Chapter 18: 9. Out of the City

~Percy~

The streets were chaos. People were spilling out of every house, it seemed, trying to escape the city. Most followed the flow of traffic due north. Away from danger. A bare handful of late-coming guards were fighting their way half-heartedly against the tide on the main northern road; it was a feeble effort, and soon they were going with the crowd. Cowards, Percy wanted to cry. Defend the city, as you swore to do. But even if the guards could somehow pass through the throng without being trampled, there was little they could do to help. Carhavel was not going to fall for want of half a dozen men.

Another explosion sounded from the wall behind them. More screams followed. No, Carhavel was going to fall because the army outside had powers far greater than their own.

A man with a sweat-stained face suddenly appeared in front of him, eyes wide, the buttons popped on his collar. "It's the end, Captain," he said, amidst ragged breathing. "The stars have forsaken us. Our nights will be in darkness."

"It's not the end," Percy grunted.

"When I go to my death, I go humbled," said the ragged man. His eyes closed now. "In the knowledge that I have been judged unworthy, and the hope that I am reborn again to live in their celestial embrace."

Ah, great. Figures that a few would be demented by faith. Percy gave the man a heavy shove. He stumbled and fell to the street. "Go to your death a little to the left. Some of us have places to be."

His plan was simple. While the masses battled their way north, no doubt to descend into riots over the handful of horses stabled at the northern gate, he would take Eada towards the eastern wall. There was an inn there. The Jester's Grape. Its proprietor, one Tomm Bandan, had paid for ale to be brought from Méor by the cask a few years ago via an old smuggler's tunnel, so as to avoid Lord Huide's taxes. For not reporting Fer Bandan, Percy was owed a number of favours: free ale at his choosing, access to the tunnel whenever the need arose, and his pick of the horses from Fer Bandan's stable. If Bandan had sense, he'd get out of the city via the tunnel, too. Concealed as it was, it was the perfect thing to aim for. Even if Carhavel fell within minutes, Percy would be well away by the time the chimera found it.

For the fifth time, an explosion rocked the city. Five bastions, out of six. He didn't even need to stop and look. Time to pick up the pace; it didn't matter how good his plan of escape was if he didn't reach the Jester's Grape before the walls fell. When he tried to hurry Eada up, though, she screamed. It was a scream of agony. Her face was suddenly pale, beaded with sweat, and all over she was trembling. "Are you hurt?" he asked her, pulling her to the side lest a fleeing civilian knock her down.

"Aldora... she's dead..." Eada turned, as if to go back to the wall, but Percy held her back.

"No," he told her. "Magus Aldora chose to stand and fight. She knew the risks. But she tasked me to keep you safe, and that I intend to do."

Eada's lip set firm, and for a moment Percy thought she would defy him. Then her face softened. She nodded. "You're right. We have to go."

Mercifully, the eastbound streets were far quieter. Wherever they were in the city, it seemed, the people preferred to go north as fast as they could. Among them, Percy saw a pair of heavy-set men in armour moving away from the wall. City Guards. They'd discarded their helmets and donned cloaks to try to conceal it, but he could see the pale blue of their gambesons. "Return to your posts," he called, one hand reaching for the sword still secure in its scabbard around his waist.

The two men turned to him, sneers on their faces. "I don't bleedin' think so," said one. "What, and die?"

"I order you to return to the South Wall. In the name of your lord, and the oath you swore—"

"Fuck the oath," the man said. "Bunch of words. We're not going back to that wall, not for no king, not even if he sits the Seat of Stars and shits gold."

Percy drew his sword, holding it in front of him, gripping the hilt so hard his knuckles turned white. "Then I name you deserters."

"You gonna use that?" One of the men—a balding man with piggy eyes—laughed. "We're all deserters here, Captain. You're no better'n we are." The two men ran off, disappearing into the northbound crowd, apparently careless of Percy's drawn blade. He stood there for far too long, watching them vanishing from view, and then watching the spot where they'd been. His hand was shaking. How dare they call him a deserter? He was Captain of the City Guard. He wasn't running by choice, but to fulfil the wishes of a dead Magus. And to survive, said a small voice. You could have sent another to escort Eada if you really wanted to hold the wall.

"Captain?" A gruff voice came from behind him, breaking Percy from his trance. Gurdagam. "Where are you going, Captain?"

"The east gate," said Percy. "I need to get Eada out of the city. There's a man there who owes me a favour."

"Tomm Bandan? Forget it." Gurdagam shook his head. "Bandan took off with Lord Huide's men last night. The east gate's chaos, Captain. Tutulha's got his skull near bashed in trying to calm the riots there, and there's six more guards beside who died before they could make it back. Just the hint of the king's colours is enough to drive the crowd to anger. I saw them beat a woman bloody just cos her skirts were pale blue. You show up at the east gate, they'll skin you alive."

"We need horses," said Percy. "Do you think there'll be any left by the time we get to the north gate? Do you think there won't be riots there, as bad and worse, when people realise they've got no way to go but on foot?"

Gurdagam shook his head. "The north gate's a silly place to go, I agree. But the King's gate—"

The King's gate. Percy could have kicked himself for not thinking of it. King Descard, like many of his predecessors on the throne of Tuiar, was a keen hunter. There was a stable at the north-east corner of the city, attached to the garrison house there—never afforded more than a handful of men, unless the King and his soldiers were in Carhavel. It was where the King's hunts left the city. Where the horses fit for a king were stabled. Few would have thought to go there.

"That's the way we go."

The further they got from the southern wall, the quieter the sounds of battle became. Percy counted a sixth explosion—the last bastion, he thought to himself, and with it the last Magus—and a seventh shortly after, but he didn't hear any more. Even the screams seemed to be much fainter. He wondered whether that was because they'd put more distance between them and the fighting, or because the fighting was already over. The former, he hoped. The Carhavel guard had been his pride. He'd trained them into the finest fighting force he could manage. They couldn't have been defeated so quickly... could they?

Mercifully, the streets in this part of the town were all but deserted, and though they could hear raised voices nearby, they never happened upon another riot. The only people they passed, once they'd gone away from the largest streets northbound, were a handful of stragglers—women, in the main, who'd lingered to wait for their husbands on the wall, but who had now gathered children and possessions and sought refuge. That was an ominous sign in itself. Many of the houses here were high enough that you could see the wall from their upper windows. If these women had decided to abandon their husbands after all, it was a sure tell that the battle for Carhavel wasn't going well. Percy didn't look back to see for himself. He didn't want to see.

His companions were as focused as he was. Gurdagam, leading the way, ran silently, rarely taking his eyes off the streets ahead of him. Eada was still as pale as she'd been when she saw Aldora's bastion fall, but her face was grim-set in determination. Tonight it would hit her full force—the gravity of the day, the scope of her loss. Percy hoped to have her well on the way to Pardasath by the time night came.

At last, the King's gate came into view. Despite its name, it was the most nondescript gate in the city, unchanged from its origins as a postern gate where the condemned of Carhavel would be led out to their executions on the fields. Anything lavish might draw malcontented peasants to try and attack the King, in more peaceful times; a peasant was no match for a well-armoured soldier, of course, but it would only take one lucky blow to leave the King dead. Better all round not to give anybody an opportunity. Today, the gate's humble aspect had proved useful for another reason. It had been left alone by the citizenry. Even the inevitable crush at the north gate hadn't persuaded any to gather here. The threat of soldiers might have scared a few away—but had anybody tried the King's gate, they'd have discovered that the garrison house was empty. Its soldiers, like every other guard in the city, had been diverted to the south wall. To a failed defence.

The door to the garrison house opened without protest when Percy pushed on it, and the three stepped through. He had no mind to linger. There would be time only to grab what necessary provisions they could, and then they'd be off. He instructed Eada and Gurdagam to find what they would most desperately need, then made his way down the stone staircase at the back of the garrison house, to saddle up horses for them. A part of him had been fearing the worst: that the horses would not be here. When he saw them all, the stables untouched, he breathed a sigh of relief. Making his way to the pen closest to the gate—where the King's personal horse was kept, along with a couple of other thoroughbreds—Percy began to gather tack, and salt for the horses to lick.

A shadow fell over him.

He turned, to see a woman standing in the central courtyard of the stables. Slender, with dark waves for tresses and eyes of near-violet; red lips set against a complexion of bone-white. The woman who had stolen Lord Huide's ring. She didn't seem at all perturbed to see the Captain of the Guard in front of her. If anything, she was amused. A corner of her mouth was curved into a smirk.

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"I thought you'd come here," she said. Her voice was husky. "All the others have gone to the north gate, you see, and there's not a horse to be had there. They forget this place exists."

"That's what I was counting on," Percy told her.

"The girl is with you," said the woman. "Eada, I think her name is. The Magus."

Percy nodded. "You saw her."

"No, on my life." The woman's smirk became a full-mouthed grin. "She has a purpose yet to fulfil, far from here. You've been tasked with keeping her safe, and that means riding her out of the city. At least, that's what you tell yourself, to justify running. I'm not sure what the other man's doing with you."

This wasn't right at all. The woman was a thief, facing up to the Captain of the City Guard. She should be quaking in her boots, begging him not to arrest her for stealing from her liege lord, but instead she seemed to be gaining the upper hand. The more she spoke, the more assured she became. The more uneasy Percy grew. "Who are you?"

"My name is Alis Mardaise," she said, blithely. "You won't have heard of me. I've been in Carhavel only a short while, and today I'm leaving."

"Not with these horses," Percy said, shaking his head.

"They're here for the taking," said Alis Mardaise. "Fine mares, the lot of them."

"They're the King's horses."

"You're not the King," she said. "And yet you're here to take them."

"I'm the Captain of the Guard," Percy told her. He could feel his voice rising.

Alis nodded. "You are. While Carhavel stands, at least. What will you be when it's fallen? I suppose we'll find out, soon enough."

"I will always be above you, thief," he snapped.

"I'm a thief, am I? For taking a little signet ring?" Alis sounded offended, though Percy couldn't tell if the offence was put on. "It was never Lord Huide's, not truly. I was merely recovering what was stolen from me. From my ancestors."

It could have been the truth. But then, it was an easy lie. Either way, now was not the time for proof. "I don't care about the ring," he told her. "I'm here to saddle some horses, to leave Carhavel while there's still some semblance of a city for me to leave."

"Then I'll go with you," said Alis.

"What? Why would I—?"

She moved closer, almost touching him. "I look in your eyes, Captain Oddell, and I can see everything about you. You're not a coward. You're a man trying his very best to do the right thing. You and I are the same—surely you see that."

Percy swallowed. "Be that as it may..." No. I'm not like you. I'm nothing like you, thief. He had to regain the upper hand, before she took it permanently from him. "If you leave on one of these horses, it will be under my eye. My companions and I are bound for Pardasath. For the King. You will ride at my direction until we reach the city, at which time you and I will part ways. Should you delay us, I will kill you. Should you try to harm us, or rob us, I will kill you."

Alis Mardaise giggled. "You have a strange way of propositioning a woman, Captain Oddell."

"I'm not propositioning anybody," he said. "And call me Percy, if you must call me anything at all. I'm not a captain. I don't deserve the title."

He'd just about finished saddling up the horses—four horses, not the three he'd planned—when Eada and Gurdagam emerged into the courtyard. Eada froze when she saw Alis.

"The thief," she said, her hand reaching for her sword.

Percy shook his head. "She's not a thief, Eada," he said. "She's a companion." Distantly, he heard another explosion. The battle was still going, so Carhavel stood—for now. "We're all of us riders in the wild, now, not soldiers of Carhavel."

Eada hesitated for a second, then nodded.

"We should be going," said Gurdagam, suddenly. "Lest the city fall down on top of us."

Mounting one of the horses, Percy took stock of the situation. They had nothing in their saddlebags but the bare essentials, whatever they'd managed to cobble together here. How long would it last? A day? It was two days to Pardasath if they rode hard, and both horse and rider might die at such a pace. More likely it was a four-day ride. There were plenty of villages on the way, if they followed the Rhaddan's tributaries upstream. A village meant shelter, hay for the horses, a meal to fill their bellies.

And it meant a night praying to the mercy of the stars that the fire-eyes' army would not catch them.

They passed through the King's gate with no sound but the horses' trotting hooves on the slabs, just as the midday sun appeared from behind a screen of clouds overhead. North they rode, switching to a canter once they were clear of the city, and it was not until they'd crested a hill and Carhavel was nothing more than a spot on the horizon that Percy chanced to look back towards the city. It had fallen, or it had held. It wasn't his now either way. From this distance, it didn't look as though it seen any fighting at all.

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