Zantheus had to act quickly or he would die. The world slowed down as he assessed the best course of action and methodically set about performing it. On instinct, he pushed Karios into the first wave of attackers, and in the confusion the thief was impaled on the sword of one of his own men. Zantheus threw his knife at the next oncoming bandit, burying it in his chest, and reached back for his sword, which was strapped to his back under his cloak. He span and bludgeoned another man with the scabbard before placing it in his belt and drawing it, taking off the arm of another in the same sweep. He parried the blow of a third opponent and thrust it into his chest, kicking him off of it into the throng of men. This brought him a few more brief moments, with which he grabbed Anthē’s hand and bolted for the nearest exit at the back of the room.

He had been told the layout of the den by Lestes when forming his plan. He hoped that Lestes had not lied to him about that as well. The two of them ran for their lives down a corridor lit by more torches mounted on the walls at intervals. A fork appeared. Zantheus knew one of these paths led to Karios’s chambers, the other to the main sleeping quarters. The first was a dead end, but the second would lead them to more passageways, and outside. He took the path to the right, hoping that he had remembered correctly. Sure enough, it soon opened into a large room containing bunks and hammocks. A few thieves looked up in confusion. Zantheus sped past them while he had the chance, knocking one of them down onto his bed. He was looking for a door...there it was.

Another passage. Soon it turned into steps, and he and Anthē were pelting up them. They squinted in the late afternoon sun. They could hear angry voices behind them.

“Quick, this way!” said Zantheus, gripping Anthē’s hand more tightly. She was gasping for breath, but ran on, fearing for her life. The thieves’ hideout was cleverly concealed in a small hillock, which looked harmless until you got up close and saw the man-sized holes that had been carved out as entrances to the network of underground passageways. Zantheus found another of these now, again hoping with desperation that he had got the right one. They had come out the long way, but this should lead him to the cells.

Luck was on his side. He knocked the surprised gaoler unconscious and took his keys. He must work quickly. The gaoler had been sat on a chair, with which he barricaded the door as best he could. There were more six doors, three on each side of the narrow passage. Three of these were open, however. He found the key for the first closed door and opened it. It was empty.

There was a crash somewhere behind them.

“Quick, Zantheus, quick!” Anthē was saying.

“No time!” said Zantheus. “We must get out of here!”

He ran back into the corridor. The entry door was just about holding. He opened the next cell along. This time he was greeted by a frail-looking old man. “Who are you?” he asked, afraid.

“No time!” said Zantheus. “We are escaping! Get up!”

The third door had to be Tromo. There he was. Tromo was overjoyed to see Zantheus again. He ran up to Zantheus and hugged him. Then he noticed the blood on his sword.

“Quick, Tromo,” said Zantheus, “let us get out of here.”

Back in the corridor, Anthē had taken the gaoler’s sword and was stabbing it through the hole the bandits had now made in the door, trying to fend them off. She was having some limited success, but she could never stem the tide completely, and the door was creaking under the weight of the men.

“It’s no use trying to get out that way!” said the old man unexpectedly.

Zantheus looked at him properly for the first time. He had a scraggly beard and overgrown, curly gray hair that came down to his shoulders. He looked like a Philosopher who had not seen a five-course meal in a very long time. His white shirt, which had clearly once been quite smart but was now covered in dirt, seemed to support this. He was extremely thin, suggesting that he had spent more than just one night in his cell.

“What do you suggest we do?” Zantheus asked the old man.

“Follow me,” he said, setting off at a surprisingly fast jog down the corridor in the other direction. He was glad to be free.

For want of any better plan, the others followed him.

“Where are we going?” asked Zantheus, catching up with the man at the front. “Will this not only lead us deeper underground?”

“We’ll be cornered like rats, and slaughtered!” said Anthē encouragingly from behind.

“Not if I can help it,” panted the old man. “From this level we’ll be able to access the stables. Our pursuers will have to use the stair on the second level, unless they go outside and all the way round. We should beat them there, especially if they don’t realise where we’ve gone straight away.”

“You know this den well,” said Zantheus.

“I should hope so –I designed it!” said the old man. He stumbled. The joy of freedom had been carrying him along, but his body had been severely weakened by his prolonged imprisonment and he was not able to keep up the pace.

Zantheus helped him up. “I have got you,” he said.

There was an almighty noise from somewhere behind them, followed by angry cries. The bandits had broken through the barricaded door.

“Fast as you can!” shouted Zantheus. He picked up Tromo and urged them all forward.

“Thank you for rescuing me anyway,” gasped the old man. “I’m...Tektes...it’s a pleasure to make your...acquaintance…”

“Save your breath, Tektes,” said Zantheus. “Just tell us which way to go.” They had come to a cross-roads in the dug-out corridors.

“Straight over!” said Tektes. They came to another. “Left!” Then a fork. “Right! “Can you ride a horse?” asked Zantheus.

“It’s been…some time…but I should…be able to!” said Tektes.

“Right,” said Zantheus. “When we get to the stables, you take the boy. I will take the lady, Anthē. Assuming there are enough horses.”

“There will be,” said Tektes.

Two more turns and the passageway opened up into a large, smelly room with straw on the floor and wooden stalls. Two bandits were there already, but they weren’t expecting them. The first was saddled and ready to ride out. Zantheus put Tromo down and yanked the leg of this man before he knew what was happening, bringing him to the ground in a concussion. The second was not so lucky. He raised his bow, his selected weapon for whatever expedition the pair had been about to embark upon, but Zantheus got to him before he had a chance to draw an arrow and ran him through. He helped Anthē onto the horse of this man and then handed Tromo to Tektes atop the horse of the other. Then he retrieved the bow and quiver of the second man and gave them to Anthē.

“Here, take this, we may need it.”

Cries. He turned in horror. Their pursuers had arrived. Tektes and Tromo’s horse was away, but he had yet to mount. He drew his sword. As his own horse reared, he pulled the reins down with one hand and parried the blows of his attackers with the other. He could not keep this up for long. Just then the bandits scattered. Bravely, Tektes had brought his steed round and charged the attackers, taking them by surprise. Over a chorus of terrified neighing, the old man shouted “Now! Get on your horse!”

Zantheus did not need telling twice. He hoisted himself up onto his own stallion, landing clumsily behind Anthē, and kicked it in the sides, lashing the reins as hard as he could at the same time. They shot down the length of the stable, and the four of them were galloping out into the evening air. But the chase had not finished. Zantheus looked behind him. Four more horses were coming at them very, very fast, seeing as they had lighter loads. Three of them were bare-back, one had a saddle on. Within moments two had borne down on Tektes and Tromo a little further up ahead, and the other two were hot on the heels of Zantheus.

Tektes was weaponless, so he tried to evade the riders that were chasing him, careering left and right in as unpredictable a fashion as he could manage. In the meantime, Zantheus had his hands full. “Take this!” he said to Anthē, now giving her his sword, steering his mount with the other hand. “Use it if you have to!” he ordered.

“No, no, I can’t!” cried Anthē.

“You can!” said Zantheus. “Now give me the bow!” Anthē passed the bow back to him with her other hand, willing this whole ordeal to be over, expecting at any moment to be thrown off of the horse onto the ground. “Take the reins!” said Zantheus, now passing these forward. “Take the reins!” he yelled again when she did not take them.

“I can’t!” said Anthē. “I don’t know what to do.!”

“Do it! Or we will die!”

She took them.

“Pull left to go left, right to go right! Do not pull on both or we will stop! Try to follow the others!”

Zantheus took an arrow from the quiver on Anthē’s back and turned in the saddle, looking for their pursuers. There was one. Where was the other? He realised one of the horsemen had come up to their right flank while he and Anthē had been arguing. “Fight him off, Anthē!” No time for that now though. He steadied his hand and took aim at the rider behind. He controlled his breathing. He listened for the rhythm of their horse’s gallop, let himself move up and down with it, saw his moment and—

Anthē screamed. Their horse had jumped. Zantheus’s arrow went up into the air, missing its target completely. There had been a fence in their path and Zantheus horse had leapt over it. Tektes was shouting as loud as he could “Help! I need your help over here!”

Zantheus span and took another arrow. The fence had disrupted the course of the thief who had been alongside them, but it was only a matter of time before he drew near to them again. He faced round, found his mark, regulated his breathing...

Thwack! The rider behind them fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his eye. Zantheus turned and dropped the bow as pain seared in his abdomen. Something had been thrust into his side and glanced off of his armour. He held on to Anthē to prevent himself falling off the horse. She nearly came off with him, but regained her balance just in time. She was screaming again. The second horseman had come close to them and was jabbing at them with a spear. “Use the sword, Anthē!” Zantheus cried. She waving it around, still screaming. The tip of the spear narrowly missed her a few times. Then, one of her wild flails took off its end, leaving a wooden stump. Before their attacker could adapt to what had happened, Zantheus seized his chance and grabbed the remains of his weapon, wrenching him off his horse to fall under their own. He was trampled.

“Well done, Anthē!” Zantheus reached around her. “Now give me the reins back!”

“No! Take the sword, take the sword!”

He took the reins and his weapon from the terrified girl. Two more left. The two others bandits were right behind Tektes and Tromo and were aiming blows at them. Zantheus drove his heels into his steed and forced them to catch up. One thief was taken unawares as Zantheus’s blade lashed across his back from the other side of Tektes. The other put up a brief fight when Zantheus drew alongside him, but soon went tumbling to the ground in his wake.

With the last of them felled, Tektes looked over and shouted “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here!” shouted Zantheus.

They rode on. Tears filled Anthē’s eyes. She was trying to forget what she had just experienced, and she was not used to the violent motion of horse-riding. But the four of them rode on, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the thieves’ den as possible. The sun set in a mingling of orange and red, and they rode on. Night came dark and dotted with stars, and they rode on. Eventually –it must have been near to midnight– Zantheus seemed to decide that they had gone far enough, and they all stopped and dismounted before collapsing from tiredness on the ground. Anthē stumbled a few paces away and threw up. Then she returned to the group and fell down. She was asleep within seconds, like the others. Even the horses sat down and drifted off, accepting they would be getting no hay or oats tonight.

All of them woke several times during the night despite it being relatively warm, but their bodies were too worn out to move around. Once, Zantheus and Anthē both found themselves awake and looking into each others eyes, though in the darkness neither of them were sure if the other could see them. After a while, Anthē whispered “Thank you for rescuing me, Zantheus.” Zantheus shut his eyes and went back to sleep. She did not know if he had heard her.

He had.