I put Siri and Horin on Forest. After collecting my pack from that seedy room, I lead the way into madness.
Porlese reels under an onslaught of running feet, chasing hooves, screams and gargles. Blood darkens the cobbles. Fires spring up at random everywhere. We hear the sound of whips, which causes Siri to flinch so hard I realise whips were commonplace in the slave pen. I want to ask if she felt the bite, but know also I cannot deal with my fury if she confirms it happened.
We go on, weaving among frantic and desperate others. I trust Artur and the Grenmassin men to keep us together from behind.
What feels like hours later, but is less than half of one, we see the southern city arch before us. We also notice a host of men on horseback wielding whips, clubs and swords. Slaves long downtrodden attempt to drag them from their mounts. The sounds raise every hair on my body.
Through that I cannot lead Siri and Horin.
Siri, from her higher vantage, notices something more and leans over to whisper, “Some are heading that way.” She points west.
A smaller exit only locals know about? It is worth a look. Nodding, I gesture to the others, and we swing off the main thoroughfare. Soon we enter a zone of silence filled only with stealthy footsteps. We follow the direction of those footsteps until a door in the wall is before us. One by one others open and close it as they vanish.
Artur shoulders forward. “I will check.”
He ducks forward and is swiftly at the exit. After a young woman flits through, he opens the door and quickly swings his head around. Moments later he runs back.
“A narrow ledge. One misstep and the cliffs have us,” he heaves.