[Regin Hardhammer]

Although the scene was quiet as Moizandu led the party out of the cave and onto the streets of the city, the instant the group emerged, a barrage of arrows reigned down on their heads. The rescuers were badly outnumbered. Azarmanô whirled around frantically searching for the source of the attack. He glimpsed a large gathering of guards with weapons drawn waiting for them not twenty feet away. These men must have known we would be using this underground exit, Azarmano grimly reflected. Hastily drawing his bow, he let loose an arrow that found its mark full in the chest of one of the bowmen attacking in the front line. Firing his bow presented more of a problem because he was toting an injured comrade on his back, but he managed nonetheless. As the guards drew their swords and charged towards the rescuers in a great throng, Abarzadan unleashed his axe. Azarmanô had no time to think about the uneven numbers or the likelihood of survival; there was only time to attack.

Lunging to the left to dodge a blade that slashed down mere inches from his head, Azarmanô hit one assailant squarely in the stomach with his own sword, only to find another standing behind him. Just to his right, Azarman could see that Thoronmir had unsheathed his rapier and was preparing for the onslaught. Amidst the chaos of battle, Azarmano detected a faint whinney coming from a short distance. Behind the soldiers he saw the same guard who had told them the location of Arabapanu’s cell. To Azarmanô ’s amazement and relief, four kariborim stood at his side. He had not seen the horses since before they had entered the city, but he could not imagine a better time for them to make an appearance. Before Azarmanô or the others could gesture or call the horses forward, the steeds had trotted over to the Faithful, trampling aside the battling guards. One of the horses walked straight towards Abarpanaru and nudged the unconscious man with his muzzle, as though he was trying to arouse him from sleep. Battling off the guards with his axe, Azarmanô sprang onto the back of this horse, urging the others to find a mount and do the same. Fighting on horseback would not only give the men a physical edge against their enemies, but instill a feeling of confidence, something which could be even more important than numbers or weapons in determining the outcome of a fight.

Now astride the kariborim, the rescuers intensified their blows. Azarmanô unleashed one arrow after another into the throng of guards, but the fighting never seemed to slow. Even with the advantage of the horses, the outcome of the battle was uncertain. Azarmanô stole a glance at Inzillomi, concerned for the woman's safety, but found her atop a karibor deflecting attacks with her steel fan and occasionally hurling a knife at an unsuspecting soldier. I’ll say one thing for her, he thought, she handles herself well when things get tough.

The mysterious Târik joined the fighting on the side of the Faithful, wielding his long sword deftly against the crowd of combatants. Azarmanô had not expected help of any kind and was delighted to see the man come to their aid. Almost instantly, however, four guards formed a tight circle around Târik as he tried frantically to ward his attackers off. Azarmanô saw Târik’s distress and fired several arrows in the direction of his assailants, but he could not get through to the man, even on horseback. Soon, it was too late. One of the guards fell to Azarmanô 's arrow; the rest continued their relentless attack. Azarmanô watched in horror as Târik’s head was sliced off and rolled to the ground. Enraged and frustrated, Azarmanô drew his bow again in quick succession and watched the three men fall as arrows penetrated their backs and necks. At that same instant, Azarmanô’s horse veered to one side and stumbled as one of the soldiers took a swing at its leg. The beast quickly recovered its footing but not before Abarpanaru slipped off the horse's back and landed with a thud on the ground.