“Does it?”
Mace stepped forward, dropping his shape to become smoke and lightning, and those people who hadn’t left when he arrived gasped. The battler reached out with black tendrils, one to Solie, one to Heyou, and one to Galway himself. It felt like a satin-covered rope, thin but strong, and at its touch the trapper felt something twist inside of him. His senses doubled, and for a brief moment he felt something that was him go into Solie. An essence that he somehow knew was Heyou joined it, and inside her it changed to match his. Galway had a startled moment of feeling as though he’d been duplicated, and then that feeling was replaced by a sudden sensation of concern that the wrong choice had been made, along with an underlying determination to guard and protect Solie that he doubted would ever go away or fade. None of it came from him, though.
Galway’s eyes widened. “Am I feeling you?” he asked Heyou.
The battler nodded. “Yeah. A master can almost always feel their sylph, same as we feel all of you. I can tone it down, though, once I figure out how.” He looked up at Mace, who returned to his human form. With a nod to Solie, the big sylph went out, having never looked at the man to whom he’d given Heyou. Galway wasn’t sure he approved.
Heyou frowned as if wondering the same thing. “Mace said he always hit his master with his hate aura ’cause he hated him, and so that it would drown out his master knowing what he really felt. I won’t do that to you, though.”
“I’d hope not,” Solie said.
“You won’t have to.” Galway clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You can feed from me now, correct?”
“Yeah. You won’t really feel it, though. Leastways, Solie never does. Ril says Leon could tell sometimes, but Leon’s weird.” Solie made as if she was going to smack him, and Heyou ducked, grinning.
Galway laughed. “Well, you’ll have to let me know when you take a nibble, and I’ll see if I can feel it.” He led both Solie and Heyou out, then, the other people staring curiously as they went. The rumors would be flying, he knew. Heyou hadn’t tried to hide what he’d asked, and really there was no reason he should have. The battlers were as much a part of the Community as anyone else.
He’d have to stick around a few more days, Galway decided, now that he knew he could go home after all. He wanted to explore this new relationship and make sure he and Heyou were both comfortable with it before he left. He’d definitely have to come back in the spring, maybe bring the homestead with him, once the Community was moved and his family would be an asset instead of a drain on their resources.
Happy, Heyou walked between him and Solie. Galway could feel the boy’s pleasure and it was nice. A little odd, but good. He was pretty sure he was going to like this.
King Alcor stood watching on the battlements of his castle, Thrall at his back, as the battlers and their masters were boarding the air ship. Jasar went first, his mouth tight and his spine stiff. Shield padded at his side, head low to the ground and snarling. Behind him, three of Alcor’s generals followed, each with his own battler. Alcor had never bothered to learn the creatures’ names.
One of the sylphs was a hunched thing in a filthy robe, possessed of arms tipped with foot-long claws instead of fingers. Its claws were held up before it like those of a praying mantis, and it started at every sudden noise. Its face was oval, its mouth a round shape overstuffed with fangs jutting out in every direction. The second battler was a golden beast like a great cat, its body sinewy and corded with muscle, its eyes a vividly insane green. The third was a giant spider, walking on a dozen legs instead of six, and with a hundred eyes on its face above its massive fangs.
All three hated, as did Thrall, and their loathing made Alcor’s stomach roll and hurt. The pain had been there for years, worse when he was stressed, and no matter how often the healers fixed it, when the stress came back, so did the pain. It had returned when his son was killed, and it was back again now.
The king wasn’t sure how much of what Jasar had told him was true, but his inclination was to believe the bulk of his report, though that thought put him in a rage. Leon had betrayed him! How much Jasar had to do with it, Alcor didn’t know, but he did know this much was true: his strongest battle-sylph master had turned traitor. And for what? For bribes from a group of pirates he’d been told were dealt with? Apparently they were larger and more organized than Leon had intimated—or that Jasar had seen from his hiding place on the air ship. The courtier’s cowardice was the one thing about which Alcor had no doubts. It was part of the reason he’d been willing to give him a battler in the first place. Jasar would never have the intelligence or courage to really use one. He never would have lost Mace if he’d dared stay close enough to see Leon’s actions.
The four battlers had their orders, though, and even if Jasar was planning to hide during this fight, that still left three sylphs not bound to cowards. They would kill every last one of those pirates, including the girl. Her battler wouldn’t be able to stand up to four, and even if Leon was there, they would still be outnumbered. Ril would be killed and the traitor brought back. Leon would be broken on the rack and whatever was left put in a cage before the castle gates for everyone to watch die. Alcor was in a bad enough mood that he wanted a scapegoat.
Whichever of the generals failed to bring him back would take his place in that cage, and they knew it. Alcor saw the determination on their faces, and he nodded grimly. They wouldn’t fail him.
After the battlers boarded, the ordinary soldiers followed. The pirates would likely try to run, and swordsmen and archers would be needed to hunt the last of them down. Battlers were good for mass destruction, but not strategy. As rumors of the betrayal and stolen battler were moving through the castle and city, Alcor must see them all crushed. Then he could focus on his other problems…like finding a replacement for his lost heir.
His stomach twisted again, acid eating through it, and he turned before the air ship departed, striding back into the warmth of the castle while shouting for a healer. Thrall followed, as wordless as ever.
He’d never imagined it was possible, but Ril reached the Community just under five hours after he left Leon’s manor, cutting a twenty-hour journey by three-quarters. Circumstances demanded he do everything he could in order to gain them time. Lizzy rode on his back all the way, enjoying the wind on her face and the sensations of flight. The others stayed inside him, the younger girls somewhat calmer but still nearly more than their father could handle.
A lot of the heavy snow covering the hive and that which they’d had to dig through was now gone, melted or blown away by sylphs, and Ril saw people outside as dusk approached. They were pointing up at him. He labored up to the cliff, exhausted. Battlers weren’t really made to carry loads, and he’d pushed himself beyond endurance to return as fast as he could. Still, he dropped down as lightly as he could, shifting to human form and letting the shrieking girls tumble out onto the ground.
Lizzy rolled, giggling, and rose to her feet as he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping. “Ril!” she shouted. She and her father knelt on either side of him as Betha struggled to round up the younger girls. “Ril,” Lizzy wailed, her hands warm on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Go help your mother,” Leon ordered. The girl looked at him fearfully and hurried over to Betha. She kept looking back, though—Ril saw it before he had to close his eyes. He was utterly drained.
Leon pulled him close. “Take whatever you need,” he said, and lifted him in his arms, carrying him through the cold air to the stairwell. Ril let himself be conveyed, his head resting against Leon’s chest as he drank the man’s energy—drank deep—and tried to remember that there were no bonds holding him back anymore, and he could kill him by drinking too much. He didn’t know where the limit was, though, and finally stopped himself.
He was taken to the queen’s audience chamber, the Petrule family either left behind or following, he wasn’t sure which. “What happened?” he heard Solie shrill as he was laid upon something soft. Or soft en
ough—straw poked at him through the blanket covering the bale. He felt the other two battlers close by and relaxed. Everyone was safe.
“He got us here in an afternoon,” Leon told the queen. “He shouldn’t have flown so fast, but we had to warn you. The king has a ship with four battlers on it. They have to be coming here. We need to be ready.”
A small hand stroked Ril’s cheek, and Solie whispered his name. “Drink my energy. Please.”
Ril blinked at her sleepily and reached up, gently touching her face. Her energy was sweet, light. He drew it in, but he didn’t know how much she could spare and forced himself to stop.
“I’m the queen.” She smiled. “You can’t hurt me.”
Leon knelt beside her. “Come on, Ril.”
“I don’t want to kill either of you,” he whispered. “I might.”
He was so tired. Even alone he shouldn’t have been able to make the trip that fast, but the queen needed him. He would have killed himself for her. Only, that would mean he’d never see Lizzy again…
Mace leaned over him. “You think too often in extremes. Drink. I’ll stop you if you start to take too much.”
Ril sighed and drank, drawing from both: Solie sweet and light, Leon heavy and warm. They filled and restored him, and finally he was able to rest, sleeping in the queen’s chambers while he recovered his strength for the battle to come. Lizzy crept in to sit with him, but he didn’t know. He just dreamt of her, and that was enough.
Chapter Twenty-seven
They gathered in one of the larger rooms that hadn’t been allocated yet, light provided by a sunset shining through a large window cut into one wall and supplemented by Ash.
The glass in the window was oddly swirled in shape, making the image of the plains outside fluctuate and ripple any time a viewer changed their position. Leon found it nauseating as he sat down at the stone table. Ril had taken more than he ever had, from him and Solie both, and the girl was equally pale as she took her place at the head of the table. Leon hadn’t wanted to leave his battler, but Ril needed the sleep, and the rest of them had to plan. Lizzy would watch over him. Leon was sure she would have insisted even if he hadn’t suggested it.
The rest of the family was in the eating area, under the care of the Widow Blackwell. He never should have brought them, he decided guiltily—but if he hadn’t, they wouldn’t have had any warning. Four battlers! The Community had three, but Heyou was young and inexperienced and Ril was exhausted. Mace couldn’t take on four alone, even with no limits on his powers. Worse, while the battlers fought, Leon had no doubt that the king’s soldiers would move in to deal with the rest of them. There would be hand-to-hand combat in the hallways of the bluff by the end, and almost no one here knew how to use a sword as well as a soldier. Leon knew the abilities of the king’s men very well. He’d helped train a great many of them.
“We have to run!” one of the councilmen wailed in fear.
“Where?” Galway asked. “How? We can’t outrun an air ship, and we won’t get far in these snows. They’d just follow our tracks, anyway.”
“We could scatter,” Borish suggested. “While some of us stay behind.”
“The same as your former leaders did?” Leon snapped. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was sleep. He didn’t have that luxury. They didn’t know how much time they had. Hopefully, that air ship was at least a day behind. “The only ones who can fight battlers are battlers, and we only have two.”
“We have three,” Morgal corrected.
“Two,” he repeated. “The king won’t think you’re some simple little pirate band now. His generals will have brought fighting men as well. They’ll expect our battlers to attack theirs. While they’re fighting, soldiers will break in here and kill everyone they find, hoping to get the masters. We can try and hold them off, but they’ll have elemental sylphs too. These won’t fight, but they’ll be able to get the soldiers through the walls. We need to hold one battler back to fight them when they do. I suggest Heyou.” He looked at the boy. “You have the least experience. It’ll be up to Mace and Ril to defeat the king’s battlers. You protect the hive and the queen.”
Heyou beamed.
“Two against four?” Morgal gasped. “Can they do it?”
Leon honestly didn’t know. He eyed the biggest battler they had. “Mace? Can you?”
The sylph frowned, crossing his arms and looking at the queen. There was no fear in his face, but he was silent for a long time. At last he said, “No,” and all the men gave a low gasp of fear. Then the battler added, “I won’t wait for them to come here. As soon as Ril is awake, we attack.” He tilted his head and regarded Leon, the first time he’d looked any man in the face. “Your plan is good if they arrive before he recovers. Otherwise, we go to them. They’re locked into one shape. We’re not. We’ll destroy the air ship before it reaches the cliff. If we kill their masters, the king’s battlers will vanish.”
“How long does Ril need?” Devon asked worriedly.
“Until dawn, at least,” Leon decided. “I’ve never seen him this worn out. He made it here in hours carrying my entire family. I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head in amazement. The attack likely wouldn’t come until tomorrow. Ril had bought them a lot of time, time they’d need to ready the hive. The odds weren’t in their favor, but things weren’t hopeless.
He looked over at Solie, sitting pale and frightened at the head of the table. “These aren’t ordinary people trying to make a life for themselves,” he told her. “They’re soldiers. They’ll kill everyone here, and those battlers will turn this bluff into a pile of dust. If you don’t give your battlers free rein, they’ll lose.”
She startled, staring at him. “What?”
He leaned forward, his head still pounding, his legs trembling, and everyone watching as he stared her down. “Lift the restriction that they not kill, and do it now, or everyone in this room will die.”
Solie’s eyes widened with horror and she glanced at her battlers. Heyou looked with interest, Mace without expression. She turned back to Leon. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Galway interjected. “This time you do. We’re outnumbered as it is.” He went over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Just say it.”
“And make it an order,” Leon added. “Make it clear.”
Solie sniffled, wiping tears away as she stared at the table. “Heyou,” she choked. “Mace. I order you to do whatever you have to do to protect the Community and everyone in it, even if it means k-killing.”
“Ask them if they understand.”
“Do you understand?” she whispered.
“Yes, my queen,” they said together.
Leon leaned back in his chair. “Give the same order to Ril when he wakes up.” He watched her cry for a moment, but Heyou was hugging her, Mace stroking her hair. They’d have to be the ones to comfort her. He still had too much to prepare.
“Now tell me what weapons the rest of you have, and we’ll see if we can prepare a defense.”
“But we have the battler,” Morgal protested.
“Any man who relies only on his battle sylph usually ends up with a sword in his guts.” Leon clapped his hands. “Let’s get busy. I want a weapons count, a list of names of reliable fighters, and most importantly, I want to know when our enemies will get here.” He turned to Devon, who’d stayed silent and was present in the room only because of his oath to Solie. “For that, I want to talk to you.”
On the foredeck of the ship, the three generals watched the air-sylph master sing to Tempest, cajoling more speed out of her. Tempest was immense, larger by far than any other sylph on the entire ship, and old. She’d been passed down through ten generations and took the shape of a whirlwind, spinning at the head of the vessel she suspended. Her master sang in a clear, practiced voice, rewarding her efforts.
She traveled immensely fast, other sylphs struggling to keep the winds she created from blowing her passengers off the deck. Her master encouraged thi
s with his song, obviously wanting to impress, and from all accounts they’d arrive at their destination only a few hours after sunset on the day they’d departed.
The generals didn’t mind. Each of them were nobles who’d earned their rank before they received their battler, as such creatures were never wasted on men who hadn’t already proven themselves. Except for the prince, they were careful not to say, or political threats that needed to be appeased, like Jasar. Or Leon. Of course, Leon was unique, an independent with no noble blood, whom the king used for his subtler work, who’d been given the title King’s Head of Security only because it was better than King’s Dirty-trick Man. Each of them were secretly pleased that he’d turned traitor. The king would turn more to them now, instead of relegating them to baronies far outside the city, where it would be harder to rebel.
“This shouldn’t be a long fight,” one of them grunted. He was a heavyset man named Flav, and a veteran of over twenty years. The pirates wouldn’t be expecting them. Even if they had a spy at the castle, Tempest could outrun nearly any sylph, even carrying the ship as she was. They could never prepare a defense in time, and they’d be easy to track if they fled.
“We’ll definitely be there before midnight,” noted a second man. His name was Boradel, and his hair was as red as Solie’s—as was his face, weathered from many years of outdoor service. “Tempest has saved us a day’s travel. It’s too bad.”
“Oh?” asked the third, Anderam. “You like this ship that much?”
“Nope. It’s just the view won’t be so good at night. Claw is eager for this fight. When the king asked who wanted to come, he nearly picked me up and carried me to the castle himself.” Boradel laughed. “I’ve never seen him so excited. The damn thing cowers almost all of the rest of the time.”
The other two joined him in laughter. “It’s too bad Poison isn’t like that,” Flav said. “He doesn’t give a damn if he fights or not.”
“Must be nice,” Anderam chuckled. “Yanda will fight his own shadow if he can’t find anything else.”
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