Semyon surrendered the burden of carrying Hoyle to Atticus and took guard once more, newfound freedom of movement allowing him to fully watch their backs as they moved towards the shade gates. His frowning visage deepened with every step, pale eyes straining to catch sight of a foe he wasn't sure they'd be able to see, especially as they moved out of the hall itself. The real risk was here now, on the way to the gates, if any of the assassins had managed to slip past before.

Unfortunately, it seemed he didn't have a way to really see if any [i]had[/i] slipped past. They had taken out some in the hall, Nestor's 'rain' turning that short fight firmly in their favor. They wouldn't risk moving through it now, not if they still valued stealth, and it could be they had taken out all who had snuck in. 

Not that he would relax his guard at the thought. No reason to invite disaster when it seemed plenty capable of coming along on its own.

At Atticus' words, Semyon ducked down by Hoyle's side as the demon dragged him along, eyeing his employer's wound. It was... bad. Probably. The fact it wasn't healing implied silver, and the wound itself rendered the leg all-but useless. It was a clean cut, though, which meant he could easily clean and stitch it back together. Hoyle probably wouldn't be able to walk even then, but at least Semyon could stop the man from bleeding and ease the pain a bit, given time.

But time was the problem. If they needed to reach the gates quickly, they couldn't afford to pause long enough for the Wight to tend to the wound. Such a pause would make them perfect targets as well... which led to the possibility of baiting an attack...

"Crippling wound. I can dress it when we stop." Back-stepping to stay alongside Atticus while still watching behind them, Semyon spared a moment to catch his eye as he spoke. "Unless someone else can tend him on the move, our options are limited."