Michelle Sagara - Cast In Flight

“Infirmary?” the Dragon asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” the Dragon replied. “There are two possibilities here. One: they did not consent to the use to which they were put. Two: they did. I’ll agree with you on one thing, though: I wouldn’t have them brought into the Halls. You might want to speak to whoever’s in charge. Now.”

* * *

Moran went to the infirmary. What she’d said to Clint was true, and it was all steel, all iron will. There had been anger in it. But the Hawks had flown to the aid of the Aerians, and the Aerians had been injured; they would bring them—bar interference—to Moran.

And Moran, Kaylin understood, would hold her nose and help. It wasn’t her job. The infirmary was for Hawks, not random civilians of any particular race or political stripe.

“I don’t see why we have to help them when they were trying to kill you.”

“We don’t know that,” Moran said, voice stiff. “The rest of the Hawks didn’t see what you saw. Hells, I didn’t see it, either. They saw injured Aerians—”

“Who appeared out of nowhere?”

“Carrying Shadow nets as an act of benevolence and aid,” Teela added, with just as much sarcasm as Kaylin felt.

“I’m not sure the nets were meant for me.” Moran cast a guilty glance at Bellusdeo. It bounced off.

“I’ll be back,” Kaylin told them.

“Where are you going?”

“Hawklord.”

* * *

The Tower doors were open by the time Kaylin had run up the stairs, which was unusual but appreciated. The Hawklord was standing in the Tower; the Tower’s aperture opened to morning sky. Even from the door, Kaylin could see Aerians flying in numbers too great to be simple patrols.

She saluted as she entered and came to stiff, almost vibrating, attention.

“What,” he asked, hierarchical preamble forgotten, “has happened?” He didn’t say what did you do this time, but his tone—and his glare—implied it. He didn’t give her permission to relax her stance, and she considered remaining at attention, but he sounded annoyed and very tired.

She told him as concisely as she could, staring at a spot just past his left shoulder.

“...I see. I believe you have a visitor,” he added.

The familiar came fluttering down through the open aperture to land more or less on her shoulder.

“Did you have something to do with the current emergency?” the Hawklord asked the small dragon. The small dragon huffed, squawked and settled.

“That’s a yes,” Kaylin translated.

“Did you ask him to intervene?”

“No, sir.”

“He did it on his own?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Invisible Aerians. Shadow nets.”

“Moran said—” She reddened, and corrected herself. “Sergeant Carafel said that we’ve got no proof they meant to kill her.” She hesitated, and then added, “It’s possible the net was meant to slow the Dragon down. Last time—”

“I am aware of what occurred.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. Have the Barrani thoroughly inspect the injured before they are relayed.”

“Why don’t we just send them to the cells? We can offer medical help there if it’s required.”

“What a clever, intelligent idea. I’m certain it’s one that would never have occurred to any of your commanding officers on their own.”

Kaylin kissed corporal goodbye for another promotion cycle.

“Join the Barrani in their inspection,” he continued. “If you notice anything out of the ordinary, report it immediately. To me,” he added.

Marcus was not going to like that.

* * *

Severn met her in the office as she headed to the front doors, and fell in beside her. She filled him in as she jogged. He stopped to unwind his weapon chain. When spinning, it was proof against a lot of magic. Among other things. He caught up as she hit the streets. The Barrani had clearly been alerted by mirror before she’d made it down the Tower stairs. Teela was there, as was another of the human women—Rakkia. Tain and Rakkia’s partner stood back, armed and silent.

Teela met Kaylin’s eyes, shook her head slightly. Rakkia said, more pragmatically, “I see nothing.” She stepped out of the way as Kaylin approached the Aerians and stopped.

“What—what did you do?” she whispered at her familiar. She might have shouted, but for the moment, shock had robbed her voice of strength.

The familiar crooned. He set a wing, gentle this time, against her eyes.

She saw nothing at all out of the ordinary. No Shadow. No weird nets. No strange armor. But she saw normal wings. The familiar lowered his wing, and she saw very damaged wings. She’d seen Aerian wings take injury before. This was nothing like that.

“Kitling.”

Ignoring this, she poked the familiar, who lifted his wing again, sighing loudly enough to tickle her ear. The familiar then lowered his wing as she approached the Aerians. They were male, and given their build, younger than most of the Aerian Hawks; they hadn’t developed the training muscles the Hawks had. They were shades of brown, paler than Clint, and their eyes were decidedly blue, but no surprise there.

They were conscious, but mostly silent, except for weeping. The weeping made them seem younger than they probably were; they huddled together in pain. Or in terror. She wanted them to be terrified for one long minute. She was certain that the net they’d carried would have done Bellusdeo or Moran no good whatsoever.

But she’d always had a problem with tears.

“They’ve spoken some Aerian.”

“Anything intelligible?”

“Yes and no.” She glanced at the Aerians who were almost literally hovering on the periphery of a wide circle. “They’re terrified. They’re begging us not to take their wings. More or less. I didn’t understand the last phrase. Clint translated.”

Kaylin cringed.

“Half the Hawks are disgusted.” By which she meant the Aerian Hawks, because the Barrani Hawks were clearly all disgusted. “Are they clean?”

Kaylin hesitated.

“You’d better be certain they’ve got no magic on them,” Teela said. “And soon. The Hawklord is probably going to descend any minute now, and he’s not in the mood to have to wait for answers.”

“He told me to report to him directly if there was a problem.”

“Yes. Directly will be to his face in probably three minutes or less.”

* * *

Kaylin took advantage of the three minutes, focusing on her work. She did find time to utter a loud Leontine phrase, but that was as natural as breathing. The familiar squawked at her, and she sighed. “Yes, please.”

He obligingly lifted one wing in what was almost a caress. Or a sympathetic pat on the head. He covered only one eye. She looked through both, closing one or the other as it became necessary.

In winged view, the Aerians looked normal. They were obviously in some pain, but given what they had probably been attempting, she considered that deserved. It was the unwinged view that was disturbing. They were missing feathers. They were missing some essential parts of their winged anatomy. She didn’t know very much about the anatomy of wings, but these ones didn’t appear to be recently injured. There’s no way they could have flown with them. “Clint.”

He came to her, wary now. She hated it. She understood it—he’d made it perfectly clear—but she hated it. It made her aware of the vast gulf that separated them; the Hawk they wore wasn’t enough to bridge it. Not today.

“Can they fly?”

He looked at the ruins of their wings. “In an emergency, they could land,” he finally said. “They cannot fly.” But his expression was shuttered; it was wrong. There was pity, yes, but something else, as well.