view and sky, they heard commotion, shouting men and running feet.
They spurred their horses and careened round corners, forgetful of their pose as
independent reavers, for they’d heard Stepsons calling manoeuvre codes. So it
was that they came sliding their horses down on haunches so hard sparks flew
from iron-shod hooves, cutting off the retreat of three running on foot from
Stepsons, and vaulted down to the cobbles to lend a hand.
Niko’s horse, itself, took it in its mind to help, and charged past them, reins
dragging, head held high, to back a fugitive against a mudbrick wall. ”Seh!
Run, Vis!’ they heard, and more in a tongue Janni thought might be Nisi, for the
exclamation was.
By then Niko had one by the collar and two quarrels shot by close to Janni’s
ear. He hollered out his identity and called to the shooters to cease their fire
before he was skewered like the second fugitive, pinned by two bolts against the
wall. The third quarry struggled now between the two on-duty Stepsons, one of
whom called out to Janni to hold the second. It was Straton’s voice, Janni
realized, and Straton’s quarrels pinning the indigent by cape and crotch against
the wall. Lucky for the delinquent it had been: Straton’s bolts had pierced no
vital spot, just clothing.
It was not till then that Janni realized that Niko was talking to the first
fugitive, the one his horse had pinned, in Nisi, and the other answering back,
fast and low, his eyes upon the vicious horse, quivering and covered with
phosphorescent froth, who stood watchful by his master, hoping still that Niko