Jastar shouldered what looked to be a laborer to one side. “Mind your footing, ya fool!”
The fellow glared back as he ran on, but Jastar didn’t think he’d registered the rebuke. His eyes were wide and panicky, which was more than reasonable given the circumstances.
Reaching down, he lifted a young girl out of harm’s way. She might’ve been five or six… no older than eight, surely. When she’d stumbled, the laborer had nearly kicked her, then stomped on her for good measure. Jast doubted the man would’ve even noticed in his fright.
She clung to him for a moment, shaking. Then she jumped, racing to stand behind him once Raegus began shouting.
“Kaith? Kaith!”
“Out of the damned way!” This second voice was all but a force of nature—bold, demanding, and terrified all at a go.
As the current batch of escapees thinned, Jastar saw two men carrying a body between them. He’d heard Raegus’s shout, yet the sight of Kaith being carried upon his shield from the battlefield still gave him a jolt of shock.
“Is he… Lord, is he…?” But Rae couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.
The mustachioed man answered in a gruff baritone. “Alive, aye. But not for long if you don’t get out of my damned way!” This was the same force of nature he’d heard a moment before.
Raegus obliged, but spoke on. “Glad, though, I am to know it. What about Sir Gordan?”
Kaith’s other bearer—a man in blue leather—answered in a brusque, no-nonsense growl. “Dead.”
Rae stopped his progress, letting them pull away. His eyes swam, and though his mouth worked, no sound escaped it.
So you really are gone, then, Jastar thought. I never would’ve expected you to be the first of us, Gordan. My coin would’ve been on Alnik or maybe Jaran.
As the shield bearers came near, Jastar drew a breath to ask another question, but it fled his mind long before it could reach his mouth. The world began to scream, and in an instant, he understood why. An enormous, disembodied eye rose over Wick’s wall. It regarded them for a beat, looked westward toward where Methias and his protectors stood, and sank back behind the walls once more.
“Eyes on meee!” Apiné’s voice snapped everyone out of their collective gawk. When most of them had obliged—they were too terrified to do much else, truth be told—she spoke on. “You two with the wounded man. Do you want him to live?” She barely gave them a chance to answer before she pressed on. “Get him over here. We’ll protect him as best we can. You won’t be able to carry him all the way to Rockvale between you, and as the goblins have archers. there’s every chance one or both of you will fall to one of their pins within sight of Wick’s walls.”
The man Raegus had called Lord spoke up in a voice of softened terror. “Can you save him?”
“I don’t know.” Apiné did little to soften the blow. “What I do know is, if you try to carry him between you, all three of you are likely to die this day. I won’t stop you from trying, but I won’t step so much as a foot to help if you head west with him now. So, make your choice.”
This grim proclamation was met with silence, but it didn’t last long. The armsman in blue spoke up.
“Lord? Staying this close to the walls is foolish. Racing west with Sir Kaith between us without a distraction, though? That would be like giving ourselves to the bastards as a Koruni Spanek gift. I say we stay, ‘least for now.”
The lord swallowed, then gave a single sharp nod of his head. They carried Kaith over and set him down before the Lanbachsel. The lord remained on his knees beside the wounded warrior, then raised his head to meet Apiné’s eyes. “I’m Ricgerd, Lady. Lord of this place, while such things hold. I thank you for your help.” He paused to take a shuddering breath. His next words were spoken through a throat full of pain and thwarted rage. “You have to save him. He must… he has to…”
Apiné nodded. “I’m Apiné, Lanbachsel of the Ban’ze Ruun. These are my men—most of them, at any rate. We’ll do all we can to help him and you, as will our lord, I’ve no doubt.”
The next wave of folk rushed out of Wick, but they were silent as they ran. Their eyes were glazed, as if they’d seen more than they knew how to make sense of.
Jastar looked over his shoulder, down at the little girl still clinging to his belt from behind. He knelt, moving her around to face him.
“When I tell you, I want you to run over to stand near your lord. If I have to fight, you’ll be safer there.” He tried to make his voice soft and encouraging. He must’ve managed it, for she gave him a grave nod, her brown eyes wide and quite beautiful. A moment later found her standing next to Lord Ricgerd and Kaith. The blue-clad armsman unslung his shield and came to stand next to Raegus.
This cannot last. Whatever you’re planning, Methias, I wish you’d get on with it.