36
The Reaper is the abomination of all that Hananja holds dear. Do not suffer such a creature to live.
(Law)
The first guard fell when Ehiru kicked the loosened cage wall off its hinges. The wall was heavy; it knocked one guard to the ground while the other two, caught by surprise, stood there in shock. By the time they reacted, Ehiru was out of the cage and on them.
Nijiri ran out after him, ready to take down whichever one Ehiru missed, but there was no need. Ehiru struck the first guard a slashing blow across the throat, and in the same blurring movement twisted about and took hold of the second guard’s face. Nijiri saw the guard—screaming, blinded by Ehiru’s fingers on his eyes—fumble for his sword. Nijiri rushed forward to assist Ehiru, but abruptly the guard made a strangled sound and sagged to his knees. Ehiru released him. The man fell over on his side, dead.
All things were Hananja’s will. Nijiri clung to that thought. In Her name they would do whatever needed to be done.
The first guard gurgled and finally died, clutching his throat. The third guard had managed to get halfway free of the entangling lattice of metal, but his leather breastplate had snagged on a spar. Ehiru, swaying in the aftermath of his Reaping, turned slowly, his attention attracted by the man’s struggles.
Nijiri crossed the room in three strides, dropped to one knee beside the struggling soldier, and broke his neck in one swift jerk.
The glaze faded from Ehiru’s eyes. He blinked at Nijiri, lucid again for however long the guard’s dreamblood might last him. Sorrow flooded his face as he gazed down at Nijiri’s handiwork.
“No more than is necessary, Brother,” Nijiri said, standing. He wiped his hands on his foredrape. “Now come. We still need to make our way out of Yanya-iyan.”
“Eninket.” Ehiru’s voice was deeper than usual, as rough and sluggish as if he’d just eaten timbalin paste. Even now, when he was newly flush with dreamblood, Nijiri could hear madness lurking near the surface of his lucidity.
The dreamblood no longer holds it back. It keeps him alive, nothing more.
Hananja’s will. Setting his jaw, Nijiri replied, “He said he was going to Kite-iyan.”
Ehiru nodded and turned on his heel, heading for the door. Startled, Nijiri hurried after him. The corridor beyond the catacombs’ entrance was empty, for which Nijiri gave private thanks. The Prince must have limited the guards to three in order to minimize the chance that word of Ehiru’s and Nijiri’s capture would get out.
“Three’s an unlucky number, anyway,” Nijiri muttered to himself.
They went up the steps two at a time and then out into the brighter-lit corridors of Yanya-iyan’s ground floor. Servants and courtiers stumbled in passing, staring at them. Doubtless they rarely saw hollow-eyed, unwashed men in Kisuati garb sweep through the palace like a flood, Nijiri thought cynically. If they raised any alarm it was slow, so Nijiri and Ehiru remained unmolested all the way to the courtyard. As they crossed the sandy expanse toward Yanya-iyan’s bronze gates, for a fleeting moment Nijiri’s mind was flung back to Hamyan Night, which now seemed ages ago and a thousand dreams away.
The guards on duty faced the courtyard gate, alert for unwanted intruders and unaware of the internal threat. They might have escaped relatively unscathed if someone up on one of the high tiers of the palace hadn’t whistled an alarm. One of the men turned and spied Nijiri and Ehiru. Startled, he jostled his fellow, both of them turning; Nijiri broke into a run to close the distance, hearing Ehiru’s steps speed up beside him. The first man grinned, seeing only an unarmed youth rushing toward him. Not bothering to draw his sword, he braced himself to grapple. Nijiri ducked his first grab, skidded to a crouch, and drove his fist at the side of the man’s knee. The wet pop of cartilage echoed though the empty courtyard.
The man began to scream, dropping to the ground and holding his knee. Nijiri heard another scream behind him and turned to see Ehiru, his eyes glittering with unholy fierceness, letting a corpse fall from his hands. Before it fell onto its face, Nijiri saw an expression of starkest horror frozen on its features.
Arrows thudded into the sand not two feet away. Nijiri darted for the gate, grunting with effort as he raised the heavy bronze bar. Ehiru, disturbingly calm, turned to face the archers. Just as Nijiri managed to shove the bar aside and push open the gate, there was a blur of motion at the corner of his vision. When he looked around, Ehiru held an arrow in his hand. It was still quivering, two feet from the small of Nijiri’s back.
Impossible! Even for the best-trained Gatherer…
“Go,” Ehiru snarled, throwing the arrow aside. Too numb to think, Nijiri scrambled through the gate.
They emerged onto the busy avenue that circled Yanya-iyan as more whistles sounded from the palace’s heights. Through the street traffic Nijiri saw men in the gray of the City Guard turning, craning their necks to see what had caused the alarm.
“This way,” Ehiru said. He walked swiftly into the crowd and joined its flow, keeping to the center of the street where the human river moved most swiftly. Nijiri kept his eyes low, playing servant-caste again, though he darted a glance back. The guardsmen had just reached Yanya-iyan’s gates. A palace guard ran out with sword unsheathed, looking about wildly; they saw him gesticulating at the city men. Nijiri quickly lowered his head again, noting that Ehiru had done the same. At the first juncture of streets they moved behind a lumbering wagon and turned south. Here was the market, where they could lose themselves easily in the sea of people.
Ehiru navigated his way through the milling folk so swiftly that Nijiri was hard-pressed to keep up. Around the stitch in his side—too many days of inactivity; should have kept up my prayer dances at least—he fumbled out a hand to catch Ehiru’s arm. “Brother, the Hetawa is that way.”
“No.” Ehiru did not slow.
“Brother, we can’t just walk to Kite-iyan! We need horses, disguises, supplies, replacements for our ornaments! And we must tell our pathbrothers all that has happened.”
“Within an hour, the entire city will be on alert.”
Nijiri’s heart sank as he realized Ehiru was right. Even worse, the Sentinels at the Hetawa would be notified, as was customary in any city emergency—but the Sentinels, some of them at least, obeyed the Superior. Returning to the Hetawa meant recapture.
“Then we should take the south gate, Brother,” he said. Ehiru slowed and glanced back at him. Nijiri offered a rueful smile. “It is not the closest gate to the Moonpath, I know, but the guard there is a friend of Sister Meliatua and Sunandi. Remember? He may even give us a horse.”
Ehiru stopped, frowning as he considered this. A merchant brushed past him and he shivered, his eyes unfocusing slightly as they tracked the merchant into the crowd. His body shifted, the fingers of one hand forking at his side—
Nijiri seized that hand and squeezed it hard. Ehiru flinched as if waking from a daydream, then closed his eyes in momentary anguish.
“The south gate,” he said. “Quickly. Get me out of this city, Nijiri.”
Nijiri nodded. Keeping hold of Ehiru’s hand, he pressed through the crowd in a new direction, praying that they reached Kite-iyan in time.