Protector of the Flight. Robin D. Owens

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      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 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.

      Jaquar looked at Calli and Thunder. “I’m opening the door to retrieve and examine Bastien.”

      Keeping a hand on Thunder, who was only slightly disturbed, Calli nodded. Her mind was with Thunder’s. She could keep him from fear.

      The door opened soundlessly, and Jaquar, Alexa and Marian dragged Bastien out. He tried to move himself.

      With a whoosh, a large hawk swooped into the stables. It lit on Bastien’s head.

      “She says it’s his wild magic that makes him react so,” Alexa said.

      She? Who?

      Thunder stepped forward until he was nearly out of his stall and into the crowded corridor. Feycoocu.