Shifter Planet (10 page)

“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

O
n 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 else 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.

R
hodry 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

A
manda 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 against 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.

R
hodry stepped into the weapons master’s shop on a back street of the city. Normally, he wouldn’t have gone to a city craftsman for any of his weapons. Fortunately, this man was a clansman. He and his then-young wife had moved to the city decades ago to be with her ailing father. They’d never intended to remain permanently, then the first of their children had been born, and eventually their grandchildren, and the old clansman was still here. He was the most popular weapons master in the city, and the only one Rhodry would have trusted.

A small bell jingled overhead when he opened the door, and he could hear voices from the back room where the man did most of his work. So he waited patiently, examining a row of knives, picking up each and weighing it in his hand. They were fine work, too light for his use, obviously aimed at the city’s non-shifter population. He heard footsteps, and then the owner’s gravelly voice as he came back into the main showroom. It was the second voice that brought his head up. What were the chances? He turned to find Amanda following the old man. Beaming happily, she carried—he could only stare. It was a short bow. And not just any short bow, either. That was a shifter’s bow.
Son of a bitch
.

“My lord.” The weapons master hurried toward him, one hand fisted over his heart indicating his loyalty as a clansman. “I didn’t know you were here. I have your arrows ready.”

He looked over the man’s head and saw Amanda eyeing him cautiously, clearly not any happier to see him than he was her. Their paths hadn’t crossed much since that day in the testing room, and when they did, they both went out of their way to avoid speaking to each other. For his part, he carried some residual guilt over the way he’d handled things. In the final analysis, however, and despite many things he admired about her, she was still a complication, and he had plenty of those already.

She gave him a polite nod of recognition and returned her attention to the bow in her hands, drawing it experimentally. And didn’t she look damn fine doing it, too? She had always been a beautiful woman, but the last few months of training had only made her stronger, more graceful in the controlled way that spoke of physical discipline. Still, he was surprised she could draw the bow at all. He ran his gaze up and down the curved wood and frowned.

He crossed the room in three long strides. “Amanda,” he said, by way of greeting.

She looked up, her expression reflecting surprise that he’d approached her. “Rhodry?”

“May I?” he asked, indicating the bow. Her fingers tightened fractionally, and she met his eyes for a long moment before she released it to him.

“Of course,” she said.

He had to fight back a smile at her forced courtesy as he lifted the bow and examined it carefully from tip to tip, then balanced it on the palm of one hand. He didn’t say anything, just turned to the old weapons master who was standing behind him looking distinctly uncomfortable. The old man tried to meet his stare, and couldn’t hold it. Instead, he hurried forward with a distressed look on his face and took the bow from Rhodry’s outstretched palm.

“What is this?” the man said, fretfully. “No, this can’t be right.” He lifted it in both of his hands, bending it slightly, mimicking the bend of an archer’s draw. “How did I not see this? Lady, I don’t know what to say. I am desolate—” The man shook his head in a very convincing act of dismay. “Forgive me. One moment, please.”

Rhodry watched the man scurry back into his workshop, then turned to find Amanda staring at him, one eyebrow raised cynically.

“I take it I was just about to be rooked?”

He shrugged. “You’re a woman. He probably assumed the bow was a gift for a husband or a brother. Something to use on an annual hunting trip, maybe. It would have been fine for that.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I told him what it was for.”

“Then he probably didn’t believe you,” he said drily.

She looked away. “Or he figured it didn’t matter,” she said on a sigh.

A shadow of exhaustion crossed her face, and he felt a tug of something more than just guilt. Sympathy maybe, or genuine care for her. Neither of which he wanted to feel. He was saved from having to respond when the old man emerged once again, bearing a new bow in his hands, this one made of a bronze wood that had been rubbed to a ruddy glow. It was a beautiful piece of work, sized for a young shifter. Like the other, it was too short for someone as big as Rhodry, which made it perfect for her.

The old man held it out to him, and he glanced at her for permission. “Go ahead,” she said resignedly, acknowledging his greater knowledge in this at least.

He took the bow, weighing it carefully. He bent the wood gently, then slipped on the gut string and let the bow grow taut. Turning toward the front of the shop, he drew it experimentally. Satisfied, he handed it to her.

Her eyebrows lifted.

“It is
your
weapon,” he explained.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment and took the bow from him, repeating his testing motions. When she raised her arms to aim the bow, he saw a flash of bandages beneath her long sleeves, stained red with blood. He sniffed discreetly. The blood was fresh. He frowned as he watched her unstring the weapon and run her hands reverently over the gleaming wood.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

“A perfect match,” the weapons master said proudly. “As if it was made for your hands.”

“Yes,” Rhodry drawled meaningfully.

The old clansman pretended not to hear as he slipped the string off the bow end and let it slide loosely down the back. “I’ll package those extra strings for you, my lady. And the arrows we discussed.” He hurried into the back room once again.

“What happened to your arms?” Rhodry demanded in a low voice once they were alone.

She shied away from him, tugging her sleeves down. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he insisted. “You’re bleeding.”

She blushed a dark pink beneath her tan, and he felt something twist in his gut once more. Definitely not sympathy this time. She gave him an angry look that he knew came at least partly from embarrassment.

“I’ll take care of it,” she insisted.

“You should see a doctor—”

“My mother is chief medical officer for an entire fleet, de Mendoza. I think I can handle a simple scratch.”

He met her defiant stare, his mouth tightening in irritation. Whatever had happened to her arms, it wasn’t a scratch, and it sure as hell wasn’t simple. And why did he care? As she said, her mother was a damn doctor. If anyone knew the dangers of infection on Harp, it was Amanda. And besides, she wanted to be a Guild member, didn’t she? That meant being capable of seeing to her own injuries.

“Fine,” he said, with a tilted nod of his head.

“Fine,” she repeated.

The weapons master hurried up to them carrying her new bow and a wrapped package which was the right shape to be a quiver and arrows, as well as a few extra strings. Amanda took the package, tucked it under one arm, slung the bow over her shoulder and, with a nod of thanks to the old man and another to Rhodry, she left the shop. The doorbell chimed merrily at her back.

He turned back to his fellow clansman.

“My apologies, my lord,” the old man said, and he grimaced, his gaze casting about the store, as if hoping to find the words he needed among his many weapons. Finally, he just blurted it out. “She is a woman, and an Earther!”

“She intends to enter the Guild trials.”

The old man gave him a look of disbelief. “So she told me. Surely she won’t succeed!”

“And when she fails, do you want it to be because of the bow you sold her?”

He looked away, unable to meet Rhodry’s eyes.

“You’ve been too long in this city, old friend,” he said gently. “You should visit your home in the mountains more often.” He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You didn’t give her my arrows, did you?” he asked, lightening the mood.

The old clansman looked up at that, his eyes twinkling. “Of course not, my lord. I’ll get them straight away.” He hurried off, and Rhodry stepped over to the window, watching Amanda disappear down the street. He remembered what Fionn had said about her, that she’d do better than anyone expected. And he wondered if, in this case, the irritating prince might not be right.