Page 55 of Shifter King
Phobos nodded as he adjusted the mask on the top of his head. "Well, all that said, and I know that we've got no right to ask this and I'll warn you it still won't mean we owe you, but there are a lot of Vawtrians here, most of whom are wounded and can't make it far. Especially not out into the wilderness. Three can barely walk. I can’t show you where our cadre house is, but if you could help us get them to the stop point, I know people who will take them in."
Naatos restrained a smile as he glanced at AaQar. For some reason, he actually did like this youth. If he had lived in even the paling days of the Vawtrians, he would have gone far. He might yet.
AaQar gave a slight nod as if he understood, then looked back to Phobos. "I will help you take your wounded to the point you decide. My brother must see to the message. How far off is this point?"
"Three miles," Phobos said, pointing west into the forest, east of the sand pit.
AaQar set his arms akimbo. "Can any of you become anything large enough to carry another?"
Blank stares met him. "Why would we?" one scrawny freckled child asked from the middle of the group. "What your brother did was a miracle."
"No," AaQar said calmly. He removed one of the rels from his inner pocket and crushed it into his palm. "As he said, it's part of your birthright. Part of your heritage and your culture. Something all of you will be able to do in time."
"But not something you'll learn in a day," Naatos added. "You will find it again. In time." And more practice than any of them dreamed.
AaQar rubbed the blue powder over his hands and forearms. There was a look on his face that Naatos hadn't seen in a long time. Almost a hope. Or a yearning perhaps. "You will." He then cracked his neck and stretched back.
Seemingly effortlessly and almost silently, he transformed, limbs taking on new joints and spreading outward as clothing pulled in and scales overgrew until he became a forty-foot silver cradle-spined dragon.
Naatos frowned with contemplation, a little surprised at the form his brother had chosen. It was new, but it bore a striking resemblance to the one AaQar had used when attempting to rescue the Unatos in the final days of the Final Plague. At the end, when all had perished, he had retired that form as well, vowing to never use it again. And this grey-silver dragon with the broad flat back and large flared and inwardly curved spinal spikes had a more triangular head rather than oval. The spacing between the spikes was broader, allowing some of them to crawl between. Aside for the two triple sets of horns that fanned along his crest and a set of defensive spikes at the tip of the long tail, the horns were dull, meaning even if someone stumbled against them, they might not be hurt so badly.
Phobos whistled low as he set his hands on the top of his head. "Can everyone in your cadre do this?"
An image of Amelia flashed into Naatos's mind, her brow furrowed and her arms folded as she considered the proper fighting technique against shifters before ultimately charging, dropping, rolling, and grappling. "No, not everyone. But we are all formidable." He gestured to the wounded. "Get on. There is no sense in lingering."
"Wait, wait," the green-haired girl said, grabbing at Naatos's arm. "Even if he is large enough to carry all of us, there's so much blood on us that until we get to the safe point we'll be a lure for every hungry beast in miles. You can't fight and carry that many."
"I have other ways," AaQar said evenly. "You will all reach that point unless one of you decides to do something exceptionally foolish, which I advise against. So come along."
Several accepted the invitation. Most clambered up with help, tentative in their approach. More than a few chose to run. It took only a few moments more to get everyone situated. Then, with Phobos running near AaQar's head and a trail of several more Vawtrians behind, they left. Some of them smiled a little and waved as AaQar departed.
Naatos shook his head.
They were children.
Not even the hardship they had endured was enough to dull the delight of seeing what was possible and going for a dragon ride. Most would likely dream of dragons that night. He would dream of war and conquest, but perhaps a few dreams for the to be dragons or chimeras or whatever they most wanted. Even if it really was just a big fox.
Scoffing, he pushed his hair back from his face. How limited and small did one's imagination and resources have to be to think a single lupine choice was a good option? Foxes, dogs, and wolves didn't even have sharp claws. Didn't seem to have kept Phobos from being more than a decent cadre leader though. There was hope for the Vawtrians of this world, even if just barely.
The fern-like leaves before the thicker brush waved for several seconds after AaQar pressed through. For a few seconds longer, he glimpsed the silver flick of his tail and spikes obscuring their tracks from the earth.
At least that was settled.
He strode back to the arena. The Abliato arrogance had served him well here. Though it would have been nice if someone had recorded it. He might have enjoyed viewing it again later. Or imagining what it would be like for the Abliato security forces to witness it for the first time. As it was, their imaginations would have to do the work for them.
Upon reaching the steps that led into the arena, he surveyed the scene.
When he'd left, a great deal of blood had been spilled out on the marble and along the staircase. Yet somehow most of the blood had vanished, leaving the marble pristine and shiny aside from a single bloodied boot and the small pool of blood around it. The small bits of blood and gore on the textured stone had vanished as well. And the kraken had taken all but one of the attendants' bodies.
And that one attendant's body was half in the sand when before it had been near the wall, an orange tentacle wrapped tight around the grey-and-turquoise robed figure and pulling down steadily into the sandy depths.
Someone was hungry.
"Enjoy the Abliatos." He stepped directly from the stairs onto the marble, avoiding even brushing against the sand. "You won't be eating Vawtrians any more." He kicked the boot into the sand and then picked up Enver's staff. The cold metal had an almost greasy sensation to it. His upper lip curling, he wiped his hand off and carried it up. Then he retrieved Enver's body, leaving streaks of blood behind.
The Abliato had been desperate in his final moments, conjuring up every possible resource. But as these Vawtrians had nothing on their ancestors, these Abliatos had nothing on the Tiablos who had trained him. Nor would they have wanted to stand before the Tiablo Assembly and explain the choices made here.
Another tentacle swiped up, clattering over some rocks. It knocked them aside and continued its search.
