He kissed her, with a wild hunger that dissolved into tenderness. "Stay out of danger," he whispered. "Stay in a safe place till I come for you—Hildaborg—"
Therokos scuttled aside. "Oh, no!" snarled Alfric, and stabbed. The priest tumbled, with blood rivering from his stomach, choking his screams. Alfric took Hildaborg again in his arms. "Goodbye, my dearest dear—"
She slipped into the shadows. Alfric sighed, wondering with a brief heaviness if he would ever see her again. He knew full well how desperate his gamble was.
Well, there was work to be done. He turned and ran crouched along the hillside, weaving in and out of darkness. The Moons were almost at their mating now, flooding the city with chill silver radiance.
He grinned up at them. And what did they think of this ruination of their ancient godhead? He could hardly imagine them caring about it. Surely Dannos, the swift warrior, and bright Mother Amaris had more use for an honest fighting man and his warm-hearted love than for a bunch of sniveling shavepates. All honor to the Moons, but not to tyrants and murderers in their name.
He was in the gully now, between Temple and palace. Snakelike, he crawled under the shadow of the bridge to its farther end, where he peered cautiously around an abutment.
The trampled gardens were full of city and Temple guards, whose watchfires ringed the palace. He saw the light agleam on spears and swords and armor, and had time to wonder if he would ever make it past them.
But he had to try. He drew a deep breath, tightened his muscles, and ran.
Like a flying arrow he ran, noiseless on bare feet, and none saw him before he was hugged against a low thorn-tree near one of the fires. Up it he went, wincing as the thorns raked him, and slipped along a branch almost overhanging the blaze.