Daughter of Dusk (39 page)

“Ho, what’s happening there?” came a shout from across the camp.

Sweat broke out over Kyra’s skin. “We have to get them now,” she said.

She drew her dagger and rushed into the tent. It was dark inside, and Kyra barely caught the glint of metal as a man charged at her with a blade. Kyra shouted a warning as she sidestepped his
swipe. He moved with the clumsiness of someone who’d just woken. When he stumbled, Kyra saw her opening and slashed at his knife arm. He dropped the blade and clutched his arm, swearing.

Kyra pressed her knife to his throat, and for the first time, got a good look at her opponent’s face. He’d trimmed his mustache since she last saw him, but there was no mistaking
Edlan’s Minister of Defense. Lord Alvred’s eyes widened in recognition as he took in her features. Around her, the scuffling died down. As Kyra’s eyes adjusted to the darkness,
she saw that Pashla had Willem facedown on his bedroll, her knee on his spine and her dagger pointed at the base of his skull. Adele stood alert by the tent flap.

“Adele, rope,” said Kyra. Her heart pounded so loudly it was a wonder the entire camp couldn’t hear it.

Pashla shifted her weight so Adele could bind Willem’s wrists. The Head Councilman glared at Kyra as Adele pulled the knots tight. His gray-streaked hair was messy and tangled from the
scuffle.

“Do you really expect to get out of here alive?” asked Willem.

“Your fate will be tied to ours,” Kyra said. When Adele finished binding Willem’s arms, she stepped toward Kyra and Alvred, rope in hand.

“Kyra, take care!” said Pashla as someone threw open the tent flap. Kyra tightened her grip on Alvred as she turned. Three Edlan soldiers stood at the entrance with swords drawn.
Several more stood behind them.

“Drop your weapons or your commanders die,” she said, her voice sharp in her ears.

“Do as she says,” said Alvred in his low, booming shout, and the others obeyed.

Well, it was too late for rope now. “Clear a path,” said Kyra. Slowly, the soldiers parted. Kyra turned Alvred around so he faced away from her and nudged him to start moving. She
stepped out first, followed by Pashla and Willem, with Adele bringing up the rear. It was awkward progress. He was much larger than she was, and Kyra had to reach up to get her dagger to his
throat. Her arm quickly began to get sore, and sweat from his skin soaked into her clothes.

Kyra scanned the soldiers around her as they walked. This couldn’t last forever. There were too many soldiers, and too few hostages. Her spine prickled—she expected an arrow in her
back any moment. When Alvred lagged, she pressed the blade closer to his throat, nudging him forward. Slowly, ever so slowly, they made their way to the edge of the camp. Her arms burned. She could
see the forest now when she peered around Alvred’s bulk. Almost there. They just needed the shelter of the trees.

Something whistled through the air, followed by a woman’s cry. Kyra turned just in time to see Adele fall to her knees, an arrow shaft sticking out her back.

“Adele!” she shouted. At that moment, Alvred broke free and struck her hard in the stomach. Kyra fell to the ground, retching. Alvred grabbed for her dagger, but she snatched it away
just in time.

“Lord Alvred!”

A soldier handed Alvred a mace, an evil-looking club with a steel-coated head. Kyra dove to the side as he raised it high and brought it down. He missed the first time and the second, but his
third blow came down squarely on her right hip.

Kyra screamed, and for a moment she couldn’t see anything for the pain. When her vision cleared, Alvred was closing in for another blow. She tried to scoot away, and realized with horror
that she couldn’t move her leg at all.

A roar split the air and a demon cat charged into the fray, coming to a stop protectively above Adele. Two more came after and stood tail-to-tail with the first, fangs bared and snarling
dangerously. For a moment, everyone stared. Then the demon cats disappeared behind a wave of soldiers. Alvred raised his mace once more, and Kyra hopelessly threw her arms in front of her face.

“Stand back!” Suddenly, Pashla was next to her, still with Willem firmly in her grasp. How had she managed to hold on to her hostage in all that chaos? Alvred hesitated, and in that
moment someone’s arms threaded under Kyra’s and pulled her to her feet. She cried out again as the movement jarred her leg. Then she realized it was Flick holding her.

“Easy, Kyra.” His voice was a safe harbor she could cling to. “Let’s get you to safety.”

“To the trees,” said Pashla, dragging Willem in that direction. Flick threw Kyra over his shoulder and hurried after the clanswoman. Kyra buried her face in his chest to keep from
screaming. Every step he took was agony. Two swordsmen gave chase, but a demon cat jumped in front of them, cutting off pursuit.

The sounds of battle followed them into the forest. “Our people won’t last long,” Kyra said. And Adele. Was she alive?

Pashla forced Willem to his knees in front of her. “We must get him to Forge.”

She was right. If the Edlanese recovered Willem, all their efforts would have been in vain. “Pashla,” she said. “I can’t walk, much less run. You must bring him to the
gates.”

Pashla’s eyes flickered quickly over Kyra, and then she undid her tunic as Flick lowered Kyra to the ground. When Pashla regained her form, Flick hoisted Willem onto her back and secured
him with rope. The Head Councilman’s attempts to resist met with two solid clouts to the head. Willem swore at Flick but stopped fighting.

Finally, Flick pulled the rope tight. When Pashla bent her head around to check Flick’s progress, he patted her on her flank. “Go,” he said. “Run quickly.”

Pashla took off with a bound, zigzagging through the trees. Kyra watched her disappear, then turned back toward the battle, trying to see between the trees to the chaos beyond. Demon cat growls
split the air. Swords clanged as fur and steel flashed in and out of view.

Kyra drew the deepest breath she could. “Retreat!” she yelled. “Makvani retreat!”

The battle continued on, and she wondered if anyone had heard her. Then a demon cat ran for the trees and knelt in front of Kyra.

“Hang on,” said Flick as he lifted her onto its back and climbed on behind her. Another demon cat came on its tail, and Kyra was light-headed with relief to see a very pale Adele
clinging to its back. Other demon cats followed, turning around several times to fend off pursuers. The demon cat Kyra was riding looked around at the gathered Makvani and let out a roar. And then,
as one, the beasts ran into the forest.

Tristam stood at attention outside the city gate, facing the empty road. He might as well have been sitting in a root cellar for all he could discern in the darkness. Tristam
knew from Malikel’s strategy charts that fifty Red Shields stood to his left, armed with spears. To his right came the occasional whinny and snort from the horses of twenty cavalrymen. Sir
Rollan stood in command at the front, while Malikel oversaw everything from the wall.

“Disturbance in the enemy camp,” came a lookout’s voice from above.

Perhaps it was good that his position required absolute stillness, because otherwise Tristam would have worn down the road with his nervous energy. Of all the schemes Kyra had come up with so
far, this had to be the most brazen, and he couldn’t quiet the fear that her luck would finally run out. What was this “disturbance” in the enemy camp? Panic at finding their
leader gone, or celebration at capturing an intruder?

“Light the torches,” Rollan commanded. “Put them in place.”

A ripple of readiness went through the troops. All around him, there was the sound of flint striking. A warm glow illuminated the troops as sparks caught on pitch-coated wood. Each cavalry man
took two torches and rode down the road to place them in stands before returning to formation. They all waited, growing more and more tense as the shadows formed and dissipated on the newly lit
road.

“A rider, sir,” came the lookout’s voice, sharp now. “No, a demon cat. With a single rider. A man.”

“Tristam,” said Rollan. “Is it Kyra?”

Tristam squinted down the road. He could make out the rider now, and his steed was definitely a demon cat. As the beast passed the torches though, he saw that the fur was tawny yellow.

“It’s not Kyra, sir,” he said. “Wrong color.” Was it Pashla? “I think it may be one of her allies.”

“Spearmen, take formation, but don’t attack.” Rollan delivered his orders with confident ease, and his composure seemed to rub off on the troops around him. “Tristam,
speak immediately if you see anything untoward.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. Where was Kyra? A knot formed in his stomach.
Concentrate on your task.

“It’s Willem tied to the beast’s back,” called the lookout.

The felbeast slowed as it neared them and approached carefully with its head lowered and ears flat. Willem was indeed tied to its back. He must have been captured while he was asleep because he
wore only a plain wool tunic and trousers. And though Willem’s face was turned partially away, Tristam could clearly see the rage etched in his features. Tristam almost felt sorry for him.
What a fall it must be for a Head Councilman to be delivered to his city gates like a sack of flour.

Red Shields formed a half circle around the demon cat and raised their spears as it came closer. The beast stopped and eyed the weapons warily. Tristam was almost certain now that it was
Pashla.

“Sir Rollan,” said Tristam. “May I cut the hostage from the beast’s back?”

“You may.”

Pashla knelt as Tristam approached. Willem glared but didn’t say anything as Tristam surveyed the ropes and cut the ones that tied him to Pashla. Willem slid to the ground, and several Red
Shields lifted him to his feet.

“The cat’s changing shape,” a man said.

Apparently, Red Shield discipline couldn’t match the sight of a demon cat transforming before their eyes, because shouts and exclamations rose up all around. As Pashla shrank down, Tristam
unclasped his cloak and threw it over her shoulders. She gathered the cloak around her and looked calmly at the troops before settling her eyes on Tristam.

“Thank you,” she said.

It was on his tongue to ask about Kyra, but the gate opened just then, and Malikel walked out. He was flanked by soldiers, and he looked, every inch of him, like a leader of men. He faced
Willem, who stood with his hands bound in front of him. A Red Shield held each arm.

“That was cleverly done, Malikel,” said Willem, his voice crisp. “And what happens now?”

“That is something we’ll have to discuss.” Malikel turned to Pashla. “We are grateful,” he said with dignity, “though we’d expected Kyra to
come.”

“She was injured in the fighting,” said Pashla.

“How badly was she wounded?” asked Tristam. His need to know outweighed his adherence to protocol.

“She is alive,” said Pashla. “And she is unlikely to die from the wounds she’d received when I left. Beyond that, I do not know.”

It was a small relief, but not exactly happy news.

“You are welcome to take shelter within our walls tonight,” said Malikel.

Pashla shook her head. “If you have no further need for me, I will return to my clan.”

“Very well, then. We are indebted to your people.” Malikel addressed the men holding Willem. “Take the prisoner back to the Palace.”

As Malikel and Willem disappeared into the city, Pashla stepped back from the soldiers around her. She handed Tristam’s cloak to him, her shape blurring. The spearmen around her squared
their stances as she fell on all fours, but Pashla simply turned and raced away.

There was a collective release of tension amongst the troops as Pashla left.

“Return to formation,” commanded Rollan. “Head back through the gate.”

Tristam turned with the rest of his comrades toward the city. He realized now that he should have asked Pashla to take him to Kyra, but it was too late. As the first soldiers started to march,
the lookout called down again.

“Sir Rollan,” he said. “I see troops riding toward the city. Edlan riders, carrying torches.”

Tristam turned, as did the men around him. Dots of torchlight bobbed in the distance, illuminating men on horseback. They were riding down the road to the city, though now they stopped and
fanned into a half circle, as if they were surrounding something. A demon cat. Pashla.

“All troops retreat into the city.” Rollan’s voice rang over the troops. “Close the gates.”

Tristam looked to Rollan in disbelief. Were they simply going to leave Pashla to her fate? The soldiers around him started marching again, but Tristam didn’t move. When the soldier behind
Tristam stepped around him, Tristam broke out of the stream, elbowing his way to Rollan’s horse.

“Rollan,” he said. “There must be at least ten horsemen out there. Pashla can’t face them all.”

“We’re tasked with securing the city.” Rollan barely gave Tristam a sideways glance as he observed the retreat.

Tristam looked back out toward the Edlan soldiers. One horseman lowered a spear and charged Pashla. She jumped aside just in time, then twisted around to rake her claws across the horse’s
flank. The torchlight played off her fur as the other horsemen formed a loose circle around her, cutting off any escape.