Protector of the Flight (9 page)

Calli
stopped. Sweet?

Bastien
chuckled, as if he heard the volarans. “Ayes,” he said, nodding. “Doose.”

She
didn’t think of herself as sweet. Tough, practical, with horse sense, but not
sweet.

Sweet.
Thunder pranced
by her side.
I will get the best stall, with plenty of wing space.

She
stared at him, turned to Bastien. Thunder turned his head, too, and squinted at
Bastien.

Bastien
grinned, showing flashing white teeth. Though he smelled of man and volaran
sweat, he looked none the worse for battle…except there was dark, nasty goo on
his right sleeve. He nodded. “Ayes.” He held up one index finger. “Calli.” Then
he held up the other forefinger. “Thunder.” He linked them.

Calli
frowned and used wide hand gestures. “Why does Thunder get the best stall?” She
said it loudly and flushed. As if speaking loudly would make someone understand
your language. She lifted her shoulders high and spread her palms up.

Bastien
just winked and kept walking. Thunder said,
Because I partner with you, I am
the most important volaran.

That
was a little scary. She caught up with Bastien and entered the most luxurious
stables she’d ever seen, but didn’t have time to linger because of the press of
volarans and Chevaliers behind her.

Babble
and grooming sounds rose throughout the stables as the Marshalls and Chevaliers
spent time with their volarans. Great waves of relief and love blanketed the
big building. No sooner had Calli entered the large stall with Thunder and
Bastien than the strikingly handsome Chevalier she’d seen during her healing
leaned over the stall’s half door.

“Salut,
Bastien,” he said, looking at her.

Bastien
snorted. “Salut, Faucon.”

Smiling,
Faucon said, “Prie introd moi?”

With
a tilt of his head, Bastien replied. To her surprise, Calli found a wash of
brotherly love coming her way from him. It startled and touched her. How could
he like her so soon?

Because
Thunder told Alexa and me of your flight and Alexa likes you.
Bastien spoke
more in Equine and images—Thunder’s idea of their flight, Alexa with her arm
around Calli—but Calli got it. She turned to the back of the stall and blinked
rapidly. The outpouring of feeling toward her today was nothing she’d ever
experienced. Even when her fans at the rodeo yelled or clapped, it was nothing
compared to this. This warmth sent to her was
personal,
based more on
who she was than what she was…an Exotique. The Chevalier Exotique.

There
was a brief conversation, with Bastien smiling but contrary, and the handsome
man moved on with irritation in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Then
Bastien and Calli worked together. She had no trouble recognizing the standard
implements hanging from the stall sides, but when she took them down, she found
them a little different. The brushes were made of something she didn’t
recognize—something for the feather-hide of the volarans. There was also a
faint sheen on the fine bristles—oil for the feathers. Furthermore, the tools
tingled in her hands. Magic.

Grooming
the horse part of Thunder went easily. They paid special attention to the hide
under the wings. Thunder’s mind lightly touched both hers and Bastien’s and he
helped her.

The
stall was much wider than usual and she found out why when Thunder moved to one
side and stretched out a wing. Calli looked at it nervously. Shouldn’t he be
able to clean them himself?

Thunder
snorted.
You.

Bastien
took down a couple of fancy brushes and they flared in his hands—more magic.
With exaggerated motions he taught Calli to groom the wings. He started with
the undersides and moved with incredible gentleness from where the wings
attached, outward to the tips of the feathers. Watching closely, Calli wasn’t
sure that the brush actually touched the feathers at all, more like some sort
of aura or field. Or something. She saw, she
felt,
but she didn’t have
the words to describe.

Yet
there was a connection here, mind to mind with Thunder. Working with her hands,
the brush, stroking the winged horse, made this dream seem all too real.
Thunder’s muscles flexed under her fingers. The stable was full of
odors—volaran sweat, human sweat and an occasional whiff of something Calli
thought might be volaran shit. Not too smelly for her, but then, horse shit
didn’t bother her much, either.

B
y the time
Marrec had sold his kill to an assayer south of Castleton and flown back to the
Castle, he and Dark Lance were exhausted.

Don’t
like this long day.
Dark Lance blew out a breath.

“I
don’t, either, but we must plan for the future.” If he lived long enough to
have a future. One thing was certain, his bargaining skills were too damn
rusty. He should have gotten more for his haul.

He’d
been stuck in a rut, living the life of a soldier attached to a Lady, with no
home, no land of his own. Had somehow lost that dream. Had been spending his
pay and not always collecting his kills, and taking those he had claimed to the
Castle Assayer who paid a lower price. “We’ll fight until we have a stake good
enough for land of our own. You’d like your own land, right?”

Yes,
but Castle is good.
Walking toward the stables, Dark Lance whuffled in Marrec’s hair.
Back.

“Yes,”
Marrec said. “Thank you for coming back.”

Warm.
Good food. My place low in Volaran Valley herd. Mares no look at me. My place
with you high.

“The
highest. And I’ll find a mare in season for you.” Any vow was worth having his
volaran stay. Dark Lance had become his highest priority.

Too
big and ugly in Volaran Valley herd.

Surprised,
Marrec stopped and looked at his steed. He was large for a volaran, but any
human would consider him a good-looking flying horse. His hide and wings were
solid black, with each wing feather outlined in silver. He stroked Dark Lance’s
neck. “You
are
beautiful.”

Humans
think so. Not volarans.
He rolled his dark eyes and they looked sly.
You
will show me to the lady of volarans and she will think me beautiful. Then I
will get higher place here. And a mare.

Marrec
laughed shortly. Like master, like volaran. He was considering ways to gain
status and wealth himself. “I’ll do that.” He inhaled deeply. “I’ll introduce
you to the Exotique, but she will be fighting, too.” If she really was for the
Chevaliers.

Lady
inside stables with Thunder and Bastien. Show me now!
Dark Lance’s
tone had taken on a weary stubbornness, warning Marrec it would be wise to
agree.

He
wanted another look at her anyway, that incredible hair, those blue eyes. Two
of the Exotiques had blue eyes. How common was that? Faint curiosity about the
Exotique Terre tickled his mind. “Very well.” But he needed to press his point
one more time. “The best way for us to get you a mare is to take more chances
for honor on the battlefield.”

Dark
Lance shivered, but finally said,
I trust you. We fight well. We will get
higher place.

So
it hadn’t escaped the volaran’s notice that Marrec wasn’t exactly the alpha of
his
herd, either.

“Yes.”
Somehow, yes.

C
lop, clop, clop.

Latecomers
were entering the stable. When they reached Thunder’s stall, a volaran stopped
and a beautiful horse head looked at her. He lifted a wing and Calli’s breath
caught at his loveliness. He appeared to be night made tangible—midnight dark
edged with moonlight.

Thunder
whickered.
Dark Lance.
An image of a sword blade etched with a streaking
volaran came to Calli’s mind.

Dark
Lance whinnied and dipped his head to her.
Come see me.
His voice was
deeper than Thunder’s.

Though
Thunder’s mind hummed with a little irritation, he sidestepped so Calli had
room enough to pass him and Bastien. Gently she touched the soft nose, stroked
Dark Lance.

Beautiful
Lady.
The volaran’s deep voice resonated in her mind.

“Ayes,”
said the man who joined the winged horse, his large, callused hand resting on
Dark Lance’s neck.

“Salut,
Marrec,” Bastien said, moving to stand beside Calli.

“Salut,
Bastien.” His gaze went to her. “Salut, Dama.” He nodded.

She
recognized another Chevalier who’d been in the healing room when she’d
awakened. His leathers were old, with fine cracks and several stains. He wore
an armband of yellow and gray—Lady Hallard’s colors. His face was bony, with
deep-set eyes, a strong jaw and firm lips. Beneath his golden complexion was a
gray tinge that spoke of exhaustion, though nothing else did about this tough,
lean man. He was taller than Bastien and the other man who’d visited.

“Salut,”
she said.

He
turned his head fully to her and she saw more than weariness. Two round circles
of red raised bumps showed on his far cheek.

Bastien
whistled, reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube, offered it to Marrec.

For
a moment, he seemed to hesitate, then his scarred fingers took the tube. He
ducked his head to Bastien. “Merci.”

Beautiful
Lady.
Dark Lance tossed his head.
Beautiful Dark Lance.

Calli
and Bastien laughed and Marrec’s smile was quick and easy, lighting his serious
expression. He ran a hand down his volaran’s neck in a loving stroke that Calli
knew was habitual.

Avanser.
He gestured to
the end of the stables. Calli heard the instruction to Dark Lance easily. The
mind-tone was as caring as his fingers had been. Man and volaran moved down the
stable corridor.

Calli
frowned. She’d noticed that the stalls got incrementally smaller down the line
and Dark Lance was larger than Thunder. She asked Thunder a question in Equine
that was becoming easier with each use.

Low
status,
replied Thunder with a hint of arrogance.

Since
he included both man and volaran in the image, Calli figured the term applied
to both.

Bastien
tapped her on the shoulder and indicated feed sacks and a trough at the back of
the stall. As she helped him mix Thunder’s dinner, Calli wondered about rank
and status and contrasted the clothing and bearing of Marrec with Faucon.

Faucon
was a noble, she was sure. He’d worn finer-grained leathers that looked newer,
and heavier chain mail. His leathers had been dyed, Marrec’s had just been
cured. Faucon had not walked with a winged horse. Probably had someone else
tending it. Calli smiled. His mistake.

A
small whirlwind entered the stable, Alexa, followed by the two amused Circlets.
The little Marshall stomped up to the stall door. “What’s keeping you?” she
asked, and repeated it in Lladranan.

Bastien
started to answer, but she cut him off, addressing Calli. “We have a lot to
cover, especially since Lady Hallard insists that we tell you they want you
married tomorrow evening.”

The
lulling comfort of being around volarans vanished in an instant. Warning bells
rang in Calli’s head. “What did you say?”

7

M
arian stepped up
to the stall door, tsking at Alexa. “Well, that’s crude.”

Alexa
flushed. “I could’ve been cruder.”

“Yes,”
said Jaquar. “Why don’t you be? I think I’d like to know some
exotique
words that might excite my wife.”

Bastien
made a protest that included the word
Lladranan,
and Calli thought he
was demanding they speak so he could understand.

Jaquar
whipped out the small bottle of language potion he’d offered Calli, jiggled it.
Expressions flowed across Bastien’s face: wariness, unwilling fascination. He
held up one finger.

More
discussion—and negotiating. Calli knew horse trading when she heard it, despite
the language. Finally Jaquar frowned, pulled out some big coins—they looked
like real gold—and handed them to Bastien. Bastien pocketed the money and stuck
out his tongue.

The
tiny cork lifted with a little pop. A thread of lavender smoke puffed from the
bottle. Bastien’s eyes widened, Alexa stepped closer, and Calli sidled next to
Thunder, feeling better with strong, warm hors—volaran flesh at her side.

Jaquar
tipped the bottle and a drop of liquid hit Bastien’s tongue. The cork popped
back into the bottle. Bastien swallowed.

He
slid down against the stall side onto the floor, grabbed his head and moaned.

Calli
and Thunder stepped back. She was glad she hadn’t tried the stuff.

Alexa
was suddenly in the stall with them, crouched over Bastien. Calli hadn’t seen
her move. Had she jumped? The stall door came nearly to Alexa’s shoulders.
Surely not.