Emmie swore with such crude savagery that Tilda gaped at her in shock. “Tilda—which way did he go?”
“Don’t know I lost sight of him—” Her words were cut short by a blood-freezing howl from the dog, Emmie’s heart turned over. Near the scattered embers of die fire, the white dog stood, whining pitifully, over a mangled mass of blood and fur, The trampled remains of its litter.
“I couldn’t stop them!” Tilda gabbled. A whole crowd came running through here—there was nothing I could do—”
“You stupid bitch” Emmie slapped her so hard that Tilda staggered. “Can’t you do anything right?”
Hating herself for taking her own anguish out on the streetwalker, Emmie stooped and put her arms around the neck of the whimpering dog, who was nosing in pathetic confusion at the limp little bodies. “Come on,” she said softly.
“There’s no point now.” The sight of the animal’s distress tore at her. Dashing tears from her eyes, she pulled the dog away, and after a moment’s hesitation it tore itself from its dead litter, and followed her trustingly.
“Let’s go.” Emmie grabbed Tilda’s arm, pulling the woman along in her wake. “We’ve got to find Grince.”
They found the boy with Jarvas, near the doors of the warehouse. “Quick!” the big man said. “The others have gone on ahead. Stay close to me!” Even as they followed him across the yard, the gates flew open, and the guards surged through in a swelling, relentless wave. Over the sound of screams, Emmie heard Jarvas cursing. He stopped, half turned as if to go back . . .
Running forward, Emmie tugged at his arm. “Jarvas, don’t! There’s nothing you can do for them now!”
Benziorn and Remana were waiting for them in the doorway of the cavernous building that had once been a fuelling mill. “Hurry,” Remana urged them. “Yanis and Gevan have taken Hargorn ahead.”
Then to Emmie’s dismay, Grince noticed that his beloved dogs were missing, “My puppies!” the boy howled. “We can’t leave them!” Tearing his hand from Tilda’s grasp, he ran off across the yard and vanished into the crowd.
“Grince!” Tilda shrieked, and set off after him before anyone could stop her. She was recognized immediately. Emmie watched, transfixed with horror, as two soldiers pounced on her, and hauled her, struggling and screaming, away. Tilda managed to free one hand and gouged at the eyes of one of the guards—and the other plunged his sword into her belly.
Emmie covered her eyes, and cried aloud in anguish. Remana’s strong and comforting arm went round her shoulders.
“Grieve later,” the Nightrunner woman murmured. “Right now, it could cost you your life.” She was right. Emmie nodded, and straightened her spine, though her throat ached with unshed tears.
Jarvas had started forward, his face a rigid mask of pain as the guards fanned out through the milling, terrified throng, laying about them with fist, boot, and spear-butt, caring nothing, for the pain they were inflicting on old and young, man and woman alike as they sought the fleeing fugitives. Emmie saw Benziorn’s mouth tighten as he blocked the big man’s path. “Not you, Jarvas,” he cried. “You’re a marked man! I’ll find the boy, and show others the way out!”
“Come back!” Remana yelled. She caught hold of Emmie as the woman was about to follow. “No! Have you all gone crazy? You’re his helper! Hargorn needs you!”
Somehow, Emmie and Remana hauled and cajoled the stunned Jarvas into the mill, and were almost knocked off their feet by the din from the fluttering chickens and terrified pigs and goats that were housed within. The flames from the yard filled the dim building with a dancing, infernal light.
In the lee of the great stone dye vats, Remana stooped down to the floor. “Here it is!” She tugged at Jarvas’s arm.
“Feel for the ladder. Got it? Now get down there—quick!”
Looking over the older woman’s shoulder, Emmie saw the square, dark opening of the floor drain, with an iron grating propped up beside it. At Remana’s urging, Jarvas scrambled down, and Emmie, with a quick prayer, that the drop was not too far, pushed the reluctant dog down after him before feeling for the crumbling, rusted rungs of the ladder herself. The descent was mercifully short, and as she reached the bottom, Emmie saw a glimmer of light. Yanis stood with the blond young Nightrunner on the walkway at the side of the drain, carrying a shielded lantern that cast skull-like shadows on his-pallid face, As Remana descended, he thrust the lamp into Emmie’s hand and seized his mother by the shoulders.
“Where the blazes have you been?” he shouted hoarsely. “Gods, I thought you’d been taken!”
“Don’t be an idiot!” Remana retorted crisply, then hugged him hard. “I’m sorry, Yanis, Really, son, I’m all right. Did they take Hargorn to the outlet?”
Yanis nodded. “Gevan’s guiding them to the boat,” He looked hard at his mother, his jaw tightening, “I’m counting on you to take care of them, Mam. Once we get them to the river, Tarnal and I are coming back into the city through the sewers to look for Zanna and Vannor.”
Remana’s reply shocked Emmie. Gods, this Nightrunner woman could swear just like a man! For an instant, she thought that Remana was about to argue, but instead the woman stopped short in mid-curse and nodded. “I understand, Yanis. You lads take care of yourselves, and bring poor Zanna back safely.” Her mouth tightened ominously. “I want words with that girl!”
Yanis grinned. “If there’s anything left when Vannor and I have finished with her!” He turned to Emmie with a quick, flashing smile. “Come on, lass, let’s get out of here.”
Emmie was surprised at his smile, and wondered that it should be there, after all he had seen that night. For herself and Jarvas, there was no reason to smile—not now, and for a long time to come. As she followed the others into the dark and reeking sewers, with her white dog close at her heels, Emmie wept for the ones she had left behind in Nexis. Grince pelted back into the warehouse through the darkness and smoke, ducking and darting and worming his way through the melee of battling figures who took little heed of one stray child. Not for the first time in his young life, Grince thanked the gods that he was small and fast on his feet. Only his ability to slip between the larger adult bodies saved him from being trampled underfoot.
Inside the warehouse, flames were coming through the ceiling and clawing with greedy fingers at the walls. The air was thick and stifling, and the heat was a solid, scorching wall. But at least the place was almost empty, now that folk had fled the fire. Choking, Grince groped his way to Emmie’s little nest of blankets—and reeled back in horror from the carnage that met his eyes.
“No!” Sobbing, he beat the ground with his fists, and screamed out curses. His beloved puppies, all trampled to a mangled heap of fur! The heat was growing—it was becoming harder to breathe. An ominous roaring came from above. Grince glanced up through streaming eyes, and saw the flames beginning to consume the support beams of the roof. Panic seized him. He scrambled up, to run . . . And saw a corner of the blanket move.
Grince grabbed, and ran. Ran for his life, as the beams began to sag . . . Ran gasping, breathless and blind, depending on pure instinct to guide him through the smoke to the door. Sparks and flaming bits of rubble landed in his hair and scorched his scalp, but he barely noticed . . .
With a triumphant roar of flame, the ceiling of the warehouse fell in upon itself. The boy erupted from the doorway not a second too soon, a cloud of smoke billowing out behind him and flames scorching his heels. He fell gasping to the ground, rolling instinctively to protect his precious furry burden, and with the last of his strength, crawled away from the heat, one hand cradling the precious pup, alive or dead, to his breast.
Grince sat up, coughing convulsively, and wiped his streaming eyes. The warehouses were a blazing inferno; the courtyard was empty of people. Of the living, at any rate. Retching, the boy turned away from the dark and twisted lumps, most with their features still recognizable, that had been the folk who lived in Jarvas’s sanctuary. Determinedly, he turned his attention to the scrap of fur that was still cradled in his arms. It was the white pup, his favorite. Grince’s heart leapt—but he knew better than to rejoice too soon. The tiny creature huddled in his arms, shivering, weak, and wretched. It needed food, and warmth, and care . . . The boy looked wildly around him. Where was Emmie? She would know what to do. Where was everyone?