At that hour of the night the streets were usually empty, save for noisy drunkards and silent thieves. Yet they soon realized that someone was following them on horseback.
“Do you have any of your people behind us?” Corson asked.
“Yes, but they’re on foot,” Nyctasia said worriedly.
They passed a group of shouting roisterers, and Corson suddenly joined in the uproar, singing as loudly as any of them:
“I once knew a soldier so skilled with his sword
That they sued for his service, both lady and lord!”
Nyctasia clutched at her arm. “Are you mad?!”
“I’m being inconspicuous. Sober folk wouldn’t ride out this late.
“I once knew a fisher so skilled with her net
There was nary a fish that the wench couldn’t get!” she roared.
Nyctasia had to acknowledge the sense in this. Silence might be suspect. She resigned herself to Corson’s performance.
Without warning, a figure lunged at them from a nearby doorway, and they both reached for their weapons in alarm. “Get out of here, you sotted curs!” screamed a large man in a nightshirt. “Decent folk are trying to sleep!”
“All right, we’ll go,” Corson said hastily, but he had already seen their half-drawn swords.
“Threaten an unarmed citizen, will you, you vermin,” he shouted after them.
“Warder! Arrest those cutthroats!”
The rider behind them broke into a trot, and they realized that they’d been followed by an officer of the night watch. Nyctasia suddenly turned her horse and started back before Corson could stop her. “I’ll show you who’s vermin,” she muttered.
Corson was aghast. She caught up with Nyctasia and grabbed her bridle. “What are you doing?!”
“I’m being inconspicuous. Do you want the City Guard chasing us through the streets?”
The watchman rode up to them. “What’s the matter here?”
“We-” Corson began, but her horse suddenly swerved to the side and reared, as Nyctasia surreptitiously jabbed her spur into its flank.
“Good evening, warder,” she said in her haughtiest tone. “I’m afraid my servant has had too much to drink,” She sounded bored and annoyed, and her bearing proclaimed her a personage of the highest station. It was too dark for him to see how poorly she was dressed, and she kept her face well back in her hood.
“Ah, forgive me, Your Ladyship,” the guardsman said anxiously. “There was a complaint, but I’m sure…”
“I’m not drunk,” Corson protested, swaying in her saddle.
“Be still!” Nyctasia ordered. “I’ll see that she doesn’t bother anyone else, warder. I don’t recall the fine for causing a public disturbance, but I’m sure this will suffice.” She pressed a few heavy coins into his hand.
He bowed. “Certainly-thank you, Your Ladyship. If you should require an escort
…”
“No need,” said Nyctasia indifferently. “I assure you she’ll be disciplined for this.” She turned away, leading Corson’s horse by the bridle.
“Come along,” she snapped.
Corson swayed again and leaned in closer to Nyctasia. “As soon as I have the chance, I’m going to slit your throat.”
“Wits may be a sharper weapon than any sword,” said Nyctasia with a smug smile.
As they approached the gate, Nyctasia hugged the wall, keeping to the shadow of the watchtower. She watched the quiet streets for signs of danger as Corson rode ahead to meet the sentry.
Corson dismounted and handed the woman a pouch, then helped her to pull back the heavy bolts. They both pushed their weight against the gate, and the guard in the watchtower paid no heed as the portal slowly swung outward.
Only then did Nyctasia emerge from the shadows and follow Corson through the narrow gap that opened onto a rough pasture track. By the time the gate had been shut behind them, they were halfway across the field.
Looking over her shoulder, Corson was not surprised to see the bright flash of a lantern from the sentry tower. “Arm yourself!” she shouted to Nyctasia. “They’ve signaled someone-make for the forest!”
Soon they heard hoofbeats behind them, echoing their own. But Nyctasia’s horses were all she’d claimed, and they’d put a good distance between themselves and their pursuers when a second band of riders broke from the cover of the forest just in front of them.
“Ride that way,” Corson called, “divide them.” Nyctasia swerved to the right, spurring her mount to even greater efforts. Corson fell back, trying to draw the enemy after her, but two of them broke away and followed Nyctasia.
For a time, Nyctasia led them a hard chase, but they were too close upon her to be outdistanced. The ground was uneven, broken by small hills and ravines-good grazing land but unsuited for galloping horses. Her mount plunged down a slope and easily leapt the swollen stream, but as it tried to scramble up the steep embankment on the other side, it could find no footing in the slippery mud. It slid back twice, then balked at a third attempt. Nyctasia had no time to urge it on before one of her pursuers was upon her.
She turned to attack, but her blow glanced harmlessly off the other’s shield. He quickly thrust in beneath her upraised arm to pierce the light chain mail over her ribs. Doubling over with a cry, she fell from the saddle onto the soft mud of the bank and lay motionless as her horse nuzzled her shoulder, nickering softly.
The man dismounted and approached her cautiously. Her sword lay unsought by her open hand, and he stepped firmly on the haft as he bent down to look at her.
Nyctasia’s dagger lashed out wildly, barely scratching his hand, but a burning pain seared through his arm, leaving it numb. In moments, the poison reached his heart, and he was dead before he fell to the ground.
Nyctasia dragged herself into the stream, hoping the cold water would slow her bleeding. On the crest of the slope above her, two riders clashed and she saw one of them knock the sword from the other’s grip. As the disarmed warrior turned to flee, Nyctasia raised herself on one elbow and screamed, “Corson! This way!”
Corson hesitated, anxious to give chase, but instead she leapt from her horse and clambered down the embankment. Nyctasia struggled to rise, clutching at her side. She gave a hiss of pain as Corson grabbed her under the arm and pulled her upright.
“Can you ride?” Corson demanded brusquely. Without waiting for an answer, she led over Nyctasia’s horse and helped her to mount. “No matter. Just keep your seat. I’m warning you. If you fall off, I’ll leave you behind.”
Nyctasia leaned against the animal’s neck and moaned. “Vicious bitch,” she said faintly, but she held on as Corson seized the reins and led the way to level ground.
They reached the forest unchallenged and rode in stony silence for some time before Nyctasia sat up and took the reins. “Corson, you must be a demon in battle. There were at least a score of swords after us-how many of them did you kill?”
Corson considered. “It’s hard to say to a certainty, but not more than four, I should think.”
“But what became of the rest?”
“The sentry must have taken her story to both parties. Don’t you see?” Corson started to laugh. “The Teiryns and the Edonaris both had their henchmen waiting to waylay you-and when they met, they started warring between themselves.
They’re so busy slaughtering each other back there that they’ve forgotten about us. Isn’t that funny?”
“It is indeed,” said Nyctasia. But it hurt to laugh.