A/N: Well, the good news is that this chapter was reletively easy to write, compared to some. And the further good news is that I've got a good start into the next chapter and I actually know how I want to end this now. The bad news is that I'm not sure how much time I'm going to get to write over the next few weeks, as school has started up again. Joy.
To WitchWolf: Twists with Saima not liking dragons? Well...let's just say Yes, and You'll see, and let's leave it at that, shall we?
Forward!
Drake took the steps up to Juliana's personal quarters two at a time. Zirella was not content to wait below, but threaded her head up, rearing back on her haunches, wings spread for balance, peering into the human's level of the floor. Drake paused at the top step, eyes narrowed at the sight of his Flight-Leader leaning against a spear in the center of her room, panting with exertion, but a determined flare in her emerald eyes.
"No," she snapped as soon as she saw him. "No, no, and no. It's been four days; if I don't start moving now, I'll go crazy! What good Flight-Leader stays aloof from their Flight for four days! And if I don't start working on getting my strength up, it'll take forever to be as good as I once was! And–"
Drake rode out her rant, letting her words wash over him like waves over a rock. She had several points, most of them fair ones, but she still overestimated herself and her ability to recover. He waited until she fell silent, then moved forward and laid a hand on the shaft of the spear, "Jul, if you do too much too fast, you'll make the wound worse than it already is."
"It's healed," she snapped.
"Not quite," he argued softly, "The physical wound, yes. But the effects of it – blood loss and pain and internal damage like all the blood that pooled in your lung – are still healing."
She opened her mouth to protest, but it was– to be dramatic about it – already too late. Zirella had taken advantage of the fact that the Flight-Leader was focused on Drake and his grip on her spear; she lunged upwards, snaking her long neck up over the small dividing wall, teeth snapping into the back of Juliana's plain tunic. Even the smallest of dragons was more than a match for human strength – Juliana was literally thrown back onto the soft pillows ringing her nest-like bed. "Hey!"
"You were being stubborn," Zirella said simply, head vanishing back below.
Juliana was shocked into silence for a long minute – no, Drake amended, recognizing the distraction in her green eyes, her attention focusing inward once more; she was engaged in a long debate with Virenyr. And from the way her mouth settled into an angry slash, he was refusing to do whatever it was she wanted him to do. Probably refusing to pull rank on Zirella…and refusing to back her in these exertions, he added when her scowl deepened.
He wanted to laugh in spite of himself; he liked watching Juliana's anger – it was like watching a dangerous fire. So damn beautiful, but so dangerous, even to onlookers. With that thought paramount – she would not soon forgive him or his dragon for foiling her plans – he stepped forward and held up what she'd no doubted been missing; the bracers that linked her to her Wing and to her Wing-Commanders. "Behave and I'll give you these. And I'll show you the maps we're making. And give you the most recent reports."
It was like holding a ruby in front of a dragon; Juliana's head bobbed up and down, eyes fixed on her 'missing' bracers. "Drake, give."
"Promise to stay in bed until the healers say you can move about," he demanded, holding the gemmed leather bracers above her head.
"Promise. Give!"
The promise of a bribed dragon, Drake thought wirily as he tossed first one, then the other, into her lap. Quick as a flash, she had them around her forearms, rubbing the circle of gems around the main crystal. Touch a gem, and she could communicate with the corresponding Damalit without sending a scout to find them and relay a message. Touch the main white crystal in the center of the circle, and she could address all the Wing-Commanders at once, or the rest of her personal Wing. "Satisfied?" he asked aloud.
"Well," she considered with a sly glance, "it's a start. Now if you'll only take me down to the mess hall so I can see everyone…"
He shook his head, sending out a mental call to Zirella, "Go and fetch those maps; Styrander should have them, and he's off-duty now."
With a nod and a sudden rush of wind, the brass-red threw herself out of Juliana's quarters. At the top of the central tower, with all the Wing-Commanders being housed in the lower levels, it was the work of a moment to dive down to Styrander's level and loop into his quarters to request the maps.
Drake could feel her progress down, and wandered over to Juliana's bed, taking a seat on the polished dark wood boarder that ran around the nest-bed, careful to keep his tone strictly professional, a Wing-Commander to his Flight-Leader. "We've been mapping the surrounding countryside, and the city itself, so that the scouts can mark the location of any renegades they find, rather than describing the area in their report and hoping their Wing-Commander makes sense of it." He frowned as he added, "We asked, but there were no maps of the city to be had…or the surrounding area. Something about them being a security risk."
"So cartographers don't do well in this city," Juliana shrugged, "And it gives our bards and scouts something to do. What's the point?"
"The point," Drake explained gently, "is that there's no reason whatsoever for there not to be maps; it might take a spy longer to map the city than just to buy a map, but they'd still do it. There's no way around it – wouldn't it be better to know what your enemies see of your city?"
"Yes?" Juliana guessed.
Drake chuckled, "Yes," he agreed, then sobered, "The point is that it is a frightened man who takes such precautions; frightened for his city."
Her brow furled in thought. "Lord Nasher? But he seemed…when I met him…"
"You were half-delirious with loss of blood and pain," Drake pointed out. "And as I was busy saving your skin and making a deal with Xutil-"
"Deal? Xutil? What deal?"
Drake swore under his breath, cursing his forgetfulness – he hadn't intended for Juliana to find out about his 'bargain' with the god of death – and waved it away, "It doesn't matter-"
"It does to me!"
"No, it doesn't," he insisted firmly. "Nothing came of it, not really. Anyways, as I was otherwise occupied – and I don't mean that like it sounds, so stop smirking – I didn't get a firm impression of him either. Still, if he is paranoid enough not to want maps…"
"We don't know how else he'll react," Juliana caught on, nodding. Then she shrugged, wrapping her huge quilt around her as she leaned back on her pillows, "But what's the point? Why should we have to worry about a nervous old leader? We'll be gone in a few days…"
"If our luck holds," Drake pointed out. "It might not. We could be stuck here…"
Juliana shuddered in horror, "Don't even think it."
Drake was spared from having to continue in that vein by the arrival of the maps. Zirella held them gently in her mouth, so that she could just rear back, head snaking above the wall again, and spit them in Drake's general direction. The male Damalit couldn't help but be impressed – the maps were a bit crinkled from being in a dragon's mouth, but other than that, they were fine. He didn't know that Zirella could carry something so gently.
He picked them up from where they'd landed and unrolled them flat against the border of the bed, using one of Juliana's pauldrons – someone had obviously helped her out of her armor sometime after he'd left her – to weigh down each curling edge. He gestured to the green border of the great forest, "The scouts have found several isolated remnants of the Luskan army…"
Zirella waited a moment more to see if she would be called on to fetch something else, watching the humans put their heads together over the map, her own dark-haired Drake pointing out the red dots that signified a unit of the defeated army that still was able to fight. Virenyr's copper-headed Juliana leaned closer, sharp emerald eyes jumping from red point to red point, her alexandrite stone almost flashing in the gold of her circlet with thought. Anyone walking in on them would see Wing-Commander and Flight-Leader pouring over a map, debating strategy for dealing with the few remaining troublemakers.
With a mental sigh, she opened her wings and cast herself out of the tower once more. Two sweeping flaps, and she was hovering in front of the flat roof of the tower, glaring at Virenyr, who was sunning himself. "Move over," she ordered; the roof was just as big as the quarters below, with plenty of room for two dragons.
He opened one red eye, "I kicked Asorria off the roof for this? I out-rank you."
Zirella glanced down at the silver-blue, sulking on a lower tower, then back to Virenyr, "That's your problem. I'm older than you are. Move over."
Grumbling, Virenyr did as he was told and shifted over, giving Zirella just enough room to land next to him. For a long minute, there was only the sound of rasping scales as the two dragons resettled themselves in the warmth of the sun. Then Virenyr asked, "They're talking?"
"You know as well as I do that it's just strategy and where we've found enemies and business," Zirella drawled without opening her eyes.
"Damn it."
"Yes," she agreed. "And if left to themselves, they'd never move beyond business."
Virenyr opened one eye, " 'If left to themselves?' " he quoted back.
Zirella smiled, "But of course. You didn't think I would, did you?"
"No," he admitted. "You never know when to leave well enough alone."
She preened, "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
Zirella ignored the younger black-bronze's mutter with royal disdain. "All it'll take is a little nudge, anyways," she mused.
Virenyr snorted, "Perhaps on your end, but it'll take a great leap of faith for Juliana."
"And you're not going to help, are you?"
"I wouldn't manipulate her like that. Besides, I can't; Juliana's too hard-headed to listen to gentle persuasion, demands, advice, or any other opinion that goes contrary to her own."
The female dragon was quiet for a long minute, contemplating this. Oh, she knew Virenyr was right, but it did throw a crimp into things. A big one. "Well…let's just hope she takes that leap of faith, hm?"
He lifted his head, "What are you talking about?"
"When Drake kisses her," she explained patiently, "you say it'll take a leap of faith for Juliana not to kill him."
On the tower below, Asorria heard and reared back to throw in her own comments, "Drake kiss Juliana? The stars are more likely to shine purple in an orange sky!"
Zirella's eyes narrowed, "Would you like to stake a wager on that?"
"My best emerald against," she confirmed, "It'll never happen."
Wing-Commander Zacho's copper-blue Yenetha was on another roof close by; close enough to hear the wager. She lifted up her head, "Drake and Juliana? Not killing each other or being so damn formal? Yeah, I'd bet on it; three rubies."
"Optimist," Asorria sneered.
"We live in hope."
From there, word spread dragon by dragon; there was a betting pool opened – and one every dragon had an acute interest in to boot. They adored their Flight-Leader; they just thought she didn't get out enough. Bets were being shouted from the various rooftops and relayed from entire Wings through the gems.
It was a symbol of just how well the Damaliti know about their dragons – in a few seconds, riders had figured out why every dragon was shouting to Zirella, though the dragons spoke their native Draconic, and were getting in on the bet. And it was a symbol of just how sneaky the entire Flight could be if they put their mind to it; neither Virenyr nor Zirella spoke to their respective Damalit, and the other Damalit took their cues from the orchestraters of the bet, keeping the 'interested parties' in the dark.
"What've we got?" Virenyr yawned about an hour later.
She rattled off a selection of choice gemstones, gold pieces, weapons and armor both magical and mundane, and various expensive trinkets. Virenyr whistled, "How do you remember it all?"
"It's a knack." Zirella glanced up, then snorted, spreading her wings, "And unless I miss my guess, here comes our sentry with a problem. You'd better get ready."
Virenyr studied the copper-green dragon flying for the Fortress a moment, noting the tiny figure clinging to the stirrup girths and the leg of the Damalit, then heaved a sigh, spread his wings, and leapt off the tower, diving down a level and twisting through the entrance to land in his quarters. He could still hear Drake's voice murmuring above, with Juliana's crisp interjections. At least they're talking, he reminded himself as he lifted the leathery saddle off its rack with two delicate claws, slinging it over his back – while he couldn't fasten the girths beneath him, he could at least get it positioned.
He saw Zirella dive past his cave, wings tight to her sides. And then the copper-green sentry flared into his quarters, the passenger throwing herself for solid ground as soon as she could manage. Her hands trembled as she smoothed down her dark green shirt, eyes darting from the copper-green female to Virenyr and back, trying to keep both dragons in her sight even as she bolted for the stone staircase. Even as she was ascending to Juliana's quarters, the sentry saluted his dragon Flight-Leader and headed back to his post. Not a minute later, Virenyr heard voices from above.
Juliana's was first, "Who are you?"
The stranger's voice shook as she began, and so she cut herself off to take a deep breath, resuming only when she had gotten herself under control. Virenyr's estimation of her rose several notches. "My name is Saima. Saima Redralla. I've come to ask a favor of you, Wing-Commander Drake and Flight-Leader Juliana of Flight Askew."
"A favor?" Drake did the prompting when the ranger hesitated.
"It's urgent. I beg of you…" she swallowed again, steadying her voice, "Lord Nasher has decided to execute Aribeth de Tylmarande. And she goes to her death as meek as a lamb; she's stopped fighting."
"You want us to stop this? Why?" Juliana's voice was hard, the voice of a veteran mercenary; so many who dealt with her saw her as a young human female and not as the Flight-Leader she was until it was too late.
"It's not her fault!" Saima protested.
"How?" Drake demanded. "We heard that she's a traitor."
Saima hesitated, "She is; she betrayed the city and led our enemies to our gates…but Neverwinter betrayed her first. They killed her innocent lover, Fenthick. It doesn't excuse her," she added hastily. "But doesn't motive play into true justice as well as actions?"
Down below, Virenyr could almost feel the look Drake traded with Juliana. "True enough," Drake admitted, "To kill someone in the heat of passion, on the spur of the thought, is not as harshly punished as cold-blooded murder, every step planned out, every action weighed…at least in our world…?"
"And in mine – in this one – as well," Saima agreed. "But they don't even try her!" Emotion broke into her voice once more; this time raw fury. "They aren't going to give her a trial! They're just going to hang her. Like they hung Fenthick," she whispered. "It's not justice. The crowd screams for her blood and Lord Nasher will give it to them, just so that there is not a riot."
There was silence from the two Damaliti for a long moment, and then Juliana sighed, "It's not justice," she agreed wearily, "and only a fool would try to claim that it was. But what do you want us to do about it?"
"You said it yourself: stop it," Saima's voice was quiet with desperation. "No one else will. Those that don't want her dead bow to the will of Lord Nasher…who fears the mob. Fears what they'll do if he doesn't appease them."
"Why should we do this?" Juliana asked, voice just as soft. "What stake to we have in your world to care if one paladin is killed or not?" Virenyr could feel what Juliana wanted; the same thing she wanted anytime she took her Flight above and beyond the call of duty. She wanted payment.
Drake coughed, and Virenyr somehow knew that he was pinching the bridge of his nose, "Jul…Aribeth helped to heal your wound, after you collapsed. I couldn't do anything but petition our gods, and I'm no cleric. She had more success. Neither of us could heal it fully," he admitted, "but she tried just as hard as I did, and she didn't even know you. You owe her a debt of honor…and so do I."
Virenyr echoed Juliana's groan: when someone did a Damalit a favor without expecting anything in return, the Damalit was bound by honor to do the same in return, should the opportunity present itself. And the opportunity had defiantly presented itself. And while Juliana was a mercenary, she was honorable; because of what Aribeth did for her, she had to help, and couldn't take payment for it.
The huge black-bronze winced as up above, the Flight-Leader slammed her open palm down on the wood boarder of her bed, hard enough to cause a tremor in his mind. "Gods bloody it!" Juliana growled, then sighed once more, "Alright. I'll see what I can do. When's the execution scheduled for?"
"In half an hour."
Saima's hesitant statement caused Juliana to mentally swear, her curses echoing in Virenyr's head "You don't give us much time, do you?" she demanded, already throwing off the covers and struggling out of bed. "Drake, go ready Zirella. We're going to have to fly fast."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" the Wing-Commander asked dryly. "You don't have the strength to walk, much less fly!"
Saima interrupted Juliana's growls of annoyance, "I can help, if you'll let me." Virenyr heard her step forward and pull something from either her bag or a pocket, "This is a Lesser Potion of Heal. What it does is cure all wounds and weaknesses…for a time. As long as it lasts, you'll be fighting fit."
"As long as it lasts?" Juliana quoted back.
"Four hours, at best, if the injuries are serious. If they aren't…I've had it last twelve hours, but that seems to be the upper limit." Her voice turned bitter, "And once it wears off…all the wounds come back, along with any wounds gained after it was drunk. The backlash has been known to kill."
There was silence from the two Damaliti, and Virenyr could hear Juliana mentally calculating the risks against the benefits. "Ah, screw it. I just won't get hurt. Virenyr, tell our Wing to get ready to fly. I don't expect them to be much help, but we can always use backup."
Down below, Virenyr grinned and set about relaying orders; at least if they were flying together, he would be able to keep an eye on Juliana.
And above, the Flight-Leader grabbed the thin vial from Saima, lifting it up to her lips. At the smell, she shuddered, then threw it back as if it were hard liquor, shuddering all the while. "Nasty," she remarked, still swallowing to rid her mouth of the taste, "But it works."
Indeed, she could feel a pleasant tingling in her rib cage as the last after-effects of the arrow wound vanished. More than that, she realized as she stretched. The exhaustion that had come and lingered with the wound lifted from her, the last residual fuzziness of her mind burned away like the morning fog.
"Drake," she ordered, swinging around to the side of the bed, "Go harry my Wing, and ready Zirella. You," she turned to Saima even as Drake headed down the steps for his own quarters, "go down and have Virenyr tell you how to…" Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the ranger backing up, shaking her head with something akin to desperation, "What?" Juliana snapped, the other woman's fear making her edgy.
Saima continued to shake her head, the white of her eyes rimming her dark irises, "Dragons…I can't stand to be around them…"
Juliana paused, one hand still reaching for her discarded shirt. She canted her head to one side, then tugged the warm sheepskin shirt over her head, "If you cannot saddle Virenyr, then help me arm up. And explain yourself."
This task was familiar, the ranger having armed herself up countless times in the past six months, and it gave Saima something to do with her hands as she tried to do as the Damalit ordered. As she brought over the quilted undershirt, the shoulders heavy with chain mail links sown in as added protection, she began, "It's not like dragons burned my home down and killed my family. No, I'd never seen a dragon up close until…about a month ago. I sought the Words of Power, and…" She closed her eyes, "Two were with dragons. An ancient white, and an even older red."
"You had to fight them?" Incredibly, Juliana's voice was quiet and sympathetic even as she shrugged to properly settle the chain links.
Saima nodded, averting her eyes. "Yes. Both of them, more or less on my own. I…Flight-Leader, I died fighting the red. I'm only alive now because the local clerics felt me go and were able to latch onto my soul, making it possible for me to be resurrected. That doesn't mean I don't remember…remember the darkness, the numbing cold…" she shivered, even now. "But that wasn't the worse."
Juliana raised an eyebrow, nodding to the heavy breastplate, "Just the breastplate; no pauldrons…or gloves or helmet for that matter. I don't have time to deal with all the clank. What was the worst?"
"The red…" Saima shook her head to clear her mind as she brought over the heavy breastplate, working the straps loose enough for the metal plates to slip over the other woman's torso. "The red was prolonging his life through dark magic – he would take a dragon egg, force it to hatch, and then make the hatchling mature in a matter of weeks, rather than centuries. Then he…he would kill them and steal their life force. To weaken him I needed…I needed to give him an essence orb from a dead dragon. But even though the hatchling was fully mature it was…it was a child, in its mind. And I had to kill it; kill an innocent child! I felt…tainted. Dirty. And I saw then, just how deep the evil went in them."
The Damalit gave a snort, correcting as she yanked a buckle tight, "Not all dragons are evil – just chromatics. Metallics…"
"Can be corrupted," Saima interrupted in an even softer voice. "Two of them, just before I fought Morag. One was a silver. So beautiful. And yet I had to kill it…her."
"Winds grant her soul rest," Juliana murmured in sympathy, both for the dragon and for the ranger.
"Perhaps." Saima took a deep breath, eyes flickering closed as she sought strength for the very crux of her explanation, "To see shadows in what should be light…it was terrifying. If a dragon, with all its strength, could be corrupted like that, then none of us is safe. And how could I tell if a dragon was good or evil if I couldn't depend on the color of their scales? I hate being afraid, hate being helpless, but I saw that next to a dragon…I was. Both afraid, and helpless. So the less I see of them, the less that I am reminded of…" she bit her lip, seeking the right word above her head.
"Your mortality?" the Damalit suggested.
Saima shrugged, "Mortality, yes. Reminded of my fear, of weakness, as well, I suppose. I'd just…rather not see them. Would rather not have to deal with it."
Juliana shrugged, "Your choice, but if you're going to stay here for any length of time, you'd better get over it, or learn to hide it well. Dragons and Damaliti both are…very perceptive. Now," her tone lightened somewhat as she turned away, heading down the steps leading to Virenyr's quarters, "I am going to get your friend Aribeth, and I'm going to bring her back here. And then we are all going to go see Lord Nasher and work out a deal that gets her a trial."
"She's not my friend," Saima commented grimly as she followed halfway down, leaning against the handrail, watching as the Damalit settled the saddle atop Virenyr's back, in front of his wings, buckled the girths, and prepared to mount up. "But she served justice all her life – she should have justice in death. Justice that her lover did not have. The mob screamed for his blood as they scream for hers…and he was innocent. But he was hung without a trial. I don't want the city to get into the habit of not trying her criminals, even if they are guilty."
Juliana looked back over her shoulder, leather straps already twisted around her wrist, Virenyr's arched black-bronze wings half obscuring her face, "You do realize that her trial won't be fair?"
"I know." Saima almost seemed wistful, looking out the entrance to the blue sky above, "I know that they'll kill her regardless. But she will stand before a judge. She will hear the charges against her, and be able to respond to them. And who knows? Perhaps her words will sway the judge enough to let her live…"
"Imprisoned," Juliana pointed out, "And it is better to die then to live behind bars."
Saima shrugged, "You believe that, I believe that, but would Aribeth? And that's what matters."
The Flight-Leader inclined her head in acknowledgement of the point, then gave a hop-skip backwards. She stretched the leather straps to their limit, holding still for a moment, then surged forward, leaping upward. Her right foot was planted on Virenyr's pro-offered extended elbow, giving her a second boost upward. Her hands leapt upward to the cantle – back – and horn of the saddle as her left foot was planted into the stirrup. Then the leather strips were quickly shucked off her hands as her right leg swung over the high cantle, her foot sliding into the opposite stirrup. In spite of herself, Saima was impressed; the entire maneuver was smooth and practiced, taking no more time than she would use to mount a horse, even though Virenyr was many times the size of a common horse.
Her eyes now on level with Saima's, Juliana nodded once more, raising her arm in salute. But as Virenyr positioned himself at the entrance, wings arched to catch the wind, he commented to Juliana alone, "Aribeth doesn't have a prayer of staying alive, does she?"
"No." His Damalit agreed, "But like Saima said, it's the idea of it that matters, not the outcome. She must answer for her crimes, and it must be under the law that she is executed, not because the mob demands it. You know the saying in Oceana: Sacrificing to Chaos to appease him only invites him into your home."
Virenyr nodded, voice soft as he added, "Kill the one the mob demands, and you won't have a riot. It keeps the order of the city by undermining order itself. And above all, it isn't fair."
"Well, we're going to stop it. And find a way to get paid to boot."
"I was wondering when you'd bring that up."
"Oh, shut up and fly."
The dragon's laughter morphed into a screaming battle-cry as he leapt out of the tower and into open air, wings half-folded. He dove down the side of the tower partially to gain valuable momentum, partially for the sheer joy of diving. And then his wings snapped open, and a single flap sent him and Juliana bounding through the sky, spiraling up, high above the Flying Fortress.
Out of the other towers spilled iridescent dragons, diving down the tower walls like kingfishers diving for fish, spiraling up like eagles, all following after her in a semblance of their standard flying formation – a long V with Juliana and Virenyr at the apex, and Drake and Zirella flying to her right.
She noted with some amusement that many of the Damalit following her were not those of her personal Wing, but members of one of the Squadrons that had not participated in the breaking of the siege four days ago. Juliana threw her head back and laughed; they had been chomping at the bit to fly in battle, each and every Wing flying drills almost daily. Well, she wasn't going to stop willing volunteers.
With a broad sweep of her arm, she gestured towards the swiftly approaching city, indicating to all their destination, and then lifted her wrist close to her mouth, and began to give her orders. They didn't have much of a plan, as usual, but she did have an idea…