At first Zaya thought the turn in the crowds was simply part of the celebration. Among her people such a gathering would naturally have spawned a score of killings, drunken fights over women and horses, paying off old debts and new insults and the like. It wasn’t until Khiimori tensed that she realized there was trouble, the mare’s nostrils flaring and ears flattening at the familiar scent of spilled blood. Zaya stepped into an alley a few moments before the uneasy flow of the crowd turned into a stampede. Bowls of rice and noodles flew in all directions, scattering bowls of woven bamboo over the cobblestones. Men and women screamed and rushed for the end of the alley, eyes wide with panic. Zaya ducked under Khiimori, putting the warhorse’s bulk across the narrow mouth of the alley, sealing it as effectively as a barricade. The horse archer ducked beneath the steed and drew a long knife to discourage anyone from trying to force their way past the horse. Khiimori delivered a bone crushing kick to an old man who tried it, pitching him back into the surging crowd where the tide of people stamped the life from him in the space of a few brutal seconds. A blood curdling scream from down the avenue informed Zaya that some of the crowd had spilled into the food vendors booths and upended the pots of oil. A distinct smell like fried pork joined the melange. A whimper behind her whipped Zaya around and she came up brandishing the knife. A young girl, perhaps twelve summers, with wide terrified eyes stared at her. Zaya pulled a copper piece from her mouth and flicked it to the girl.

“Watch the horse,” she instructed. The girl’s mouth opened and closed like a fish and then a sly look came into her eye as she beheld the restive mare.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Zaya advised. “The horse wont follow you.” She took a long step towards the girl and grabbed her by the tunic.


“But I will,” she promised. The girl nodded as tears flooded her eyes. Zaya made a disgusted sound and then jumped sideways, kicking off the stone walls in the same way she would run a canyon, finding enough purchase to drive herself upwards until she could haul herself onto the roof, her handhold betrayed her as she ripped free the smooth ceramic tiles, starting an avalanche of clinking stone shards that fell into the alley in a deluge. Whickers of irritation from Khiimori and the squawk of the girl informed her that this was unwelcome. Cursing all soft southerners and their stupid buildings, she finally got a hold of something and heaved herself up onto the now partially naked roof. A boot crashed down on her arm and she cried out in pain, grabbing the offending foot and yanking hard. A man screamed as his footing gave out, crashing to the roof and sliding as Zaya yanked on his rope belt and used the momentum to hurl herself up onto the roof and pitch her assailant down into the alley. She had a momentary glimpse of panicked eyes and long mustaches before he fell to the stones below, the crack of impact lost in the screaming bedlam of the crowd. Zaya pulled herself to her feet in time to see a second figure, a woman with a bow starting to turn towards her. Letting out an ear piercing war cry Zaya bounded across the rooftop as the woman spun to bring her bow to bear. Zaya slapped the point aside a heartbeat before the woman loosed it, the fletching cutting her hand as Zaya rammed her knife into the archers belly. The woman screamed as Zaya wrenched upwards, opening her from navel to tit in a single long stroke. Hot blood spattered the horse archer’s face as the woman coughed a great gout of it free and staggered back, clutching at the blood and loops of pinkish gray entrail spilling from her tunic. She managed one step, tripped and fell into the street, a loop of intestine catching on one of the ornamental dragons and uncoiling like a grotesque streamer. Grimacing at such an obvious clue to her location, Zaya slashed it free with the blood knife, dropping the whole mess into the street. The stink of blood and shit mingled with smoke, sweat, and fear.




 

The view out over the Imperial square was pure chaos. Bodies lay everywhere, trampled, put to the sword, or simply suffocated by the press. In places corpses were being carried along by the crush of people as they ran screaming for the exit. Kites and celebratory banners fluttered above the crowd, freed from the grips of their owners. Swords flashed and men died, though whether this was part of some attack or simply panicked people trying to cut their way free was unclear and probably unimportant. Zaya crouched on the roof and picked out several archers on other roof tops. There was so much going on she wasn’t sure where to look. Was this a riot? A coup? Might it be both? Was the Emperor she had come to make obeisance to about to fall from power. Was that a good thing? As the beating battle lust began to still into the colder mindset that came on her when considering the bigger picture she hunkered down, content  to watch.

 

 
[hider=synopsis]
Zaya climbs onto a roof to watch the show
[/hider]