Nightingale grabbed Hunter's hand and started hauling her towards the podium, not with any real destination in mind, just away from the guys with sharp sticks. Hunter kept her eyes open for a crossbow she could grab, since by her own admission she wasn't good at hand-to-hand, but the owners of any bows visible were using them. Nightingale had taken advantage of Priestess’ concealing spell to bring along his staff and knives, but preferred not to chance his newly-found skills with them unless he had to. He knew his own shortcomings and figured the best place for him to be was not underfoot. The stairway towards the minstrels’ gallery appealed to his deep instincts from prehistory when his monkey ancestors took to the trees. Up, for most humans, was instinctively safe. What most forgot was that a person could run out of up.

 

The nobles occupying the gallery were disinclined to stop the litigants' flight. As Figment had pointed out, Nightingale had a loaded wolf to call on and none of the nobles was willing to risk his skin to take on the black bitch's sharp white teeth. Ebara threatened anyone who stood in her bard’s way and the gleam of lupine eyes against a background of jet fur only served to set off the stark white of her flashing teeth. With her hackles raised she looked even bigger than she was and her growl sounded even above the clash of fighting below. She clicked her teeth and licked at her lips as she stood stiffly in challenge.

Once in the gallery, Hunter ran to the oriel window and fumbled for a catch. Finally finding one, she thrust the window open. "Nightingale," she hissed. "Over here. We can get out. Can you lift Ebara or should she change back?"

Nightingale looked at the window. It was going to be a tight fit for Hunter; Ebara would never get through in her human form. Several swordsmen had made it to the stairs and the nobles were no more going to block them than they had Ebara. Nightingale picked up a heavy gilt candle sconce, discarded the unlit candle, said to Hunter, "Go!" and threw the sconce with satisfying accuracy to knock the foremost swordsman back. That should buy them just enough time to wiggle through the window, he thought. The warriors were far too big even without mail to manage it.

With a slight hop up to the window, Hunter wriggled through to stand on the steeply-slanted courthouse roof. She spun and leaned in the window. "Lift her up and push her through," she called to Nightingale. "Then you follow. We can run across the roof to the next building!"

Ebara snarled when Nightingale grabbed her from behind and she clipped her teeth at him before she realized who he was. The bard struggled to lift the big wolf to the window. It wasn't easy. As a woman Ebara was a fingerlength taller and outweighed him; as a wolf she was shorter but weighed almost as much as he did. No more fighters managed to get up the stairs past the pile sorting themselves out after the one man had fallen. The wolf put her paws on the sill and heaved herself through with Nightingale scrambling after her as the pile of warriors got themselves sorted and headed their way. Ebara twisted as she landed, but still fell heavily with a yip onto the roof's slate shingles. One of the fighters actually managed to get a hand on the bard's ankle before a slim muzzle slashed it to the bone.

"This way!" called Hunter suiting actions to words and scrambling over the roof. "Can you sing in a storm to hide us?"

It would help, thought Nightingale. Both suns were up, the smaller half-way to its zenith, the larger just above the horizon and the fleeing quartet was in full view of anyone who cared to look as they scrabbled over the steeply-slanting slate roof.