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Her arrow struck his thigh, and he fell with a shout.

Alana came down the passage behind the remaining guards, catching them before they could turn.

Peverel scrambled to his feet and struck one soldier across the back of the head with a wooden document box.

I stared at him.

He looked equally surprised by what he'd done.

The fight ended quickly after that.

Two guards suffered broken arms, the serjeant had an arrow in his thigh, and Aldric would likely spend the next several weeks nursing his pride.

Nobody died.

Robin would consider that a successful morning. Alana cut the ropes binding Hugh's wrists. He tried to step forward, but his legs gave way.

I caught him before he struck the floor.

"You shouldn't have come," he muttered against my shoulder.

"Good morning to you too."

"They'll hang you."

"They've been threatening that for days."

He tried to stand.

I helped him straighten, but he couldn't support his own weight.

He grabbed my collar.

"You always were a stubborn bastard."

"I learned from the best."

I shifted his arm across my shoulders. "Can you walk?"

"No."

"Then we'll carry you."

He made an irritated noise.

"You can complain about it once we're outside," I told him.

Peverel led us through a servants' passage and into a delivery courtyard I hadn't known existed. That was mildly embarrassing.

I'd commanded Nottingham Castle for these past few years and apparently hadn't bothered learning every way into it. By the time we reached the outer gate, Fitzwalter's soldiers had realized the smoke was a diversion.

The alarm bells began ringing.

Someone shouted for the portcullis to be lowered.

It descended about eighteen inches.

Then stopped.