Kindred and Wings by Philippa Ballantine Read Free Book Online

but now they were destroying with madness just like everyone else.
    It was not what they had ever meant to be about—reduced to mere mortals. All of this Equo was aware of, but only dimly. He let go of self and let himself become part of something much bigger and far more dangerous.
    When he surfaced again, the battle, if it could be called that, was over. Around him Baraca’s troops were grinning wearily, splattered with gore, slapping each other on the back. The mixture of this with the red soil made for a truly horrific sight. Varlesh grasped Equo by the shoulder, turning him around. His eyes, too, were dark and sad.
    That touch steadied Equo a little. Lifting his pike wearily, he looked down onto the field of carnage, and noted with horror that there were few survivors. Those that lay about groaning were being dispatched by troops moving among them with thin blades. The Swoop had gone—retreated once more to the sky. Only their leader Azrul remained behind.
    It would be pleasant to strike vengeance and then fly away before the real horror settled in. The rest of the army did not have that luxury.
    After looting the corpses for anything useful, the troops regrouped for the march back to their camp. Equo would have taken a place happily at the rear, but Varlesh maneuvered them through the tired and jubilant crowd to the front where Baraca and Azrul were.
    The tall woman with her silver armor was talking animatedly with the rebel leader. Even though he couldn’t at once make out the discussion, Equo observed that her tone was deferential, even while she didn’t appear to be agreeing to whatever he was saying. To the Swoop any scion was the highest authority, but he recalled Nyree’s horror when they had first discovered One-eyed Baraca. It was this that made him cautious about their once-friend.
    Azrul finally gave up whatever argument she was having, bowed once, and retreated from the scion.
    Varlesh, though, had no such compunction; he elbowed his way forward to talk to Baraca. Equo smiled grimly. He, Varlesh and Si might have been one person once, but time had changed them. For himself, he had no desire to talk to the scion.
    So, while Varlesh began discussing tactics with the rebel leader, Equo’s mind wandered, and he gradually let himself drop back a little into the camouflage of the crowd.
    Their camp was not far off, and it didn’t take them long to get back to it. It was not much to come home to—in reality a pitiful affair. The scattering of campfires was desperately small compared to the might that the Caisah could muster, but nevertheless Equo found himself jogging toward it.
    The few people left behind—the wounded, the healers and the children—began trotting toward the returning soldiers with cries of delight. Only Nyree did not.
    The seer stood next to the healer’s tent, as beautiful as ever. She was small like all other Vaerli, with dark hair and caramel skin; hers was different, though, covered in the word magic that proclaimed she was the made seer—the oidnafan. The silvery script twisted over her flesh made it powerful art, and though it meant a great deal to her, every time Equo saw it his heart sank a little. It was one more thing that separated them.
    The Vaerli eyes were also completely dark and full of pinpricks of light. Most called them stars. The Harrowing, the Caisah’s curse on the Vaerli, had denied them most of their Gifts. The one he loved had not reclaimed the Gifts of the Kindred, but she had found her seer’s powers. He was afraid of what she saw—and even more worried that it meant she could not love him as he loved her.
    Seeing her, though, Equo couldn’t help himself—when she smiled, he rushed in and embraced her. Her small form tucked neatly in against him. Her dark head rested against his shoulder in just the right way. Nyree hugged him back, but not for as long as he wanted.
    Pushing back, she glanced around him to where Baraca was receiving the adulation of his