From the adjoining north alley, a young Nasi-Keth girl came sprinting, yelling at the top of her lungs, “They break through on Rani Lane! They break through on Rani Lane!” The girl went racing into the rear ranks of the highlanders, pushing forward, seeking a commander.
The Isfayen woman by Alythia's side ran back, shouting to the women treating the wounded, “Quickly, gather up everything! I want strong girls ready to lift the wounded, we may need to carry them clear!”
“I can walk, damn it woman!” snarled one of their charges, but the women ignored him. From the north alley came the unmistakable sound of battle, audible even above the racket directly in front. Smoke billowed into the sky, above where Alythia thought the Rani Lane barricade would be. She stood paralysed, clutching to her spear banner, her heart hammering. This defence would be outflanked, she realised. If she stayed here, she would die.
Ahead, there came a roar of massed voices, but this one was from the defenders. And now the wild Lenays and Cherrovan were pouring over the barricade, heading into the attack. More and more clambered over, and seemed to find plenty of space on the other side. The mobs were retreating, she realised in disbelief. And now, her only defenders were running away. A forceful, astonishing realisation struck her: she felt safer with them around.
Before she knew what she was doing, Alythia took off after them, past the north alley and up to the barricade. Smoke roiled from neighbouring windows, stinging her eyes as she clambered over crates, broken furniture and wagon wheels. A body came loose as she scrambled over the top, and slid down the barricade, loose-limbed and heavy and horrible. Alythia bit back a scream, and climbed down the far side, her wet dress catching on debris. She hauled the fabric clear, tearing it, then something sharp scraped her shin. She snatched her leg away, seeking alternative footing, and her shoe came down on something both firm and springy…she looked and saw she was standing on a man's chest where he had fallen backward off the barricade, head down and legs entangled. The warm wetness about her ankle were his intestines.
Alythia flailed away, lost her balance, and fell heavily on a pile of bodies that thudded and wheezed beneath her. One of them moved, a bloody hand reaching, pleading. Stumps of limbs protruded from the pile, some still pulsing blood, bone stark and white amidst the flesh. She stumbled frantically to her feet, nearly tripping on her spear, then again on more bodies, these felled by archers, and some still groaning. The entire lane beyond the barricade was a carpet of horrors, many shrieking and sobbing. This was what happened when highland warriors were challenged to a fight by those unworthy of the privilege.
The banner dragged at her arms, and she held the spear aloft, so that the banner flew out behind as she ran. She turned right and went up the crumbling alley. Her breath came hard, her wet dress clung awkwardly to her legs and the spear ruined her balance. It occurred to her, rather oddly, that she could not recall the last time she'd actually run. Ladies and princesses did not run, nor even stride. Only serrin and crazy tomboys like Sasha. She half twisted her ankle in a dark hole in the pavings and, for the first time in her life, wished to the gods she was wearing pants. Worse, her breasts bounced, and that was uncomfortable almost to the point of pain.
Alythia emerged into the alley mouth, and onto Rani Lane. Rani was wider than Fisherman's. Left and right, highlanders had made a defensive wall. Beyond those walls were masses of Riversiders, flailing weapons and fists and banners decorated with holy symbols, hacking away at the barrier of highland tattoos, wild hair and steel. To the right, dockward, the highlanders were pushing the larger numbers backward. To the left, slopeward, the highlanders’ line slowly gave ground, screaming and hacking and leaving tangled knots of bloody corpses in their wake for the next line of attackers to stumble upon.
Even Alythia could see what had happened-a huge surge of men had rushed down this lane, until the highlanders had stepped into the middle, like a gate into an irrigation trench. Now, some of those who had gone past the highlanders had stopped and come back to try and clear the blockage. Beyond them, the lane was increasingly empty, save for the bodies, the flames that poured from the windows of several buildings, and the remnants of the barricade, now strewn across the lane.
To the left, slopeward, the pressure bearing down on the highland line was huge. If they kept giving ground, in just a few moments they would be forced back past Alythia's alley mouth…and then the mob would be on her. Her legs were jelly, she could not outrun them. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the middle of Rani Lane, her banner held high. She stood in the clear space between the two moving highland lines as men screamed and fought to either side. A gust of cold, misting wind caught at the wet banner, unfurling it enough to show the wolf's head, its teeth grinning in the firelight.
Not all of the highland men were fighting. The slopeward line was three deep-men would fight hard, then fall back and allow the next in line to take his place, whilst those behind took some deep breaths. The dockward line was only one deep, with several reserves darting behind in case a gap would open. Some of the back ranks noticed her, and the banner, and gave a huge cheer. Others looked, and the cheer grew to a roar. Those fighting had no time to look, but they heard the roar, and seemed to take it for encouragement, for the Riversiders died at an even more furious pace after that.
Alythia spun back and forth, walking as the lines moved, careful not to trip on the bodies the dockward line were leaving behind as they advanced. One of the dockward line fell to a spearthrust, and Alythia pointed frantically with her spear, but the next reserve was already moving to fill the gap. Alythia grabbed the fallen man as she reached him and tried to pull him up-if he were left to lie there, the moving lines would roll over him and leave him to the mob. He staggered upright, slowly, clutching his bleeding stomach. Alythia tried to support him.
Something strange was happening, she noticed. Dockward, the distance between the highlanders and the Riversiders seemed wider, and strikes more sporadic. The Riversiders’ lines seemed thinner too, as though some had peeled off the back of the formation and run elsewhere. It was fear, Alythia realised. Perhaps the mob was not quite so fanatical after all, she thought, with a rush of hope. Perhaps the most fanatical ones had charged first and died. Perhaps these were the followers, who now wondered at the wisdom of certain death beneath the swinging blades of battle-crazed, snarling pagans.
Even slopeward, the highland line was spread out, giving each man room to swing. She'd seen the Royal Guards practising shield drills in Baen-Tar, packed like fruit in a barrel, each line pushing on the other in a giant contest of strength…but here, few men on either side had shields. If the mob would just rush them, the line would be overwhelmed, the highland swordsmen deprived of their superior technique and driven back by sheer weight of numbers…but now, the mob was not pressing, and the crowd behind was not pushing as hard as they might. It had been a long day; many had died. Perhaps the righteous fury was fading. Now they hung back, finding poor footing on the bodies of their fallen, and tried to exchange blows or defend with what weapons they had. Most took a terrible wound in short order, and the next-in-line appeared distinctly less enthusiastic in turn.
Now the dockward line were pressing forward faster and the Riversiders backing up. Some stumbled, and the highlanders were onto them in a flash, hacking the fallen, then driving into the gaps created in the Riversiders’ line. Spaces opened in the highland line as those men charged forward and, for a heart-stopping moment, Alythia feared some Riversiders might take advantage and spring through the holes. But the whole momentum had shifted, and suddenly, the Riversiders, still eight-to-one greater in numbers at least, tried to turn and flee toward the docks. Those at the front collided with those behind, men fell in tangles and panic spread. The highlanders howled in delight and sprang into their midst, hacking and slashing with wild abandon. Entire ranks of unarmoured men dissolved in bloody, screaming ruin and the rest fled for their lives.