Page 5 of Shifter’s Thunder

The uniform still made her nervous, but she appreciated the way it accentuated his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. In a time long gone, she might have asked him to cast off the uniform and pose for her.

For now, she would count herself lucky to get food and the chance to tell her story.

A sliver of her wished this were all over, that she could fly away and hide in the clouds, but the years in the pens had taught her that avoiding the frightening present by imagining a brighter future never worked. She had a promise to keep.

Avelunne sat in a shiny, padded metal chair, a long table in front of her. Empty chairs were beside and behind her. She was trying to focus on the positive to keep herself from fidgeting. Her stomach was full of enough rich fish stew that her dragon half had nearly dozed off. She wore warm winter clothing, although the boots felt like she was walking on weights strapped to her feet. And thanks to Tanner, she now owned a coiled pad of smooth drawing paper and an ingenious mechanical pencil.

On the less-than-positive side, she was also wearing a belt-and-bracelet set that was thickly laden with layered charm magic. Tanner called it a peace-bond, designed to protect the town from her, but also to protect her from attack. It felt too much like a compliance leash for her comfort.

The Council Chamber was filling up, a parade of beings that defied every expectation she had formed over centuries of traveling. There was no pomp, no heralds, just the clatter of wooden nameplates being set upon the table and the low murmur of casual conversation. A centaur with a glossy chestnut coat stood at one end of the long table, chatting amicably with a towering, fur-covered being she couldn’t identify but whose sheer size commanded respect. Pendragor, the prickly fairy she’d met earlier, set up his nameplate but leaned one shoulder against the back wall behind the chair instead of sitting. Beyond the table’s edge, a wyvern rested in a neat reptilian coil, its dark, red-and-silver scales gleaming. Though his jewel-faceted eyes seemed fixed on nothing, she knew wyverns never stopped thinking.

Her gaze returned to the rows of chairs reserved for observers, which were filling rapidly despite the late hour. Her dragon senses, fortunately not muffled by the peace-bond, noted the distinct resonance of three other dragon shifters in the room. That surprised her. In older days, they wouldn’t have been within a flight-mile of each other without bloodshed.

The nameplate identified the iron-gray-haired man seated at the long table as Lin Wolcz, Council member. He radiated the unyielding, rock-bound solidity of a cave dragon. His attention was studiously fixed on a stack of papers in front of him. In the audience, a young woman with warm brown skin shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Avelunne pegged her as a sand dragon — venomous, heat-loving, and unquestionably wishing she were somewhere else.

Next to her was a massive male with a red beard braided in the style of a Viking warrior. He didn’t look away. He stared straight at Avelunne, his eyes burning with a cold hostility that promised violence. An ice dragon. His overt hatred was a physical weight. That kind of pressure once would have sent her running. After all she’d been through, now it just made her tired.

She suspected the ice dragon’s wrath was directed at her because of her heritage. Moonwing dragons, as a species, were stealthy and secretive. Plus, her Storm Mouth clan had an unparalleled talent for making enemies in their never-ending quest for political power and position. It likely mattered not that she had fled her family centuries ago and hidden from them ever since. As the old saying went, once a Storm Mouth, always a blackguard.

Pleasant tones sounded in the room, causing council members and the audience to quiet themselves. Panic threatened to close her throat. Then, a whiff of cool, clean air drifted over her shoulder. Tanner sat one row back and two chairs to her right. His steady presence centered her. For a moment, she let herself lean in, just an inch, toward his strength.

At the head of the table, a slight figure commanded silence without raising her voice. Guivre Gul-Vert, a golden elf, looked like a teenager dressed in living leaves, but her power was an ancient, banked fire that demanded respect. She surveyed the room with cool, green eyes before settling her gaze on Avelunne. There was no judgment in her expression, and maybe a hint of compassion.

“Welcome, Avelunne,” Guivre said, her voice carrying to the back of the room without effort. “I am Guivre Gul-Vert, current leader of the Council. Please, tell us your story.”

Avelunne gripped her precious drawing pad and took a deep, unsteady breath. She had to make them believe the impossible. Worse, she had to convince them to fly into hell.

Chapter 3

Along with everyone else, Tanner gave his attention to Avelunne. Like his thunderbird had been doing all along, even when Tanner-the-man wasn’t looking.

“I was captured in Africa by Araby sorcerers in the human year 1844.” The amplified sound of her own voice appeared to startle her for a moment. He’d forgotten to tell her about the spell that did that.

“The humans were sold to the slavers. Several other shifters and I were sold to a fairy demesne used for magical experiments and the hybridization and forced breeding of magical beings. They’ve captured many over the millennia. The laboratories and pens all operate at various time speeds. To me, it’s only been about twelve or thirteen years since I was caught. I was plucked from the shifter holding pen by Lab Manager Tippizoars and made into a drudge because I can tolerate electrical fields. That’s when I learned that the whole demesne is owned by the dark elf, Surasa.”

A brief surge of furious whispering from the onlookers quieted after an audible throat-clearing sound from Guivre.

“I knew only the shifter pens and the central lab, but the guards and servants spoke about others. According to Tippizoars, Surasa invented almost all of the magical creatures in the real world — shifters, vampires, banshees, and suchlike. They were ungrateful and uncooperative, so she created monsters to punish them. She then discovered magicals and mundanes will pay for such.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “Surasa abides elsewhere and visits the lab only rarely. Tippizoars are the chief of the laboratory demesne. It is enormous, with a hundred time-shifted pens that each hold tens to thousands of captives, mostly adults and few children, who Tippizoars call breeding stock. The crowded pens, the hybrid keeper-guards, the made-to-order monsters… they are horrific.”

Her fingers wrapped tightly around the coil of the drawing pad. “Tippizoars claim that escape is impossible, but they lie. Keepers and lab servants gossip. New security measures were added because two shifters recently infiltrated the pens and escaped with a third. I made haste to tell the shifters in my pen everything I overheard so they could plan their own escape. After two years…” She frowned. “Well, two years to me, they told me their plan. Except they didn’t design it for them, they designed it for me. They said only I had the right access and could evade the new security measures. I refused. I am worthless in a fight and knew I would fail them. I begged them to find a way for them all to escape. Then we found out Surasa is arriving soon because she plans to personally deliver a new order of monsters. Ten thousand nearly indestructible fighters to a power-mad human dictator in the real world who wishes to quell a rebellion and subjugate a nation. Her payment is said to be the vanquished rebels and sympathizer populace, up to fifty thousand human and magical subjects for her experiments. The breeding facility is running low on stock.”

“Wait, what?” That startled comment came from Pendragor. He stood up straight and stared at Avelunne. “Would this dictator happen to be an ordinary human? No magic?”

Avelunne nodded. “Yes. Tippizoars call the creations ‘super-soldiers.’” She drew in a heavy breath and let it out. “If humans in this era don’t know about the magical world, they certainly will when bipedal, armored reptiles begin eating the dictator’s enemies.”

Pendragor frowned. “How soon is ‘soon’?”

Avelunne shrugged. “In demesne time, maybe a week. Here in the real world, maybe longer or shorter, but I don’t know by how much.”

“Why did you come to Kotoyeesinay?” asked Guivre. “Why not the Shifter Tribunal, or the Vampire Imperium?”

Tanner suppressed a grimace. In his experience, the Tribunal could barely get out of its own way when it came to making quick decisions, and the Imperium relied too heavily on reputation, not results.

“The thunderbirds and a coyote shifter suggested Kotoyeesinay as the least political option. They all agreed that if any place was still around, it would be this sanctuary town. My second choice is the High Dragon Court.”

The wyvern lifted his head. “I regret to inform you that the High Dragon Court is no more. It self-destructed a year after your capture.” The breathy, slightly sibilant voice had a British accent. “The new Dragon Court is still hatching.”