by Auryn Hadley
"Arctic?" Shade broke in, sounding worried. "You see that?" Archers were swarming across the walls, dozens of them.
"Can you get them?"
"There's iliri in there!" she whimpered.
"Do what you can, Shade." Arctic reached for his brothers' minds. Archers on the walls, Shade's trying, but there's a lot.
Pull back! LT screamed at them.
"Shade?"
She said nothing.
Arctic was starting to panic. "Shade? They're going to start killing us. Get real creative, ok?"
"Crap," the girl whispered.
She threw her hands out as if shoving. A strong wind pummeled the fortress as if she'd pushed it. The pennons on the lances below whipped furiously, and debris blew across the battle, but Arctic felt nothing on the hill.
"Nice. Keep that up, vary it a bit. It'll make it hard for them to shoot." Then he told his unit, Wind's from Shade. Should make picking a target a bitch until she can drop them.
Tell her she's amazing, Sal sent.
Arctic chuckled. "Sal said you're amazing."
She just nodded, focusing on the walls. Arctic could see her beginning to tire but still she flung out her hands and stared intently. One by one, the archers fell dead, and, one by one, the cavalry were knocked from their horses. A lone rider was left standing amid the swarm of Anglians, and he spun, trying to break through the line. Arctic snarled as the pikemen cut him down. When he turned back to Shade, she was pale, swaying on her feet.
"Ayati, girl. Sit. What do you need?"
She grabbed his shoulder, holding herself up. "I can't get my new clothes dirty. They were a present. Don't let me fall," she begged as her legs buckled.
Without thinking, he grabbed her, lifting her into his arms. "Fuck," he muttered, looking around. The girl sighed and relaxed completely.
Shade's out cold. You still have a handful on the walls, but she's done, he sent to the unit.
I got ‘em, Risk sent back, and Arctic saw a few Blades pulling ranged weapons.
He looked around for a safe place for the girl. Nothing but wagons, packed full, were behind him. She weighed nothing in his arms, and her head fell back against his bicep as he carried her down the hill. Soldiers moved out of his way but his eyes were searching for Tilso. Passing carts and wagons, knowing that the men around would be too much for her, he kept walking.
"Sir?" a man called out. "You're over there." He pointed.
"Ayati, thank you."
"Yes, sir. Saw her come in yesterday, sir. I'll tell the men to keep their distance."
Arctic nodded and followed the direction he'd indicated, finally seeing the stablemaster sitting easily behind the team.
"Tilso?" he called. When the man looked his way, he continued, "Got room in the back?"
"Will in a sec," Tilso said, hopping over the seat to move things.
By the time Arctic was behind the wagon, a small nook had been arranged in the piles of tents and crates. Tilso tugged pillows from his own gear and shoved them in for the girl's head, to make a small bed. Arctic placed her in it.
Looking back and forth between the girl and the troops waiting for orders, Arctic was torn. "Shit man, I gotta get the supplies moved up, and she's out cold."
"Go on," Tilso said. "I'll stay with her. I won't smell like a threat, so it should be ok."
"Thanks, brother. Just remember, she works on line of sight. If you feel warm, duck behind something."
"I'm good, man. Tell LT his gear will be late, though. I'm not pulling her through the middle of them."
Arctic nodded and made his way back up the small rise, standing before the lines of wagons. "Listen up!" he yelled, getting their attention. "Humans outside the walls, iliri in the courtyard. Grauori will have the outer edge. We're leaving the gates open and liberating this city for the people. This is not a conquest. Understood?"
Dozens of men chimed back, "Yes, sir!"
"We've done this before, men. Don't make me hold your hands. Let's get these loads moving!"
He pointed at an iliri standing beside his team. The man nodded, then climbed into the wagon, picked up his reins, and clicked the drafts forward. Beside him, others were moving into their own places and releasing brakes. Arctic pointed at a human and gestured for him to start a second line, leading to an area beside the gate. The driver saluted him then tapped his team with the whip.
The sound of the wagons gaining motion had always been a pleasant one to Arctic. The creak of leather, the deep snorts of the horses clearing their noses, and the shifting of the loads all meant the combat was done. The sun was high in the sky now. Probably just after noon. This had been quick.
He jogged back to Tilso, shocked to find him sitting on the tailgate of the wagon, speaking softly to Shade.
"Nope," Tilso said to a question Arctic missed. "Kinda like you feel about Sal. That's why I smell safe."
"You two ok?" Arctic asked.
"Yeah," Shade said. "He doesn't smell like most men."
Tilso chuckled. "I told her it's because I'm onsyc, but she didn't know the word."
"Ah. You understand it now, Shade?"
She shook her head slowly. "No."
"Tilso's mate? It's Risk."
"I don't know her," Shade said looking at Arctic blankly.
"Him. Risk is the one with white skin and pale gold hair. Neither Risk nor Tilso will find you sexually appealing at all. You're not a man."
"And that's ok?" she asked, amazed.
Arctic just shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?"
She rubbed her head and sighed, still laying in the small nook they'd made for her. "It's all so different here. I feel like I can't keep my eyes open."
"Can you sleep?" Tilso asked. "I'll watch your back if you can get some rest. This happens when Risk tries to do too much."
"Why?" she asked.
"Dunno. It's like you have to pull from your body to make your skill work." Tilso shrugged. "Close your eyes. Arctic and I will make sure to wake you before we get into Syhar. Probably going to be an hour with the traffic."
"Thank you." She turned her head and snuggled into the pillow.
Arctic couldn't help but smile at her.
Tilso patted him on the shoulder and moved to the bench seat. "Hop up here, man. Least it gives you a place to get off your feet. The geldings are happy to nap for a bit."
With a word of thanks, Arctic climbed up beside him. In his head, he could feel the Black Blades cleaning up the courtyard, fragments of conversations trickling through his mind as he checked the links. "There's still fighting inside but sounds like it's pretty easy stuff."
Tilso nodded, glancing back at the girl. "She for you?"
Arctic rubbed at his face. He'd answered that a few too many times, lately. "Not sure. I'm for her. She's got enough shit to worry about right now, and she's damned good with that skill of hers. We turn her loose, she'll become Anglia's secret weapon."
"Yeah. Sal said it's not an Iliran skill."
"Not one I've heard of. Doesn't mean it's not Iliran. Half the shit Sal does we've never heard of either."
"Good point." Tilso let the subject drop.
The men sat in silence, watching wagon after wagon move into line and head down to Syhar. With so many soldiers, the supply train was large enough to be its own army, but it moved at the pace of a snail. Arctic couldn't help but look at Shade as she slept, her hands curled next to her face. She was dreaming. Her fingers twitched slightly, and he listened to her small noises.
"It's gonna be rough," Tilso said gently.
"Yeah. Sometimes being iliri sucks."
Tilso patted Arctic's shoulder. "Wouldn't know. Nothing you can do about it?"
"Nope. I mean, I could try to ignore it, but that never works out well. She smells like perfection, man."
"I'll never understand the smell thing, Arctic. We tend to choose our lovers on their personality."
"Yeah. Mates aren't lovers."
Like an iliri, Tilso cocked his he
ad in confusion. "Ok. What's the difference?"
Arctic sighed deeply and turned to look at the horseman. "Lovers are for fun. That girl who picked me up in a bar, the Nuvani after a battle. Doesn't matter how long it lasts, it's never serious. Mates are what you and Risk have. That commitment to stay together. You know you're meant to be with him, right?"
"No," Tilso corrected. "I want to be with him."
"Even when he does his stupid shit?" Arctic's brow creased. Tilso and Risk were known to have some impressive fights, but they always worked it out.
"Even then. I get mad at him because I love him and we get confused. He doesn't feel guilt, so when he says something that hurts me, he doesn't understand that he shouldn't have said it. He just looks at the future and thinks he won't say it again."
"But there's a connection there, right?" Arctic asked, tapping his chest.
"Oh yeah. But it doesn't just hit us like it does the iliri. We choose to love. You're drug into it kicking and screaming because of the damned chemicals in your bodies." Tilso shrugged.
"So are you. Love hormones and all that. Just a slower process. If I'd never smelled her, I'd never be like this. If you'd never gotten to know Risk..." Arctic smiled at his friend. "Same thing, we're just a lot less patient."
"So what happens if you can't stand her personality?"
Arctic grinned. "And what, we end up fighting all the time?"
"Yeah," Tilso laughed. "Good point. I guess we're not all that different, are we."
"Why do you think we even have the term ‘ayati'? Some things are meant to be. You put fire to wood, it's meant to burn. You throw a stone in water, it's meant to sink. You put a Kaisae in the middle of war, and she'll, well, become Sal. It's just how the world works. Telling me the sky is blue because of the chemical makeup of the air and the light refraction doesn't change that the sky will be blue tomorrow. Telling you about our pheromones and instinctual drives doesn't change that I'll still be acting like a fucking idiot around her tomorrow."
Tilso nodded. "I get ya. You're doing good, though, Arctic. You're always pretty mellow, but you're..." Tilso chuckled. "You're being romantic. It's cute."
Arctic blushed and glanced at his feet. "I'm not real good at this shit. I'm not LT, with his charisma, or Zep with too much personality."
"Nope," Tilso agreed. "You're just a very good looking man, who is kind, caring, and honest. One is not better than the other."
"You really think so?"
"What, that you're hot, or that you're as good?"
Arctic laughed, smothering it before he woke Shade. "The first."
"Yeah," Tilso said meeting his eyes. "Everyone agrees. The Black Blades? You got some pretty nice looking men here. Pretty sure it's the Iliri thing. They're beautiful, but you're perfection." Tilso glanced away, grinning. "If you were onsyc, I'd be all over you."
"Thanks, man," Arctic said.
"Not offended?"
"Nah," Arctic said. "Not about to kiss you or anything, but it's flattering." He shrugged, a silly grin on his face.
Tilso nodded at him, his lips pursed together. He glanced back at the bed of the wagon. "Ever think that might be how she feels?"
"What do you mean?"
"She's not quite ready for it, but it's flattering. How often do you think anyone cared to give her a compliment?" He patted Arctic's knee. "Two things. First, I hear flowers are really sweet. I don't know anyone that can't see it as an innocent gesture."
Arctic nodded, waiting, but Tilso just smiled at him guiltily. "And?" he prompted.
"Second, you ever decide you wanna try the other side, just let me know. You have amazing lips."
"Lips?" Arctic asked, feeling his face burning. "Not eyes, not hair, but lips?"
"Yeah." Tilso giggled. "I'm not really into kissing your eyes."
"I'm blushing," Arctic muttered.
"Yep," Tilso agreed. "Yep, you sure are."
"Isn't it time for us to head down yet?"
Tilso laughed and glanced behind them at Shade. She lay quietly, but her eyes were open, watching. Arctic saw her, too, and blushed even more, burying his head in his hands.
"Yeah," Tilso chuckled. "Ready to head in, Shaden?"
She nodded, looking at Arctic strangely. "He is very nice to look at."
"You're killing me over here," Arctic said, chuckling at himself.
"He's as nice as he is pretty." Tilso hugged the man beside him. "I'm helpin' ya out, brother."
"You're really not," Arctic insisted. "Maast, I'm so embarrassed. I thought Sal was hell to be around!"
"Why?" Shade asked him.
"Because she's always giving me a hard time?"
"No." She paused. "Why are you embarrassed?"
Arctic just shook his head in his hands and wished he was anywhere but there.
Tilso chuckled. "He's trying to impress you, Shaden. He's also trying really hard to be a gentleman. I'm kinda ruining it for him."
"I think it's cute." She giggled and shifted forward until she was just behind Arctic. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and touched his shoulder gently. "You're nice. I kinda like talking to you."
Arctic kept his head smothered in his hands, but the heat in his face was suddenly gone. Her simple words made his heart pound in his chest, and his eyes were acting a bit too human. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
"Thanks, Shade," he said softly. "I kinda like talking to you too."
Flowers, Tilso sent him. I'm telling ya. I bet no one's ever given her flowers before.
Arctic glanced at Tilso. Help me?
Always, brother. We'll go pick flowers.
Chapter 9
With his arms pinned behind him, someone's hand on the back of his neck, the Terran soldier was dragged, staggering, through the milling soldiers. Three other men were shoved along beside him. Green seemed to be everywhere. Armor, clothing, the camp supplies stacked in a corner - all of it was some shade of green. As his feet scuffed through the mud, soldiers glared at him. One man spit at him, the wet glob sticking to his chest and sliding slowly down the black and purple armor. Ashir Doyin clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it all. He only had a few moments left of his life.
The further they went, the thicker the bodies were, until he was being shoved into men's backs. The crowd parted before him. Shades of green armor turned to grey and then to white. The eyes of these soldiers were harder, colder. Ashir sucked in a terrified breath. He had a mission. If he could complete it, he would die knowing it had been worth it.
When the last man moved to the side, he saw a table covered in papers and maps, a small, tired girl perched in the chair before it. She rested one foot on the seat, her chest hugging her own leg, dressed in nothing but black. Pale white hair was tied in a knot at the base of her neck, light wisps blowing around her face in the cold autumn air. Her skin was even whiter, if that was possible. It was as if she'd never seen the kiss of sun or the flush of blood beneath her skin.
Her nose was shaped like no humans: elegant but convex, the lines complimenting her face. Her jaw was slightly longer than expected and peeking through her hair, just above the level of her eyes, he saw the thin skin of her ear. It reminded him of a mouse's or an otter's. He knew who she was, but Salryc Luxx was not what he'd expected. She looked like a child - his own daughter was taller and heavier - or a toy. He saw no horns coming from her head, and there was no blood splattered across her body.
"Kaisae?" one of the men holding him asked.
The last pure iliri woman looked up, and her eyes fell on his. Ashir leaned back involuntarily. Her eyes were white, only a pale purplish line around the iris giving any clue as to where it ended and the sclera began. Long, oval pupils stood in stark contrast against the abundance of pale shades, enhanced by the dark leathers she wore.
"Prisoners, Dalyr?" she asked the man holding him.
He shook his head. "They cried umso, but we can't get a read on any of these four."
She cocked her head to the
side, the motion reminding Ashir of a dog hearing a strange noise. Her lips were full and plump. The kind of lips men dreamed of kissing, he thought as he watched her bite one. Then he saw the sharp points of her teeth. His eyes were drawn to them. They were shaped so like a human's, the incisors flat and wide, but sharp notches edged each one. Her canines were pointed, like a cat's, a second set behind them. He couldn't help but wonder if her lower jaw held teeth that matched. Ashir sighed. He finally saw a true iliri, and he wouldn't live long enough to record his observations. The girl's head shifted slightly as she watched him, then she turned her gaze to the other prisoners. To his right, two men glared at her, to his left, one cowered in fear.
"Why did you surrender?" Sal asked.
Ashir knew the answer to this. He'd been told, repeatedly, what to say. "I don't want to fight for Terric," he whispered. Her presence seemed to leech his courage away. "I'm iliri."
"They said if we surrender, you'll take us," a man to his right said. "We all know the word. We want out."
Sal nodded, then turned back to Dalyr. "You can't get a thing from them?"
"No. Nar said it's like touching a wall. Rragri said you could help."
She pulled off her gloves and sighed. Pushing away from the table, her head was no higher than the chest of most the men around her. Ashir thought it might just reach his shoulder. She walked to the man furthest to his right and looked in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sal," Dalyr said. "I know you hate touching them, but I don't know what else to do."
She nodded, then gently reached her left hand up and rested it against the Terran soldier's cheek. Her pupils constricted to mere lines, like a cat's. They stood like that for a moment, as if lovers, the Terran gazing back into her pale eyes, his face serene. Her hand moved to her back, and she grabbed an impressive real metal dagger, closing her fingers around it securely. Still holding his face, her eyes never leaving his, she swung her arm around and up, the Terran gasping as a red line appeared in the path of the blade.
