Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (26 page)

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.”

“Good thinking.” He smoothed the appearance of his chest and arms, removing the scars that told the story of his life as a battler. “Now,” he said, looking her over. “You need something.” He didn’t know whether females were allowed to be Clout, and he wasn’t sure he could disguise her as a male Clout anyway. Instead, he gave her a full-length black robe with a hood, and then put black masks on them both. He didn’t feel it on his face, though he saw the dark edges of the illusory leather around his eyes. Cirang touched her face, and her fingers disappeared through the black leather mask.

“Try not to touch. It’ll give away the illusion. One more thing.” He disguised her sword as a staff with a gem on the end.

“It looks so real,” she said. “I hope I’m not expected to talk to anyone. I don’t understand a thing they say.”

He opened the door and grinned. “If they address you, I’ll tell them you’re slightly mad and only speak in tongues.”

Her teeth flashed through the bottom hole in her mask as she eased past him. “Sometimes I think that isn’t far from the truth.”

Chapter 33

Even with his magically enhanced senses, Gavin didn’t hear the Clout searching for them, and so he walked briskly towards the building where Daia was being held prisoner. “Keep an eye out for Clout,” he said, though he walked with both his normal eyes and his hidden eye open, using the magic to look for people whose hazes were different—people who might have the ability to see past their disguises and call attention to them. As they walked, the people on the streets went about their business with eyes downcast. An argument broke out between a man and a woman and suddenly stopped when they looked up in Gavin’s direction. Apparently the Clout kept some semblance of order through the use of violence and intimidation. He supposed that in a realm balanced with his own, any order would arise not from the zhi desire for peace but from the kho desire to control and dominate.

Aren’t warrant knights the Clout o’the blue realm?
he asked himself.

A boxy building loomed large ahead, towering over the hovels and cottages around it. Its sloped rooftops were slate, and each corner of the building had short towers with roofs shaped like onions that came to a point at the top. Rising from each point was a tall cross whose lateral bars were bent downward like a barb.

The building sat behind a tall fence made of iron bars topped with similar barbs. Thickly muscled men of various heights stood in two rows, facing each other. Each was dressed like the Clout on the street and held a sword whose point rested on the ground between his boots.

Gavin didn’t see any mages behind them, and none of their hazes hinted at any magical ability. “Walk past them like we belong here,” he said to Cirang. “Stay behind me, and try to look superior.”

As they approached, the first pair of guards stepped in front of them as if they were both controlled by the same mind. “Where is your second Clout?” asked the one on the left.

Having spent years making up stories about how he’d lost his eyetooth, Gavin had several responses ready. His heart beat more quickly, but he stood stock still, keeping his gaze steady. “He had a bad case o’the shits. He’ll be along.” Over his right shoulder, he heard Cirang stifle a snort.

“Do not presume to speak for your Caller, Clout. We will hear from him.”

“Tell them your Caller is in communion,” the Guardians said.

Gavin threw his thumb over his shoulder to alert Cirang. “My Caller’s in communion,” he said in an irritated tone. “Can’t you see that?”

The two Clout startled. For a moment, they stared at her, and he had the overwhelming urge to turn around to see if she’d caught on. He hoped she wasn’t standing there, blinking at them in confusion.

A few moments passed in silence. Gavin felt his heartbeat tap the side of his neck. His hand twitched, ready to draw and fight if they didn’t believe his lie. Even with his magic, he wouldn’t be able to defeat this many of them.

The two Clout glanced at each other as if to judge the other’s assessment. The right one nodded slightly, and they stepped back into place. “Proceed.”

Gavin let his breath out slowly as he marched, head up and shoulders straight, between the two rows of Clout. Cirang stayed glued near his right shoulder blade. This was too easy.

Then Cirang accidentally stepped on the heel of his right boot.

“Stop,” one of the Clout demanded.

Aldras Gar.

Yeh, sword, I know.

Three from each side stepped up to them, hands on their weapons. “Caller, show your true form.”

Gavin’s heart thumped. He didn’t know what the Callers’ true form was supposed to be. Maybe a skeleton. He faced Cirang and gave her a wink as a signal to trust him. There was fear in her eyes, not the boldness he’d come to expect from a battler. He let her conjured leather mask drop and replaced it with the illusion of a dried skull with its sockets filled by darkness.

The Clout startled, and then each of them drew their weapons. “What is this? A trick?”

“Fight,” Gavin said, drawing his blade.

With a hard twist, he spun left to right, taking the heads off two of the Clout and severely injuring a third. Blood sprayed in every direction, hot and thick, filling his nose with a vile stench that left an acrid tang in the back of his throat.

“Stay behind me,” he said as he blocked a blow. He rammed his blade into the next Clout and sliced the arm off another. His muscles fell into the familiar rhythm of battle as he danced and swung and thrust his sword. His magic-enhanced hearing warned him where each next enemy sword thrust or swing was coming from, giving him time to block, deflect, duck, or turn. He lost track of Cirang, and he hoped she was staying alive. Clout after Clout rushed him, whether from training or from the compelling command of an unseen Caller, and each fell in a spray of blood. Part of his mind was intently focused on every shift of his feet, every turn of his blade, every breath he took. Another part was amazed at how easy and natural it was, like he was a god of sorts, guiding his body from a higher plane.