LITMIR.BIZ

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matter. Kaylin threw her arms around the Aerian’s waist.

      Teela drew her sword, and Bellusdeo looked up. The Dragon said, “I’m running out of inexpensive clothing, and I don’t want to work at the Halls in full court regalia.”

      “Can you see them?”

      The Dragon shook her head. “How many?”

      “Three, I think. They’re all Aerians, but...but they look funny.”

      “Funny how?”

      Kaylin cursed in Leontine. The three looked down on the city streets, and their formation—and they had been flying in formation—changed. “You know those nets you dropped?” she asked Moran.

      “Yes. I need to breathe,” she added.

      “They’re flying with something that looks like those nets. You can’t see them?”

      Bellusdeo growled. In Leontine. She said something sharp, harsh and syllabic without speaking actual language. The hair on Kaylin’s arms and neck stood on end. Magic.

      “They’re not those nets,” Bellusdeo said. “We’ve got to run.”

      “What are they?”

      “Shadow,” the Dragon said.

      * * *

      It was impossible to run while looking up. It was impossible to run while holding on to someone’s waist, if that someone wasn’t under the age of two. Kaylin shifted her grip on Moran, holding her hand rather than her torso. She made it a block before she realized that the net itself had elongated as the Aerians had moved. That kind of precision flight-in-place was difficult. Whoever the three were, they were damn good.

      She could see that Clint was on the door with Tanner; she could see that the doors were open.

      And she could see that the net itself was going to fall regardless. Bellusdeo had said it was Shadow, somehow. It didn’t seem to be sentient, or at least it didn’t seem to be the type of Shadow that would consume the Aerians holding it.

      But those Aerians, she saw now, were wearing some of that Shadow across their arms and chests, as if it were armor.

      “Bellusdeo, fly?” she asked of the golden Dragon.

      “Run.”

      The small dragon pushed off Kaylin’s shoulders; the minute he did so, she lost all visual impressions of the Aerians and their dark, dark net, as he hadn’t left his wing behind. She could, however, see him. He squawked.

      Kaylin let go of Moran’s hand. Without the small dragon, she had no protection against magic to offer, and Moran, wingless, could still run.

      “What is he going to do?” Moran shouted as she sprinted toward the doors of the Halls, and the theoretical safety they provided.

      “Hells if I know!” Kaylin shouted back. Teela could outpace her, as could Tain. Bellusdeo deliberately pulled up the rear, and Kaylin let her. She was displaced, yes—but she was a Dragon. A single Dragon was more than a match for anything the Barrani could do; Kaylin suspected she was more than a match for anything Shadow-enhanced invisible Aerians could do, as well.

      She hoped.

      Clint and Tanner let them in; Tanner headed in after them. “What’s going on?” he demanded—of Kaylin, of course.

      “We’ve got invisible assassins,” Kaylin replied. “Aerians. Three, in the air.” She started to add more, but was cut off by the very audible sound of screaming. This was fine, because the very audible screaming caught Tanner’s attention in a stranglehold, and he headed back out.

      Clint was cursing in Aerian. “Sergeant!”

      To Kaylin’s surprise, Moran turned immediately.

      “We’ve got Aerians in trouble.” He pointed.

      Two of the three Aerians were visible. And they appeared to be injured enough that flight was causing them difficulty. The third, however, was nowhere in sight.

      Moran, tight-lipped and incredibly grim, watched them falter. “It’s Caste Court business,” she said, voice flat and hard.

      Clint opened his mouth. Closed it.

      “I mean it, Clint. You call out the Hawks to aid in any way, and you’re interfering in Caste Court politics—which is far, far above your pay grade.” She looked out the open doors, and added softly, “And if you bring them in here, you’ll probably be causing a breach of integrity in our security that will bust you down to an even lower pay grade.”

      Tanner, however, had done whatever it was that the guards on door did when they needed backup right now. Aerians filled the sky directly in front of the Halls; they saw immediately what Clint had seen.

      Moran bowed her head in resignation. “Private. Lord Bellusdeo.”

      “Infirmary?” the Dragon asked.

      “Yes. I’m sorry.”

      “I’m not,” the Dragon replied. “There are two possibilities here. One: they did not consent to the use to which they were put. Two: they did. I’ll agree with you on one thing, though: I wouldn’t have them brought into the Halls. You might want to speak to whoever’s in charge. Now.”

      * * *

      Moran went to the infirmary. What she’d said to Clint was true, and it was all steel, all iron will. There had been anger in it. But the Hawks had flown to the aid of the Aerians, and the Aerians had been injured; they would bring them—bar interference—to Moran.

      And Moran, Kaylin understood, would hold her nose and help. It wasn’t her job. The infirmary was for Hawks, not random civilians of any particular race or political stripe.

      “I don’t see why we have to help them when they were trying to kill you.”

      “We don’t know that,” Moran said, voice stiff. “The rest of the Hawks didn’t see what you saw. Hells, I didn’t see it, either. They saw injured Aerians—”

      “Who appeared out of nowhere?”

      “Carrying Shadow nets as an act of benevolence and aid,” Teela added, with just as much sarcasm as Kaylin felt.

      “I’m not sure the nets were meant for me.” Moran cast a guilty glance at Bellusdeo. It bounced off.

      “I’ll be back,” Kaylin told them.

      “Where are you going?”

      “Hawklord.”

      * * *

      The Tower doors were open by the time Kaylin had run up the stairs, which was unusual but appreciated. The Hawklord was standing in the Tower; the Tower’s aperture opened to morning sky. Even from the door, Kaylin could see Aerians flying in numbers too great to be simple patrols.

      She saluted as she entered and came to stiff, almost vibrating, attention.

      “What,” he asked, hierarchical preamble forgotten, “has happened?” He didn’t say what did you do this time, but his tone—and his glare—implied it. He didn’t give her permission to relax her stance, and she considered remaining at attention, but he sounded annoyed and very tired.

      She told him as concisely as she could, staring at a spot just past his left shoulder.

      “...I see. I believe you have a visitor,” he added.

      The familiar came fluttering down through the open aperture to land more or less on her shoulder.

      “Did you have something to do with the current emergency?” the Hawklord asked the small dragon. The small dragon huffed, squawked and settled.

      “That’s a yes,” Kaylin translated.

      “Did you ask him to intervene?”

      “No,

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