“Go, go, go,” the driver shouted weakly as he slapped the reins. Half the escort stayed to fight while the other half kept with the fleeing magistrate. Those who remained were of two minds on how to react. Some attacked, while others tried to back away with their weapons up defensively. Cyrus’s grin matched that of his mask as he stalked them, but that joy went no farther than his lips. These men and women, these soldiers of the Everlorn Empire, were not responsible for the cruel acts of their masters. These were not the Anointed of Eldrid dictating church doctrine. They were not the God-Incarnate sitting upon his gilded throne. They were mere mortals, some devout in their faith, some needing coin, and others merely enjoying the chance to be cruel. Cyrus brought them down one by one, and he let his rage wash away the guilt for their broken bones and spilled blood.

At last they scattered. Cyrus remained in place but a moment as Thorda had instructed. Most of the people who initially gathered to hear the magistrate speak had fled, but a good many remained at the edges of the fight, and they gawked at Cyrus, his mask, his cloak, and his blood-soaked weapons. Cyrus lifted the swords and clanged them together, spilling blood, imperial blood, to the ground. Once all had seen his grinning skull, he turned and chased after the fleeing carriage. The thoroughfare would be the quickest route the carriage could take, which was why Mari and Stasia had set up there in preparation. Cyrus expected a massacre when he arrived, and he was not disappointed.

Stasia ripped and tore through a scattered line of soldiers with her dual-wielded namesake weapons. Nothing held her back. When a soldier tried to feint or hold her at bay, she’d ignore it completely. Her hefty axes punched through steel like cloth. Her only armor were the metal vambraces atop her wrists and shins, and she used them to bash and shove the occasional errant strike harmlessly aside. Gore coated her cloth mask, that of a saber-toothed panther skull.

“The magistrate!” Stasia shouted over the din. A thin line of soldiers surrounded her, keeping her from chasing the fleeing carriage. “We have this, Vagrant. Get the magistrate!”