Shifter Planet

by D. B. Reynolds

  “So, Isabella,” Cristobal began smoothly. “As delightful as this evening has been, I suspect there are other matters which brought you to the city.”

  Next to his mother, Desmond straightened in his seat and shot Rhodry a nervous glance. Isabella had no such qualms. She leaned forward earnestly, and would have placed a hand on the Ardrigh’s arm again had he not casually moved it out of reach.

  “My lord,” she began. “You are astute, as always. As much as I value an evening in the company of you and your lovely Kathryn, we are here on a much more serious matter.”

  Cristobal nodded briefly for her to continue.

  “As you know, my mother was Chief Brian de Mendoza’s sister, his only sibling. There was also a younger brother who died as a child. So many did then,” she added with a sorrowful and well-practiced shake of her head. “In any event, genealogically speaking, that would put my son”—she gestured at Des, as if everyone in the room didn’t already know who the asshole was—“in equal standing with Rhodry in terms of blood link to the de Mendoza line.”

  His eyes narrowed to irritated slits. The woman was actually going to ask Cristobal to intervene in clan business. She had to be acting on her own, because all of the clans felt very strongly about outsiders and where they belonged. While there were those who disagreed with his grandfather’s choice of heir, the one thing they all agreed upon was keeping the Ardrigh out of clan business.

  “I’ll not waste your time with pretty words,” Isabella was continuing. “I’m here to petition for the Ardrigh’s justice on behalf of the de Mendoza clan. We’re asking you to grant Desmond the de Mendoza mantle—temporarily, of course—now that Rhodry is here with you in the city. He can’t possibly see to the clan’s needs from this far away, while Desmond, who surely has an equal claim to the title, sits in the heart of the de Mendoza lands and sees them suffering.”

  Cristobal’s eyebrows went up at that. “I wasn’t aware de Mendoza was suffering, Isabella. The latest reports I’ve seen show them to be doing quite well. I wouldn’t have taken Rhodry away otherwise.”

  “Of course,” she backpedaled quickly, not wanting to suggest Cristobal had acted against clan interests. “We only wish to ensure that the prosperity continues, my lord, to the benefit of the clans and all of Harp.”

  Rhodry sat in stiff disbelief listening to Isabella prattle on, painfully aware of the others at the table listening to every word. Did the woman have no sense of honor? And what about Desmond? Was he such a tool of his mother that he could sit there and listen in silence while she violated the very core of clan sovereignty? He risked a glance down the table and caught Fionn watching him intently. His eyes narrowed in distrust, while Fionn only grinned and gave a little jerk of his head toward Isabella, as if he was highly amused by the whole thing.

  Rhodry wasn’t amused. He was furious.

  Aware that Isabella had finally ended her ridiculous bleating, he switched his attention to Cristobal, who was nodding thoughtfully. “A very serious matter, indeed, Isabella, and one that would have far-reaching consequences, I would think.” He looked down the table and asked, “What do you think, de Mendoza?”

  He held Cristobal’s gaze, aware of Isabella stiffening slightly at the Ardrigh’s deliberate use of his last name, which in this context was his clan title. As clan leader, he was “the” de Mendoza.

  “What I think, my lord, is that this is a matter best left to the Clan Council rather than spread like dirty laundry for all of Harp to see.”

  “The Clan Council is overrun with Devlins,” Isabella snapped. “Unable to see past their own interests to the good of the clan.”

  “Whereas you,” Fionn murmured, “have only the clan’s interests at heart.”

  Rhodry glanced at him, eyebrows raised, not having expected any support from that quarter. He turned back in time to see Cristobal shoot his son a quelling look.

  “I’m not certain I understand, Isabella,” Cristobal said. “Why would Rhodry require a surrogate for what is, after all, only a temporary absence? And in the capital city at that.”

  “Why, so that he can remain here in the city with you, my lord,” Isabella oozed. “What with the Earthers knocking on our very door, you surely want your staunchest allies close at hand.”

  He waited. Cristobal was certainly not fooled by this clumsy bid for power. Once Desmond took over as temporary clan chief, he’d pack the council with his own cronies and Rhodry would be out permanently. Assuming they let him live that long.

  Cristobal had been watching Isabella thoughtfully as she spoke, and he now smiled slightly. “Your argument has merit, Isabella, and I certainly bear no love for Brian or his political ambitions.” The woman beamed in triumph as Cristobal continued, “Still, Brian was the undisputed leader of de Mendoza when he died. His wishes must be considered, as must clan tradition. It was my own grandfather’s insistence on trying to bring the clans under the throne’s power that drove Brian to rebel in the first place. I have no desire to repeat his mistake.”

  He smiled and lifted a hand over his shoulder, signaling the staff to begin the dessert course. “I shall consider your request. In the meantime, let us turn to more productive topics, like today’s hunt, which I understand went quite well?”

  Rhodry eyed Cristobal for a moment, trying to figure out his angle. He hadn’t granted Isabella’s request, though he hadn’t denied it, either. And now he was bringing up the day’s hunt which had clearly been a triumph for Rhodry.

  Cristobal speared him with his turquoise stare and raised an eyebrow, inviting his response.

  “It was a successful hunt,” he agreed.

  Fionn laughed. “You’re too modest,” he said. “Word around the Guild Hall is that it was the best hunt in years. Rhodi here had shifters flying through the trees.”

  The other shifters around the table shared a grin. They knew Fionn was being polite because there were ladies present. The hunt had been wild and bloody, a shifter’s favorite kind. Even Des grinned.

  “That’s what I heard,” Cristobal said with a laugh. “In fact, Des, as long as you’re here in the city, you should stay a few months, join some hunts yourself. It will be good to have a few more clansmen at my side.”

  A few more clansmen as long as they’re not Devlins, Rhodry thought sourly. He missed his cousins viciously, felt naked without them at his back. Still, he had to admit it was amusing to see Isabella’s reaction to Cristobal’s invitation, which, of course, Des couldn’t refuse. Though, Isabella was already trying to convince Cristobal that she needed her baby boy to escort her back home.

  “Nonsense,” Cristobal was saying, waving his hand dismissively. “Des can take one of the hovers. He’ll have you home and be back here within the day. In fact, I’ve a couple of younger shifters who’d probably enjoy riding along. It’s good for them to see more of what’s beyond the city’s perimeter.”

  Rhodry kept his expression carefully blank as Isabella sputtered. His mind was roiling. Cristobal wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Perhaps the clans had more in common with the city than he’d believed.

  And maybe he would get out of this city alive, after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  On the morning of the Guild’s written exam, Amanda cut across the still-empty streets of the city, walking, not running. She didn’t want to arrive all sweaty this time, since she’d be spending the next several hours in a small room filled with young shifters. It wasn’t concern for the other test takers that made her walk, though. She didn’t care if they liked the way she smelled or not. She simply had no desire to sit there all sticky with sweat and smelling herself for the rest of the day.

  She smiled and turned toward the main part of town, passing a long line of shuttered stores, most with second story apartments like her own. Beyond that were the residential areas which consisted of neat clusters of homes, frequently facing each other around short cul-de-sacs and occupied by members of the same extended family. As with almost everything e
lse on Harp, the houses were constructed primarily of wood with a rosy gold grain. Every house had a blue solar array on the roof and several had eaves painted to match, gleaming through the gray mist of morning.

  She took a shortcut between several houses, her nose tickling with the scent of herbs growing in home gardens. It still amazed her sometimes that the colonists had survived long enough to build all of this. And many of them hadn’t. Their ship’s captain, Thomas Harp, had perished during the landing, along with his executive officer, Jose Vaquero. The two of them had remained on the bridge, fighting to bring the crippled ship into some semblance of a controlled set-down. None of the people now living on Harp could appreciate what those men had gone through. None of them had ever been off the planet, much less flown a starship into the black void of space. She had. She’d read the histories and seen the compiled data on the system failures the doomed ship had suffered. She knew what it had been like on the bridge.

  The surviving colonists—and most of them had survived the landing at least—had named the planet after their captain, and their city was officially Ciudad Vaquero, although most Harpers simply called it the city since it was the only one of any note on the planet. Captain Harp and his XO Vaquero had paid with their lives, but their success was written in the generations of Harpers who’d gone on to build a new life for themselves and their children here.

  She turned onto a tree-lined path to the Guild Hall, listening idly as she walked along. The trees’ voices were quiet this morning, only the low-level hum that was always present, and nothing like the buzz of excitement racing through her own veins. This was the beginning, her first Guild trial, even if it was only a written test.

  She forced herself to walk slowly, strolling across the clearing and around the main Guild Hall to the small blocky building where the exam was being held this morning. She wasn’t nervous about the test itself. She’d pass, as long as no one tried to cheat on the scoring in order to keep her out of the running. She didn’t think they’d go that far, though. Orrin Brady was overseeing the process this time around, and while he seemed puzzled by her persistence, he appeared quite ambivalent to her actual candidacy.

  Stepping out of the weak morning sunshine, she found the room just as crowded with young shifters as she’d expected. Most of them were no more than sixteen years old, already big and tall, and seeming to fill every inch of the low-ceilinged space. They eyed her with the suspicion she’d come to expect from shifters as she looked around for a seat. And she wasn’t surprised when chairs were shoved out of place to block her way no matter which way she tried to go.

  She laughed privately at their antics. These babies had no idea whom they were dealing with. If she could survive a bout on Master Chief Jansson’s sparring floor, she could survive a fucking classroom scuffle with a bunch of over-muscled teenage pussycats.

  Their antics ceased abruptly, chairs suddenly finding their proper place as the baby shifters cast nervous glances at the open doorway behind her. She turned, expecting to find Orrin Brady. What she found was Rhodry de Mendoza scanning the room with his usual glowering disapproval.

  At least this time it was aimed at someone other than her.

  “Good morning, de Mendoza,” she said cheerfully, mostly because she knew it would irritate him.

  “Amanda,” he growled.

  “Are you proctoring the exam this morning?” she asked.

  “I am. And there will be no favoritism shown for special needs. To anyone.”

  Amanda stared into his beautiful golden eyes, and just for a moment wished she would see her smile reflected back. It wasn’t going to happen this time. Apparently whatever friendship, or more, that the two of them might have forged was history as far as he was concerned. She dug up a fake smile that felt like it was breaking her face and said, “Good to hear. I wouldn’t want any of these hooligans to be coddled.”

  That earned her a scowl directed at her personally, which made her want to pat his handsome cheek. Her sense of survival kept her hands to herself, however. Rhodry wasn’t a baby like these others. He was a fully-grown shifter. A glorious, fully-grown and very male shifter. She sighed wistfully, remembering the evening they’d danced and laughed together. It seemed like a dream she’d had long ago.

  “You should take a seat now,” he suggested in a tone that made it more of an order.

  “Quite right,” she agreed. She winked at him—again, just because she knew it would piss him off—then walked over and took the desk in the farthest corner of the room, with walls to her back and side. She preferred to keep even baby shifters where she could see them.

  Rhodry watched Amanda cross the room and take the most defensible position available, the very seat he would have chosen in this situation. What was it about her that she took such delight in tormenting him? And more importantly, why did it work so well? He shook his head and moved to the front of the room. He had more important matters to deal with than the irritating ways of a certain blond Earther. Today’s test was important, which was why he was here, despite it representing absolutely no challenge to his skills as a shifter. That would come in the spring. The candidates who succeeded today would have all winter to hone their weapons skills and to prepare for the most grueling trial of their lives.

  He had no doubt Amanda would be among those moving on to the next phase, and wondered if she understood the full scope of the trials to come, the sheer physical strength and skill that would be required. This was far more than passing some test. Her very survival would be at stake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amanda stepped into the shower, hissing when hot water hit the scraped and raw skin on her forearms. The water ran pink for several minutes, swirling into the drain until finally she’d gotten through the blood and down to dirt and grime. She sighed tiredly and rested her forehead against the tiled wall, letting the water pummel her back and shoulders, pounding away the aches and pains which seemed to be her permanent companions these days. It wasn’t long before she felt the water growing cooler and sighed once again. If she ever bought a house here, she was going to have the biggest hot water tank on the planet.

  Washing the rest of her body quickly, she turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower. She was going to need bandages on her arms. And she’d have to wear long sleeves to cover the bandages. Either that or endure pointed comments about how her arms had been injured, which she wanted to avoid.

  As far as she knew, no one was aware that she was practicing tree climbing. She made a point of practicing only when she was alone, with none of the shifter watchers who so often accompanied her trips into the Green. They probably thought she didn’t know about them, because they stuck to the heights, but they didn’t count on the trees. She could always tell when a shifter was near because the forest’s song changed. It became happier. The Green liked the shifters a lot.

  She dried the rest of her body, then pulled out the enormous first aid kit her mother had stocked for her. After a liberal application of antibiotic ointment, she layered non-stick gauze on her raw arms. Taping it in place, she walked out of the bathroom and into the small bedroom she’d effectively transformed into a large closet and storage room.

  Her apartment was comfortable, with just enough space for one person who didn’t like to mess with housekeeping. Amanda used the wide-open main room as both bedroom and living room, leaving the small bedroom for storage. It was convenient, though the real reason she’d chosen this apartment was the bathroom with its separate shower and huge, enameled tub. Normally, after a day like today, she’d have made use of that tub for a long soak. Not today, though. She had an errand to run. One that couldn’t wait.

  She was supposed to pick up her bow this afternoon, the kind every Guild member owned. It had taken a lot of time and persistence on her part to locate the weapons expert who made most of the hunting bows for the Guild. She’d never seen a shifter actually hunt with one of the weapons; she had seen the Guild members practicing and competing ag
ainst one another.

  She supposed the tradition went back to the early days, before they’d perfected their hunting techniques as cats, though it hardly mattered where it came from. It was tradition, and it was required, which meant it was a skill she’d have to master before being permitted to move on to the next phase of the Guild trials.

  Shooting a bow was something she already knew. She’d even hunted with a compound bow a few times several years ago. The Guild weapon, by contrast, wasn’t like any bow she’d used before. It was stubby, thick, and damned difficult to draw. Short for ease of carry through the trees and undergrowth, it had a hard pull that was designed for a shifter’s considerable strength. She was going to need both time and muscle to perfect its use. Her upper body strength was already better than average, which wasn’t enough. The bow required very specific muscles, so she’d begun working with the weight equipment at the science compound. The workout was helping with her tree-climbing, too, which was a little side bonus.

  When she’d tried to practice with a bow itself, however, she’d discovered that no shifter was willing to lend her his bow for even an hour’s practice. At first she’d thought it was another example of their resentment and dislike. She’d soon discovered that shifters didn’t lend their bows to anyone. Apparently, they were very touchy about them, since bows were handed down from father to son to grandson and blah, blah, blah. So, she’d ordered her own, and today would be the first time she got to hold it in her hands.

  She pulled a tank top over her bra, and added a long-sleeved tunic before braiding her long blond hair just like the shifters did. A pair of loose, warm pants, socks and boots, and she was ready to go. Grabbing her keys, she hurried out the door and down the stairs, suddenly eager for the feel of warm wood beneath her fingers.