by K. C. May
There. The swirling snow formed into a spiral, twisting into yellow and then green. He tensed, his stomach spinning. This had better work. It turned blue, and he stepped in.
Chapter 31
The mage vanished and King Gavin with him. The king’s jeweled sword clattered to the ground.
Cirang felt the blood rush from her face. Her chest felt tight, and she couldn’t breathe. He wouldn’t have abandoned her and left his sword behind. That meant they’d taken him, perhaps to the same place they took Daia.
The two Clout advanced. The ringing of their swords as they were drawn sliced the air, cleaving her courage along with it. The king wasn’t going to be able to save her. She wished she wasn’t afraid, but she was. Her heart threw itself against her ribcage as if it were trying to get out. Sweat ran down her skin like teasing fingers. Any hope that she would get to see her wife and son again one day—Tyr’s family—before returning to Thendylath for her execution died with the realization that this would be her death.
One of the Clout bent to pick up King Gavin’s sword. Cirang wanted to call out, to stop him, but she couldn’t move, not even to utter a grunt. When his hand touched the hilt, a blue-white spark shot up his arm. He cried out and jerked his hand back. The other Clout raised one eyebrow, but no words were exchanged. The first one simply stepped over the sword, turning his attention back to Cirang.
The two Clout raised their swords, one to stab her heart, the other to cut off her head. Their steel glinted in the sunshine, as their eyes did behind the black masks.
Disappointment and grief choked her. The knowledge that she would be put to death had been a well-deserved burden. She’d come to accept her impending death at King Gavin’s hand, even welcome it, for it would be justice for all the evil she had wrought and bring closure to the families most injured by her deeds. Now, her death would be meaningless, unwitnessed by her victims.
She couldn’t express her final apology or even beg for a quick death. Her tongue was frozen in her mouth, her lips and jaw as stiff as stone. Behind her, people began to chant. Although she didn’t understand what they were saying, she heard the malice in their tones. At least she could close her eyes. She didn’t want to see the satisfaction in the eyes of her captors as they cut her down.
Behind her lids, she saw Tyr’s four sons, healthy and alive, playing behind their cottage. She saw his wife, Siong, her long, black hair streaming in the breeze. Her brown eyes sparkled while she watched their sons laugh and play, her smile wide. Her movements were slow as she turned to Tyr and opened her mouth to speak.
The chanting stopped, and screaming started. Cirang opened her eyes.
The two Clout were backing away, their eyes wide within the holes of the masks. They weren’t looking at her but above her. What was it that had them so alarmed? Cirang would have tilted her head up to see, but perhaps she was better off not knowing what kind of monster would ultimately take her life.
The screams and running footsteps faded to silence in the distance. Before her, the Clout turned and ran, swords still in hand, their skirts flapping with every frenzied pound of their feet on the dirt.
Cirang was left there, alone, with whatever it was that had terrified them all so. She held her breath and waited.
Nothing happened.
A light breeze caressed her face, its gentle fingers calming.
And then she noticed King Gavin’s knapsack, the one in which he carried the runes and that white gemstone he’d pulled from the Well of the Damned. Had the so-called Guardians saved her? If so, why? They owed her nothing. In fact, they’d used their tactics on her to great effect, drawing an image of the clawed hand of the demon that had slain her and wrapping it around her wrist to pull her under the water. What had they shown to these people to frighten them so?
She could do nothing but wait for something to happen. Her right arm was extended, the sword pointing towards the ground, though she had no feeling. She looked down and saw the tip of her left boot. Her left arm wasn’t in sight, and without feeling it, she didn’t know where it was or if she even had a left arm.
The only sounds she heard were the distant songs of birds and the soft rustle of leaves, alternating with the flap of an awning in the breeze. The sun warmed the back of her head and neck, making her wish she hadn’t cut her hair. How long would she have to stand here, frozen, before the Clout returned to kill her? Perhaps King Gavin would save her. No, his concern would be for Daia. His champion was important. Cirang was only a means to an end.
Her lips and throat felt parched. It was just as well that she couldn’t take a drink because sooner or later, she would have to piss. How embarrassing it would be if King Gavin found her there, soiled like a baby.
A scarred and dirty dog rounded the corner of a building and stopped, looking at her. It was joined by two others and then three more. These weren’t like the dogs that roamed the cities in Thendylath, begging for a morsel or a friendly pat. These were street wolves. Their ears went back and their heads flattened, and they started moving slowly towards her, their legs stiff and their lips curled to reveal jagged, white teeth.
Gods save me.
No, her gods had forsaken her. She had only King Gavin and his Guardian friends to save her now.
But those dogs weren’t afraid.
Chapter 32
Gavin felt the ground shift beneath his boots and found himself standing on the lap of some well-dressed buck seated at the Lordover Ambryce’s dining table. The man let out a scream.
Gavin stepped up onto the arms of the dinner guest’s chair and the chair beside it. “Sorry,” he muttered. Amidst the gasps and expressions of alarm, he stepped across a few other guests, both men and women, walking across the arms of their chairs until he reached the head of the table. “So sorry.” He jumped down and turned to bow, unsure what else to do.
The Lordover Ambryce stood, an expression of confusion and shock on his face. “King Gavin? What, pray tell, is going on here?”
“Forgive my intrusion. So sorry.” He ran out of the room and looked left and right. A servant, approaching with a tray of wine and glasses, stopped and blinked at him. “Which way out?” he asked.
The servant lifted his chin towards the right. “Follow the hallway ahead on the left. You can’t miss it.”
Gavin ran down the hall, burst through the double doors, and sprinted across the grass towards where they’d been when they first went to the yellow realm. He stopped a few yards to the south. This should be about the right place—outside the storeroom they’d arrived in.
He shook out his hands and tipped his head first one way and then the other to loosen his neck.
“King Gavin?” someone asked. “Is everything all right?”
Gavin flinched and spun to face the gaol warden, frustration knotting his muscles. “Look, I need to concentrate. Make sure nobody distracts me until I get back.”
“Yes, Sire. I’m sorry.” The warden backed away and stood with his arms crossed as though he was keeping watch.
Gavin exhaled hard and started again, relaxing his shoulders and calming his thoughts. Once more, he focused on seeing the colored snow swirling into a small cyclone. Every second that ticked by increased his tension. There wasn’t time to waste. He had to hurry and get back there, but the snow wasn’t swirling. He needed Daia. No, he reminded himself. He’d gotten home without her. I can do this. He had to relax and concentrate, using the gem in his ring to narrow his focus.
After what seemed like several minutes, the vortex appeared, wavering as it spun in green, blue, indigo. He waited impatiently, wishing he could simply choose— and then it was yellow. It turned green again before he could step in. Damn. He wasn’t ready. It had cycled through purple, red, and orange so quickly he hadn’t seen them, as if it had jumped to yellow on command. The color he wanted. Had he done that? He’d wished it to be yellow, and it was.
The vortex began to dissipate into random colored snow again. No, damn it. A thought popped
into his head: Focus, Kinshield. He imagined it swirling faster and faster, spinning it like a finger swishing a cup of water. The vortex formed and began to move through the colors, starting with orange. The moment it turned yellow, he leaped in.
He stepped clumsily onto the empty dirt road outside the open doors of the storage cellar and set off drunkenly towards the street where he and his companions had turned, dizziness warping his vision. He couldn’t afford the luxury of pausing to let it fade naturally. In the distance, he heard growling. He broke into a run, swerving to miss the corner as he rounded it.
Ahead, Cirang stood completely still, exactly the way he’d left her. She was surrounded by a half dozen dogs of all sizes and colors, each one taking a tentative step closer.
He ran faster, but the dizziness was too great. His left foot caught the back of his right heel, and he went down. He tucked himself in to roll, but his orientation was off, and he tumbled and slid to a stop on his belly. Pain raked the side of his face and palms of his hands.
One dog had a hold of her calf. Two others jumped in and bit her on the thigh and calf. She was as silent as if she were dead.
“Hey,” Gavin called, scrambling to his feet. “Get off her.” There, on the ground near Cirang, lay Aldras Gar. He extended his left hand and pulled. The sword sliced through the air, hilt first, and slapped hard into his palm, stinging and yanking his arm nearly out of the shoulder socket with its force.
The dogs turned. Two broke off from Cirang and started towards him.
With his right hand, he pulled again, harder this time. The dogs’ feet left the ground, and both animals hurtled through the air towards him. He chopped the first dog in two and blinked when its warm blood sprayed across his face. Before the other slammed into him, he stepped left, turned, and pushed. The dog continued past, spinning through the air with limbs and tongue in every direction. It landed on the ground with a yelp, tumbled, and lay still.
Gavin ran at the other dogs, waving his arms and yelling, “Yah! Get away!” Three of them scattered, but the last one, a dirty mongrel whose ribs were plainly visible beneath its patchy coat, dropped to the ground and pissed, its brown eyes huge and its ears flat against its rounded head.
The dizziness was mostly gone by the time Gavin reached Cirang. She looked at him with gratitude in her eyes. Her frozen face was streaked with tears.
“You’re awright,” he said, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m here now.” He dropped to his knees at her feet and lay his sword beside him. Her pant leg was ripped and bloody, so he started there and placed his hands on her leg: one on her calf and the other above the knee, where the rips had penetrated her clothes and her flesh. As soon as he felt her hard muscle, the healing warmth immediately built in his gut.
It filled his chest and flowed through his arms to his hands, heating quickly to an uncomfortable burn. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to let go even when the pain became almost unbearable. He distantly heard a growl in his throat before he pushed past the pain into the heavenly white fluttering that overtook his vision. It was like a climax for his soul, but it faded soon, too soon, and the healing was done.
He bent his head and let his hands drop to his thighs. It took a lot out of him yet renewed him too. When he first started healing people, he would faint from the exertion, but with Daia helping him, it hadn’t taken such a toll. He took in a slow, deep breath and then saw Cirang, squatting in front of him, smiling.
“Thank you for coming back for me. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just need to rest a minute.” Something warm touched his hand.
The dog. It was nuzzling his hand, licking it.
“Looks like she’s grateful, too,” Cirang said. “I’m surprised anyone in this realm can feel gratitude. I guess a dog is a dog.”
“Go on,” Gavin said, flicking his hand. “Shoo.”
The dog backed away with its tail tucked, rapidly blinking its eyes as if afraid of being struck.
“She was the only one that didn’t take a bite out of me. It’s like she doesn’t belong here.”
“I was sure the Clout would’ve slain you by now. How’d you get rid o’them?”
The Guardians faded into view beside Cirang. “We aided your companion, Emtor.”
“It was the damnedest thing,” Cirang said. “People were gathering around to watch them kill me, but then they started screaming and running. Even the Clout seemed terrified of something, but I never saw what they were so frightened of. I thought maybe your invisible friends saved me, though I’m not sure why.”
Gavin smiled. “They did. My thanks,” he said to them. “Now if you’ll help us get Daia back, I’d be even more grateful.”
Cirang presented her hand for the dog to smell and then stroked its head. “Poor thing.”
Gavin climbed to his feet. “Leave it be. We got more important things to worry about.”
He sent his hidden eye up over the rooftops, scanning for the unique orange flame in her haze. It wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, but a dim glow from the west looked promising. He soared westward and located her within a building whose size made the Chatworyth Palace look like a hovel in comparison.
“Found her,” he said, releasing his mystic vision. Cirang was squatting, feeding something to the dog. “What’re you doing?”
“She’s hungry, and we can get more food.”
While he admired the new Cirang and her compassion, that would only cause trouble. Besides, they couldn’t bring the dog back with them.
“Uh oh,” Cirang said, her eyes focused on a point behind him. “It’s the Clout. They’re back.”
Two Clout walked up the street towards them. One pointed at them, and they broke into a run as they drew their swords.
Gavin scooped up his knapsack, still lying where he’d dropped it, and took Cirang by the wrist. “Let’s go.”
They ran down the adjacent side street, ducked into an alley and pressed themselves into a recessed doorway. With a flick of his hand, Gavin pushed a puff of air at the ground that smoothed away their faint footprints. The door behind them swung open, and they stumbled backwards into a darkened room, empty but for a couple chairs in front of a cold hearth. Thankfully, no one was home. Cirang shut the door and leaned against it.
The sounds of shouting and running footsteps neared.
“We’ll frighten them away,” the Guardians said.
“No, don’t,” Gavin whispered. That would only bring more attention to them.
“Don’t...” Cirang whispered. “Are you talking to me?”
“No. Shhh!”
Something scratched lightly on the door.
“Shit,” Gavin said. “The dog. Let her in afore she gives us away.”
She opened the door, but the dog was hesitant to enter, looking warily into the dark room from the threshold.
Gavin used his magic to pull the dog. It shot through the air and into his arms, and Cirang eased the door shut. After the dog’s initial shock, it began to lick his chin. No matter which way he turned his face, the dog managed to reach him with its long tongue. He shifted it to his left side and gently put his free hand around its muzzle and held it still.
Aldras Gar.
“Follow that dog,” someone shouted. Heavy footsteps went past the door and stopped a few yards away. The Clout asked each other where it had gone.
The door burst open. Cirang stumbled backwards, trying to regain her footing. Gavin set the dog down and drew his sword.
One Clout stood in the doorway. “They’re here—”
Gavin drove his sword into the Clout’s heart, and Cirang drove hers into his liver. He fell to his knees and onto his face as they withdrew their blades. The second Clout appeared in the alley outside the door with his weapon drawn. Cirang was closer and dispatched him easily with a stab to the heart.
Aldras Gar.
The air stirred, and the cloaked wizard appeared beside him, staff in hand.
The dog yipped in surprise. Twisting at the waist, Gavin cleaved the wizard in half at the waist. He barely felt his blade lag, as if he were merely cutting through laundry hung to dry. The black robe fell to the wooden floor with a dull clatter. The wizard’s staff turned to dust, and the gem on its end became something fleshy and purple and fell to the floor with a splat.
“What the hell?” Gavin asked. The dog stretched its nose towards the pile of cloth while Gavin used his sword tip to move the robe aside. All that was left of the wizard were bones and gray dust—and the heart that had powered his staff.
“What happened to him?” Cirang asked. She wiped the blood from her blade on the Clout’s skirt.
“I’m guessing he’s been dead for a long time, animated by magic.” The idea of it made him shudder. Who would raise such abominations?
The dog picked up one of the bones and took it to Cirang like it was presenting a gift.
“I’m sorry, King Gavin,” Cirang said, squatting to pat the dog. “I didn’t expect her to follow us.”
“That’s what hungry dogs do when you feed them. This one isn’t feral yet, which makes her even more persistent.” He knew that from experience, and he knew from common sense to avoid feeding one when he might need to run or hide from people trying to kill him.
Gavin turned his thoughts back to their present predicament and had an idea. He disguised himself as a Clout by making his tunic and mail invisible. His trousers looked like a black skirt that revealed his hairy, muscular legs. He looked ridiculous, but the feeling of his clothes against his skin brought him some comfort.
“You might want to hide your scars.” Her eyes skimmed his chest and shoulders. “The Clout have no scars.”