Above them, the building began to sway. Eragos felt it rather than saw it. The towering structure was too large for such small movements to be visible, but they were felt in the ground. Everything from the rafters to the foundation was groaning at the strain. It would not take much to bring the great behemoth down. Much, of course, being a very relative term. He'd missed his throw earlier, against that Grey Rider. Aimed for the chest and hit the throat. The result was the same. His hands felt steady. Eragos hurtled down the street as fast as he coul. There was that White Rider, and her charges were all struggling to their feet. Thankfully they couldn't see the blood trailing down his face, building a grim mask behind the white one. Just a small collection of it at his collar.
That was all.
"Who are you?" the White Rider demanded, brandishing a weapon at him.
"Eragos Feareborne," he replied as quickly as he could. "Is there shelter, near here?"
"You're really him," she murmured, and then shook her head. "The Castel still holds. Getting in or out can be a trick."
"Then we're going."
"On foot?"
"I left my other horses at my estate."
From behind, a terrible cry. Eragos' head whipped around at the speed of war. There he was, that disappearing Grey Rider, flambard pointed ahead of him as a lance might. Charging. Whoever he was, he was good - Eragos was in the middle of the street, too close to abandon the innocents, and without many choices save trying to break the rider's charge. Doing so with a sword that had half the reach of the flambard was going to be a chore. He supposed he could cut in front of the horse at the last second, take one of the ankles.
It was better than dying.
"We all heard you were dead," the White Rider was breathing heavily. "They strung up your corpse in front of their came, one of 'em said."
"Don't give up hope," Eragos answered. "There's still time."