Shaking the image from her mind, she spotted books on the corner shelves. She threw her cloak down in front of them and piled all the volumes she could before tying the corners into a makeshift sack and dragging it back to the entrance. By the time she emerged from the study, every muscle in her body ached.
“For the love of the Gods, old woman!” One of the men shouted. “You kept us waiting for this?”
“The horses will never run with such a load on their backs,” another objected.
“We cannot leave this behind! It is all that is left of our heritage.” Renate looked from one man to another, and finding no sympathy in their faces, turned to her friend. “Adiana, please! Help me.”
After a moment of hesitation, the young woman dismounted and removed her cloak. They divided the tomes between the two of them. Renate heaved her burden into Ghemena’s arms and bade the child to hold it tight. Then she swung herself up behind the girl and spurred the horse into a canter.
In moments they were through the south entrance and racing over open fields, hooves pounding against the earth. The horses snorted and drew labored breaths, straining under their loads. Renate leaned forward, molding her body to Ghemena’s back, eyes fixed on the black hills ahead.