Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [39]
Sweat dripped off his forehead and his breath came in ragged gasps. Before he could register the location and severity of pain his body screamed with, he froze, hearing the growls. Slowly he looked over his shoulder, blade ready to follow in an arcing swing. A High Guard soldier was coming down the steps, taking them two at a time—in long stately strides—his dark blue cloak flowing out behind him. Leading the way, straining at their tethers, was a pair of bullmastiffs. Their jaws were like bear traps; their wide collars spiked with steel blades and lips pulled back over white teeth, their black faces contorted as they snarled and snapped. Saliva hung in strands from their lower lips and their hackles ran the length of their spines. An’ Lawrence was gathering his energy, hoping he could call up a big enough boost to fend them off, when the guard stopped midway down the steps and unsnapped their leads. The dogs bounded towards him as he lifted his blade, the weight of it heavy in his hand.
Put the big knife down, Rowan. It’s me.
Scylla? An’ Lawrence dropped his arm.
Midway in the air, the two beasts shimmered, the glamour falling from their bodies like leaves in the breeze. Instead of two death dogs charging for his throat, the temple cats leapt towards him then landed lightly, one on either side.
I told you we were coming, Rowan. Hurry, Rosette has a coach waiting, though for how long I don’t know. You started quite a fire.
An’ Lawrence looked again and the figure on the stairs winked, waving him on. ‘Quickly, Sword Master. I left the meter running.’ It was Rosette’s voice though the High Guard spoke.
He grizzled, wincing as he climbed the stairs towards her. ‘Your glamour just took ten years off my life, daughter!’
‘Did you like it? I thought it quite inventive. Got us right past the inner guards without a query. Drayco’s idea. He thought it much better than the sheepdog.’
‘What sheepdog?’
Later, Rowan. We need to get away. His familiar urged him forward but he paused before he reached the top. This way, Rowan. Scylla was growling. Every alarm in the city is about to go off.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘My sword.’
‘Blow your sword!’ Rosette turned on him. ‘I’ll commission a new one for you myself when we get back, but we’ve got to get out of here now.’
The High Guard soldier was gone and in his place stood Rosette. The cloak was the same but underneath she wore a black dress edged in red lace. The bodice was very low cut and her pregnancy-enhanced breasts captured all the attention. She gripped her sword in her right hand, her eyes levelled at his.
‘Rosette,’ he said, staring at her dress. ‘What exactly have you been doing?’
She looked him up and down in turn, taking in the bare feet, foreign weapon and sawn-off arrow protruding from his thigh, a trickle of fresh blood oozing from his torn leggings. ‘I could ask you the same, Father.’
‘I’ve been covering your back,’ he said, his eyes going to the bottom of the stairs. He spotted the guard room, door ajar, and he limped back down.
‘What are you doing now?’ she said.
‘Just a quick look. And I have to piss.’
Scylla tore after him.
‘A quick look for what? We have to get out!’
‘I’ll be right there.’ He ducked into the guard room. He didn’t want to leave his blade behind, not if it was within easy reach.
The guard room was empty; the only troops on duty were locked in the adjacent cell. They pounded on the bolted door; smoke was sneaking out between the cracks and the heat was rising. His fire had spread to adjoining cells. He ignored the cries and searched, finding his blade among a stack of other booty. He strapped it on, then frowned as he lifted up a small silver flask. It was sheathed in an embroidered leather case with long straps—perfect for wearing on a journey. ‘Demon’s death.’
He turned it around, rubbing his thumb over the outline of a Lemur raven burned into the leather.
What is it, Rowan? Scylla asked as she stood watch by the