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.

11. Chapter Eleven

HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold

BOOK TWO: DRAGON CAMPAIGN

Chapter Eleven

"I just need shelves along the wall," he said, pointing briefly. "Have it connect with a…a mantel thing where the fire vents are, all three of them. That's all I want."

"Sir, the windows will-"

What he really wanted was a room like his old one, the dugout by the river in the Southlands. There was something secure about a small, dark space - especially one that no one would dare come into without his leave. "Forget windows. Just shelves, all around the wall. Make it look however you like."

"But-"

Ignoring the man's half-spoken protest, Kanzas folded his arms over his chest, turning to peer out at Vellweb over the quickly-growing wall of his tower. Almost directly to the south and far below, what looked like dark specks were swarming across the platform on the top of Diaz's palace, the now-obvious construction of a spear-shooter growing outward from that spot. They looked like the ribcages and spines of some big creature - Dragons, he supposed, appropriately enough.

Since the Dragoons' total victory over the army in the valley, it was certain that the Winglies' retaliation was a question of 'when', not 'if', and many of the soldiers who had gathered at Magrad had returned to Vellweb with them and the newly-crowned emperor in order to finish the things as quickly as they could. As far as he'd been told, it wouldn't be very long before at least the main one was done, though whether it would be soon enough…none of them knew yet for sure. It was already loaded with its arrow, a three-pointed monstrosity made of metal that gleamed in the sun.

Even though he could now see the shape of it, Kanzas had no idea how the emperor expected it to work. A spear that could knock a gigantic, armored flying fortress from the sky would have to be absolutely huge. What kind of power could propel the thing any distance at all? The others were at least pointed over the wall, but this one? He snorted, rolling his eyes. Just wait, he thought derisively. I bet they fire it off and it falls right onto the lower city.

Still, he couldn't feel too pessimistic about things right now. When he and the others had come back to Magrad after the battle with the news of their victory, they had received stunning acclaim from the other Humans waiting there. It was like the Dragoons had lit some kind of fire beneath them, and he still couldn't believe the fervor and enthusiasm everyone around him suddenly had for this war, almost as if it had already been won.

The construction foreman had long since given up on talking to him and had begun directing his crew, wooden rollers squeaking as several men hauled blocks of stone up hundreds of feet in order to extend the walls. Not all of the soldiers assigned to building were able to work on the spear-shooters at once, and so some had been appointed to the task of finishing the last four towers.

Everyone in the city seemed busy, and yet Kanzas had nothing to do. He was not used to boredom, not when merely finding enough food to keep him and his bandit gang alive had occupied his time for nearly seven years, and so he descended quickly to the tower ring, aiming for the stairs that would eventually take him out of the upper city.

There was no quietness anymore, even up here, workers and townspeople coming and going laden with stone or wood or ironwork, voices shouting orders and requests, drifts of snow pounded into slush by the weight of carts and feet. A cold breeze blew past, ruffling his messy russet hair, and for a moment the Thunder Dragoon stopped on the wide, shallow steps curving around the wall, bracing himself against its thick rock with one hand as he fought away a wave of dizziness.

Oh, and if he stared just long enough it seemed as if all the towers and the buildings stretching toward the sky above him were swaying gently in the wind, and, so fragile, they would all topple inward on him, thousands and thousands of tons of stone crashing down onto his head…

"Excuse me…excuse me, sir?" He whipped his gaze down at the young woman who was speaking to him and suddenly had to shake his head to clear the blur from his vision. She swallowed heavily but went on, "Excuse me, but you…you're Lord Kanzas, the Dragon Knight of Thunder, aren't you? I-I remember from the procession, when you all and the lord - er, emperor came back…"

What? Oh, that, he realized, the odd feelings dissipating a little. "Yeah, I suppose that's me." Amused by her nervousness, he went on, "Forget the 'lord', though; it sounds stupid. What do you want?"

"Well, um…uh," she stammered, reaching up to twist her braid of chestnut hair in her free hand. "Please, sir, don't think me too bold, I don't mean any trouble, but…"

He merely blinked, watching almost entranced as the girl's words flew faster and faster, her face flushing a brighter red as each moment passed. And why in the world was she talking to him as though he was some…some high-up Wingly or something? Oh, wait, that was the lord thing, wasn't it?

"You see, sir," she finally said, "I really wanted to help with the war and all, but, um, there's not a lot I can do. So, my ma told me, she said we could help feed all them soldiers working on the building and I thought, well-" She suddenly thrust out her hand toward him, a small cloth-wrapped bundle hanging there. "So I made some food! For you!"

Kanzas had to force himself not to laugh, and at the moment it felt like one of the hardest things he'd ever done. There was no stopping the smile that crossed his face, however, or the snicker that escaped. As her face fell, an unfamiliar feeling of sympathy flickered through him, and he quickly cleared his throat. "Hey," he said quickly. "What's your name?"

"It's Cala, sir," she answered hesitantly, looking up at him through her lashes. Visions of a ladyship were dancing in her eyes, a world of respect and comfort that was previously unobtainable, and he could hardly fault her for that.

"Cala," he repeated, very pleased by this new diversion. Slowly, he held out his hand for the bundle, not taking his gaze off her. As she moved to give it to him, he stepped a bit closer, reaching toward her face as if to brush strands of hair from her temple. She tensed, taking a quick breath, and he brushed his lips against hers, holding them there for a moment before leaning in to murmur, "Thanks. For the food."

"You - you're welcome, sir," she stammered back, attempting to coyly twist her hair around her finger. "Er…anytime…"

And, across the crowded market square, Shirley stood very still, watching. People passed in front of her, but she didn't attempt to look around them, simply waiting until they'd gone. She'd been on her way toward the stairs, heading up to her tower, and then she'd caught sight of Kanzas coming down the same way. She had been about to wave to catch his attention, call out for him across the square like - like some…

Like some silly girl? her mind filled in promptly. Like the one he's just kissed, perhaps?

Past the inevitable hurt, there was mostly confusion. It hadn't even been three days since she'd overheard him say that he had only joined the war because of her, because of a promise they'd made. 'Don't ever leave', he'd asked her. She'd thought that had actually meant something.

But maybe he truly didn't care about her, about anything…except himself. She wanted to march over there, demand he explain what he meant by making her promise not to ignore him, abandon him, and then going and-

"Hey, Shirley!" Kanzas greeted, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. His rough voice was unusually cheerful, his posture undeniably composed, the black cloak pushed back off his shoulders to leave his arms free. "What's going on? Some cart just nearly hit you, and you didn't even flinch."

She choked back a gasp as her eyes regained their focus and dragged her back to the present. Automatically, she looked toward the stairs where she'd last seen him, but the girl had gone. When her gaze met his face, the White-Silver Dragoon had to restrain the urge to slap him. "Nothing's going on," she snapped back.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Whatever you say. Why's your face all red, then?"

Shirley pushed past him angrily, but stopped short of actually stalking away, crossing her arms beneath her chest. "If you'd met a girl," she finally muttered, "you could have mentioned it."

"Girl?" Kanzas repeated, arching an eyebrow at her. As if suddenly remembering the bundle he held in one hand, he raised it up fast, nearly smacking her in the arm with it. "Oh, her. She brought me food."

She turned her head, otherwise not moving. "What's her name?"

"Kay-something…why do you care about something like that?" he answered, laughing. "I just met her. I don't even remember."

Confounded, she felt her lips moving before sound even came out. She knew that since they'd returned some of the citizens of Vellweb had been going out of their way to be, well, friendly to the Dragoons; she herself had had to politely turn down a few embarrassing offers, as had the others. It had never occurred to her that any of them actually would- "Do you always kiss people you've just met?" Shirley asked slowly, testing something.

He realized, then, what she was referring to: he'd almost forgotten it himself, the night in Mekadris when he'd met her again for the first time. He grinned back over his shoulder at her, fiddling with the knot holding the handkerchief closed. "Sometimes," he answered.

"You are unbelievable," she huffed finally, shaking her head and starting across the square, lifting the hem of her pale turquoise robe out of the slush. Unasked, he caught up quickly and followed her just at her side, still smiling in a very self-satisfied way. "That's not very fair to the poor girl," she continued after a moment. "She's just impressed because you're a Dragoon. It's not as if she knows what you're like."

You don't really, either, he thought at her, chuckling at her angry expression. "That's all thanks to you, you know. I'd never be a knight if you hadn't made me one. Besides, what does it hurt, Lady Shirley?" A second later, his amusement grew cold, enough to make her lose a step and nearly stumble. "Or would you rather I act like a Wingly lord and have her beaten for daring to look me in the eye?"

"Of course I wouldn't!" she shot back immediately, raising her hand to her Dragoon Spirit and squeezing it. "But that, you - you're…using her!"

Finally getting the knot of sweat-damp fabric free, Kanzas opened the bundle he held, inspecting the chunk of meat and crumbling biscuit it held. Amber eyes met brown as he shrugged and answered, "And yet everyone gets what they want."

"I wish I had such a simple view of the world as you do," she sighed, giving up the argument as a lost cause.

"Really?" he demanded, sounding almost happily surprised. As Shirley walked on silently, he fished the cold meat from the wrapping, raising it up to the morning light. "Hmm," the man murmured idly, breaking apart the seared flesh a little, "I wonder what kind this is."

"Oh, I don't know…wind weasel, maybe?" she suggested in a peeved, almost derisive tone, waving her hand flippantly.

He shrugged as if he couldn't hear the irritation in her voice, peeling away a piece and popping it in his mouth. "Not bad," he told her as he chewed, raising his eyebrows before proffering the haunch to her.

Shirley shook her head immediately, giving him a narrow-eyed look that suggested he think again. Nearly choking as he tried to laugh, he swallowed down the bite of meat, grabbing her arm to stop her and spin her to face him.

Annoyed, she tried to move on, but his grip on her arm was like iron. "I don't think I have anything more to say to you right now," she informed him icily.

"Look," Kanzas began, falling into seriousness, "you can take a bandit, dress him up, make him some king - and in the end he's still gonna be a bandit. I already told you, I'm not going to change to fit whatever this stupid idea of a Human lord is, even if you don't like it. It's just too damn bad for you."

"Kanzas," she told him in a soft voice, reaching up to give his cheek a pat, "you can tell yourself that, but I've seen too much to know that's true."

He let go of her arm to catch her wrist before her hand could make it to his face, eyes narrowing. Don't act like you know! You don't know anything, and if you did- "You just see what I want you to see."

She didn't respond, though she shook her head tolerantly, and as her knowing smile began to hurt somewhere in his chest, he glanced over her shoulder. A second later, he shoved the remains of the bundle into her hands with a quick movement and pushed past her, heading toward a large gathering of soldiers circled near the edge of the square.

Wrinkling her nose and surreptitiously setting the crumb-filled handkerchief on top of a stack of crates, she let out an explosive sigh and went after him, watching the swirl of his cloak as he pushed his way through the crowd. Shirley followed in his wake, murmuring apologies, and then stopped near the inside of the circle to see Zieg there, apparently running through training exercises.

A swatch of indigo nearby caught her eye and she turned with some surprise to find Rose watching as well. As she picked her way over, the other woman noticed her and gave her a quick wave with a gloved hand before glancing back toward her fiancé and the soldiers.

"Rose?" the red-haired Dragoon asked curiously, reaching her side. "I thought you were on border patrol with Syuveil."

She nodded, replying, "Well, I was going to be, but Syuveil thought it would be a good idea to let Damia go instead, to help her bond a bit with her vassal Dragon and get used to things. I agreed, so here I am."

Shirley frowned thoughtfully. They had found that two Dragoons were enough for a flying patrol, but in order to cover the border entirely the two had to split up and go in separate directions. "True, but I still hope Damia's all right flying around on her own," she pointed out. "If she does run into something-"

"Then she'd better deal with it," Kanzas interjected, suddenly turning up next to her and draping his arm around her shoulders, giving Rose a sneer at the same time. Not in the mood for his games, Shirley ducked away, taking a step to the side. As if he hadn't noticed, he went on, "You can't call the kid a Dragoon and then have her sit around darning socks or whatever. She's destined or something, right? Like the rest of us. But Soa must really have something against her-"

"And I suppose you'd know?" Rose asked disdainfully, her gaze not leaving the sparring figures in the circle of onlookers.

"Not me," he said with a mirthless grin. "You people are the ones who believe in fate. Fate's a fine thing when it's working in your favor, but you have to take the good fate with the bad, you know, if you believe in it. The kid might be fated to be a Dragoon, but she might also be fated to fall off her Dragon and die in a ravine somewhere. You have to believe in that, too."

Rose snorted, otherwise ignoring him, and Shirley pointed her finger at him accusingly. "One of these days, Kanzas," she told him irately, "I have to introduce you to a concept called 'tact'."

"I've done just fine without it so far." He reached to undo the tie that held his heavy cloak fastened at his shoulder, pulling it free and once again pushing the whole thing into her arms. "Hold that."

"Stop handing me things!" she protested, raising the cloth as if to drop it to the mucky ground, but after a moment she pulled it back against herself, frowning. "What are you doing, anyway?"

He didn't answer, tugging the long claw from the sheath at his side and winding the cords around his fingers, palm, and wrist to fasten it tightly to the back of his hand even as he strode forward. Shirley groaned as she understood, burying her face momentarily into the cloak she held. Next to her, Rose suddenly tensed, realizing it for herself.

"Okay. Those were your basic attack stances," Zieg was saying as his teenaged sparring partner stood back; he held a longsword outward lightly with one hand, hazel eyes flicking across the soldiers before him. "However, defensive measures are the most important part of swordsmanship-"

There was a sudden streak of motion, and then the sword flew from his hand, making a kind of fwip-fwip-fwip sound in the air before landing with a metallic clatter on the paving stones. Kanzas straightened and turned around, to Shirley's eyes an insufferably smug grin on his face. "Yeah, but what happens if you lose the sword?" he asked the other Dragoon.

Though the soldiers appeared to be offended, Zieg looked only momentarily startled before taking it in stride, giving a short laugh. "Then," the blonde answered, thrusting his arm forward in a punch, "you do what you have to!"

The shorter man ducked to the side, raising his arm to slightly deflect the hit to his shoulder. Twisting a little, he kicked one of Zieg's legs out from under him. The Red-Eye Dragoon caught himself on one knee, lunging forward to knock his opponent off his feet; they landed hard on the stone, neither appearing to mind the pain.

Kanzas slammed the palm of his hand upward to knock him away, though Zieg hooked his other arm to keep him from springing to his feet. He was forced to let go, however, as the blade tied to the back of Kanzas' other hand went swinging just past his face.

"Unfair!" a man's voice called from the crowd, met with a general grumble of agreement.

"Winglies aren't gonna let up on you if you lose your weapon," Kanzas announced to the soldiers, though his gaze remained on Zieg; both of them had gotten back up to their knees, watching the other with a degree of wariness. "It's war, and they have magic besides. They don't give a damn about fighting with honor."

Suddenly tumbling across the slushy square, Zieg grabbed for the hilt of his sword, swinging it back around to meet Kanzas' downward slice. Holding the curved blade away from him, he raised his foot to kick him in the stomach, a grunt of pain escaping the russet-haired man as he slid backward, breathing hard as the wind was knocked out of him.

"It's like a tavern brawl," Zieg agreed, grinning as he too caught his breath. "Use whatever you can to win!"

The two female Dragoons were watching the fight intently; Shirley found herself shaking her head in disbelief at the sight. "Unbelievable," she repeated unconsciously, narrowing her eyes at Kanzas although he obviously couldn't hear a word she was saying. "You just do what you want to, don't you?"

Rose made a little half-hearted noise of amusement. "It's strange to see you so riled up."

"Kanzas seems to have that effect on people," she muttered back.

The dark-haired woman lifted her slender hand, looking at it thoughtfully as she flexed her fingers, obviously remembering something. "If you let him," she answered, dropping her hand without further explanation.

Shirley nodded, sighing. "He's been purposely aggravating me all morning, and I have no idea why."

"Probably because you react to it," she suggested. "You know, I'm still surprised he even deigned to swear loyalty to Emperor Diaz, to help us poor, pitiful Humans, for all the concern he ever gives anyone."

"He was chosen," she answered with a shrug, "and I'm just glad he did swear it. Besides, his strength is helpful to us…"

Rose curled her lip, but finally conceded, "He is powerful, but there's a difference between a fire in the hearth and one in the trees, if you understand me." She waved toward the match before them in the square, which by now had attracted many more interested onlookers, cheering for one or the other. "All that effort in a practice fight…he has no control at all."

Shirley bit her lip, wincing as Kanzas flung his hand forward, tearing a long jagged line down the side of Zieg's face and succinctly illustrating the other woman's point. "Well," she pointed out a bit weakly, noting Rose's irritation at the wound, "he's used to fighting for real."

Even more blood was being spilled now, the point of Zieg's longsword whipping a deep cut across the Thunder Dragoon's forearm. Trying to resist the urge to rush out and make them stop fighting, Shirley folded and refolded the black cloth in her hands, focusing on that for a while.

"If you do get a Wingly at hand-to-hand, try to keep them at the - ugh - ground no matter what! Don't let them get flying!"

There were three tears in the outer fabric of the fur-lined cloak; she ran her hand across them, dipping her fingers briefly through the evenly-spaced holes. If he got it secondhand in Magrad, she wondered idly, wouldn't it have been mended already?

Didn't his old claw have three blades?

Rose glanced over as her hand suddenly froze above the cloth, and when she saw the holes she gave a little, almost sympathetic sigh. "Was wondering when you'd notice those," she said.

"Coincidence," she whispered back.

The Darkness Dragoon made an annoyed noise. "I wish you wouldn't try to explain away everything he does. A reason doesn't make a right."

She watched Kanzas for a moment, watched him grinning as he sparred with Zieg, whirling, cutting, kicking, taking the other man's slashes as though he barely felt his skin tearing under the blade. If she hadn't known who they were, if he hadn't been smiling like that, she would have thought for certain that they were both out to kill each other.

But no, she didn't know when she'd ever seen him so…happy.

Shirley frowned. "What's your reason for hating him, Rose?" she finally asked, her tone a bit stronger than usual. "Yes, he likes fighting, but I just can't believe he's as bad as you say, that he - he murders Humans! This is war, and he hates Winglies…they caused him a lot of pain. I don't like it, but…"

What he wanted her to believe, what he wanted everyone to believe, wasn't necessarily the truth. She hadn't seen enough to prove that it was the truth, that he wasn't only telling stories to scare her…and she didn't want to believe it was the truth.

When the red-haired woman didn't go on, Rose began, "We Humans, Shirley…we weren't created for fighting, for war, or so they say. I think that we Humans face battle by letting ourselves go crazy - with sorrow, and anger, and hate as fuel." She sighed, shaking her head. "And the Dragoon Spirit is just an instrument to expand that insanity."

She nodded mutely, aware that she'd reached to take hold of her own spirit just moments before. It was such a habit, to reach to it for comfort, and yet this same small orb was responsible for - for…

Insanity. That was what it had been, what she'd felt during the battle in the valley. That warm, golden light that seemed to move through her, radiate from her, that perfect calmness that allowed her to launch arrow after arrow into the throat of a man who knelt at her feet. The joy she'd felt upon seeing the pain of the Winglies who fell before her, the beautiful happiness of cruelty they so richly, richly deserved-

Shirley felt her grip on the orb relaxing, stared almost disbelievingly at her own shaking fingers, and then buried both her hands into the folds of Kanzas' wadded-up cloak, hugging it tightly against her. "Terrible," she whispered, so that Rose had to lean closer to hear her over the sounds of the voices cheering her friends on. "It's true, Rose, but it's terrible. To lose yourself just to be able to harm another."

"I know," she murmured back, her face emotionless, as white and cold as porcelain. "It's a fight in itself to control that insanity, to hold to what you are in the face of that. The Dragoon Spirits only make it harder. And that's why I don't like him." Her lips twisted into a humorless smirk as she watched the two constantly-moving figures in the circle. "He's already lost that fight. And I know that I can so…so easily become what he is."

She shook her head to deny it, though the truth was striking her straight through. "How can you be so sure?"

"I have gone through a great deal to be able to claim that I know myself," Rose snapped back. "You see the good in everyone, even when it doesn't exist. If I allowed it, I could let my anger speak for me, hurt for me-" She frowned deeply, clenching her fists. "Would you excuse it of me, too?"

Shirley didn't look at her, simply staring down at the cloth in her arms. What could she say to that? There wasn't good in everyone - she could simply look to Melbu Frahma to know that. And if even he did have good hidden in him somewhere, could that ever excuse his crimes?

A loud cheer came up from the crowd, nearly obscuring the great scraping noise of metal on metal, the blade of Kanzas' claw spraying sparks as it grated against Zieg's sword. The two were covered in sweat now, still showing no signs of slowing, of either giving in. Skill, rage, insanity - what was driving them to fight so hard? What were they proving now to these soldiers, all townsmen and farmhands who would never be able to match what they were seeing?

"I'm sorry," Rose said in a softer voice after a moment, gently touching Shirley's shoulder. "I don't mean to yell at you, or sneer at your kindness. None of us would wish you to become as cold as me."

"You're not cold, Rose," she forced out, giving a shaky little laugh. "Just realistic, I suppose." With her forefinger, she traced the outlines of the rips in the black cloak thoughtfully, around and around each of the three jagged tears. Maybe…maybe, you're just right.

---

Several hours had passed, and afternoon was wearing on as Shirley and Belzac walked through the crowded streets of the lower city, just ambling quietly with no real aim in mind. Belzac was carrying down a small stack of storybooks from Syuveil's tower; the scholar's hoard of paper had been very useful in repairing several torn pages. Eventually he'd have to return to the orphanage, but at the moment they were just enjoying the sunlight, filtered as it was through crisp, cold air.

The woman sighed, smiling as the breeze ruffled her hair. Right now, she was very glad that Belzac knew her well enough to know when to say nothing at all. She could feel the end of his brown cloak whipping around behind her, the warmth of his arm right near her cheek, and as they walked she had to resist the urge to simply lean her head against him and let all the annoyances of the morning fade away.

Suddenly, however, her eyes caught on a figure standing in the shadow cast by one of the buildings crammed together along the street. "Isn't that…?"

Belzac, following her gaze, scowled as he saw Kanzas there, sure their peace was about to be disturbed. "He's probably busy-"

"Hey, Shirley! Belzac!" The man stepped out of the shade, waving, and they saw instantly that he was not their fellow Dragoon, though he was familiar nonetheless.

Shirley's face lit up, and she raised her hand to wave back. "Oh! Cordell! Come over here!" As he crossed the street toward them, she muttered, mostly to herself, "I could have sworn I saw Kanzas there. I guess it was just a trick of the shadows."

"No," he agreed, "I saw it, too. How odd." The frown remained on the big man's face for a moment longer, but he finally shook it off, watching as she stepped forward to give her brother a hug. You've got to let go of this anger, he told himself, annoyed. You're seeing him everywhere. Oh, there had been definite similarities, but as he watched the two exchange their greetings in the full light of the sun, they were hard to place now.

Shirley's brother Cordell was a short, trim, clean-shaven man of about forty, his hair a dark auburn already well-streaked with white. He was dressed in the mismatched boiled leather armor that most of Gloriano's foot soldiers wore, with the band that denoted a sergeant's rank tied about his upper arm. He didn't smile often, but he seemed to be without maliciousness or standoffishness. Belzac hadn't known the man for as long or as well as he'd known Shirley and her younger brother, Lyss, but he quite liked him.

When Shirley had been bought free from her slavery in the Life City by Charle and Diaz, chosen by the White-Silver Dragoon Spirit the Human lord had in his possession, her only request was that her family and friends be freed as well. Shirley and Lyss had been too little to be separated from their mother when they had been sold, but the others had been scattered to new owners all across the continent. As she had told the story, she would only agree to become a Dragoon, to fight for Diaz, if they could be found.

Eight people didn't just disappear without a trace, but her missing family had nonetheless seemed to do just that. Shirley's Wingly owner had committed suicide, leaving behind a failing farm and unpaid debts, and both land and slaves had been sold at a local auction to cover those debts. Charle had done her best to search out the current owners, but because her family had not been transferred in the Slave City, the records had been spotty and incomplete. Her father and several of the others had died in the interim, and the rest either could not be traced or refused to be parted from their children, as Charle and Diaz simply could not buy everyone.

In the end, apart from Belzac and his mother, Cordell had been the only one she could free. An outbreak of the flux had spread through the slaves on the Eastlands farm where he had lived, the sickness ignored by the Wingly owners as something that they would simply 'suffer through', left untreated until it was too late to save most of them. Though Cordell was one of those who had finally been cured, his wife and and all five of his children had died within two weeks. Belzac wasn't sure how Cordell had been able to go on after that; he could hardly imagine being able to survive such pain. But when Charle made her offer, Cordell's owner had been all too willing to recoup something of his careless waste of so much valuable property, and Cordell had been glad to go.

"What are you doing here?" Shirley was asking him, and the Golden Dragoon let his thoughts drift back to the present.

"Right now? Just taking a break from the construction," Cordell answered, waving up at the stony bulk of the spear-shooter looming above the palace building. "Lyss' team is still on, else he'd be here now, too."

She nodded back. "So you stayed here after all! I looked for you in Magrad, but there were just too many people."

"I wish I could have seen it," he said somewhat wistfully. "Lord - er, Emperor Diaz's speech, and you two as Dragoons in front of everyone…it must have been amazing!"

"Well, the building is important too," she said, her gaze flicking toward Belzac. She knew he would agree with what she was thinking: better that they be here, and so much safer, than on the front lines in Magrad. She kept silent about it, however. If Diaz gave the order, Cordell would lead his group of men into battle, to fight for their freedom against dismal odds, and he would be proud to do so. She couldn't protect either of her brothers from the danger she would willingly face for herself, and neither of them would thank her for trying.

"We're going to need it," Belzac said, dropping his voice so that the passersby wouldn't overhear; such rumors would have flown twice around Vellweb before the day's end if he let them slip. "This battery is going to be the city's best chance for survival in the coming days."

"Is that what they're saying, then, Up Above?" The sergeant flicked his eyes at the towers of the upper city, giving the phrase a distinct capitalization. Belzac nodded, wondering silently what else the rest of the Humans in Vellweb said about the Dragoons and the nobles who lived there and who were in charge of their safety, their fates.

Shirley smiled sadly. "The war's begun, Cord. We have to take the attack to them, but if they decide the same before we can do it…"

Cordell was quiet for a moment in thought, and then he looked over at his sister. "And so you're going to be fighting again." He reached out suddenly, taking hold of her upper arm. "By the gods, Shirley, we've been worried sick about you! Giving you that healing stone was one thing, but sending you into battles-"

"We do what we have to," she said simply. "It isn't just for us and Vellweb. It's for all the slaves - for everyone. You know that."

He let go of her, giving her a smile that looked rather strained, his brows knitting to betray something of the conflict he was feeling. "It's a noble answer…I guess that's why you're a Dragon Knight and I'm not. But don't you ever wish it wasn't your responsibility? Or wonder what your life would be like if it hadn't come to you?" Cordell gave her a quick smile. "Be a goatherd in the country, eh? Pick berries, milk cows?"

Shirley's lips twitched, as if she'd quashed whatever she'd been about to say, though her gaze slid over to Belzac, briefly, once more. Beside her, the Golden Dragoon tensed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the small stack of books. Both of them had the same thing in mind, the memory of a certain event immediately called forth. "If I hadn't been chosen, Cord," she eventually answered, "I'd likely still be a shrine-slave in the Life City."

"Ah," he said, looking down for a moment, "when it's true, it's true. I suppose that's another thing to hate the Winglies for." When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he elaborated, "Now I can't even tease my little sister properly."

"We'll have to add that to their list of offenses," she said lightly.

Belzac sighed, glancing up to gauge the position of the descending sun in the sky. "Well, it was good seeing you again, Cordell, but I'd better hurry up and get these back to the school. Syuveil and Rose are due back soon from patrol, and I'm next for a round tonight."

"Syuveil and Damia," Shirley corrected. "He thought it would be a good idea for her to go instead."

Belzac bit off a quiet curse. "I'd better be there to meet them, then. Just in case."

"That'd be for the best, I think. I'll see you later." The half-Giganto gave a wave to the two of them with his free hand, already turning to hurry off down the street, and she looked back to her brother. "I suppose I'd better get going, too."

Cordell nodded, but held out his hand. "Before you go…"

"Yes?"

He didn't reply right away, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a faint air of embarrassment. "Last time I was home, well…Mother wants to know when you and Belzac are going to finally get married and move back to the country." At her flat glare, he spread his hands in a little gesture of warding-off. "You know how she is, especially since I remarried last year. She's sixty years old, she thinks about these things." Shirley crossed her arms, her lips pressed together tightly, and tried to ignore the strange, unidentifiable little thrum of emotion that had welled up inside her chest. "I promised her I'd ask you, all right?"

"Yes, I see, thank you," she said, feeling the words spill awkwardly past her lips. It was as if he'd torn a scab away from a wound she'd thought was healed over by now. Cordell hardly could have been expected to know about the bad events that had led to her being sold to the Life City, to know how his questions of what might have been had stung her. It had all been fate, of course, all part of Soa's will, for there she had met Diaz and had been discovered by the White-Silver Dragoon Spirit. And yet part of her did still wonder 'what if'…and she was sure that part of Belzac wondered the same. "I can't leave the city now - oh, she knows that! Tell her it's not…likely…oh, look," she spat out, "I'll tell her myself when I come for Planting Day."

"Good. Good, that's probably best. She might even listen to you." She'd had him back for eight years now, long enough that he apparently felt justified in adding, "Just mind you don't lose him, Shirley."

Oh, there was definitely something about thunder elementals, Shirley decided crossly, that made them prone to speak without thinking. She knew she shouldn't be surprised - she'd had a lot of experience with that particular trait lately. "I almost lost him truly in that first battle," she forced out, nearly biting down on her tongue with the force of the memory of that wave of earth crashing onto Belzac's head. "Compared to that-" She cut herself off, mollified by the apologetic expression that was beginning to bloom on Cordell's face. "Look, let's not talk about this anymore. Compared to my other troubles nowadays, being an old maid really seems the least of it."

"Right, yes," he agreed quickly, seeming relieved now that he'd done his familial duty, such as it was. "I ought to get back to the builders, anyway. Break's bound to be over by now." He sighed. "I hope we'll have time to build the bracings for the barrels. It looks sturdy, but when we fire it…" He glanced back, his hazel eyes serious. "The longer we have to work on it, the better off we'll be."

She felt her eyes being drawn toward the creaking mass of scaffolds and rollers and ropes that covered the palace building above, the odd rib-like form of the spear-shooter quickly taking shape. Shaking her head, she looked down again, pulling her white cloak tighter around herself. "We'll do our best to help that. You be safe up there, Cordell."

"You too, Shirley." He reached out again, squeezing her shoulder. "Gods know you have better things to worry about than me and Lyss. If you have to do anything…you know…well, don't think about us being here, all right?"

The woman could only look at him, unable to answer. Of course I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger! was what she wanted to say, but she knew as well that when her Dragoon armor was encasing her, when its madness took hold and she could fly across the sky, wielding power she'd never been able to dream of before, she would also be more than capable of making a hard decision like that one. Affection would not allow her to voice this, however, and she only smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his. "We'll be fine," she assured him. "Come what may, we'll all be fine."

---

Sparkling, shifting colors spilled over him as he passed, the effects of the magical lights overhead reflected and multiplied by the palace's dark crystalline walls. Commander Leki Bardel walked down the hallway at a deliberately slow pace, his head bowed. His thoughts were turned inward as he listened to the quiet footsteps of the two guards behind him - an appropriate escort for one of his rank, of course, though it seemed more like they were accompanying him to his execution.

He had spent the time between the battle and this coming meeting recovering in the Southern Palace, the seat of the Wingly administration overseeing the Southlands. Strangely enough, in that time no one had mentioned the loss of his army, and had even taken pains to keep from speaking the name of their lord around him, lest he fret over his coming punishment. To listen to the nobles there, it was as if the battle had never happened, and he was merely there convalescing from an illness, an accident. It might have convinced them, but it didn't do anything for the doubt and second-guessing that plagued his waking hours. He even found himself regretting the death of his camp-slave, though he hadn't had him more than a week. In the end, it was almost a relief when he was finally summoned to the capital.

There was a second constant reminder of the fight, along with the guilt: although his wounds had been healed under the gentle ministrations of the Lady of the Palace, his own power still had not returned. It had been four days since he'd summoned that creature, and even now he couldn't work up the energy to fly. He wondered if it was because of that dark Dragon-woman's attack, or if it was instead due to the terribly painful release of the magic in the amulet. He raised his hand almost automatically to trace the jagged crack splitting the green gemstone, for the broken amulet still hung around his neck. Neither he nor anyone else had dared to remove it.

Whatever the cause, it wasn't enough to allow him to put off the trip, and although the Lady herself was Frahma's cousin, she couldn't override the order either. Leki had entered the Palace of the Winglies on the teleporters like a Human slave, trailed by Frahma's watchful men; it seemed rather fitting, somehow, in light of his spectacular disgrace.

With each step he took, he wished more and more that he was back in the Southlands with the Lady instead of here in Kadessa, about to face Melbu Frahma.

The guards showed the commander into the empty drawing room located just off the throne room and left him there to wait, closing the door behind him. He couldn't sit down, pacing in nervousness, hands clenched into clammy fists. It didn't comfort him much that he'd been brought here again rather than the gigantic throne room, as Frahma could sentence him to death - or even kill him - easily enough anyplace.

Finally, after fifteen minutes had passed, the door on the other side of the room opened silently and Melbu Frahma entered the drawing room, gazing at Leki with hooded eyes. The Wingly dictator walked as though his feet didn't touch the ground, the hem of his long teal and brown robe just sweeping the tile, but his wings were nowhere in evidence. A small, dark-haired Human girl followed right behind him, keeping her gaze firmly averted from the Wingly men's faces as she moved to stand back by the wall.

Suddenly in the presence of his lord, the commander quickly bowed to one knee, hoping the motion had hidden the look of fear and disgust on his face. It had been twenty-one years since Frahma had changed, since he and his sister had fought and defeated the unborn God of Destruction, a deed which had somehow given him the power to seize the throne. Leki himself had been too low-ranking at the time to be told the details of what had transpired. All he knew was that, before that fight, Frahma had been a talented young man as normal in appearance as any other - if not colder than most - with crimson eyes and pale hair, not this engraved statue-gray skin and terrifying-

"Commander Leki Bardel. You showed yourself most miserably in this first trial against the winged apes."

The voice sounded with all the force of a whip-crack, and he flinched despite himself, his fingers curling back into fists. Part of him wanted to plead that he shouldn't have been leading the army in the first place, that he had only before commanded watchmen and it was nothing alike. "My lord, forgive me-"

"Silence, soldier," he said almost casually, and Leki bit his tongue, wincing. Melbu Frahma tilted his head down to look at him, and without any visible spell being cast the broken amulet suddenly rose toward its creator, dragging the commander's neck up with it. Frahma, grabbing hold of it, tugged him further upward, leaving the man in an uncomfortable half-crouch as he tried to keep his head lower than his lord's. "Tell me, how did they manage to defeat this power I gave you?"

Gritting back the pain, Leki couldn't, however, avoid Melbu Frahma's gaze, no matter how much he wanted to impolitely close his eyes. "One of them used…Dragon magic, sir!" he gasped, the blood gone from his face. "It buried the creature I'd called forth!"

Scrutinizing him, his eyes piercing into the other Wingly's, Frahma finally gave the amulet a yank, breaking its chain and allowing his subordinate to fall back to the floor. He held up the necklace to look at before tucking it into a pocket of his robe. "And yet," he said musingly, "and yet…you did call it forth, Commander Bardel."

"My lord," he responded, forcing himself not to rub at the place where the metal had bitten into the back of his neck. He bowed his head, the platinum waves of his hair falling to frame his face. "I did, my lord."

"It was painful, was it not?" Frahma asked, his voice going soft.

Leki frowned inwardly in surprise. "It was, my lord," he answered emphatically, although uneasiness made him add, "though that might have been from the wound one of the…the Dragoons' magic…sword gave me."

As if marveling at that, the Wingly dictator tapped his fingertips together, the gesture reminiscent of the ripple of a spider's legs. "And yet, even wounded," he repeated quietly, "you braved the pain, Commander, and even as you felt the agony of your magic dwindling away you still summoned the Virage, the spawn of the God of Destruction."

"The God of-" he choked, sinking back where he'd fallen, too shocked to find the strength to rise up to his knees once more. "That was-"

The thinnest of smiles crossed Frahma's face. "Yes, indeed. I am surrounded by deceit and betrayal and stupidity, Commander Bardel. My faithful officers - like your predecessor - are killed in foolish fights with Humans. Faust creates images of himself and secretly gathers his power against me. My own sister's seal is found in the rubble of the arena after the Dragoons aid the escape of a captured Dragon! Yet the mere commander of the Southlands army, leader of five thousand, risks death, risks his very soul, in trust of the power I have given him."

Still stunned by that revelation, Leki merely nodded as if he understood. At least Frahma wasn't angry - at least, not yet.

"You wonder why I tell you this," he said with a humorless laugh as the other man flinched at his perception. "It has come to pass that even amongst the highest tier of my lords there exists one who has already betrayed me. Phili, Overseer of Zenebatos - once directly your own superior, was he not?"

"The Overseer, my lord?" Leki whispered. "But he would never-"

Frahma, scowling, interrupted him, his voice suddenly sharp. "Even as you called down the Virage, Commander, the former Overseer was provoking rebellion, saying that this war is unjust - our very survival, unjust! No longer, Commander Bardel - and now I have need of a loyal man. You have proven your loyalty to me, and you will be Overseer of Zenebatos in his place."

His head spinning, he managed to protest, "My lord - Overseer? But I - I failed you-"

Aqua eyes narrowing, he answered, "The loss of your army does not matter - we have simply discovered the measure of the Humans' power. That they could defeat the Virage is no matter, for more can be summoned, and will. I have sent Faust against them now, to prevail or fall as he will. And if he should fall," he chuckled coldly, "it will not matter either."

Though he was not so foolish as to say it aloud, inwardly Leki was astonished at the senselessness of what he'd just heard. Frahma would throw away the lives of his soldiers to test the Humans, sacrifice Faust and his great power because the magician might rise against him?

"Now," Frahma declaimed, "stand, Overseer Leki. There is respect between us. The ruler of a great city does not cower on my drawing room floor." As the other Wingly hurriedly lurched to his feet, Frahma turned to the Human girl by the wall, gesturing sharply. She immediately gave a bow and stepped out the side door, which closed itself behind her. "Come," was the next command, and Leki could only follow as his ruler swept toward another, larger door across the way, the one that connected to the throne room.

The room they entered was enormous, the ceiling several stories high. Beams of colored light fell from above, changing as they intersected to make swirling patterns across the dark marble floor. Moving in that odd floating way, Frahma took a seat on the carved slab of a throne, resting his hands lightly across the arms as Leki nervously stood in a spot somewhat off to the side and below the dais itself. "Very well," he said sonorously, his eyelids lowered almost to the point of being closed. "Your first order of business, Overseer, will be dealt with now."

"My lord?" he asked, blinking in confusion. The former commander felt lightheaded, watching as the small Human girl reentered the room, her face blank as she assumed her place standing to the right of the throne.

A moment later came the flash of teleport lights, and several figures appeared in the middle of the throne room. When the light subsided, he could see that two of them were guards, standing on either side of a woman who had been thrown to the floor at the ruler's feet. She was a Wingly, from the shimmering white of the long hair that shaded her face, and in her arms she clutched a little boy of barely walking age.

Suddenly, the woman's head shot up, her eyes filled with hatred as she glared at Melbu Frahma. "You monster-!" She tried to rise to her feet, but one of the soldiers backhanded her, sending her sprawling. She let out a soft cry as she twisted to avoid landing on the child, her hip glancing hard against the marble.

She was wearing only a pale ruffled slip of the kind which usually went under a dress, though it was torn and one shoulder strap hung free, and Leki felt his cheeks redden a bit. He quickly turned his gaze away, glancing up at Frahma questioningly, wondering why he was witnessing this and not liking the answers he was finding. The woman looked somewhat familiar; in fact, he was certain he'd seen her before.

Lazily, Frahma held out his hand, making a quick motion with the other, and the woman suddenly gasped as the boy in her arms was torn from her grip. "No!" she screamed, lunging forward, but she was immediately dragged back by the guards at her sides.

The child cried out sharply, but only once, and his wings burst into being as he fought to right himself a moment before the ruler caught him. Thin hands pressing tight under his arms, he was lifted up to the man's eye level, Frahma regarding him as if he was a rare new ornament for the shelves.

"A pity, child," Melbu Frahma whispered finally, raising him higher, tilting back his head to gaze into the little boy's rapt, frightened eyes. "Your magic is strong; if not for the foolishness of your father, you would live to see the paradise I even now create - a utopia where the divine Winglies rule unchallenged by lesser creatures."

Though Frahma made no further move, the boy was suddenly flung back toward his mother, and with surprising strength she yanked her arms away from the soldiers holding her and caught him before he passed her, knocked down with tears in her eyes.

Leki, who'd unconsciously moved to help as well, stopped himself and stepped back, his teeth clenched in anger he could barely repress. Whether the woman was some criminal or not, the child had nothing to do with any of this!

"Overseer Leki Bardel," Frahma said quietly, a small smile stretching his chalky lips, "you find before you Raiza, wife of your predecessor Phili, former Lady of Zenebatos and complicit in the former Overseer's treachery. Your first act as the ruler of the City of Justice is to cast judgment on this woman and child."

Terrified, he froze in place, staring at the two people huddled there on the floor. They were dwarfed by the hugeness of the room around them, trapped just like him in the revenge the Wingly dictator had taken upon them. He did not want this. He didn't want any of it at all - but if he disobeyed Frahma now, what would happen? The woman and boy would not be saved, and he would be punished, or killed…

He'd been happy as a soldier, and yes, he'd been loyal to his ruler, but what could he do now? Sweat trickled down the side of his face, the back of his neck, his heart pounding in fear. He knew what he had to decide in order to keep this strange favor of his lord; he knew they'd have to die-

"Leki," Frahma said sternly, though amusement still played in his voice, "what is their fate?"

"S-send them to the surface," he blurted out, his eyes fixed on the woman. She looked up at him suddenly, sharply, and he drew in a deep, shaking breath. "Banish them from our cities and holdings forever." He could feel the piercing sensation of Frahma's gaze on him, regarding him closely, but he couldn't tear his own eyes away from Raiza. She was giving him a look of confusion, but there was something deeper than that, an intense hatred and a promise of vengeance, no matter how long it took. He tried to plead with her silently, to show her how much he hadn't wanted to do this, but after a moment she simply turned her head, holding her son closer.

Finally, the dictator waved his hand in a slashing motion, and the guards came forward again. "The judgment has been chosen," he said in wondering tones. "An interesting choice."

"My lord," he began, his voice a reedy whisper as he tried to force it through his constricted throat. "I had-"

Going on as if he hadn't spoken, Frahma continued, "Indeed, it shows surprising cleverness. Banishing a Wingly from our people's protection with the Humans in such an uproar…not only a sentence of death, but one in which the date of execution is never quite certain. Yes…I am pleased, Overseer."

Leki bit hard on his tongue to hold back his gasp. That wasn't what he'd meant - he'd wanted to spare them, he was trying to be kind, even if Frahma would think it weak - this wasn't what he'd wanted! He tried again to silently apologize to Raiza, but she didn't even look up, remaining in her bowed position, shoulders shaking, brushing back the platinum locks of the child's hair with her fingertips.

Another gesture from the gray-skinned Wingly and the soldiers bent to take hold of the captives, teleporting the two away; even after they'd gone, Leki could only stare at the place where they'd been, raising his clasped hands up to cover his mouth and trying to calm his trembling.

Frahma chuckled softly, and he finally dared to glance up at him; the lord was also looking ahead, as if seeing into the place where the prisoners had been taken. "No pity for traitors, my loyal Leki, or their kin," he mused softly. "They will meet their deaths at the hands of the Humans they wished us to spare, and Mayfil's darkness will ever show them the error of their reasoning."

"My lord," he echoed weakly, letting his hands fall in defeat.

Suddenly, the other man said, "Very well. I expect you must attend your move to the palace in Zenebatos, your family must be told. You will be quite well established there by the time the arena is repaired, and its first new fight shall be in commemoration of your promotion. Fifty slaves, I think, shall fight each other to the death in your honor." Before he could say a word, Frahma continued, "Do you have a wife, Overseer?" Leki shook his head mutely. "Ah, but then you must take one, as is only fitting. I would give you my sister…"

Stricken, the other Wingly finally managed to gasp out, "L-Lady Charle? But, my lord-"

"Of course," he said, speaking as usual as if he hadn't even heard his subordinate's voice, "she's rather a liability, isn't she? Let us not invite more treason into the Law City. Ah, I know. You have spent some time with my cousin Vairi in the Southern Palace, have you not? How would you like her?"

He had enjoyed her company, of course, had even grown rather fond of the calm, compassionate woman, but he had never expected to be asked about it, and for a moment tried for the words before he was able to speak. "Lord Frahma," Leki protested, shaking his head in confusion, "yes, I - I like her, but the Lady is already married!"

"Oh?" he responded, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't think that will be a problem, shortly. So it is done, Overseer." He smiled, staring back out into the distance even as he stood. "You have things to attend to. You are dismissed."

"Yes, my lord," he breathed, falling into a dizzying bow. He half-raised his hand to teleport before remembering how drained of magic he still was, and so, exhaling deeply, he turned to walk quickly toward the huge open doors of the throne room's entrance. Taking a quick turn to avoid meeting up with that escort of guards that had brought him in, he found himself within an unfamiliar side hall of the palace. All the doors before him whisked themselves open as he came, however, and so he kept moving. Startled slaves quickly pressed back against the walls as he stormed through the corridors at a near-run.

He didn't know where he was going, and didn't recognize the gate that finally opened for him, so Leki was startled when he found it led into a garden. The trees were aligned in orderly rows and were in full, perpetual bloom, a riot of greenery and flowers spilling from their beds across the untended pathways. The garden was open to the air outside, but no breeze blew, even at this height in the sky.

Falling heavily against a curved stone bench, the former commander gagged and retched, trying to rid himself of the sick feeling of utter disgust that clutched at his stomach. He was responsible for what would surely be the deaths of his former lady and her little son - and how many more lives would now be on his head?

Finally, holding onto the bench and gasping, he laid his head miserably on his gray-clad arms, the pleasant, perfect heat of the Kadessa sun filtering down onto him through the blossoms of the tree above.

---

The blare of the horns suddenly sounding the alarm shook her all the way through, making her heart pound in time like a drum as the noise jolted her awake. A fist knocked hard at the door of her tower, and a male voice shouted something from the other side, somewhat muffled by the wood. After a moment, footsteps crunched on snow-covered stone as the guard went back down again.

Shirley sat up quickly, throwing her blanket aside and momentarily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She probably hadn't even been in bed two hours yet, but fear was already piercing through the fog of weariness in her head. Though she'd been expecting this, it was still hard to keep the vague fluttery feeling of panic from overwhelming her. She got dressed in her white pants and tunic faster than she'd thought possible, jamming her feet into warm boots, grabbing the saffron jacket and the armored vest - fighting clothes.

This was it, the Winglies were finally attacking, and though they'd been building constantly since the night of Diaz's poisoning, her heart kept telling her that Vellweb and the spear-shooters could not possibly be ready yet. Shirley snatched up bow and quiver, and then raced for the door and flung it open. She came to a halt on the icy landing, staring outward into the dark evening sky. The lower city was alight with torches, but, much to her relief, the huge spiral of Flanvel Tower did not mar the horizon.

Then why the alarm? she thought, skidding down the first flight of steps and taking the second at a slightly slower pace. A low stream of firelight issued briefly from Zieg's tower as he and Rose both hurried down, he flipping his burgundy cloak around his shoulders, Rose pulling on her gloves. Both of them had light armor on and their swords at their waists as well.

Shirley waited for them to join her, seeing the same questions in their eyes that she knew were in hers. "It's not here," she started, unable to finish.

"Come on," the blonde man said finally, gesturing with his head as they jogged around the curve of the tower circle toward the stairs down. "Let's find Lor-Emperor Diaz and the others and see what's happening."

The three Dragoons didn't have far to go, however, before they received their answers. There was a large gathering of soldiers just at the foot of the stairs to the towers, lining the top of the inner wall, and past the door to the throne building stood Diaz himself. Oddly enough, he was wearing merely his usual white robe and embroidered cloak, his crown glinting in the light of the standing torches. Belzac and Kanzas were there next to him, armored and carrying their weapons; as they were still sleeping in the lower city, they had been alerted much faster than the other three.

The gates into the city had been closed, as they usually were for the night, and were being guarded especially thickly. Shirley, Zieg and Rose didn't say anything as they came up along the elevated pathway. From this height they could see over the angled outer wall to where a small trail of colored lights hovered above the snowfields outside. Winglies with magic torches, Shirley realized, watching the gentle bob of the beams as they grew closer. But why?

The woman risked a look at the emperor's face, seeing his expression set in straight, grim lines, before she sidled over to Belzac and tugged on the edge of his cloak to get his attention. He had his bronze-plated breastplate on, the stink of the short oiled mail sleeves filling her nose. He glanced down at her before moving aside to make room for her to stand next to him.

"Belzac," she whispered, "where are Syuveil and Damia?" After that first day of flying patrol a week ago, the two of them had gone out together fairly regularly since. They also were usually back before nightfall, and should have been there with them.

"Not here yet," he answered, his voice a low rumble, and she raised her hand to her mouth unconsciously, frowning. If those Winglies were bringing the missing Dragoons to them as trophies, she wasn't at all sure what she'd do.

The group outside stopped a distance away, out of range of any bow, and after a moment's pause two of the lights separated and moved closer, the figures of two finely-dressed, obviously noble Winglies coming into view through the shadows. The younger held a fluttering flag of peace in one hand, levitating a large stone tablet with the other hand. "We will speak with your leader!" the elder demanded, hovering before the gates. His voice, magically amplified, rebounded into echoes off Vellweb's stone.

There was a moment of stillness and tension, the soldiers on the walls shifting uneasily. "Go down and speak with them, Dragoons," Diaz finally answered in a calm voice. "I will not bargain with Winglies. Shirley, Zieg, you know how to answer any demands."

She bowed in acceptance, catching Zieg's eye as she straightened. He raised his eyebrow a little, turning to accompany Rose down the curved walkway toward the catwalks connecting the upper city paths with the huge angled outer wall. As Shirley automatically began walking behind them, Belzac at her side and Kanzas trailing after unconcernedly, the thought briefly crossed her mind that the Winglies were going to be really impressed by a handful of Humans with sleep-mussed hair and baggy eyes coming to meet them.

Of course, it hadn't been an accident that they'd come to Vellweb under cover of darkness, had it? She slung her bow from her shoulder and strung it as they neared the top of the wall, holding an arrow at the string but leaving it undrawn for the moment. The soldiers gathered on the ramparts moved aside as they passed. She forced herself not to search their ranks for her brothers' faces, knowing that if she found where they stood she wouldn't be able to stop worrying about them.

The five Dragoons came to a halt when they reached the part of the wall that overlooked the gate, gazing down at the two Wingly messengers below, the secondary spear-shooters looming above them further down the wall. Despite their half-finished state, their empty brick barrels still looked large and menacing in the nighttime shadows. Belzac narrowed his eyes. At least those two have the sense to stay low right now, he thought, at the same time waiting for the moment when the Winglies tried to fly up to eye level with the Humans on the wall and all Hell broke loose.

Zieg leaned forward slightly, though still keeping the majority of his body hidden behind the parapets - missiles could go both ways, after all, whether bolts or spells. "What do you want?" he yelled down, the anger on his face apparent in the glow of the torchlight.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, and then the elder Wingly cleared his throat, holding out his hands to receive the tablet from the other messenger. "By the will of Supreme Lord Melbu Frahma, leader of the Wingly species and Protector of Endiness, these commands are now made! The Humans of the unrecognized empire of Gloriano are hereby ordered to surrender arms and submit peacefully!"

No one moved, simply listening as the silver-haired man shouted his commands, and Shirley shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Did they really think these threats would make them give in? Zieg, further down the wall, snorted derisively, his mouth twisted into a smirk, but silence remained as they let the messenger deliver his entire proclamation.

"The city of Vellweb will be occupied by the Wingly army, and Wingly laws will be enforced! The Human named Diaz is hereby ordered to surrender into custody! The Humans called Dragoons will be taken into custody!"

Belzac could sense a growing agitation from the soldiers behind them and prayed their anger wouldn't incite them to try anything. However, there was muttering reaching his ears, the men asking each other if the emperor would really surrender, would really allow the Winglies to seize their property, allow their children to be killed…

"You are charged with the murder of Lady Fara, Wingly ambassador to Vellweb! You are charged with inciting rebellion, with raising an army for the purpose of furthering rebellion, attack on the Wingly military, the murder of Wingly civilians, aiding escape of slaves, causing harm to Winglies, destruction of Wingly property, theft of Wingly property-"

Kanzas shook his head as the long list of demands and charges went on, taking a slow step backward. No one paid attention to him, focused completely on the figures near the ground below. Moving up behind the men along the wall, he reached out and grabbed the shoulder of a nearby soldier, a boy with brown hair tied back in a long tail.

Letting out a low curse at being startled, the boy spun around quickly, eyes widening as the Dragoon let him go. "I want you to do something," Kanzas snapped in a low voice.

Catching hold of his nerves, he shook his head hard, almost automatically. "I wasn't told-"

He had to resist the urge to shout; there wasn't time to argue with some kid who, by the looks of it, hadn't even had his first shave. "Look, who the hell do you think I am?"

"You're a Dragon Knight, sir," the archer said promptly, a soft accent similar to Syuveil's marking him as one who had grown up around Winglies more than Humans.

He snorted, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, that's what everyone says, but what good does it do if no one listens?" The soldier gave a deep nod of concession, almost to the point of bowing his head mockingly. However, he straightened quickly as Kanzas grabbed hold of his slim shoulder once more, spinning him to face the wall again. "Now," he growled, "this is what you're gonna do-"

Below, the messenger seemed to finally be drawing to a halt. "If these demands are not met," he yelled up at the enraged faces staring down at him, "Flanvel Tower will destroy the settlement of Magrad! Surrender now and-"

The twang of a bowstring rang out in the darkness, and he suddenly pitched backward, his voice cut off, an arrow embedded in his left eyeball all the way to its fletching. The shimmer of his wings faded away like mist, the horrified scream of the younger Wingly breaking the silence as the body landed heavily in the snow, the tablet falling to smack down hard into the powder next to him. Bright red blood streamed from his eye socket, leaving tracks down his stunned face.

"Oh, Soa!" the other noble was screaming. He dropped the flag he carried and pitched to the ground as if to avoid another missile. In his shock, he sprawled backwards, scuttling through the snow away from the corpse. Behind him, the Wingly soldiers suddenly bristled with their weaponry. "Oh, Soa, oh Soa-!"

Why? Shirley thought, her own arrow falling from her fingers as Belzac next to her reached out an unconscious hand to steady her, his jaw dropped in disbelief. But…why?!

"If anyone moves, you'll be shot where you are!" Zieg bellowed immediately, though his face had gone noticeably pale. There was a long, frozen moment, and finally with a gesture the leader of the Wingly escort ordered his soldiers back, not high-ranking enough to give the order to attack even after this provocation.

"You'll answer for this!" the distraught messenger in front of them sobbed, ruby eyes gazing with terror up at the torchlit Humans silhouetted above. "You fools, you'll answer for this!"

Most of the soldiers were motionless, as commanded, and Rose whirled around, looking for the one who'd fired. However, she didn't have to look very far, finding Kanzas standing just behind a stunned and pale archer with a small, satisfied smile on his shadowed face.

"My god, Sage!" another soldier whispered, though his voice was very audible in the silence. "Sage, why did you-?"

"It - it was my order," the young archer answered hesitantly, holding the bow almost awkwardly out in front of him, his other hand still poised as if to pull back the string.

"Kanzas!" Rose shouted angrily; he shrugged, leaving the soldier behind and strolling casually toward them, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Shirley shook her head. "You ordered this?" she demanded, horrified.

Kanzas gave her a sardonic look. Well, it wasn't like you were gonna do it, he thought at her. He waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the others, though inwardly he felt rather pleased by their distress. "What, you wanted to listen to more of that shit?" he asked bitingly. "You were just going to refuse everything anyway!"

"There's no time for this," Zieg muttered tersely, the grim tone of his voice silencing the retort Rose was about to air. "We have to prepare for a fight here!"

"It's all your fault!" the hysterical Wingly below them screamed up. "You could have given up peacefully! When Magrad's destroyed, when your stupid 'empire' is dust, all Humans will look to you barbarians and say it's all your-"

There was a loud thunk, and the messenger stared with wide, wide eyes at the huge carved spear that was now quivering upright in the snow, embedded in the frozen ground just between his legs. Syuveil glared down at him, his glasses reflecting the soldiers' magical lights and hiding his green eyes. "I think not," he hissed angrily, the wings of the Jade Dragoon armor flapping slowly behind him.

Sudden cries came from the soldiers as a dark shape passed directly over their heads; the Dragoons turned as Damia leapt from the back of her vassal Dragon, stumbling into a landing and catching herself with her hands. Syuveil's Dragon was another mere shadow in the night, his weight crunching down snow just to the side of the city's walls.

Damia's face looked very white in the dim as she straightened and hurried over to them, reaching to grab hold of Shirley's free hand with both of her own. "It's terrible!" she choked out, turning slightly to look down over the wall as well.

"What is?" the red-haired woman asked her, but she didn't respond, watching the scholar confronting the group below.

Breathing very fast, the Wingly envoy on the ground managed to squeak out, "Your threats won't-"

"My threats won't change the fact that Magrad's already being attacked?" Syuveil shouted back at him, reaching for his spear and tearing it from the ground as the silver-haired man tried to drag himself backward. "Admit it! Admit that Faust has been burning the fort since before you even got here! You're killing our people no matter if we'd surrendered or not!"

Damia shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. "That flying tower again!" she told them quickly. "We saw it destroying everything, just like in the mountains! All those soldiers are going to die!"

"What? Flanvel!" Belzac gasped, horror and disbelief warring on his expression. She's right, no one's going to make it! "Zieg, we have to do something!"

"I know," he replied darkly, "but any moment now things are going to explode down there! That escort's small, but they'll still be able to decimate the soldiers with magic before they get close enough for our archers to pick them off!"

Kanzas frowned. "Then we get them first."

"But the spear-shooter-" Rose began, gazing upward briefly; her gesture reminded them that Diaz was still standing above, watching them. "This is the perfect opportunity to take down Flanvel, and we're all needed to fire it! We can't waste the time-"

"No one told me that!" the Violet Dragoon spat back at her. "Bah, I figured it was too big to work without magic-"

"Forget that," Belzac interjected, scrubbing his hands through his golden-brown hair agitatedly. "Whatever's going to happen, we need to summon our Dragons from the border, now!"

As Syuveil and the messenger traded insults, Shirley stared down at the Wingly soldiers, who were obviously staying back because they were wary of the two large blue and green Dragons that now watched them from their positions around the city. Whatever diplomacy could have gotten them earlier was long gone now. And Zieg, of course, was right - if it came to a fight with them, the soldiers, including her brothers, would have the worst of it.

Taking a moment to do as Belzac suggested and call for Eremi, she then squeezed Damia's chilly hand, leaning down slightly as the girl gave her a questioning look. "Speak with your Dragon," she whispered. "Ask him to aim his magic at the Winglies down there, but don't cast, not yet."

"But-" she protested. However, the oddly emotionless tone of the woman's voice made her change her mind, and she nodded, closing her eyes to concentrate.

Syuveil's anger was rising to the breaking point; the cowering Wingly was denying knowing anything about the attack on the fort, and the glimpse he'd seen of their soldiers trying desperately to fend off the assault, the sound of crumbling stone as the spells hit the walls, echoed fiercely in his mind. "Enough!" he shouted, swinging his weapon around, point down.

"Syuveil, no!" Rose screamed down at him, but her voice did nothing to stop him. The messenger thought past his fear and remembered his wings too late to avoid the downward thrust of the double-bladed spearhead through his chest, his scream tearing from his throat before it descended into a bloody gurgle and fell quiet in a matter of seconds.

There was no more holding back. The brown-haired Dragoon yanked his spear from the Wingly's body and glared back at the soldiers flying across from him, their commander finally shouting them into action. Flipping the reddened lance into both hands, he began calling on his power, a dark blue-green glow spreading its tendrils outward from his form.

Zieg's growl of frustration grew to a cry as he spun around, and the blonde man waved his arm, shouting, "Archers, ready!"

"Now, Damia," Shirley ordered quietly. When the girl hesitated, she repeated in a louder tone, "Now."

Syuveil watched the faint glow of sigils being traced, hoped that his charge would take him out of range of most of the spells as he streaked toward their casters. But, even as he flew, he could feel the sudden change in the air, and if he could notice a drop in temperature in these already-freezing conditions, then something was definitely wrong.

He caught himself and made a quick arc upward, a wordless exclamation falling from his lips as the snow beneath the Wingly escort gathered itself up into frosty pillars and slammed itself sideways into the soldiers. Ice climbed rapidly up over the large mound of snow, prismatic crystals twisting over each other like vines and culminating like a flower on top before the whole thing shattered, leaving only frozen bodies scattered across the snowfields outside the city walls.

Gasping, the Jade Dragoon leaned backward in mid-flight, executing a kind of flip to bring himself back over the high wall and touching down, oblivious to the soldiers' amazed stares. Letting himself relax, letting the Dragon's power fade away in a burst of light, he turned his gaze toward the other six questioningly. "Damia," he said quietly as he approached, but the teal-haired girl didn't move, staring outward with a dull, fixed gaze. "Damia, you…"

"I told her to," Shirley interjected, the unusual fierceness in her voice making Syuveil recoil briefly. She too could not meet anyone's eyes, nor could she find it in herself to put her hand on Damia's shoulder, even though she desperately wanted to make some kind of apology. "A fight with even those few would sacrifice too many lives. It was the only way."

"Shirley…" Belzac began.

"Looks like you're toughening up after all, little warrior," Kanzas murmured to the woman near her ear. Despite the noise around them, he knew she'd heard it, watching her back stiffen in anger, or maybe just shock.

He chuckled, his hands laced behind his head as he looked back toward the inner wall where Diaz had been standing, though if he was still there he was no longer visible. Around them the soldiers were talking loudly to each other, unable to believe what they'd seen, and his laugh was nearly lost in the sound.

Motion behind them forestalled any more discussion as a man from Diaz's guard came pounding up to the top of the wall. "The emperor wishes to you hurry to the main spear-shooter right away!"

"Right," Zieg answered for them, gesturing for the others to follow. Rose was immediately at his side, Syuveil not long after, and Damia broke from her trance to follow him.

Belzac shook his head, eyes narrowed at Kanzas; although he hadn't heard what the bearded man had said to Shirley, he doubted he'd like it if he knew what it was. "Come on," he told her, tugging at her shoulder. "Damia's not mad at you, I know it. She'll be fine." She nodded rather mechanically, first bending to pick up the arrow she'd let fall.

Hurts, doesn't it, Shirley, thinking with your head instead of your too-kind heart. Kanzas raised his eyebrow at her appraisingly, and she gave him a look so like hatred as to make no difference before turning sharply toward the walkways back out from the wall. He shrugged, jogging past her and Belzac to catch up with the others - they could wallow together in their morals for all he cared right now.

Once down, the Dragoons hurried through the lower city streets and up slippery iced stairs, running toward the palace building, the center of much of the construction activity of the past two weeks. The doors had already been thrown open for them, Diaz's guards to either side wide-eyed as they watched the group pass. Though Damia had been falling behind, Belzac slowed his pace to match hers, urging her forward and keeping her steady with a hand at her back.

There were more stairs inside, winding around toward the top and slowing them out of necessity; Shirley had to clutch at a stitch in her side, forcing her tired legs to keep moving her upward. The palace seemed almost torn apart by the spear-shooter's assembly, soldiers even now pushing blocks of stone through the halls, stepping aside to let them through.

She had no breath for speaking, and so a voice up ahead, coming from the vicinity of the door to the platform room, startled the red-haired woman when it reached her ears.

"Goddamned Winglies, here?"

She immediately recognized Kanzas' rasping tones and made an irritated noise through her teeth, arriving in the doorway in time to see the Violet Dragoon moving into an attack stance across from two figures, which were hidden from her view beneath long hooded cloaks. Behind her, Belzac stifled a curse, his expression dour.

"Halt, Kanzas," another voice broke in, and Diaz stood forward from the shadowy area near the far window cutout, moonlight falling on his curly hair. "I value your enthusiasm, but these are our allies, Novi and Tavia, from Ulara. I will have some words with you later."

"Oh, will you?" he hissed under his breath, reluctantly standing back, though he did not relax his clenched fists.

Rose's blue eyes glittered in warning behind him as she said quietly, "If you dare-"

Belzac put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once in warning. "There is no time," he broke in, and with a scowl she fell silent. "Please," the half-Giganto said strongly, staring at the two cloaked figures, "tell us what to do."

First looking at Diaz for approval, they nodded silently to each other before reaching to push back the dark hoods shading their faces. They were indeed Winglies, their pale hair a vaguely purple hue, their features alike enough to label them as relatives. "Um, yes, hello," the young male, Novi, said, giving the group of distrustful Humans across from them a quick bow. "I guess we should get started, then?"

"Yes," Zieg said, nodding once. "All Charle's said is that we're supposed to help power the spear, but beyond that…"

"Well, it's simple, really," Tavia began, walking further into the chamber, near the windows, her long ruffled skirt rustling around her. She gestured to something set in the floor; seven colored discs, one in the symbolic color of each element, were arrayed in a semicircle at her feet. "These pads will collect your energy - oh, I'm so interested to see how much the Dragon magic will affect the collection! - and when enough is gathered, it will propel the spear-"

Syuveil shook his head, intrigued. "The seven of us will be enough to allow it to fly as far as Magrad?"

"Oh, yes!" she replied, a grin on her face. "And further, certainly, upon impact with Flanvel!"

"You seem rather excited for talking about an attack on your own people," Rose put in dryly, crossing her arms in front of her as she also neared the windows.

"Our own species, perhaps," Novi answered, his gaze downcast, "but Faust and Melbu Frahma's followers…no, they are not our people. We are on your side."

His sister nodded, her smile grown wan. "They, and all the Winglies who blindly abide by them, must be stopped."

Diaz stepped forward, sweeping his cloak aside with one arm as he made a wide gesture. He seemed more than recovered from the poisoning now, his voice strong as he announced emotively, "Now, my Dragoons. Our arrow shall not only shear the darkness that covers the earth, but also shear those corrupted hearts accustomed to being ruled."

"Yes, Emperor Diaz," Zieg murmured, raising his fist to his chest in a salute before moving to stand on the red-colored circle at the far side of the room. Slowly, one by one, the others followed, some like Damia more reluctant than the others, but as they stepped forward Kanzas felt himself going backward, biting his lip without noticing.

There was nothing different about this, though there had been eight then, the last one gray to signify the void, the lack of any element at all. Eight colored circles on the platform in a little row.

And every time, every time he'd had to stand on the purple circle, the magical energy streamed around him and took him to that black room with the glyphs running all around, and then would come the sequence of spells, always different so he never knew which was coming, was it wind or fire or darkness or earth before they would heal the damage and do it again, testing and recording and the pattern of lights would swirl, swirl around, around around…

There was no reaction from the device as Shirley stepped nervously onto the gleaming white stone. She raised her head and turned, putting her free hand on her hip in exasperation as she saw the man backing away. Why must you always cause some kind of scene? Can't you just go along with something for once? "Kanzas," she snapped, "come on, get over here! Every moment we waste here-"

He shook his head, halfway to the door already, ready to fling it open and run. Ha, weren't they going to be in for a surprise when they found it was all a trap? "If you think," he snarled back, "that I'm going to go stand on some Wingly elemental transport pad because you or anyone else says so, then you are out of your mind!"

"Must I order you directly?" Diaz asked him quietly, stepping further forward. "We have no time to spare."

The young Wingly woman also came near, placing her hand solicitously on his forearm. "It's perfectly safe, I assure you. The stones simply collect power from your spirit, converting it to energy - there is only small discomfort involved-"

'Tell me if there's any discomfort; we need to measure your current rate of magical resistance-'

"You talk like Aglis!" he told Tavia in a dangerous tone, smacking her hand from his arm as if it burned. "Shut the hell up right now!" She cowered back unconsciously, pulling her hand close to her chest, and her brother tugged her back a bit further with his arm around her shoulder, scowling.

"Oh," Syuveil interjected in realization, "this is about Aglis, isn't it?"

He knows about that? Shirley thought in surprise, looking to the man at her left. Kanzas told Syuveil about Aglis? But- She shook her head, reminding herself that she was angry with him, that it was hypocritical of him to taunt her about weakness and then hold them up with something like this. "Kanzas," she sighed, "this isn't the same thing!"

The bearded man gave them both a look of betrayal before his gaze drifted toward the rainbow of hues the others were waiting on. "Shut up!" he repeated, hating the fear the things were sparking in him, hating the way everyone was looking at him. It was worse than one of those damned terror spells that Winglies cast, and he had the sudden hilarious thought that maybe, if he found a purifying potion somewhere, it would dissipate the same as magic, too.

And then, hesitantly, a hand closed around his own; Kanzas looked down to see Damia standing there, staring up at him solemnly, her hammer held over one shoulder, her face framed by her bright hair, ragged ears, and the green and white scarf wrapped around her neck. Oh, Divine Tree, but that understanding look in her eyes, so familiar-

"Come on," the twelve-year-old told him quietly, her high voice trembling in apprehension. "I'm scared, too, but you wouldn't let them do anything to you, would you? Or any of us?"

He nodded vaguely, going along as she hesitantly began stepping backward, pulling him gently with her. "S'right, Jidena," he mumbled. "I can stand it if you can."

Shirley bit her lip, watching with slowly-lessening confusion, the others wondering how long the strange enchantment would last. However, he let himself be led all the way onto the pad, and Damia immediately let go, running around Rose to jump lightly onto the blue disc once more, drawing in a deep, nervous breath of air through her teeth.

Instantly, with all seven Dragoons standing on the array, the spear-shooter rumbled to life, the force of it shaking the palace building with a short tremor.

Kanzas winced in spite of himself, half-wondering how he'd gotten there, but instead of a flash of magic transporting him to some terrifying experiment chamber, he was merely surrounded by rays of violet light streaking upward in a pillar to the ceiling. The others in the line to his right stood in the middle of similar pillars, creating a spectrum of light.

There was, in fact, a little discomfort as their spirits were drained; it felt as though their energy was being taken, and as the glow grew brighter, the colors around them more vivid, the Dragoons looked like they were wilting in response, like a plant under too much sun.

Novi and Tavia had become distracted by a glowing panel set in the corner, watching its lights with Diaz silently observing from one side. Finally, the pale-haired man straightened, grinning. "Completely charged!" he announced, turning as the light died and they quickly stepped away from the magic stones.

"Now what?" Zieg asked intently, striding over to them quickly although his face had a rather gray cast to it. "Now it fires?"

"Unfortunately," the Wingly answered, looking down at his hands and fiddling with the buttons on the front of his coat, "it will take an hour for the device to absorb the energy into-"

Belzac shook his head, voicing the dismay of the others as he bent to pick up Damia, who was swaying dizzily. "An hour?! What are we supposed to do if it takes an hour?"

"You must go to Magrad!" Diaz told them intently, brown eyes narrowed. "You must hold Flanvel there until the spear-shooter can fire!"

"That's where it's aimed!" Tavia piped up. "The magic will guide it to its target, but if the tower comes any closer, or goes too far from the fortress, the arrow may go astray!"

The emperor nodded once, hard, in agreement. "Go!" he commanded. "You can hold Flanvel! We're depending on it!"

"Yes, sir!" Rose bit out, her brows knitting as she spun toward the window cutouts nearby, vaulting through despite her fatigue. Her Dragon rose up before her as she called him, getting as close as possible to the edge of the platform, and she jumped the short distance down to his back, fastening herself on with the ropes. She could hear from inside, though faintly, the voices of the two Ularans bidding them good luck.

The others followed behind her as quickly as they could, their own vassal Dragons arriving as commanded, the light of the unsetting moon glinting off scales, clusters of eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness, the soldiers on top of the wall below watching in awe.

Spreading out across the sky, the Dragoons flew eastward, attempting to use the rather short journey to regain their strength. Although many of them had been tired to begin with, they were now weary in spirit as well, which simply added to their general unhappiness about this upcoming battle.

It didn't even take fifteen minutes to get there, though they could see long before they arrived what was waiting for them. The sight that greeted them was the spectacle of the night sky raging over Magrad, surrounding the great spiral of the mobile fortress, Flanvel. As the Dragons and their riders came swooping in, the black clouds overhead parted as if in reaction to their arrival, spitting forth a gigantic ball of fire into their midst.

The Dragoons scattered to avoid the fireball as it descended almost majestically outside the fort. Its heat as it slammed into the ground instantly turned snow to steam and dissolved layers of frozen dirt into a muddy quagmire. The outer wall buckled from the flames, but remained standing, though more of the curved spikes lining its top cracked and toppled haphazardly.

Clutching tightly to Michael's halter ropes as he twisted out of the way of the spell, her new saber unsheathed in her free hand, Rose let out a hiss of shock and anger, glaring at the tower when the Dragon had righted himself again. "Faust!" she snarled. "Go on, hide away! Not much longer for you now!"

Michael, attuned to her feelings, let out a loud growl and reared back as if to fire his chest beam, but the dark-haired woman quickly thought to calm him. Flanvel was well-shielded, and not only would his beam likely reflect off the tower's walls, but it would also leave him vulnerable to an attack that could otherwise never touch him. Instead, she urged him to fly higher, curving around in a different direction than most of the Dragoons were taking.

Watching the chaos below, she saw that several of the others had already transformed and parted from their vassal Dragons in order to attack the unit of Wingly soldiers that always accompanied Flanvel's missions of destruction. Their role was to make sure that anyone not killed by Faust's amplified magic ended up dying anyway by the blade.

Rose scowled; though too high up to see clearly, she knew what was happening to the soldiers trying to defend what had been her home. They were trapped now within its crumbling walls, the burning buildings around them lighting the night. She glanced to her right and saw that Zieg still remained on Ember's back, hovering nearby, but it was impossible to exchange words while flying.

Rather annoyed that he was being so protective of her, she asked Michael to descend closer to the nearest group of Winglies. Smirking at the thought of her fiancé's surprise, she streaked away, holding on tightly as the wind buffeted her slight form.

Claws out as the knot of enemies tried to scatter, the black Dragon clipped through them, grasping with his reptilian feet, sprays of blood exploding from the shearing force. He let out a roar, as if pleased, and Rose smiled along with him vicariously.

But, as good as it was to take down these infamous killers of innocents, she knew that at any moment Faust would tire, as he always did, with such easy prey, and Flanvel would float away again. Magrad was already lost, but they had to prevent the tower going west to Vellweb no matter what it took. The magician was arrogant enough to ignore the Dragoons, knowing that even the magic of seven Dragons couldn't harm the shield of the tower. How could they possibly keep him here for - what was it now? - three-quarters of an hour…?

Catching a glimpse of gold, the shimmer of Belzac's armor and his Dragon's scales shooting by not far from her, Rose remembered his strange power from the fight in the valley. It was power strong enough to gather up the earth in a wave, to bury and kill a monster as large and strong as a Dragon. His vassal Dragon and his spirit, working together…

Yet, she didn't know how he'd done it. It had been obvious that he didn't even know what had triggered it. Was it the Dragon, or was it the need of the Dragoon? "Michael," Rose decided to try, speaking aloud and thinking directly to him at the same time. "Please, let me borrow your power…to do what needs to be done!"

Her hand crept toward the dark-indigo orb at her collar, her pale face set in a stern, thoughtful expression which quickly faded away as she found that the touch of the spirit burned her fingers through the leather of her glove. A moment later she reached for it again, squeezing it tightly, unable to let go as its painful warmth spread through her.

Gritting her teeth, the Darkness Dragoon closed her dark blue eyes and concentrated on something, anything that would distract Faust and keep him above Magrad until his death could come flying through the sky.

---

Merely a streak of silver, Shirley leaned forward on Eremi's back, holding on tightly, feeling as though the strength of the wind pushing on her might blow her away from her vassal Dragon at any moment. Next to her, in his Dragoon form, Belzac kept up with their rapid pace, staying as close as he could, his own Dragon elsewhere in the city.

They were flying low through the burning buildings - sometimes literally through the buildings, as Eremi was too large to maneuver in such tight areas - searching for any signs of life. The White-Silver Dragoon had decided not to transform, not wanting to worry about spirit energy when she didn't have need of her magic yet.

Belzac shouted something at her, and though she couldn't hear him over the roar of the wind she nodded, watching where he was gesturing. Near Magrad's eastern wall, a handful of Human soldiers were trying to battle an even number of Winglies and obviously getting the worst of it. Stuck on the ground, they could only try to dodge helplessly as their enemies almost lazily cast spells in their direction.

Suddenly, however, arrows began to fall on them, Shirley's hand whipping back to her quiver for dart after dart as her Dragon loomed up over the suddenly frightened group. Eremi let out a high-pitched growl and flared her wings to appear more menacing. From behind her Belzac suddenly flew toward them, his enormous axe held in one hand. He dove through the Winglies, delivering a hack from one side to the other, turning to slash through armor and flesh with a speed incongruous with his size.

He was breathing quickly, however, from the strain of keeping himself moving so fast, blocking a sword strike with the handle of his axe before flipping it around in both hands to swing the blade forward, embedding it hard into a Wingly's side. It took some force to kick the body off the weapon, the rent edges of armor seizing onto the half-moon blade of the battleaxe, but he didn't worry about his back, knowing with simple confidence that Shirley and her arrows would protect him.

It had not taken long; the soldiers below were using the distraction to get away, some launching what bolts they had left at the remnants of their attackers. Belzac, feeling his spirit energy about to give out, lurched upward into the air, managing to make it to Eremi before his power failed. He just barely caught hold of one of the crisscrossing halter ropes with his free hand, the axe dangling from the other.

Carefully, as Eremi flew upward away from the wall again, Shirley leaned down to take the axe from him; she let out a grunt, barely able to lift it up out of the way of his head so that the half-Giganto could climb, hand over hand, up to the silvery Dragon's back, where he secured himself behind her and retrieved his weapon.

Shirley, drawing back an arrow on the string, suddenly gasped, turning to watch a flicker of energy crawl up around the spiraled base of Flanvel Tower, growing in intensity as it reached the top. She ducked instinctively, covering her head as Faust from within his protective shell launched a stream of liquid fire up into the sky, aiming at someone, something out of sight beyond the walls.

Why is he shooting at the sky? she wondered, twisting to try to see. All she could make out against the night sky was a dark figure, obviously a Dragon - it was Rose, then. But what was going on? She hadn't even moved to avoid the attack…

High above, there was a darkness arriving over Magrad, a swirling movement black against the lightless horizon. Even as they watched, Michael hovered amidst a spray of golden energy, ducking his head on its long neck, and Rose, incredibly, stood up, reaching toward the sky.

The encroaching darkness flew toward her, surrounding her as she spread her arms to welcome it, and then rushed past with the flutter of hundreds of wings. Belzac gaped in awe, realizing what she had done - she had summoned a swarm of black Dragons from the jungles of the Southlands, much smaller than their grand cousins, much more susceptible to the Dragoon's power.

She had transformed amidst the swarm, almost as if they had brought the armor with them, and Michael spun out from beneath her and dived for the ground with a fierce roar. Rose hung alone in the air, part of the darkness and yet separate from it, the green-gold film of her wings now deep indigo flame, her dark hair dancing around her head.

As if one, the darkness Dragons flew straight at Flanvel Tower, covering it in a fluttering, constantly-moving shadow. Moving all together like a cloud of angry bees, they dived and clawed, and though the shield around the massive flying tower crackled warningly, magic emanating from its fissures, they kept swirling about, returning to block it again. Though not as invincible to harm as her vassal Dragon was, their natural armor was more than a match for what Faust could throw at them.

Shirley stared raptly upward at the sight, Belzac nodding in approval. Michael's power, he realized, remembering for himself how great the rush of energy had been when he had borrowed his own vassal's magic, how much he knew, suddenly, that he could accomplish. The Dragons will hold it there for the spear! Wonderful, Rose!

Finally, however, he tore his eyes away and glanced down at Shirley. Feeling his movement behind her, she turned to look slightly and then nodded, knowing that there was still more to do. Moving catlike, Eremi whisked back around again, flying up over the burning fortress for a better vantage point.

Several minutes passed before the two caught sight of another battle. This one was taking place on some of Magrad's highest ground, the streets near the fortress's south end. There were only a few Humans left here, facing a much greater number of Winglies, and it was obvious they couldn't last much longer.

As they swooped down toward the struggling defenders, Belzac suddenly drew in a breath, putting his hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Look!" he shouted, pointing past her, as he knew she could barely hear him over the wind. "Look who's fighting down there-!"

Lord Tibero! she thought as her heart leaped in her chest, recognizing him. I was hoping he was all right! She nodded to let him know she'd seen the general, bringing her bow close to her. "I'll go; I can transform!" she cried.

She pulled her legs from under the rope before he could argue with her, and her friend reached out in a half-hearted attempt to pull her back. She turned around to push her bow into his outstretched hand so it wouldn't fuse to her gauntlet in the transformation, giving him a quicksilver smile. The brightness of the light as she called upon her Dragoon Spirit blinded Belzac for a moment, and he shaded his eyes with his hand.

The buoyant energy of the armor surrounded her, lifting her away from her Dragon. Flying for him as fast as she could, Shirley winced as she saw Tibero take a hard blow to his side. The blade of a Wingly sword drew back from the older man covered in blood. Letting her weight work for her, she drove down hard with her foot against the Wingly soldier's shoulder, shoving him back and knocking him to the ground. Having bought some time, she then hooked her hands under the general's arms and pulled him up with her into the sky.

He gasped, obviously startled, and she gritted her teeth a little. The Dragoon armor made her strength much more than it was normally, but she was still small, and Lord General Tibero was a rather large man. His face pale from loss of blood, and maybe fear he would never admit to, he remained still and silent, his tight grip around her shoulders betraying his uneasiness at finding himself suddenly flying.

Shirley was grateful to turn around and find that Belzac had called Gleam to his side; she hadn't been at all sure how Eremi would react to carrying three people at once. Nearly struggling to stay aloft, she brought the elder over to the Golden Dragon, gently letting him down onto Gleam's back.

Tibero looked less than thrilled, his long gray beard in the wind giving him the ruffled look of an angry boar as he immediately grabbed for the ropes like a lifeline. "Young lady!" he bellowed up to her irately.

She shook her head, bright red hair flying around her face, allowing herself a little amusement in the midst of this terrible tragedy, despite its inappropriateness. The others had fallen…but at least she had been able to save someone. "Don't worry, Lord General!" she called back, raising her hand, calling upon her magic. "I won't let you fall! Please, let me tend your wound, sir!" He finally gave her a stiff, unhappy nod, and she grinned. "Thank you! Moon…Light…!"

---

Just ten days ago, this square had been full of Humans, ten thousand soldiers in and around the city, clamoring for their emperor, for the clan leaders, for the Dragon Knights. And now, in the burning darkness, there was only death for those who had once cheered.

What remained now of both the Wingly forces and Gloriano's soldiers was just scattered knots of resistance clashing together momentarily. Zieg and Syuveil, soaring into the square, hadn't been fast enough to help the men who had been fighting their flying adversaries.

Human arrows had taken down two Winglies before the archers had been killed, but there were three of the enemies left. Distracted by the sight of Rose hovering above, by the arrival of the swarm of black Dragons, the Winglies were taken by surprise as the Dragoons charged them. In an almost unconscious maneuver, the two separated the enemy group, Zieg shoving one back toward the statue of Diaz and Syuveil pushing the others in the opposite direction.

The Fire Dragoon was not focusing completely on his fight, however, too concerned about Rose, trying to ignore the feeling that she needed him by her. "What is she doing?" Zieg muttered, glancing quickly upward before returning his attention to the Wingly in front of him, parrying a quick strike from the man's sword. She'd been protected on Michael's back while she'd been hovering up there, apparently summoning those Dragons. Why had she transformed, then?

Keeping his worry in the forefront of his mind, he twisted upward, arcing back down and slamming his broadsword hard into the Wingly's shoulder joint, dark brown armor crumpling under the force of the blow. Pulling back, he delivered another hard slice before the man could react, driving the edge of the sword in deeply and hacking through where the armor had torn. The Wingly screamed as his arm was severed from his body in a rush of blood, remaining attached only by several trailing nerves and tendons.

"Syuveil!" he bellowed, spinning in mid-air as his opponent fell to the ground. "All right here? I need to go find Rose!"

"I'm fine!" he called back, whipping his spear in a wide circle to keep the two Winglies that faced him away. Zieg nodded and flew upward, nearly brushing past him as he went, but Syuveil kept his green gaze fixed on the soldiers to be careful.

Truthfully, he wasn't much concerned by the threat, as these Winglies were too used to destroying villages, Humans who couldn't fight back, much less fly around them and attack from above. Judging his distance, Syuveil kept moving, his vellum-white wings flapping hard as he shifted like his element, keeping out of the way of most of the spells or blows they could throw at him. Their usual repertoire of magic that immobilized or stunned a victim had no effect on an armored Dragoon.

There was a sudden cry from the darkness of the streets below, and then as he tried to move upward he felt himself being yanked hard back down, something pulling on his leg. He twisted to look at what held him - a chain studded with orbs, just like the one holding down Taranis in the arena, its cuff end clamped seamlessly around his ankle. The man's lips curved in grudging acknowledgment of the new Wingly's ingenuity. He was not at all worried, for even the oversized arena chain had broken easily beneath a Dragoon's transformed weapon. "I shall have to remember this," he yelled down, "to teach our soldiers to use against you-"

Before he could swing the blade of his spear down to cut the chain, he saw a bright light from the corner of his eye and whipped his head to look up just as the magic sigil faded back into darkness. His two opponents now hovered in the air across from where he was stuck. "You won't remember anything, monster!" he heard a voice, not quite so distant now, cry back to him in the Wingly tongue.

Syuveil, wincing, crossed his arms to shield his face with no time to spare as a howl of air ruffled his hair upward. Stones began to fall from above, crashing and shattering around him; he felt like a kite in a gale, battered by their force. Suddenly, then he was moving, first dragged by the chain and then shoved into the side of one of the fort's tiers by the Wingly tackling him.

A gasp tore from the young man's throat as he fought the momentum, his jaw tensed in preparation as he hit the stone hard, the walkway above him crumbling from the intensity of the impact. The gasp turned into a louder cry of pain as he both felt and heard the sharp snap of his arm breaking, pinned slightly behind him.

His vision blurring, his head pounding, Syuveil tried to stay awake as he was yanked back down to the stone of the square, as the skin of his face and upper arms was scraped open in the collision. There was blood coming from a tear in his scalp, trickling down into his ear now, and that sudden flash of light as his Dragoon form failed him, as even the flames engulfing the houses seemed to fade to blackness.

It hurt so much more now that his armor was gone; he felt the cuff tug against his ankle again, the Wingly dragging him across the square again, and he couldn't even raise his head this time-

But there was a blur - and another blur, and someone's cry of pain, and the tension in the chain suddenly went slack. Syuveil heard a wet thud, the sound of something rather soft and mushy colliding with the ground nearby, and then an even brighter flash of blue right before his eyes.

"Oh, Syuveil!" Damia breathed, her tiny feet touching down as she ran out of spirit energy, having used it up in her attack. The cuff snicked open, the magic lost with its wielder dead, and she quickly pulled it away from his leg before lurching up to his side. "Syuveil, are you awake? Say something!"

He could barely force his lips to move, his head lolling to the side as she cautiously tried to shift him, straightening the bent wire frames of his glasses. "Watch out," the Jade Dragoon whispered. "More of them-"

"Kanzas is here too," she hastened to tell him, looking rather unusually glad of that for the moment. "He's-"

"Well, kid?" the man in question called down suddenly, his wings sending gusts of chill night air into their faces as he drew near, his eyes narrowed on the two Winglies left above. "He alive?"

She nodded, quickly amending, "Yes!", as his back was turned to her. Running her fingers gently through Syuveil's hair, she felt something wet and raised it to her lips, tasting blood. "But you have to hurry!" she screamed back as Kanzas ascended again. "His head's bleeding!"

"Make him stay awake!" he bellowed back down, kicking off the remains of a crumbling wall to launch himself at the nearest Wingly soldier.

Her breath catching in fear, the teal-haired girl bent her head, waving her hand in front of Syuveil's face, hoping that the shadows cast by the tiered streets above them, by the statue that loomed over the square, would keep them hidden from Wingly eyes. "Syuveil," she repeated, her voice trembling, "you heard him! You have to stay awake! C'mon, say something to me!"

"Tired," he mumbled back, oblivious to the alarmed noise she made in response. There was the feeling of an insistent worried emotion in his head, Tsavor wondering what was wrong, but he didn't really feel like forming a response to his Dragon either. "Lemme 'lone, Damia…"

"No!" she cried back, looking to the sky again, watching Kanzas grapple with the Wingly he'd grabbed hold of in his lunge.

The silver-haired soldier managed to break the Human's hold on him, though, shoving away from him to fly back toward his comrade. The Violet Dragoon growled, eyeing his new opponents closely in the moonlight that glinted off Flanvel above. The two Winglies before him called back and forth to each other in their own language, which Kanzas could only understand a few words of, but he knew they were planning to team up and attack with magic.

Well, so could he, having only recently transformed again before Damia had found him and begged him to come help Syuveil. He'd indulged her because it meant he could keep fighting; thanks to the Dragons, they were running out of enemies, and he could not stop fighting, could not allow himself to think about anything else. When there was only the rush of blood, the sound of screams, the pounding joy in his heart, then there was no room left for memories and fear.

Right now, however, Kanzas really wished he didn't have to worry about when he would lose his wings; it made the otherwise gratifying activity of killing Winglies much more complicated than he liked.

He raised his hand, letting the lightning crackle around his fingers, enjoying the gaping, scared expressions on the brown-armored soldiers' faces. There would come a time when they were used to the idea of Humans that could use magic, but not yet.

Choosing one in particular, he watched as the ground began to glow beneath him, as the bolts of lightning struck from the sky, bright and blinding. From in the midst of the light there was a cry of pain, and before the pair of Winglies could react he dove inward, his fists glowing with the same purple-white light. He pounded the armored gauntlets into the stunned, crimson-eyed face, feeling bone break beneath his knuckles, armor denting under the force of his kicks, the battered body tumbling limply to the ground in unconsciousness.

Flying backward again, Kanzas flexed his fingers, gathering the energy that had clung to his hands, driving it into a vaguely round shape. Then, with a loud cry of exultation, he let it go, watching it stream downward to rumble around the fallen soldier. It grew upward into a dome, crackling and whirling with electricity and leaving the Wingly a corpse, blackened by the lightning he had made.

Letting out a loud laugh, he dropped back down to the ground, landing in a crouch and straightening as his armor dissipated, its power gone. He looked back upward immediately, searching out the last Wingly and trying to think of a way to get him to come down close enough to give him back his energy. However, the sky above the square contained only stars. Flew off scared? he thought skeptically, turning a little as he heard the unmistakable buzz of someone's energy wings nearby-

The same chain that had caught Syuveil now dropped around Kanzas' neck, its magical clasp sealing tight as, with a sharp yank, the last Wingly flew upward into the air again. It happened faster than a blink - his feet had left the ground, it was tight, he couldn't breathe and he kicked and struggled though it was only allowing the cuff to draw tighter-

The Wingly above shouted something down at him, pulling on the other end, jerking him higher upward. Unhearing, he clawed at the chain, knowing that if his neck didn't break soon he would suffocate anyway, neatly garroted in midair. He tried to call for Taranis but he couldn't make the thought, and there was a roar like water in his ears, dark dark dark-

Something rushed by, ruffling his hair, and he could make out a hard thunk and another cry above him. A moment later he hit the stone, two more things also landing heavily nearby. His entire left side ached from the impact, but it didn't matter as the loop of metal around his neck was still cutting off his air, though he was able to pull it back enough to drag in a shallow breath or two.

Through bleary, half-opened eyes, he saw as Damia walked past him slowly, leaning down once to pick up her hammer from where it had fallen after her throw. Methodically, as if she was following instructions written in the air in front of her, she raised her weapon and brought it down hard on the skull of the fallen Wingly who'd choked him, again and again until his forehead split, until the body stopped moving. Once again, the chain's loop opened as its user died, and Kanzas immediately pulled at it until it came free, gasping for air, casting it down beside him and coughing to clear the tightness around his neck.

Damia was shuddering as she turned to walk back toward him, taking graceful little steps between the dead that lay scattered across the square, her ruby eyes hollow. The half-mermaid knelt next to him, putting her hand on his heaving shoulder, but he knocked it off awkwardly, pushing himself up with his unhurt arm.

This is what I get for helping people… Kanzas sat up, rubbing his throat, brows knitting in a deep scowl. "Don't…expect me…to thank you," he hissed between deep breaths.

The girl shook her head, the barest hint of a sad smile on her lips, the growing collection of scales beneath her eyes glittering coldly. "I'm not stupid," she answered softly, gazing down at the bloodied hammer lying across her lap. She glanced over to where Syuveil lay, frowning. "I couldn't keep him awake," Damia muttered despairingly, but Kanzas wasn't listening to her; instead, he was looking back up at the sky.

The Dragons that swarmed Flanvel had frozen in stillness as the indigo flame that consumed Rose's shape grew stronger, shooting upward around her, flickering as it seemed to absorb the darkness. There were three pinpoints of light just visible behind the Darkness Dragoon's shape, steadily brightening.

"Look!" Damia gasped as she saw it, twisting her hand into the folds of Kanzas' cloak in order to steady herself as she half-rose from the ground. "That's-"

He nodded, watching the brightness growing in the sky to the north. "The spear!" he finished, his gaze jerking immediately back toward the gray mass of Flanvel Tower hanging above.

The lance was hurtling so fast it could only be seen as a point of light, a rainbow stream of colors behind it evidencing the powers that had set it in motion. High above the others in the sky, ignoring the shadowy fire that seemed to wreathe Rose's still form, Zieg wrapped his arms under hers, flying hard to drag her back out of the way of its passing.

He was barely in time as the trident-headed spear punched through several of the black Dragons which were too big and slow to escape it. Trailing blood and scaly gore, it slammed into Flanvel as though it had come from the heavens. The world ignited as the tower was knocked back, rocking Magrad with a deafening sonic boom as it disappeared from sight.

The explosion crashed through those who were left, the blast of air ripping thatch and tile from roofs and rolling corpses from where they lay, sending Dragoons and Dragons alike plunging uncontrollably through the air. Damia, her small body tossed by the rush of wind, smashed backward hard into Kanzas' chest, letting out a sharp cry of pain.

Unable to see through the flash of light, he put his arms around her reflexively as he felt the shockwave knocking him away as well, the two of them and Syuveil thrown like debris across the statue square and into darkness.

---

Snow was coming down heavily as the Dragoons landed outside Fort Magrad once again, the thick whiteness of it blanketing the now-empty ruins as with a shroud. Parting with their vassal Dragons some distance away, the seven of them approached the half-open main gates of the fortress, forced to climb across or down piles of stone, debris, and buckled land that Flanvel's magic had blasted up from its resting place.

None of them had escaped unscathed from the fight or the spear's impact with the tower, though some like Syuveil had been hurt worse than the others. Although their wounds had since been healed, most of them felt weak, discouraged. Destruction had even visited Vellweb, though briefly, as the launching of the spear had broken apart the shooter's rather hasty construction, sending pieces falling to the city below and damaging the palace building it was built upon. It would be a while before it were repaired, although, as Belzac had pointed out, there wasn't really anything else right now that they would be able to shoot at.

It had taken another day's rest before all of the Dragoons were ready to return to Magrad and discover what had happened since their battle, since the explosion had knocked everything from the sky, although Zieg and Rose had flown to the border in the meantime to investigate what had happened there. It was not hard to discover; Flanvel's invasion into Gloriano had left a trail of melted snow and barren earth as it had sucked up the life-energy of the land below for its power, an act just as bad for the Humans as the attack on Magrad. There was not so much arable land in Gloriano that they could afford to lose any of it, not with a standing army to feed, but there was nothing they could do about it now except allow it to regenerate on its own.

As for the tower itself, Flanvel, blown back by the spear, had finally come to rest within the mountain range to the east; it had slammed into Kashua Pass and would, apparently, remain there permanently. Indeed, the force of its impact had completely destroyed that area of the mountains, collapsing the entire side of a peak and causing avalanches and landslides all throughout the western slope. The path through the pass that Shirley and the others had taken just a month and a half ago was now irrevocably altered, and a new trail and a new route would have to be found for any future escaped slaves making their way to freedom. If Faust or any other Wingly inside still lived, the two Dragoons had reported, they were not showing themselves.

The wrecked ghost of Magrad now stood before them. Somehow, as they took in the formerly bustling fort's ravaged condition, it seemed a poor trade for the destruction of one Wingly magician, powerful though he might have been, and his flying tower. The falling snow was already burying it, the ground taking it back into itself, and the howl of the wind through the holes blasted in the walls sounded like a cry. Shirley wanted to cover her ears, to block that sound out of her mind, but she forced herself not to, focusing on the snowy path downward.

"It sounds like screams," someone said. She would have expected it to be Damia, but instead she recognized Rose's voice, the other woman's expression almost worried, her hand entwined with Zieg's for comfort.

The younger girl, on the other hand, was standing a bit apart from the others, her small features emotionless, her frame hidden in the layers of clothing she was wearing against the cold. Both Shirley and Belzac were worried about her, but she wasn't complaining, or even saying much of anything lately. However, that just added to the impression that something was wrong.

Zieg sighed, shaking his head, the hood of his cloak shading his face from view a little. "I just can't believe that we…had to sacrifice so many." The full ten thousand soldiers who had gathered there for the declaration of war had been scattered to their assigned posts long before the battle, but those thousands who had remained, including the civilians, had borne the brunt of the attack without help from the Dragoons in time to prevent their annihilation. After such a promising start in the valley, it seemed like even more of an abject failure on their parts.

"We accomplished what we had to," Syuveil put in, though without much conviction. He pulled off his spectacles, using the edge of his brown and green cloak to clear fat, wet snowflakes from the lenses. "Without Flanvel, we will have a far greater chance of bringing down the other cities. They…they were soldiers. They knew what might happen."

"That doesn't excuse it," Shirley said tightly, sighing and giving the Jade Dragoon an apologetic look for the words that were not really meant for him. "Oh, I - I just hope they forgive us…"

With an exasperated noise, Kanzas started down toward the gate, turning halfway to call back, "Well, are you just going to hover on the doorstep all day?"

Hesitating, Belzac finally answered, "I don't think we should go in there."

"Why not?" the smaller man demanded, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow in curiosity. "Afraid of ghosts?"

"You're one to talk!" Rose snapped at him. He snorted, raising his hand and cracking his knuckles in a taunting motion, and she stood away from Zieg suddenly, ignoring his soft murmur of protest.

Shirley glared at Kanzas; though she normally found it hard to carry a grudge, over the past few days he had constantly been able to keep her anger with him fueled. Her admonition, however, was stopped by Belzac's voice overriding hers as he spat tersely, "Just - stop. There's anger here, I can feel it, and - just stop, all right?"

The red-haired woman gave him a look, remembering that Gigantos were known to be able to sense the emotions of creatures around them. Belzac had never really had such an ability, thanks to his Human side, but ever since they were children he'd shown occasional flashes of intuition like this. She could very easily believe right now that he was feeling anger emanating from Fort Magrad, and she shuddered at that thought.

"There's nothing left here," Zieg said quietly. "No one. And no one will return to this place of death. This is as good a tomb as any we can give them in the spring. I think we should go."

Exhaling hard, his breath like smoke in the cold air, Kanzas spun around and went toward the gates anyway. However, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his head turning as he looked over at something next to the path. "Well, someone's been here since then," he said, mostly to himself. "Hey!" the man shouted back. "Someone who can read this crap, come here!"

Slowly, the others joined him, recognizing the proclamation stone that had been placed near the gates. Belzac leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees to examine the glowing green characters. "It's the same message repeated," he explained for the benefit of those that didn't know, "in the languages of Wingly, Human, and Giganto." He among them was the only one who could read all three.

"A law proclamation," Syuveil elaborated. "They always use all three when it comes from the Law City."

"What does it say?" Damia whispered at Belzac's side, her voice soft and almost cracked, as if with disuse.

The man put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her relax against him with a weary little sigh, and read, " 'The cursed land where the decline of the Winglies began. Nobody is allowed to touch the door. Judge Nomos of the Court of Zenebatos'."

"That doesn't make sense!" Zieg spat out to break the silence that descended, shaking his head. "Nomos - why would any Wingly declare that this was the beginning of their decline?"

Syuveil looked thoughtful. "Nomos isn't a Wingly," he explained. "It's a Lapto - a magical construct made by the Winglies. A very complex Lapto, in fact, created to be completely impartial in order to dispense justice."

"Oh, yes," Kanzas drawled derisively, "very impartial, between Winglies. Against any other and it's quite quick to presume guilty, order executions. Ordered mine once, too. I don't believe this 'impartial'."

"Your execution?" Shirley asked despite herself, horrified.

He shrugged, smirking back at her. "Obviously, it never happened." She frowned at the look in his eyes, feeling that he was laughing at her reaction, and turned her head sharply, which only made his smile grow.

"At least we know the Winglies won't disturb it either," Rose pointed out, not paying attention to the soft conversation.

Shirley nodded in agreement, clutching her arms as if hugging herself for warmth. "Let's do the same. Eremi's complaining about the cold, and I don't want to stay here anymore either."

"Neither do I," Belzac said, gazing at Magrad's half-open entrance once more.

"I think you're right about something being there," Syuveil murmured to him. "Winglies can see and hear ghosts, and some have even been known to be driven insane by it. Not every soul is quickly drawn to Mayfil. 'Decline' aside, that may be the reason why they've forbidden it." He swallowed hard, turning to look at the walls as if he could see through them. If ever a place seemed like it ought to belong to ghosts, it was the wreckage of this fort. Even he thought he could hear echoes of the voices of the thousands of people who had once lived here, whispering through the wind.

The half-Giganto shuddered at his friend's explanation. "Even more reason to leave." Standing up and brushing the snow from his pants, he told Damia, "Come on, you too. You don't look too well. I think you need some hot soup, to start with."

"Thanks," she mumbled, going along as he gently started to lead her back to where the Dragons waited impatiently, "but I'm just not hungry."

He frowned. "Damia, you're looking thinner every day-"

"I'm fine, Belzac-"

The others followed after without further comment, mulling over the meaning of the strange proclamation stone and also hearing the same complaints from their Dragons; the large reptilians hated the cold, and every moment waiting here made them a bit more ornery.

Picking her way back up after the others, Shirley scowled as Kanzas passed her and disappeared over the edge of the incline, jumping up the piles of debris with far too much energy. When she made it to the top, she found, however, that he was waiting for her, crouched down and rolling some snow into a ball between his gloved hands.

He dropped it when she passed him, holding out his hand to stop her, but she brushed it away, intending to pass by. "Hey," Kanzas called, and she glared once more back at him. "Lemme talk to you, Shirley. It's been days, you can't still be mad-"

"Leave me alone," she snapped icily as she turned her back, her breath billowing visibly around her and making her words seem all the colder.

"Oh, that's nice," he sneered. "Go ahead, then. Hold a grudge over nothing."

Her shoulders tensed beneath the white folds of her cloak. "Nothing?" she repeated incredulously. "If you hadn't ordered that messenger shot, we could have just refused their demands and avoided that entire confrontation! All you did was make a terrible night even worse!"

Kanzas rolled his eyes. "What was wrong with how it went, anyway?" he demanded. "Not one Vellweb Human died, if you get over your righteousness long enough to remember! Don't tell me you wanted those Winglies' lives spared. Don't tell me that, because even you aren't that damned foolish!"

"I-" Her voice trembled, and then she twisted to face him, brown eyes alight with anger, her hand whirling toward him. He raised his own to catch it, but she had already stopped herself before he could intercept the slap. Shirley stared at her hand as if it had betrayed her, slowly letting it fall again.

"I see," the bearded man murmured. "I see now. If I hadn't made it necessary, you wouldn't have had to order Damia to kill those Winglies." He turned his head, spitting derisively into the snow. "Don't make me responsible for your guilt, little girl. Your choices are your own."

The White-Silver Dragoon drew in a long breath between her teeth, unable to respond except to repeat, once more, "Just leave me alone!"

"Gladly!" he shouted back, spinning to storm toward Taranis so fast that the edge of his cloak whipped her in the face.

Raising her hand to her cheek, Shirley stood in silence amidst the thick blowing flakes of snow, fighting back the tears until everyone had long gone out of sight.