Protector of the Flight - Robin D. Owens

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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.

      By 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.

      Clop, 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

      Marian stepped up to

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