He carried her to a stall, gently shushed the mare within, then kicked aside the straw and manure. Both her wrists in one hand he began feeling about the wood slats of the floor. ‘We have to hide,’ he whispered. ‘Hide from them. Do you understand?’
‘Hide? We have to help! Are you some kind of coward?’
He winced at her tone. ‘Lower your voice, Burn curse you! Or I'll use this on you.’ He raised her dagger, pommel first.
‘I don't have to hide. I'm not important.’
The sturdy blade of the gauche caught at an edge. A hidden trapdoor, no wider than a man's shoulders, swung up. ‘Yes you are.’
Ghelel stared, bewildered. What? In that instant Quinn pushed her headfirst into the darkness.
She landed face down into piled damp rags that stank of rot. ‘Aw, Gods! Hood take you, you blasted oaf! Help! Anyone!’
Darkness as the trapdoor shut, a thump of Quinn jumping down. ‘Yell again and I'll knock you out,’ he hissed, his voice low. ‘Your choice.’
‘Knock me out? Neither of us can see a thing!’
‘Your eyes will adjust.’
Silence, her own breath panting. ‘What's going on?’
‘Shhh …’ The gentle slide of metal on leather and wood as he raised his longsword.
She could make out faint streams of light now slanting down from between the slats. ‘Are you going to … murder me?’
‘No, but I'll stick whoever opens that trap.’
‘What's going on?’
‘Looks like the local Fist is rounding up hostages from all the first families.’
‘Hostages! Why?’
She could just make out the pale oval of his face studying her. ‘Not been paying attention to things, hey?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, why should you have, I suppose …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Insurrection. Secession. Call it what you will. The Talian noble houses never accepted Kellanved's rule – certainly not Laseen's.’
‘My father
‘Stepfather.’
‘Yes, I'm a ward! But he might as well be my father! Is he safe? What about Jhem? Little Darian?’
‘They may all have been taken.’
Ghelel threw herself at the ladder she could now just see. He pulled her down. She punched and kicked him while he held her to him. As he had to the mare above, he made soft shushing noises. Eventually she relaxed in his arms. ‘Quiet now, m'Lady,’ he whispered. ‘Or they'll take you too.’
‘I'm not important.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘What—’
He put his finger to her mouth. She stilled. Listening, she kept her body motionless, but relaxed, not straining, worked to remain conscious of her breath which she kept deep, not shallowing – techniques Quinn himself had taught her.
A step above. A booted foot pressing down on straw. The scratching of a blade on wood. Quinn raised his longsword. He held her dagger out to her, which she took.
A pause of silence then boots retreating, distant muted talk. Quinn relaxed. ‘We'll wait for night,’ he breathed. She felt awful about it but she nodded.
A nudge woke Ghelel to absolute darkness and she started, panicked. ‘Shhh,’ someone said from the dark and, remembering, she relaxed.
‘Gods, it's dark.’
‘Yes. Let's have a peek.’
She listened to him carefully ascending the ladder, push at the trapdoor. Starlight streamed down. Ghelel checked her sheathed weapons, adjusted her leather jerkin and trousers. Quinn stepped up out of sight. A moment later his hand appeared waving her up.
Someone had ransacked the stable but most of the horses remained. The double doors hung open. A light shone from the kitchens of the main house. Ghelel strained to listen but heard only the wind brushing through trees. It was more quiet this night at the country house than she could ever remember. Quinn signalled that he would go ahead for a look. She nodded.
Weapons ready, Quinn edged up to one door, leaned out. He was still for a long moment, then he gave a disdainful snort. ‘I can smell you,’ he called to the night.
Movement from all around: a scrape of gravel, a creak of leather armour. ‘Send the girl out,’ someone called, ‘Quinn, or whatever your name really is. She's all we want. Walk out right now and keep walking.’
‘I'll just go get her,’ and he hopped back inside, ducking. Crossbow bolts slammed into the timbers of the door, sending it swinging.
‘Cease fire, damn your hairless crotches! He's only one man!’
Hunched, Quinn took her arm, nodded to the rear. They retreated as far back as was possible. ‘Now what?’ she whispered.
‘If this fellow knows what he's doing this could get very ugly very quick. We'll have to make a run for it – out the back.’
Something crashed just inside the front of the barn then three flaming brands arced through the doors. Blue flames spread like animals darting across the straw-littered floor. ‘Damn,’ said Quinn, ‘he knows what he's doing.’ He clenched Ghelel's arm. ‘Whatever you do, do not stop! Keep going, cut and run! Into the woods, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, we dive out then come up running.’
He kicked open the rear door, waited an instant, then dived out, rolling. Ghelel followed without a thought as if this was just another exercise in all the years she'd spent training in swordplay and riding – there'd been little else for her to do as a mere ward. Something sang through the air above her, thudding into wood. Ahead, Quinn exchanged blows with two Malazan soldiers. Then he was off again even though the two men still stood. Coming abreast of them Ghelel raised her weapons but neither paid her any attention. One had a hand clenched to his neck where blood jetted between his fingers; the other was looking down and holding his chest as if pressing in his breath. Ghelel ran past them.
Shouts sounded behind. Boots stamped the ground. Quinn was making for the closest arm of woods, avoiding the nearby vineyards. Whistling announced crossbow fire. Distantly, horses’ hooves slammed the ground. Ghelel cursed; there was no way they could outrun mounted pursuit. What had Quinn been thinking? But then, there was no way they could have remained within.
Further missiles whipped the air nearby. She put them out of her mind, concentrated on running. All that remained ahead was the moonlit swath of a turned field then the cover of dense woods would be theirs. Ahead, Quinn gestured to the right: horsemen racing the treeline, all in Malazan greys. Fanderay take them! They'd been so close.
Quinn kept glancing back, ‘Keep going!’
Ghelel put everything she could into her speed but the soft uneven earth clung to her boots. The horsemen cut ahead of them. They turned their mounts side to side, swords bright in the cold light. Quinn made directly for the nearest. The man's fearlessness almost brought a shout of admiration from Ghelel. He sloughed the man's swing then did something to the horse that made it rear, shrieking. The man fell, tumbling sideways. Quinn ignored him to turn to the next. Ghelel reached their line. The nearest Malazan had already dismounted. He thrust as if she would obligingly impale herself but she stopped short, avoiding the jab, then spun putting everything she had into a thrust of the gauche. The blade caught him full in the stomach, was held by the mail. Perhaps only an inch of blade entered him. Yet she'd been trained to expect this – more importantly the man had just had the breath knocked from him. She knelt then straightened thrusting up with the short blade to feel it enter upwards behind his chin. It locked there so tightly the man's convulsion tore it from her hand. She turned away to check the next threat, thinking, Burn forgive me – I have killed a man.
Quinn was engaging two opponents, the rest were closing.
‘Run, damn you!’ he yelled.
‘No.’ She thrust at the nearest; he parried, declined to counterattack. Damn them! They're holding us up. Hooves shook the ground from behind. She turned: a calvaryman, leaning sideways, blade raised. She thrust hers up crossways. The blow smashed her arm, her hilts slammed high on her chest and she was down.
Yelling came dimly through her ringing ears; rearing horses kicked up mud around her. Her breath steamed in the cold night air. She climbed to her feet, weaving, blinking. Quinn still stood, dodging, parrying blows from above. She bent to retrieve her longsword from the churned mud. Another horse reared, shrieking, stumbled backwards into the brush and Quinn thrust her after it. She fell, clawing at the struggling animal. Its rider was pinned beneath; she ignored him. Quinn forced her on. Together they fell into the thick brush. Branches slashed her face, cutting her cheeks, tore at her hair. She pushed forward.
They burst out into low brush and the thick entangled branches of young pines. Quinn took her arm and suddenly she found she had to support him. Longsword still in her grip, she held him up. Bright blood smeared his left side where his shirt hung open, sliced. He smiled blearily at her, his grey hair wet with sweat. ‘Gave them a good run we did. Proud of you.’
‘Shh, now. We'll be all right.’
‘No, no. You go on. Leave me. Run.’
‘No.’