Drumbeats filled the air, and this message Aren recognized: Eastern gate under attack.
Ithicana. It had to be.
“Faster!” Lara called. “We need them to commit!”
The horses surged forward, the buildings on either side nothing but dark blurs, the rain now a blinding deluge. There were flames ahead, part of the gate on fire, the light illuminating dozens of soldiers lining the wall. And countless more soldiers below working to extinguish the blaze and secure the gates.
The drums tower at the gate rolled, repeating the same message. “They see us!” Bronwyn shouted. “They’re calling for reinforcements!”
An arrow shot past Aren’s face, another slicing across the haunches of Lara’s horse, the animal squealing in pain. Three more clattered against the walls of the houses, the only thing keeping them from striking true the darkness and the rain.
“Almost there!” Lara shouted.
The drum signal repeated, then abruptly cut off in the middle of a pattern. Next to him, Lara ripped back her hood, eyes on the roofline. Aren followed her gaze, picking out a shadowy figure on a roof ahead. The figure lifted a brazier, illuminating her face. Lia.
His friend and bodyguard saluted him once as they thundered past, then Lara reached down and snatched hold of Aren’s reins, hauling both animals to a halt. The other sisters did the same, the animals twisting and circling each other as the soldiers at the gate formed a line and their pursuers raced up behind.
Lia threw something to the street.
An explosion tore through the air, causing the horses to buck and plunge, Aren barely managing to hold on as another explosion split his ears a block farther on, hemming their group in on both sides and concealing them with smoke.
Three of the girls heeled their horses down an alley leading north. But his horse was heading in the opposite direction, Lara tugging on the reins and guiding him into an alley, Bronwyn leading the way, one of the other sisters holding up the rear.
They plunged through the near darkness of the alley, then careened onto a street, galloping back in the direction they’d come.
The streets were nearly empty now, the Maridrinians, believing Vencia under attack, taking shelter in their shuttered homes.
“Where the hell are we going?” Aren demanded.
“West.” Lara’s eyes were on the street behind them. “We’ve only got a few minutes before they get the drum tower signaling again, and we’ll have the whole garrison after us.” Then she swore. “Cresta! Bronwyn! We’ve got company!”
As soon as the warning exited her throat, Lara’s horse stumbled and nearly fell, struggling to right itself. Its hindquarters were drenched in blood from where it had been shot with an arrow. The animal wouldn’t be able to keep pace for long.
“Pick me up on the far side,” she called to Bronwyn. “I’m going to buy us some time.”
She reined the struggling horse close to the buildings before climbing onto its back, where she crouched, bow looped over one shoulder. Then she jumped.
Risking his balance for a backward glance, Aren saw her dangling from a balcony. Climbing. Then she had an arrow nocked and another two clenched between her teeth as she aimed at the soldiers in pursuit. One of them fell from his horse and another reached up to clutch his shoulder where an arrow protruded. The other soldiers caught sight of Lara, pointing and lifting their own weapons, but Aren’s horse skidded around the street corner, killing his line of sight.
I need to go back. The thought tore through his mind, but Bronwyn drew knee-to-knee with him, shaking her head. “She knows what she’s doing. Keep riding.”
They climbed the steep street, the horses’ labored breathing almost as loud as their hooves.
She could be dead, he thought. She could be lying bleeding in the street.
“If she is, she deserves it,” he growled at himself. Yet despite his admonition, relief flooded him as a shadow appeared at the top of the buildings ahead. Lara leapt onto a balcony and then jumped to the street, where she dropped into a roll, back on her feet and running in the blink of an eye.
Bronwyn galloped toward her, Lara catching hold of her sister’s stirrup at the last second. She leapt into the air, her leg arching over the back of the horse. Bronwyn gripped Lara’s free hand to help her settle onto the animal’s back.
The drums began to roll a new pattern, the sound like thunder as it chased them through the streets.
The west gate barely deserved the name, for it was nothing but a barred slit in the wall leading to a narrow path, which led to a vertical climb down to the shoreline. There was nowhere to moor a boat; the only way to reach a vessel would be to swim out to meet it. He could do it. Easily. But Lara and her two sisters . . .
They pressed up the hill via the twisting streets, the horses winded and near their limit. Then the gate came into sight, a narrow steel portcullis defended by six heavily armed soldiers.
“We don’t have the codes.” The other sister—Cresta—pulled up next to Aren, the group slowing to a trot and then to a walk. “Tell them the drum towers have been compromised, but that there have been reports of Ithicanian vessels outside the breakwater. We just need to get close enough to take them out.”
“Halt and identify yourselves!” a soldier shouted.
Aren cleared his throat, fighting to regulate his voice enough to take on a Maridrinian accent. “Drum towers have been compromised,” he called, sliding off the side of the horse, his legs aching.
“The codes,” the man shouted, lifting his bow and leveling an arrow at Aren’s chest.
“The codes have been compromised, you jackass,” Aren shouted, improvising. “The Ithicanians have them. How the hell else do you suppose they broke in and out of the king’s goddamned harem?”
The soldier’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t lower his weapon, and his fellows kept their hands on the hilts of their blades.
“There are reports of Ithicanian vessels outside the breakwater. Last reliable update was that the Ithicanian king was making for the south gate. If he circles around the city, he can get down the cliffs and reach the water without you bloody idiots any the wiser.”
The man lowered his bow, but when Aren took a step his direction, the soldier shook his head. “Humor me, friend. What’s tonight’s co—”
The man broke off, a knife embedded in his throat.
Lara and her sisters attacked, a flurry of steel blades clashing together. Aren picked up the man’s fallen sword and threw himself into the mix, cutting down one soldier and then shooting another in the back with the dead man’s bow as he tried to flee down the length of the wall.
It was over in minutes, but from behind, horses were racing toward them. Reinforcements.
The sisters had the portcullis half-open by the time he turned around, the four of them rolling under the partially raised iron spikes, the chain jammed with a sword to slow down pursuit.
They moved cautiously along the dark trail until they reached the junction, one branch leading down to the inlet and the other up the steep slope. The sound of waves filled Aren’s ears, the air heavy with the smell of brine. It had been months since he’d seen the sea. Heard it. Had the smell of it fill his noise without the stench of the city tainting it. In a few hours, he would be back in Ithicana.
But Lara was tugging him in the other direction. “This way.”