The Battle Sylph Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the masters she’d had before him. But she spoke to Devon, chattering at him, asking questions, asking him to play his flute for her, and thanks to their bond, she didn’t need to speak aloud. She could whisper her words directly into his mind, where no one else would hear, just as she would have to other sylphs back home. Trapped in silence for fifty years after her arrival through the gate, she still reveled in speaking and knew how rare her freedom truly was.
    She saw this battler had the same freedom she did—and more. He was locked into a shape of his master’s choosing, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind, and she hadn’t ordered him not to shift back. Airi watched him soar away as a pattern of energy that was both familiar but alien. He wasn’t from her hive, but he looked to be from the same one as Mace. At least those two wouldn’t fight if they met up…unless their masters ordered it.
    The girl watched the battler go and stood, looking around and making her way to the hot springs, testing their temperatures until she found one she liked. Airi watched and wondered if she should speak. In the end, she decided against it—Devon had made it clear she wasn’t to reveal to anyone that she could talk. Besides, the battler would be back soon. He might not like Airi being too close.
    She swirled in the steam, dancing on the hot air as she decided to wait a bit longer. The human girl couldn’t stay here forever, and her battler would return. She’d wait to see where the two went, and then she’d return to Devon.
    The redhead slid into the water with a sigh, unaware of Airi’s presence, and the air sylph floated back into the steam, well clear of her but close enough that she could do anything required.
    Screaming invectives, King Alcor of Eferem hauled off and struck Thrall across the face as hard as he could with hismail-clad fist. The battler’s head snapped to one side and then returned to its original position, looking at him. The eyes were unmoved as always, the hate as familiar and even as ever. Thrall loathed him, the king knew that. The creature would kill him if he could, but he was bound to obey. It was the extremes of that obedience Alcor protested at times.
    “Why didn’t you kill that thing?” he thundered, even though he knew Thrall was ordered not to speak. A battler giving voice to its hatred could drive a man insane. “My son is dead because of you!”
    Thrall didn’t react, his face not changing at all, but Alcor could almost hear the laughter. The battler had been his slave for decades; he knew when the monster was amused. Cursing, he hit Thrall again. It did no good. He could hit him all night, and he was the only one who would suffer for it.
    “You’ll pay,” he growled at the battler instead. “I’ll make you pay.”
    Thrall had done nothing, nothing at all. He’d let that battler kill his son and he’d let him escape. He hadn’t disobeyed, though. If Alcor had ordered him to fight instead of protect, he would have. But he hadn’t needed to do any protecting. Instead, he’d just stood there and let the battler escape, leaving his king looking like a coward.
    “Your Majesty?”
    Alcor turned, gasping for breath and far too hot in his ermine cape. His son was dead, turned to ash by a battler he should have controlled. He would have killed those priests if they weren’t already dead. How had that slip of a peasant girl got free? How had she been armed? Now she had the battler. He just hoped the thing killed her.
    Jasar Doliard stood behind him, dressed resplendently in a black suit with white lace at the collar and wrists. The dandy had actually found time to change in the face of allthis. Alcor felt rage, but Jasar was a major controlling force on the council. The other council members stood behind him, waiting nervously for his favor. In the corner, Leon Petrule stood quietly, his arms crossed.
    The battlers of the two men waited outside. Only Thrall was allowed in