Dragonseed (42 page)

“Was poison used by the assassins?”

“No. This was my first thought as well. It doesn’t appear to be the work of Blasphet.”

Vulpine walked over to the tarp. He craned his neck down to see the gears and wheels laid out before him in the dim light that remained. He shook his head as he contemplated this turn of events.

“Why did he delay in sending me the formula?” Vulpine asked, speaking more to himself than Arifiel. “I would have had gunpowder in production within a day.”

“The greatest failing of biologians is that they debate all matters endlessly before taking action,” said Arifiel. “Chapelion is the ultimate embodiment of this flaw.”

Vulpine wanted to scold the female for making such disparaging accusations against his chief employer, yet in his heart, he knew it was true. As well as things were going here, it sounded as if things were in decline at the Dragon Palace. Every few days brought bad news. The Grand Library was burned. A dozen aerial guards and valkyries had abandoned their posts, in contrast to the mere four under his command. Now this.

“The valkyries were to aid in the protection of Chapelion and his advisors,” said Vulpine. “Instead they’ve focused their attention on seducing members of the aerial guard and fleeing.”

“I would argue it's members of the aerial guard who are leading the valkyries astray.”

Vulpine ground his teeth. “The blame for our setbacks rests upon multiple shoulders, including my own. I’ve underestimated the humans in the fort. First the new bows, then the guns. Now they’ve built a war machine capable of rolling under its own power. There’s obviously a genius hidden within the walls of the fort. He sent the assassins.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“You valkyries are the ones who boast of being experts in war,” said Vulpine. “What would you do about it?”

“I would load the catapults with barrels of flaming pitch and burn the city to the ground. We can build a new foundry on the ashes of the old.”

“We could build a new foundry a few miles up the road without destroying anything,” said Vulpine. “There’s more to victory than mere destruction.”

“Do you have a better strategy?”

Vulpine scratched his chin and gazed at the red sky left by the vanished sun. The black outlines of Sawface’s scarecrows ran along the ridge.

“Ah,” he said.

“Ah?” asked Arifiel.

“Tell your valkyries to ready their catapults. Have Sawface remove the scarecrows. They’ve served their purpose on the roads.”

He looked toward Dragon Forge. The sky above it was dim in comparison to only a week ago. He said, “Whoever our mysterious genius is, he’ll be working in unpleasant weather tomorrow.”

Arifiel looked up. “The sky isn’t all that cloudy.”

“We won’t need clouds for the rain I have in mind,” said Vulpine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

THIS LITTLE PATCH OF EARTH

SHAY AND HEX
stood beside the tiny grave. They were near the peak of a rocky, rugged mountain, covered with a low, thick cover of rhododendron bushes. The stone shelf jutted out relatively flat for a dozen yards. Shay had made Lizard’s grave by piling stones into a rough pyramid. From the cliff, the view was breathtaking, a narrow valley winding among steep-walled mountains. The sun painted the valley in vivid shades of green. The rhododendron leaves held their color throughout the winter.

The sun warmed the stone shelf. Birds sang in the bushes behind him. When his own time came, Shay could think of worse places for his mortal remains to rest.

Hex stood nearby. Shay hadn’t spent much time around sun-dragons—even though Hex was friendly, it was still difficult not to feel small and vulnerable in his imposing presence.

“I should say something,” Shay said. “It’s traditional to pray.”

“We dragons don’t offer prayers to the dead,” said Hex. “We speak mainly for the comfort of the surviving relatives and friends. We cremate our dead. The living inhale the smoke of the body. In this way, the deceased becomes part of our vital energy. It seems wasteful to bury a body.”

“Humans prefer burial because we like to think of death as a type of sleep from which we’ll one day awaken. The families of the dead visit the grave and talk to their lost loved ones.”

“Not many people can visit him here, I fear.”

“Lizard didn’t have any friends other than Jandra. Zeeky, maybe.”

“And you,” said Hex.

“I wasn’t much of a friend, I’m afraid,” said Shay. His shoulders sagged. “I thought it was only a matter of time before the little beast tried to eat us.”

“So why bury him?”

“Because Jandra loved him. And… he obviously loved her, or came as close to love as an earth-dragon can get. He fought to protect her.” Shay straightened up, crossing his hands in front of himself as the wind whipped over the edge of the cliff. He faced the mound of stones.

 “Lizard I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if anything waits for anyone after we die, for men or dragons. But, if there is some great final judge who weighs the good we’ve done in life against the bad, I hope he judges that you were brave, you were gentle, and you were even wise. You accepted Jandra’s love without question or hesitation. If there’s a heaven, I hope you find a home there.”

The shadow pointing from the pyramid led straight to Shay’s feet. He felt as if the words he was saying were trivial, weightless noises that would vanish in the air. Yet, he had to keep talking.

“Maybe there is no heaven, and perhaps death is just another kind of sleep. Maybe someday you’re going to wake up and look out over the valley. I hope this little patch of earth will make you happy when you see it.”

Shay looked over his shoulder. “In a month or two, all these bushes are going to bloom with a million flowers. Maybe you’ll wake up on a morning like that. It would have been fun to watch you hiding among them with your camouflage.”

He searched desperately for more words to say. A faint smile crossed his lips as he found the words he'd meant to say all along. “Sleep well, Lizard.”

Shay turned away from the stones. “I wish I’d had something to read.”

“You took those books from the barracks.”

“Those aren’t for poetry,” said Shay.

“Your words were quite moving,” said Hex. “I think you’ve said what needed to be said.”

Shay shook his head. “I think that with every day that passes, I’m coming to understand the inadequacy of words.” He unfurled his metal wings. The wind played across his silvery feathers. In the valley, white circles of light danced on the dark leaves, reflections of the sun on his wings.

“Let’s go,” he said, tilting forward, his feet lifting from the earth. Now driven by the urgency of their cause, Shay had lost all fear of flying and was grateful for the twists and turns of fate that had provided him wings. They traveled a hundred miles in the span of a few hours.

Shay could have traveled further, faster. His mechanical wings were tireless. They also propelled him more swiftly than Hex could follow, a literally breathtaking speed at which the wind made it difficult to fill his lungs. Hex required several breaks. The sun-dragon flew at a speed that any could outpace any horse, but he couldn’t keep up with Shay.

They paused to drink by a stream at the edge of a farm. Off in the distance, cows gave them nervous glances. Shay noticed the big dragon trembling when he lowered his head to the water. Hex’s right limbs looked shakier than their counterparts.

“Are you all right?” Shay asked. “Are you still recovering from Jazz’s attack?”

“Somewhat,” said Hex. “Half of my body is numb. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but my speech feels slurred.”

“I never heard you talk before, so I can’t judge. Have you always lisped?”

“I suspect Jazz’s attack had the practical effect of a mild stroke,” said Hex. “A more sustained assault might have killed me.”

“We don’t have to keep pushing on if you don’t feel up to it. We don’t know where Jazz is.”

“We don’t have the luxury of resting,” said Hex. “It’s difficult to counter the speed advantages of a foe who can traverse great distances in a heartbeat by taking a shortcut through unreality. I want to go to the Free City as swiftly as possible to recover the genie, then travel to Dragon Forge.”

“Dragon Forge? Why?”

“Bitterwood was heading there to rescue Zeeky’s brother, Jeremiah. He may linger there still. If he’s moved on, no doubt someone can provide us with clues to their next destination.”

“I’m not really welcome in Dragon Forge anymore. You
definitely
aren’t welcome. They’ll shoot you from the sky the second they see you.”

“I’ll approach on foot, fully armored. I hid my armor near Rorg’s cavern to travel more swiftly. If needed, I’ll recover it. I’m not afraid of archers.”

Shay held up the shotgun. “Forget the archers. This is what you need to worry about. It can punch holes in armor. The earth-dragons we fought at Burke’s Tavern had armor and we cut right through them.”

“Hmm,” said Hex. “I’m sure we can think of something. Perhaps you can enter the city in disguise.”

Hex peered toward the western sky. “It will be dark before long. Perhaps we should rest. I don’t like to fly after dark. Landing is often problematic.”

“It’s a shame the visors don’t fit you,” said Shay, pulling his own silver visor from the satchel that hung at his side. He looked down into the leather bag, at the many treasures within it he’d taken from the long-wyrm rider barracks. He had a second bag slung over his other shoulder—Jandra’s pack. He’d stuffed her coat into it. It was probably pointless to hold on to her things, but it felt wrong to leave them behind. “If you could use the visor, we could fly all night.”

“At some point, you’ll need sleep as much as I do. You can’t move forever on pure adrenaline.”

Shay stretched his back. He ached all over from his earlier efforts in digging. “You’re probably right. A couple of hours of sleep might do us both some good. At the first light of dawn, we’ll split up. You go to the Free City and get the genie. I’ll go to Dragon Forge and find Bitterwood.”

Hex took another sip from the stream as he thought about this plan, lapping the water like a giant cat. His tongue looked awful, with a circular wound all purple and raw right in the center of it.

“Your plan is sound,” said the sun-dragon. Water streamed from the right side of his mouth. “I only hope that the goddess doesn’t find him first.”

BURKE GROANED AS
he stretched out on the burlap sack they’d spread on the chicken coop floor, a filthy mess of waste, feathers, and straw. They’d traveled to Nat Goodsalt’s farm near Burke’s Tavern and found the house and barn burned to the ground. The chicken coop had been the only building still standing, though it was blackened on one corner and the door lay on the ground a dozen yards away. All the chickens were gone. The spoils of war, no doubt.

It was dark outside; the wind whistled as it pushed through the cracks in the thin walls. Scratching noises within the straw told Burke he was sharing his bed with mice, but he was too tired and sore to worry about his bedmates. Covering ninety miles on uneven terrain with one leg had narrowed the focus of his world these last few days. It was difficult to think of anything other than the bloody, puss-filled blisters that the crutch had worked into his armpit.

Burke barely moved when a shadow fell across him. From the smell, he knew it was Thorny.

“Vance is hunting up some grub,” said Thorny. “I looked around and can’t find any bodies. Goodsalt must have fled before the dragons got here.”

Burke nodded slightly, too worn out to speak.

Somewhere not too far away, there was a crisp, musical
ZING
as a sky-wall bow was fired, followed by, “Woohoo!”

Thorny left the doorway and peeked around the edge of the coop. “Dang if that boy hasn’t got us a possum!”

Burke’s stomach gurgled at the thought of food. “Let me rest my eyes for a minute, then I’ll help cook it.”

Thorny said something in response, but the words sounded distant. Sleep yawned before him like an open pit. He slipped into its depths.

When he woke, there were voices outside the door. It was still dark outside; he could smell a campfire and charred meat, and something else, something he couldn’t identify at first.

It smelled musty, slightly sour, almost like… a dragon? He sat up, his eyes wide as they probed the darkness. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying out in pain as he tried to move his left arm. The blisters had scabbed over as he slept; it was like his upper arm had been glued to his rib cage. His eyes watered as he peeled his arm free.

Burke was freezing. They’d escaped Dragon Forge with only the clothes on their backs, plus the few meager supplies they’d stolen from the cabin. His toes were full of tiny little knives of ice. His phantom leg shared the symptoms. He reached down and rubbed the toes of his remaining foot through his boot. Though he knew it was irrational, he moved his hand to where his nerves told him his other foot lay. On some instinctive level, he was disappointed when his fingers closed on empty air. On a more rational level, he was relieved that he still had at least some tenuous understanding of reality.

He scooted closer to the wall and carefully peeked through a crack to see what was happening. That tenuous understanding of reality took a sharp blow as he found himself staring at the side of an impossibly long, multi-limbed dragon covered with overlapping copper scales. The head of the beast reminded him of old prints he’d seen of eastern dragons—purely mythological creatures, unlike the flesh and blood dragons he was used to fighting. For a mythical beast, it looked solid enough. Its breath came out as great puffs of steam in the frosty night.

The beast turned its giant head toward the chicken coop. Burke jerked his eyes from the crack and pressed his back against the wall, his heart racing. He searched the blackness of the chicken coop for a weapon. The shotgun must be outside with Vance.

As the seconds ticked past, he began to assemble a theory about the oversized lizard waiting at his door. Jandra had talked about a new kind of dragon, a long-wyrm, that fit the description. More importantly, she’d told him about the long-wyrm riders. These creatures weren’t as smart as other dragons and were closer in intelligence and temperament to horses.