Chaos Shifter

by Marc Secchia

  “Hmm, you sound like my wife when she’s pregnant, sah,” another Sub-Commander added.

  If he hadn’t been feeling so wretched, Asturbar would gladly have torn someone’s head off for that comment. “Checks!” he rattled finally. “So you said … urk … the thing brought out a drill an hour ago? Azhukazi’s – urp, excuse me …”

  “Maybe you should go to bed, sah?”

  “Bantukor.”

  “Sah?”

  “Go run at that wall until I tell you to stop, soldier.” He gagged again. “Dan – weeeurrgh!”

  “You really do sound like my wife –”

  “Do you understand death by gradual intestinal extraction, Commander?” snarled Asturbar. “Answer the question before I leave my boot prints all over your festering gums!”

  “Yes, sah,” said Bantukor, failing to smother another guffaw. “The beast is drilling through the top as we speak. It appears that our friendly saboteur undermined a section of the floor on level seven. We have made running repairs, but it’s only a matter of time before we are all staring down a slug’s gullet.”

  “Estimate?”

  “Perhaps as little as half an hour, sah.”

  Speaking into the bucket, the Marshal said, “The people?”

  “I ordered them down to the last levels, but everyone wants to fight, sah. Many refused.”

  Asturbar felt his throat swell. Good thing he was glowering at the contents of his stomach in the base of that brown Dragonhide bucket, or his soldiers would have seen the tears start in his eyes.

  Iridiana’s forepaw rubbed his back. “Alright, Boots?”

  Far more narked than he likely had a right to be, he growled, “Good. Deploy them all; the more able to the front, the less able further back. We will not go down without a fight.”

  “Sah! Sah, it be Dragons! Again, sah!”

  The messenger boy’s shrill excitement cut across their meeting. Sant’t’ban always seemed to time his entries during their stand-up meetings in the Greeting Hall, and today was no exception. Skinny legs with scabby kneecaps came bounding down from the entrance to eleven, where the observation post was located, with that artless, energetic enthusiasm common to nine year-old boys everywhere.

  Chanbar said drily, “Sant’t’ban?”

  “Yes, sah!”

  “Friend or foe, boy?”

  “Friends to be sure, Marshal – uh, previous Marshal, sah. Did the … uh, the wiggly thing …” Clearly losing track of his thought as he tried to reproduce the gesture with his hands, he then blurted out in a flapping panic, “Shapeshifters! They done coming inside, sah!”

  “Shifters!” Asturbar hurled the bucket aside, clanging Bantukor in his armoured leg. The soldier ignored it pointedly. “It has to be Thoralian. Alert! Don’t worry, my dear –”

  “I’m not afraid of Thoralian!”

  Scabby murgalizards, her fangs had come within an inch of snapping shut upon his helmet! Then … how could she be more afraid of Azhukazi than the Marshals Thoralian? Why? Something like a thought-scent or trace communicated to him as she glared at him, paw upraised in half-apology, but then her mind dissolved into a swirling maelstrom of colours and contours.

  So much he would have to process later.

  Asturbar wobbled off toward the long entryway tunnel, trying to unhitch his battle-axe and not collapse in a sweating heap simultaneously. The Dragons on guard were roaring, the catapult engineers were having apoplectic fits, and apparently the Shifters had already brushed or rushed past Bantukor’s infantry units, because they seemed to be charging in the wrong direction, back inside the fortress. In a second he had Yuaki and Iridiana bristling either side of him in their Dragoness forms, and a dozen Lesser Dragons backing him up like a squad of the ultimate Heavies, when a voice from the past boomed down the tunnel:

  “Don’t you fire bolts at my behind, boy. I’ll make you eat them!”

  Asturbar reeled as he tried to place that irascible growl. Snap decision. “Hold! HOLD FIRE!”

  “Sah, do you mean that?”

  To his enormous annoyance, Asturbar found himself tucked away behind a protective wedge of soldiers and pair of aggressive Dragonesses, having his orders questioned to boot. Someone’s head was going to fly so fast, it would not even bother to roll. It would clang off the Island into the Cloudlands.

  He barked, “I said, hold fire!”

  A moment later, a whole entourage poured out of the tunnel, and he had a first look at his visitors – against a backdrop of some very red-faced soldiers who should have stopped them. His gaze leaped first to a smooth-skinned giant of a man, who had gladiator written all over him. Scars. Rippling muscles. Menacing scowl. His protective posture toward a tiny, blue-haired woman, who –

  “Marshal Huaricithe!” he spluttered.

  “Commander Asturbar,” purred the renowned Shapeshifter Dragoness, who despite being perfectly nude, also seemed perfectly in command of the situation. “At last, a sensible head in these parts. With respect.”

  Asturbar did not trust himself to speak, for his regard had now alighted upon the tall, scarred girl standing in their midst. What a glorious mane of rainbow-hued hair! He had never imagined the like. This young woman must once have been a great beauty, but her scarring was hideous, by leagues the worst case of Shifter pox he had ever seen. Yet when her lambent amethyst eyes lit upon him and he beheld the innermost enigmas of the universe gleaming within, he knew her at once for the most powerful of their number, and a thrill shivered his very soul. The Jewels of Instashi quivered too, as though her presence stirred them anew.

  Star Dragoness! Did he stand in the presence of legend? Oddly, she looked familiar. Wasn’t she far too youthful to hold such an exalted station?

  Nonsensical thoughts aside, he felt as if his own grave was trying to suck him in with untimely haste. Asturbar wanted to deny the pain in his gut, but it radiated so heatedly throughout his body, he was sweating as if he suffered a soaring fever. Strange yellow lights played in the corners of his vision. Ignoring the soldiers and Dragons forming an irritable half-circle around the intruders, he flicked his attention to the fourth companion, a severe-looking fellow who stalked in lithe battle readiness behind the scarred girl, with a long, unfamiliar dagger clutched in either hand and the pommel of a mighty sword rising behind his right shoulder. Clothed, so therefore most likely not a Shapeshifter, unlike his companions. He was all whipcord muscle and taut self-control, and his eyes betrayed a disturbing intensity he had seldom encountered in a man before. Magic? Asturbar would not have wanted to take him on in a sword fight. Straight bone crunching? No problem.

  “Asturbar, eh?” snorted the huge and also very naked man. Shapeshifters, Asturbar was learning, had issues with clothing – which had not been a problem for him around Iridiana, he had to admit, until his jealousy came swarming to the fore. “Huh! They make man-Dragons in my size now, I see! I’m Gangurtharr! Shapeshifter!”

  Striding forward, he clasped forearms with the Marshal, and they took each other’s measure in the way of powerful men who offered no quarter and expected none in return. Gangurtharr seemed pleased to be taller, but a subtle visual measuring of the Azingloriax warrior’s heroic shoulders and biceps made his forehead crease between his brows. Asturbar should not be so shallow as to feel pleased!

  He said, “Gangurtharr of the Pits, eh? You’ve quite the reputation, noble Dragon.”

  Actually, in his youth, he had been a rabid fan of the Gladiator and his signature body-slam moves, but he was not about to admit drooling admiration now, was he?

  Had this Dragon always been a Shapeshifter? They hid their kind well!

  “Well-earned, too!” boomed Gangurtharr, stretching hugely – apparently for the benefit of all the ladies and Dragonesses in the room. He hoped Iridiana was not looking, but it sounded as if all her fires were blushing at once. Asturbar loathed him instantly.

  “He’s such a show-off. Learned that in the Pits too,” the tiny Huaricithe said pointedly,
elbowing past the giant in a way that made Asturbar’s grin spring back to his lips. Oh, really? These two were bonded! He had never liked Tahootax the Terrible, who had notoriously pursued the powerful Shapeshifter Dragoness some years before. She added crisply, “Marshal, the Thoralians are on our collective tails. Very quickly, may I introduce –”

  “The Star Dragoness?” he said. “Yes, we know. She tried to kill my Iridiana.”

  “I –” The scarred woman reached out to touch the arms of her male companions, restraining their anger. “Don’t. We are allies, even if you don’t realise it yet, Asturbar.”

  “Marshal Asturbar,” said he, “and we are no allies until you apol –”

  The severe man cried, “How dare you? Look upon this woman, and see what she has given for our Island-World, you craven cur! What have you dared? What have you done?”

  Balling his fists, the Azingloriax warrior stumped forward blindly.

  “Asturbar,” Iridiana interrupted, in a voice like cool rain. “I dreamed of the Star Dragoness, and it is I who invited her here.”

  “WHAT?”

  For several seconds, the room spun about him. He saw many stars and not a single one had lanced out of the Star Dragoness. Faintly, he heard a voice note, “He is not well,” and another, “May I touch and heal him?” Iridiana put in, “A moment, please. He’s a proud man.”

  Asturbar chuckled weakly, grabbing his gut. Stupid skin felt as if it were burning from the inside. As his vision cleared, he gritted out, “Not so proud as to … take back hot words. Your Storm magic was uncontrolled, was it not?” He saw the girl’s nod from the corner of his eye. That mutilation upon her cheek exposed the bone! A necrotic pox? Holy Fra’anior! He straightened. For the sake of all, he must swallow his anger. Judgement could wait upon her deeds. “I am Asturbar, and this is Iridiana, the Iridium Shapeshifter Dragoness.”

  “Iridium? That colour is unheard-of,” Huaricithe breathed.

  The Dragoness Iridiana made a graceful genuflection, like a dragonet swooping over a lake. Yet she too seemed to be watching this Aranya with wary attention, as if she yearned to ask a bewildering or even inexpressible question, but dared not. Or did her expression convey pity?

  “Huh. You’re from Yazê-a-Kûz?” Gangurtharr sniffed.

  “Yes, it seems they’ve been concealing their Shapeshifters,” Huari noted evenly.

  Asturbar absorbed their reaction curiously. They were right. To his knowledge, Yazê-a-Kûz had never produced a single Shapeshifter in any lineage – where, then, did Iridiana come from? Her very life must be seen as a slight to one of her parents or ancestors, for how else could Shapeshifter powers arise in a Line such as hers, if not by infidelity? Perilous Isles indeed. No wonder her parents had responded so negatively to her coming into her powers. Yet had Chanbar been the one to influence them into letting her live in exile? Curious. Could Chanbar know or suspect who the Shifter might have been? If there had been poisoning, that was understandable, but it still did not explain her magical heritage. He had not broached the subject with Nyahi, mindful of her privacy and honour.

  The tall girl in turn bowed most curiously and stiffly, apparently unselfconscious of her nudity, but Asturbar was left wondering if the Star had once known incredible grace, only to be blighted inwardly as well as out by her battle with the pox. What a travesty!

  Aranya said, “This is Ri’arion of Fra’anior, a mighty warrior-monk, who is married to an Azure Shapeshifter named Zuziana, who in turn – it’s a long tale. I carry her here, within my soul. She’s my best friend.” Her hand rose to touch her eyes, momentarily obscuring the cratered disfigurement of her cheek. She spoke with a most exotic accent, seeming to arrange her countless vowel tones and shades to profound melody. “Gang and Huari, you appear to know. For my part, I am the Princess Aranya of Immadia, daughter of Izariela, daughter of Istariela the White Dragoness, the fabled beloved of Fra’anior. I am an Amethyst Shapeshifter, and the Star Dragoness.”

  Asturbar and Iridiana each bowed according to their customs, and introduced the Commanders and the Dragons. A Princess, he thought. A quaint notion plucked straight out of the oldest ballads and breathed into life. Then, his heart lurched like a drunken soldier inside his chest. She just identified herself as the granddaughter of holy Fra’anior. Blasphemy! Yet he kept his face serene. Almost like a Herimor glamour. Wait for her. Wait for the Star Dragoness to reveal the tilt of her paw.

  In mellifluous tones roughened by the rasp of her breathing, Aranya said, “I am scarred, as you can see, by a long and bitter conflict with the Thoralians which began North of the Rift, when they invaded my home Isle. The war raged from –”

  “Again, a very long story,” Ri’arion cut in, his tone unambiguously urging haste.

  That one lacked social graces.

  The Princess said evenly, “Stories anon. Most recently, we were fighting him – them – through the Straits of Hordazar when I heard and responded to the urgent call from Iridiana. I am sorry about the effects of my storm. Terribly sorry, for aye, it was uncontrolled, Marshal Asturbar. I have … too much magic.”

  She smiled, and Iridiana smiled beside him, and Asturbar suddenly realised how very much alike they must appear, in their Human forms. He shivered. What …

  “But now I must tell you that the Thoralians have captured and enslaved my beloved Shadow Dragon, and when he arrives, all of your protections shall be as nought. No mere walls can withstand the might of the Shadow.”

  Star married to Shadow. Fitting, this juxtaposition of opposites. Asturbar said, “How soon?”

  “Five minutes, no more,” Aranya said briskly. “We bypassed the Thoralians with a touch of – well, call it magical cheating – in order to heed this call. Iridiana, you said that an Iolite Blue Dragon holds the – what was that?”

  “That was the ceiling coming down,” said Asturbar.

  With a graceful, full genuflection formed by the lowering arch of her long neck, Yuaki clarified, “O peerless Star Dragoness, that would be Azhukazi the Iolite Blue, also called the Necromancer.”

  He could have sworn he caught a glint in the girl’s eye, which suggested droll amusement at the degree of reverence communicated by the Brown Shapeshifter’s tone, and then Asturbar became annoyed with himself. Of course, she was royalty. She must lap up the attention like a hungry Dragoness supping on delicacies. He wasn’t about to start actually liking this young woman. Yet he sensed a vulnerable quality within her, a soft heart underpinning a being like a steely blade forged by circumstance and woe, and the strange, intense man’s words replayed in his mind. See what she has given for our Island-World! Her apology had seemed genuine, too. Could the fabled powers of Fra’anior himself truly indwell that woefully spare, maltreated frame?

  Then, Aranya stepped forward as though she owned the very air for majestic robes, whispering, O noble Iridiana, might I perchance touch thine eyes?

  The Iridium Dragoness lowered her head at once. Not meekly, but with the honour of an Uxâtati-a-Tân of a mighty realm, and for the first time, watching the two Shapeshifters interact, he truly felt as baseborn as any balladeer might style his station. He was an outsider upon the stage of fate as a Dragoness lowered her muzzle to touch the hand of another woman who, in truth, was also a Dragoness. Matched natures. He could never be such. Yet now, the Princess’ gleaming eyes shuttered as she sucked in a never-ending breath. Her slim limbs trembled; her lips moved slightly as if she were praying, and then he saw the power leave her. It was the whitest of fires that sparked from her palm laid flat upon Iridiana’s nose, that entered his girlfriend’s flesh and thence struck deep and true through the magical pathways of her being, igniting the insides of her fire orbs like a lightning strike.

  Nyahi gasped. She staggered and dropped to one knee. Unnnhhh …

  The pain seemed fleeting.

  Then, her gaze swivelled to Asturbar. For the very first time, even he saw the miracle of focus take place, like a tightening or amplifying of the patterns of
fire swirling within her eyes – he could not rightly describe what the difference was, but the impact was undeniable. She saw him in every detail.

  This was a Star’s power? Unspeakable!

  He said, “Nyahi?”

  “Oh! Oh Boots, I –” In a sparkling explosion of psychedelic beauty, the Chaos Shifter seared away around the great Hall, carolling her joy as she skimmed across the landings and played amidst the huge, downward-hanging mage-light chandeliers, drawing exclamations of delight from the onlookers. Spiralling, somersaulting, soaring, her flight was a miracle of wonder.

  After thirty seconds of watching her free-flying artistry, Asturbar shrugged and said to no-one in particular, “That’s what she does when she’s happiest.”

  * * * *

  Just a moment later, the vaulted ceiling’s shadows bulged outward in an unseemly fashion above the Iridium Shapeshifter’s flight. Nyahi jinked away at high speed, evading the reflexive clutches of a darkly majestic Dragon that apparently detached himself from nothingness and dropped toward the group as though he expected his landing space to be cleared forthwith. Above and behind him, three draconic heads materialised from thin air like sallow moths emerging from ethereal chrysalises, only these were the muzzles and skulls of the most enormous Shapeshifters Asturbar had ever seen – well, perhaps they did not possess the broad immensity of a two-headed Tahootax the Terrible, but these shell-brothers evinced a strangely serpentine muscularity in their body shape, like the dangerous Heritage Pythons he had once seen up in Nyahi’s realm. Which was Thoralian? Or were they so closely linked, they all used the same name? The triune Thoralian; was he augmented in power as a result?

  Never had he experienced the presence of evil with such power and immediacy.

  The soldier in him would want to decry such a conclusion as superstitious. But when one’s very soul shivered in awareness of its mortality, logic became superfluous. He knew.

  Azhukazi was a neophyte. These Dragons were the masters.

  In a flash, Nyahi rejoined him in her diamond bracelet form, and he placed a soothing hand upon her moulding to his forearm, a wordless expression of solidarity. The Shapeshifters passed into their Dragon forms with dull implosions of displaced air. Gangurtharr became the hulking brute Asturbar remembered, thickset and massively powerful, his deceptively obese figure disguising mounds of smooth muscle that had gulled many an opponent to an untimely death. He moved like a Dragon half his bulk, but his colouration was very peculiar indeed, the Grey-Green of a Lesser Dragon mixed with a much deeper burgundy Red. Huaricithe was a compact Dragoness of some seventy feet in length, small in stature by Herimor standards, but her Navy-Blue colouration underscored her claim to the higher Dragon powers. Aranya was a shade larger than Iridiana, and exhibited an extraordinary, almost luminous gemstone colouration that definitely earned her the right to be called an Amethyst Dragoness – yet was the Star Dragoness not meant to be white? Or blue, as legend told of Hualiama? Her Dragoness form clearly displayed the ravages of her pox scars.