Page 6 of Shifter’s Thunder

Tanner’s brain caught up with her words. He rose to his feet, unable to stay still. “Guivre, may I speak?”

“Of course.”

He fought hard to keep his tone even and his enunciation precise. “The shifters who she claims helped her couldn’t have been thunderbirds. They are extinct.” The sting of betrayal blew through him.

Unexpectedly, she twisted in her chair to face him, her voice tight with anger. “They most certainly are not. Their names are Timoki and Rutera, and they’re as real as you are.” He saw the moment realization struck. “Oh, I see. You’re a thunderbird, too. No wonder they sent me here.” Her expression softened.

Stunned, he turned to Guivre. “Those were… they’re my cousins. They disappeared from Australia in the late 1920s. We were the last of our kind.”

Avelunne’s voice drew his attention back to her. “There may be more in other pens. Tippizoars are surprisingly stupid about shifters. They believe your cousins to be ordinary avian shifters. They are unable to tell one dragon from another because the demesne’s magical rules force all shifters to stay in human form to keep us weak. That ignorance was part of why I could escape.”

An iron weight of guilt settled in Tanner’s gut. He should have tried harder to find his cousins. Instead, he focused on his responsibilities in Kotoyeesinay, assuming they’d find him if they wanted to.

“As long as we’re asking questions,” said Pendragor, “how did you bypass the town shield?”

“Patience, Pen,” chided Guivre. “Let Avelunne finish what she came to say.”

Avelunne turned to face the council again.

“The demesne entry opens in the uppermost stratosphere, and its shield blocks portals. It will take the highest flyers to get there. If an initial rescue group can get past the defenses, they can disable the teleportation blocks so more rescuers can get in. The shifters of my pen will be ready for an escape. The new security measures address a specific vulnerability, but the entry’s security defenses are auto-magic and neglected. No one has attacked in a millennium.” Avelunne waved an apologetic hand. “I can tell you no more than this. I am no warrior, merely an artist. I memorized what my fellow prisoners taught me to say about strategy and tactics.”

Uneasy silence settled in the room as Tanner sat back down. Apparently, everyone else needed a moment to think as much as he did.

At the Council table, Wolcz stood up and cast a suspicious stare at Avelunne. “I am Linderhort Wolcz, Second Dux of Molokadi Seep, born for the Cavern Magoviti Clan, the Holders of the Key. May we have your full name and lineage, please? The peace-bonds you’re wearing appear to be cloaking your aura.”

Avelunne’s spine and shoulders straightened by a fraction. “I am Avelunne the Cursed and Blessed, Outlier of the Storm Mouth, born in the Unbroken Line of the Stormrider Moonwing Clan, the Moon’s First Chosen.”

Her response meant nothing to Tanner, but the same couldn’t be said of the dragons in the room.

“I told you!” In the audience, Trolhorne leapt to his feet. “She’s a devil-spawned moonwing!”

“Sit down, Sten,” said Wolcz repressively. “This isn’t the—”

“Moonwings started the coup that killed the High Court and everyone else!” Sten stabbed the air with an accusatory finger. “When they knew they’d lost, they blew up the mountain rather than let the others win. My clan is dead because of her!” Magic surged as Sten’s left fist acquired a thick coating of ice.

Avelunne froze. Instinct had Tanner moving to block whatever angry ice dragon planned. The peace bonds should protect her, but Tanner was more than willing to introduce Trolhorne to the percussive power of thunder.

Up front, Pendragor now held a slender wand as he, too, faced Trolhorne.

Arcane suppressive magic washed over the room. The wyvern known as Scholar of the Skies uncurled his tail and raised his head to regard the hot-tempered ice dragon. “Do you wish to present evidence for your claim, Mr. Trolhorne?” Stern disapproval spiked through the wyvern’s question. “Evidence that no other dragon has been able to provide in more than one hundred seventy years since those rumors started?” A warning puff of steam escaped the wyvern’s nostrils. “Or perhaps you wish to present direct testimony regarding events that took place before you were even hatched?”

Tanner winced at the utter disdain in Scholar’s tone. Angering a wyvern was never wise. They wielded facts and logic almost better than they wielded their formidable magic.

Apparently, Trolhorne belatedly recognized the danger. He visibly reined in his temper as the ice fogged away from his hand. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Tanner barely stopped himself from snorting. He hadn’t heard an apology that insincere in decades.

Trolhorne began to sink into his chair, but paused to glare at the council table. “This is a trap” — he tilted his chin toward Avelunne — “and she’s the bait.”

Tanner glanced at Avelunne, noting that she was clutching her drawing pad to her chest like it was a life raft, but no longer frozen in fear.

Guivre stood. “The Council will meet in the glade while we consider opinions, facts, and options. If anyone has actual evidence or useful information, please send it or join us.”

The cool tone seemed to take the air from under Trolhorne’s wings. He sat back down and slumped, arms crossed. Next to him, the dragon named Tiziri-something subtly leaned away from him as she frowned.

Guivre focused her attention on Avelunne. “We will probably have more questions soon. We invite you to stay in the Transition Center, if you’d like. In any case, your healer would like to see you again.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a half smile. “She worries.”

Avelunne nodded but said nothing.