He was running for the gate.
The time scout gasped with effort and dove forward. He crashed into Malcolm just as the gate shrank with a roar like a freight train. Malcolm landed on hard concrete. Kit swore hideously and cradled one arm. A crackle of fire and thick, acrid smoke roared into Malcolm’s awareness. One of the totem poles in Phil Jones’ store room had caught fire from Kit’s thrown torch. A crossbow bolt, covered with blood and bits of Kynan’s flesh, stuck obscenely out of another.
Above them, the gate vanished as though it had never been.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY
An instant later, the fire-control system cut in, spraying clouds of halon into the room.
”Out!” Kit cried.
Malcolm helped carry Kynan into Phil Jones’ office. Margo ran for the phone to call in a medical emergency, then ran interference, as well, driving Phil Jones bodily out of their way when he started shouting that they’d ruined his inventory, his business, and his life. When he didn’t shut up, she tossed him through the doorway into his showroom. The last glimpse Malcolm had of her, she was standing on him.
Kit stripped off Kynan’s shirt and stanched bleeding as best he could with direct pressure. Malcolm stripped off his woolen cassock and cut thick compresses. “Here…”
They applied the compresses and more pressure. Kynan moaned. His eyelids fluttered, then he sought Kit’s gaze. His eyes were glazed.
”My lord … I’m … dying.. .” He groped weakly for Kit’s arm.
”No,” Kit said roughly, “you won’t die, Kynan Rhys Gower. I won’t allow it.”