Shotput of Power

by Drae Box

  “If you can sneak past them, I could form and fly in without attracting their attention. Getting out could be a bit more of a challenge, but Aldora will be with us so we’ll figure something out. Does that have your approval, sir?”

  “Will your concussion affect your griffin-self?”

  “I don’t think so, Your Highness,” said Raneth, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “But it may do. I should be cured of it afterwards when I reform though, thanks to how my family’s blood-gift works.”

  “OK. Go get our best friend back, Raneth. I’ll rejoin you somewhere on the inside.”

  Raneth backtracked, thinking over the way they had come and his knowledge of Oreg from previous assignments involving the Newer Kingdom. He sped up to a jog, rushing his steps yet keeping them quiet against the stone path that led away from the arena. He followed the path round to the right, alongside the houses near the entrance to Oreg. He clenched his eyes tightly shut for a moment as a sharp pain erupted behind his left eye. He slowed and opened his eyes, blinking hard a few times before rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

  The royal official frowned as he rushed back into a jog. An alleyway between two of the houses welcomed him to his right. He eased into its enveloping shadow and checked he was alone by prowling up and down the alleyway once, ensuring nobody was hiding behind the bins at either end. OK, here we go, he thought. Everything but my top has my griffin feathers glued or sewn into it so I don’t need to worry about being butt naked in front of Aldora.

  He cried out as his eyes changed first, a sharp pain slicing into them. Raneth knelt on the ground as the pain rushed away from his eyes, and the darkness of the alleyway was conquered by the gold eyes of his griffin-self. OK, this is the only time I form with concussion. By the soil, it hurts! He whimpered as the feathers etched themselves against his skin, which was turning white and blood-red. The spines erupted from his flesh, the vanes of the feathers growing out from them before they flattened against his skin. His muscles started to shift, his Achilles tendons gifting Raneth a quick stab of pain as they transformed. His hips shifted, whilst other bones snapped as they repositioned, some growing longer whilst others became shorter. His ears shifted upwards, blossoming into cat-like ears even as his nose, chin and mouth pushed outwards, turning into the sharply tipped yellow beak. Last came the wings and the tail, their bones erupting from the Bayre’s back as his chest curved and pushed outwards. Skin started to sag on Raneth’s back as it grew extra for the wings that rippled into place around the wing bones.

  With his heart beating twice as fast as a human’s, the red-and-white griffin shook his head, letting the shake continue down the length of his body to the tip of his tail. The griffin twizzled his ears around, listening to the nearest sounds, but there were none that alarmed him. Content, and with his white wings tucked at either side of his white torso, the griffin trotted out of the alleyway. He strolled, tail lazily weaving side to side, back to where he had left the Prince of the Cats. Gotta do this fast before somebody sees me.

  The griffin unfurled his wings. He jumped, fell back to the ground lightly and jumped again. The soft breeze caught under his wings and the griffin flapped into the air, tucking his red front paws under his white-and-red-speckled chest, and his white back paws under his white hips. The griffin swooped to the right of the arena, following the curve of the building, ascending with each additional beat of his wings. Sweeping along the building, out of sight of the guards, the griffin soared upwards, sweeping over its uppermost edges and circling, looking for an easy way into the arena without bringing all the drapes down with him. Now all I have to do is land in the middle of the arena, or the seating area. Seating area’s probably better. Spotting a gap that looked big enough, the griffin dove towards it. Wings are too broad! At the last moment, the Bayre tucked his wings to his side, freefalling between the fabric, his left wing brushing against the edge of the fabric and making him grumble in discomfort.

  Past the fabric, the griffin unfurled his wings and flapped, regaining the air cushion beneath his wings. He glided to an unflattering stop beside Prince Pedibastet, half of his upper body resting against the wooden spectator benches on this level, his lower end touching the floor and the backs of his legs touching the next bench down. Raneth quickly reformed into his human-self, complete with all his clothes except for his top. He was glad that the unusual pain he had experienced during his forming didn’t return for his reformation.

  “So what’s next?” asked Pedibastet.

  Raneth shrugged. “Find Aldora, get out alive.”

  “Not too difficult then,” uttered Pedibastet before strolling further along the seating level they were on. “We will need to look for an entrance that goes directly down, not a gradual slope like the one I used to get in. It’ll have stairs.”

  “Like that?” asked Raneth, pointing almost directly ahead of them at a doorway, just within view in the dark. “I can’t see from here if it has stairs.”

  Pedibastet nodded. “That’s the one,” he stated. “After you, Raneth.”

  Raneth ran between the benches, keeping his weight on his toes, and Pedibastet ran behind him.

  “Pick me up. There’s fresh blood on the steps,” ordered the Prince of the Cats, looking expectantly at Raneth.

  Raneth did as ordered, wincing as the cat gripped his shoulders with his claws. Raneth eased slowly down the stone steps, carefully positioning his weight as he stepped in the blood. Pedibastet’s grip on his shoulders grew deeper.

  “Claws,” grumbled Raneth.

  “Mind the blood,” whispered Pedibastet. “If you slip and fall, Aldora will not be impressed. And the fewer accidents you have, the better a mate you’ll look to be.”

  “Everyone can mess up, sir, even if you are determined for us to get together fully,” said Raneth, keeping his voice low.

  “Have been since she rescued you,” admitted the cat as they reached the bottom step.

  Raneth snuck a peek either side of the stairs into a stone corridor, illuminated softly by the flickering glow of lit torches lining the wall.

  “You are being a tad slow at getting on with making a kitten.”

  “Respectfully, Your Highness, shut up,” said Raneth, before dumping Pedibastet next to his feet. The Prince of the Cats glared up at him.

  They crept to the right of the entrance. Raneth drew his sword and held it ready, observing the way the corridor split into two. One option, to the right and nearer the centre of the arena, was dark. Raneth watched the hard shadows in the corridor for any that moved unexpectedly, but they stayed still. Nobody is down there watching for people coming in. In the other direction was a lit corridor. They would light the paths to the important areas.

  “This one,” he said softly, striding down the lit corridor.

  The heat of the torches warmed his sides as he walked between them, and he listened intently for any noises that weren’t the snickerings of the flames.

  At last they reached a chamber, where a man was leaning over a dead body on a stone table, scalpel in hand. Behind him, piled one on top of the other against a wall, were bodies wrapped in linen strips of a natural colour. Their arms were folded against their chests. Raneth swallowed. Aldora better not become one of those. He eyed the man working on the next dead fighter to be embalmed. The embalmer pulled a lung from the dead man’s chest and dumped it into a large box by the table, labelled in Newer as ‘dragon scraps’. Raneth looked at Pedibastet. Pedibastet looked back at him, tail wafting side to side. He nudged his nose towards the embalmer then sat down, cleaning a paw.

  Raneth slowly sheathed his sword, watching the embalmer for any sign that he was aware of the sound of its whisper. He didn’t seem to notice, so Raneth prowled closer, observing each step he took to ensure his footfalls would make no sound. He glanced up at the embalmer between each step until he reached the man’s back, close enough to whisper into his left ear. Raneth grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding the scalpel and pressed hi
s thumb into the underside of the wrist until the discomfort forced the embalmer to drop the small blade. At the same time, Raneth’s other hand reached up to cover the man’s mouth and nose. The man began to flail against his chest and arms, so Raneth wrapped his left arm around the man’s waist and kicked him behind a knee, making him stumble into a kneel. Raneth knelt with him, feeling as the man slowly stopped struggling, his strength diminishing.

  When the man was unconscious, Raneth gently laid him on the ground and released his mouth and nose. He turned around to check on Pedibastet; the cat was still in the mouth of the corridor, pulling at a knot in his tail’s long fur. Raneth gave him a slight smile to signal that the non-lethal takedown had been fine, then pointed towards another entrance in the opposite wall.

  After easing through a short corridor, the next room was stale with sweat and blood. Raneth stepped between a row of cells; each had wooden planks secured to the bottoms of the bars, giving each fighter something to rest against other than the stone wall. Many were asleep, but a few stared angrily at him, their skin dirtied from surviving the arena, several new wounds gaping but clotted with dried blood or stitches. He wondered briefly if they might think he was one of them, an escaped fighter, due to the scars visible on his bare back, arms and chest. “Raneth?”

  Aldora. The royal official captain’s attention snapped to the cell furthest down the room, on the left. He jogged over. “Aldora,” uttered Raneth in a soft exhale. Doesn’t look too bad. Not roughed up that much, if at all. That’s good, at least. He rested his hands against hers, which gripped the bars separating them. “Are you OK?”

  “They haven’t made me fight yet,” she said as she nodded. “Aren’t you supposed to be being looked after by Regina’s doctor? Are you well already?”

  “Algernon’s network reported you were in here. I overheard so I came,” admitted Raneth. “Hold on. I’m going to get you out.”

  He moved away from her to the door that kept her from him. He opened the small square pouch to the left of his belt and pulled out a small wrench and a pick, and then he glanced towards Pedibastet.

  “Keep watch,” he said.

  The cat nodded, so Raneth slipped his tools into the lock of Aldora’s cell door. After a moment, he hummed softly then took out a different pick from his pouch. Aldora stood in front of the door, quietly watching Raneth frown at his work.

  “Do this often?” she asked softly.

  “Only when it’s legal, which this kinda isn’t,” he admitted. “I need to concentrate.”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry,” uttered Aldora.

  She knelt down and reached out for Pedibastet, smiling at the Prince of the Cats. He purred and lifted off his front paws to rub his head against her hand.

  “What happened?” asked Raneth. He felt the lock resist, so he gently repositioned and tried again for the first tumbler. “Which inspector arrested you?”

  “I was arrested by the chatty one,” stated Aldora, glancing up at Raneth as she continued to fuss Pedibastet. “Ian, and Sheila. But I spoke to the fence.”

  “You should have waited,” growled Raneth. “The way he acted at their HQ, he’s the highest ranking of the ones in Oreg.”

  Aldora stood up and folded her arms, matching his tone of voice with the weight of her frown. “I didn’t think it would be too dangerous.”

  “Is this dangerous enough for you?” snapped Raneth, pausing his hands and looking at his partner. “Being thrown into an arena where people are forced to fight to the death?”

  “I…”

  Aldora looked away. He clenched his jaw, watching her closely.

  “I’m sorry,” he uttered. “That wasn’t fair of me. We couldn’t have known you would be arrested. What did the fence tell you?”

  “It sounded like he might know something, but he was scared to say anything. He thinks someone will murder him if he does.”

  “Was there anything specific he said?” asked Raneth, resuming work on the lock.

  “That he wasn’t sure it was something he should be talking about, and that the inspectors aren’t in control of Oreg.”

  Raneth lifted his head and frowned at Aldora. “Are you sure? They’ve lost control of Oreg?”

  Aldora nodded.

  “That’s odd. You’d think Algernon would know something like that,” said Raneth. Why didn’t he say anything whilst we were at the palace? Why’s he hiding this from us and what exactly does it mean? Does Regina know? The fence telling Aldora that must mean it’s related to what he knows about the Shotput, but how?

  Pedibastet meowed. “If the inspectors are acting the same as they have always done, then there is no indication that they have lost control. Therefore, if something has changed but their illegal behaviour has remained the same, a new criminal element must be involved, perhaps manipulating the inspectors when needed. We should be careful, especially since the inspectors here thought they could get rid of Aldora whilst you two were separated, without repercussions from you and Regina, Raneth.”

  Because I’m not being careful already, thought Raneth sarcastically. Aldora definitely should be more careful.

  “Raneth?” called Pedibastet, his self-assured tone replaced with a more worried whine. He pointed his nose at the small dragons trotting down the corridor, their noses almost pressing against the stones they walked on. “I don’t think they have guard dogs.”

  Raneth nodded, watching the pack of small creatures carefully. The smallest of the two breeds had ears that sat at the sides of their heads like large leaves, reminding Raneth of elephants, and their curved but elongated mouths were similar to an alligator’s, complete with the teeth. Their noses atop their snouts were more pronounced than an alligator’s, easily twice as large as they should be for the size of the mouth. Snapping dragons.

  The other breed was too familiar to the Bayre: hunting dragons. Thane Frey held several for hunting him and his father. Equipped with sleek bodies and long legs, the dragons’ small stature made them look harmless, but Raneth had seen their bites. With their claws being almost useless in a fight, they relied on their teeth, all three rows of them, and the poison they created in the four glands running either side of their long necks. “Pedi, run.” Raneth nodded past the cells to another doorway.

  The Prince of the Cats ran. Raneth glanced at the small dragons, which were starting to grumble and growl at one another. They must be able to smell how close we are by now. Soon they’ll see us and start those shrieks of theirs. All it’ll take is one to look up from our scents. Raneth shoved his lockpicking tools back into the pouch and rested his hands against Aldora’s. “I’m coming back for you,” he insisted.

  Aldora nodded, giving a strained smile as her eyes reddened. “I know.”

  If I don’t get to her in time, she’ll die here. Raneth ignored the sting of his eyes as they threatened to release tears. The dragons shrieked as their poor sight finally allowed them to see him. They raced towards him. He knew he shouldn’t but he hesitated, looking at Aldora. How can I just leave her here? he wondered, watching as a tear ran down her cheek. His gut twisted at the sight. I can’t help her if I’m writhing around on the floor from poison or bites.

  Spotting Pedibastet waiting in the corridor for him, Raneth grabbed the Prince of the Cats by the scruff of his neck and held him to his chest. He ran and ignored Pedibastet jamming his head against his armpit, trying to block out the dragons’ shrieks.

  “Look for stairs,” said Pedibastet, muffled against him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The royal official pushed through the doorway and sprinted down the corridor on the other side, looking for a way up as the dragons drew closer. He pushed himself harder towards the nearest flight of stairs. Pedibastet jumped out of Raneth’s arms as he fell forwards on the first step. The cat turned and looked past his fallen friend.

  “Dragon!” screamed Pedibastet, before fleeing up the stairs.

  Raneth rolled onto his back, turning to see the dragons skidding t
o a stop by his feet. He kicked at a snapping dragon’s snout then rolled onto his front, but as he scrambled to his feet, a hunting dragon’s jaws clamped onto his right calf. He drew his sword and sliced through the thin neck, hissing through clenched teeth. Raneth used the blade to bat another dragon away, then struggled up the stairs. More than once he kicked dragons back, slowed by the severed head still attached to his leg. If he had time, he’d prise it free, but they were too fast. Too relentless. Snarling and hissing, the dragons were leaping over one another on the stairs, trying to sink their teeth into the Bayre. They’re acting like they’re running out of time to chase me, thought Raneth, confused by their increased haste.

  Erupting into the seating stalls, Raneth glanced to either side then ran left, aiming for the first gaping doorway that would lead to the entrance of the arena. He could feel heat in his right leg, spreading out from the wound. He swallowed hard; his mouth was becoming dry. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the dragons, but they weren’t coming up the stairs. Must be trained to stay down there. That explains why they got worse on the stairs. He wiped the growing sweat from his forehead. His left hand twinged and gripped his sword tighter. Three steps away from the entrance, his right knee quivered. His chest tightened and he rubbed at it, trying to remind himself that there were no weights pressing against him, even though it felt like there were. Poison’s acting unusually fast. He was gasping when he reached Pedibastet.

  “Hurry, you do not have much time,” ordered Pedibastet, leading Raneth a few steps ahead and to the right. “There’s a breeze this way. Come.”

  He led Raneth to the entrance and ran between the fighters outside the arena, growling and hissing at them. Raneth leaned against the side of the entrance, watching as one of the fighters chased Pedibastet for sport, trying to scare him. Raneth clenched the Bayre Talisman at his neck, ignoring the red glow that came from his hand to indicate danger and felt his heart suffer a palpitation. He stepped between the arena’s protectors. They stiffened either side of him, but then they relaxed.