Birthright

by Wendy L. Koenig

  “And if they decide to leave?”

  “It’s a good life here. People are happy.”

  She gritted her teeth. Why wouldn’t he answer? “Do any leave?”

  “None.”

  “I have been a prisoner all my life. Just because it’s a bigger, kinder type of cell doesn’t mean it isn’t one.”

  “The choice is yours. You may certainly choose not to stay.”

  There was something in the way he said it that made Fiera take notice. “You’ll just let me leave?”

  “No. We cannot allow someone with your knowledge of us to go back into the world.”

  The prince sat up in his chair and leaned across the table toward her. “If you leave, it will mean your death.”

  Fiera supposed any rational person would be terrified at the prospect of being killed, but it only stoked the rage within her. She leaned in toward him and spat out the words. “I will not be forced to stay. I choose death!”

  The princess finally looked up. The king opened his mouth to speak again, but she put her hand on his arm, staying his words. She met Fiera’s gaze. “None here seek your death. We’ll bring anyone here that you wish, even your griffin lover. You must live somewhere. Why not here? Please reconsider.”

  More than anything, Fiera wanted to please this woman, perhaps even befriend her, but staying captive in the land of dragons was something she couldn’t do. She slowly relaxed against the back of her chair and calmly said, “I choose death.”

  Across from her, Prince Bartheleme didn’t seem surprised. He settled back in his chair again and nodded once to the guards behind her.

  Rough hands lifted her from the chair.

  * * * *

  Efar found a break in the north-south mountain ridges and cut through it to the west, saving himself a good deal of flying instead of going around the seaward end of the range. High peaks rose on either side of him. If it hadn’t been so close to dragon territory, his people would have made their home there, instead of the mountains to the southeast.

  A leaf ripped loose from his wing, exposing a hole that sent him into a graceless wobble until he figured out how to compensate. It was the sixth leaf he’d lost from those that he, Laurence, and Gwen had woven among his singed feathers. At first, he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to fly with the one-sided weight of the vegetation, but after a few attempts, he’d finally gotten managed it.

  His left arm, now as a griffin’s claw, was in a sling, to help protect his collarbone from the dangling weight. Marie had splinted his leg tightly, knowing that limb would be sacrificed when he landed.

  As he rounded the last abutment of rock, he curved south toward his destination, arcing away from the leading range, toward the lowlands. Dawn was stretching across the horizon, painting everything in either golden glow or blue shadow. His own shadow flitted across the various farms and holdings below.

  He turned toward the only castle in the region: that of King Cynan and his twin children, Bartheleme and Cecily. Efar doubted the king would just hand over Fiera. It may take threats. He needed to find her first. And he needed to plan his escape strategy. Just in case the only way to rescue her was to steal her back.

  Another leaf tore loose, causing a cavalcade of leaves to exit their moorings. He wobbled helplessly, aiming for a plot of soft clover.

  With a grunt, he landed, trying to put most of his weight on his good right lion’s leg. Still, some of his weight caught on his broken left leg and, even though the splint held well, a spire of pain lanced all the way throughout his leg to his hip, sending his stomach into roiling spasms. He hissed through his beak, the sound loud in the empty field.

  Efar balanced himself and as he slowly changed back to human, his bandages, splint and the woven leaves sloughed to the ground.

  Once the change was completed, he re-splinted his leg and retied the sling for his left arm. Though it was a smaller and lighter weight limb than the griffin’s, it still hung heavy on a smaller collarbone.

  His next order of business being to find clothes, he hobbled toward the castle, watching for anything to wear. In the land of shapeshifters, nakedness was nothing unusual, not even stare-worthy, and spare clothes were easy to come by.

  His own people, when they took to their animal selves, hid their clothes under rocks, in stumps, anywhere but in plain sight. Here, however, the closer he came to the center of town, the more piles of clothes he found on the street corners. In no time at all, he located something in his size. Complete with boots only a tiny bit big.

  At the castle gate, he was stopped by an honor guard of four men dressed in white. They glared at him belligerently and at least two sniffed the air at his foreign animal odor. One, a beefy fellow with a scar across one brow ground out, “What do you want here, Griffin?”

  “I have business with the king.” Efar met the guards’ glares with one of his own. On the pyramid of life, griffins and dragons were par.

  The stare-down lasted a few more seconds, and then Scar-face recognized him, gave a small bow, and sent one of his men with a message to the court. Within minutes, the messenger returned and Efar was escorted into the throne room.

  The castle was rich with thick tapestries and rugs, high ceilings, and ornately carved furniture sitting heavily against walls that held golden sconces. Flickering candlelight danced across a marble floor. The old king, seated dead center of the room in his giant bejeweled throne, watched with measuring eyes as Efar approached.

  Efar struggled against his splint, dropping to one knee, bowing his head. “King Cynan.”

  “She is no longer here.” The king’s voice was gravelly, ancient. No one knew for certain the monarch’s age. He seemed to have been king forever. It was remarkable he only had two children to show for all his time on Earth. What was even more remarkable was that he’d not been slaughtered by those seeking his crown, including, but not limited to, his son. It spoke toward his strength as a ruler.

  “Sire?” Efar kept on one knee, his gaze on the floor.

  “My son has sent her away. I know not where.”

  Efar waited for more, but after a few seconds, someone tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up into a thick face with a scarred brow. The throne was empty. Getting to his feet proved to be nearly impossible and, in the end, Scar-face, smirking, had to help him.

  Once free of the castle, Efar hobbled to a hillside heavy with low-hanging trees. He harvested a large pile of leaves, grew in his griffin wings and started weaving in the greenery. Occasionally, he checked for anyone approaching. Griffins weren’t exactly welcome there, and though he’d been safe enough under the banner of the dragon king, the open countryside was a different matter.

  Glancing at the castle, he noticed the thin outline of steps part way down one otherwise smooth back wall. He stared at it, trying to puzzle out why the dragons would have built that, but could come up with no logical conclusion. That left only one other explanation: built on the far side of the castle, the steps had to be an aborted escape attempt. Perhaps formed with magic by a certain witch he was hunting.

  With a satisfied grunt, Efar turned back to the task of weaving leaves amongst the burnt feathers of his left wing. At least he knew Fiera had been there.

  * * * *

  Fiera chuckled at her good fortune, though because of her extreme exhaustion, her giggle came out more as a maniacal cackle. Not that it mattered; there was no one near to hear her. What mattered was that, instead of taking her back to her previous room, the guards brought her to a holding cell in the deep dark dungeon.

  They’d locked her prison door and left her alone to await her death. Perhaps they thought she’d change her mind once she had time to think on her choice. Either way, that was a good thing. Alone, she could now work her magic and escape here much more easily than from the tower room. True, she still couldn’t just open a hole in the side of the castle and walk out; she was relatively sure she was too far below ground for that, bu
t at least she didn’t have to work on the slow forming stone ladder any longer.

  She’d be ready when Efar came for her. And he would come. She knew it.

  Glad she’d paid attention to the castle’s layout, she rubbed her hands together and placed them on the cell door, willing her magic to rearrange the structure of the wood. There was no welling up inside her, no river of force flowing through her. Not even her fingers tingled.

  Fiera sputtered her lips in frustration and concentrated. She’d had no sleep for thirty-six hours and had eaten very little. She’d overworked her magic, pushing it far beyond normal usages and she’d not had enough training, nor time, with Gwen to know how to replenish it on her own. Still, there had to be some small dregs left.

  She closed her eyes, cutting out her surroundings, narrowing her focus on the door beneath her fingers, using every part of her will to call forth that which was in her. Slowly, her fingers began to prick with the telltale sign her magic was working. The door shifted incrementally beneath her hands. The hole she formed was thin and barely big enough for her to slip through. It was jagged as if torn naturally from rotten wood. She had to keep her abilities hidden as much as possible. It was bad enough the dragons knew she could read their minds.

  Squeezing through the hole with a satisfied grin, Fiera crept back the way she’d been brought, upward toward the main prison exit. Once at the door, she rose onto her tiptoes to peer through the barred window at the top. A guard in white finery stood no more than two feet away, his back to her. Lowering herself out of view, she leaned against the wall and considered her options.

  She still wasn’t high enough in the castle for an escape directly out the side. Her only other way to go was right out this door. There was just enough room behind the guard for her to slip out, but then what? She couldn’t stand behind the guard all day.

  Feet scuffed outside and Fiera whirled away in panic as a key sounded in the lock. She stared down the long string of cell doors and dashed to the closest. Her hands slipped on the latch, but then found it and she flung the door open, dashing inside and pulling the door shut behind her. The cell was empty, completely devoid of anything. Huddling in the corner, she placed her hands on the wall on either side and concentrated, forcing the weak remnants of her magic to her will.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor, walking down the narrow hallway toward her original cell. Even as the walls around her bent to her will and slowly moved to cover her, a bellow of fury echoed through the prison. Running feet of guards passed her hiding place. Cell doors started slamming open along the corridor, working toward her.

  Fiera bit her lip hard. The salt of her blood filled her mouth as the pain exploded her magic into the moving walls under her hands. Her work didn’t have to be good; it just had to pass the inspection of a brief glance.

  * * * *

  In a rage, Bartheleme followed his men down the corridor, checking the cells they’d already looked in. Without fail, those that were supposed to be empty were, and those with occupants were still locked.

  How had the girl escaped them? The door where she’d been held was obviously rotted and enabled her leaving, but where had she gone after that? The guards hadn’t seen her leave the prison and he believed them. Down to a man, there wasn’t a single guard that didn’t respect his wrath.

  The girl’s cell was halfway down the corridor. If she hadn’t come this direction, perhaps she’d gone the other. Bartheleme left the last cell he’d checked and walked back down the corridor, pausing at Fiera’s cell. He stared at the jagged hole, then he bent and took a closer look. The wood looked rotten, but something wasn’t right. The edges were a bit smoother than they should have been. Even the sharp points were slightly rounded.

  So, not broken. The boards had apparently been formed that way. By a witch. One that didn’t want to hurt herself escaping. He stood and frowned. Why was the hole so small when she could have made it much bigger?

  He pictured how she’d looked the last time he’d seen her, disheveled and exhausted. Sudden understanding hit him with the obvious answer—because for whatever reason, Fiera couldn't make the hole bigger.

  Slowly, he pivoted on his heel and gazed back up the corridor toward the prison exit. With limited abilities, there was really only one direction she would have gone.

  In silence, he rechecked each cell, his men clustered and following, watching. He found what he was looking for in the cell closest to the exit. One corner was misshapen with a supporting stone foot that jutted into the room. It was barely big enough to hide a girl Fiera’s size.

  Taking the nearest guard’s sword, he raised it high above his head and brought it down sharply on the stone with a loud crack. The stone crumbled and beneath it cowered the red-haired girl.

  With a satisfied smile, Bartheleme stepped back to let his men apprehend their prisoner.

  Chapter 8

  Efar studied the castle as he flew past in the dark. He banked and flew by again, closer, taking care not to go too far around where the guards could see him. Slowly, he approached the slices of a ladder formed in the side of the tower, inhaling deeply, filling his griffin’s nose with the stench of dragon. But mixed among that were unmistakable traces of Fiera’s unique spicy-woodsy scent.

  She’d been here.

  She’d created the steps from the stone of the castle, but had ended them while still too high to jump safely. She must have been interrupted.

  He circled upward to the window, peeking in with his creature’s eagle sight, but the room was empty and, sniffing, he judged it had been for a few hours.

  Where was she? Was it as the old king had said, that Bartheleme had taken her away?

  As if thinking on his nemesis brought him to sight, the giant dragon shapeshifter rose from around the front of the castle below, Fiera squirming in his claws. Three more dragons followed.

  Efar cut sharply, moving in close to the stone wall. He flew in silence, angling up and back the direction from which Bartheleme’s party had come. If he could just get behind them, remain invisible to those below, and not be discovered by the invariable guards in the turrets above, he’d have it made. Not a problem.

  Almost immediately upon that thought, a leaf he’d woven within his damaged wing feathers worked loose at one end, undulating loudly in the air currents. He plucked the offending leaf out with his beak and held his breath, hoping the wind had carried the noise away from…everyone.

  A small dragon at the back of the group cocked its head and slowly circled out of formation, letting the air currents carry it higher, searching left and right for the cause of the buzzing. It would be no time before it smelled the intruding griffin.

  Efar tucked his wings and plummeted, dropping past the tail of the dragon. Once he was low enough the air current wouldn’t be as noticeable, he opened his wings again and thrust as hard as he could, hoping another leaf wouldn’t give him away, shooting across the front of the castle merely a dozen feet above the heads of the guard. As he reached the sanctuary of the far side, he glanced back.

  Neither of the guards had noticed him. The searching dragon had given up and rejoined the group.

  Efar circled the castle, keeping low and to the gloomy night shadows. He came up well behind the Prince and his party and followed them.

  Ahead, the writhing form in the lead dragon’s clutches ceased movement briefly, then resumed with added ferocity.

  Fiera had seen him.

  * * * *

  Fiera struggled against the tight claws that bound her high above the earth. At the same time, she watched the distant pale speck floating in the dark behind the last dragon in Bartheleme’s retinue. Could it be Efar? It had to be.

  Her heart surged with hope. He’d found her. He was here.

  She renewed her struggle with the giant beast who held her captive. If she could have used her magic on a living creature, she would have used it now. But she couldn’t and her magic was all played out. She
called out in her mind to any nearby animals, excluding the dragons from her pleas, but the drought had kept the hills and forest below bare and made most critters scarce. It would be many years before that part of the country recovered and was once again teeming with life. Though she reached as far as she could with her mind, only one or two birds answered. What could a couple birds do against four dragons?

  Her captors carried her north, higher now, against the cool of the night sky, mindless of her efforts to free herself. They were apparently also unaware of the griffin, close behind now, flying near to the ground, weaving among the bare tree trunks.

  Eventually, the air filled with the salt of sea water. Just as the sound of crashing waves became audible to her, Bartheleme swooped low and, as he passed, he dumped Fiera on a rock ledge that overlooked the sea. He flew out, over the water, a dark monster hidden in the dark sky.

  She scrambled to her feet and, though she didn’t have the eyesight of either the griffin or the dragons, stared out at the black sea. Up close, water rushed toward her in huge growling curls, cascading over each other, to shatter upon the base of her ledge, sending spray high above to soak her, though only a few drops reached her. It had to be high tide for it to be so far up the cliffside in non-drought times.

  To her left, a fingernail slice of a moon hung cleanly over the distant flat expanse of sea. The moon’s light trailed a faint path in water that seemed to go on forever. Off to the other side of her, the sea was bordered by a dark landmass that loomed menacingly in the night.

  The three small dragons, two brown and one yellow, landed beside her. They crowded against her, pushing her back against the cliff wall. One of the browns clamped heavy irons around her wrists with its dexterous claws. A thick chain ran from the wrist cuffs to the rock wall, disappearing deep within, an ancient sacrificial spot to appease the sea gods.

  No way was she getting loose without her magic. Even Efar couldn’t break the iron loops. She groaned at the uselessness of wasting her magic on the stone steps earlier. If only she’d known she’d need it now.