Free Protector of the Flight by Robin D. Owens Page B

Thunder’s. She could keep him from fear.
    The
door opened soundlessly, and Jaquar, Alexa and Marian dragged Bastien out. He
tried to move himself.
    With
a whoosh, a large hawk swooped into the stables. It lit on Bastien’s head.
    “She
says it’s his wild magic that makes him react so,” Alexa said.
    She?
Who?
    Thunder
stepped forward until he was nearly out of his stall and into the crowded
corridor. Feycoocu.
    “Feycoocu?”
Calli asked.
    “A
magical shape-shifting being,” Marian said absently.
    Oh.
Of course.
    The
hawk pecked Bastien on the head. He yelped and grabbed at it. It flew away.
Thunder followed it with his gaze. I would like to talk to the feycoocu.
    Calli
decided she wouldn’t. The day was rapidly becoming overwhelming with the huge
input of information.
    Bastien
shook his head and stood, helped by the other three. “Gonna lie down,” he said
in heavily slurred English. “Bed.”
    “Let’s
get you there,” Jaquar said.
    Bastien
rubbed his temples. “Horrible headache. When did you say this would wear off?”
    “Always
too reckless for your own good,” Alexa scolded.
    He
closed his eyes. “Oh, that’s bad. Can be nagged at in two languages. No. I
don’t like this.”
    Jaquar
said, “I’ll get him back to your suite, Alexa. You two should brief Calli on
what she needs to know about the Summoning, the Choosing and Bonding ceremony,
and the Snap.”
    None
of that sounded good to Calli. But one thing she knew, she wasn’t drinking any
potion.
     
    W e made good
impression, Dark Lance said smugly.
    Marrec
had used the last of his energy and Power to groom every inch of his volaran,
murmuring compliments with each stroke. He didn’t want Dark Lance to ever leave
again. Now he leaned against his mount, breathing in musky fragrance and
thanking the Song that Dark Lance was back.
    All
around him other Chevaliers, even Marshalls, lingered, spending more time with
their volarans. Especially those who could mind-speak with their mounts, even
if only a few images. Especially those who only had one volaran. Those like
him.
    He
shuddered again at the remembrance of loss. Not just of his best companion, but
of his entire future. He did well enough with horses, but didn’t own any,
didn’t know if he cared to. He’d have been penniless, with no decent way to
support himself, if Dark Lance hadn’t returned. He hadn’t truly faced that fact
until the volaran was gone.
    One
of the female Chevaliers sobbed, and Marrec had to gulp hard.
    Cheek
stings.
    “What!”
Marrec straightened, went to Dark Lance’s head.
    Yours.
    “Oh.
Yes.” He pulled out the tube Bastien had given him, opened it and dabbed
healing cream on his face. He chanted one chorus of a spell and the hurt
diminished. That was different, too. Usually it would have taken three verses
to repair the light soul-sucker wounds. He rubbed his hand over his cheek. No
bumps.
    More
Power.
    “Yes.”
    More
Power means more status.
    “I
hope so.” He cleared his throat and asked what he’d heard whispered in many
stalls around him. Will you go away again?
    No.
Head Stallion called. I obeyed. Back here now.
    “Thank
you,” Marrec repeated.
    We
together.
    “Yes.”
He wanted to ask why the volarans had left and why they’d returned, hear the
answers for himself, but Dark Lance’s mind-tone had been forbidding.
    Rustling
came from several stalls. Some of the Chevaliers were going to sleep with their
volarans. Because they were afraid the winged horses would fly away again? He
was torn, he wanted to stay, for the sheer comfort of Dark Lance’s presence.
But if he did, he’d show the volaran he didn’t trust him.
    After
one last rub, Marrec left. He had to tally up his zhiv, plan for the future.
See how long it would take to accumulate enough to buy a small piece of land in
the north.
     
    T he tasty dinner
Calli was tucking into seemed real, too. So far the normal things her senses
understood—grooming, eating, peeing, made what she was