The skill and experience of the garrison guards overwhelmed the citizens. They cut through the people of Ratibor and pushed them against the walls of the buildings. Every puddle was dark with blood, every shirt and face stained red. Mud and manure mixed and churned with severed limbs and blood. Everywhere she looked lay bodies. Dead men with open, lifeless eyes and those writhing in pain lay scattered across the square.

“We’re going to lose,” Arista said. “I did this.”

The candlemaker, a tall thin man with curly hair, dropped his weapons and tried to run. Arista watched as six inches of sword came out of his stomach. She did not even know his name. A young bricklayer called Walter had his head crushed. Another man she had not met lost his arm.

Arista still held Emery’s sword in one hand and clutched the doorframe with the other as the world spun around her. She felt sick and wanted to vomit. She could not move or turn away from the carnage. They would all die, and it was her fault. “I killed us all.”

“Maybe not.” The blonde caught Arista’s attention and pointed at the far end of the square. “Look there!”

Arista saw a rush of movement coming up King’s Street and heard the pounding of hooves. They came out of the haze of falling rain. Riding three and four abreast, horsemen charged into the square, shouting. One carried the pennant of the Nationalists, but the foremost brandished a huge sword, and she recognized him instantly.

Throwing up a spray of mud, Hadrian crossed the square. As he closed on the battle, he led the charge into the thickest of the soldiers. The garrison heard the cry and turned to see the band of horsemen rushing at them. Out front, Hadrian came at them like a demon, whirling his long blade, cleaving a swath through their ranks, cutting them down. The garrison broke and routed before the onslaught. When they found nowhere to retreat to, they threw down their weapons and pled for mercy.

Spotting Arista, Hadrian leapt to the ground and ran to her. Arista found it hard to breathe, and the last of her strength gave out. She fell to her knees, shaking. Hadrian reached down, surrounding her in his arms, and pulled her up.

“The city is yours, Your Highness,” he said.

She dropped Emery’s sword, threw her arms around his neck, and cried.

CHAPTER 17

DEGAN GAUNT