Princess Reviled

by Butler, J. M.

  Vorec leaned back, his hands braced against his belt. "Do you all wish to be imprisoned?"

  "If it is necessary for you to hear our words, then yes," the black-striped woman said. "Begin, Rauli."

  The second woman bowed her head and steepled her hands as if in prayer. "You must see beyond your need for vengeance and the depth of your fear. You will not accomplish what you desire."

  Vorec gestured toward the Ayamin entering through the gate. "Take these two away. If the first holding chamber is full, put them in a second. How many do we have to arrest?"

  "The offspring of your family will survive, elder commander," the black-striped woman said. "But the nature of your actions here will do far more to impact them than you can ever imagine."

  They wouldn't survive if he had anything to do with it, Naatos thought ruefully.

  A soft scraping and rustling sounded near Naatos. A child, maybe ten or younger, crept up beside him. He stared at Naatos, his lips pressed in a tight line and his hazel eyes wide and unblinking. He leaned close to Naatos's ear. "It isn't too late, former Para," he whispered. "When you escape, take your brothers and go. There's still hope. Don't kill anyone."

  "Hey! Get away from there!" one of the guards exclaimed. He lifted his fist but did not strike, appearing more startled than angry.

  The Machat child scrambled away, running to hide behind Rauli. He peered out from behind her skirt, his arms wrapped around her waist.

  "Get them out of here and get these skinchangers in the wagon," Vorec commanded.

  "By this time tomorrow you will be dead if you do not stop," Rauli said loudly. She gestured toward all those assembled, her gold-flecked eyes hard. "All but two will perish."

  The guard on Naatos's right flinched, and Naatos's pulse quickened. But when Vorec bellowed for them to do as they were told, the Ayamin tossed Naatos into the back of the wagon. AaQar and WroOth were flung in as well as the other Ayamin escorted the three Machat away.

  Four Machat appeared as soon as the previous three departed, popping up around the horses. One unfastened the wagon while another unharnessed the steeds. Naatos focused harder on finetuning his energy. He was so close to conquering the huanna. And then with his reserve strengths, he would get both his brothers out of there. Vorec and the Ayamin swiftly dealt with the new intruders, sending them to prison with the others. This time Vorec climbed the wagon and urged the horses forward himself. As the wagon rolled along, Naatos contemplated the best form to conserve energy and carry both brothers in the event neither AaQar nor WroOth regained consciousness.

  Eight more groups of Machat, each numbering a minimum of two and one with as many as five, stopped the procession. None attempted any violence, but all bore warnings and left peacefully with the Ayamin when they came to escort them away. Their antics slowed the journey to the pit by at least a full hour, almost two. And with each draw of breath and rechanneling of his strength, Naatos came closer to reaching immunity. Sharp sensations of clarity pierced his mind as his blood rushed through his veins. He was minutes away. Seconds.

  The wagon groaned to a halt. Boos and jeers roared up. Even from this awkward angle, his face pressed against a slat, Naatos could see dozens of people had gathered for one final look at their enemies. All the better for him. It would make destroying them far easier. So kind of them to all gather in a single location. A woman spoke loudly from a platform, her words elegant in tone though somewhat muffled as the Ayamin took hold of Naatos and his brothers. He tested his shifting strength and adaptation to the huanna. Almost there. Mere minutes.

  "—justice will be done this way," the woman said. "The enemies of Libysha shall be no more."

  The guards dropped him into the bottom of the pit. He twisted just enough to ensure he landed on his back. Three men down below grabbed him and fastened chains around his manacled hands and feet, running them through large eyehooks.

  Well, this wasn't ideal. Naatos estimated that the top of the pit was at least fourteen feet above, the walls simply dirt. Twenty-two wagons lined the pit, filled to the brim with mortar. More wagons and vessels likely waited, given how keen the Libyshans were on killing them swiftly. On the parapets and landing above stood well over forty archers, all armed. Another less than ideal factor.

  But so long as they put his brothers on either side of him, he could make this work.

  The Ayamin dropped WroOth next. He landed beside Naatos, almost rolling on him. Naatos noted the cherry redness of his brother's cheeks. A good sign overall, suggesting that he had deeply enhanced his oxygen bearing. WroOth's eyes fluttered briefly before shutting. He groaned. The guards set about fastening WroOth's chains to the eye hooks. These at least were fastened into the earth, meaning they would be relatively easy to rip up.

  AaQar slammed into the earth on the other side of WroOth.

  Sultai kinran, Naatos cursed.

  Now things were complicated.

  Naatos clenched his jaw and worked through the logistics. He was nearly ready. And until that moment when his adaptation took effect, he could not transform. The form he chose had to be sufficient to launch him from the pit with WroOth in tow while being bombarded with arrows, then allow him to return and seize AaQar, get back out, reach WroOth, and ultimately depart.

  He eased himself up slightly so that he could see AaQar. The reddening of WroOth's cheeks were a common marker of higher oxygen levels in the blood. For AaQar, there might not—Naatos pulled back, startled.

  Blue veins marbled out from AaQar's mouth and along his temples and nose. The tips of his fingers all the way up to his knuckles were dark blue. Naatos had never seen that in a whitened Vawtrian. It was either very good or very bad.

  Perhaps the prattling woman above would grate on for another fifteen minutes. The moment his body was restored, he would spring into action.

  Vorec strode alongside him. He held something in his hand. "I don't know whether you can hear me, skinchanger. But if so, I hope the last thoughts in your mind are those of the people you made suffer. I hope it was the last thought on your whore's mind as well." He slammed the item into Naatos's face. Hot blood trickled down Naatos's chin. His rage intensified, but he rerouted it. Less than five minutes. He could feel the final wisps of energy moving through him.

  Vorec scooped the necklace up. "By this time, that pinchat is dead. Perhaps, you'll see her momentarily in oblivion."

  Naatos resisted the anger that rose when he saw his viskaro's necklace. If his healing had returned and his brothers weren't at risk—

  Vorec slashed him across the face with the necklace once more, then ripped Naatos's away as well. He cast both aside with careless disregard. "I can't make it so that you never came, but I can ensure you never come back." Seizing the hunting knife, he twisted it sharply and ripped it out.

  Naatos rolled his eyes up beneath his lids. The healing detracted from the speed of his adaption. Another two minutes added at least.

  Vorec moved next to WroOth. He said something so low Naatos did not catch it.

  Naatos channeled his healing energy into healing the essentials and then focused again on the immunity. Five minutes. Only five minutes.

  Leaning closer, Vorec stabbed WroOth in the chest. WroOth lunged upward. The chains caught and restrained him, but it was enough for him to set his teeth against the elder commander's head. Vorec leaped away. He wasn't fast enough. WroOth bit hard and tore his head back. Blood spurted. The crowd above shouted and gasped.

  Vorec howled, grabbing at the side of his head. Several guards surged forward to pin WroOth. One struck him on the head with a log. WroOth went limp. The red from his cheeks leaked.

  Naatos cursed under his breath, bracing his teeth to keep the rage from moving into action too soon. Blood soaked WroOth's chest. From the way WroOth's eyes twitched, Naatos had no doubt of the impact. WroOth was suffering from the effects of not eating far more than Naatos.

  Vorec kept his hand clasped over his ear. He clenched his jaw, the hot red liquid streaming
through his fingers. One of the Ayamin spoke to him quickly and quietly. Vorec shook his head. "All depart," he commanded.

  Fury pounded in Naatos's veins. Four minutes. He could feel the surging power within him, so close, so near.

  The Ayamin present moved to the rope ladders hanging on the side. They were surprisingly nimble, scaling the walls with ease. Vorec too followed, his pace slower.

  Naatos counted down. The energy within him strengthened, cleansing from the last of the huanna. Two minutes.

  The woman in the white dress on the platform above continued to speak. She gestured toward them with a grand sweep of her arm. If she only kept speaking another two minutes, he would be done.

  "Let their deaths serve as warnings against any who would dare stand against Libysha the magnificent and all her children."

  Cheers arose amid chants of "Kill them, kill them, kill them."

  Long wooden chutes slid down into the pit, one directly over Naatos's face. A quick glance to the left revealed there were chutes over AaQar's and WroOth's as well. Nineteen others slid into place over other positions within the pit.

  One-and-three-quarter minutes.

  A sharp trumpet blasted. Then, glooping forward at an alarming rate, the mortar poured directly onto his face.

  34

  Execution

  Instinct brought the necessary muscles and organs into alignment before the thick stream of mortar struck Naatos's face, temporarily slowing his immunity buildup. The horrid oozing mass swiftly accumulated, running down his neck and creeping into his ears. Naatos counted down the time.

  Two minutes to go.

  The weight on his face intensified. Already the mortar surrounded him.

  One and three quarters.

  He flushed the energy through his veins, gathering up the final huanna. More than half evaporated but some remained. So close!

  One and a half minutes.

  The mortar had reached his fingertips. The energy pulsed stronger within him now, rushing faster, clearing more. His heart and chest, now fully healed, expanded to allow for the excess.

  One and a quarter. Naatos ran his chosen form through his mind: the emerald storm drake. It was perhaps the best choice given all the factors, and he had mastered it so well that it would not cost so much as other more unique forms. He moved his attention to the plan, working out each of the details. WroOth was at least two arm lengths away. The shifting would put him within grabbing distance, and the momentum of the transformation would propel them out.

  One minute. The slogging mass covered his whole body now, the weight on his chest and face far more intense, the only sound the constant slop slop slop.

  Three quarters of a minute. The image of the emerald storm drake crystalized within Naatos's mind, the details minute and ringing with readiness. Clenching his fists, he prepared.

  Half a minute. The weight grew all the heavier as the sound lessened. Naatos refused to imagine what was happening to his brothers. Their own instincts would surely kick in, and then they would have their own reserves of air. Even unprepared and weak, they could go at least a minute or two without oxygen. But only if their airways held.

  Naatos ground his teeth, angry that the frightened thoughts had crept in despite his efforts. What was the purpose of internal walls and barriers when those thoughts could simply weasel their way in. No. They should not even be considered.

  A quarter of a minute. Naatos measured his heart rate in his mind, then returned his focus to the emerald storm drake with its steel grip and thunderous wings.

  The last of the huanna flickered. It was like watching embers die. Naatos counted the final seconds. Five. Four. Three. Two.

  The last of the huanna vanished, leaving his blood, veins, muscles, ligaments, and organs.

  Now.

  The emerald storm drake tore through him, ripping his body apart and remaking him with wings, scales, and fangs, reshaping his organs, lengthening his lungs, stretching his liver, doubling his kidneys. Bits of mortar pulled into the remade form, and he obliterated it. The chains pulled taut, then snapped like ancient yarn. Searing pain of millions of nerves coming apart and subsequently reattaching burned through him.

  Thrusting himself up, Naatos seized for WroOth through the morass. As soon as his claws found his brother, he clamped down, forced his massive wings outward and upward to break the pressure, and lunged into the air. He shook his head viciously.

  As the mortar fell from Naatos's face and ears, the first sound to greet him was the terrified shrieks of the Libyshans. Their cries split and wove as he lunged higher and higher into the sky. But there was no time to savor them. WroOth hung limp in his claws. Naatos glanced down and swore. Not only was WroOth still unconscious but Naatos's claws had pierced his bicep, shoulder, and chest. His other arm and feet hung at unnatural angles, suggesting that they too had been broken.

  Cursing, Naatos spun in the air and charged downward, moving WroOth to the side so that his own body blocked the bristling barrage of brown-feathered arrows. Below the people poured into the fields and roads, some hiding behind the wooden stands. A large cluster of Ayamin surrounded the royal family, bows ready, rushing the king, queen, and prince into the blue and gold carriage.

  Naatos dove faster and slammed his shoulder into one of the wooden stands. As it fell, he landed, dropped WroOth on the packed earth, and ripped off the top of the platform. He then set it over his brother. Some of the mortar remained over WroOth's face. Naatos scraped it off as best he could. One of WroOth's feet had returned to its proper position and the bleeding had slowed. Yet he remained unconscious.

  A dull pain struck Naatos in the base of his spine and another in his hip. Spinning, he seized one of the four pike-wielding warriors in his jaws. The copper-tinged flavor of blood mixed with the salty oiled leather and steel plates. Naatos shook him viciously and then cast him aside. A swipe from his foreclaws and two more snaps of his jaws dealt with the remaining three warriors. All the while time clicked down in his mind.

  He had to get to AaQar, but his own energy wound down, rapidly decreasing. More arrows struck him, pricking the overlapping scales and falling away. More Ayamin advanced with pikes and swords. Even one fireball would slow them, but it would take too much of his reserves.

  He prodded WroOth with his hind leg and roared, lunging forward. A few swift blows to WroOth's heart or a dozen arrows could easily end him in this state. And each moment spent fighting off these wretches brought him closer to the end of his own strength. Both his brothers' lives were slipping through his fingers along with his energy, moving faster than crushed sand through a bottomless glass.

  Suddenly another roar shook the heavy air above. Fire shot down, exploding along the dry platform on the other side of the pit. A massive dragon with rust-colored scales and a double-hinged jaw that opened into three layers of teeth emerged from the thick clouds.

  "QueQoa!" Naatos bellowed.

  QueQoa wheeled about, then dropped down. They'd fought enough battles together that QueQoa understood what to do. He would protect WroOth.

  Naatos lunged toward the pit. The wagons had been emptied, and the pit itself was nearly filled. Naatos's movements slowed, his right foreleg trembling. No! He refocused, directing his strength into stabilizing the form.

  A loud creaking groan sounded over Naatos's shoulder. He barely glimpsed the Ayamin behind the wooden platform, thrusting it over. The flaming timbers crashed over him, one large beam puncturing him between the shoulders.

  Naatos fell. Roaring with frustration, he struggled back up. QueQoa bellowed. He seized one of the slabs of wood and flung it, catching three Ayamin across the chest. Naatos fought his way out from under the beams.

  All at once the smooth surface of the mortar lake erupted as the very ground cracked. An enormous green head with beady amber eyes and spined frills shot up from the muck.

  Naatos almost laughed with relief. His focus intensified and his strength freshened. He thrust away the last of the
flaming beams and leaped into the air, the wounds along his back healing. He soared high, circling AaQar.

  AaQar rattled the spines on his frills and struck at the nearest group of javelin wielders. Two of the blades cut into his dark flesh, severing the scales. They did not heal at once.

  WroOth staggered to his feet below. He wiped the mortar from his face, leaning heavily on QueQoa's right hip.

  The heightened relief intensified Naatos's resolve. Sailing up behind AaQar, Naatos seized him by the back of the head. Abruptly, AaQar narrowed his form, breaking the suction of the thick mortar with ease. Naatos lifted him up, aiming for the nearest cloud bank. AaQar lashed his tail around to knock down the final platform. It barely missed the woman in white, fleeing amid a contingent of Ayamin.

  WroOth and QueQoa spoke briefly before WroOth shifted into a red dragon, significantly smaller than usual and taking far longer to complete. QueQoa blocked further attacks, allowing WroOth to launch skyward. He then followed.

  What little strength remained within, Naatos poured into his wings. The damp of the clouds engulfed them. Five downthrusts more and they sailed past the clouds into the azure expanse beyond.

  "Where to?" QueQoa called as he emerged from the clouds as well. Smoke streamed from his nostrils.

  Already WroOth dropped his form and landed on QueQoa's back. He collapsed, panting, his elbow tented over his eyes and his body wedged between QueQoa's bronze spines.

  AaQar tugged three times on Naatos's claw. Recognizing the signal, Naatos adjusted his flight. AaQar dropped from the psigolath form to his state of rest. It was far easier to hold onto his brother now that he had regained consciousness, but even the lightening of the weight wasn't enough to save Naatos's strength beyond a few minutes.

  Naatos gestured roughly toward the temple. QueQoa nodded but whether he understood where they were to go specifically or that Naatos couldn't speak, Naatos didn't know. And it didn't matter.