Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Then by all means, tell us,” Romar invited.

“I go. I kill the marlord. I escape.” He shrugged. “I can take any form, including that of a swordsman. And I can change so rapidly that even if soldiers burst into the tent while I battle with the marlord, I will be able to elude them. I am the best choice to send on such a mission.”

There was a silence while they all considered his proposal, each of them in their own way testing it for flaws. Kirra didn’t like it, Cammon could tell, and yet part of her was suffused with pride that he had the skills to accomplish such a bold mission.

“The idea has great merit,” Kiernan said at last. “I can think of no objections.”

“Nor I,” said Romar.

Tayse and Senneth exchanged glances, and she shook her head. “Nor can we,” Tayse said.

Amalie turned to hold her hand out to Donnal. He uncoiled from the floor and came forward to take it. “If you are willing, and if you believe you will survive it, I would ask you to do this thing for us-for me,” she said steadily. “But I would not want you to lose your life in such a chancy venture. There are other things we can try.”

He smiled down at her. “But I think this is a service I can perform,” he said softly. “And I am happy to do so for my country and my queen.”

“When can you go?” Romar asked. “Tomorrow night?”

Donnal dropped Amalie’s hand and spun gracefully to address the regent. He said, “Why not now?”

INthe end, Kirra went with him. They waited till most of the rebel camp was likely to be bedded down for the night, and then met with Tayse to receive last-minute instructions. Cammon left Amalie sleeping in the pavilion and went to see them off. He found Senneth and Justin also awake and seated on the ground before a small fire, listening to Tayse and trying to mask their uneasiness.

“We’ll be fine,” Kirra told Tayse at last. “I won’t even take human shape. We’ll be back in a couple of hours, and no doubt we’ll have a gory tale to tell.”

Donnal had already taken the form of a bat, adept at night travel. More slowly, Kirra transformed herself to a very similar creature, and they both took off without a backward glance. Cammon dropped beside Senneth. Tayse stood awhile, watching the night sky as if he could actually still see their winged shapes, and then he, too, took a seat before the fire.

“You can follow them, of course,” Senneth said quietly.

Cammon nodded. “Of course.”

“Let us know when anything happens,” Tayse said.

The four of them were silent for the next fifteen minutes. Cammon’s attention was focused so tightly on Donnal and Kirra that he could almost feel the lift and caress of wind as they darted through the air. Below them, he could see the dense pattern of sleeping armies, divided by a dark trench of muddy, torn-up ground. Occasional campfires sparkled on both sides of the demarcation line. From the air, in the dark, the world seemed peaceful; every sign of battle was erased.

Finally Senneth stirred. “I wonder how Donnal will bring himself to kill an unarmed man in his sleep,” she said.

“ I could do it,” Justin said.

Tayse turned his head to appraise the younger Rider. “No, you couldn’t.”

Justin flashed his careless grin. “Maybe not. But I could wake him up and then kill him before he had time to say a word.”

“They’re at the camp,” Cammon said abruptly. “Hovering above the tent they believe is Rayson’s.”

“How do they know?” Justin asked.

“Fortunalt flags. And there’s-” Cammon tried to convey Kirra’s sense of bewilderment. “Singing? Men outside the tent having some kind of celebration?”

“A wake for Halchon?” Senneth suggested. “Or maybe Rayson’s actually glad that Halchon is dead. He wanted the throne all along.”

“I don’t know,” Cammon said. “But Donnal is pleased. The singing will cover any sounds they make.”

He fell silent for long enough to make Senneth impatient. “Well? What’s happening?” she asked.

“Oh. They landed for a moment to change to smaller creatures. I can’t tell what-moths or something.” Donnal could alter shapes so quickly that he could transform himself in flight, but Kirra’s shifting took too long for such midair maneuvers. “Now they’re aloft again-and seeking a way inside the tent-and in.”

He was silent again, unprepared for the swift backlash of emotions he was picking up from both Kirra and Donnal. Fury, disgust, hatred. He frowned.

“ What ?” Senneth demanded. “Why do you look like that?”

He shook his head. “They’re-oh. They’re witnessing Rayson-in bed with some girl-a very young girl, from what I can tell…” His voice trailed off. Kirra’s anger was so hot that he thought she might have tried to rip out Rayson’s eyes herself if she had been some kind of predator.

Senneth said something, and Justin replied, but Cammon scarcely heard them. The scene before him was so clear it was as if he was standing in the tent, watching it unfold by candlelight. The girl in Rayson’s bed couldn’t have been much more than fifteen, dark-haired, terrified, shrieking. The heavy red-faced marlord was laboring over her, grunting with pleasure, pinning her arms back against the rough wool of the blankets. The men outside finished one drunken song and began another one.

Donnal had shifted smoothly into human shape-and beside him, Kirra, reckless Kirra, had assumed her own form as well. The girl caught sight of them and shrieked even more loudly.

With his left hand, Donnal jerked on the marlord’s neck, causing him to cry out in alarm and roll off his victim. In his right hand, Donnal held a sword. The naked marlord scrambled to his feet, snatching up his own weapon, and they immediately began a furious battle. Kirra ignored them both. She had gone directly to the bed and began whispering something in the girl’s ear while she wrapped the top blanket around her shivering body. Outside, the singing went on undisturbed.

Donnal shouted something-Cammon couldn’t tell what-and Kirra reached up, knife in hand, to slash a hole in one side of the tent. Then she put her arms around the sobbing girl and both of them melted into much smaller shapes. Cammon could barely see them on the rumpled bed.

On the instant, Donnal shifted again, transformed himself into the deadliest of all creatures, a red raelynx. Now Rayson Fortunalt showed true horror, but not for long. Three swipes of those huge, ferocious paws, and the marlord was turned into strips of bloody flesh quivering on the floor.

Outside the tent, the singing had stopped. Maybe someone had seen Kirra’s knife cutting an escape route through the canvas; maybe someone had heard Rayson’s shrieks of agony. A voice called, “Marlord?” at the tent flap, and then the door was ripped open. Three men pushed through, blades drawn.

“Rayson!” one of them shouted, and they all surged forward.

Donnal had already blurred and reformed into the shape of a feathered owl. He swooped across the bed, snatched up the tiny creatures huddled there, and dove through the fresh rip in the side of the tent. In seconds he was free, winging his way silently back to camp, carrying a most precious cargo.

Cammon took a deep breath and felt the vision fall away from him. Abruptly, he was back before the campfire, aware of the tense regard of his three companions. “They’re on their way back,” he said, and realized those were the first words he’d spoken since Kirra and Donnal breached the tent.

“What happened? Is Rayson dead?” Senneth asked fearfully. “Are they safe?”

Cammon nodded. “He’s dead, they’re unharmed. But they’re bringing a passenger.”