, but perhaps he was unwilling to allow his entire company to be slaughtered, as no bolts flew. Instead, the captain, Hewspear, and Mulldoos rode out to parley, crossbows hanging from their saddles.
Rusejenna stopped, waiting for the three of them to approach. When they were fifteen paces away, she raised her hand and the Syldoon halted as well.
Vendurro slammed his hand into the wagon again. “Plague me. Didn’t even make it to the plaguing gates. Can’t believe Cap is giving hisself over. Better to die fighting then hung from…” He stopped, leaned forward.
“Plague. Me.”
Rusejenna was gesturing at the Imperial phalanx behind her when Soffjian spun her horse around and faced the lines of soldiers, arms outstretched. Even from so far away, I thought I saw the warping around her splayed hands, and before the Imperials could draw their bows she had used her memory magic on them. They were falling, staggering into each other, the lines breaking apart, as dozens of men were wracked by whatever unseen thing she’d done to them.
The captain and his lieutenants kicked their heels in, tried to close the distance to Rusejenna, drawing their weapons. But the Memoridon was already turning back to them, got her arms up. Hewspear dropped his slashing spear, fell over against his horse’s neck as he rode past her and Mulldoos didn’t even manage that, falling out of the saddle, hitting the ground hard, rolling once onto his stomach, hands on his helmet.
But Braylar was completely unaffected. Rusejenna pushed out at him with both arms, focused everything on him, but it did no good at all-whatever sorcery she worked on the lieutenants failed on him. And then he was on her, Bloodsounder whipping around, the flail heads arcing out, the Deserters taking off nearly half her head as he rode past. She dropped from the saddle, the last movement she would ever make.
The captain beckoned us on, and our convoy was moving forward again. I looked behind us, and the Imperials were marching, drawing their bows from their quivers, but they were on the edge of bow range and still moving closer. We started forward as the captain rode up to Hewspear, grabbed his horse’s bridle, led him to our wagon, and ordered two Syldoon to get him inside. I looked back as they did-Hewspear was stunned and dazed, but could sit up, though barely, with his chin on his chest. Two more Syldoon got Mulldoos to his feet ahead of us, and while he walked drunkenly for a few steps, he was able to climb back into the saddle, cursing when they offered assistance, but still shaking his head and wobbling, and favoring one side of his body.