The scarred walls of the Agriont rushed up to meet them.

Leo’s eyes were narrowed against the wind, his horse jolting wildly on the cobbled street, riders shouting and jostling all around him, but he saw now that the portcullises were still raised, their iron teeth gleaming in the ceiling of the entrance tunnel.

Teufel had come through. The woman made herself hard to like, but Leo much preferred competence to charm these days. The archway of white light beckoned at the far end. The way into the Agriont was open.

Leo grinned sideways at Jurand, and Jurand smiled back. By the dead, he’d forgotten the feeling of riding at the enemy with good men beside him.

People scattered from the gateway. Shocked faces as they dived aside. Could’ve been Breakers, Burners, fools come to gawp at Savine’s trial or fools running for their lives. All Leo was sure of was that they were in his way.

He gave his horse the spurs, sending a stab of pain through his own leg, knocking a man spinning from his horse’s flank to crash into the tunnel wall. His scream was lost in the thundering echoes. Smashing hooves, rattling armour, ringing weapons, roared orders, all the sounds Leo most loved. He was the Young Lion again.

They plunged out into the brightness. There was something like resistance further down the road, where the way narrowed between two white buildings. A few dozen Burners, all daubed with red, trying to throw up a barricade around an upturned cart.

Leo couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t. “For the Union!” he roared, aching from the effort of clinging to his horse. “Charge!”

He picked his spot, hunched low as he jumped a few tangled chairs and crashed down among the shrieking Burners on the other side, scattering bodies.

He had to drop his reins to free his sword. You’d think with one arm you could still swing a blade well enough, but without his leg to grip his horse or his other arm to give him balance, he wobbled in the saddle, flailed uselessly, struck someone with the flat and nearly fumbled the grip. His own clumsiness filled him with fury and he clenched his teeth, hacking about him, finally landing a decent blow on the other side, blood spattering yellow hair.

He wasn’t the man he used to be, that was plain. He was streaming with sweat under his armour, gasping for breath, useless arm throbbing numbly.

Riders kept smashing into the remnants of the barricade. Jumping over it, blades flashing in the sunlight. Jurand had his teeth bared, swinging away. A couple of horses lay dying, one of Leo’s officers was on his knees, coughing blood, but the Burners were shattered, already running.

Some of Forest’s men tore after them on horseback, the lord marshal himself close behind, couched over his saddle as his horse jumped the half-built barricade. “Save the king!” he roared over his shoulder and Leo spurred after, clinging to sword and reins at once.