Free Protector of the Flight by Robin D. Owens

blew out a breath.
    “I
don’t, either, but we must plan for the future.” If he lived long enough to
have a future. One thing was certain, his bargaining skills were too damn
rusty. He should have gotten more for his haul.
    He’d
been stuck in a rut, living the life of a soldier attached to a Lady, with no
home, no land of his own. Had somehow lost that dream. Had been spending his
pay and not always collecting his kills, and taking those he had claimed to the
Castle Assayer who paid a lower price. “We’ll fight until we have a stake good
enough for land of our own. You’d like your own land, right?”
    Yes,
but Castle is good. Walking toward the stables, Dark Lance whuffled in Marrec’s hair. Back.
    “Yes,”
Marrec said. “Thank you for coming back.”
    Warm.
Good food. My place low in Volaran Valley herd. Mares no look at me. My place
with you high.
    “The
highest. And I’ll find a mare in season for you.” Any vow was worth having his
volaran stay. Dark Lance had become his highest priority.
    Too
big and ugly in Volaran Valley herd.
    Surprised,
Marrec stopped and looked at his steed. He was large for a volaran, but any
human would consider him a good-looking flying horse. His hide and wings were
solid black, with each wing feather outlined in silver. He stroked Dark Lance’s
neck. “You are beautiful.”
    Humans
think so. Not volarans. He rolled his dark eyes and they looked sly. You
will show me to the lady of volarans and she will think me beautiful. Then I
will get higher place here. And a mare.
    Marrec
laughed shortly. Like master, like volaran. He was considering ways to gain
status and wealth himself. “I’ll do that.” He inhaled deeply. “I’ll introduce
you to the Exotique, but she will be fighting, too.” If she really was for the
Chevaliers.
    Lady
inside stables with Thunder and Bastien. Show me now! Dark Lance’s
tone had taken on a weary stubbornness, warning Marrec it would be wise to
agree.
    He
wanted another look at her anyway, that incredible hair, those blue eyes. Two
of the Exotiques had blue eyes. How common was that? Faint curiosity about the
Exotique Terre tickled his mind. “Very well.” But he needed to press his point
one more time. “The best way for us to get you a mare is to take more chances
for honor on the battlefield.”
    Dark
Lance shivered, but finally said, I trust you. We fight well. We will get
higher place.
    So
it hadn’t escaped the volaran’s notice that Marrec wasn’t exactly the alpha of his herd, either.
    “Yes.”
Somehow, yes.
     
    C lop, clop, clop.
    Latecomers
were entering the stable. When they reached Thunder’s stall, a volaran stopped
and a beautiful horse head looked at her. He lifted a wing and Calli’s breath
caught at his loveliness. He appeared to be night made tangible—midnight dark
edged with moonlight.
    Thunder
whickered. Dark Lance. An image of a sword blade etched with a streaking
volaran came to Calli’s mind.
    Dark
Lance whinnied and dipped his head to her. Come see me. His voice was
deeper than Thunder’s.
    Though
Thunder’s mind hummed with a little irritation, he sidestepped so Calli had
room enough to pass him and Bastien. Gently she touched the soft nose, stroked
Dark Lance.
    Beautiful
Lady. The volaran’s deep voice resonated in her mind.
    “Ayes,”
said the man who joined the winged horse, his large, callused hand resting on
Dark Lance’s neck.
    “Salut,
Marrec,” Bastien said, moving to stand beside Calli.
    “Salut,
Bastien.” His gaze went to her. “Salut, Dama.” He nodded.
    She
recognized another Chevalier who’d been in the healing room when she’d
awakened. His leathers were old, with fine cracks and several stains. He wore
an armband of yellow and gray—Lady Hallard’s colors. His face was bony, with
deep-set eyes, a strong jaw and firm lips. Beneath his golden complexion was a
gray tinge that spoke of exhaustion, though nothing else did about this tough,
lean man. He was taller than Bastien and