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evening.
Wess would not have minded watching that herself.
Leaving the horses hidden in shadow with Aristarchus, they
crept quietly up the stairs to their room, stuffed belongings in their packs,
and started out again.
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'Young gentleman and his ladies, good evening.'
Wess spun around, Quartz right beside her gripping her sword. The tavern-
keeper
flinched back from them, but quickly recovered himself.
'Well,' he said to Chan, sneering. 'I thought they were one thing, but I see
they are your bodyguards.'
Quartz grabbed him by the shirt front and lifted him off the floor. Her
broadsword scraped from its scabbard. Wess had never seen Quartz draw it,
in
defence or anger; she had never seen the blade. But Quartz had not neglected
it.
The edge gleamed with transparent sharpness.
'I forswore the frenzy when I abandoned war,' Quartz said very quietly. 'But
you
are very nearly enough to make me break my oath.' She opened her hand
and he
fell to his knees before the point of the sword.
'I meant no harm, my lady -'
'Do not call me "lady"! I am not of noble birth! I was a soldier and I am a
woman. If that cannot deserve your courtesy, then you cannot command my
mercy!'
'I meant no harm, I meant no offence. I beg your pardon ...' He looked up
into
her unreadable silver eyes. 'I beg your pardon, northern woman.'
There was no contempt in his voice now, only terror, and to Wess that was
just
as bad. She and Quartz could expect nothing here, except to be despised or
feared. They had no other choices.
Quartz sheathed her sword. 'Your silver is on the table,' she said coldly. 'We
had no mind to cheat you.'
He scrabbled up and away from them, into the room. Quartz grabbed the key
from
the inside, slammed the door, and locked it.
'Let's get out of here.'
They clattered down the stairs. In the street, they tied the packs together and
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to the horses' harnesses as best they could. Above,. they heard the innkeeper
banging at the door, and when he failed to break it down, he came to the
window.
'Help!' he cried. 'Help, kidnappers! Brigands!' Quartz vaulted up behind
Aristarchus and Chan clambered up behind Wess. 'Help!' the innkeeper
cried.
'Help, fire! Floods!'
Aristarchus gave his horse its head and it sprang forward. Wess's stallion
tossed his mane, blew his breath out hard and loud, and leaped from a
standstill
into a gallop. All Wess could do was hold on, clutching the mane and the
harness, hunching over the horse's withers, as he careered down the street.
They galloped through the outskirts of Sanctuary, splashed across the river
at
the ford, and headed north along the river trail. The horses sweated into a
lather and Aristarchus insisted on slowing down and breathing them. Wess
saw the
sense of that, and, too, she could detect no pursuit from the city. She scanned
the sky, but darkness hid any sign of the flyers.
Abandoning the headlong pace, they walked the horses or let them jog. Each
step
jarred Wess's ribs. She tried to concentrate on pushing out the pain, but to do
it well she needed to stop, dismount, and relax. That was impossible right
now.
The road and the night led on forever.
At dawn, they reached the faint abandoned trail Wess had brought them in
on. It
led away from the road, directly up into the mountains.
The trees, black beneath the slate-blue sky, closed in overhead. Wess felt as if
she had fought her way out of a nightmare world into a world she knew and
loved.
She did not yet feel free, but she could consider the possibility of feeling
free again.
'Chan?'
'I'm here, love.'
She took his hand, where he held her gingerly around the waist, and kissed
his
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palm. She leaned back against him, and he held her.
A stream gushed between the gnarled roots of trees, beside the nearly
invisible
trail.
'We should stop and let the horses rest,' Aristarchus said. 'And rest,
ourselves.'
'There's a clearing a little way ahead,' Wess said. 'It has grass. They eat
grass, don't they?'
Aristarchus chuckled. 'They do, indeed.'
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