HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold

BOOK ONE: DRAGOON SPIRITS GATHER

Chapter Nine

"Why isn't it doing anything? Why can't I do anything?!" Shirley, kneeling on the floor, moved to slam her fist down on the edge of the bed, but caught herself before it hit. She dragged her arms back close to her and crossed them tightly. The glassy surface of her Dragoon spirit orb felt slick inside her clenched hand, its glow faded.

She felt Belzac's hands on her shoulders as he knelt behind her, his arms soon sliding around to enfold her in an embrace. "Shirley," his voice pleaded from just above her head, "you've been trying all day. You've halted the poison; there's nothing more you can do right now."

Her chest tight, she merely shook her head, looking with reddened eyes at the figure of Lord Diaz lying in the bed, still and quiet and very pale in the dim candlelight. Sticky, dark bile colored the corners of his mouth, and the skin around his eyes looked bruised. She'd tried, so many times, to cleanse the Human leader of the toxin in his veins, but despite all her efforts she had managed only to keep it from killing him.

Lady Mille, in her adjoining chamber, had also been affected, though not as badly. However, in her condition the consequences of the poisoning could be even worse. Rose and Zieg were sitting with the young woman, attempting to make her comfortable as she writhed and tried to bear the pain wracking her inside. As with Diaz, Shirley's power had stopped the spread of the poison, but it couldn't eradicate it from her body.

The thought that whatever this was could resist all the healing magic of the White-Silver Dragon was making Shirley's heart ache. The tears had come long ago, no matter how she'd tried to hold them back; the four Dragoons had been in constant vigil over their lord and lady since they'd been found by a maid before midday. "He's in death-sleep," she whispered to the half-Giganto, dropping the orb and raising her hands to clutch at his arms in front of her. "Why can't I-"

"Shh," he murmured back, rocking her ever so gently, his large frame curled protectively over her. "This isn't your fault."

But I still can't help! You don't understand… Half-heartedly, she tried to struggle out of his grasp, but he held on, refusing to move, and finally she just slumped forward over his arms. "I thought," she whispered, barely audible, "that I could heal everything."

"Shirley-"

As if she couldn't hear him, she stared down at the Dragoon spirit hanging from its chain. She'd received her power when she was sixteen, and she'd used it to heal ever since then, though she hadn't actually worn her armor until much more recently. What if she really wasn't worthy anymore? She'd been selfishly concerned with her own problems lately, and, of course, she'd killed an innocent.

Slowly, Shirley reached out to grab hold of it again, threading her fingers together around the orb. "Please, White-Silver Dragon," she mouthed. "Please, heal my lord…heal Diaz…"

The other Dragoon shook his head, though he knew she couldn't see it, watching the glow spill from her hands once again. And, once again, it did nothing. Hearing the sound of his beloved friend trying her hardest to choke back her sobs, Belzac pulled her back tightly against his chest. She twisted in his arms to hug him, hiding her face behind her red hair, her fingertips almost painfully pressed into his sides. "I'm sorry…I'm such a child," she gritted out, barely audible against him.

He didn't reply, merely holding on and staring down at the floor. He wished Kanzas and his stupid tirade hadn't made her so ashamed to cry.

They sat there for a few minutes before the door to the other room opened. Zieg entered the lord's chambers carrying a shallow clay basin cradled against his chest, a lit candlestick in his other hand. He gave Shirley a sympathetic look, stopping halfway across the room. She tensed slightly when she realized he was there, but soon decided she didn't care enough to bother moving.

Belzac, turning his head, asked him, "How is Lady Mille doing now?"

He sighed. "She's fighting it, I think. There seems to be less of that black bile coming up."

Nodding, he went on reluctantly, "And the baby?"

Zieg's silence said everything for him, but finally he mumbled, "It doesn't look very good. Rose says she might lose it, but it's all right too, at least for now." Scowling down into the basin, the blonde man shook his head and went on, "Any sign of the others, yet?"

"Not yet," the half-Giganto answered, rubbing Shirley's back gently. "The last I saw Matthi must have been two hours ago." They'd sent the Mininto guard out to wait for Syuveil and Kanzas, but the two Dragoons had gone to the snowfields early and there was no telling when they'd be back. It had been such a long day already.

"I hope they hurry," Zieg commented, moving to place the basin and his candle on a chest of drawers by the window. He flicked aside the drapes to look out at the falling snow in the darkness, his shoulders slumped in depression. "If anyone can figure out what this poison is, and the antidote, it'll be Syuveil."

Blowing out a breath of air, he agreed, "Right." There was yet another question hanging over them: what about the war? At least Lord Tibero - Lord General, now - was moving on with the leadership of the armies, overseeing the gathering of the soldiers in Fort Magrad. But Tibero was simply the respected elder of a Southlands clan; he wasn't Lord Diaz, the ruler who had given so many Human slaves something to live for.

Diaz can't die. He can't. We have come so far - Soa, your fate can't include this! I can't believe you would give us hope just to yank it away! Do your creations mean so little to you?

However, Belzac's dark line of thought was cut off by the sound of voices in the hallway outside. Zieg stood from where he was leaning on the window ledge, and Shirley pushed herself upright as the large chamber door flew open, a rather wide-eyed guard pulling on the catch.

A moment later the commotion entered the dark room as Matthi hurried inside, followed by Syuveil, who was staring at a piece of paper held in his hands. A thick ooze of blood covered the side of his jaw and was drying down his neck. Behind him was Kanzas, who held Damia rather disinterestedly, as if he'd nearly forgotten she was there. The young half-mermaid looked very pale, and Belzac knew that since she wasn't protesting against who was carrying her, something was probably wrong.

"-for hours now," Matthi was saying, half-turned to face Syuveil and walking backward with light ease. "There's got to be something we can do, there's got to be-"

"Here," Kanzas said brusquely, coming over to Belzac and Shirley as they quickly got up from the floor. He dropped Damia into the big man's arms and stood back. Belzac shifted her slight weight, staring down at her in shock.

Hearing the noise, Rose slipped in from the other room, an inquiring look on her face. "What's going on?" she asked, but Zieg shrugged, as mystified as she.

Matthi patted Diaz's hand with his smaller one before sitting down on the edge of the bed. The young Mininto guard heaved a sigh, a frown on his usually cheerful face. His own native magic could do nothing against the poison, either, and he had little to do now with his sworn lord and lady so ill. "Nothing's going right anymore," he muttered, feeling a bit out of place as he watched the Dragoons confer.

"Divine Tree, what happened to you?" Shirley breathed, her eyes flicking first across the girl's huddled form and then Syuveil's singed hair and leaky wound. She took a step toward the Jade Dragoon and then stopped, glancing back at Damia. "Were you injured out in the snowfield?"

Belzac suddenly made an angry noise, his pale eyes growing flinty as he looked back up from the teal-haired girl's form and fixed his gaze on Kanzas. "You!" he growled, suddenly silencing the room. "Did you do this?"

"What?" the other man responded, genuinely startled. He glanced down at himself, seeing the splotch of dried blood on his shirt, and reached to scratch at it with a dirty fingernail. "What - no! She just bled on me." He snorted, crossing his arms. "That guy, what, Shynn? He stabbed her. But don't bother blaming him now, since he's dead."

For a moment no one could react. "Syuveil?" Zieg finally got out; he'd seen the man flinch at that, but, surprisingly, he'd made no move to even disagree. "Is this true?"

"Yes," Syuveil answered at last, reluctantly. "It was Fara, and - and Shynn." He waved the crumpled paper he held, looking at it almost in despair. "He…"

Struggling for his words, the scholar was momentarily saved as Rose said, "Before we get into that - Shirley, they should be healed. Before someone else dies."

Shuddering, the woman forced herself to nod, dreading the thought of what might happen if her spirit wouldn't heal these hurts, too. It'll work this time, she told herself. It must.

As the beams of light streaked outward from between her fingers, something unexpected happened. The glow of the white-silver spirit was echoed suddenly by circling rays of blinding-bright color from around the room, emanating from each of the Dragoon Spirits. Most surprising, however, was the stream of crystal-blue dancing around Damia's tightly clenched fist.

"Oh, yeah," Kanzas announced with relish, covering his wrist with his hand as he felt the pulsing recognition of the other six Dragoon Spirits making an odd tattoo against his skin. "It looks like the kid's the last Dragoon, too."

"You aren't serious," Rose breathed, the only one to give voice to the shock. He shrugged, waving his hand as if to tell her to just believe her eyes. They watched as the lights faded, only Shirley's remaining to heal Syuveil and Damia of their wounds, and then its brightness died as well, leaving Diaz's chamber in dimness once more.

Shirley shook her head slowly, squeezing her spirit tight in her hand before letting it go. Thank you. "Then, it's no wonder we didn't sense anything," she murmured, thinking it through. "We'd already found the bearer of the Blue Sea spirit. I was called to you in Mekadris, when we bought you - I had forgotten that, but it's true."

The girl slowly struggled to sit upright, Belzac shifting her to help, and Damia looked down at the blue stone in her bloody hand before turning her head toward the others. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her expression miserable. "I know I'm no good."

"You'll do just fine," Belzac reassured her, brushing back the strands of hair that were stuck to her tear-stained cheeks, the sparkle of scales clear now on her face. She raised her hand to cover them, embarrassed, but he tugged it away, saying sternly, "And you don't need to be ashamed of who you are, either. Maybe your water magic made the spirit choose you."

"I know what Diaz would say now," Zieg offered, giving her a slightly wan smile. "Dragoon Spirits attract each other, and Dragoons gather as the Dragoon Spirit desires - as Soa's fate leads. You were meant to have the spirit, Damia. If it accepts you, it means you deserve it."

After a moment, she let her hand fall, smiling a little in return. "Thanks…"

Shirley looked toward the bed; Matthi shook his head at her helplessly, still keeping watch over the unconscious lord. Turning back, she wiped her sleeve across her eyes and murmured, "He'll be very happy when he wakes up."

Rose gave a nod. "The last Dragoon. This is good news," she said, "but I'd still like to know how this came about. It doesn't seem a coincidence that this would happen on the same day we find Lord Diaz poisoned."

"Don't look at me," Kanzas announced, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "It's not my story."

"But you killed him!" Damia protested, turning ruby eyes toward him fiercely.

The man raised a shoulder in a shrug, unconcerned by the sudden scrutiny from the others. "Not necessarily," he answered placidly. I don't think I could count that one, could I? Such a boring death - well, on my end, at least. "Besides, to me it looks like this Shynn was a traitor. Everything's sort of mixed up."

It was Syuveil's turn to look away, staring down at the paper he held. "I - he-" Gritting his teeth, he took a breath and started again. "I don't really understand it, myself. But he left this letter, and…maybe I can come to understand it, eventually." He sighed. "All he wanted was to be one of us. He's always wanted…well, anyway…he found out last night, somehow, that Fara had poisoned Lord Diaz."

"I knew it!" Zieg exclaimed loudly, startling them. "I knew she was responsible for this."

Nodding, the scholar went on, "It's poison sego. I don't know how she managed to get it to him-"

"Them," Shirley told him reluctantly, feeling pain for him as she watched all the color drain from his face, the dried blood that stained his jaw seeming even darker. "Lady Mille was affected also, though not as badly." He gave a little flinch, as if to go toward the other room, and then stood back again, looking even unhappier than before.

"We don't know how it got to them, either," Matthi put in suddenly, his high voice a little startling. "The food was tested, and the taster is fine. So are all of you, and me, and everyone else who was there."

Syuveil held up the letter, scanning its contents once more. "This doesn't answer that. I-I don't know what he was thinking! He blackmailed Fara with this knowledge, promising not to warn anyone Diaz was poisoned if she could activate the Blue Sea Spirit for him. She agreed, but only if he'd deliver the child Damia to her…" He suddenly crumpled the letter in his hand, reaching up to clutch at his temples.

"He'd actually have done that?" Belzac said, astonished. He glanced at the bloodstained tear in the half-mermaid's tunic, scowling in outrage. "No, he did do it. I can't believe he'd try to trade her life for a chance to be a Dragoon!"

Hesitantly, Damia explained, "He asked me to deliver a message to Syuveil. When I got up there, he was waiting with the Wingly woman, and grabbed me."

"What was the message?" Shirley asked.

"This letter," Syuveil told her, half-heartedly uncrumpling it. "I think he expected to kill Fara, if she got the spirit to accept him. That's why I think he was only…pretending to be a traitor…"

Rose made a noise almost like a laugh. "What he did doesn't sound very loyal to me. I'm sorry, Syuveil, but-"

Zieg tapped a finger against his lips. "Well, a maid found Lord Diaz this morning," he mused, "early enough for us to halt the poison's spread, at least. She was sent to deliver a message to him, but when we found the actual message, it was blank."

"Well, what he meant or not doesn't matter," Kanzas said shortly. "They're both dead."

"How?" Shirley demanded, raising her eyebrow at him. "If Shynn had meant to fight Fara anyway-"

He shrugged. "We came out when the kid screamed. He had the knife in his hand - there was no mistake about who did it. Syuveil thought the Wingly made him do it, and went after her. I fought with him."

"When the spirit flew to me," Damia said in a small voice, "he got mad and stabbed me. Kanzas kicked him off the side of the walkway and he pulled me too and we fell…"

"Damia!" Belzac gasped, surprised. He glared at Kanzas, who merely gave him an amused look in return. "You've certainly been through a lot tonight."

She nodded, rather mechanically, looking as if she might be pleased with that fact now that the danger was over. "I was scared, but I turned into a Dragoon," she finished, "and flew back up. It was really fast, I don't know what happened."

Syuveil refolded the wrinkled paper into a small square. "At the same time, I killed Fara, so I couldn't help them. That's all I know," he finished, his voice devoid of emotion. He didn't look over as Shirley put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly, but tucked the letter into a pocket of his gray tunic. "And I…I don't know. I can't…dwell on this now. We have to find the antidote for Lady Mille and Lord Diaz. There are soldiers gathering in Fort Magrad even as we speak. We can't afford to wait."

"Which is exactly what Fara was counting on," Zieg said darkly. "I don't blame you, Syuveil, but her death won't help delay the war any. She was Faust's favorite niece - and the battery is nowhere near completed yet. If he decides to take Flanvel to Vellweb, the seven of us aren't strong enough yet to stop him."

"So," Belzac mused aloud, letting Damia down, "what will we do? The Winglies will demand the body."

"You could always put her head on a pike," Matthi suggested lightly, though his expression was dead serious. He shrugged at the odd looks the others gave him. "It's what you do with heads. On pikes or in jars."

There was a silence for a moment. "I like that idea. Very appropriate," Zieg said with a humorless chuckle.

"We'll have to deal with that when, or if, it happens," Shirley counseled a little reproachfully, spreading her hands. "Diaz is the most important thing right now."

Rose bit her lip in reflection, rubbing her hands together as if to warm them. "You know, I've been thinking…poison sego's just a plant. Why doesn't Shirley's magic get rid of it?"

"Well," Kanzas put in suddenly, "obviously the Wingly did something to it. She had to have spied out something about the Dragoons while she was here. If she thought we might be able to use Dragon magic to heal him, she could have magicked the poison to resist it."

"Then there has to be a way to break that spell," Belzac said, frowning. "A lot of magic is destroyed when the caster dies, isn't it?"

"Yes," the Violet Dragoon answered flatly, "but poison spells aren't one of them. Still, it's not hard to get rid of; there's potions that would do it. You did try that, right?"

"Of course we did!" Belzac snarled back at him.

He waved his hand as if his point had been made. "There you go, then. Unless they've strengthened their poisons since - before, there's something else to it."

Damia sighed, squatting down to curl over her knees. "Now what?" she asked, rather rhetorically. There was no answer; everyone around the room was silent, wondering the same thing themselves.

We can't just wait and see, Shirley thought, unable to stand there another minute. We have to act, even if it doesn't help. "All right," she said suddenly, surprising herself. "All right," she repeated as the others looked at her curiously. "I'm going to go see Charle. She might be able to do something." Flicking brown eyes across the rest of the Dragoons' faces, she finished with, "Zieg, will you come with me? You know the way to Ulara, and she'd want to see you, I think."

He nodded immediately, curious. "Of course, Shirley."

"Belzac," she went on, turning to him, "would you check the defenses, make sure the guards are posted? I don't know how much of this has gotten out to the people, but we should be prepared."

"Yes, if you want," Belzac answered quickly. Shirley hadn't inherited much of her mother's authoritative personality, but the resemblance now was startling.

"Kanzas, Rose? Would you take your Dragons and fly the borders? I - don't know, but I have a feeling the Winglies might be waiting to attack us while we're confused like this. See if you can find out what they're doing without getting caught yourselves."

The other two glanced at each other and then nodded. Funny, Kanzas thought, running a hand through his messy hair as he stood from the wall, no one questions her at all. I wonder if she'll keep this up. It was strange to hear Shirley giving orders, even though that wasn't exactly what they were. Still, there was no reason not to do what she asked.

Smiling gently, the young woman turned to the remaining two Dragoons. "Syuveil, Damia…please stay here and take care of them. Matthi will help, right?"

"Right," the Mininto agreed, bobbing his head in a quick nod.

"Okay, Shirley," Damia whispered, standing back up and drawing herself up straight. Syuveil also assented, looking toward Mille's room with obvious worry.

Shirley put her hand on the girl's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You've had a hard day. Try to get some rest, if you can," she told her, taking a deep breath. "All right, everyone…let's get going. Please, be careful."

Though it seemed strangely quiet and normal in Vellweb that evening, there was an odd undercurrent of nervousness that belied the usual feeling in the streets. Belzac knew that the news of Lord Diaz and Lady Mille being ill had probably seeped out to the rest of the people; who knew how many the maid had told before he and the others had gotten there? The stars that had given them hope last night now shone more coldly above him, and he paused to pull his hood up over his head before heading down the nearest flight of stairs.

Reaching a landing, Belzac peered up toward the roofs of the palace building. Even through the darkness he could see the outline of the rubble that had spread there and the flickers of torches. One of the first things Tibero had done upon learning of the poisoning was to order that the city throw its full efforts into completing the construction of at least the main spear-shooter.

It's a smart decision, but even half-started, a thing like that can't be finished overnight, he mused morosely. Especially with so many men away at Magrad now. We'll just have to do what we can, I guess. Maybe that was even one of the things that had caused Fara to try to flee the city, rather than stay and claim innocence; she had still been here, after all, when they'd abandoned all pretense regarding the battery. Perhaps her death had something of a silver lining to it, in that sense, for as long as the Winglies didn't know for sure that they were building giant weapons here, they would have a chance of getting at least one done before it would be needed.

He'd spent the last hour going around the city and warning the guards to be extra vigilant as Shirley had asked, though inwardly he wasn't sure it would do much good. The reality was that there weren't enough soldiers left in Vellweb to defend it from a magical attack. Their forces were gathering in Fort Magrad even now, but as long as Flanvel was still in the sky, they would be overwhelmed instantly.

He just hoped that Shirley would be successful and Charle would agree to help them. It hadn't been too long ago that he'd seen the four Dragons arrive to take the other Dragoons out of the city, and she and Zieg would be well on their way into the Death Frontier by now.

It had surprised him how quickly her attitude had changed from the depression she'd been in earlier. It was probably because there was now something they could do about the situation, and he was glad she didn't seem to be dwelling on her inability to heal the two nobles anymore. Staying busy always helped people keep their minds off problems, after all.

However, Belzac had seen something in Shirley's eyes before they'd gone their separate ways, something almost worryingly unfamiliar. He'd known her since she was three years old, a new slave brought to a neighboring farm. She'd wandered away from her mother, was crying, lost and afraid, and he'd found her and brought her home again. After that, he'd always looked out for her, protected her, even when she'd grown older and had learned to take care of herself. And even then she had still been the same Shirley, the child who cried when a cat tormented a mouse, the girl who prayed in the fields for the souls of dead crows the Wingly drones had killed to protect the crop.

He had only been separated from her for one year, when she'd been sent by her master as tithe to the Temple of Soa in the Life City. When she'd returned, to buy him and both their families free in the names of Charle Frahma and Lord Diaz, she had her Dragoon Spirit with her - and their lives were changed forever.

But even then, stepping onto the ground for the first time as a free Human, with her hair cut short and the Dragon's soul in her hand, Shirley had not looked as determined as she had today. It was as if she had resolved to carry on no matter what, even without hope. And that, for some odd reason, disturbed him greatly.

Belzac sighed, coming down off the last flight of stairs into the lower city, his breath billowing around him visibly, although the light snow that had been falling had already moved on. Huge boots crunched through the drifts as he walked the quiet nighttime streets. It was quiet enough, in fact, that the sound of raised voices several blocks away was clear to his ears. He stopped, frowning as he tried to figure out which direction it was coming from.

"Pardon us, Sir Belzac," someone said nearby, and he automatically moved out of the way. Two guards trotted past, turning the corner to head down another street. They were pulling a cart behind them, its wheels fastened to runners in deference to the snow, creating a makeshift sledge. Without really thinking about it, the half-Giganto followed them. Shirley's younger brother Lyss was a member of the guard, and if he was around, he could be of help.

As he'd expected, the soldiers and their cart led him directly to the source of the commotion, which surrounded one of the small 'houses' cut into the stone cliff face. Almost every adult living on the street was outside, wrapped in layers of clothing against the cold, their voices buzzing loudly in the stillness. Children kept appearing in doorways and windows, shooed to bed by parents and sneaking back shortly afterward.

Making his way easily through the crowd, as people always seemed to give way before him, Belzac approached one of the city guards; unfortunately, Lyss was nowhere in sight. "Hey - what's going on here?"

The man didn't answer right away, his gaze focused on the house's open door. Silence descended momentarily as the two guards with the cart came back outside, carrying a body between them, a blanket draped over its form but not hiding the shape of the dead person beneath it.

Carefully laying it in the cart, they went back inside, and Belzac watched with growing horror as another, rather smaller, figure was carried out and placed next to the first. The crowd of neighbors watched with solemnity, though whispers erupted again soon afterward.

With the ground frozen until spring, anyone who died before then had to be taken and placed in a large crypt underground until it was warm enough to bury them. He hoped they wouldn't be taking Diaz and Mille next. "What happened here?" he asked again before they could leave, and this time the soldier watching the door turned to look up at him, his mouth set in a grim line.

"We don't know," he replied gruffly, glancing at the house. "They were found dead. No wounds. I just hope-"

He'd cut himself off so as not to alarm anyone else, but Belzac knew what he meant - it could be plague. And that would be the exact last thing we needed right now. However, suspicion was creeping up slowly inside him, and the Dragoon hesitated just a moment before turning to the sled and leaning down to lift the blanket from the face of one of the corpses.

The young man lying there had pale skin, his body rigid and his face frozen in an expression of agony. He'd probably been dead for several hours at least. His stomach twisting unpleasantly, Belzac bent closer, and his sparse brows knit together as he saw a smudge of darkness around the man's mouth. Pulling off his glove, he wiped at the corner, a black smear streaking his fingertip. A quick look under the other blanket confirmed that the man's wife was the same. But how…

"Who was the last person to see them alive?" he asked, straightening but not turning around as he put the glove back on.

The guard, after a moment, turned and demanded the answer of the crowd. The babble of voices increased as the neighbors conferred, and finally one man spoke up, saying, "Arne and Meg was outside this mornin', sir, when the almoner come by. We ain't none of us seen 'em since then."

That's it! Spinning around, Belzac suddenly asked the wary guard by the door, "Can I go inside? I want to check something."

"Go ahead, Sir Belzac, if you really want to," he answered, wearing an anxious expression on his face. His voice dropped as he added, "You couldn't give me anything to make me go in there."

Covering the bodies again, the huge man nodded and ducked through the open doorway; he was barely able to stand straight without hitting his head on the rough stone of the ceiling. The home was typical of many of the commoners, very small and spare, but it was generally agreed that this was better than slave quarters in the Wingly cities.

The fire in the stove had gone out, and the air of the room was icy. Belzac reached to touch the pipe that let the smoke out through the wall and found it cold. Yes, they'd definitely been dead for a while. He turned around slowly in a circle, taking in a narrow double bed with a straw mattress, the blankets gone, of course. In the corner near the stove were two low stools and a shallow tub, and a niche carved into the wall held some small bundles wrapped in cloth.

It took only two steps to reach the wall on the other side; his foot banged against the washtub, and he looked down, wrinkling his nose as he saw not water sloshing inside but vomit, pieces of food mixed with a thick black substance.

More certain than ever now, the half-Giganto reached for one of the bundles in the niche and unwrapped the cloth tucked securely around its contents. Inside was a quarter of a trencher from the feast, saved to provide another meal for these poor people.

"So that was how she did it," Belzac murmured, absently rewrapping the piece of flat bread and holding it to his chest. Fara somehow got the poison onto Diaz and Mille's trencher. More must have gone on Diaz's half, because he's sicker, or maybe he just ate more. And then the almoner delivered it here…

That damned Wingly didn't care who she hurt, did she?

Stepping outside again, Belzac met the curious eyes of the crowd and the guards, who stood waiting by the cart, but not too close. Sighing, he told the soldier by the door, "It's not plague; they were poisoned." He could almost sense the relief in the air, the voices starting up again as this information was passed around.

"But, who'd want to kill these people?" the man asked him.

"It…it wasn't on purpose…" Shaking his head hard, Belzac went on, "Look, that's not important right now. There's another problem. Someone else got the other half of this trencher." Glancing at the other two bewildered guards, he added in a low, morose tone, "Better not bring that sled to the crypt just yet. I have a bad feeling we'll need it again."

Soaring blindly into the darkness, Shirley kept her head ducked against the cold wind, letting Eremi follow Zieg and his vassal Dragon, Ember, across the desert land of the Death Frontier. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of the other Dragon's sleek red figure glinting in the light of the unsetting moon, and that was the only thing that kept her from feeling like she was drowning in the sky's void.

It was the only thing that let her know where she was going as well. Charle's new city was still under construction, but it was already protected from the outside world by a magical shield of invisibility. All she knew was that it was somewhere in the desert. Zieg, however, knew exactly how to get there, and if she lost sight of him now she was definitely lost.

However, it wasn't much longer before Ember suddenly curved slightly in the air, beginning to circle as she came closer to the ground. /Follow them, Eremi,/ Shirley thought urgently, hanging on as her vassal leaned to the side and began to slowly descend as well, wings flaring as she glided almost playfully after the red Dragon.

As they circled, though, she was convinced that Zieg had picked the wrong spot, for nothing was happening. She couldn't really ask him about it at the moment, so she just watched as Ember finally pulled out of her gentle turn, rearing back in annoyance. The Dragon's jaw dropped wide, sending a streak of bright-orange flame racing harmlessly through the air and lighting up the emptiness of the Death Frontier.

Well, thatwoke them up! Shirley thought, startled, her fingers curled extra tightly around Eremi's halter rope. Below her, as though it were a mirage shimmering in the moonlight, the grounded Wingly town of Ulara shuddered into view, its invisibility falling away. Immediately, the two Dragoons flew down toward it.

Ulara looked more like a ruin at this point than an actual town. A riot of trees and greenery seemed to choke out what civilization was present. Dust drifted across unfinished brick walkways, and many teleporting pads sat deadened without their usual green glow. All that the canals beneath the raised platforms held were rivers of even more sand, and the buildings stacked above and beneath the walkways were silent and lightless - all of them but one.

As the Dragons descended, a figure dressed in white came out onto a platform jutting from a hunk of rock, lit by the glow of a lone working transporter. Ember swooped down as near as she could, and Zieg wriggled out from under the ropes that held him on her back, jumping carefully but impressively onto the small platform as the Dragon arced back into the sky.

Swallowing hard, Shirley urged her vassal Dragon down just a little more before sliding her legs from the harness and swinging after him, her heart flying up into her throat. Her eyes closed tight as she let go of the rope, but a moment later she felt arms around her waist, catching hold of her. She clutched Zieg's shoulders to steady herself.

"All right there?" he asked, and she nodded, a bit embarrassed as he set her down on blessedly solid brick.

The Wingly woman who stood across from the two Humans was watching the Dragons as they soared upward into the darkness, wings sparking briefly before they disappeared into the sky. She was wearing a nightdress and her long wavy hair was a silvery color, left loose down her back.

Though at first glance she appeared to be a kindly grandmother, her face was smooth and young, with high cheekbones and a slightly regal appearance. After all, she was the older sister of the ruler of Endiness, and she could nearly match him in magical power.

"My goodness, dearies," Charle said mildly, ruining her majestic exterior even more as she ran over to Zieg and Shirley and flung her arms around them with a laugh. "What a dramatic entrance you made! Really, and I didn't even know you were here until your Dragon breathed fire just over our heads, Zieggy!"

"We weren't that close, Charle," he protested tolerantly, enfolding the diminutive Wingly in the hug she required. He knew her better than any of the others and had a great fondness for her, as well as respect for helping them to defy her brother. "If we'd been able to see Ulara to begin with…"

She stood back, waving a finger at him. "Now, now, you know that isn't such a good idea!" Turning to Shirley, she put both hands on the red-haired woman's shoulders, peering into her face. "Shirley, dear, you've changed," she murmured in a much more serious voice as the Human ducked her head away from her gaze. "I can see it in your eyes, child. What is it bothering you?"

"Well," Zieg broke in, scuffing his boot against the edge of the teleporter nearby, "that's why we're here."

"Inside, inside. I'm not going to chat with you standing out here in my nightie," she protested, waving them toward the edge of the rock face, the arched entrance to her house looking almost like a cave hidden by greenery. Ulara was on a chunk of land that had been lifted from the ground and brought by Wingly magic to the Death Frontier. That was why these plants thrived here, their beauty kept alive by the same magic.

Unlike the unfinished exterior of the town, the inside of Charle's house looked like that of any wealthy Wingly home in the floating cities, though it too wasn't completely finished - the interior teleporters were deactivated as well. The walls formed gentle, organic curves, the effect heightened by the vein-like raised design that crossed them. Sparkling crystal rocks in a fountain refracted the water spilling over them, and a long walkway led deeper into the home.

Leading her guests inward, the woman paused to call up toward a ledge, "Caron, do come down and greet our guests! I shouldn't have to be the only one awake!"

"We are so sorry to wake you," Shirley hastened to say, "but this is too important to wait until morning."

"Nonsense, dearie. I'm sure I don't mind. Here, sit down, both of you," Charle commanded, half-dragging her over to a large violet couch fringed in yellow, its ridged seats molded to fit their occupants comfortably. "There are certainly some things I wouldn't mind hearing about." She stooped briefly, lifting a leather pack from its place in the corner. "My servants in Kadessa said this was yours, Shirley. Whatever were you doing there? Was it something to do with that mess in the arena? My, everyone was simply in an uproar about that!"

Flushing as she recognized it, she answered, "Well…uh, it's a long story, Charle. I'll tell you later; it's not important now." Taking a seat next to Zieg, Shirley caught his half-amused glance and shook her head in response, smiling wanly. It was obvious that Charle would never change. However, despite her flighty attitude, she also knew that the Wingly could be depended on to help them, just as she had been secretly backing the Human uprising for many years now.

A moment later, another Wingly flew down from what would be the upstairs level, wearing a robe over her nightdress and carrying a length of cloth in one arm. Her wings shimmering from sight, Caron gave the two Dragoons a respectful nod, draping the unasked-for shawl over Charle's shoulders in an affectionate way. "Hello," she greeted in a low, quiet voice.

"Now," Charle said, clapping her hands together childishly, "why have you two dropped in on us tonight?"

There was no way to say it gently, and Zieg, after a moment, told her, "Charle, everything's gone all wrong. Fara's poisoned Lord Diaz and Lady Mille. They're dying, and we can't heal them."

"Oh, dear," she breathed, raising a hand to her lips. "I suppose she fled to Flanvel afterward?"

Shirley shook her head slowly. "Syuveil killed her," she answered evenly, "and even that didn't break the spell. Lord Diaz is in death-sleep, and Lady Mille in great pain, and I can do nothing." Quickly hiding her face in her hands, she curled forward to block out her surroundings, sitting like that until she felt a touch on her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw Caron standing there, holding a small vessel. "Drink this," she told her, pressing the cup into her hands. Her pretty face seemed sympathetic, but was somehow distant at the same time. "It will be all right."

Nodding, she took a sip of the clear liquid, feeling it burn her tongue and throat as it went down. Wingly liquor, she recognized, and gave it one more wary look before knocking the rest of it back. It warmed her instantly from the inside, and she handed back the cup with a steadier hand, brushing the hair from her face. "Thank you," she murmured, turning her eyes to the others.

"She must have learned it from that horrible uncle of hers," Charle was musing softly. "No wonder your Dragon magic couldn't fix it. It'd be the same kind of magic that makes teleporter spells and the like stick to the transport pads. What a nasty thing to do, applying permanence to a poison. There's no choice, of course - I'll have to break the spell myself."

"You would?" Zieg exclaimed delightedly, his hazel eyes going wide as he sat a bit straighter. "But suppose you're found out-"

The Wingly waved a hand dismissively. "I can certainly take care of myself, Zieggy, and Melbu knows that, too." Her energy wings slid from her back suddenly, her feet leaving the ground. "Come with me, Caron," she ordered her lady, grabbing for her hand. "Help me dress; we need to leave as soon as we can."

As the two flew quickly to the second floor, Shirley sighed, telling her friend in a soft voice, "I know there's no other way, but I feel like…it's wrong, to ask her for help. Like we can't even do anything without the Winglies' aid."

He put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her briefly. "It's not like we ask her for everything," he defended. "This is so important. We can't lose Lord Diaz…we just can't."

It was not long before Charle and Caron returned again to descend onto the walkway. The ruler of Ulara was wearing one of her customary elaborate gowns, the layered coral-colored fabric making a full skirt. It rustled as she beckoned to them, leading the way back toward the entrance. Almost forgetting, Shirley grabbed the pack she'd left in Kadessa before following.

"Use the transporter," Charle said when they had stepped out into the cold night again, pointing to the green circle at the end of the ledge. "This one works."

She and the other Wingly took flight as they stepped onto the pad. Obligingly, a bubble of light enveloped the two Humans, carrying them down to the high brick pathway below. Running along its length, Shirley and Zieg kept up with the two flying above them as they were led down the interconnecting walks toward another source of light. The other Winglies here, asleep in their dark houses, didn't seem to hear the sound of their footsteps echoing past.

Alighting on the second of the twin teleport pads, Caron behind her, Charle waited for the Dragoons to arrive and catch their breath before announcing, "All right, dearies, we'll be in Vellweb in the blink of an eye. Just step here with me."

A dull, almost queasy ache settling in her stomach, Shirley nodded and did as asked, folding her hands in front of her chest. Just one more uncomfortable ride, and then everything would be all right again. Next to her, Zieg was also silently bracing himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Take care of things here, Caron," Charle said with a smile, kissing her before also arranging herself onto the softly-glowing circle. "You must put the shield up until I get back."

"I will, Charle," the white-haired woman promised, stepping back and then holding up her hands. "Go safely!"

A sphere of green surrounded the three, lifting them high into the air before shooting northward. Shirley bit her lip as the ground sped by beneath her, covering the many miles in only a few minutes, and Zieg stared up at the night sky, the stars there mere streaks of light. This was a much longer passage than the one from the village commons to Kadessa had been, leaving her time to actually see the world sliding away below.

And then, descending suddenly, the magic orb dissipated, leaving them standing in a snowdrift just outside Vellweb. A spell of Charle's own, cast years ago, made it impossible for anyone to simply teleport themselves within the city's thick stone walls - as Fara had discovered on the night of the feast.

The Wingly shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Ooh," she muttered brightly, "I did forget just how cold it was here!"

Almost without thinking, Shirley unfastened her white wool cloak and flung it from her shoulders onto Charle, draping it over her head to hide her hair. "We'll go faster if they don't recognize you as a Wingly," she explained to the startled woman, already feeling the bite of the freezing air through her robe.

"Come on," Zieg called, hurrying ahead toward the gate. He pounded on it until the sentries let them in, and after only a short time dealing with them, since the two Dragoons were recognized right away, the group rushed down the streets to the palace.

Worry clutched at her as they finally reached the lord and lady's chambers upstairs, but as they were let inside Shirley saw, much to her relief, that Lord Diaz hadn't gotten any worse while they were away. However, he hadn't gotten any better, either, still lying in bed as they'd left him.

Belzac was slumped in a chair next to Diaz, holding a sleeping Damia in his arms, and he blinked groggily as they entered, sitting up and trying not to rub at his eyes. Shirley looked at him with a little envy, as she hadn't had a chance to sleep since she'd been woken with the news that morning.

"Charle? She - you came?" Belzac blurted, surprised, as the Wingly pulled Shirley's cloak from her shoulders and absently pushed it back toward its owner.

"That's right," she answered, leaning over Diaz and placing her hand on the lord's forehead. Her usual eccentricity seemed to have vanished into a hard mask of seriousness. "Oh, dear, dear," Charle murmured under her breath.

"Excuse me, Charle," Belzac put in, standing up. Damia's head lolled against his shoulder, and she murmured something in her sleep. When the woman turned to him, he continued in a rush, "Please, you must help Lady Mille first; we think she might be losing the baby-"

Her back tensed suddenly, her garnet eyes darkening with anger, very odd to see on her normally pleasant face. Without answering him, she rushed through the open doorway leading to the adjoining room, twisting her shiny silver hair up out of the way as she went. The others followed slowly, making sure to keep behind her, and Damia blinked and woke up, holding onto Belzac as they watched what was happening.

Syuveil sat up as she entered, lifting his face from where it was resting on his arms on the edge of the bed, but Charle didn't seem to notice him, pushing past to look down at the lady there.

Mille's skin was bone-white and covered in sweat, her dampened brown hair spread wildly across her pillow. Her breathing was coming quickly through gritted teeth, sounding pained as she clutched at the sheet beneath her. When she focused on the Wingly's face, she looked as though she wanted to speak, but nothing came out but another soft groan.

"All right," Charle said softly, closing her hand around Syuveil's shoulder, "out of the way now, dear."

Reluctantly, he let her push him aside, swaying a little on his feet as he stood, knocking against the chair. Zieg steadied him, walking him back a few steps without drawing attention to it. Charle took his place there, tracing patterns in the air before reaching out to place a hand on the swell of Mille's stomach, her fingers still glowing gently and her eyes hooded with concentration.

A moment later, the glow grew more intense, and the Human let out a sudden loud scream, her back arching involuntarily. "Oh, god!" Syuveil choked, unable to take more than a step toward her as Zieg hooked his arms beneath the scholar's, dragging him back.

"She's going to help her!" the blonde man hissed in the Jade Dragoon's ear, he too unable to tear his eyes away from the figure in the bed.

None of the others could look away either, hearing the painful wails filling the room and watching in dread as bright blood slowly began to stain the sheet draped down between Mille's legs. Damia hid her face in Belzac's shoulder, holding on around his neck almost tight enough to choke him. Shirley clasped the white-silver Dragoon Spirit between her hands, watching in horror as the red stain grew larger and larger; she remembered droplets of that very color spattered across shining blue crystal-

Syuveil shook his head hard, struggling against Zieg's grip. "Stop it!" he demanded. "You're hurting her more, stop it!"

Not paying him any heed, Charle merely leaned forward, and the glow grew brighter, filling the room briefly with a blinding light. Almost invisible through it, Mille made a choking sound, her eyes rolling back as a wispy black cloud floated from her mouth and was destroyed in the whiteness.

"There, darling," she said quietly, turning to the small table next to her and dipping a cloth in the bowl of water there. "You're going to be just fine."

Mille lay still now, her body relaxed, and Charle wrung out the cloth before patting the sweat away from the woman's forehead. Zieg finally let go as Syuveil wrenched himself away, falling to his knees next to Charle at the side of the bed. Mille looked at his worried face, her gaze confused, before her eyes went back to the Wingly. The lady's voice was soft and scratchy as she made herself say, "What…what happened…?"

Her voice exceedingly gentle, Charle told her, "I was able to remove the poison trapped in your body, Mille. Unfortunately, you had already lost one of your babies."

"O-one of?" she whimpered, clutching Syuveil's proffered hand as the other Dragoons looked on, shocked at the news.

"Yes," she answered, putting the cloth back in the bowl, "there were two. However, if you rest and are careful, it's very likely the one remaining will be born with no trouble." She stood up slowly, and though her face was smiling there was a deep sadness in her Wingly eyes.

As Charle stepped away, Mille began to sob. Syuveil leaned down to comfort her, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, her body shaking as she bit her lip to try to stop her cries. He slid his arms beneath her to hold her against his chest, his face hidden in her hair. The two of them didn't move as the others slowly drifted back into the other room, simply holding on inside that dull, aching moment for as long as they could.

This hadn't exactly been unexpected - not really. The fire had melted the thin layer of ice that had covered the streets of this former Gloriano border village, and then it too had burned out, leaving only smoldering shells of homes. Like that outpost near Kashua Pass. This is just what I figured would happen, Kanzas thought, absently reaching up to stroke the shiny purple scales on Taranis' snout with his fingertips. The Winglies aren't going to sit around and let us destroy them.

The Dragon behind him made a soft keening sound which changed into a growl as he lifted his small head from his Dragoon's shoulder, stretching it upward. The man looked up as well, only barely catching sight of a splotch of darkness against the early-morning sky. He smirked without amusement, watching as the shape resolved itself into the form of Rose and her vassal Dragon, Michael. They'd flown off in opposite directions after leaving Vellweb to search the borders as Shirley had asked.

The large black-scaled creature landed on the hill as well, golden sparks falling as the Dragon flapped his wings hard. Taranis hissed deep in his throat, rearing back, and Rose hastened to keep Michael from doing the same before sliding down off his back onto the frozen dead grass. This village had been closer to the Death Frontier and was less snowy than most of the country, though it was still quite cold, especially at this time of the morning.

/That's enough, now. I won't let her hurt you,/ Kanzas thought, and the Dragon reluctantly subsided as the black-haired woman came near.

"I saw the fire," she told him curtly, "but it's too late now."

Folding his arms against his chest, he nodded toward the buildings. "Yeah, the Winglies all left before I got here."

Rose blew out a breath of air, pulling her wrap closely around her. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to say something, but then she shook her head and started off down the hill toward the remains of the village. Kanzas waited a moment before following her, quickly catching up. Neither spoke, the frosted grass crackling beneath their boots as they descended into the scene of the massacre.

There wasn't much to set this apart from similar scenes, though it was quite clear that this particular statement had been made because of the Humans' resistance. The timing was too perfect for it to be just another one of Melbu Frahma's occasional displays of power. Maybe it was even retaliation for the escape from the Kadessa arena; something in Kanzas told him that Shirley would agonize and blame herself for this as well. He wished she'd stop bleeding over every little thing.

They split up automatically as they walked through the streets, encountering charred and broken bodies nearly everywhere, though not wholly visible in the dim light before dawn. The russet-haired man merely gave them cursory glances, his expression even and emotionless. He supposed they were looking for survivors, but there were obviously none. There rarely were. The Winglies were too good at what they did for that.

Rose appeared around the corner, kicking fallen stones from her path, her hands clenched tightly on her upper arms. She met Kanzas' gaze as they neared each other, her expression as cold as his, though her blue eyes were dark with grief and, not surprisingly, hatred as well.

After several seconds, she suddenly turned her head sharply, watching the smoke drift around them, the burnt smell thick in the air. "They're all going to Hell," Rose said softly, "aren't they? The Winglies in Mayfil will send their souls to Hell, just because they're Human."

"Yeah," he answered distractedly, staring as if into the distance. That's always the way, isn't it? But I know another way…the Winglies themselves told me another way. Only half-aware of it, Kanzas murmured, "I wish I'd been the one to do it."

Slowly, as if she couldn't believe her ears, the other Dragoon drew out, "What…did you say…?"

Without regard to the consequences, he returned immediately in a louder tone, "I said, I wish I'd been the one to kill these people."

Rose slapped him hard enough to knock him back a step, the crack of it ringing out loudly in the smoldering air. "How dare you," she hissed, her hand still upraised as he straightened again.

"Oh, you're all alike," he snapped back, holding up his fists warningly, more than half-inclined to hit her back. "You'd never kill if it weren't for war, right? Damn it, you can't even comprehend why I do what I do."

The woman's voice sounded taut and shaky as she answered, "You're right - I don't even want to comprehend someone as twisted as you." She spun around abruptly, stalking back off the way she came, and Kanzas bit his lip in pain a moment later, not from his stinging cheek but from the deep half-moon marks his fingernails had made in his palms as he'd kept himself from striking. He wasn't even sure now why he'd bothered to hold back.

Shaking out his hands, he tucked them in his pockets and went in the other direction, scowling as he stepped absently over the rubble and body parts that were strewn across the streets. Forget this. There was nothing to do here. Better just to go back to Vellweb, let Rose sorrow over what she couldn't change-

"…Kanzas?"

Her voice, drifting to his ears from some distance away, made him pause and turn. There was no trace of anger in the way she'd said his name; instead, he could only hear the detachment of shock there. Curiosity more than anything made him pick his way across the street toward the village green, from which her call had come.

The slender trees that had been planted in the area had been uprooted, dropped haphazardly on the burnt grass, and in the middle of them stood a large stone. The face of the stone was covered with Wingly glyphs, the writing glowing a bright magical green. Rose was kneeling before it, one hand resting on the forehead of a dead child. A branch through the stomach pinned the body to the ashy ground. She stroked the boy's hair almost as if to soothe him, though he was long past comforting.

Kanzas looked at the stone closely. Whatever it said, it was enough to make the Darkness Dragoon forget that she was mad at him, at any rate. "I can't read Wingly," he informed her tersely.

"It says that this is just the beginning," Rose murmured a bit vacantly, bending forward to kiss the boy's forehead, her long black ponytail falling to drape his face like a shroud. "They mean to fill Hell with the souls of our children." She looked back at him, her face strikingly cold and serious. "I will not allow you to help them."

Silent for a moment, the man suddenly reached for the branch, yanking it with a hard motion from the corpse and flinging it behind him. "This," he snarled, "is not what I do. I hate the Winglies more than anything, Rose! They took everything away from me - everything!"

"Your sanity, too?" she replied coolly. "Like you said, I don't understand you. Nor do I trust you. And I promise you this, Kanzas. If you ever betray us, it will be my sword finding your heart."

"You're welcome to try it," he rasped back, "if that's ever the case."

They glared at each other, gazes full of ire, until she finally looked away, gesturing with her chin at the stone as she got to her feet. "We need to take this back to Vellweb," Rose announced. "I'm not leaving it here for Winglies to find."

A bit confused, he decided not to argue, stepping around to the side of the display and giving it an experimental shove. It didn't budge, and he leaned more weight against it as Rose pulled on the other edge. Finally, putting his shoulder against the rock, he was able to lever it out of the ground.

Rose dropped it slowly down, briefly peering into the hole the stone had left. Carefully, she stepped around and picked up the child, placing him gently in the hole and filling it over with dirt and then some of the fallen bricks and saplings. Kanzas made no move to help, merely watching until she was done before calling Taranis to him.

Once the violet Dragon and his Dragoon was in the air again, Michael descended, and at Rose's direction picked up the glyph stone in one claw. A moment later, they were heading north again, flying onward as the sky brightened in the east, the rising sun bringing with it another day without rest.

The situation in Diaz's chambers was much brighter than it had been the day before, for despite Lady Mille's tragedy, at least she and the ruler of Vellweb were still alive. The Dragoons' sleepless night had become dawn, but thanks to Charle the damage of Fara's attack had been minimized.

The lord was awake now, though still weak, and had been listening to the news of everything that had happened while he was ill. Matthi had been sent to notify Tibero, and Damia had tearfully sworn to serve Lord Diaz as the last Dragoon. The brightness lasted until the door opened once more to reveal Kanzas and Rose and the huge stone they carried between them.

"Rose!" Zieg greeted her, his face lighting up as he saw his fiancée. "You're safe!"

She nodded to him before saying, "Lord Diaz, you're well again! I'm so glad!" However, she didn't seem very happy; in fact, her words sounded forced.

Taking one look at their faces, Shirley felt a sense of dread settle upon her, looking up from where she sat in the chair next to Diaz. "What happened?" she asked, immediately silencing the others.

"We found a village by the south border, burned," Kanzas answered finally, grunting as they dropped the large stone down. It hadn't been fun to carry up all those stairs. Sweeping his eyes across the group, he caught sight of Charle and frowned. "Who the hell is that Wingly?"

"Charle Frahma," Belzac spat back before anyone else could answer, not in the mood to put up with him at the moment, "and if it wasn't for her-"

A hand on his arm stopped him, and the silver-haired woman smiled, shaking her head. "It's all right, sweetie. We'll talk about this later. What's that you've brought up, Rosie dear?" She narrowed her eyes, peering at the glyphs on the stone, and then her face suddenly went white.

Leaning over the stone to mostly block it from view, Rose answered in a low tone, "Something we found in that village. Someone call in Syuveil - this is important." Damia quickly slipped into the other room to bring him back, and when they returned they all looked at the Darkness Dragoon curiously, waiting for her to explain.

Rose began to read the placard aloud; she was very obviously forcing her voice to remain even, her fists clenched and her body quaking with repressed anger. " 'For the benefit of all'," she began, " 'the Human species must be culled to manageable proportions. The breeding of Humans is not allowed without approval from the Life City. All'-"

Here, for a moment, she faltered. However, Belzac too knew how to read the Wingly characters, and Shirley could already see the blood draining from his skin, his head bowed and his breath coming in short gasps. Syuveil, who could also read ahead, put his face in his hands, and the others merely stood and waited silently.

Finally, Rose was able to continue, a look of nausea crossing her face. " 'All Human children between the ages of two and fifteen years must be…be destroyed. Owners will be…reimbursed by the Palace'-" Cutting herself off again, the Darkness Dragoon let out a cry, giving the display a fierce kick. The green-glowing letters fizzled, fading in the place where her boot had landed. "Damn him!" she screamed, and at the moment no one was capable of feeling surprised at her burst of emotion.

"Oh, Melbu," Charle whispered into the air behind them. "What have you done now?"

Damia could only stand there staring, her crimson eyes wide and unblinking as she realized that she was of an age to fall under the deadly decree. Diaz was visibly shaken by the news, falling back against his pillow as all his strength suddenly left him. "It's…horrible…that he would actually sink to this…"

"He can't expect them to actually follow this!" Syuveil protested suddenly, his voice louder than it usually would have been. "All the Winglies aren't that heartless! He's just trying to scare us into submission! All the parents - there will be revolts-"

"And they'll all be killed too!" Kanzas shouted back, whipping his hand back in a violent gesture. "Don't you see? They want to cut out the bad part and start over, breed slaves who'll be raised up just like they want-"

Zieg shook his head hard. "But Humans will fight to protect their families, they'll join us against them - he's done nothing but help us gain the support from those who would have hesitated, given them a reason to fight back-"

"Who will fight back? Winglies can live hundreds of years! They can wait for the fresh crop! Meanwhile, any kid who might have grown up to be a soldier or fight them is dead, and so are their parents for resisting!"

Shirley, still in shock, suddenly felt Belzac leave her side, unable to do anything but watch as he stormed forward and out the door, leaving it hanging open behind him. When she was able to force herself to move again, she ran after him, not having to go far before she found him again at the end of the hallway.

The half-Giganto was kneeling on the stones in the corner, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, tears streaming down his broad face. After he'd had to witness Lady Mille's pain upon losing the baby, this was almost too much to bear. He thought of all the children he cared for, morbidly picturing the destruction Melbu Frahma wished visited upon them, and then he thought of all the children whose owners would obey the decree, all the children whose lives he had no hope of saving. The slaughter had probably started already, and there was nothing they could do about it. He bit back a cry of anguish, his face turned away.

Shirley couldn't speak, couldn't possibly find any words to soothe him with. It was unbearably heart-wrenching to hear someone so strong breaking down like that. More than anything, she wanted to cry as well, but oddly the tears would not come, either. She could only stand there beside him, hand on his shoulder, and wait for the pain to fade.

Several minutes passed before he straightened up again and finally looked her way. "I want to kill them," he hissed between clenched teeth, his deep voice shaking, "I want to kill them all…I want to crush every single Wingly!"

"I…I know," she whispered back, pulling him against her in an embrace, her breath momentarily lost as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and held her close. "How can he be so cruel, Belzac? All we want is to live our lives!"

But she'd had a part in this, too. Her hand still held the knife, as sure as it had when she'd flown across the arena. Would those people in that village have died if she hadn't struck a blow toward Melbu Frahma? Would Lady Mille's baby have died if they hadn't forced the Winglies into action?

She could second-guess herself forever, it seemed, but no answers would come from it. All she could do, Shirley thought, gently smoothing back Belzac's hair with the sides of her fingers, was harden her heart just a little bit more, and go on from here.

He barely heard the sound of footsteps in the fluffy snow that covered the floor of what would eventually be his tower, and when they came closer, he didn't react. Kanzas sat cross-legged in the midst of the white stuff, staring eastward over the city and ignoring how cold it felt. It was dawn once more, a brighter dawn than before, of the day they would set out for Magrad. After learning about Melbu Frahma's new decree, the soldiers of Gloriano were all more ready than ever to make their first move in the war.

Finally, he looked over toward his visitor, finding Shirley standing there; he would only have been surprised if it wasn't her. She didn't look very happy about being up so early, dressed in the same traveling clothes she'd worn on their last journey together, though her bright hair this time was left down. In her hand, she held by the straps the pack from that very same journey. Hadn't they left that in Kadessa when they'd escaped?

"It's cold," she got out, walking quietly up next to him and standing there awkwardly, not wanting to sit in the snow. "What are you doing up here?"

"Just thinking," he answered idly, watching the sky slowly change its colors. "There's a lot to think about."

Shirley nodded, giving him a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose you're thinking of apologizing to Charle," she said without much hope.

He let out a short laugh that sounded all the louder in the stillness that surrounded them. "Hardly."

She sighed, resigned, but still tried, "Don't you think that threatening to - to slit her throat was a bit much?"

He gave her a look of condescending amusement, but didn't answer. He couldn't really explain to Shirley why he'd gotten so angry at the eccentric Wingly woman, who'd only touched his arm familiarly in passing. He knew the others trusted her, and he knew that she'd been quietly helping the Human cause, not to mention saving Diaz and Mille. He still couldn't make himself be at ease around a Wingly.

"All right, maybe it was a bit much," he finally conceded, just so she would stop bothering him about it. To be sure, he also changed the subject, breathing out a puff of air that hung before him a moment in the chill. "What are you doing up here, then? Making sure I get enough attention for the day?"

"Oh, Kanzas," she murmured in exasperation, squatting down across from him, her yellow-patterned jacket falling to pool around her feet. He just loves to make things difficult, she thought, her ears and fingers feeling numb despite her gloves and cloak hood. She tossed the pack out in front of him, saying, "I got our things back from Charle a couple days ago. I'm guessing you want yours?"

Unfastening the straps, he nodded as an afterthought, tugging at a corner of the folded cloak that rested near the top of the pack and pulling it free. The only things inside were his, as from the clothes she was wearing Shirley had obviously taken hers back already.

Although they'd had to leave behind a lot of what he'd salvaged from the remains of the bandit camp to use for barter, the sack containing his ink, quill and ledger was there. It was too cold to add any more marks to the book, though; there was ice in the ink bottle, rattling against the glass as he picked it up.

And then, feeling Shirley's gaze upon him, Kanzas took the small worn doll from the bottom of the bag, raising it gently to his lips. She looked away, almost as if in embarrassment, and stood straight again, walking to the uneven wall of the unfinished tower to look outward at the rising sun.

He flipped the fur-lined cloak around his shoulders, over the coat for the moment, glad to have it back as it was much less bulky. "Do you regret your promise?" he asked her suddenly, putting everything but the doll back into the sack; that he tucked under his sash again.

Crossing her arms, she made a neutral noise in the back of her throat, knowing what he was talking about. "You seem to be trying your hardest to make me regret it."

"Mm," he sighed, looking around at the circle of the small room. "I just don't think you can understand. Rose certainly doesn't." Dark amber eyes fixed on her back, he added, "As I'm sure she's told you."

"She has," Shirley said in a low voice. "If Rose has misgivings about something, she's not one to keep them inside." And are you really an unrepentant killer, or is that what you want everyone to think? "I just wish…"

Smirking, he retorted, "Wishes aren't horses, which we'll be sorry for on the way to Magrad today, I'm sure."

"Please don't joke," the woman said, pushing back from the wall to walk around it behind him. "I want to understand, Kanzas. I want to know why you…you enjoy causing pain so much-"

"I don't…I don't know," he shot back, aimlessly brushing snow into a pile before him, his head bowed to make sure he never caught a glimpse of her expression. Though he'd been about to say that he didn't enjoy it, somehow he knew that would simply be a lie. "Maybe that's because it's the only thing I know how to do."

The White-Silver Dragoon made another noise, more of a protest this time. "I refuse to believe that."

"Believe what you like." Kanzas looked down at the snow thoughtfully, piling it up a little more with scarred, callused hands. "Do you know about the tiory-snake?"

Taken aback, Shirley stared at him, frowning. "That…that's a legend, a story. The first creature born of the Divine Tree to turn on another. I don't know why you bring it up now."

Yes, and it stole destiny from Soa with the blood that it spilled, he thought, shaking his head slowly as he packed the snow down, shaping it. But if she didn't know the story well enough to understand why he'd asked, then it wasn't the right time to explain it to her. "Doesn't matter. Forget it."

Sometimes he made her so angry she wanted to scream. "Fine, then, have your mysteries," she snapped, a little more irately than she would have liked. Forcing herself to calm down, she went on, "But I don't like being held to a promise when all I get for trying to keep it is hostility."

He ignored her irritation and looked up, staring hard into the sky as the sun broke over the horizon, the bright light spilling across them and instantly turning his hair redder than usual. The city below was already moving with people, the convoy that would set out preparing itself at the gates. "Just don't leave, like you promised. I-"

Cutting himself off, Kanzas stared down at the pile of snow before his numbed legs, and slowly brushed a bit off the edges with the side of his finger. Of course. Of course. All the fractured ideas he'd come up with since he'd killed Jidena had just come together so neatly into the perfect answer.

"I'm going to save them, Shirley," the man announced suddenly, a grin spreading across his face. "The Humans - I'm going to save them. They won't go to Hell if they don't deserve it. I won't let them."

Shirley fell silent for a moment, but then he felt her hands tentatively touch his shoulders, and she leaned down behind him, her hair swinging near his cheek. "You aren't joking again, now, are you?" she asked, a note of wariness in her tone.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. All those tallies on a page. The blood on his hands that changed destiny, and not just his own. It was magic, holy magic, magic even Humans could do. "I know just how to do it. It's so simple. I can save them from Mayfil and that false judgment there."

Despite the conflicting emotions whirling inside her, Shirley could tell from the sound of his voice that he wasn't just saying things to make her happy; there was something genuinely startled in the realization. Falling forward against his back, she hugged him hard around the shoulders, pressing her face into the folds of his dark cloak, eyes squeezed tightly closed. Maybe there was hope in him after all. "If you can," she gasped out, "if you can do that…"

He was smiling, though she couldn't see it, a serene smile quite like the ones that had once crossed their gentle father's face. Feeling Shirley's breath warm against his neck, he looked down at the small figure before him, the figure of a Human shaped from snow. The perfect tomb for the souls he wrested from Soa.

"Of course, Shirley," Kanzas answered. "I'll even do it for you."