Natasha cursed and ran across to where Marius lay moaning. She was slighter than he was but whipcord strong and well practiced with getting drunken kossars into the saddle. She half lifted, half tossed him over Dagbhert’s back. Marius screamed in pain as he landed on his shoulder. Fortunately there was now a lot of screaming. Somewhere an alarm bell was beginning to ring and men were rushing out into the rain to see what was the matter. Fire and explosions were never taken lightly in a powder milling town, where a stray spark could annihilate the whole village in a heartbeat. Even in the sheeting rain the tavern was burning brightly, hissing and spitting as those portions of the flame not covered by the roof were slashed with rain.

 

“There they are!” someone shouted, lantern lights appearing at the end of the alley. A crossbow bolt streaked past Natasha’s ear and buried itself into hitching post with a musical thunk. She glanced up anxiously at Marius, wondering if she had time to tie him in the saddle, but the merchant was upright, gripping his reins in his good hand, white as a sheet in the uncertain light.

 

“Teem to go,” she called, swinging up into Konya’s saddle and grabbing Dagbhert’s in her free hand. She touched her boots to her mares flank and the horses leaped into a gallop, careening down the narrow street, powerful hooves throwing up great clots of mud behind them. They burst out of the street and onto the docks that fronted the river.

 

“Wait what is the…” Marius shouted but his words were drowned out by the thump of hooves on wooden boards as both warhorses charged headlong towards the raging river. Natasha let out a high pitched warcry as Konya and Dagbhert both leaped from the docks into the water. They hit with great sheets of water, sinking to their necks before their natural buoyancy lifed them. Cold water soaked both riders instantly.

 

“Hya! Hya!” Natasha urged and both warhorses began to frantically paddle. The river was swollen with the storms rain, a dark gray thing lit by the occasional flashes of lightning above. The horses swam for all they were worth, the current sweeping them down river at an alarming rate. It seemed certain they must drown but Natasha kept both horses swimming hard across the current. Konya was beginning to whinny in panic and Natasha feared she might have misjudged when suddenly she felt land beneath the horse’s hooves. The river was very broad with rain, but the portion beyond its normal banks was not deep. Both horses emerged, shivering into the knee deep overflow, shaking vigorously against the damp and the cold. If there were pursers on the other side of the river they were invisible against the gray black curtain of the rain.

 

Both Natasha and Marius were shivering when the horses reached solid ground. They trotted into the thin woodland, gaining a measure of cover from the enervating wind. Natasha unbuckled her saddlebag and pulled out a horse blanket which she tossed to Marius, her own quilted armor doing a somewhat better job of keeping her from freezing.

 

“Where are we going?” Marius asked through chattering teeth.

 

“Gowing? Not so much gowing ayeny place, as gowing avay from reever,” she explained, though this wasn’t entirely true. After about ten minutes of riding the forest was growing thicker, though the rocky soil permitted nothing like the impenetrable tangle of the Drakwald and other great forests of the Empire. Finding a rise Natasha dismounted briefly and climbed it, then returned and adjusted their course slightly. Ten minutes later a ruin came into view. It was an old stone mill, mostly tumbled down now, with the skeletal arms of its sails collapsed save for sad looking stubs. A trail of sorts lead to it and Natasha guided the weary horses up the rise. One of the upper floors was still partially intact providing a roof of sorts, and there was a shallow basement. Natasha dismounted and tethered the horses in a corner where they could press together under the horse blanket for warmth, then descended into the basement and gathered up the age rotted wood and a few handfuls of stray straw. It was dry enough under the shelter of the stone and after a few tries she managed to spark the flint of her carbine and get a small fire going.

 

“Are you ok?” she asked Marius as he sank to a makeshift seat on an ancient barrel.

 

“My shoulder,” he groaned. Natasha crossed over and examined it, then put one hand on his arm and the other on his torso. With a brutal shove she popped the joint back into place. Marius shrieked in agony.

 

“Beater?” she asked solicitously.