Cast In Flight

“We dream smaller dreams,” Teela continued. “Nightshade is being reminded, in a way most of us will never be, of what he’s lost. No; of what he surrendered. It is not comfortable. And Annarion is coming face-to-face with that loss, as well. The brother of his memories is not the Nightshade of today.

“But it’s possible that enough of what Nightshade once was remains, somehow; Annarion believes that.”

“You don’t.”

“No, kitling, I don’t. My cohort accepts me because I was their equal, their companion. I was as helpless as they were, and was given as much choice as children generally are in my own future. They didn’t dream of me.”

“They did,” was Kaylin’s soft reply. “Terrano came for you. They were waiting.”

Teela’s smile was pained but genuine. “They didn’t dream of me the way Annarion dreamed of his brother. The way any of us dreamed of our brothers,” she added, remembering. “Annarion practically worshipped Nightshade in his youth. He knew that Nightshade would not abandon him; knew as well of the bitter, bitter fights between Nightshade and his father. Those fights were not enough to free Annarion, of course; Nightshade was much younger then, and much less powerful.

“Annarion isn’t disappointed because Nightshade is outcaste. The Barrani are largely political when it comes to that designation, and some of our historical outcastes have been figures of great drama, great heroics. No, it’s what he chose to make of his life, of the fief of Nightshade and even, in the end, of you. You’re the harshest divide because Annarion actually knows you. He knows that you freed them—us, really—and that you risked your life, multiple times, to do so.

“He knows about your work with the foundlings. He knows about your work with the midwives. And he knows that being a Hawk isn’t just a job for you; it’s a vocation. He knows that you’re Chosen,” she added. “He looks at you, and sees someone who is mortal, but who is trying, constantly, to be more than the sum of her parts.

“And he knows that had his brother asked you, you would have done what you could to help.”

“Asked me?”

“If Nightshade had told you about Annarion, if he had told you that he suspected Annarion was still alive, if he had told you that so much of his adult life involved attempts to reach him.”

“I’m...not sure.”

“Ah. A pity. Your opinion is noted.”

“I mean it, Teela.”

“I’m certain you do. In this, however, I concur with Annarion. Tain?”

Tain shrugged. “Not that I care one way or the other, but Teela’s right.”

“You have to say that—you’re her partner.”

Moran, minding her own business until now, jumped in. “I’m not her partner, and I agree with Teela’s observations.”

“Helping orphans and mothers is not the same as helping a fieflord.”

Teela’s eyes were green. She was both amused and relaxed. “Kitling,” she said fondly, “there is a reason that people actually like you. To go back to my previous comments about daydreams and harsh reality, you want to be helpful. To be kind. You have learned from the things that have hurt you—but you haven’t learned the same lessons that either Nightshade or I learned.”

“When Nightshade was young, there was no Elantra.”

“No.”

“And mortals were pets. Or slaves.” Or worse.

Teela nodded.

“Mandoran still talks about us as if we’re trained rats.”

“Mandoran enjoys baiting Dragons,” Tain pointed out. “If you have to choose a Barrani example of wisdom, look anywhere else.”

Bellusdeo snickered.

“My point is, Nightshade didn’t make my choices. And Annarion wouldn’t have made them either. Whatever he’s done, it’s what the Barrani of that time would have done.”

“Yes. But Annarion doesn’t see you as mortal, not really. He sees you as Chosen, but more. You held what remained of his Name. Of all of their Names. Only mine was absent. And you returned that knowledge without ever absorbing it first. You did what only the Consort could have done. It is difficult for the rest of them. They’re not what they were, and they know it.

“But it’s that flexibility that allows the difference in the way Mandoran views you and the way Annarion does.”

“He’s expecting too much from his brother.”

“Of course. But, kitling, would you rather he expected too little?”

* * *

She had no answer to that. Breakfast finished; the Moran escort formed up: Bellusdeo, Teela, Tain, Kaylin. Severn didn’t show up at the front door. The familiar lounged, as he usually did, across Kaylin’s shoulders.

Only when they were at the halfway point between Helen and the Halls of Law did she answer Teela’s question. “...I think so.”

“You would rather he had lower expectations?”

She nodded, pensive. “It’s the expectations that are killing him. Helen says he’s very unhappy. I know Nightshade’s unhappy as well, but in some ways I kind of feel like he’s earned some of that. I like Annarion. I hate to see him so miserable.”

The usual rejoinder failed to emerge, and Kaylin remembered that Mandoran was stuck in a wall in the basement somewhere.

* * *

Four city blocks from the Halls of Law, the familiar suddenly stiffened. He sat bolt upright, and this time, he spread a transparent wing across Kaylin’s eyes.

“Moran!”

Moran moved instantly. She also tried to lift her wings, and failed with the injured one. It didn’t 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, sir.”

“He did it on his own?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Invisible Aerians. Shadow nets.”

“Moran said—” She reddened, and corrected herself. “Sergeant Carafel said that we’ve got no proof they meant to kill her.” She hesitated, and then added, “It’s possible the net was meant to slow the Dragon down. Last time—”

“I am aware of what occurred.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. Have the Barrani thoroughly inspect the injured before they are relayed.”

“Why don’t we just send them to the cells? We can offer medical help there if it’s required.”

“What a clever, intelligent idea. I’m certain it’s one that would never have occurred to any of your commanding officers on their own.”

Kaylin kissed corporal goodbye for another promotion cycle.

“Join the Barrani in their inspection,” he continued. “If you notice anything out of the ordinary, report it immediately. To me,” he added.

Marcus was not going to like that.

* * *

Severn met her in the office as she headed to the front doors, and fell in beside her. She filled him in as she jogged. He stopped to unwind his weapon chain. When spinning, it was proof against a lot of magic. Among other things. He caught up as she hit the streets. The Barrani had clearly been alerted by mirror before she’d made it down the Tower stairs. Teela was there, as was another of the human women—Rakkia. Tain and Rakkia’s partner stood back, armed and silent.

Teela met Kaylin’s eyes, shook her head slightly. Rakkia said, more pragmatically, “I see nothing.” She stepped out of the way as Kaylin approached the Aerians and stopped.

“What—what did you do?” she whispered at her familiar. She might have shouted, but for the moment, shock had robbed her voice of strength.

The familiar crooned. He set a wing, gentle this time, against her eyes.

She saw nothing at all out of the ordinary. No Shadow. No weird nets. No strange armor. But she saw normal wings. The familiar lowered his wing, and she saw very damaged wings. She’d seen Aerian wings take injury before. This was nothing like that.

“Kitling.”

Ignoring this, she poked the familiar, who lifted his wing again, sighing loudly enough to tickle her ear. The familiar then lowered his wing as she approached the Aerians. They were male, and given their build, younger than most of the Aerian Hawks; they hadn’t developed the training muscles the Hawks had. They were shades of brown, paler than Clint, and their eyes were decidedly blue, but no surprise there.

They were conscious, but mostly silent, except for weeping. The weeping made them seem younger than they probably were; they huddled together in pain. Or in terror. She wanted them to be terrified for one long minute. She was certain that the net they’d carried would have done Bellusdeo or Moran no good whatsoever.

But she’d always had a problem with tears.

“They’ve spoken some Aerian.”

“Anything intelligible?”

“Yes and no.” She glanced at the Aerians who were almost literally hovering on the periphery of a wide circle. “They’re terrified. They’re begging us not to take their wings. More or less. I didn’t understand the last phrase. Clint translated.”

Kaylin cringed.

“Half the Hawks are disgusted.” By which she meant the Aerian Hawks, because the Barrani Hawks were clearly all disgusted. “Are they clean?”

Kaylin hesitated.

“You’d better be certain they’ve got no magic on them,” Teela said. “And soon. The Hawklord is probably going to descend any minute now, and he’s not in the mood to have to wait for answers.”

“He told me to report to him directly if there was a problem.”

“Yes. Directly will be to his face in probably three minutes or less.”

* * *

Kaylin took advantage of the three minutes, focusing on her work. She did find time to utter a loud Leontine phrase, but that was as natural as breathing. The familiar squawked at her, and she sighed. “Yes, please.”

He obligingly lifted one wing in what was almost a caress. Or a sympathetic pat on the head. He covered only one eye. She looked through both, closing one or the other as it became necessary.

In winged view, the Aerians looked normal. They were obviously in some pain, but given what they had probably been attempting, she considered that deserved. It was the unwinged view that was disturbing. They were missing feathers. They were missing some essential parts of their winged anatomy. She didn’t know very much about the anatomy of wings, but these ones didn’t appear to be recently injured. There’s no way they could have flown with them. “Clint.”

He came to her, wary now. She hated it. She understood it—he’d made it perfectly clear—but she hated it. It made her aware of the vast gulf that separated them; the Hawk they wore wasn’t enough to bridge it. Not today.

“Can they fly?”

He looked at the ruins of their wings. “In an emergency, they could land,” he finally said. “They cannot fly.” But his expression was shuttered; it was wrong. There was pity, yes, but something else, as well.

She studied their wings through the wing of the familiar. She looked at the feathers, the ridges of their wings, the things that were missing in this world. She turned to look back at Clint; he looked the same when viewed through either eye.

Frowning, she asked, “Clint—could they ever fly?”

“...I’m not a doctor. But no. No, I don’t think so.”

Kaylin glanced up at Teela. “I wish Mandoran were here.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Tain snapped. He might have said more, but Teela turned to look at him, and he fell silent. If it was a grudging silence, it didn’t matter.

“I believe he sees what you see. It’s not, however, standard magic.”

Bellusdeo, silent until then, said, “It is Shadow magic.”

* * *

Teela was right. The Hawklord landed five seconds later. He barely glanced at Teela, but did demand a report. The Barrani Hawk’s voice was toneless as she described the events she’d personally seen. Since she’d more or less seen nothing until the familiar had taken to the sky, her part was pretty simple. But the Aerians had appeared shortly thereafter, struggling to stay aloft, all thoughts of possible assassination or capture forgotten in their desperation to touch down the right way.

The Hawklord approached them.

The two huddled together like frightened children. “How,” he demanded, “were you able to fly?” He spoke in Aerian, his voice a crack of brief thunder. His eyes were blue; they matched the eyes of his prisoners.

The prisoners remained silent, their wings—what remained of them—drawn tightly to their backs in either fear or deference. Or both, since one was often a product of the other. It was clear that they had no intention of answering.

“What is your flight?”

Silence again. Other Aerians had joined the Hawks on the ground, and one or two were looking at the prisoners the way Clint had—but not all of them. Interesting. Clint knew, or thought he knew. But so did the Hawklord. She wondered how political this was all going to get.

“Are they a threat in their present condition?” the Hawklord demanded. The general consensus among those who could detect telltale traces of magic was no. The Hawklord therefore turned to Kaylin, blue-eyed, almost quivering with what Kaylin assumed was rage. She had never seen his wings so combat ready, so rigid, as they were now. No wonder the two men were terrified.

Kaylin said, “I think they’re safe.”

The familiar whiffled.

“Is that a yes or a no?” she asked him as quietly as she could, and with no hope at all that it would go unnoticed.

“You are hesitating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

The familiar lowered his wing and hissed. He was laughing.

“I don’t understand what I’m seeing,” Kaylin began. “But...you know how the familiar’s wing works, right? Well, according to what I’m seeing through his wing...there’s nothing wrong with the wings of these Aerians.”

“And as a healer?”

Chapter 7

Kaylin blinked. This was not a subject that came up often, and never in full view of the rank and file, unless the only rank and file present was Kaylin herself. She swallowed. She looked at the terrified Aerians and had no desire at all to touch them.

“Can you ascertain whether or not what you see is relevant to us?”

She swallowed.

“Private.”

Rolling up her sleeve, she exposed the ancient bracer that had been a gift—a dire, mandatory gift—from the Imperial Court years ago. She wasn’t, in theory, allowed to take it off. In practice, it inhibited the use of the magic that had become hers when the marks that covered so much of her skin had first appeared.

The Emperor who had issued the orders was in the Imperial Palace. The man who was responsible for her livelihood was standing a couple of feet away, wings spread and eyes a study in fury. She took the bracer off. Severn took it before she could toss it over her shoulder.

The captive Aerians regarded her with both hostility and fear. At the moment, she deserved it. She wondered if this was how the Tha’alani felt. Healing was not supposed to be invasive or unwanted.

Clint came with her, as did Severn; weapons were leveled at the Aerian prisoners, the warning in their presence clear, but unspoken.

She reached out and very gently placed a hand on the forehead of the slightly older man. His wings were as they appeared through normal vision. They weren’t the result of an old injury. They were his body’s actual shape.

Kaylin couldn’t give sight to the blind or hearing to the deaf, unless either condition was caused by an injury that had occurred fairly recently. She withdrew her hand and touched the second man, who was staring up at her in misery. Like the first man’s, his wings were complete in their damaged form.

These two hadn’t flown in a long time, if ever. Until today.

“They’re clean.” She turned to the Dragon. “Whatever you sense, I don’t. Shadow?”

“Not now, no. But it was faintly tangible when they were invisible.” Her eyes were a very vivid orange; they hadn’t yet descended into red, but it was a close thing. Bellusdeo’s experience with Gilbert had softened some of the edge of her hatred of Shadow—but it was a pretty hard edge, and the blunting wasn’t terribly obvious at the moment.

“Is it possible that the Shadow formed wings?”

“Clearly. You think the wings are still present.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand how. Maybe it’s an afterimage, an aftereffect.”

“Lord Bellusdeo.” The Hawklord’s terse voice interrupted what might have become a rather long-winded theoretical magic discussion. “Do you feel that the threat of Shadow incursion is present? The Halls are very heavily protected against magic we understand, but they are not a Tower otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t take the risk,” Bellusdeo replied in Elantran. “Would you have any objections if I roasted them for the sake of certainty?”

“Yes. You consider it an actual risk?”

“I consider it a theoretical risk. Shadow magic is chaotic and unpredictable; we could defend against much of it, but it’s always more inventive when it pairs itself with the living.” She looked vaguely disgusted. She didn’t, however, breathe fire.

The Hawklord appeared to be considering a matrix of unpleasant possibilities. “Very well. Take them to the holding cells.”

* * *

“Weren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary?” Teela asked the gold Dragon once the Hawklord was safely out of hearing range.

“I considered this to be the greater danger to Moran,” Bellusdeo replied. “Also, I’m not on the payroll.”