Leda

Chapter Nineteen: Altars and Oil Lamps

"For the spirits' own saintly sakes, Hannac, stop gawping and run!" Jools' dagger bit through Hal's bonds, and with a single swipe she was free.

"But the others!" Still dazed, Hal twisted wildly around as the thief hauled her to her feet. The mob pressed in on all sides like a pack of half-starved wolves, ready to tear their prey limb from limb: an outraged mass of screaming heads, whirling fists and stamping feet.

Her fellow prisoners sat or lay stunned and panting on the road, while the drays reared up and screamed in alarm, trampling down the crumpled corpse of Magda's horse. Magda herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't worry about them. They'll be alright!" Jools seized Hal's arm and dragged her from the wreckage of the cart.

"No they won't!"

With a high, harsh note of fear, Senator Treniac was plucked from the ground and tossed back amongst the mob who fell on him with fists, feet, teeth and stones, his screams fading to pitiful groans.

"Here, take this!" Jools threw her a dagger as a young man in an apprentice's cap lunged. She drove it hard into his side. He froze, clutching his waist before sliding to the floor. Tugging it from his flesh by the hilt, Hal turned to see Lauré still bound and cowering as men and women snarled and spat and scratched. Hal pressed towards her, only to find two guards blocking her path, both brandishing swords. One swung clumsily at her head. She ducked, pivoted around and sank her blade upwards through his jaw. Roaring and tearing at the knife he tumbled backwards, crashing into several bystanders. Now empty handed, she could do no more than stare as the other guard lumbered towards her, dropped his sword forwards...and then toppled sideways, a rapier buried in his neck. Stepping from behind, Magda retrieved her sword, wiped it across her frock coat and shook her head.

"When someone tells you to run, Hal, you run!"

Magda bent down to wrest Lauré free of her tormentors, throwing a few well-aimed punches before draping the girl over her shoulder. "Now run!"

Roaring like a wounded lion, Roc ducked ˗ surprisingly agile, as fists lashed out from all sides. Amid the chaos, Salvesté sprinted past, saluting as he vaulted over the end of the cart and disappeared. Hal took one last look behind her to witness Brice the Smith run bull-like at a guard, with his head down. Then he too was lost to sight and she ran: legs pumping, arms spinning, her hair whipping her eyes. Hands stretched out towards her but she sprang from reach, caught a glimpse of Jools' dark head and bleached shirt bobbing down a side street, and followed. Magda caught her up, Lauré's limp body still slung over her shoulder.

"Is she alive?" Hal gasped.

"Don't know. Look out!"

A familiar looking man in a butcher's bloody apron leered at her from beneath the awning of a shop, brandishing a cleaver. He swiped, and she jumped just in time, leaping upwards to seize the awning's wooden frame, bringing it crashing down into his face. From behind, a hundred feet echoed and sparked on cobbles.

"Faster, Hal!" Magda urged. Once again, Jools slipped down another alley. Hal had no idea where the thief was heading. Her mind swam with shock and confusion, her lungs squeezed and burned. Had they lost the mob? She twisted around to see Roc pounding over the paving. A few stragglers still panted down the alley after them. Up ahead, Jools changed direction once more, turning onto a passage so narrow that they were forced to run single file. And at its end, the thief slammed straight into the solid oak of a door buried in massive sandstone blocks.

They stopped. Blood thundered in her ears, the hollers and calls of the crowd growing louder as they gained ground. Roc was almost on the floor, his hands still tied behind him, sweat gushing from his flushed, red face. Even Magda's strength seemed to ebb. She sagged, barely able to support Lauré. The crowd squeezed down the tunnel towards them with snarls and squawks of triumph and blood lust.