Free Seraph of Sorrow by MaryJanice Davidson

her father’s killer, Jonathan had no idea.
    “I’m not trying to be a hero,” he told Xavier. Or maybe he was saying that for Gautierre to hear. “I’m playing to our strengths.”
    An updraft of warm air scattered the flurries and lifted their wings; they adjusted course to compensate. The edge of the Scaleses’ property was approaching.
    “How many?” Gautierre asked.
    “Four.”
    “What weapons do they have?”
    Jonathan cleared his throat. “Paintball guns.”
    If Xavier could have slammed brakes in midair, he would have. “Guns!”
    “ Paintball guns.”
    “Why?” Gautierre asked.
    “Because they don’t make paintball arrows, or paintball swords—”
    “No, I mean, why the paint?”
    “It hurts less than a real bullet,” the boy’s uncle snarled sardonically. “Unless, of course, they decide to use real bullets after all. A nice hollow point will rip our wings or throats open.”
    “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your optimistic world-view, Elder Longtail.”
    “You aren’t arguing my point.”
    “No one in their right mind would try to take down a dragon with a handheld explosive device. They’ll be using paint.”
    “You’ve seen these weapons?”
    “No. My wife ordered them. She assured me that paintball guns are the best and safest approximation we can make of beaststalkers’ ranged weaponry.”
    Frustrated by their silence, Jonathan tried to remind them of their goal. “We have to accept that during any diplomatic missions we run to Winoka, there may be people who wish to stop us. We have to anticipate that threat and come up with ways to reach our destinations.”
    “So your lakeside cabin is the destination this time,” Gautierre reasoned. “And only one of us has to make it there?”
    Jonathan nodded. “And there are four beaststalkers who are going to try to stop us. Each has a gun. You get hit with paint, you’re dead—I mean, you’re ‘out.’ ”
    “And if all three of us get hit with paint?”
    “Then we try again.”
    “In the real world, we wouldn’t just get up and clean off paint,” Xavier commented.
    “Thus the exercise.”
    “How good a shot are these guys?” Gautierre asked.
    Jonathan chewed his tongue, weighing the most diplomatic response. Xavier’s brother was dead because of Elizabeth’s prowess. “My wife and her friend Wendy Blacktooth are both highly trained beaststalkers. Wendy’s son, Eddie, appears to have some aptitude with a bow, and he’s been on hunting trips with his parents. Jennifer has had little training with ranged weapons.”
    “She seems to enjoy throwing knives about,” Xavier grunted.
    Jonathan ignored him and kept talking to Gautierre as the snowy wind whistled past their horns. “She’s not bad, but you’ll be able to avoid her if you’re fast enough. We’re only a couple of miles away. Time to split up. You know—”
    “Yes, we know what to do,” Xavier snapped. “We’ll see you at the cabin shortly, painted in whatever fresh and fashionable colors your wife has picked out for us this season.”
    The two dashers peeled off formation, the younger following the elder, and Jonathan veered the other direction so that he could approach the cabin from the north.
    Their plan was simple: Xavier and his great-nephew would come at the farm from the south. Xavier would use the most powerful skill an elder dasher could muster, throwing himself at the ground like a meteor. It didn’t hurt the dragon, but it could cause a commotion and distract the beaststalkers.
    Naturally, Jonathan didn’t think his wife was stupid enough to be fooled by a single distraction. So he suggested Gautierre come in from the southeast, moving fast and looking exactly like a young dragon trying to stay hidden but not quite succeeding. His shape would be the first the beaststalkers would spot, and they would concentrate fire there. Gautierre would get covered in paint—something that actually made the boy smile when Jonathan told him