The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(14)
Forshee barked orders with uncontainable rage. There was no way the kishion could face so many foes singlehandedly, was there? Maia stood on shaking knees, watching the chaos unwind in the greenyard. The kishion cut down another man, and Maia spied Trefew cringing behind Suzenne, using her as a human shield. How she loathed him for his cowardice. Suzenne’s face was pinched with pain, but there was no fear there—only triumph.
The kishion untied something from his belt that looked like two glass cylinders stoppered with cork. He flung the vials off the platform, right by Forshee’s stamping horse. There was a flash of white and suddenly a mist began to fill the green with snaky tendrils. The people in the crowd began to scream in pain and terror as it licked against them.
Forshee’s mount bucked and threw him, adding to the tumult of the scene. People were fleeing in all directions to escape the choking mist, while soldiers charged from the castle to join the fray. Were they there to fight for Maia’s freedom, or her death? She could not tell amidst such confusion. The kishion shoved another man off the platform and then ripped off the leather executioner’s hood and dropped it at his feet.
“Follow me to safety,” he said, his smile savage. He rushed to the far end of the platform, reached into his belt again, and hurled another pair of glass vials onto the ground, which also erupted in a flash of seething smoke. More shouts and cries rocked the greenyard, and Maia heard her name screamed by Suzenne. She tried to turn, but the kishion grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the back edge of the platform.
“Jump!” he growled. Though she strained for Suzenne, the kishion pulled her with him, giving her no choice.
They landed with a jolt on the cobblestones. The mist was already reaching them, and the kishion grabbed a scarf from his pocket and held it to her mouth.
“Breathe through this,” he said, grabbing another one for himself.
She pressed the cloth to her mouth and felt its dampness against her skin. It smelled strongly of some pungent odor. The mist swarmed around them, its milky vapors dancing in the air.
“Find her! Find her!” someone shouted.
Wails of pain and suffering surrounded them, but the mist made it impossible to see. The kishion wrenched open a sack partly concealed beneath the platform and withdrew two cloaks. He hurriedly fit one around her shoulders and raised the cowl to cover her hair.
“Always hide your beauty,” he told her, his scars twitching with his smile. He tossed the greatsword down under the platform and then grabbed her hand again and pulled her deeper into the fog.
“Where is she?”
“I cannot see her!”
“It was the headsman. He betrayed us!”
“That was no headsman. It was the kishion!”
The panicked masses were escaping all around them as the kishion led her away from the platform. It pained her to realize that the kishion’s aim was to save only her. He was one man, and even a trained killer could not hope to defeat all the guards Crabwell would send after them. Her heart thundered inside her ribs from exertion and lingering fear, but she finally felt the thrill of having survived what had seemed a certain death sentence.
A soldier emerged from the mist in front of them, spluttering. “Hold there,” he ordered, reaching out to stop them.
The kishion released her and plunged a dagger into the soldier’s ribs and then grabbed him around the neck with his other hand and whipped him around, letting him tumble into a heap on the ground. The ruthless dispatch sickened Maia, but she also felt a certain degree of detachment, having seen so much death and violence in the past months.
Once again, the kishion grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. Her sense of direction was completely impaired by the commotion and the haze. She stumbled over the body of someone who had fallen, and saw the fine tunic and glittering vest of a nobleman she did not recognize. His felt cap had fallen, and his hair was askew. The kishion kicked him in the ribs in passing and pulled Maia back to her feet.
“Bar the gates!” someone was shouting. It was Trefew’s voice, full of wrath mixed with fear. What had he done with Suzenne? Was he still using her as a shield?
“The crowd is smashing them down!” someone replied. “The mob is coming! We must flee!”
Maia heard the churning roar of the castle that was indeed under siege. Her father was dead, and all law and order in Comoros had crumbled.
“Are you behind this mayhem?” Maia asked her companion, increasing her speed to match his.
“The wood was already cracked and dry,” he answered. “All it needed was a little spark. Wet wood only smokes, not burns. This way.”
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“The main gates are being forced by the mayor and the ealdermen. But it is too crowded, and crowds are dangerous and difficult to predict. I have the porter key to get us out. This way.”
The haze was beginning to dispel, and she could see that only soldiers had remained around the gallows in the stinging smoke. They were clearly searching for something—for her.
The kishion grunted. “Too much wind. I thought it would last longer. Walk fast, but do not run. It will attract too much attention. Over by that arch. It leads to the porter door.”
Maia glanced back again, hoping for a glimpse of Suzenne, some sign that her friend was safe, and the kishion scolded her. “Focus, Maia. We are not to safety yet.”