Free Wakeworld by Kerry Schafer

but it was one of the attackers who had fallen. The death dance resumed, Zee still on his feet. He fought brilliantly, but there were too many.
    She had to help him, had to fight this heaviness that immobilized her.
    Shift them, change them. If she could eliminate even one of them, it would help Zee. A moment later one of the men held only sticks in his hands, futile against Zee’s sword. There was time for fear to cross his face, and then he was dead. Two down. She turned her mind to the next, hope springing up in her breast. They could do this, she and Zee. She would disarm them, he would kill them. The third man fell after his weapons just vanished, leaving his hands empty. And then the fourth, without her having done a thing. Zee and his last opponent stood a distance apart, studying each other, holding off before making the final move.
    Dead bodies lay sprawled in the dirt, limbs tangled in vegetation. Blood spattered Zee’s face and clothing, and it wasn’t all the blood of his enemies. An ugly laceration ran from shoulder to elbow of his right arm. He’d shifted the sword to his left hand. His breath came too hard and he moved slowly, as though gravity had increased its pull on him.
    The gray man didn’t even look tired. He spun his swords up into the air and caught them. White teeth flashed. Vivian shifted his swords to sticks, but they shifted back before Zee could make a move.
    The man whirled, the two blades dancing. Zee blocked and parried one, but the second got past him and traced a line of crimson down his side.
    “Surrender!”
    Zee managed another blow. It drew blood. His opponent staggered and one of his swords dropped to the earth.
    Vivian’s heart leaped in hope as she again focused on a shift, this time making the remaining blade disappear altogether.
    And then, so unfair, more warriors swarmed over the fence, an army of loose-jointed figures with fresh blades.
    “Surrender!” the swordsman facing Zee shouted again, brand-new blades shining in his hands, as the wave of reinforcements swept up behind him.
    “Vivian, go!” Zee shouted, bracing himself for a hopeless defense. One last swing, and the onslaught bore him to the ground.
    There had to be a way to fix this. Vivian grabbed the first image that came to mind and started the shift. The men began to sprout white feathers, to shrink. Their noses grew sharp and beaklike, their necks elongated.
    The transformation was almost complete when an override struck her brain with an agony that nearly blinded her. Her legs felt like rubber; nausea surged in her belly. But Zee was going to be killed and she tried again. This time the pain dropped her to her knees, whimpering.
    “Pitiful,” a woman’s voice said. “And stupid. Now give me the box.”
    Vivian couldn’t move. Breathing was an agony that threatened to blow her head apart. Even the blood traveling through her veins created too much sensation. She willed herself to run, to do something to save the Key, but movement was beyond her.
    She felt the box taken from her hand.
    No more clanging of swords, no thudding of fists or grunts of effort. Nothing but her own too-loud breath.
    When the voice spoke again, she tried to get her eyes open, but the light stabbed like daggers and the first attempt turned her stomach inside out.
    “Get her out of my sight,” the voice said, dripping with disgust.
    “It would be easiest to kill her.” A male voice now, accented and unfamiliar.
    “Leave her alive. She may yet be of use. The rest of you—bind the warrior before he wakes.”
    Hard hands grasped Vivian’s arms and dragged her to her feet, sending brand-new daggers of agony stabbing into her brain. The Voice of command was too far away for her to reach; her muscles didn’t belong to her. Bracing herself against the pain, she managed to stiffen her knees, force her eyes open, but then the hands lifted her and flung her through an open doorway.
    The pain was beyond enduring and all the world went