“Master, I should do that.”
“No,” she grunted as she pushed against the windlass. “When the gates start to open, troops will come.” The windlass started to turn. “My leg will hamper me in a fight.”
“At least let me help.” I started towards her, the chains of the windlass shaking and rattling as they began to move.
“No! Take up that bow.” She nodded at the weapon lying on the floor. “Give those who will come reason to stay back.”
I picked up the bow, glanced around the gatehouse.
“Master, there are no arrows.”
She grunted again, and now the windlass started to turn more easily.
“Then… Girton… get ready… to… fight.”
I stood guard at the door as the gates inched open. Behind me my master sweated and hissed in agony as she turned the windlass. The two lines of troops were so preoccupied with each other that we had the gates half open before a shout went up.
“The gatehouse!”
Aydor’s wall turned their heads and Tomas took advantage of the distraction to charge his troops forward. The sound of metal on metal as the two lines met crashed through air which quickly filled with the sounds of grunting, screaming and shouting as the troops set about each other.
“The gates!” Aydor shouted. “It is the cripple.” He pointed his blade at me then at some men in the rear of his line. “You and you and you! Kill him! Ten bits for his head.”
Five guards broke away from the rear of Aydor’s line as the gates crept further open. I drew my longsword and stabsword. The guards ran toward me, four armed with pikes and their captain with a sword.
I readied myself. These were not bandits like those I had faced in the wood. These were real soldiers, and out in the open their pikes were an excellent weapon. The captain ran at me but all he saw was a mage-bent child and he was overconfident, leaving behind the men who would have protected him. He grinned as if he already had his coin and held his longsword high for a downward slash. As his blade came down, I simply stepped forward and dropped to one knee with my stabsword held out. In his eagerness to kill me he impaled himself on my blade.
“No,” he said quietly. “That is not right.” I pulled my stabsword loose and he fell to his knees, staring up at me. His mouth moved without making a sound as his strength drained out onto the cobbles. It had not been a killing blow so I slit his throat. I did not want to worry about him at my back while I faced the guards following him. On his back he had a quiver with four arrows in it and I took them, picking up the bow and stringing an arrow. The pikers slowed in their approach, stopped and took a moment to organise themselves, hunkering down behind their shields. I loosed an arrow which stuck in a shield as the four advanced on me. Armoured I would have stood a fair chance, but I was unarmoured; even a glancing blow from one of their pikes would end me. I strung another arrow and backed away, switching where I aimed the bow from guard to guard. Quickly, I fired my remaining three arrows. One found a chink in the shields and a woman fell screaming. Then the hard grip of my master was around my arm.
“The gate is open. Run.” I dropped the bow and we ran as best we could. Within twenty paces the mist had concealed the gatehouse and the guards who had followed us, though I did not doubt they were still there.
“Rufra will be at the stables,” I said. “He will come. He will protect us.”
“No, Festival, Girton. We head for Festival.”
I was about to argue when we were sent sprawling in the mud. I had tripped over a corpse. The dead man had the red rag of Tomas, and further on we found a second corpse, this without a rag. The ground underfoot was churned up by the feet of guards, and in between the footprints I found the tracks of mounts. I could not tell how many.
“Everyone wants to control the stables,” said my master. “Who has the mounts, wins the fight.’
“This looks like a lot of troops,” I said, staring at the ground. “Rufra may need our help.”
“We are tired and hurt, Girton. We need help, we are in no position to give it. Head for Festival.” I stared at her. She was tired. Blood ran down her leg and stained her skirts.
“Very well.” I slung my master’s arm over my shoulder and she had found a pike which she used as a crutch. We moved as quickly as we could. Out in the mist I heard guards shouting to each other. They were looking for us, and I heard far more than four of them now. Above the shouts rose the sounds of battle. The cloudy air was alive with the sound of suffering and death.
We slipped and slid forward. As well as her wound, my master was fatigued from days of staying alert to watch Aydor and Adran, and the sheer physical effort of turning the giant windlass. As we moved through the misty darkness her legs kept going from underneath her. The sounds of fighting were swallowed by the mist and we struggled on through an eerie quiet. In the darkness I saw the flickering torches that marked the entrance to Festival.
“Master, we are here.”
“Stop!”
The voice came out of the night, we staggered to a halt.
“Sanctuary,” shouted my master, but her voice was weak. She spat and tried again, this time louder. “Sanctuary! We request sanctuary at Festival.”
“Tomorrow,” came the reply. “Festival shows no favours or sides. While the fighting continues our doors stay shut.”
“But that is not the way—” began my master. The unseen gatekeeper interrupted:
“Blame your queen, she changed the rules.”
“Adran is dead,” said my master. “And we are not her subjects and so not safe out here.”
“Our gates are closed,” came the voice again.
“No!” I took a step forward, my blades coming out of their sheaths. “She is hurt. We need—”
I heard the twang of a crossbow and a bolt buried itself into the mud by my foot.
“Next one is in your throat,” came out of the mist.
I felt my master’s hand on my arm.
“Come, Girton. There is no help for us here.”
“Then we try for the stables.” I put her arm over my shoulders. “Rufra will help.”
“Rufra will have enough to think on, if he lives,” she said. “He will not care about us.”
“He will come,” I said, and we headed out into the night.
Gradually, as we moved through the night, my master transferred more and more of her weight onto me.
“Don’t stop, Master,” I said. “We need to keep going. Rufra will take the stables and ride on the castle. He will come.”
“If he lives,” she gasped. “Both Aydor and Tomas have sent troops…”
“He will come.”
We stumbled on, slipping as much as walking in the freezing mud. Out in the mist I heard more voices echoing around us, searching. My master dropped the pike she had been using to walk with and fell. I slid to a stop, trying to pull her up.