“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.