Jaul, spluttering and wheezing, was regaining his feet. He looked vexed. The four newcomers were closing, skirting around the courtyard toward Chel and the prince, well wide of where Whisper faced down their captain. Chel’s empty fingers twitched. Six against three. There had to be some way to even the odds.

To their right stood a line of wagons, the nearest loaded with what looked like pottery. With a yell to Tarfel to follow him, he lunged for it and scrabbled up, just as the Gold Peak mercenaries began to close.

‘I think we’ll struggle to ride this wagon out of here, Vedren,’ came the prince’s panicky squeak as Chel hauled him aboard. ‘There aren’t any horses!’

Chel grabbed the nearest piece of earthenware, a stout vase around half his height, and hoisted it upwards. ‘Start throwing things, highness!’

The first man to reach their wagon took the vase straight to his chest, hurled by Chel two-handed with all the force he could muster. To his disappointment, it didn’t shatter, but the man was knocked backward and left winded in the dirt. Chel grabbed another pot this one smaller, and flung it at the next mercenary, who shied away with arms raised. The third pot did shatter, carving a dark line down one mercenary’s cheek as he stumbled.

‘They’re coming, Vedren, they’re coming!’

‘Kick them off and hit them over the head!’

Whisper, meanwhile, had ripped a torch from its mooring and was swinging it like a flaming quarterstaff, keeping Nadej and Jaul at arm’s length. Jaul tried and failed to grab the haft, scorching his palm in the process. He now looked sorely vexed.

‘Kosh, the door?’

‘Nearly, nearly – there is something—’

Behind Chel, Tarfel smashed a pot and squealed.

‘Tarfel! Are you hurt?’

‘I, uh, cut my finger, Vedren. Some of these edges are rather sharp.’

From his vantage aboard the wagon, Chel looked around the courtyard. Their situation was not improving – the door remained closed to them, they were a long way from the far gate, and while three of the four mercenaries chasing them were nursing bumps and cuts, they were far from defeated. Whisper, meanwhile, was hemmed in, keeping Nadej and Jaul from passing her to get to Kosh but not much more. The courtyard seemed otherwise deserted. Their cries for help had done nothing more than send those nearby fleeing for cover.

‘Kosh!’

‘Almost!’

He kicked at a clambering mercenary, dragged his foot clear as the man tried to grab it, then smashed a small, ornate vase over his head. It wouldn’t be long before they ran out of earthenware, either. He looked up to see Whisper being driven back by another lunge from Jaul. She was running out of room before the low wall.

‘Tarf! Pass me a smallish pot, Whisper’s in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it— Whoops, butterfingers.’