Boot heels clattered on cobblestones, men shouted, and dark forms loomed in the shadowed night. Alexandria glanced at Diana. "Run for the quay. Hurry!" The girl shook her head, as unwilling to leave as Alexandria. There was no further time to hesitate—or to flee. Paxten lunged at the first soldier who reached them. Alexandria choked back a cry, but Paxten grabbed hold of the man's musket with one hand, jerked hard, and caught the man a blow with his other arm. The solider went down with a grunt, and Paxten swung the musket up and around like a club at the others. He glanced at Alexandria again and shouted in English. "Go on!" Swallowing hard, Alexandria grabbed Diana's hand. Fear pounded in her, urging her to escape. She stood, trembling, heart pounding, Diana's cold hand gripped in her own. But she could not do it—she could not leave Paxten to face this alone. She could not put herself, or even Diana, before all else. She stood, watching, shaking, her pulse pounding. More soldiers poured from the inn, their boots also pounding on the cobblestones.
