A Court of Blood and Feathers

18

Ianto

I had been on the field that day. Delwyn and I having been assigned to one of the Legions summoned for the Autumn battle. He and I have stayed close in the years, usually having similar assignments and troop distribution, despite being in different dispatches.

At the head of the formation of my twenty warriors, we hovered in the air, waiting for the command from the head General, Cassian. Delwyn off elsewhere with the scouting dispatch that had been sent ahead to scan the area under the radar. I fidgeted with the siphons on the back of each studded hand, glowing a bright rust color.

The trio, with an interjecting Teagan once a decade or so, stayed together for a length of time. That was before Branwenn had been promoted quickly through the ranks to a General ranking of sorts. I did not recognize her as I flew over with my issued troop to command. Looking down to watch Cassian for the next signal, I saw her.

It was the first time we had seen Branwenn for almost 15 years. A willowy and dark caped figure stands next to Cassian. A few inches shorter, yet seems to emanate almost the same dangerous and threatening waves as he. I could see her dark black hair from here, in its usual tight curls. But she has chosen to cut it shorter to her shoulders, unlike how she used to keep it back in Windhaven when we trained together.

A small twinge goes through my chest. An ache from the reminiscing.

I should contact her and Delwyn to do just that. 

I wonder if the Spiked Falcon is still open for business. 

I give a small smile privately to myself at the thought. 

Like the Spiked Falcon would let us back in the door. We would have to go in disguise if we wanted in after being banned in those earlier days after one brawl that a drunken Wenn and smart-mouthed Del started. That was a time and a half.

I focus back on my Second in Command, formally one of my closest friends. She stands eerily still, her wings untucked slightly to show the golden underside, unbashful. How she had used to hide those wings. For good reason too, to hid from bastards like myself from picking on her further as I did when she first came to the camp. Shame heats my cheeks but I let it go. I had redeemed my self.

I peak black Illyrian leathers hug her frame as the summer breeze moves the cloak that she wears over top. Two silver handles rest behind her shoulders, strapped across her back and between the wings. The General-marking helmet propped against her hip in an almost casual stance as she surveys the field. 

She has no idea that Delwyn and I are here.

Cassian gives the signal, a flash of bright red siphon energy, and the Legion dives for the enemy troops.

***

By the time the battle ends, I am slicked with sweat. I stay on the ground, walking around fallen Illyrians to find them alive and wounded to help back to the medics tent. It's hours later when we are called off to rest and recover. I am in my tent when a summoning from Cassian arrives by a camp-mother, running around looking frantic. In clean leathers, I sprint to the General's tent, but not before bumping into a familiar face.

I round a corner and a body slams into mine. We both almost go to the ground but regain our balances, panting.

The orange hair is new. Is the first thought through my head.

"Delwyn, glad for you to join the party."

My friend laughs, his signature no-good smile popping into place. Indeed, Delwyn has changed a little bit himself. Where shorn, close-cut black hair used to be, a burnt orange head with sheared sides that counter his almost white irises.