Read Online Changer of Days by Alma Alexander - Free Book Online Page B

their first priority was to snatch the cowled woman in the midst of the shattered guard square and spirit her away back to the darkness of her captivity. And Kieran was too far away, even as the knowledge hit him and he recognized her by her bound hands. Anghara tossed back her hood, somehow managing to unerringly meet his eyes across the battle taking place between them. Recognizing him. Saying goodbye.
    Something gave him strength. He leapt over his fallen foe, leaving Adamo to battle it out alone with the two guardsmen who had accosted him—one from the original guard square and a member of the reinforcements who had leapfrogged across to offer his support. Charo had realized what was happening and was hastening Fodrun’s way, but was stopped by one of the quarterstaff wielders. Fodrun reached Anghara a split second before Kieran, and gathered her to his side with his left arm, his sword gleaming wickedly in his other hand.
    “Would you believe me if I told you I never wanted her death?” he said. “But now…it is too late.”
    “It is never,” said Kieran through clenched teeth, “too late.”
    “I must have been mad,” said Fodrun, more to himself than to the foe who faced him, “to have ever sanctioned this.”
    Kieran had enough presence of mind to offer a grim smile at this admission; Fodrun’s eyes darkened, his own lips thinning into an almost invisible line as he shifted his grip on his sword in anticipation of Kieran’s challenge.
    But then Senena screamed, and things became a blur.
    Kieran was aware, as though watching things which were both ludicrously speeded up and enacted in grisly slow motion, of an expression of pure agony that washed across Anghara’s features even as she sagged into a dead faint in Fodrun’s arms. Fodrun, to whom she had become a sudden encumbrance, let her slip down at his feet and turned back to face him. At the same time, Kieran was aware of Charo’s exultant shout as he made his opponent stumble on the edge of the stairs, lose his balance, turn on his heel with the quarterstaff flailing out of control in his hand, and tumble backward head over heels down the steps. The end of the man’s quarterstaff caught Senena a glancing blow across the abdomen, making her double over in pain. She lost her footing, stumbling over the edge of the first stair, falling awkwardly while trying to protect her swollen belly to slam side on into the battlement wall, then sliding down it into a graceless sprawl. Kieran’s sword seemed to have moved of its own accord; when he looked at his weapon again, he found it streaming with blood. He blinked, looking around for the victim—and saw Fodrun lying face down at his feet, the general’s blade flung an arm’s reach away, balancing precariously on the top stair. The blood pooling beneath him was beginning to ooze out, reaching for the edges of the soft dark cloak they had given Anghara.
    Who lay motionless a few steps away, her eyes closed, pain still etched into a deep line on her brow.
    Kieran dropped his sword, heedless of his surroundings, and knelt beside her. Her head lolled almost lifelessly on his shoulder as he lifted and cradled her against him, smoothing away strands of bright hair that had fallen across her face. The moment had him by the throat—after all this time, all these years, here she was in his arms—had it all been for nothing?
    But no—she breathed. Kieran closed his eyes briefly, sending every prayer of gratitude he ever knew to whatever Gods cared to receive them. His own dagger was lost; Fodrun’s, bound at his waist, was close enough to snatch. Kieran reached for it, too dazed by the moment to appreciate the irony of Fodrun’s dagger being the instrument of Anghara’s release as he cut away the rope that bound her hands.
    “Anghara?” he said softly. Now that he was looking upon her again, he was unprepared for how strange the name still seemed when applied to his little foster sister from Cascin. But