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.