Healer, Killer

by Amanda Swiftgold

Completely revised and UPDATED as of 2/20/14! Chapter Fifteen: The Dragoons attack Mayfil, but they find both devils and shadows of the past standing in their way.

5. Chapter Five

HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold

BOOK ONE: DRAGOON SPIRITS GATHER

Chapter Five

Back here again, to this. She glows like she's some angel, like she knows a heaven exists.

Shirley's face hovered above him once more, lit by the dancing white glow of her Dragoon Spirit as she healed him. So pure and holy - untouchable and unreachable…shining…

How bright would her blood be, if her hair was that red?

This time, Kanzas told himself as he stared up through half-closed eyes, the thought arranging itself dangerously into his sleepy mind, this time, I could kill her…

But the hand he raised toward her moved lazily and was caught by one of her own, pressing it back down to his chest. "Lie still," she commanded, sounding vexed.

And, though the intense light remained, he could suddenly see again, see how Human she actually was; the treacherous thought vanished. Trying to sit up, the man suddenly let out a sound mixed between a growl and a cry of pain. "Damn it, that hurts! When did we get down here? And what the hell am I lying on? There's a rock digging into my back-"

"I told you, lie still! I've had quite enough of your games today, Kanzas!" With her hand on his shoulder, she shoved him down again none too gently.

Giving her a startled glance, along with an exaggerated wince, he was about to ask what her problem was before being distracted by the glow of the violet Dragoon Spirit still clenched tightly in his hand. His fingers aching as he relaxed them, he held the small marble up to the light of the sky overhead, staring thoughtfully at the mist that swirled within.

Several long moments later, the piercing ache in his stomach faded, and the glow of both spirit orbs died down soon after. Pushing upright with one arm, the man looked around at the wreck of the Dragon's cave. At the sight of the damage, a grin grew slowly across his bearded face. "Now that," he announced smugly, "was great."

"Oh, that's right," Shirley said bitterly, staring down at her hands, fingers running across the smooth, glassy surface of her spirit. "Don't even mention how you almost lost everything."

"Hey," he protested sharply. "It doesn't matter. It didn't happen. I still got the spirit orb."

She tightened her grip on the silvery jewel, her head snapping up. "You would have died, Kanzas! Are you even going to acknowledge that I helped you?"

He made a derisive noise. "I would not-"

"Stop it!" Raising her hand, Shirley whacked the side of his head with a glancing blow. "And that's for sneaking off!"

What the hell? Kanzas raised his hand to the spot in unconscious disbelief, sitting up straight and baring his teeth in a snarl. "Hey!"

"Don't you 'hey' me!" Her face reddening, the woman went on, "Don't you care how worried I was about you? If I hadn't been able to transform then, you'd be dead!" She drew in a deep, shaking breath, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. "I wasn't worried about losing the spirit, I was worried about you. Doesn't that matter to you at all, Kanzas? Or is everything just a - a game to you?"

Frowning, he looked down at the rubble beneath them, seeing in the light of day quite a few blood-spattered stones. Dragon blood some of it, maybe, but not all of it. "Sorry," he muttered reluctantly, struggling to say the words as his pride rebelled against them. "You did save my life, Shirley. I would have died." He sighed deeply, finally meeting her oddly hard-edged gaze. "And I'm not ready to. Not anymore."

She mulled this over, watching him as he quite painstakingly studied the rocks surrounding them and the pile stretching up above their heads. "Thank you," she finally mouthed, barely audible. "That's really all I wanted to hear."

Looking toward her, Kanzas reached out with his free hand, prying one of hers away from her knees and squeezing it tightly. Drawing it to his face, he leaned into her palm, not trusting himself to say the right thing. She blinked warily before relaxing, resting her head against her own outstretched arm.

A slight stream of dirt and rocks slid down the pile to tumble against his leg. Looking up quickly, he saw a small pink creature making its way across the rubble near the top of the hill; it resembled a tiny plucked chicken. When its beady black eyes focused on the two Humans below, it opened its beak, letting out a squeak and a jet of flame.

"Why're all these things here?" he mumbled, eyes flicking toward other movements. Small Dragon-like creatures were moving slowly around the rocks, as if investigating the ruins.

Shirley watched them for a few moments before pulling her hand back and standing up with a wince. "Smaller Dragon species tend to live around the nest of a larger one, for protection," she answered quietly. "They must be wondering where it went."

"Yeah, but-" He cut himself off, holding up the Dragoon Spirit with a puzzled expression. I thought I was supposed to hear my Dragon…I remember hearing him before, feeling something in my head. Kanzas suddenly leapt to his feet, startling her, and began to stride purposefully up the rock pile, catching himself as some of the rubble gave way beneath him. "Shirley!" he called down as he reached the top, small curious reptiles skittering quickly out of his path. "Where's my Dragon gone?"

Uneasy, she began to pick her own way up, half-crawling in places where it was steep. He was definitely not going to like the answer. "Kanzas," she began, taking a deep breath, "some Wingly scouts heard the fight and came to see what happened. They took your vassal Dragon with them. I'm sorry…"

"And you didn't do anything about it?" he cried back, outraged.

"I'm not even going to answer that stupid question!" she returned, shaking her head with similar ire. "Maybe I could have killed them, but that's not the first thing I think of to solve my problems!"

The man's eyes seemed to light up with sparks as he whirled on her angrily. Crossing her arms, Shirley gave him a warning look, and with a muttered curse he turned away. "Damn it, what do the Winglies want my Dragon for?"

"They said they were going to send him to Kadessa," she answered reluctantly, feeling ill at the thought. "For the arena."

He went silent, bending to tug at a piece of bone sticking out between two rocks and finally yanking free a dry animal femur the Dragon had left behind. Raising it up lightly, he threw it at the small pink chick, which had just struggled its way over the lip of the pile. It clipped the creature's naked wing, and the bird immediately puffed up and exploded, turning the bone to instant ash.

Kadessa. He'd thought that he'd beaten the odds, having been bought by the one bidder in the Mekadris slave market who hadn't wanted to see him mutilated for the public's delight in the Kadessa arena. But it wasn't fate now - it couldn't be. He didn't believe in fate. Heat seemed to emanate from the violet orb in his palm, warming his suddenly-cold fingers. "Well, won't this be fun?"

"What?" Shirley asked, hugging herself as if for warmth, bow and quiver hanging loosely from one hand.

Kanzas remained motionless. "I'm going to go and get Taranis back. I gave him a name, he's mine, and I'm getting him back from them. With or without your help."

She wasn't quite sure what to say; somehow, though she'd imagined he would be angry about the Dragon being taken, she never thought he'd care enough to want to go after him. "Oh, Kanzas, I didn't want them to take Taranis! But we can't just go into Kadessa!"

"Why not?" he shouted back, turning and flinging out his arm. "I'm a Dragoon now, damn it, aren't I? And I'm not going to be the half-assed one running around without a Dragon! Got it?"

"I understand, but," she protested, "Kadessa's the capital, the military's based there - we don't have any chance of sneaking in and making it out! And if the Winglies find out about the Dragoon Spirits before we're ready for war, they'll send everything they have and crush Gloriano instantly!"

He walked past her then, plucking at one of the bands of his left armguard to loosen it before sliding the spirit orb beneath it. "Don't go, then. What do I care? And what do I care about Gloriano, either? Let it burn."

That struck her hard, her eyebrows knitting before she shook her head to brush it away. Jogging briefly to catch up, she informed him, "Say what you want, but we both know you aren't walking to Kadessa. And Eremi won't carry you without me."

"You still owe me," he announced shortly, looking ahead as they began following the path downhill, "so I'm collecting for taking care of the kid's matter, then. Just get me there, Shirley, and then go home."

Kanzas, you stubborn man, I should just agree and leave you to it, she thought sharply. "Don't insult me like that. You know I'd never do that, anyway."

A corner of his mouth quirked up briefly. "Good, because I'm thinking there's a real easy way to get in. I was sold for a gladiator, and I'll go into the arena as one. You can just be bringing me there for Frahma."

"It's fairly reasonable," she agreed reluctantly, "but Charle's never sent a slave to the arena before. Someone might be suspicious."

He shrugged. "Just say I made her mad."

"They'd believe it, too, after being around you five minutes," she told him crossly, only half-joking. Worry, however, overtook her anger, squashing it completely. How odd it was to see him being so concerned about something besides himself. "But they'd likely make you fight before you could ever get to the Dragon!"

Sighing, he put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "That's not a problem. There's no way I'd give the Winglies the satisfaction of killing me like that."

"Okay," she whispered. "Promise me."

"Promise," Kanzas answered carelessly, lifting his hand and running his fingers through his messy hair to sweep it back again.

Not quite reassured, she still let him go on ahead as they reached the small area they'd stopped in earlier, retrieving their packs from their spot next to the stump. Belzac was going to yell at her for an hour when he found out, she knew, feeling pangs of homesickness for Gloriano and for her friend's face even though they'd only been apart for two days.

But it was the right thing to do; the memory of the baby Dragon's terrified screams seemed to cling to her mind despite the logical reasons she was coming up with not to go. And she hadn't always thought things out before acting, herself - trying to stop Flanvel Tower from destroying the outpost, for one.

So she'd just go along with Kanzas this time, hoping all the way that Soa had not decreed her fight was to end within Kadessa's stones.

---

The ride north again had been long, tiresome and roundabout, thanks to the need to avoid being seen by anyone in the many grounded Wingly settlements that lay between them and their destination. With the necessary overnight stop to rest, they reached the Northlands early in the morning of the next day. Uneasiness had settled over the two Dragoons at the thought of what was to come.

It was impossible, and foolish besides, to simply approach the floating Wingly capital on the back of a Dragon, and thus they'd been forced to land on the ground a distance away so Eremi could hide for a while. There was a small group of farms and plantations surrounding a commons in the vicinity, and there lay a teleporter they could use. Though it required another long walk to reach it without the Dragon being seen, at least this way they would arrive a lot less suspiciously.

Kadessa was about as far north as Vellweb was, but winter weather did not touch the countryside here, the sky blue and the air as warm as if it was only early autumn. The Winglies' magic and the power emanating from the capital had extended the growing season in this part of the world as well as altering the climate in varying ways elsewhere. Though the land was green and fertile here, directly beneath the floating city the earth had been drained of life in order to power its generators. The same was true of the terrain beneath the other sky cities around Endiness. Once they were cast down, Shirley wondered, would it ever return to the way it had been before?

"So," Kanzas was saying slowly, "what you're telling me is that the orb absorbs spirit energy from other things when I attack them? And when it has enough, then I can transform?"

"That's right," Shirley replied, her head hanging and her hair covering her face from view when he looked over at her. They were walking along a path between tall grain fields almost ready for harvest, hidden from any Winglies or field workers by the stalks on either side. "That's why I volunteered to hunt our food earlier, so my spirit would be ready again for later. I don't like it, but that's how it works."

Well, that'll be easy enough for me, he thought, knowing better than to say it aloud. If there was one thing he'd noticed since he'd spoken to her by the river near his home, it was that her demeanor toward him had changed. She was definitely treating him more casually, and that included getting upset when she didn't like what he'd said. Kanzas wasn't used to watching his mouth, but it was preferable to getting an earful about his manners.

Had it really taken only one stolen kiss to cause this change? He hadn't thought she would be that much of a maiden, at her age. He cast her a suspicious glance out of the corner of his eye. Soa, she couldn't actually be one, could she?

The trail was becoming a paved stone road as it reached the edge of another property, descending over a grassy ridge and up the hill again on the other side of the depression. There was a sound in the distance, a growing smell that was all too familiar, and his thoughts shifted abruptly as he realized what it meant.

Looking upward, Shirley sniffed the air before frowning and lifting the collar of her shirt to cover her nose. "Are they letting a harvest molder?" she demanded, though the reek wasn't exactly that of decaying vegetables. "That's not like Winglies, even grounded ones."

"I think you know better than that," Kanzas replied mildly, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight as he looked down into the hollow. A sparse cloud was moving around a stand of blackened, dead trees; the buzzing in the air soon revealed the 'cloud' to be a mass of flies swirling around five mangled Human corpses.

Kanzas could hear Shirley start to gag before she spun away to throw up behind a stand of grasses, but he barely registered it, only able to stare down at the display.

There were four men and one woman dangling from the trees. Chains twisted around one's throat and hung another by his ankles, while the rest were pinned to the trunks with stakes, one upside-down. Mouths and empty eyeholes gaped, their former orbs having made a feast for the carrion birds, some of which still lurked above in the bare branches. All of the corpses showed signs of damage by magic, the naked flesh charred, or blackened with frost, or battered as if with rocks.

He began moving down the hill toward them, fascinated by the gruesome sight. Although his hands whipped about to shoo away the flies, they buzzed persistently back around the rotting bodies.

Shirley moved up close behind him, her hands pressed against her mouth. "Why?" she managed to gasp out, shaking her head in horror. "Why is this here?"

"They tried to escape," he said, his rasping voice loud despite the drone of the insects. The suspended corpses seemed to sway even more violently at the sound of it. "Rise against their masters, maybe. I've seen this. I've seen this before."

"Oh, Divine Tree, I - I can't even cry," she murmured vacantly. She too had seen death before, but never like this.

His eyes seemed almost golden against his skin, which had gone pale. "It's a warning," Kanzas spat. "A damn good one. I saw this…" It was just the same - why change what worked? He moved closer to the dead forms, tracing a finger down the cold, bloated flesh stretched around one trunk.

Shirley jerked backward, her fingernails digging hard into her palms. "No, don't touch it!" she shrieked, covering her eyes, desperate to avoid seeing some piece of flesh fall away from the delicate exhibition. Her throat clenched as her stomach turned over again, fighting back the bile.

"I've seen this," Kanzas repeated, clenching his fist and drawing it back. "They hang you up alive and kill you slow, and every scream, every moment you live, and as you die and after, you help them keep their hold on everyone! Because no one wants to end up like you! They tear you up and throw you into the ocean!"

He thrust his hand forward and rammed it into the brittle bark of the tree beneath the corpse's outstretched limb, making the carrion birds take flight in alarm. With a cry of rage, the man drove his fists into the trunk repeatedly until the dead wood creaked back and his knuckles split open, welling streams of blood. Skin still tenuously attached to the body above flew away from its frame with every blow, pelting the ground.

"Kanzas, please," Shirley said from somewhere behind him, her voice thick and strained. "Please stop. Please."

"Stop?!" he yelled, momentarily stunned by the plea. Will those be your last words too? He delivered one last, hard swing, the tree groaning under the blow.

Eyes fixed on the dead slaves arrayed before her, she edged forward; it was strange how numb she felt now, the agonized expressions on their faces becoming almost bearable to see. "Please," Shirley repeated, grabbing for his arm. He yanked it out of her reach, gasping for breath. "They've been destroyed enough!"

Finally sinking to his knees, he leaned against the tree, the cold clamminess of what had once been a foot brushing gently against his forehead. Morbidly, he thought the dead touch felt vaguely comforting. "There were six of us who thought it was a good idea, trying to escape," he said by way of explanation. "For twelve years I knew them, all slaves like me. We were the brave ones; we had it all worked out. It was a perfect plan."

The touch of Shirley's hands along his shoulder made him tense briefly, and she nearly jerked them away before changing her mind. Trying to think of something to say and finding nothing, the woman settled for simply waving flies away from them, crouching down low to hear his soft voice.

"We would all go together or not at all," Kanzas went on, the words coming uncontrollably. "But it didn't work, and we all died together. We all died. Some slower, some faster. I died last. They put us on stakes along the waterside wall so nobody would try it again - don't be stupid, don't be stupid or they'll throw you into the ocean, all your blood into the ocean!" When the Dragon had impaled him on its horn during his fight, he'd had the thought, amidst the pain, that it must have felt just like that. After so many years, he'd finally had his turn.

"No," she told him strongly, putting her arms around his shoulders. "You're alive, Kanzas. You're still alive, and there's a reason!"

Wearily, he retorted, "No, there is no reason. They didn't die so I could become a Dragoon and fight the Winglies. These slaves here didn't die for your cause. Your cause!" He laughed shortly, bitter and sharp, bracing his sore hands in the soft, ashy dirt. "What slave will stand with you when they know they'll die like this? The others, they all begged our masters for forgiveness before it was done! 'Please stop, I'll be good again, I swear! Please stop, stop, stop'-"

The lump in her throat welled up into tears as she moved her hands suddenly to cover his mouth, to muffle the painful litany; now, she thought, she understood everything. The sobs came grudgingly as she tried to hold them back. "No! I refuse to believe we all live and die for nothing!"

He pried her fingers away, feeling the wetness of her tears against his neck. "Shirley," Kanzas asked softly, calm now, "why are you crying?"

Surprised by the question, she answered thickly, "For - for the pain of these people, and for what you had to go through! I can't help it, I want all this pain to end! I will make it end! We've been given the chance to win freedom for everyone, I believe it!"

"That's you all over, isn't it?" he remarked, grim amusement in his voice. "Someone gets cut and you start to bleed." Rising into a crouch, Kanzas let go of Shirley's wrists before standing, staring at the corpses a moment longer before spinning to face her. "But I don't want your sympathy. And I don't believe in your faith, either."

"What do you believe in, Kanzas?" she returned in a soft, piercing voice, glistening eyes glaring up at the man from where she sat, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Or are you so full of anger you have no room for hope?"

"Hope? What has that ever gotten me?" He waved his hand in a slashing motion, scowling. "We've wasted enough time here. I'm going now to get my Dragon back from them. With or without you." He turned and stalked away from her, and as soon as he reached the road leading toward the village square he broke into a run, so fast she'd have had little chance of keeping up even if she'd started at the same time.

Determined not to chase after him like some smitten girl, Shirley rose slowly to her feet, taking a deep breath and quickly wishing she hadn't - she didn't notice the stench when she wasn't paying attention to it. Again covering her face with her hands, the healer took a few steps backward, peering between her fingers at the dead slaves with saddened, disbelieving horror. He'd been right, it was a very effective warning against rebellion, but she at least would not let her fear stop her. We will fight this war for you, she thought at the five Humans, so that it will never happen again.

Continuing to back up slowly through the shallow depression, the flies buzzing madly around her, she finally reached the paving stones. Shirley tore her eyes away from the display and hurried up the opposite hill, leaving it behind her, although the image still danced in front of her eyes. Finally, she tried to focus on something else. Breathing in fresher air, she looked ahead past golden fields of grain that should have been harvested and covered with snow by now, reaching for her waterbag as she went in order to rinse the taste of vomit from her mouth.

Kanzas had already disappeared from sight, and she once again wondered at his willingness to enter Kadessa, especially after what he'd just told her about the futile escape from Aglis. Maybe, Shirley mused, he was trying to make up for it somehow by rescuing Taranis. But if he still refused to fight the Winglies with Diaz, what was he going to do?

Not far away lay the village center, a small gathering of shops and a meeting area to service the denizens of the farms and plantations in this area, especially those who didn't want to go to the floating cities for supplies or couldn't afford the prices there. It was eerily similar to the village center near the farmstead where she'd spent her childhood, and for a moment she stopped along its edge, remembering her time as a slave. The commons where I used to meet with Belzac and the other neighbor children…it was just like this, even halfway across Endiness.

She had been freed when she was sixteen, but little things like this often brought back those bittersweet memories. It wasn't as if she'd had a cruel master, or an unhappy life, but she had nonetheless been property, and that lent fuel to her conviction that Humans had to be released from Wingly domination.

There was a line of poplar trees along the ridge of a knoll, almost like fencing around the small, neat buildings that covered the low hills. As she followed the road in, Shirley noticed a flicker of movement under one of the tall trees, near the back of a house connected to a small smithy. Kanzas' outline separated itself from the shade, waving at her once to catch her attention.

Leaving the path, she hastened her pace a little through the tall grass. Frowning in confusion, she jogged toward the Wingly house, looking around for any sign of the residents of this area. No one seemed to be here, though from the smell of smoke and heated metal in the air, the smith had been working in his shop not too long ago.

Kanzas had calmed down, not seeming worried in the least about being caught. She wanted to ask if he was all right, but the moment she got close enough to see his eyes, she knew that any further discussion of Aglis, or the executed slaves they'd seen, was not going to happen. In fact, his expression told her, he was going to act as though they'd seen nothing - and right now she was willing to agree with that sentiment.

Grabbing her arm when she entered the yard, the man quickly pulled her inside the smithy. "It's safe, but keep it quiet," he muttered, pressing back against the wall as he looked back around the corner.

Mystified, Shirley stared around. Although a roof covered the entirety of the workshop, it was held up by what amounted to wide pillars rather than full walls, leaving space for air to flow through and cool the area. They could easily see the few other buildings in the distance, the setting sun casting an orange glow on their stony exteriors, but there was no movement in that direction, or sound of voices on the breeze. "There was no one here?" she whispered back, rather skeptical. There were spatters of blood along his hands and arms, and spots visible on his pants where the dark leather had faded, but that could have been from his torn knuckles, couldn't it?

Her doubt was easy to hear in her tone, and he gave her a flat look. "It's a Wingly house, and you still care if it was empty before I got here or not?" Shrugging at her half-hearted nod, he went on, "Stay back in the shadows. It's a pathetic village, though. I doubt anyone's around to see we're in here."

"They can teleport to larger towns if they want to," she reminded him, still gazing around warily. There didn't seem to be much useful here, at least for their purposes, just metal rods, hammers, and jars of shiny stones and powders she couldn't identify that likely had something to do with imbuing forged items with various enchantments. "Most of the people here live on the farms surrounding us. This village center is only here for convenience, for the slaves and those who don't like cities. I grew up in a place like this."

"Like this, hm?" Kanzas asked, turning to nudge with his toe a pile of metal and chain lying in the corner. It clinked lightly, and the top of the pile slid down to reveal that it consisted of sets of manacles tossed in a heap.

Swallowing heavily, Shirley counted five of them. "Not like this," she murmured soberly. "W-what are we waiting for?" she went on, hasty now. "The teleporter should be right in the center of the village green."

"Now you're the one rushing into things." He pointed at the nearby house before crossing his arms. "Think like a bandit, Shirley. Let's get prepared while we have a chance. And I've got to go into Kadessa as a criminal slave, so I've got to look it."

"How do you mean?" Bending, he swept up one of the sets of shackles and shook it at her pointedly. She gave the cuffs a look of revulsion, her hand flying to her Dragoon Spirit for comfort. "Kanzas," she finally continued, "I'm no bandit. And I don't like this plan."

He smiled; after all they'd just seen, she was surprised he could manage it. "I'll make you into one, then."

"But-!"

Ignoring her protest, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him out into the small yard and toward the back of the house. She shook it free a moment later, however, following him on her own despite her reluctance. As they approached the small arched door, she reached back for her bow, wondering what in the world they were going to do if there was someone inside, but Kanzas shook his head at her dismissively. Still seeming quite unconcerned, he put his hand to the door, which whisked open on its own, as most Wingly doors did, without any sort of alarm or hesitation.

Nervous, Shirley stayed just on his heels as they went inside, the door closing compliantly behind them. She'd never broken into someone's house before, and it felt a bit like disturbing a tomb.

The room they were in was a small kitchen, the ridged wall lined with cupboards and covered with hanging cooking implements, which left little space for the oval table in the middle. A lumpy pillar studded with orbs stretched to the ceiling from the center of the table, its soft lights the only illumination. A curved hallway led back into the rest of the house.

"See? It's fine." He tossed the shackles onto the table, making her flinch at the sound of their jangling, and then shrugged off his pack. "First, leave your stuff and go wash your face in the fountain. You look like you just got stomped on."

Shirley flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She knew she had to be a mess - he didn't have to go and say it like that! "You aren't exactly a vision of loveliness yourself!" she retorted, swinging her pack down next to where he'd left his own bag, a bit harder than she needed to.

"I'm not supposed to be," he answered seriously. "I'm the criminal, and you're Frahma's trusted pet. We've got to look like they'd expect us to."

She gave him a sour glance, edging around the table toward a basin on the counter. How could he jump from pain and rage to such cool logic in so short a time? With the expert motion of one used to dealing with Wingly things, Shirley tapped the top of the rim, sending a jet of water streaming up and splashing back down into the metal bowl.

Kanzas watched momentarily as she took a breath and leaned her face into the water before turning to eye the cabinets speculatively. Flinging the doors open, he pulled various things down, flour spilling to the floor and sending up clouds. Jars clinked together loudly, making the woman spin to look at him in nervousness. "Ah, good," he breathed, pulling a small bottle from the corner. "My hands hurt like a bitch-"

"I could just take care of that, you know," Shirley told him, patting her face dry with a towel before folding it and laying it back on the countertop where she'd found it.

"No, not now," he said inattentively, yanking down a decorative bowl from a glass-fronted cabinet and plunking it on the table. "It's too bright. Someone might wonder where that light's coming from." Pulling the stopper from the bottle of healing potion with his teeth, he poured the pale green liquid into the bowl before sitting down and putting his hands in it. "Why don't you find some food to bring? You weren't planning to be away from your city so long."

Half-heartedly, she retorted, "Why don't you stop ordering me about?" But she sighed and did it anyway, finding the pantry he'd left open and gazing into it warily. We can't take time to argue. If someone does find us here, we'll have to fight.

The potion having healed the gashes in his knuckles, Kanzas shook the excess away as he stood, moving to finish ransacking the kitchen with practiced efficiency. Even so, dusk was coming on by the time they'd finished repacking the bags so Shirley could carry everything; he was sure they wouldn't allow him to keep his things at the arena. Their bedrolls had to be left behind, being too suspicious for their story, as did the larger of the barter items he'd retrieved from his old home by the river. Reluctantly, he also handed his claw over, not liking to be without it.

Finally, he turned to face her, holding out his wrists, hands loosely clenched into fists. "Okay. Put the chains on now."

She was hesitant, reaching for the manacles and simply holding them stretched between both hands. "You're sure, Kanzas?"

"Sure as ever," he responded immediately, sounding persuasive. "Come on, you were worried about being caught, so let's not push it any longer."

Shirley didn't answer, slowly pulling apart the edges of one iron cuff to slip it over his wrist. She heard a snick like the sound of a key turned in a lock, and her eyes widened to see the ring of metal appear whole and unbroken. The smith had apparently used magic to make these.

Quickly, she looked up; Kanzas took a deep breath and shook his head, holding the other wrist out farther. When she'd attached the other end, he pulled on the chain to test it, finding it disappointingly secure. "Well, can't quit now," he said softly, forcing down the nervousness forming in his gut. "Kadessa. Let's go."

Wiping sweaty hands on her skirt, she reached over her shoulder, sliding her fingers under the flap of her overstuffed pack to pull out a wide silver disc attached to a scarlet ribbon. "Charle's mark," she explained as she slipped it over her head, the metal gleaming dully in the dim light. "It should help us get past anyone who tries to stop us. Just let's not do anything that would make her regret giving it to me."

Not responding to that, he frowned suddenly. Good of me to think of this now instead of earlier, he berated himself crossly. "Where are you going to stay, Shirley, while I'm in the arena? It might take a while for me to get to Taranis."

"Charle has a house in Kadessa," the red-haired woman answered quietly, rubbing her thumb along the seal's etched design. "She's never there, just a few servants pretending to be slaves to keep it up. Keep up appearances." Dropping the pendant, she looked up, her expression hardening. "Let's go, before I can think of more reasons not to."

"Right, then."

They went out the back door again, leaving the house behind them. The two Humans ran across the green, almost silent but for the jangle of the short chain on Kanzas' shackles. The commons was peaceful and still, only a few lights in upstairs windows betraying the fact that anyone lived there at all. The Winglies' magic could change the climate of the area, but not the time at which the sun set; winter's long darkness was already taking hold, which suited their purposes nicely. The teleporter stood in the center of the neatly-trimmed grass, three large spikes arching upward over its pad.

When their feet touched its surface, a pillar of green-tinted light bloomed up around them, disappearing into the dusky sky above. Wrapping her arm through the man's beside her, Shirley announced clearly, "Kadessa!"

Immediately, the light around them seemed to curve downward, forming a bubble that encased them before shooting off into the night. There was only a blur of color in front of her eyes, and she didn't even feel a rush of air before the transporter set them down on the huge entrance pad. A large vaulted chamber now surrounded them where there had once been grass and darkening sky.

A moment later, a spearhead greeted them as well, a Wingly guard swinging his weapon to bear on the two new arrivals. He advanced on them slowly to push them off the transport, making way for any others and preventing any sudden escapes. "Humans! State your business here!"

When she stood on solid brick again, sure he wasn't going to push them further, Shirley dipped into an elaborate bow, spreading her arms wide and nearly going down on one knee. The ridiculous Wingly veneration law had been passed after she had already been freed, requiring Humans to worship Winglies as made in the image of Soa; it was hardly second nature to her, but she'd learned from other slaves what was expected. Of course, if every Human was to bow and scrape before every Wingly, nothing would ever get done, but she wasn't going to risk not doing so in Kadessa, of all places.

Standing and taking in a deep, shaky breath, she adopted the most ingratiating tone she could, still keeping her head down. "Oh, sir! My mistress, she sent me to bring this man for the arena, sir!" Laughing nervously and hating the way she sounded, she lifted the medallion she wore, watching his expression instantly change at the sight of the Frahma design.

"Let me see that." Though she knew he recognized it, he came closer, taking it to look at more closely. His eyes caught on something else, and he reached to pull her Dragoon Spirit from underneath her collar, holding the small orb on its chain up the same way Kanzas had before. Taller than the other man, he pulled her along with it, dragging her up onto her tiptoes. "Why do you have this, Human?"

She resisted the urge to glance over at the russet-haired man, knowing it would be suspicious. Her palms were slick and cold with fear, but she smiled mindlessly, remembering not to look him in the eye, and told him, "Oh, that's a star gem, sir! My mistress gave it to me! In the Southlands we wear them-"

"I know," the Wingly answered disgustedly, letting her go, "your stupid false religion. Torches in the sky or some rot." He peered at her again, and she cursed the bad luck that had allowed such a wary guard to be on patrol when they arrived. "So, Charle Frahma sent this man for the arena, you say? Where are the documents?"

Swallowing hard, she reached back to her pack again, stretching to grab for the ownership paper she'd set on top. Taking the chance, she looked over at Kanzas, finding him standing next to her with a blank expression. He didn't seem to have even noticed that the guard had grabbed her spirit orb.

Pulling the folded sheet out, she offered it to the platinum-haired man, who read it over carefully. "I suppose everything checks out," he muttered. "Stay here." He reached into the pouch on his belt, pulling out a palm-sized square of metal. Flicking his fingers in intricate patterns above it, he summoned the image of another soldier, who looked up and saluted. "Send two guards to the transport chamber to escort a slave to the arena."

Shirley stood with Kanzas in awkward silence afterward, aware of the sentry's gaze on them. She attempted to keep her eyes wide with wonder as she looked around. The large gray-brick room was lit by magical, many-colored lights that created patterns all across the curved walls.

A few minutes had passed before the called guards entered, crossing over to their comrade and saluting. "This him, sir?" one asked, giving Kanzas a smirking look.

"That's right," he answered, waving the paper toward him in an annoyed gesture. "Lady Charle's sent him for the arena, so take him there."

"Right, sir."

Rolling their eyes when their superior looked away, the two took hold of the wiry Human's arms, grinning to each other when he made no motion to pull away from them. "Ha!" the second laughed. "Shocked that Lady Charle sent him to fight, no doubt. No wonder just one woman was able to handle bringing him along. He looks like a ghost."

The first nodded emphatically. "Gonna be one soon enough, aren't ya?" he drawled mockingly, but he received no response.

Shirley looked on worriedly, seeing how pale Kanzas had gone, how frozen and tense he looked. Is he really that scared? she wondered, the thought alarming her even more. She hoped he was just acting, like she was, but something about him was telling her that wasn't the case.

She took several steps after them as the Winglies pulled him through the open, arched doorway, her hands flying to the hollow of her neck. "Where are you going?" the guard behind her snapped, and she spun to face him guiltily.

"I'm supposed to go to Mistress Charle's house, sir," Shirley whined, mentally reaching out and giving him a slap.

He crossed his arms. "Not wearing that bow, you're not. Whatever liberties your lady gives you on the surface won't stand here."

"But I need it-" she began, in her dismay forgetting not to argue.

"To shoot the arena slave? Fine, but he's turned over now, so you don't need it, in fact. We have laws here, Human, not barbarism. Hand it over. The quiver too."

Grudgingly, she obeyed, angry about parting with her weapon and angry at the guard, but she knew protesting wouldn't help. At least her dagger and Kanzas' claw were hidden away in her pack, though they'd do her little good if she was attacked. Charle's seal wouldn't protect her from everyone.

"All right, now go," the Wingly said sullenly, waving dismissively at her.

Forcing a curtsey, Shirley turned and hurried outside, pausing outside the doorway to stare around. Kadessa's pathways and teleporters were lit against the night, a network of colored lights culminating in the huge palace topping the city, its walls bright with a shining indigo. Melbu Frahma ruled the world from there, and his sister's mansion was somewhere nearby. She'd be able to find it - eventually.

She was alone now, and weaponless, and lost, but the woman couldn't even muster the will to blame Kanzas for getting her into this. It was possible he would be killed trying to rescue his Dragon, and she hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye…

---

For the past six days, the morning light hadn't been able to soothe her. The very atmosphere in Kadessa was strangling, leaving her feeling tired even after a full night's sleep.

Shirley had been given a spare room in Charle's mansion for the duration of her visit. As she'd expected, it was empty save for a Human couple living there, pretending to be slaves, who kept it clean and in repair. Their names were Asa and Kimi, and while they were good company, they couldn't ease the homesickness she was feeling or the worry for her friends. She should have been there when Belzac returned to Vellweb; she should have found some way to go with Kanzas so that she wouldn't have to wait for news to trickle in to tell her if he was still alive or not.

This aimless waiting and wondering was driving her insane - the only thing she had accomplished since she'd been here was to speak with a few of the Humans in the area, cautiously investigating how willing they were to join an uprising. At home she would have been doing something by this time of day, and the air wouldn't feel so stagnant, even if it was so much colder there than here.

Shaking her head, Shirley turned her attention to the metal claw-piece that was lying in front of her crossed legs, resting on a rag unfolded across the bedspread. To busy herself, she had found a wire brush and had been trying to clean the stains from the other Dragoon's weapon, as the once-shiny metal had turned dark and discolored with use.

Certainly he knows to clean it before putting it away, she thought, scrubbing at the blades and doing little but scratching long marks into the claw's patina. Really, is he trying to ruin it?

Dropping the brush in exasperation, she slid her fingers around the weapon's grip, holding it up to the light. Kanzas' own fingers had slightly worn in the metal, making it uncomfortable to hold, and as she put it down again the shorter middle blade scraped a fine cut along the side of her finger. Hissing, Shirley immediately raised her hand to suck on the tiny wound, and she scowled at the claw before sliding it back into its boxy sheath.

There had been several minor matches at the arena in the week since they'd arrived, and Asa had gone each time to bring back the results, as she didn't want to risk being seen there herself. Apparently, 'Charle's slave' was becoming a good bet. Of course, no gladiator could last forever, and she was afraid that even Kanzas would run up against a creature or an opponent he couldn't beat before the Dragon's turn came.

Letting out a sigh, Shirley fell back, her head hitting the feather-filled sack behind her. Closing her eyes, she drifted for a while into a light sleep until she was woken some time later by a knock on the door.

She watched as an older Human woman let herself in, glossy brown hair pulled into a long braid behind her. "Shirley?" Kimi said, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. "I just heard something from the delivery man. It seems that Melbu Frahma himself is going to be attending the fights tomorrow. I thought it was something you'd like to know."

"It is!" she replied quickly, sitting up straight. "Thank you, Kimi!" If Frahma will be there, they'll use Taranis against the fighters! That fact was almost certain, but it was also going to make it more difficult for them to escape in one piece. They needed to have a plan, and that meant she had to talk to Kanzas before the match tomorrow - somehow.

---

"Please, where's Arin? I didn't - oh my god!"

A general noise of jeering and mutters filled the air in response to this, and Kanzas looked up incuriously, his hand covering the back of his wrist where his Dragoon Spirit remained hidden beneath his shackle and further beneath his armguard. What's going on now? Nobody shuts up around here for one second.

All of Kadessa's gladiators were housed in a large room underneath the arena stands; only a handful of thin slits high up in one stone wall let in air and daylight. Layers of cruddy straw covered the brick floor, and the room itself reeked of sweat, piss, vomit and blood, all mingled together into a stench so powerful it nearly had a shadow.

The floor beneath the tiny windows was the most coveted space in the room, but there Kanzas sat alone. He hadn't said much since his arrival, but he'd quickly made clear what happened to people who thought his silence meant he was easily bullied.

There was a hierarchy of rank amongst the gladiators, the same as in the bandit camp, and though he could have been 'boss' here, too, he chose rather to ignore the others whenever possible. Truthfully, the way of life here was already affecting him more than he'd like to admit; once he'd calmed his fear of being a slave again, he had almost begun to enjoy the fighting.

Generally, the slaves fought together against opponents, though at times they were set to kill each other. In his very first battle, a rather routine one, a dozen gladiators had been chained in the middle of the arena, creatures released around them which they were supposed to slay. Instead, Kanzas had taken that opportunity to kill the lead fighter, a man who had insisted on trying to demean him, and the bloodthirsty Wingly spectators had screamed their approval, cheering him as he pounded another Human's face into the dust, bludgeoning him awkwardly with the short sword he didn't know how to use. Sometimes he could still hear those cheers, even a week later, and he liked it. He knew Shirley would hate that fact - sometimes that made him like it more.

Naturally, nobody had bothered him after that.

The newest commotion was being caused by a fresh slave who had just been thrown into the foul, crowded room. He was a lanky man, mostly elbows and knees, and now his thin face was filled with horror as he realized what was ahead of him. "Oh, gods! They can't do this, they can't! We just stole one sheep, we were starving-"

A low chuckle resounded from the figure of a tall man who stood looking down derisively at the one crouched below. It soon caught the rest of the crowd, each joining in the mocking laughter. "That's tough - tough shit. I don't know where you've been living, but yes, they can," the fighter named Donar announced. He wiped his nose carelessly with the back of his hand, his long manacle chain jingling with the motion.

Not even making an attempt to assert himself, the new slave reached up to tug on the hem of the leader's ragged pants, pleading, "Please, where would Arin be? My wife, do you know where they've taken her?"

"Your wife?" The larger man cackled, kicking him away. "You think they're dumb enough to put women in here?"

"They don't even get sold fer the arena," another piped up. "Lady crims go fer whoreshacks. Guess she's got her lotsa husbands now!"

The lanky man let out a cry, falling forward to hide his face in his forearms, and Donar gave him another kick, spitting derisively. "Coward! You'll last five seconds in the arena! But I bet you wanna die, huh, by now? Little gutless bastard!"

Rolling over with a gasp of pain, the man's gaze focused on Kanzas sitting across the room, the watery beam of light around him brightening the red in his hair. The other gladiators instantly hushed, the sound dying as if they'd been turned off. Hampered by his chains, the new slave crawled slightly toward him as if seeking help, or some kind of authority, from this man sitting apart.

The Dragoon turned his head, and at the impassive look in his dull amber eyes the man collapsed flat into the filthy straw, sobbing bitterly. The others swarmed around the new slave, swinging back long heavy chains and raising fists and feet. He looked back toward the window as the blows began, the sound of a young Dragon's cries ringing in his mind.

/We will hurt them,/ he soothed Taranis silently, having quickly discovered that he could speak to his vassal Dragon, even though he still had no idea where he was being kept. /Together we will hurt them. Just wait a little longer./

Presently, there came the slam of the main barred door, and moments later the smell of burning as a handful of Winglies stormed in, the strength of their spells literally blasting the knot of Humans apart, several men hitting the walls forcefully.

"All right, that's enough!" Halueth, the foreman, boomed, his dull grayish beard bristling with his anger. "Back up, apes, or feel it again!" He snorted down at the bloodied face of their victim before looking back up again. "I need Charle Frahma's slave! Where is he? C'mon, speak up, you lazy assholes!"

No one answered, but, unfolding from his position on the floor, Kanzas stood up slowly as if the idea had been all his own, brushing clinging straw from his black pants. Tossing his head to the side once as if to stretch the muscles in his neck, he smiled at the stocky Wingly and answered, "Yeah?"

The man's garnet-dark eyes narrowed. "Don't get funny with me, Human. Think you're too good to listen? Come here," he snapped his fingers, "right now!"

Kanzas glared at him, one foot sliding forward; the anticipation of the slaves in the room was thick, but after a moment he just gave a negligent shrug, crossing the room as ordered. The junior guards stood there to warn the others back as the barred door was swung open and the wiry man ushered outside by the irate foreman. "What's this all about?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" Halueth gave him a hard crack on the side of his head with his fist, making him spit out an angry curse, raising his hand to the spot. The Wingly immediately grabbed hold of the chain, forcing his arm down again, oblivious to the murderous look he was receiving.

The gray-haired man began marching him down the hall, out of sight of the main room. Kanzas felt mildly curious now, not sure why he was being separated from the others. He couldn't make himself feel very worried, though, despite the fact that the situation called for it. If he'd been found out, he'd die fighting, not as a slave-

And he had the Dragoon Spirit. Oh, yes, he couldn't forget that.

The foreman's voice startled him, a hand on his arm stopping him suddenly at the junction of another hallway. "If it was anyone else," he muttered, twisting the metal covering the place where the links of the chain met the cuff on his wrist, "I'd have just told her to sod off. But it's not wise to cross a Frahma; the little bitch would go crying back to mistress and I'd be worse off than I am here with you stinking animals…"

What is he talking about? the man wondered, watching blandly as the chain of his shackles began to glow softly, shrinking until his wrists were touching, the cuffs like two loops of metal.

"Your owner has a message for you," Halueth finally told him bluntly. "Such a damn nuisance on a day like this, and her brother I have to try and impress at that. I have a meeting to get to, so I don't have time to watch over you, but remember there are guards waiting, and if you try to run your brains will spill on these bricks, got it?" He gave Kanzas a shove down the dead-end hall, brushing his hands together as he turned to go back the other way.

Catching his balance awkwardly and straightening with a snarl, he twisted around, half-expecting the form of a Wingly woman waiting for him. He was both surprised and not surprised at all to see Shirley standing there instead, wearing Charle's seal around her neck like a shield. Chains and whips hung neatly on a rack attached to the wall behind her; she looked uncomfortable with their presence, standing as far from them as possible.

She looked over, meeting his eyes, and for a moment neither said nor did a thing, listening as Halueth's footsteps echoed back down toward the larger room before fading away. Finally, she took in a deep, shuddery breath of air, shaking her head at him. "Are you all right?" she asked, speaking quietly against the emptiness of the hallway.

"I'm alive," he answered, raising a shoulder in a shrug.

Shirley nodded slowly. "Yes, you promised that."

Reflectively, Kanzas rolled his eyes at the ceiling and said, "I did, didn't I?" By the time he looked back down, however, she had taken several steps forward, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. "Hey, there…" he began, blinking in surprise. Reflexively, he tried to put his arms around her in turn, biting his lip in aggravation as the cuffs held them fast.

"Melbu Frahma will be watching your fight this afternoon," the red-haired woman told him, speaking near his ear to avoid being heard by the guards that Wingly had mentioned. "And it'll be the Dragon. If he sees your - your power…"

"Let him see it!" he hissed sharply, ducking his own head closer. "I won the damn thing, and I'm going to use it!"

"But, Gloriano-" Shirley protested, standing back to look at him. At the sight of his blank expression, her brows knit in disappointment, and she flung her hands out with a sigh. "No, wait, I know the answer. You don't care."

He shrugged again, staring over her shoulder at nothing in particular, just some brick in the wall of the hallway. She said I was free! Everyone all along the line told me I was free, so why do they think they can still drag me back with obligations? "I won't serve anyone again. That's all."

Making a noise of frustration, she tried to explain, "But it's not like having a master, Kanzas. Not if you follow someone out of - of respect, because you have the same goals!" She caught her voice rising and covered her mouth with her hand, looking around. Other than the low noise of the growing crowd faint in the distance, it remained silent. "After everything that's happened, and all we've tried to do for you, can you still walk away feeling no sense of duty at all?"

He whirled on her, secretly proud as she held her ground, glaring back. "Are you going to start with debts now? Because I take debts very seriously."

"If that's true," Shirley whispered back, "then mustn't the Winglies pay for what they've done to you? Why are you standing shackled under the arena, Kanzas, if you don't care?"

'It's okay, just do it - I don't blame you-'

His eyes, falling on the rack of whips and chains behind her, widened significantly. If he listened for it, he could still hear Taranis crying out for him, flashes of questioning pain that hit his mind like a wave.

'I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Jidena!'

"Fine!" Kanzas growled, making an abortive gesture with his tightly-fettered hands. "I'll join your campaign. But it's not going to be for nothing."

Shirley blinked, her next retort suddenly useless. Raising a hand to her collarbone in surprise, she asked, "Wait, you're serious?"

He looked at her impatiently. "Didn't I just say so? You still owe me for keeping me from getting out of this foolishness when I had a chance. So, I'll swear whatever you want in return for something from you."

The woman swallowed a bit nervously, nodding. Hundreds of maddening possibilities flittered through her mind in the second before her answer. "What is it you want, then? If it's within reason-"

"Don't ever leave, Shirley. That's all I want from you."

She fought for the words to respond to that, her brows knitting as she searched Kanzas' face for some hint of an explanation. He looked deadly serious, his amber-brown gaze fixed on her and his shoulders tensed. "I don't understand," she mumbled weakly. "You're the one always leaving."

Breathing out explosively, he replied, "You're forcing me to join this fight. Don't abandon me when I do."

"Oh," Shirley sighed in sudden realization, "I'd never-"

Once more he cut her off. "I'm doing this for you, and for the chance to…upset some Winglies. Not for Diaz, and certainly not because I think it'll accomplish anything. I'm not going to change to fit with your friends, so don't you leave me to them, Shirley. They don't want me, I can see that already. You want my power, and you'll have it, but I will…I will not…"

The thought had hardly entered her head before she acted on it, cupping his face with her palms and leaning in to kiss him hard. Startled by the impulsive move and everything it meant, Kanzas froze for a moment before returning the kiss almost violently. I win, he thought smugly. And she still had no idea…

"I won't desert you," Shirley breathed against his lips, finally pulling away. "I promise I won't."

Even when you learn the truth? That will be your real test of devotion. "I'll remember that," he answered, his eyes closing briefly, uncertainty written across his face. "Shirley, in case something goes wrong this afternoon, I wanted to tell you-"

Before he could get the words out, she kissed him again, her heart racing anxiously in her chest. Though her first thought had been to comfort him, the gesture had warped into something else instead. Now there was no way to take it back, to pretend she'd meant something else, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to. "Nothing," she told him, her voice soft but fierce, "will go wrong."

He had to be crazy to want this, even for a moment, but at the same time he found the truth drying up in his throat. Brushing his lips down along her jawline, he reached for her hands a bit awkwardly thanks to the cuff loops. "I've found you. I've found you, and you're tied to me again," he murmured in her ear, his fingers curling between hers. "Not anything can keep us apart, Shirley. And…someday…I'll tell you just why that is."

Shirley blinked, feeling the scratchiness of his beard against her skin, and cast her gaze downward, perplexed. As she opened her mouth to answer, she heard footsteps ringing on the bricks behind them. A pair of hands wrapped around her arms and yanked her back, hard enough she could feel the joints in her fingers pop as her grip on Kanzas' hands was broken.

"I'm glad you reminded me, Commander." Biting off her cry of alarm, Shirley saw a short Wingly man step forward next to her, his face drawn into a deep scowl as he looked at Kanzas. Turning slightly, she glanced as well as she could at the one who was holding her back, catching only a glimpse of pale hair and a dark blue coat.

However, Kanzas' face flushed in anger as he stumbled a bit, yanking futilely at his cuffs. "You!"

"Yes," a male voice said from behind her, low and musical and as bitterly cold as his hands felt on her upper arms. "Did we interrupt something important?"

"Bah, I thought that's what you were up to," Halueth spat. "Start moving, right now!" Raising his foot, he planted it hard into the man's side, the kick sending him sprawling to the floor. Unable to catch himself with his hands bound, Kanzas struggled to his knees again, snarling in rage, but the Wingly merely grabbed hold of a large handful of his hair, dragging him upright.

Shirley tried to pull away from the one who held her to go to his aid, but his grip merely tightened around her arms, his fingers pressing hard into her skin and making her wince. "Ah, Human murderer," Commander Arturo said to Kanzas in bland tones, not even paying attention to her. "How glad I am to see you here now. When I learned you had been purchased by Charle Frahma, of all people, I was quite upset. But it seems you can escape justice no longer."

"You just try this 'justice', soldier," he hissed back, recognizing the man as the one who'd captured him. Though he was in dress clothes now instead of armor, his silver-blue hair loose around his shoulders, there was no mistaking the disdainful look on the Wingly's face.

Kanzas received a punch to his gut from Halueth for his words, the blow making him gag momentarily, pitching forward over the older Wingly's arm. Her throat tightening in horror, Shirley once more tried to move to help him, but could barely take a step before being yanked back again. Struggling harder now, she shook her head and cried out, "Stop it!"

"Commander," the foreman said coolly, he too acting as if the woman didn't exist, "with all respect, we are making Lord Frahma wait. The fight will begin at any moment."

"Of course." With a nod to the stocky man, he gave Kanzas a smirk, looking down at him where he now knelt on the floor, gasping for air. "I've been waiting for this. It's more than I hoped, to find you about to face this particular opponent," Arturo informed the russet-haired man.

He spat, laughing sharply. "The Dragon? Be disappointed - I'm not afraid of it!"

Arturo's expression went very sour, his glare piercing. Finally seeming to see Shirley, he gave her a little shake, his hands around her upper arms still tight enough to bruise. "She told you, I see. But I doubt you've told your strumpet all about your crimes, murderer. I'm sure she'll love to find out what you really are as we watch you die. Say goodbye, woman. He'll hear you cheering him on to Mayfil next!"

Kanzas felt himself being yanked to his feet, Halueth dragging him bodily back down the hall, arms hooked through his to spin him around. Whatever he tells her, she won't believe it, he reassured himself, though a sliver of doubt still crept into his mind. But no, no - what could he tell her about him that she didn't already know?

"Now, please, do accept my invitation," Arturo mocked, waiting until Halueth and Kanzas had gone before striding off and pulling Shirley after him. He turned abruptly at a crossway in the hall, dragging her toward a small green teleporter pad.

She had to remember to pretend she was a slave, though everything in her was crying out to reach for her hidden dagger and plunge it right into his kidney. Her expression falling into a scowl, she could only trip after him reluctantly, objecting in a tense, low voice, "Mistress Charle will hear about this!"

"Will she?" the commander drawled, raising his eyebrows. "You see, Human, I don't care about your owner. My loyalties are to Melbu Frahma alone, not his treasonous sister. Unlike her, I don't protect filth like that from their fates. I don't expect you to understand something like this."

I understand destiny better than you think! And I know for sure that you Winglies aren't the masters of it! Shirley railed silently, her feet finally touching the teleport pad. Arturo barked a short command, the green orb surrounding them and lifting them upward. When it faded away, a gigantic rush of noise hit her ears, making her automatically raise her free hand to cover one of them.

Thousands of Winglies surrounded them, seated in tiers around a large oval-shaped arena, their voices a crowd's murmured roar of anticipation. The walls arched up toward a cloudy, angry sky, supported by pillars of stone carved with intricate designs. Though rain was falling, none of it hit the arena's sands, sparking instead against a shimmering magical shield above. Winglies did not let even the weather affect them, especially here in the capital.

The Wingly soldier stopped to let her take in the impressive sight, and as she looked down over the edge of the arena Shirley saw a group of Humans massed just below, waiting in a kind of rampway that descended underneath the stands. Her eyes flicking back and forth quickly, she located Kanzas among them, the chain between his cuffs having been lengthened again to allow him to fight. He glanced up, meeting her gaze with sparks of rage flashing in his own.

Since they'd gotten distracted, she hadn't had time to ask him what the plan for freeing Taranis was going to be, and she realized now that she still carried his claw, hidden along with her dagger beneath a length of cloth she'd tied in loose drapes around her waist. If he was going to have any chance at all of doing what he wanted to, he'd at least need his own weapon back.

Before Arturo could pull her away again, she grabbed for it and flung it toward him, screaming out, "Kanzas!"

The man knocked over another in front of him, lunging for the weapon and just barely catching it with the tips of his fingers. He raised the sheathed claw up triumphantly and cast a smirk in her direction, though it faded immediately as the tall Wingly backhanded Shirley hard across the face, enraged, and then yanked her away past the first row of seats and toward another teleporter.

"I grow tired of you quickly," he bit off, raising his hand again in warning.

Her cheek stung horribly, the pain throbbing up toward her temple as Arturo pulled her along at a fast pace from transporter to transporter until they finally reached the top, nearly the entire arena laid out below them. The seats up here were divided into private boxes for the wealthy, the noise of the crowd faded now. Oddly, a large metal rectangle was affixed to the front railing of the box, somewhat blocking the view.

Shoving her into a soft, cushioned chair, the commander stood before her, his arms tucked behind him. "Do you know," he asked, calm now, as if lecturing to a class, "why I concern myself with that man?"

Reaching to gently probe the tenderness of her cheekbone, Shirley managed to grit out, "No, I have no idea." He gave her shin a kick, and she finished with a pained, reluctant, "Sir."

"I captured and sold him," Arturo informed her lightly. "I knew this was the best place for him to meet his end, considering the crimes he has committed."

"The only crime most slaves commit is being born Human!" she blurted out, growing angry. It had become clear to her that this Wingly was trying to turn her against Kanzas for some reason, though the sincerity of his hatred was rather off-putting.

He sat down next to her, running fingers through her red hair before grabbing a handful of it, twisting it painfully in his grip. "You are bold, for a slave," he said in a low tone. "I do wonder if you are not all you seem."

"Keep wondering!" Shirley retorted, trying not to pull away as her scalp protested the tugging.

"I captured him," Commander Arturo said darkly, giving her hair another jerk, "in the remains of a home he and his gang of bandits had invaded. Your man had murdered the occupants, Human and Wingly alike. Would you have thrown him the weapon that tore a woman's throat out, that ripped the guts from a small boy? Would you still conspire with that man if you had seen it, woman?"

Not quite sure the tears in her eyes were only from pain, Shirley choked out, "Don't!"

"I shall have to decide what to do with you," he said reflectively, finally letting go with another push and knocking her back against the seat. "You dishonor that seal you wear. Even Charle Frahma would have to agree that you've been behaving very badly in her name."

Oh, shut up. If you only knew, she thought madly, squeezing her hands into fists as she stared around the arena at the other boxes strung along its edge. There was motion in one as someone stood up, and she gasped suddenly, trying to muffle the sound.

The Wingly in the seats at the head of the arena, just around the curve from where she sat, was unmistakable; some kind of powerful magic had made his skin a charcoal gray, drawn his ears up into strange points, and turned his eyes a piercing, unnatural aquamarine. Several others accompanied him in his box, and she noticed with vague horror a Human slave girl standing behind him, wearing a collar around her neck to which a chain was attached. The man gazed down below before raising one hand above his head, and immediately cheers and cries erupted from the crowd.

Shirley froze in shock, all other thoughts momentarily flying from her mind. Melbu Frahma, the leader of the Winglies, was standing right across from her. If he died, the absolute power of the Winglies over other species would die as well…

Flicking his fingers in a spell's pattern, Arturo called up an image on the metal rectangle before them. Dragging her gaze toward it, she saw that they were larger, closer pictures of what was happening in the arena below. Upon Frahma's signal, the Human gladiators were being herded out onto the arena sands, cheap short swords shoved into their hands as guards armed with spears pushed them into view.

She found Kanzas among them and bit her lip, trying not to picture him creeping up behind some unsuspecting person, blades jutting from between his fingers as he-

"Now, watch, Human," Arturo said quietly, looking at her once before turning toward the images moving across the sheet of metal. "Watch as fate takes its course."

---

Sand crunched underfoot as the group of Human gladiators walked hesitantly into the arena, several of them shoved there by the guards. The sound of excited cheers and screams surrounded them, but there was no enemy in sight. Donar, the lead slave, scanned the area quickly, his hazel eyes widening. "Holy - in the front box! Isn't that Frahma?" he muttered aloud, looking at Kanzas, the only other man standing at the head of the group. "Damn it, that means it's going to be really tough today."

Is he talking to me? he thought, shifting the sword he'd been given from hand to hand, not planning to use it for much now that he had his claw back. Although Halueth had threatened to keep the chain on his cuffs short, the foreman had finally relented and lengthened it again, hoping for a better show. No longer handicapped by the cuffs, Kanzas was not worried about anything, anymore.

There was a huge transporter set into the middle of the sandy ground, and the crowd hushed as a glowing orb descended onto the pad; their screams erupted again, fear mixed with anticipation, as the light dissipated to reveal Taranis. He was wearing a thick collar around his neck, and no sooner had he arrived than a long chain studded with magical orbs shot up from the ground, attaching itself to the collar to hold him down.

Oblivious to the gasps and horrified cries of the slaves behind him, Kanzas could only stare at his vassal Dragon, astounded by the change. Had the Winglies done something to him? Taranis was now the size of the full-grown Violet Dragon he'd fought, his spikes grown large and long. Wide, filmy wings flapped hard, blowing sand into their faces, and he threw back a small head, letting out a deep roar and racing for the sky. The chain held fast, springing taut and rebounding the Dragon back to the ground.

/I'm here, Taranis!/ the man thought strongly against the noise of the spectators, walking forward from the group. The Dragon kept thrashing, sparks flying from his mouth and the storm above echoing his pain, lightning crashing down in sheets only to fizzle out against the weather shield protecting the arena.

"My god, what are you doing?" Kanzas heard Donar scream at him. "No Human can fight a Dragon and survive!"

"Wrong," he answered shortly, eyes narrowing as he tried to calm Taranis again, but to no effect. He broke into a run, but before he could get more than a few steps there were other flashes of light as a handful of teleport orbs descended. Some of the orbs landed in the middle of the group of gladiators, scattering the men as many small Swift Dragons dropped into the arena. Affected by the rage and fear Taranis was generating, they immediately turned to attack the Humans around them.

An explosion of noise filled his ears, the excited yells of the Wingly onlookers mixed with slaves' screams of terror - and over all there was Taranis, adding to the confusion with his frantic struggling. At first Kanzas tried to avoid the smaller reptiles, aiming only toward his vassal Dragon, but it soon grew impossible, as the creatures moved almost like a swarm. Small wings flapping for stability, they swung their bladed tails at their opponents; streamlined heads jutted forward as they bit down onto limbs with enough force to break bone.

Moving quickly to keep up with the rhythmic movements of the red-scaled creature that was barring his way, he used his claw to swipe upward along its stubby neck, keeping the sword in hand only to parry jabs from the Dragon's tail and teeth. As the name implied, the things were very fast, almost streaks of color as they fought the Humans invading their space.

Growling impatiently, Kanzas jumped backward and then let out a curse as his heels hit a crumpled form in the sand, the bloodied body of the slave who had come in that day. One of the Swift Dragons was gnawing on the flesh of his thin arm, swallowing pieces of muscle with snaps of its jaw, but it immediately reared up, lunging at the man who'd interrupted its meal.

Completing a series of kicks that ended with the audible crack of the little Dragon's spine as he smashed its head sideways with his foot, he spun to face the newest one, his own teeth bared in rage. There was electricity in the air, sparks flashing around the metal weapons in his hands as he brought them together in front of his chest, and he knew what he could do with it. Ducking forward to the Dragon's level, he flung his arms out again, a short wave of lightning traveling through it.

Panting from the effort of using his element like that, the russet-haired man jumped back for another strike. However, another sudden movement cut him off as Donar rushed the Swift Dragon in front of him, he too holding the sword as if used to a different weapon, in front of him with both hands. It impaled the creature through the chest, the Dragon letting out a sharp croak as the blade crunched past its scales. "Hey-!" Donar called to him, kicking it off his blade.

Ignoring the other man, Kanzas ran for Taranis again, moving a bit unevenly on the soft groundcover. Dust from the disturbed sand seemed to cloud the area, irritating his lungs. /It's me,/ he warned the large Dragon as he approached, an angry streak of lightning shooting just past his shoulder. There was another body on the ground here, a gladiator who'd been electrocuted by one of the bolts.

The violet Dragon roared again, but he finally seemed to settle enough that the Dragoon could approach, raising the sword he held high. With all the force he could muster, Kanzas hacked at the chain attached to the Dragon's collar, aiming first for the links and then for the small colored orbs set into the metal. Nothing happened but more sparks flying into the air, and the cheap sword notched immediately. Damn it, he thought angrily, trying to breathe through the dust, what now?

Whipping his head back, Taranis opened his mouth, letting fly with another bolt of lightning. There was a cry of surprise from nearby and then Donar rolled into view, the side of his ragged pants singed from knee to ankle. "What the hell are you doing?" he cried to Kanzas, who twisted out of the way as the Dragon's turquoise eyes fastened on the other man. With a yelp, the sandy-haired slave leader ducked back again, limping but ready to slide in under the Dragon's leg.

/Just ignore that one,/ Kanzas thought to the Dragon edgily, biting his lip in surprise as Taranis actually answered him with a wordless thought of agreement. "Why are you here? Go away!" he shouted back, swinging at the chain again in frustration.

"Look at you! You're trying to free it?" he explained, eyes wide. He looked around quickly to spot any more of the small Swift Dragons, but none of them dared to come closer to the larger, spikier one. "Maybe you're crazy, but I'd rather stand with you; we might actually survive if we worked together-"

Flinging the sword away from him in exasperation, Kanzas narrowed his eyes, watching Donar jump to avoid being hit by the spinning blade. "I don't need allies - I don't need friends - I don't need you!"

The other Human didn't answer, his gaze caught by something else and his jaw dropping in astonishment. Looking to see what had stunned him so, Kanzas saw something flying in quickly from the underground entrance, bowling over the Wingly guards that hovered there - no, there were two somethings, greenish mist spilling from them the same as Dragons-

And then, his wings opening with a loud snap to stop his flight, a large man in dark-gold armor was above them, a gigantic axe held in his hands. "Can't you do anything right?" Belzac bellowed down to Kanzas before flinging the axe toward him. With a whistle of air, its edge glowing a molten orange, the blade hit the Dragon's chain with a chunk and snapped the links.

The recoil as Taranis lurched into the sky sent the two halves of the chain flying. Kanzas managed to somersault out of the way, but the thick iron smacked Donar hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The cries of the spectators changed suddenly, sounding more afraid and wondering now than thrilled.

Disregarding all of that, he rolled to his feet, snarling up at Belzac. His Dragoon form looked much different from Shirley's, his shoulder plates huge and ridged and his armor obviously made for strength, not to allow speed. Damn, but the man would have to be a Dragoon too, wouldn't he? "Keep your mouth shut, Giganto!" he howled, trying to protect his eyes from the flying dust.

This whole mess has to be your fault, I know it, Belzac thought back heatedly. Descending to grab his axe from the soft sand, he looked around the arena ring, searching. He saw Syuveil's green glow up near the form of the thunder Dragon, which had flown to the top of the stadium only to find the weather shield there blocking its escape. "Where's Shirley?" he demanded, eyes widening as he caught sight of a handful of Wingly guards issuing from the underground entrances, wings flickering into being as they rushed toward the center.

Now! Kanzas thought as he saw it too, his heart suddenly racing. He hadn't wanted to use his spirit orb until Taranis was free, not knowing how long the transformation would last, but finally it was time to see just what this power was all about. "I'll take care of Shirley!" he retorted, raising his arms in front of him.

A bright purple glow emanated from beneath one of the cuffs on his wrists as he called on the Dragoon Spirit, the light growing to completely envelop him and seeming to eat away the shackles as it went. Turquoise-colored electricity sparked upward from his feet in rings around his body, and Belzac instinctively flew back to avoid the bolts of lightning crackling outward in every direction, bringing a hand up to shield his face. He could feel his own spirit resonating in response, an acceptance of the new Dragoon that the half-Giganto didn't like at all.

The sparks died away, leaving Kanzas hovering a foot above the sand floor, his large blue-green wings flapping almost lazily. The violet-colored Dragoon armor was neither as sleek as Shirley's nor as massive as Belzac's own; his forearm and shin guards were thickly armored, but his shoulders left bare.

This is-! This is - I have never- he managed silently, unable to complete the thought as adrenaline like he'd never felt before coursed through him. The spirit had absorbed the hand-claw, fusing it with the armor itself to create three huge blades sprouting from his knuckles, and the man whipped his hand through the air sharply, letting out an exultant, piercing cry before jetting upwards toward the stormy sky and the weather shield above.

Cursing under his breath at everything in general, Belzac immediately turned his attention to the Wingly guards coming his way, making a noise of relief as Syuveil swooped down to aid him. His double-headed spear in his hands was like the limb of a tree, ornately shaped and carved. He swung it to point at the approaching soldiers, eyes as green as his armor narrowing behind his spectacles; these too had changed form and were fused now at the sides of his headpiece, impossible to be knocked away. "None of our transformations will last very long at this point," he said evenly to the larger man. "We shouldn't hold back while we have them."

"Right," he responded, trying to remain as calm as the more experienced Dragoon. Despite how strangely natural it felt to be able to fly now, Belzac was still unsure of the magic he could now command, or, more specifically, of his ability to use it. This was the first time he'd worn his armor to fight, but he had to trust in its strength, in what the Golden Dragon had told him before he'd struck the final blow…

The Wingly guards were fanning out in a circle around the two Dragoons, trying to surround them, yet it was clear they were wary, holding back against these curious new foes. Syuveil too drew back, but swirls of energy were gathering around his green and black figure, intensifying the wind before growing into larger echoes of wings behind him. "Wing Blaster!" his accented voice cried loudly as, flipping his spear to hold horizontally in both hands, he dived hard through the ranks of guards, shearing them with the power that surrounded him.

Choking in a lungful of gritty air, Belzac followed his friend's example, swinging his axe above his head before the stunned soldiers could react. He wasn't conscious of what he was doing, not in the sense that he was telling himself how to call upon the earth power; in fact, his Dragoon Spirit seemed to be shifting his limbs for him, forcing his lips to move.

"Grand…Stream!" he bellowed, bringing the half-moon blade down into the sand below with a grunt. A great wave of earth moved like the ocean outward from that point as he tugged it free, rising up to swallow both Winglies and corpses of gladiators in its torrent and slamming them to the ground to bury them underneath the arena.

For one moment, there was dead silence from the spectators, who had just seen what was apparently a Giganto and a Human doing magic. Belzac wasn't even able to move, his mouth open, his breath coming harshly and fast. He felt oddly drained, as if he'd just lost part of something he hadn't known he'd possessed, and no matter how hard he concentrated he couldn't summon the strength to do that again. But he wanted to - he wanted to make the earth roar again and drag this entire vile place below.

Up above, Taranis suddenly snarled in rage and opened his mouth wide to shoot down a streak of lightning, which hit the stands. Chaos erupted, the onlookers screaming and scrambling for the teleporters, paying no attention as first Belzac and then Syuveil lost their energy, wings and armor shimmering away in a bright flash of light. Only a few remained to watch what would happen as fresh guards tentatively flew forward to face them, led by Halueth the foreman.

And, in his box at the head of the arena, high above the proceedings, Melbu Frahma stood and stared intently downward, his lips pressed together tightly, his glacier eyes betraying nothing.