[Amanaduial the archer]

The woman didn't seem in any fit state to control the horse herself: she seemed to be in a state of shock, numb, frozen up, with just the strength to cling onto the reins of Carthor's horse - steering was out of the question. Faerim was therefore left with the non-too easy job of steering both horses, and as he didn't have a piece of rope or the time to tie the horses together, this meant holding the larger horse's reins with his free hand. If this wasn't enough, the orcs were catching up now; Faerim risked a glance over his shoulder and saw in horror that they were but a few seconds behind, despite the speed with which he was travelling. If either horse slowed down, they would be on them in a trice.

Swearing repeatedly under his breath, Faerim turned around again and realised a decision was going to have to be made. Shaking the woman on the shoulder, rough in his desperation, he called to her. "Hey...hey!" he called, and she turned her head to look at him, fear showing in her bright, tear-stained eyes. Faerim didn't have time for compassion though, not at the minute. He flapped the reins at the woman. "Reins - take them!" he snapped, curt from tension, still riding at full pelt, only watching the woman with one eye. By the expertise with which she had mounted, Faerim guessed this woman could ride: he hoped so, certainly, for both their sakes. Thankfully, she took the reins and took control numbly. Faerim flashed her a grateful grin and nodded upwards to the top of the stairway where he had previously come from. "Take your child up there, as fast as you can - go, go!" There was barely any point in speaking in full sentences: she probably only heard a few of the words as the wind gained confidence and blew his words away over the ruined city.

Talking of gaining confidence... Faerim glanced back at the half a dozen orcs as the woman sped past him on his father's horse. They were keeping pace worryingly well, seemingly tireless, howling and whooping as they followed the boy, like a monstrous fox hunt. Faerim swallowed his fear down hard, knowing what he had to do: it was the hardest thing he had learned when training for the army, a skill that would be invaluable in battle but which, unfortunately, he wasn't sure he had really 'perfected' yet. Shooting from a horse whilst riding. And that would mean letting go of North's reins...

Doing so in an instance, Faerim tightened his grip on North's sides with his knees, taking a precious second to balance himself, his arms out at his sides to improve it, but only for an instant. Still gripping tightly, Faerim slid the bow off his back and whipped out three arrows from the quiver at the side of the saddle where he had fixed it. Fixing the first deftly in the bow, Faerim performed the trickiest part of the manoevure: checking the way was clear ahead of him and that North was headed straight, he turned, sighted briefly, and let rip with the three arrows in quick sucession, aiming for the nearest orcs in a volley, meaning he would hit at least one of them with the three arrows. But his impeccable aim didn't fail him: he took out two of the orcs, and a third fell behind, an arrow embedded in his knee. Not that Faerim had taken any notice: he had turned to face the horse's head as soon as the third arrow was loosed, grabbing hold of the front of the saddle, gulping deep breaths of acrid air. But there were still several behind him. Dreading performing the risky manoevure once again, Faerim took another three arrows, let go of North's saddle, and fired again: once, twice, three times the arrows found their marks in the orcs, Faerim's silhouette like some legendary centaur as he fought back. Most of the small pack had fallen now, and the remaining pair were falling behind him. Relieved, the youth slung his bow carelessly over one shoulder and took hold of his reins again as he shook his blonde hair out of his eyes. The half-crazed horse kept galloping, but on top of him, his rider was almost shaking.

They mounted the stairs and Faerim urged North on a little harder as he gritted his teeth and rose in the saddle, but with some difficulty this time: he was beginning to tire. Halfway up the steps, a shadow seemed to come over the youth, and he looked up at the top of the steps...where he saw that spectral figure again, rearing up, his sword pointed forward towards the Inner Sanctum, silently commanding his nightmare troops. Faerim let rip with another volley of curses under his breath, and drew his sword from the saddle sheath just in case, holding the reins with one hand. North didn't need to be urged on further: he was almost blind in panic. Above them on the steps, Faerim saw the woman and Carthor's horse falter as she saw the witch king turning towards her...

"Ride!" Faerim yelled the single word like a catapult shot, and the woman's head turned towards him, her gaze ripped from the witch-king's. He was almost directly behind her, and, in desperation, he slapped the warhorse's rear with the flat of his hand. The horse was jerked into action, as if it to had been captivated by the witch king. They were so close to the Inner Sanctum, but Faerim made the woman ride ahead of him so she got in there first, as he rode behind her, just in case any more of the orcs came - or even... He turned, pausing his frantic horse as he stood at the gates of the Inner Sanctum, and looked up at the terrible, mysterious figure. It looked towards him and the youth looked back with burning eyes, pointing his sword defiantly at the creature who had made his city fall. North reared once more, terrified, and Faerim let his arm fall, turned, and rode through the gates. They shut behind him with a ominous clang, and Faerim suddenly felt faint with weariness - and the realisation that, at least for a time, he was safe.