Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Seven: A Thousand Arrows

For the first time in months, Meracad was beyond the fortress walls. She stopped to inhale the air, as if it were somehow composed of different elements.

"Keep moving," Hal urged. "Walk as calmly as you can. Then when I give the word, we're going to make up some time."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you, Franc Hannac is waiting for us. He has a safe house below the southern walls."

The boulevard was already behind them, and they were now winding their way across university green. Meracad whirled around, painfully aware of how exposed they now were. The archers posted atop the fortress walls behind them could easily pick them off against the half-deserted backdrop of The Green, their dark figures a stark contrast against the snow underfoot. She turned to see that Hal was already several feet ahead, and ran to catch up with her.

"Master Hannac? From the Eagles' Nests?" she gasped, drawing level with the duellist, attempting to catch her breath.

"Yes, that's right." They were now approaching the end of The Green and entering The Shambles. "Franc Hannac, my father."

"What?"

Meracad almost stopped, but Hal pulled her into the alley. "Now, RUN!" she yelled.

She could ask no more, for Hal was already tearing in a chaotic flight of arms and legs towards the western walls. Picking up her skirts she followed, the slushy wet ground splashing around her legs. Street vendors screamed out in anger as Hal kicked over a basket of dried plums up ahead. Meracad's lungs already felt as if they were being ripped from her body.

"Mind where you're going!" someone yelled. "Bloody thieves, like as not!"

"Hal, slow down!" Hal had reached the end of The Shambles and was about to turn left down the western walls. Dizziness gripped Meracad, the world whirled around her. She bent over and retched.

Hal skidded to a halt and ran back to her. Creased double, Meracad released the contents of her stomach into the gutter. She clung for support to the timber frame of the end cottage, her skin growing clammy and cold, sweat breaking across her brow.

"What's wrong?" Hal was stroking her hair, glancing anxiously back up the street.

"It's alright, I'll be alright. Just slow down a bit. Your legs are longer than mine." Meracad managed a wan smile.

"Are you able to carry on? We can't stay here, it's not safe."

"I know, I know. Let's move."

Hal put her arm around Meracad's shoulders, supporting her as they half-stumbled past work houses, smithies and carpenters. The Shambles had become a blur, its ramshackle wooden shelters merging into one. Her feet were now frozen, the snow soaking the soft leather of her boots. She felt her stomach heave once more, but repressed the urge to vomit. There was nothing left in her stomach anyway.

"Come on, almost there." Hal was kissing her cheek. She forced herself onwards.

They had stopped before the low, squat door of a timber-framed shack. Meracad rested against its wall, her nausea finally subsiding, her breathing now less erratic. She closed her eyes, latching onto the drift of city sounds ─ the distant calls of vendors, the crunch of cartwheels over dirty streets. Hal rapped three times on the door. For a few tense moments, it seemed as if no one would answer. The duellist looked up and down the street in desperation, and Meracad felt her stomach dip once more. Then bolts were flung back and a man's head peered out at them, his blue eyes bright with relief, his smile broad. Meracad almost sank down on the street, but he pulled her inside, Hal followed, and the door slammed shut behind them. She sat on the floor for a few moments, panting, her head buried in her hands. When she looked up, arms were reaching down, pulling her inside, into the warmth and safety of the hut. She felt Hal close, and gave in to the duellist's tight embrace. They were safe.