In The Doghouse

The sun had risen above Senpaga merely an hour ago, and with it came all the going-ons and scurrying around of morning. Window shutters that had been closed during the night were opened by fat, aproned dams, breathing in the cool, relatively clean air of the city. They lumbered outdoors, carrying wicker baskets filled to the brim with the wash. Clotheslines were strewn between quaint brick and stone houses, shirts and pants and towels being clipped onto the lengths of fiber by the careful housewives. Mouths moved, gossip and conversation fresh on the tongue. “Did you hear about Mildred’s pregnancy?” or “I heard the Emperor’s finally getting married” were common topics among some, whilst others chattered and complained about their husbands, cackling like harpies or witches leaning over a cauldron of some unfathomable dark brew.

Sires and husbands came out next, wearing a variety of robes or tunics. Long sleeves and starched collars, free of wrinkles and creases contrasted with richly colored fabrics that were worn by officials of the government or employees at the college, cloth swaying and swishing with every step. Fresh, well-rested eyes and serious, no-nonsense faces were a commonality, made stern from years of life experience and hard work. They kissed their wives goodbye and headed out, speaking along the way in quiet, almost reverent tones, at least until they were out of earshot from their spouses. Then they laughed and joked, making lewd comments and comparing the bottoms of the bitches in the city. Gossip, too, flowed from their lips, only a different kind than the female flavored talk. Theirs was far more focused on what went on in businesses and the upper echelons of government.

Next came the elderly, joints creaking and cracking like so many weak twigs being stepped on, hunched over and aching with arthritis and other maladies of age. Skin sagged with years gone by, deep wrinkles and crows’ feet lined faces like furrows in canyons dug out by primordial rivers. Teeth were missing and patches of fur had thinned, the dark, almost leathery hide sometimes visible underneath. This generation shambled about with care, lowering themselves into antique rocking chairs, passed down through the family. Pipes were secreted and lit, trails of different colored smoke rising in the air and being carried ever so gently by the breeze. Talk was scarce, never more than a few simple greetings and polite nods. Anything that needed to be said had been said long ago.

Doors slammed open and a multitude of pups ran out, shrieking with laughter and bellies filled with oatmeal. Dams scolded and wagged their paws at the pups for slamming the doors, voices mingling with the excitement of the young ones. Out they rushed, ready to begin a whole new day of fun and games. Some carried balls, bouncing along the old stone roads of the city, echoing for blocks, while some hefted sticks, engaging in pretend swordfights. Their world was one of endless possibilities, of complicated alliances amongst the groups of pups, of rivalries and crushes. A few had chores to do, and that was fine. Pups welcomed each other, always glad for new playmates, activities ever-changing with the arrival or departure of friends. Young bitches whispered and giggled, pointing out the dogs they thought were cute. Some had dolls and found themselves in the grassy park areas of the city, spreading out blankets and having imaginary tea parties with their stuffed friends.

Merchants opened their stalls, setting out wares for the whole world to see. Fruits and vegetables were laid out to look pleasing to the eye. Apples, oranges, lemons, and other citrus cousins attracted shoppers, situated next to potatoes and beets and turnips of the root vegetables, while veggies of the greener persuasion were sold sparingly; Senpaga had a dislike for leafy greens. Noses twitched at delectable smells, coming from the myriad of bakeries and shops. Fresh loaves of bread were snatched up by byers with vigor. Croissants wrapped in paper were bought with sides of jelly for the many that wanted breakfast on the go. Gem sellers hawked precious stones, whether they are for eating or art, or any number of purposes that could be conceived. Cries and shouts of “Buy this!” and “Best quality!” were an everyday occurrence, an opera of sales pitches and catchy phrases.

Underlying all the joviality and friendliness, all the happiness and predictability, a level of unease intermingled with its close friend fear, trickling among the populace like a tiny chemical spill in a stream. It was hardly noticeable, but it was there, and soon the effects would be felt. More guards than usual patrolled the streets, and not just one or two. Dozens, all dressed in armor and carrying spears, swords strapped to their sides, and a smattering of mage staffs marched in twos, searching for something. No crime had been committed, or so it was thought. Today wasn’t supposed to be a drill, was it? No, something had happened, or was going to happen.

All those emotions, from the happiness and joy and familiarity, to the fear and nervousness, had nearly overwhelmed Chrysalis’s sense when she first came aboveground. It was an experience akin to not eating for years at a time and suddenly being force-fed a three course meal, complete with a very rich dessert. Internal leylines had expanded so rapidly with an influx of raw emotional energy that she had passed out for an hour on a pile of rubbish, and it was only by pure luck that she wasn’t seen. Currently the last changeling was lounging on a flat roof with bright red tiles, lying comfortably on her side. A simple color change spell and she was nearly invisible, like a chameleon in the torturous heat of a jungle. Some of the rubbish had stuck to her, and she was now occupied with dislodging banana peel and coffee grinds from the joints in her exoskeleton.

Chrysalis sighed with contentment after she removed the last of the foul waste from her person, chucking a rotten orange slice over the side of the building, snickering when it hit a passerby. Rolling onto her back, careful not to place too much weight on the insectoid wings, she folded her forelegs behind her head, like a pillow of chitin, and gazed longingly at the sky. Such a wondrous shade of light blue, dotted with clouds of fluffy white, waltzing about on thermals and winds from far-off places. Sunlight warmed her, and she purred like a cat. When had Chrysalis last seen the sun? One hundred and twenty years? Time passed slowly, down there in the prison. Without any way of marking the days it was impossible to truly know.

A mission. The changeling had a mission, but right now she didn’t care. A three day timeframe provided plenty of opportunities to carry out Dorgath’s will, and plenty more for leisure and relaxation. Besides, she might not even find what caused the disturbance. There might not be anything. Even if she did, it wouldn’t stop that infuriating Emperor from locking her back in the cell. She poked at the runed collar with a perforated hoof. Stupid magic.

Deciding that decades spent sitting around was quite enough, Chrysalis rocked back and forth and shifted her weight onto all fours, looking like a turtle upside-down on its shell. With a buzz of wings the camouflaged changeling landed in a space between two buildings, well away from public scrutiny. Green flames materialized as her innate magic went to work, running over her body and giving it a brand new form. The fire dissipated, in its place a beautiful Diamond Dog bitch, all rich brown fur and wide hips. A sleek feminine muzzle and long, fluttering eyelashes had been considered attractive the last time she had been allowed outside, and Chrysalis didn’t have reason to think it changed. Her new body wore an opulent robe, reds and golds twisting together to form a multitude of patterns and spirals. It had the appearance of silk, though that was just a façade. Bracelets of gold inlaid with jewels of all types ran up her arms. She hadn’t chosen a particular breed. No, she had chosen an ambiguous form, one to keep dogs guessing. Very little stigma was held against marriage outside your own breed, though a few noble families still preferred it. All in all, Chrysalis gave off an air of power, wealth, and sophistication, perfect for any information gathering. And for other activities, as well.

Stepping out from her hiding place, the bitch sauntered down the street, smiling lightly when she felt dozens of pairs of eyes trained on her. Emotions flowed out from them. Lust and attraction from the dogs; she practically felt their stares on her ass. Appreciation from the bitches, mixed with a generous helping of jealousy and self-loathing over their own, plain looks. Merchants eyed her hungrily; with such fine robes and well-crafted jewelry, surely she must be rich. Chrysalis greedily sucked these emotions up, filling herself and stockpiling the energy for later use.

A multitude of dogs walked about, some with lazy, carefree paces, others hurrying to their destinations. Few of them interested her. Intelligent, light green eyes scanned over the crowd. Ah, there they were. Two guards, both impeccably dressed in cold colored armor, marched side by side, trying to act tough. Even untrained dogs could tell they were fresh recruits, nearly pups themselves. Circular helms that looked to have been halved from metal spheres sat upon their heads, holes cut in the top for the ears. Shiny steel plates, under which would be chainmail, glittered and sparkled under the soft light. Leather pants with metal shin and knee guards provided good protection for the legs, while not inhibiting movement too much.

Chrysalis pretended to be interested in the wares of the stall keepers, perusing the produce and traipsing among the tantalizing trinkets, traveling down the market stalls at a leisurely pace. Closer and closer she came to the guards. They were only a few steps away now.

With as much grace as could be mustered the changeling pretended to trip, letting out a small, dainty squeal of surprise and landing into the chest of one of the guards. He ‘oomphed’ and caught her, wrapping a pair of arms around her. Raising her head, she looked into the guard’s shaggy face as demurely as possible, fluttering her eyelashes and willing a blush into her cheeks.

“I am most sorry, sir guard. I’m just so clumsy,” the bitch said.

“That is quite all right, miss. I hope that you’re uninjured,” he replied.

“I’m fine, thanks to you, my good sir,” Chrysalis said. She righted herself and stepped back, discretely lifting the tail beneath her robes and running it up the inside of his thigh. It was quick and subtle, but by the look on the guard’s face, noticeable. “If you don’t mind me asking, why the increase of guards? Has something happened?”

“I apologize, but I’m not at liberty to say. Though on that note, have you seen anything suspicious? Anything out of the ordinary?” His voice had taken on a serious tone, and it was obvious he was trying to act tough. It may have impressed a young, naïve bitch, but not Chrysalis. They were both green, so green it had practically colored their coats.

“I haven’t even been in the city for a day. Could you tell me what to look out for? Pretty please?” another batting of eyelashes accompanied the question.

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “I suppose it wouldn’t break any rules. Any trace of magic that seems out of place is what we’re supposed to be looking for, especially in the western district of the city. Be on the lookout for anything other than a dog. I know that griffon merchants frequent the city, but if you see one, keep a close eye on it.”

Chrysalis grinned. That information would be helpful, but she wondered if she couldn’t get something more. Both guards looked tired. Bags had formed under their eyes, thick and purple, and the lids above looked to weigh a ton or so. Stifling a yawn, the one that had yet to speak kept his mouth closed, trying to maintain composure. They had been on patrol for a few hours, at least.

“Tell me, when do you two handsome dogs get off? It may be impolite to say, but both of you look like you could use a good rest.”

Both perked up, minds obviously running wild at the prospect of time with a pretty and seemingly noble bitch. The shaggy one spoke up first.

“We have another hour before our duty ends, so if you would like to wait until then, we could meet up somewhere, miss …” he trailed off, not knowing her name.

“Shale. Shale Domipart Rhinestone. And you two gentledogs would be?”

With a bow the silent comrade placed Chrysalis’s paw in his own, lifting it gently to his lips and placing a light kiss on the fur. “Tamben Stonewrought, at your service, milady.”

“And I am Yael Pogrom. Did you have a place in mind, or should we recommend something?” the newly named Yael asked.

“I said once before that I’m new to the city, so I haven’t heard of too many establishments. I trust that you two will pick something lovely.”

“How about the Flaming Drought? It’s a wonderful inn and tavern, just a few blocks south of here, made from white stone. I’ve gone to it for ages, and it has some of the best home brewed alcohol. Their gems are always from the mines, and the owner’s wife makes the tastiest honeyed rubies this side of the Empire,” Tamben said, voicing his enthusiasm.

“Tamben’s right about those rubies. What do you say?” Yael asked.

Chrysalis gave a shy, demure smile to the dogs, the upturn of her lips barely visible. “That sounds lovely. So I’ll meet you two there in an hour or so?”

Both gave big, youthful smiles, white canines shining almost obnoxiously. “Indeed, lady Shale,” they said at the exact time, bowing at the waist. It was obvious they had practiced with each other for situations just like this. Wingdogs, indeed.

“All right then. See you dogs later,” she said, giving them a dainty wave of a paw and turning on her heel, adding an extra flick of a tail under her robes for good measure. Yael and Tamben waited until she had walked the length of the street before they turned and grinned at each other.

“Score!” they said, bumping fists.

***

Every establishment had a noise to it, a sound that defined the place and gave it character, a kind of music that was unique. Restaurants could be considered instruments, finely or shoddily crafted with fine materials or the cheapest, flimsiest things in existence. Some were grand and heavenly, with chandeliers reflecting the dazzling luminescence of white candles and long, opulent tables were set with napkins folded into interesting shapes and silverware shone with a bright, almost haughty gleam, the pieces geometrically organized. Others were hovels, the walls of rotting wood, dust and dirt lingering on the floor, cobwebs in the corners, with a generous helping of old, cracked tables and stools. Others were in between. Trees of high quality had been cut down in far off, snowy forests, the fragrant and strong timbers turned into a skeleton of fibers. On the skeleton was muscle and flesh of fine dark framing, large windows facing out into the world. Stout tables and chairs were organized with just a hint of discord; a welcoming place.

What truly made each establishment unique was not the make and model of the building itself. No, it was the patrons. They played upon the strings of the restaurants, each writing a different and new tune with every appearance. The patrons had to have knowledge of their instrument; it would do now good to place high society members into some seedy, trashy corner, nor would any low or even middle class people be able to comprehend the complexities or needless extravagance of the finer places. Every instrument had its musician and every establishment its patrons, as did the Flaming Drought.

So far, Chrysalis liked the dogs in the Flaming Drought. A double-door had been propped open with a chunk of firewood, the wind and light of the day peeking into the inn and tavern, like a shy child. Tables, round and smooth, the wood polished from numerous elbows dragging across it, were scattered in a haphazard fashion, no sense of order at all. Some were empty of chairs, others crowded, dogs sitting and playing cards, gambling away their last crowns or just enjoying the company of friends. Flagons, stines and mugs of alcohol were passed around, carried on trays by serving wenches in pretty dresses. Plates of steaming hot foodstuffs came constantly from the kitchen. Fresh loaves of crusty, soft bread. Bowls of stew, broth deep brown, carrots and potatoes floating amongst chunks of beef from farms outside the city. For those with a sweet tooth, cakes and pies, brightly colored pastries topped with cream or chocolate, piping hot or cold, however the customer preferred. Fruit bowls, apples and oranges with a few grapes, could be seen by the bar, shuffling between the main room and the kitchen to be refilled.

A cacophony of singing resonated with the old wood of the place, issuing from the mouths of dogs either completely sloshed or merely toasted, all worldly troubles forgotten. Bawdy songs they were, too, detailing sagas of sex among the nobles and the perverted deeds that priests performed on their altars. Rather amusing, the changeling thought. A lyre player, a beagle bitch, had set up in a corner, strumming out a tune to the few that were listening. A fireplace, currently burning with a few solitary coals, was a few paces to the left of a staircase that lead to the two upper floors, where the rooms were. The owner of the inn, a portly, jovial dog, made his rounds, checking on the satisfaction of all those present.

Chrysalis sat with Yael and Tamben, both red-faced from the alcohol, while she was completely fine, even after several drinks. Changeling metabolisms weren’t affected by alcohol. In fact, very few things could poison her. The dogs had traded their armor for nondescript, but good quality, tunics and pants, Yael with green and Tamben with dark blue. Yael’s shaggy white fur had been combed, though there was only so much that could be done with it, and it had a wild, untamed quality, like an ancient forest. Tamben’s fur was smooth and glossy, a small hint of cologne wafting from the tan hair.

“So Shale, tell us. Where do you come from?” asked Tamben, a tiny slur in his voice.

“I was born in an area in the west of the Macintosh Hills, in the Chateau Domipart, as the second daughter of the Rhinestone family. My father is a count, though a lesser known one. My family left for the south to escape the intricacies and scheming of the court, which we’ve always had a distaste for.

“Our primary source of income is through a vineyard and an orchard. My grandfather planted the first vines himself, and soon it grew to cover several hundred acres, the rich soil making the vines shoot up twelve inches overnight. The Rhinestone family has prided ourselves on the wines we make, the unique conditions of the Macintosh Hills making for flavorful grapes.”

“Is that why you’re here? To sell wine in the city?” It was Yael that spoke this time.

Shale gave a slight shake of her head. “Unfortunately I came for less – how should I say it? – benign reasons. While I dearly love my home and family, it gets very lonely, with the only other dogs I see being the hired workers and servants. My father didn’t like travelling, and thought that if we left the chateau unsavory nobles would try to use my family’s money for their own ends, so I’ve never seen the outside world until a few weeks ago, when I slipped away. I felt stifled. So I set out to find who I truly am. And maybe even find love”, she added with a wink, suppressing a laugh as the dogs suddenly sat up straighter.

Shale Domipart Rhinestone was an identity that Chrysalis had used before. Back when she had been free, during the early days of the Second Empire, the persona was used often. Back then the Macintosh Hills were scarcely settled; a drought had sent most dogs scurrying, so it made sense that the House of Rhinestone hadn’t been heard of. It only made sense to use the identity again.

“It isn’t right that you were locked up like that,” Tamben said. “You should be free to do whatever it is that you want. Myself, for instance. My family has always been farmers, plowing the same few acres of land for generation. Me, I didn’t want that. I wanted to be in the guard. From the time I was a pup, stories of heroics and battles fascinated me, so when I came of age I told my sire about my plans. He was royally pissed, going on and on about how I was ruining the family name. Eventually he got over it, but that was after I’d gotten out of training. Your sire may come around, given enough time.”

“Indeed,” replied Yael. “Live your life, follow your passions.” He paused. “This may be the beer talking, but Shale, you’re the most gorgeous bitch I’ve ever met.”

Chrysalis blushed and giggled behind a paw. “Oh, you flatterer. You’re just being nice.”

“No!” Yael nearly shouted. “It’s true. Poets should be praising your beauty from the rooftops. Battles should be fought over you, your story immortalized in history.”

“Yael’s right. I’ve lived in this city for the past year, and never before has such a paragon like yourself been seen here. You’re brightening up Senpaga with your mere presence.”

Chrysalis wasn’t impressed, but she pretended to be. Besides, the more love and admiration they gave her, the stronger she would be. Strength and magic was needed for Dorgath’s task, and while any emotion could be converted to energy, love was the most potent. And the changeling knew just how to get it.

Shale lifted both paws and laid one on Yael’s paw, then Tamben’s. She gave a firm squeeze and added a sultry, seductive smile. Neither noticed the incandescent green aura around her hands, the magic flowing and manipulating thoughts and hormones. The dogs suddenly felt themselves sporting rather uncomfortable erections, and their facial expression wedged somewhere between arousal and mind-numbing horror.

“You know, it’s a bit too noisy here, don’t you think? Why don’t we rent a room; give ourselves some privacy?”

Both simply nodded, the blood in the brain needed for speech having diverted to more important places. All three stood up, the chairs making a harsh screeching noise against the floor. They made their way over to the owner, the two dogs already fumbling bits from pockets to pay for a room. Chrysalis allowed for a genuine smile. This was going to be fun.

***

Well. That had been… something. An experience best described as being between ‘meh’ and ‘never again’. Yael and Tamben weren’t lacking when it came to physical prowess, nor size in the nether regions, but that didn’t account for skill. Or experience. Chrysalis had assumed that they would have both done something before. But no. Virgins, both of them. Bumbling, foolish virgins. She had to take full control of everything, and then Tamben started crying. She had gotten a decent amount of love, though she wondered if it had been worth all that. Chrysalis had cast a sleep spell on the two and high-tailed it out of there, creeping down the stairs and ignoring the steely glares of the proprietor’s wife, who no doubt assumed she was a prostitute.

Which she was, in a way.

The disguised changeling stepped out into the street, not nearly as busy as it had been. Hanging in the middle of the sky the sun’s heat beat down, the pavement sizzling in some places. Most dogs had sought refuge inside, relaxing in the shade of porches and awnings, sipping on chilled drinks. Senpaga was a tad sleepy during midday.

Where had the guards been focusing their search? Ah, yes. The western district. Chrysalis made her way west, navigating the wide streets with relative ease. Back in her day there had been no signs with streets names painted in bold, bright letters. Tiny cracks and crevices between buildings housed beggars and waifs, criminals and other unsavory individuals. It would be ignorant to assume that those groups had gone away. They still existed, maybe in other regions and forgotten portions of the capital, the kinds of places where dams forbade their pups from going. Senpaga had merely undergone a facelift, Chrysalis mused.

More guards began to make an appearance, and dogs on the street glanced and whispered about their presence. She had arrived in the western district of the city, and it was time to get to work. Turning a corner down a small lane Chrysalis changed back into her usual form, glad to feel the ground on her four hooves. Masquerading as a bipedal creature when you possess four legs was challenging and uncomfortable. Sickly jade light gathered to her twisted horn and in an instant the lane was completely empty, the changeling invisible to the naked eye.

Wings buzzed, the muscles burning from years of atrophy, and Chrysalis lifted into the air, nearly as light as a robin. A shout of glee burst from her fanged mouth while she did somersaults and other simple aerobatics; it had been such a long time since she had flown. She twisted in a corkscrew and sped straight into the air, gaining altitude. Soon the dogs of the city looked like tiny dots, meandering around. Buildings became chunky, square blocks, like something a pup would play with.

Closing her eyes, the changeling hovered in place, steadying her breathing. Other senses were activated, the ones used to hunt and find prey. Her species could theoretically devour any and all kinds of energy, and with an appetite for raw power came keen abilities.

Emotions washed over her, an ocean wave of thoughts and feelings. She saw everything that was felt, from anger to love, kindness and apathy. Errant thoughts were picked up, mostly concerned with normal happenings and life. Some would be considered interesting by gossips and wives, and others would no doubt end a few marriages. Magic, too, prickled along her horn, a familiar tingling; a friend. Ambient background magic coated the city in a fine film. Two places stood out, the palace and the college, both lit up like miniature suns, centuries of spells cast within their walls. What caught her attention, though, was a thin, nearly intangible trail of magic, different than anything else. It was the kind of magic you would expect to see after a teleportation spell. When a magic user performed a spell or action, a certain amount of the arcane particles would stick to the caster, but it would take an insane amount to leave that much of a trail, even as tiny as it was.

Chrysalis flew, flying lower to the ground to keep a close eye on the trail, just a few feet above most roofs. It snaked its way between side streets and abodes, avoiding the main thoroughfares and the public eye. Whatever had come here either knew the city well, or was being guided by an inhabitant.

Twists lead to turns that lead to more twists, nearing the edge of the city. Finally the trail exited the city, entering a wide, flat road of grey stone. It turned, making its way into a copse of pine. Chrysalis landed, pine needles crunching underhoof, the scent of the trees and grass pleasant on the nose. Very little underbrush cluttered the floor beneath the trees, and a small portion was dappled light blue by the petals of bluebells, an island of color amidst a sea of shadowy green and brown. She leaned down and gave the flowers a sniff, smiling a bit. Flowers were always a weakness of hers, back when she still lived with her mother.

Continuing on her search, the trail exited the trees and entered a meadow, the grass a multitude of greens, rolling and twisting under a slight breeze, like the lapping of water on a shoreline. Farmhouses dotted the landscape, situated cozily next to fenced-off squares of vegetable patches. The changeling spied what appeared to be an apple orchard, far in the distance, trees filled with the succulent fruit. Close by, at the very end of well-worn dirt path, was a small house, barely big enough for two. It was stone, the brown exterior a charming contrast to the deep, rich black of the roof tiles. A window or two was spied in the sides. The yard surrounding the house was neatly trimmed, a row of hedges wrapping the perimeter. Chrysanthemums, two bushes worth, guarded an opening in the hedge, straddling the sides of the path that ended at a rustic red door. Most importantly, the trail followed the path perfectly, right up to the door.

Before Chrysalis could investigate further her inner magic sense went haywire, ringing warning bells in her head. Quickly she jumped back, anticipating some form of massive magic release, most likely an attack. Her invisibility spell forgotten, the former queen summoned a shield, flickering and made from emerald magic. A good thing, too, as the house groaned and exploded, a burst of magic capable of leveling an entire block ten times over. The once humble home was turned to rubble, wood and stone reduced to dust and ash. Her shield groaned and strained while it was pummeled, the effort made harder by the magic in the air disrupting her own. A pillar of white light, made from pure magic, rose and touched the sky, likely seen from a mile around. Something besides rubble hit her shield; coming flying from the epicenter of the event was a Diamond Dog, impacting the shield and stopping, unable to move.

As soon as it had begun, it was over. Magic dissipated and bled into the air. Chrysalis cursed; all traces of the trail would have been wiped out by the blast. She lowered her shield and gazed down at the dog, a male, who looked at her in confusion before passing out. His body was riddled with cuts and lacerations. Wooden shrapnel, one especially large piece that looked to be from a mage staff, judging by the engraved runes, was stuck in a hind leg. The changeling took one last look at the smoldering house. Nope, she probably wouldn’t find anything there. This dog was her best bet, and he was dying.

A quick spark of her horn and a scanning spell assessed the damage. Broken bones, smaller fractures, but luckily there wasn’t any internal bleeding. How he’d managed to survive the blast with so few injuries was a miracle. None too gently she wrenched the sliver of wood from his leg, swiftly applying magic to stop the bleeding. A healing spell rippled across the dog’s body, stitching small cuts. Chrysalis wasn’t well versed in healing magic, and it took a great deal of power to perform the necessary spells. Indeed, flesh injuries she could heal, to an extent, but broken bones were another thing all together. She spent the next few minutes making sure he was stable. The magic burst would have been seen by hundreds, if not thousands, and no doubt guards would be swarming the area in a few minutes.

Once the dog wasn’t near death’s door Chrysalis wreathed herself in the invisibility spell once more, lifting off with a buzz of her wings. Just in time, too. Dogs from the nearby farms had arrived, and the changeling saw a group of a dozen or so guards exiting the city. Now she needed to report back to Dorgath. Ugh.

With a sigh she turned, flying back towards Senpaga with a heavy heart. The Emperor would no doubt be stark raving mad over all the attention that was drawn by the explosion, and he’d find some way to pin it on her.

Being a prisoner sucked.