Temur POV
The main avenue leading north had dozens of garrison men in it, all face-down with shafts in their backs from the pursuit.
They'd held the cross-street long enough for the next group to fall back to the next position, and then they'd turned to run and the assault riders had already closed the distance. The last one had gone down ten meters before the citadel gate.
Temur rode past them at a trot and watched the complex open ahead of him.
The citadel palisade was shorter than the city wall, the timber lighter, and the gate was single-leaf with iron strap hinges and no pitch on the wood.
Sixty or so fighters in coats with iron sewn into them stood in formation between the assault riders and the gate. Two men were at the gate frame behind them, hands on the bar, working it into its bracket.
Buras was on his right. Left arm against his chest, right hand on the reins, eyes forward. Temur did not look at him again.
