The Lady at the River's Edge

20 - The Deeds of Men and Monsters

They ran and ran, through passages hardly considered. Each turn was instinct, some animal knowledge that valued only distance from their pursuers. As they ran, the crowd that ran with them thinned, each fork diminishing their numbers until it was soon not a crowd at all, merely people, in pairs or small groups–families, friends, lovers, strangers bound only by desperation. Erzsebet could not fear them as Janos seemed to, could not see them as threats, only as fellow victims of a cruel world. She watched them, some as she passed them by, some as they passed her.

An older man stumbled to his knees just ahead, imploring a younger woman to carry on without him. Erzsebet soon passed the tragic pair; she did not look back to see what the woman did. She and Janos ran on ahead, turns taking them out of sight, but the image stuck with her like a needle in her heart, and no matter how she tried to ignore it or pluck it out, it only drove deeper, deeper, until she could no longer bear it.

"Stop, Janos," she gasped, hauling back on his shoulder. "We have to go back."

The knight came to a halt, but only half turned, desperate to be off running again. "We can't go back, my lady. We are nearly free!"

Indeed, as she looked around, Erzsebet realized that they were close to the garden walk. From there, under the cover of night, they could run easily to the southern gate. She shook her head. "I don't care. I won't leave them–what does my freedom matter, if Ilona and Antal are taken?"

"There's nothing we can do for–"

"You don't know that!" she cried. "You cannot know that! All your pragmatism, all your cool logic, it's just a cloak to dress your fear, to make it seem less shameful. But I'm done with it! I'm going back, and if there's anything I can do, I'll do it."

Janos let out a breath, then his stare turned solemn. "And if there is nothing you can do?"

"Then so be it!" she snapped. "I'm going back. Will you come with me, protect me as you swore to do, or will you keep running?" She crossed her arms, willing to wait at least a few heartbeats for his answer, if not any longer.

It took not even so long as that. "Of course, I will come with you, my lady," he said. "I swore to protect you, not control you. If this is your will–"

"It is," she said, and whirled about, heading back the way they'd come. She made haste, as much to hold herself to her word as out of worry for her family. She knew Janos followed without looking back, and the relief she felt from that fact made her uneasy. What would she have done if he'd lost his grip on her in the crowd, if she were left alone in the midst of this horrible night? She had denounced his calculation, but where would she be without him?

They came upon the passage where the old man had fallen, and found him there still, sitting alone, his back against the wall and his eyes closed. He did not stir as they passed. Once again, Erzsebet did not look back.

They passed others as they went, castle folk and servants fleeing. Some jerked back in fright upon seeing Janos, others begged his protection. All swore that the enemy was right on their heels, that it was death to go that way, that they should turn around and flee. None of them stayed long to argue.

Soon enough their fears proved true: the first sign of the enemy was that those fleeing did not stop to speak at all, merely rushed past the pair as if they were statues. Janos drew his sword then, gestured for Erzsebet to stay behind him, and the pair proceeded slower and with greater caution. Each corner they reached drew them to a halt, where Janos would creep forward alone to peer around the bend before beckoning her to follow. Thrice they did this, then on the fourth time the knight crept back, silent as a shadow and shook his head. "Soldiers," he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "We must go around."