The fireball Cian cast was out, anyway, as I gathered myself back into my own body. I retook the water into myself, feeling slightly woozy, and exhausted. Very seldom did a Shifter change into inanimate objects. While not exactly forbidden by the Clan, it wasn’t exactly condoned, either. Too many Shifters lost their lives by not understanding what made up the object they changed into. A granite boulder, for instance, didn’t have a heart to beat or to send life-giving blood through the body that still needed it. Thus, a foolish Shifter died from suffocation or lack of proper circulation by staying too long within that shape. Biological, living creatures worked best.
One of the most dangerous objects for a Shifter to change into was water. Liquid tended to evaporate, get lost between cracks to vanish. The Shifter might not get them back. Instant death for me should my brain, or my heart, or my liver not return when I reverted to myself. Though I retained the shape for only mere seconds, not long enough for my heart or lungs to wither, I knew I stood too close to that great black barrier: death.
I was lucky. This time.
As I breathed deep, gasping, my head spinning, I discovered I’d survive. With a rapid check of my arms, legs and face, I surmised what remained of me in Sky Dancer’s feathers and fur wasn’t life threatening. I still owned everything I was born with, including my shaggy hair, but I lost considerably and necessary energy.
Sky Dancer collapsed.
I caught her heavy head in my arms at the same instant Malik screamed. “Take him! Take him down!”
I heard rather than saw the thrashing of bodies as Minotaur, Griffin and human officers threw themselves at Cian. He went under, hardly struggling, buried under a mass of furious Atans with Padraig shouting for ropes. Bellowing with rage, Ba’al’amawer led his troops into the fray, wading in and forcing Cian facedown into the mosaic tiled floor with his tremendous fists and weight. I caught a swift glimpse of Cian’s bloodied face before a Minotaur smacked him upside his head with one very hard bovine fist.
Cian thus attended to, his powers neutralized, I collapsed on my butt beside Sky Dancer. I pulled her beak into my chest, trying to hold her still with my arms around her undamaged head. She gasped and choked, her tawny eyes wild, and glazed with shock. Consumed by raw panic, she swept her talons toward me. I avoided them deftly, my arms tightening about her yet unburned and pristine feathered cheeks.
All magic had healing powers within it. Many magicians earned their living as healers. Those, like Malik, whose power surpassed most, might bring one back from the brink of death. My own magic wasn’t puissant, but I knew enough to stem a flow of blood, and keep a victim alive long enough for the medics to arrive. I also knew how to ease pain.
As though willing my body to change forms, I dropped my mind into a trance. I zeroed in on the agony she felt. Her pain was mine. Her panic mine own. “Sky Dancer!” I yelled, both verbally and within her mind. “Baby girl, you’re gonna be all right. I promise, you’re gonna be fine. Calm down, baby, I’ve got you, you’re all right, just calm and be still. Shhh, baby, just hush, you’re all right.”
My left hand holding her head still, my right crept around her beak to rest between Sky Dancer’s wild, panicked raptor eyes. I sent in my power, watching closely as her beak slowly closed. Her talon relaxed and opened, no longer trying to snag my intestines. Limited though my healing magic may be, it was enough. I shunted her agony away, aside, shut it off. I effectively killed her suffering. With soothing magic, I halted the burns from creating further damage and quieted her outraged nerve endings.
She calmed under my words and my hands, yet her raptor’s eyes rolled in their sockets. Sky Dancer hissed, her survival instincts informing her the danger hadn’t yet passed. She’d fight until death claimed her. I felt her body tense, knew she coiled her muscles in preparation to rise. I held on, tightening my grip as she scrambled, her claws raking the slate tiles. No longer in pain she may be, but if she moved too much she’d increased the damage done by the flames by a hundred-fold.
She tried to rise, regain her feet, and her black-tipped tail struck the floor time and again. She thrashed, yowling like a cat in heat, her front talons raking furrows in the slate beneath her. Only my tight grip on her head kept her down. In her desperation, her struggles to survive, she may yet gut me with those deadly talons. I did like my intestines where they were, however, though they constantly complained about the food. Her Death’s Head ring, shaped to fit a talon, flashed in my eyes and made me blink.
Help! Why wasn’t anyone helping me?
I jerked my head at Commander Storm Cloud, silently demanding his strength and assistance. Wings flaring wide, he leaped over the blackened table, calling over his broad shoulder for Lieutenant Wind Warrior. His stronger talons held Sky Dancer down with grips to her unharmed front legs and shoulder as the Lieutenant lay his larger, heavy body across hers, his tremendous wings wide and shading us all. He deftly avoided her raking claws, pressed his powerful front talons onto her unburned lion hips and ribcage, and stilled her efforts to rise. Her tufted tail lashed him across his beak, but he accepted the punishment with equanimity.
I knew the Atan enough to exchange salutes and the occasional “Nice day, what?”, and accepted the respectful dip of his beak in lieu of a more formal gesture. Wind Warrior, also bearing the lion’s head emblem, eyed me sidelong without animosity and some humor as he held Sky Dancer down. “Good job, sir,” he muttered, from the side of his beak. “Incredible instincts you have.”
I raised a faint grin. “I got lucky.”
“Say what?” Storm Cloud asked, his attention diverted. Although his talons still pressed Sky Dancer into the solid slate tiles, his face and focus turned toward the ruckus surrounding Cian, Malik, Padraig and an uncounted army of Atani officers and enlisted cavalry soldiers.
“Is that a luck Faery on your shoulder?” Wind Warrior asked. “I need one, if you have one to spare, that is. Sir.”
I offered Wind Warrior a lopsided grin before Sky Dancer all but heaved me onto my back, freeing herself from my grip. I kept my breath for her, and didn’t answer him.
“Dancer, honey,” I muttered into her ear, leaving the stronger Griffins to hold her down. My hands delved deep into the soft feathers of her cheeks and forced her glazed eyes to look into mine. “It’s all good. Help is on the way.”
“Enemies!” she screamed, struggling. “Protect him!”
“No, baby, the enemies are taken. Calm now, my love, calm and be still. There’s my girl. You’re safe.”
My powers, waning quickly, did the trick at the last. She relaxed a fraction, her front talons lowering slowly. Her tawny eyes opened, rolled up at me. She recognized me, remembered our infatuation, and forgot how she hated me. They fastened upon mine as her beak widened in a weak raptor grin. I found a genuine smile for her and stroked my left hand over her black-tufted ears.
“Hey, kid,” I murmured, my fingers delving deep into the soft feathers of her cheek. “How’s by you?”
“Van?” she asked, her eyes rolling like a pole-axed horse. “I saw – I think – did you come see me?”
“Why, yes, I did, girl. Don’t you remember?”
“No. Where’s my feet? I can’t feel my feet!”
She struggled again, weaker, trying to thrash and regain her footing. Her tail smacked once again Wind Warrior upside his head, and he sighed. His weight never flagged, his razor-tipped talons deftly avoiding her torn and bloody body with a skill not even Storm Cloud owned. He’d already scratched her several times without noticing the damage he’d caused.
Panic gripped my soul. I knew that look, that final stage-four incomprehensive panic as one stepped closer to the barrier between life and death. She drew closer to that dreadful and unseen barricade between the living and the dead, and nothing I did could halt her going. Sky Dancer died, by inches, within the shelter of my arms.
“Medic!” I yelled. “I need a medic here!”
“Van, it’s too late. Where are my feet? I kno
w – It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late, girl.”
I stroked my hand across her face, her neck, her eye sockets, her long, tufted ears. I willed her amber, raptor eyes to gaze nowhere but at my face. I forced my mental words into her mind, into her soul. “Look at me, baby. Look at me and you’ll be all right, I promise. Look only at me and I’ll save you. I swear I will.”
She tried to obey me. Her stricken amber eyes hung onto mine, desperate, frightened, yet strong in will and in courage. “I see you, Van. Help me, please! It hurts so bad.”
My grip tightened. “See me, baby, my lovely lady. Focus, baby, focus on me. I won’t let you go. I need you, my precious girl, I want to keep you, I’m lost without you. Shunt the pain away, I know you can. Focus, concentrate – the pain is nothing. Your heart is everything. The pain is nothing.”
“Van!”
“I know it hurts, but be calm,” I said, aloud. “Stay calm, ignore the hurts, ignore the agony. It’s hard, I know, but always remember I’m here. I’m always here, for you. Pain can’t kill you, don’t ever let go, ignore your pain and rise up, soldier. You’re an Atan. You suffer, yet you live. Remember, First Lieutenant. You’re safe, don’t struggle, lay still and hear me. See me. I’ll not let you go –”
“I’m an Atan.”
Her weakened yet strong voice rose high and rolled over my idiotic nonsense. She listened to only what she wanted to hear. She was a soldier. She lived for nothing and died for everything. Gods, please, have mercy don’t let her think like that –
Sky Dancer relaxed.
My gut roiled. Oh, this isn’t right she’s gonna –
In one sudden, swift movement, Sky Dancer lunged upward and forward. Storm Cloud lost his grip as Wind Warrior cursed. Her huge head broke from my arms, her blackened wings wide, at the same instant I clamped what was left of my magic upon her vulnerable consciousness.
Like changing one’s form into an inanimate object, the Clan frowned upon mind-meddling, throwing one’s self into the mind, the will, of another. I meddled in Sky Dancer’s mind anyway. I forced my will upon her. Using all the strength of my power, my limited magic, I thrust my way into her consciousness. By dominating her will, her very self, I forced her into obedience. “Behave yourself, Dancer, and trust me. Lay quiet. Be calm. Be still.”
Unwilling and unwittingly, she obeyed my command – panic stricken, horrified, yet anything but calm. My will forced her to lay still, but her emotions ran rampant, unfettered. Her beak widened in a cry of panic and defiance. Storm Cloud cast me a glance of frightened confusion, his wings rising. He knew how to prevent the enemy from approaching the castle walls. He knew how to keep his soldiers alive in battle. Kill an enemy from three hundred rods away and he’s in his element. Comfort one in the throes of complete hysteria? Gods have mercy.
“You’re useless there, Storm,” I snapped. “Go help Malik.”
“You sure?”
I jerked my head.
The once organized conference room vanished. A scene of chaos, shouted orders, louder questions and wild speculations emerged as Malik fought to regain control and command his officers to see sense. Padraig flanked him, sword drawn, bellowing orders at the group of Minotaurs and humans squashing Cian into jelly. Storm Cloud left me and leaped into the fray, his wings wide, bellowing orders to his soldiers to stand aside and guard the conference room windows. In case Cian had allies, I surmised.
“Cian,” Sky Dancer muttered, her ears pinned. “Cian. It’s him. I know, it’s him.”
“I know, Dancer,” I murmured, my hands and will busy, keeping her calm and still. “Hush now. He can’t hurt you.”
“Van – forgive me –”
Cian, all but buried under the heavy combined weight of humans and Minotaurs, bloody and defiant, twisted his neck to find me. I forgot Sky Dancer’s panicked words as I met his calm, implacable gaze. I caught my breath, frozen, my hands on Sky Dancer’s body feeling nothing but ice running through my veins.
He marked me.
I met his dead glance, and suppressed a shiver. My skin crawled as though it discovered a life of its own and deserted for warmer climes. I’ve seen that look before, that righteous expression foretelling my doom. Raithin Mawrn mercenaries and religious fanatics seeking the myriad of heavens often offered it before their deaths. Never before had I witnessed it from my own kind, my own kin.
Cian relaxed under their weight and combined Atani ministries, blood tricking from his nose, broken teeth and crushed eye socket. That’ll leave a scar, I half-thought, my thoughts jangling. Focus, dammit, focus. Cian is helpless. He’s no longer a threat.
Yet, he didn’t change forms and escape.
A clever Shifter could revert into any form and escape the strong arms and combined weight of Malik’s council. I know I could. Cian, while good, could never hope to best me. But duck out from under the physical restraints of a handful of Minotaurs and Griffins? Dead easy. Even a Shifter of Cian’s limited talents could escape – why hadn’t he?
This can’t be good.
Given no time to think or evaluate, Malik’s voice rolled over my thoughts and pushed them under. “Get him up, dammit. Ropes won’t help now, Commander. Stand him on his feet.”
Cian rose under the grip of three Minotaurs with Padraig’s sword at his throat and Commanders Swift Wing and Storm Cloud standing to either side, talons out and ready to cut Cian to ribbons. Malik snapped the pewter manacles over Cian’s wrists, binding them in front of him. As they had me, their power prevented him from changing shape or escaping.
“Medic!” I yelled again, disconcerted that Cian yet smiled beneath the weight of Minotaurs, Griffins and Malik’s magic. A mild, ‘Oh, this is just lovely’ expression lay across his face. He glanced my way, and his bloody, gap-toothed grin broadened.
“Shit,” I muttered just as the doors to Malik’s conference chamber burst inward.
The King’s royal bodyguard entered at a brisk pace, fanning about the huge chamber. While within the safety of his own palace, the King normally didn’t travel with more than a handful of guards. As more than a dozen Centaur and human soldiers advanced in, the trouble Cian caused had no doubt been heard by keen equine ears. In no time at all, royal escort swung into formation before we even knew the King had arrived for a visit.
His Majesty’s Centaur guard preceded him, swords out and leveled. They stomped inside, ringing us round, heavy tails sweeping sideways, dark hollow eyes unrepentant and unforgiving. Like statues, they lined the chamber walls, silent, still, awaiting orders for something to kill. Human guards in their white and silver tunics, black breeches and gold shoulder chains trotted in. With hands on nocked and ready bows, they filled the spaces between the Centaurs and waited, spines stiff and eyes alert.
In his litter, borne by four identical gold Centaurs with sweeping white manes and tails, His Royal Majesty King Roidan ap Cailean ap Fiachra entered the now crowded conference hall. His expression tense and his fine lips thin to the point of emaciation, our ruling monarch glanced slowly around the frozen tableau before him. His pale blue eyes wandered from Cian, in shackles and guarded by no less than five monstrous Minotaurs, and two Griffin Commanders to a saluting Chief Ba’al’amawer. Malik straightened from his threatening position over Cian and sidestepped to face his King. Gracefully, he bent his foreleg, and bowed over his knee, his fist hard against his chest.
“Your Majesty.”
Padraig led the others in the same salute, the Griffins dropping their beaks over their fisted talons and what Minotaurs not involved in keeping Cian secure also bowed. As much as I hated greeting my King from the awkward position of holding Sky Dancer still, I managed a half-salute as Roidan’s glance found mine.
“The King,” Sky Dancer gasped. “Let me up.”
She raised her eagle’s head in a gallant effort to rise, but I locked my arms around her huge head, hugging her tight to me.
“Van, damn your eyes!”
“Be still, L
ieutenant.”
Despite her first coherent words since Cian’s attack, I didn’t budge. I may have blocked her brain from feeling her injuries, those injuries could be made worse by her thrashing around and saluting. I exerted my soon-to-be-exhausted will over hers once more, demanding she lay quiet, unmoving. She relaxed, calm, quiescent, but her eyes roved the council chambers, never still. Roidan seldom stood on ceremony and two Atani soldiers who couldn’t greet him properly fazed him about as much as a buzzing fly.
“Llyr.”
Roidan’s sudden voice broke the tense silence. The thusly addressed human guard broke from his spot on the wall near the door, marched forward, and saluted smartly.
“If Healer Ilirri isn’t attending Sky Dancer within five minutes,” Roidan said, never taking his eyes from me, “I’m docking you a month’s pay.”
Llyr didn’t take time to salute again. He dashed out the door, his sword slapping against his thigh. Though he did take his arrow from his bowstring in order to run faster.
Sky Dancer was but one of several hundred Griffins in the Royal Weksan’Atan. That the King knew the names of the people who served him, despite their species, gave him a certain edge. That he was our liege lord and master we offered him our loyalty and lives. That he knew us, we offered him our fanatical devotion.
“Boys,” he said, his tone genial. “Put me down, please.”
His golden bearers lowered his sedan chair to the floor, then stepped smartly aside, facing him. As their sheer equine bulk prohibited them from assisting him, his royal attendant strode forward. Daragh, a hugely muscled man dressed in peasant homespun, served primarily as the King’s legs. Bending, he picked up the King as gently as he would a child, and set him on his cushioned chair at the head of the huge table. Though not in the military, Daragh then stalked behind his chair to stand behind Roidan with his head up, his hands behind his back, at parade rest.
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