‘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.’