Protector of the Flight (32 page)

She
rolled her shoulders, shaking off the thought, and decided that there was too
much thinking time. How did Alexa get through it? How did Bastien? Both were
very action oriented.

Marrec’s
mental touch soothed Calli, as if he ran a hand down her back.
Trance.
Follow our exercises.
All three of them—Marrec and Dark Lance and
Sunray—began a measured human-equine chant that slowed her mind; panic kept her
anticipation from turning into fear, lowered her energy level—for now.
Everything was being tucked away, stored, so they could explode into action
when the time came. Images of past fights came to her from the others and she
let them drift and disappear without scrutinizing them. Only one thought stayed
in the back of her mind. This was payment for her new life.

All
too soon, Marrec and she banished the distance magic. Lush summer grass was
shorter here up north, and white-capped mountains scraped the sky. The winged
horses flew down to a patch of land that showed small forms
fighting—Chevaliers, Marshalls and horrors. Adrenaline flooded her, the mist of
her trance-thoughts vanished as if touched by the scorching sun of fear.

We
outnumber them.
Marrec’s jaw was set. He loosened his sword in his scabbard.

Not
by much. There must have been two dozen monsters down there.
Real
slayers and renders and soul-suckers.

Why
don’t we use arrows or throw spears?
It wasn’t something she’d thought of
before, but looked like a real good option now.

They
are bespelled against arrows. Have always been after the first invasion.

Calli’s
palms dampened inside her leather-lined gauntlets; she unsnapped the straps
holding her sword immobile for traveling. Lady Hallard, now ahead of them and
leading a second wave of Chevaliers, drew her sword and screamed a battle cry,
sending her volaran slanting down at a large group of monsters. Faucon had
taken the right side of the battlefield, Alexa and the Marshalls the center.
Marrec followed Lady Hallard. They were only a few minutes behind the first
attack.

The
colors of carnage—red blood, yellow ichor, acid-green splotches, sluggish gray
puddles from twitching severed tentacles—pooled on the ground.

Sing!
commanded
Sunray.

Shield!
The defensive
sphere snapped hard around Marrec and herself. He grinned, showing teeth,
swinging his sword, decapitating a slayer. Swung to his left, fighting two
renders and a soul-sucker. The soul-sucker’s tentacles slid off Marrec’s
Shield.

Good.
Good,
Sunray sent, holding back, like other Shield volarans.

Calli
struggled with horror, with terror, with nausea. She saw a horse-rider pair go
down. Her throat closed.

Closest
local lord,
Sunray said, but his thoughts, too, edged with black fear.
We are too far
into Lladrana.

Calm!
She sent the
emotion…knew it was only the thin skim of her own surface emotion. Everything
deeper was roiling—shock as she saw spines of a slayer nearly penetrate
Marrec’s shield. She used a spurt of pure fear to fling the darts away, killed
a render with them and froze an instant. Only the quick reflexes of a man on
the ground had saved him from
her
missiles!

She
had to think, but panic bubbled up. This wasn’t a thirteen-second ride. This
was a long haul.

Sunray
backwinged, banked. Wobbled. Her emotions were affecting him! She’d lost sight
of Marrec.

Volarans
were on each side of her—Marshall Shields—crowding her, crowding Sunray,
turning them back to the fight where her husband risked his life.

He
still attacked, killed two soul-suckers, sent chunks of them flying.

The
Songs saved her. The strong one coming to her from Marrec, the Shields and
their volarans brushing her mind like soft feathers. Fear diminished slightly
and the trickle of notes became streams of fierce Power, merging into battle
music. Brass harmonics rang in her head, steadied her. She would not run. She
would stand—and fly.

There
was a scream above her. A shadow fell on Marrec, on herself and the two
Shields.

“Fire
dreeth!” yelled the woman on her right…pulled away…drew her baton.

The
long neck of the pterodactyl-like horror snaked. Beak with wicked teeth
snapped. Marrec ducked. His shield took a hard hit that struck Calli on the
chest. She sucked air.
Think!
She had to think. They’d practiced this.

Marrec
cut a slayer in two. Dark Lance angled sideways.

Fire
blackened the corpses around him, ashed a volaran-Chevalier pair.

Calli
fought down a screech. Pushed back grief. Refused to let the last screams of
the volaran and Chevalier echo in her head.

Anger
trickled through her terror, and it was good, cleansing, supporting.

Two
streams of Power—sapphire and gold—flashed from batons to the left and right of
her, hit the fire dreeth. It cried in pain, in fury.

Face
savage, Marrec and Dark Lance shot toward the dreeth’s underbelly, dodged the
spiny tail. Fire breath singed Dark Lance’s outermost wingtip. He screamed,
too, in pain, in defiance.

Showtime.

She
wasn’t thinking now, but listening to the surging Power fueled by the
determination that ruled the battlefield. Calli
grabbed
the remnants of
fire, twisted them, flung Power into them like gunpowder, sparking the flames
like fireworks, turning them back on the dreeth. It shrieked in terror, tried
to backwing.

Marrec,
face grim, ducked under the fiery explosions and ripped the monster from throat
to crotch. Gray-green guts pushed through the breach, glistening twists.

The
dreeth went up like a torch, plummeted.

Other
horrors were killed as it landed. The sound of the impact shuddered through the
air.

Marrec
and Dark Lance whirled, but there were no other dreeths.

Done!
Huge relief
poured from him to her.
Battle over.

Calli
tore her gaze from him, swept the land with a glance. Alexa and Bastien stood
in the middle of the field, themselves surveying the remnants of battle. Alexa
looked grim, but neither of them had wounds. Calli’s breath escaped in little
puffs. “It’s over.”

No
Marshalls’ batons rose from the land—none of them had died. Five swords showed
where Chevaliers had perished, along with their volarans. A horrible ache throbbed
through her entire body. One of her volaran partnering pairs was dead.

Sunray
landed. Dark Lance did, too, but held his left wing awkwardly, away from his
body.

One
of the young Shieldmarshalls—the one with the golden baton—handed Calli a bag. “Volaran
Burn Balm.” Her smile was strained. “Recently developed by the Castle medicas.”

This
Calli could do. She stroked Sunray’s neck, praising him. He stood calmly, a few
twitches of his muscles showing the effects of battle, but mind serene.

She
dismounted, wanting to fling herself in Marrec’s arms, but reckoned that was
too emotional for everyone else. Besides, he was on the far side of Dark Lance,
examining the wing. She kept her show smile on and stiffened her legs, getting
the feel of the uneven ground before she walked around to Dark Lance.

“Not
too bad,” Marrec said.

Dark
Lance shifted and Calli smelled burnt feathers. Her heart pounded. It rose from
the battlefield, too. Dead volarans. Hurt volarans. She’d never thought in her
life that the smell of burnt feathers would forever mean grief.

She
licked her lips, tried her voice as she opened the bag, which she realized was
soul-sucker skin. She couldn’t suppress the quick shudder.

“You
all right?” Marrec’s eyes were dark, in their depths was the lingering heat of
fighting.

“Ayes.”
That was barely audible. She cleared her throat. “Ayes.”

He
nodded, then returned to examining Dark Lance’s wing.

The
bag was filled with a clear gel-like substance. She scooped some into her palm
and onto her fingers.

With
his right hand, Marrec held Dark Lance’s wingtip steady. His left hand closed
over hers. His fingers, too, trembled slightly from the aftermath of battle.
“The feathers are gone, the bone a little scorched, but nothing permanent.” He
pulled his gaze from hers to look down at the wing. “This new stuff should heal
it right up. Especially with a little Power from us.”

Calli
slathered on the ointment. Dark Lance’s wing rippled under her fingers. She
touched bone and they all flinched. She reached for more, but Marrec stayed her
hand. “The cost is dear. Let’s Sing.”

A
grunt came from Alexa as she strode up. Her lips had curved slightly. She
jerked her head at the dreeth. “You are now a wealthy man.”

Marrec’s
breath came out on a shudder.

Alexa
tilted her head at the dreeth. “These don’t burn as well as the big ones, so
you can harvest more. Of course,
my
first dreeth was bigger.” She winked
at Calli, but Calli got images from Alexa that the smaller woman had been just
as scared as Calli was, and more—Alexa had been afoot and certain the dreeth
would crush her to death.

Marrec’s
fingers touched the back of Calli’s hand and the simple comfort of the gesture
had bigger ripples of emotions washing through her. “Let’s Sing,” he said.

He
led her into a simple healing chant. Calli raised her voice with his, steadied
it, let the harmony of the music they made together sink into her. Dark Lance
whuffled. The pain had greatly lessened for him until it was something he
thought wasn’t too bad. Calli reckoned that had Thunder been experiencing the
hurt, he’d be stamping and giving voice to discomfort. But Dark Lance had been
wounded before.

As
had Marrec.

Both
of them considered this injury light.

When
Marrec and she were finished with the third round, they stopped.

People
had gathered and the general murmur was that the wingtip was well tended.
Marrec folded Dark Lance’s wing against his barrel, then he and Calli wiped
their hands on a towel and Calli gave the pouch back to the Shieldmarshall.

Alexa
cleared her throat and something about the noise made Calli stiffen and meet
her eyes, which showed a little regret. “The blooding,” Alexa said.

Calli
had forgotten the blooding. She straightened, every muscle tense. She did
not
want any horror’s blood on her. Too bad.

Marrec
stooped, rose. His hand whipped up, finger yellow with ichor. He dabbed a bit
above Calli’s right eyebrow. It stank of death rotting. Calli swallowed bile,
tightened her throat and stomach, refused the gag reflex.

A
cheer rose, full of satisfaction and Song. It sounded nothing like a rodeo
audience. Calli preferred clapping.

Marrec
wiped his hand on a handkerchief then held her, and she leaned into his
strength.

“How
close are we to home?” she asked.

“We’re
east of the spur. And north.” He whispered against her hair, stirring it until
she tingled.

She
heard what he didn’t say. “Not far enough north.”

“No,
this is one of the southernmost incursions we’ve fought.”

Alexa
turned a little to stare at the white-peaked mountains rising high into the
horizon, frowning. “I’d heard that the horrors could…um…‘rise’ from the ground
the farthest they had penetrated Lladrana, but I’d never seen it before.”

“Ayes,”
said Lady Hallard. “I think we fought in this place pretty soon after we
discovered the fence posts were falling.” Her expression hardened. “We must
ensure that the horrors can never penetrate any farther south.” After another
sweeping study of the battlefield, she said, “As I recall, the previous
invasion was worse, and we lost more people.” She stared at the dreeth. “Though
we didn’t have any dreeths, let alone a fire dreeth.” Slapping her gauntlets
against her leg, she looked at Calli and Marrec and said, “I have a suspicion
that the dreeth was for you. That all of this was for you.”

Marrec
seemed to turn to rock against her. “What do you mean?”

23

“R
etrousse,”
Marrec said. “A place where the monsters were conjured
to,
not tramping
over the border themselves.”

Looking
at the solid range of mountains to the north, Calli said, “No chance of that.
No pass.”

“No
pass,” Alexa said at the same time.

Thealia
said, “This is the first retrousse ground battle—where the horrors were
magically sent to a place that had been the stage of a previous battle—we’ve
had since the first Exotique—” she nodded at Alexa “—came. That the dreeth—a
horror we haven’t seen lately—manifested over you, on the left wing of the
battle, not in the middle of the field. And this invasion was within a few
minutes of our Chevalier Exotique receiving her reins.”