Westward, somebody had told him, to the gate where dragons met.
There had been no uproar; but running his hardest down the empty corridors of the streets, he felt that the pack was gaining.

Ahead loomed something gray, a wall, the end of a blind alley.

Scale it, or make a stand at the foot,--he debated, racing.

Before the decision came, a man popped out of the darkness.

Heywood shifted his grip, drew back the spear, but found the stranger bounding lightly alongside, and muttering,-- "To the west-south, quick! A brother waits.