‘They’re moving too slowly,’ Rachel said just as Tol thought the same thing.
‘I’ll not leave anyone to the Gurdal.’ Tol had heard many stories of the Gurdal at Icepeak. In none of them were the distant barbarians kind to their enemies.
‘They’ll converge on us before we’re out of the city.’ There was no fear in Rachel’s voice, only sad acceptance. Tol reminded himself how much she and Bruna had been through since his arrival at St. Helena’s. As tough as any knight, he thought.
‘We’ll find a way out,’ he told her, but he heard the uncertainty in his own voice.
‘Just promise me one thing.’
They reached a fork in the alley and Tol followed Rachel down the right-hand path. ‘What?’
‘Don’t let them take me alive.’ Her voice was the frightened whisper of a child trapped in the dark, nearly lost amid the clash of steel.
‘I promise,’ he said. Tol looked back and saw Catardor and Isallien take positions in either fork. In seconds the last of their pursuers were down. Damn, they’re good. Exhausted, lost, and outnumbered, they fought as only the greatest knights could.
They fought like Knights of the Reve.
*
Echoes of pounding feet harried them as they wound their way through the narrow alleys and backstreets of Siadendre. The pre-dawn chill played tricks with Tol’s ears. Sometimes the Gurdal sounded only yards away, and other times far distant; but the drumming feet never fell silent, a marching tattoo which spurred Tol on as he fought the rising panic of getting trapped in the claustrophobic confines of Siadendre’s slums. Gurdal patrols kept finding them, pairs and quartets harrying their retreat. Tol and the others rotated the trailing rearguard at regular intervals, and they took advantages of intersections to attack Gurdal from multiple sides, but Tol knew they were tiring fast. Most of them carried injuries now, and the Gurdal seemed to have unlimited numbers. We have to get out of here, he thought as he rotated to the front. We can’t last much longer. The Gurdal were relentless, and just as one patrol was despatched another took its place. Soon they’ll reach us in numbers. When they did, Tol knew, the narrow walls of Siadendre’s backstreets wouldn’t protect them. We’ll just fall one at a time, that’s the only difference.
A crossroads loomed ahead, the silhouettes of Benvedor and the other injured just the other side, never far enough in front. Rachel reached the crossroads just as a Gurdal warrior came skittering through from the left. Rachel lunged as he passed by, thrusting her sword through his abdomen. Tol was moving as the Gurdal’s forward momentum wrenched the sword from Rachel’s hand. He was too tired to think now, his body somehow ignoring the exhaustion he felt. Instinct sent him into the mouth of the crossroads, Illis’Andiev rising in an awkward sweep to catch the second Gurdal before he could impale Rachel. Two more followed, and Tol held the passage as the others continued to follow the bloody trail left by the injured as they struggled north to freedom.
A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Tol realised he was standing there alone, the Gurdal piled at his feet.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Rachel said quietly, leading him after the others as Catardor, too tired to speak, took Tol’s place.
The grey sky was tinged with the orange glow of sunrise, dawn only moments away. The sky looks like watered blood.
‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, snapping him back to his senses. The street was growing wider, Tol noticed as she guided him towards the front of their procession. How much further? Surely we must be nearly at the gates. He could hear the Gurdal everywhere now: left and right, behind them – maybe ahead, too. How many have they sent just to find us? He knew that if they didn’t get out of the city in the next few minutes, it would be their resting place. Part of him didn’t mind, not if Katarina escaped. Another part was just too damned stubborn to give up; that part of him remembered the pained expression on an angel’s face as she confessed her fear of facing the enemy alone.
I will not fail.
Tol walked faster.
I will not fail.
He reached Benvedor, the knight’s left leg a crimson mess. ‘Keep moving,’ he growled as went past.
I will not fail. With every step he repeated that single thought, Kalashadria’s frightened face in his mind. I will not fail.
He passed Vrillian, overtaking Riedel just as the alley opened up into the barren plaza separating him from the north gate. The sun was rising to Tol’s right, the first rays of dawn casting long shadows over the city.
We made it, Tol thought. All that separated him from the gates was a hundred yards of open ground. He reached the mouth of the alley, sunlight warming his face as the drumroll of pounding feet reached a crescendo. For a moment, he tasted the sweetness of victory.
Just for a moment.
21.
Why?
Of all the people who could possibly burst into her prison and rescue her, why did it have to be Steven?
I was done with him, with his lies and half-truths.
Their parting had not been sweet, and Katarina had resolved herself to never seeing the stubborn northman again. Then Ren Calderon had kidnapped her and taken her to the Spur, waiting for the arrival of the Gurdal so he could use her to barter for his life, or increase his standing with the savages.
Katarina had expected Stetch to come for her, had known that however much he disliked her the man would do his duty; failure was not a word in his lexicon. Whether Stetch would arrive in time to save her, she had been less sure of, but Katarina had known he would be there. But why bring Steven? I made it quite clear to him that I didn’t want anything more to do with him, yet here he is with another act of appalling stupidity.
A figure leaped out into the alley ahead of them, scythed down by Stetch who didn’t even break his stride. Katarina wiped away warm spots of liquid from her face as she felt Kartane’s hand in the small of her back, trying to push her faster. She glanced back, ignoring his toothy grin. Victoria trailed behind him, and Salazar followed last. The others were already some way back, a distant chime of steel offering the occasional reassurance that they were alive. Some of them at least.
‘Do we have a plan?’
Stetch cut down another Gurdal, his long-legged gait unbroken. He grunted, apparently occupied by other thoughts.
‘We run,’ Kartane said behind her. He gave another shove, and Katarina knew the idiot was enjoying this.
‘Stupid plan,’ she muttered. Her legs barely functioned after two days bound in captivity, and every step, every motion, brought a new wave of pain.
‘Not mine,’ Kartane replied cheerfully. ‘You got a better one?’
Katarina pretended she hadn’t heard.
‘Ship waiting,’ Stetch grunted over his shoulder.
‘That’s a better plan.’
‘Hurry,’ Stetch growled ahead, apparently not appreciating Katarina’s endorsement. She muttered a curse and staggered onward. Stetch had never let her down, and even in a city of enemies she didn’t believe he would start now. That man’s too stubborn to let anyone defeat him. Unfortunately, that thought brought her back to the thorn in her toe that was Steven.
He shouldn’t be here. Nobody with any sense would be here if they had a choice. Worse still, he appeared to have invited a number of other people to share in his stupidity and likely death: Kartane, predictably, but other knights as well, and what looked like three nuns. Or two nuns and a large eunuch with teats.
‘Hurry,’ Stetch growled at her again. Each step was harder than the last, and Kartane’s gentle hand against her back was now a great weight – the only thing that kept her moving.
I’m done with him, he shouldn’t have come for me! It’s true I rather liked Steven, but that all ended. And it had ended, as far as Katarina was concerned: perhaps she had been enamoured with the rough, plain-spoken young man, but once she made a decision she stuck to it. Father taught me that: when you issue an ultimatum, you’d damned well better be prepared to follow through with it else it means naught.
/>
The pressure on her back eased, and Katarina heard a soft gurgle as Stetch – already a dozen paces ahead – hurled a dagger down a branching alley.
He lied and told me half-truths and still he follows me across a bloody ocean – even when I told him I was done with him. The image of him appearing in the doorway came unbidden: the brief scuffle with the guard and the long moment that stretched on as their eyes met and Katarina realised help had finally come. And I smiled! After all that, my first reaction was to bloody smile like a smitten girl as soon as I saw the dolt! Katarina sighed, stumbling after Stetch, who kept glancing back like she was an embarrassment to her family.
At least I didn’t simper like a child when the idiot finally untied me; that would have been too much to bear. Fortunately, Steven hadn’t seen that half-second smile as she saw him – or if he had, he had forgotten it already. A dagger burrowing its way into his shoulder had distracted him and given Katarina enough time to compose herself.
It doesn’t mean I have to forgive him, Katarina told herself. Steven should never have come after me. As far as I’m concerned he and I are done; this changes nothing.
‘Except you’re alive,’ Kartane whispered in her ear.
‘What?’
‘You were talking aloud.’
Katarina closed her eyes, the tiredness seeping back into her limbs with a chill. ‘How long?’
‘Long enough,’ Kartane said. Unusually, he wasn’t taking this opportunity to ridicule her.
Katarina’s anger faded, and with it fled the last vestige of strength which had fuelled her. ‘I don’t know why he came for me,’ she said. She staggered on, Kartane’s hand a hard weight against her back.
‘Maybe he felt he owed you,’ Kartane said. ‘Or maybe it was something else.’
Stetch came back towards them. ‘Hurry,’ he growled, spinning on his heel and striding forwards again. Katarina watched him go, but couldn’t come close to matching his pace.
‘Something else?’ she asked.
Kartane pushed harder, the pain in Katarina’s legs increasing as she tried to keep moving.
‘If we make it out of here you can ask him yourself.’
Sound travelled in odd ways in the strangled alleys of Siadendre. It was hard to judge where the tattoo of boots was coming from, the chill morning air playing tricks with Katarina’s ears, but she thought they might all be behind them now. But they can move faster than I, she thought, feeling helpless as Stetch continually looked back, his face showing his frustration.
‘I don’t want to talk to him,’ she told Kartane, a weak light appearing ahead of Stetch. He had stopped, pacing purposefully back towards them.
‘Then I guess you can just listen while he shouts,’ Kartane said. ‘He’s annoying like that.’
Stetch reached them. ‘Almost there,’ he said. He took Katarina’s hand and started pulling her towards the mouth of the alley. She fought to keep her legs moving, trying to lift them quickly enough to maintain her balance. I’m spent, she realised. I’m not going to make it.
Stetch stopped, and Katarina fell against him, breathing hard. Ahead of them lay a wide, open square of dust and sand, trampled by thousands of feet to form a floor as solid as stone. Directly ahead of them lay the north gate, a ten foot wide hole in the city’s shambling wall, and recent tracks veered left and right from the gate to either side of where they stood; the main roads through the city began at the corners of the square to their left and right. That, Katarina knew, was where the Gurdal would come from; they’d try and get ahead of them and cut them off. By the sound of footsteps, they were already close.
‘Ready?’ Stetch asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, just strode out into the open space, Katarina trailing along in his wake as Kartane and the others followed.
‘I can’t,’ she protested, hating herself for sounding so feeble. ‘It hurts.’
‘Tough,’ Stetch growled, refusing to even look at her. They were ten yards into the open now, and the remaining ninety looked like an impossible journey.
One more step, Katarina told herself, fighting the tears of pain as she tried to keep up with Stetch, his grip on her wrist as unyielding as stone.
One more step.
Twenty yards now, and the echoes of footsteps were growing closer, closer.
One more step.
Katarina stumbled, crying out as she twisted her ankle and fell to the dust. She felt a brief, sharp tug, like Stetch was trying to pull her arm out of its socket, then he was there, sinking to his haunches beside her.
‘I can’t go any further!’
‘Go,’ she heard him growl at the others. ‘Now!’
Katarina looked up and saw Stetch’s eyes narrow in thought as a shout rose from the main avenue. They’re here.
‘Up,’ Stetch growled.
‘Leave me,’ she told him, the tears running freely. Stetch looked back to the alley they had come from, and she followed his gaze. He was standing there, breathing hard. His clothes were drenched in blood, and by the rents in his tunic most of it looked to be his own. His glassy eyes were fixed on the Gurdal squad as they emerged into the square, narrowing in thought just as Stetch’s had done moments earlier, his mind running the calculations. A split-second passed then he looked at Stetch.
‘Go,’ Steven mouthed, lumbering into motion with a cry Katarina realised was from his own exhaustion. She felt Stetch pull one arm, his other sliding underneath her, wrapping around her waist. Stetch grunted, picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. She strained to see what was happening as Stetch lurched into motion, twisting her head in time to glimpse Steven running awkwardly across the square to intercept the six Gurdal warriors.
Stetch was moving quickly now, Katarina’s stomach bouncing on his shoulder. Steven was between them and the Gurdal, stuttering to a stop as the Gurdal came at him with swords and spears.
He moved, and suddenly he looked different. The tiredness seemed to fall away from him, the sword an extension of his arm as he lunged towards the Gurdal, slipping between two spears. Katarina blinked as the blade flung bright dawn sunlight into her eyes. Two of the Gurdal were down now, and still he danced, another falling, and another. His foot slipped, and Katarina saw him stumble as the last two came at him. He disappeared from view as Stetch passed through the gate, his long-legged gait veering left towards the ocean and leaving only a vista of worn wall.
Steven!
‘We have to go back!’
Stetch carried on, his footsteps sure in the sand as he left Siadendre behind, heading west towards the ocean.
‘We have to go back,’ Katarina repeated. She beat her fists against his back. ‘Stetch!’
Katarina thumped him one last time, but even that didn’t elicit so much as an annoyed grunt. She kept her neck craned towards the gate, muscles protesting at the unnatural position.
Damn you, she thought as the city gates remained empty. Damn you. Katarina let her neck go limp when she couldn’t bear to hold her head up any longer. The gates looked small in the distance now, the din of battle drowned by the soft susurration of the ocean lapping at the sand. It was only a mile or so wide here, with the Meracian Ocean to the west while the eastern flank of the Spur was bordered with the inland Salt Sea, a lifeless expanse of dark water that stretched to the southern borders of the Karalvian Empire.
Katarina could see figures emerging under the arch now, but she couldn’t make out who they were as the glare of dawn forced her eyes to narrow slits. Stetch slowed to a halt, and she felt herself lowered to the soft sand, landing on her rump with a oomph.
‘He saved me again!’ she said, thumping the sand with her closed fist. ‘That stupid, idiotic, stubborn fool of a man! He shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have come for me, not after I said goodbye. Idiot!’ She clamped her lips together, realising she was rambling. She looked up to find Victoria, Salazar, Kartane and Stetch all staring at her. Stetch raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t
look at me like that. Where’s this damned ship?’
He lifted his finger and Katarina looked out to sea. A ship lay at anchor a small way out, and a small rowboat was already bounding over the waves towards them.
‘Oh.’ She looked back to the gate. ‘He can’t die here,’ she said quietly. ‘Not until I’ve told him how stupid he is.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t dream of it,’ Kartane said. ‘Kraven’s got a habit of surviving great adventures.’ He grinned. ‘Taught him myself.’
Stetch lifted her gently off the sand, carrying her in his arms towards the approaching rowboat. ‘You call this an adventure?’ she asked Kartane. ‘It’s a war, you damned fool!’
He just grinned as he waded out to the little boat and the surliest looking oarsmen Katarina had ever seen. ‘You ain’t living unless you’re nearly dying,’ he laughed.
Katarina shuddered. He hid it well, but deep down this was the real Kartane. And he truly is insane.
Stetch dropped her in the rowboat, pushing the little boat back out and climbing over the side as the oarsmen struck a fast rhythm. Katarina looked up. Figures were moving towards them across the sand, silhouettes framed by the morning sun.
He had better be alive, Katarina thought as she sank down to the floor of the boat. I should kill the idiot myself. She was fighting to keep her eyes open, but as the boat slapped against the hull of a much larger ship, she looked up at Stetch.
‘Which idiot did you convince to sail here?’
Stetch looked away, but the braying laughter of Kartane was enough to convince Katarina she wouldn’t like the answer. ‘Friend of Chatty’s,’ he said, thumb jabbing at Stetch.
Katarina frowned, confused and exhausted. ‘Stetch doesn’t have any friends.’
A rope dropped over the side and Stetch lifted her up, draping her body over his back and wrapping her hands round his neck. ‘Hold on,’ he grunted, climbing up the rope with Kartane’s laughter following them up.
I’m not going to like this, Katarina thought as Stetch clambered over the side. He squatted down until her feet hit the deck, then made free with her person, manhandling Katarina in a way her father would most definitely dislike. Stetch stepped away from the rail as the others ascended, his firm hands nestled under Katarina’s armpits. She surveyed the deck and a motley crew of what at best could be described as murderers, thieves and blackhearted scoundrels until her eyes fell on one man who stood taller than the others, with the bearing of a king and the beard of a black bear. He looked older, his face more careworn than she remembered, but those eyes still glittered with intelligence.
Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3) Page 15
