Keepers of the Flame. Robin D. Owens

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СКАЧАТЬ Sevair looked at the sundial affixed to a wall. “We’re not too late.”

      Which told Bri that he’d arrived at their suite very early, probably calculating that it would take quite a while to get them moving. Clever man.

      “And arriving by volaran will be impressive,” Calli said.

      His smile returned. “Indeed.”

      The volaran had been equipped with a long modified western saddle that would carry two. Sevair swung onto the flying horse with ease. Bri handed her bag to Calli then mounted, too. The light robe scrunched high above her knees.

      “Your sister is wearing the right tabard for flying,” Sevair said. He took the pack from Calli and examined it. “Odd cloth.”

      “Yes.”

      “Something from the Exotique Terre machines. Good craftsmanship. Excellent design.”

      “It’s, um, magical.” She tapped the panels. “These will capture the sun’s power and give it to my toys.”

      “Amazing.”

      He strapped her bag onto Mud. The volaran craned her neck to sniff at it. Sounds and a couple of images flickered to Bri, but she didn’t catch the details.

      Calli chuckled. “Mud says your bag smells of many interesting scents.”

      “I’m glad she likes it.”

      Calli’s hand grabbed Bri’s. “We’re only two miles away.”

      Bri stared down at Calli. “I’ve been in places where two miles away is like another dimension. I reckon this is one of them.”

      Flushing, Calli nodded. “Ayes.” She held out a small sphere. “A crystal ball for you.” Her mouth twisted. “Think of it as a cell phone programmed to call any Exotique. We all have one.”

      “Thanks.” Bri took the inch-sized sphere. It was warm in her hands. Naturally, or from Calli’s body heat? Bri started to pocket it, realized she wasn’t wearing her jeans.

      “Here.” Sevair’s large, calloused hand slid across her thigh and sent tingles through her. Now that she thought of it, he smelled good too. But he was holding fabric of her tunic apart and she saw a large pocket.

      “Merci,” she said.

      He clicked his tongue and the volaran trotted to the center of the courtyard. Sevair braced.

      Large wings opened, lifted, and they were off the ground and up, up, up!

      They were flying! The sheer exhilaration of it, of zooming through the air was like a fabulous, fantastic dream.

      As soon as the initial glee wore off, Bri was inundated with Song. Loud, somehow horsey-beats—clip, clip, clop—and brass came from Mud, along with an occasional flat note reminding Bri of a squelching footstep in wet earth.

      Then there was the Song of the man behind her. Now that the only natural sound was air rushing by her, she heard it, thought she heard his steady heartbeat—a little rapid as her own must be—but strong and even. To her surprise she didn’t just get a few notes from him, but a long, streaming melody, and she liked the tune. Definitely intriguing. Strong, stable but with an unexpected intricate twine of notes repeating at well spaced intervals, changing minutely each time. As life changed the man?

      Personal Songs must change as an individual did. If so, her pattern must be shot to hell, and Elizabeth’s, too. She chuckled deep in her throat; the arms around her tightened and glancing back she thought she saw another smile.

      Mud was flying slowly. Stretching out her moments of glory? The road from the Castle and its walls to the city of Castleton, also encircled by stout walls, was steep downward, and Mud had hardly dropped. Instead she circled over the city.

      “A tour by air,” Sevair said. His whisper puffed warm air by Bri’s right ear. “Fabulous.”

      Pride rang in his Song, too, a gleaming silver note. Dedication, a repeating theme of a cadence that reminded Bri of deep stone-like tones, like bedrock singing. What a fancy! But where better to explore fancies than atop a flying horse?

      “Lower, please,” Sevair said loudly.

      Bri saw rooftops of red tile and gray and blue slate. Some buildings were three stories, a few four, and only one was five.

      Masif pointed to it. “The Guildhall.” Again that silver bell chime from his Song.

      As they circled down, Bri saw the part nearest the Castle, probably the oldest part, was jumbled on each side of a very thick gatehouse that sent out equally thick walk-ways and occasional towers along the walls. Toward the center, the city became more orderly, with houses surrounding parklike squares or circles. Commercial districts surrounded stone courtyards and pumps or fountains. A small stream threaded through the city, and the walls appeared newer and even stronger around the lower third of the city. She thought she could see where an old wall might have been.

      Mud heaved a sigh Bri both heard telepathically and felt beneath her. She got the picture. Time to descend. Even the duty-bound Sevair behind her seemed reluctant; she wondered if he ever allowed himself to play.

      Images came to her mind, another volaran, two, near Sevair—the winged horse’s projections.

      Sevair replied with an image of roomy stalls with a feed trough full of hay and grain.

      Bri realized negotiations were taking place and was amused and interested.

      Mud showed Sevair dressed in Chevalier leathers with a raised sword. Flying down to a battlefield. Yellow and black and gray things Bri couldn’t quite discern but which made shivers crawl up her spine were fighting with humans and volarans.

      “Ttho!” His negative rang in her mind, must have carried to others. He showed himself dressed in rich pants and shirt, with tabard, flying to other towns and cities.

      Whickering in satisfaction, Mud dropped down to the courtyard, and she sent one last vision—of her throat opening and Song flowing from it to other volarans. Bri knew the image and the Song—Mud would tell others that Sevair wanted her kind, would care for them well, would not be fighting. He’d be flying for transportation to other fascinating places. The volaran added a picture of Bri at the end.

      Bri laughed.

      They landed in what appeared to be the town square, though it was a long, cobbled rectangle. People stood on all sides, looking at her.

      Sevair dismounted and bowed.

      She was reluctant to get off the winged steed, and Sevair reached up, put his big hands around her waist and lifted her down with ease. Her eyes met his and she saw he was very serious again. As always.

      His fingers slid down to hers, then he lifted her hand with his in a gesture of triumph. “This is Bri Drystan who saved widow Marchand’s boy last night and healed all who were sick of the Dark disease. Our Exotique Medica!”

      Cheers rose from the square. Bri was surrounded by happy faces. Tears stung. She’d known gratitude before, but it usually came from an individual, not a crowd. Awesome.

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