flight carrying them down to splatter into buildings and onto streets. The flat crack and orange flare of a ManaShield collapsing was succeeded immediately by the screams of those caught abruptly defenceless. Smoke billowed as mana fire gorged on wood and flesh, pouring out of a side street and billowing over rooftops, hemming them in still further.
Ahead of them, shapes ran, disordered and panicked; townsfolk trying to flee college blade and spell. There were dozens of them led by an uncertain trio of town militia. They were looking behind them more than ahead and all were weighed down by possessions or tiny human cargo. The Unknown cursed, the horse skittish beneath them and slowing automatically.
‘Sit tight.’
The townspeople ran on, all but one heedless of the lone horse as they raced out of town, fear stalking every face below streaks of mud and soot.
‘Turn around, the way is blocked!’ yelled one of the militia as he closed.
‘The docks,’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Best way!’
‘No way,’ came the reply. ‘That’s what the bastards are fighting over. Run, it’s your only chance.’ And then he was gone.
The Unknown pushed on, Jonas squealing and coughing in turn as the smoke thickened nearer the centre of the fighting. Diera’s face was white and strained.
‘Not far now.’
More stragglers came by them as they rode quickly down the street, the park behind them. Ahead, the low warehousing and packed tenements of the Salt Quarter, once heavy with cargo and seafarers, now blazing in countless places and full of war. From the right, men ran in close form across their path, ignoring them. Dead ahead, fire blew up the side of a warehouse. Timbers creaked and collapsed. There was a roar and the renewed clash of weapons. They were on the fighting now.
The Unknown swung the horse left, down a narrow muddied lane between two lowering warehouses. Slightly muted for a moment, the tumult of the fighting was brought suddenly and horribly close. Cantering past a crosspath, The Unknown glanced right. The passage was full of men, blades catching the glare of the fires around them as they charged away towards an unseen enemy.
A heartbeat later, FlameOrbs surged from the gloom and smoke and into the front of the packed line. Fire scorched up walls, tore timbers from roofs, and the impact snatched soldiers from their feet and flung them backwards, human firebrands shrieking as they died.
It was too much for The Unknown’s horse. Already scared, the stallion jolted sideways and reared high. Caught by the double move, and already compensating to catch the slipping Diera, The Unknown lost his brief fight for balance. But as he fell left and back, he enclosed his wife and son in his embrace and took the weight of the fall for all of them, rolling across his shoulders.
He grunted, wind knocked from his lungs, pain stabbing through his upper back. The horse bolted back the way they had come. The Unknown carried on rolling, his broad back protecting his family from the wood and dirt firing from the passage. He dragged himself to his feet, bringing Diera with him, swinging her trembling body to face him and seeing Jonas too scared even to cry.
‘Are you hurt?’ he gasped, forcing air into his lungs, a sheet of pain washing across his ribcage.
Diera shook her head. ‘What will we do now?’ she asked, pressing Jonas’s head into her chest.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll protect you.’ He stepped back and drew sword and dagger. ‘Do everything I say without question.’
Diera flinched. His tone was hard, his eyes cold. He knew it worried her but there was no other way if they were to live. He assessed their position. Going on was their only option. Already, survivors were stumbling towards them from the crosspath, bloodied and angry.
‘Back away,’ said The Unknown, pushing her gently in the right direction. ‘Don’t run.’
They’d been seen. Four men with swords ready. Brief guilt surged through The Unknown at the position he’d placed his family in. Others might have been ignored as Arlen townsfolk, but the shaven head, bull neck and sheer size of The Unknown Warrior made him instantly recognisable. And every Dordovan knew with whom he had fought on Herendeneth. Xetesk.
‘Running to join your soul brothers?’ sneered one. He was burned across his head but otherwise unhurt. ‘Just that little bit too far away, aren’t they?’
‘I’m just taking my family from here,’ said The Unknown. ‘I’ve no fight with you.’