his head. Jon-Tom blocked it with his staff, and the
ramwood held as the mace’s chain wrapped around it. He
pulled and twisted in one motion, bringing the knobbed
end of the staff down on his assailant’s helmet. The hyena
dropped like a stone. They ran on, Jon-Tom unwrapping
the chain from his staff.
Then they were up against the thick wooden door in the
city wall. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood or splintered
against the rock as the wall’s garrison struggled to regroup.
Mudge inspected it rapidly. “Locked, damn it, from the
other side!”
“Pahdon me,” said Roseroar. While they covered her
she put her back against the door, dug her feet into the
pavement, and shoved. The door broke with a snap, the
wood holding but not the iron hinges. It fell with a crash.
The trio ran out, pursued by yells and weapons. No one
chose to pursue beyond the city wall in person. The tigress
had demonstrated what she could do at close range, and
Malderpot’s soldiery had taken the lesson to heart. They
held back, waiting for someone higher up to give the
necessary orders, and praying those directions would take
their time arriving.
Before they did, the fugitives were deep within the
concealment offered by the Bellwoods and the night.
Eventually they located a place where several giant trees
had fallen, forming a natural palisade, and settled in
behind the wooden barricade nature had so thoughtfully
provided.
The long run hadn’t troubled Jon-Tom, who was a
good distance runner, nor Mudge, who was blessed with
inexhaustible energy, but Roseroar was tired. They waited