[Amanaduial the archer]

The three horses galloped at full pelt through the streets of the upper level, even the two great war horses terrified by the sounds around them. North's nostrils were flared and red and his breathing harsh and shallow as he belted along the cobbled streets and up the shallow, twisting, wide twisting stairway to the Inner Sanctum, Faerim bent low over his neck, his fingers entwined desperately in both rein and mane, his brother's fingers digging deep into his sides. The boy was entirely focused on riding straight ahead, keeping an eye on his mother but otherwise taking in nothing but the paved path that lay between his family and the Inner Sanctum.

Suddenly, a terrible, fierce screeching noise came from above him, the sound of the very fabric of reality being torn apart. It was too much for North: the inexperienced black stallion whinnied and reared up suddenly in terror, snapping the twine that tied his bridle to that of Carthor's horse and nearly throwing both boys off his back. Faerim grabbed at his brother's wrists with one hand, trying to stop him from sliding off as he desperately tried to stay on the back of his horse. But then he saw the sight that made his blood run cold.

Faerim, although young, was not cowardly: he came from a line of fine Arthadain soldiers and his every cell had yearned to serve his city and his country in the army since he couldn't remember. He was brave, morally and physically; but nothing in the world could ever have prepared him for the sight of the creature that lay in front of him. He yelled in shock and horror, his eyes opening wide as North reared once more. Faerim barely tried to calm his horse: his eyes were fixed on the fearsome, inhuman figure that, as he watched, took out three soldiers with one swing of that massive icy sword. The beast didn't look at him, but it was if he could feel every moment of joy he had ever experienced being tainted and sapped away as he looked upon the one that was called the Captain of Despair.

And for once, just for once, Faerim envied his brother for his lack of sight.

A scream pierced the air, a sudden, sharp, human sound that shook Faerim from his reverie, seeming to stand out even against all the chaos around them. Startled once more, the youth's head whipped around and there, amid the rubble of destroyed houses beneath their perch on the stairs, was a woman of about the same age as his mother, clutching a young boy's hand desperately. Faerim stared at the woman: how was she still alive there, with the orcs running wild? One thing was for sure: she wasn't going to last much longer like that. Faerim wasn't sure what about this woman had called to him so particularly, amid the devastation and death of the city; but as she struggled forward, she looked up, and her fierce, bright blue eyes bore straight into his, before she fell forward, tripping and falling to her knees, a curtain of black hair falling over her pale, terrified face. That was it. Brander's arms were wrapped tightly around Faerim's slim, muscular waist in a death grip, holding grimly on, and Faerim could feel his younger brother's head digging into his back, feeling the vibration that his spine as his brother whimpered softly. North had stopped rearing but was dancing backwards fearfully, tossing his head and foaming at the mouth as he whinnied, terrified at the ghastly spectre. Faerim laid a hand reassuringly on his blind brother's hand, then turned to his mother, whose mare was reacting similarly to North, although Lissi tried to calm her, using all of her substantial skill as a horsewoman to stay seated.

"Mother!" Lissi looked up fearfully, expecting something to have happened to ehr son, and Faerim steered North over to her side, yelling over the chaos of the witchking's descent. "Mother, I must...there is a woman, and a child, they have been left there. I must...I..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say, not knowing why he felt such a strong bond of duty towards this woman. Lissi paused, then nodded. "Go, go! But Brander..." Faerim nodded. "Aye, he-" Brander spoke quietly, the vibrations of his voice being felt more than heard by Faerim. "I will go, Mother and I must get to the Inner Sanctum."

His brother's calm sensibility made Faerim feel weak with love towards him. "I love you, brother," he said softly, squeezing Brander's hand tightly for a brief instant. Brander was quickly moved over and seated behind Lissi on her mare, but Faerim couldn't immediately move. Lissi drew the blade that her son had given her and gave him a look of fierce, strong emotion that Faerim couldn't quite understand, tendrils of black hair whipping around her face, her grey eyes bright, looking like the warrior queens of legend. The youth lent over and kissed her roughly on her forehead then, with a last look, he reared once more, turned, and sped away from them as they rode up the stairs towards the Inner Sanctum, as he galloped in the direction they had come from. Looking around, his blonde hair blowing into his light eyes as he narrowed them against the wind and dust of destruction. He was surprised to find that Carthor's warhorse had stayed close, as if taking comfort from the presence of North, but he didn't immediately pay attention to the creature, focusing intently on the woman and her child. He rode towards her, crouched low over North's back as the last remaining survivors fled past his horse's sides. Stopping beside the woman, he offered her his hand.

"Lady, please!" he yelled over the tumultous noise around them. Glancing sharply up at the dark, ragged silhouette like the image of death that seemed to hover on his horse in front of the rearguard, he was once again sharply reminded of how little time they had. The orcs were so close he could almost smell them: in less than a minute, he estimated, both he and this woman would be dead meat.

The woman, unbelievably, hesitated, and Faerim took a second to realise why, then it hit him: he hadn't thought ahead - how was the woman going to fit on, with her child? It would certainly slow them down, even if it was possible. Then a revelation came to him, a revelation of hope that relied on one thing. He looked at the woman hopefully. "Can you ride?" he asked bluntly.

The woman nodded, her face brightening. Faerim grinned in relief, despite the situation and turned to Carthor's warhorse, who was still close. Dismounting, he helped the woman and her child up as fast as he could, then leapt deftly back onto North's back. Grabbing the reins of the other horse, Faerim spurred North on impatiently - as the tide of orcs broke on the rubble behind them. Faerim, his knuckles white on the reins, spurred North on as hard as possible, praying that he, as well as the woman and her child, could get to the Inner Sanctum in time...