I raised an eyebrow. “What about your duty to the Prince?”

“This is part of it.” He glanced back toward the door of the armory. “Crown Prince Iekariwynal and your boy, Dunos, are being fitted with identical armor. We are tasked with getting the Crown Prince away.”

“It’s better the boy die here, you know.” I nodded toward Whitegate. “What he will see there will haunt him forever.”

“The same will be true of Dunos.”

“No, Dunos has lived through his nightmare.” I nodded to him. “Bring the Crown Prince. You know our plan. You hate it, of course.”

“Only the necessity of it. Midnight, Whitegate.” He bowed to me. “Kelewan will die, but Erumvirine will live.”

“Forget Erumvirine. Look to living yourself.”

Deshiel had the foresight to line up several wagons near Whitegate. They were actually corpse wagons, but as no traffic could get through Whitegate to the cemeteries beyond, no one had bothered to collect bodies for burial. It occurred to me that one benefit of this situation was that the kwajiin army would have its noses full of the stink of death.

My company had swelled to nearly eighty-one, which would have been a welcome omen save that this heavily taxed our supply of horses. In combination with the Bears, we had a substantial cavalry force, and had seen nothing in the enemy to rival it. Especially not in the forces opposite Whitegate, which seemed the least disciplined and weakest of the enemy troops.

Of course, one has to expect discipline to break down when one stations carrion eaters in graveyards.

The wagons had been fitted with barrels of oil and were drawn by four-horse teams. We’d even found people desperate or insane enough to drive them. Everyone knew we would set the wagons on fire and hope to cut a flaming path through the enemy line. It would be the only way out of the city, and countless people gathered amid the rendering houses, tanneries, butchers, and mortuaries of Whitetown to join us on this mad dash for survival.

I gave the signal and the portcullis was drawn up. The bar on the gates slid back, then the gates themselves slowly opened. The moment the gap proved sufficient for a wagon to make it through, Deshiel applied a torch and the driver cracked a whip. I was not certain whether the horses feared the whip, the fire, or the crowd of hungry people milling about, but they shot through the gate. Two more flaming wagons followed, then our cavalry went.

Whitegate pointed west-northwest toward a pair of hills covered with graves and mausoleums dating back to the Imperial period. The road curved north, then broke directly for the hills. The cavalry poured through the gate, then immediately south, to get off the road. We assembled in good order and trotted parallel to the road, onto which spilled a screaming mass of terrified humanity.

People had been reduced to nothing more than herd beasts. We’d started many rumors among them. To some we said that being in front was best, to get through the lines before the enemy reacted. To most others we recommended staying tight with the pack, as they would be but one among many and the enemy wouldn’t get them. A few contrarians hung back, assuming their best chance lay in seeing where the enemy went, then going elsewhere. We saw no reason to contradict their thinking.

The enemy reacted, and their kwajiin leaders could not control them. The vhangxi charged forward from their trenches and fortresses, abandoning barbicans and leaving their commanders screaming orders at them. They raced in at the refugees, saliva slicking their flesh, tongues lolling from their mouths.

Ranai, riding between me and Dunos, spoke sharply. “Don’t watch, Dunos.”

“He’s seen it before.”

She turned on me. “He doesn’t need to see it again. He’s only ten years old, Master.”

“And he will be eleven because of those people.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You gave them false hope.”

“They were dead anyway.” I shrugged. “Maybe some will escape.”

There was an outside chance that I would be correct, or there was until the vhangxi drew close to the first fire wagon. The horses shied and the wagon tipped, launching the burning barrels. They burst when they hit the ground, leaving the road awash in burning oil. A second wagon rode into the fire and its cargo exploded, lighting the night. The third left the road toward our side and flipped, sowing fire in a crescent from the road toward the south.

The people, confronting this vast arc of flames, stopped. The front ranks did anyway, then people slammed into them from behind. The forward ranks got pitched into the fire and the vhangxi, undaunted, leaped over it to fall on the milling masses.

By that time we’d ridden far enough forward that the fire hid the worst of the carnage. Three hundred yards from the enemy line, we lowered our spears and formed up in a double column eighteen wide. I aimed us for a point just south of the breastwork they’d raised across the road. As we closed to a hundred yards, we moved into a fast trot, then, at fifty, a full gallop.

The Sun Bears arced arrows above us that peppered the kwajiin and vhangxi remaining to defend their line. Half the enemy fell to that attack, and most of the surviving vhangxi fled. The kwajiin drew their swords and though I could not hear them over the thunder of hoofbeats, I knew they were announcing their histories and inviting us to join the company of all those their ancestors had slain.

A woman stepped into my path, facing me straight on, with both hands wrapped around the hilt of her sword. She braced to bat my spearpoint aside, then cut the legs out from under my horse. I knew the tactic. I’d done it before.

I’d seen others killed trying it.

I rose in my stirrups, spun the spear to reverse my grip, then hurled with all my strength. It flew straight, coming in faster than she had expected, and at a sharper angle. Though she did get her sword on it, it still pierced her hip. She spun down and away and I was past her.

Past her, past the enemy line, free.

Still high in the stirrups, I turned to look back at the city. The writhing shadows from the slaughter danced over the city’s walls. To the southeast, the first of what would be many flaming projectiles arced up from the kwajiin line to spread fire through the Illustrated City. People scurried about on the walls, and some arrows arced back, but the defenders clearly would not survive long.

Our cavalry made it through with few casualties. Had I given the order, we could have wheeled right and hit another part of the enemy line. We could have wrought havoc, and might even have been able then to turn back toward the city, kill the vhangxi around the fire, and usher some of the refugees away.

For a moment I considered giving that order. I knew I would be obeyed without question. My people would actually welcome the chance to do more, to avenge their city’s death.

The words waited on the tip of my tongue, but I did not speak them.

Had we turned, we would have done damage. We would have given those watching some hope.

False hope.

Kelewan would be avenged. That I knew. But not this night, not this place.

Turning northwest, we rode as if the whole kwajiin army pursued us.