Dragonseed (7 page)

“Who are you?” he tried to say. His lips moved, but only the barest sound came out.

The figure pulled back his hood, revealing an old man, his hair thin and gray, his skin wrinkled and leathery. “Have I changed so much?”

Burke stared at the visitor. There was something familiar about his eyes. “Bant?” he asked, his voice cracking. He swallowed and tried again. “Bant Bitterwood?”

 “I always wondered if you’d made it out of Conyers in one piece.”

Burke stared at the flat spot on the blanket where his leg should have been. “Defeat left me with a few scars. It’s taken a victory to rip me in two.”

“Not a bad victory,” said Bitterwood. “The fields around here are full of dead dragons. The stench for miles is unbelievable. I was walking by buzzards too fat to flap away. You did good, Kanati.”

“I did what I had to,” said Burke. “Ragnar had no plan; he had passion and an army, but I knew that wasn’t enough. If I’d let him take this fort, then allowed the dragons to crush him, the dragon’s grip on this world would only be stronger. This wasn’t a battle I chose. Still, I admit, watching those dragons rain from the sky made it worth it.” He looked down at his missing limb. “It was worth even this.”

Bitterwood face went slack. It looked as if Burke’s words had triggered some distant memory. Burke thought he might be about to speak, but when he didn’t, Burke chose to break the silence.

“You’ve been busy yourself. Jandra tells me you killed practically the entire royal family, including Blasphet. And, you took down Jasmine Robertson, the so-called goddess. She was the real threat to humanity, even more than the dragons.”

Bitterwood scratched the raspy stubble under his chin. “You know me,” he said. “I’ve never been good at nothing but killing. Killing the goddess wasn’t a big deal. Once I saw past her tricks, she was only a woman.” His shoulders sagged. His voice was softer as he said, “If you’d told me twenty years ago I’d one day kill a woman, I’d have said you were wrong. I thought there were some lines even I wouldn’t cross.” He wasn’t looking directly at Burke as he spoke. As he finished, he slowly shook his head.

“Don’t beat yourself up over killing that monster,” said Burke.

Bitterwood looked him in the eyes. Something hardened in his expression. “I did what I had to. I don’t regret it. I’d do it again.”

“I’m sure you would,” said Burke. “I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t.”

“Blasphet claimed he was the god of murder. He believed it, I think. He thought he was a god.”

“I never met him,” said Burke, uncertain where this change of subject was heading. “I always did admire the body count he racked up among dragons, though. You too, by the way. You put the fear of God into every dragon in this kingdom, Bant.”

“No,” said Bitterwood. “That wasn’t who they feared. There is no god, Kanati, to dispense vengeance upon the wicked. I had to do the job myself. I am the Death of All Dragons. I am the Ghost Who Kills.”

Burke studied the lines of Bitterwood’s face. There was a haunted look to the man’s eyes. Something about dragon-hatred eventually broke the minds of almost anyone it seized.

“What brings you here, Bant?” asked Burke.

“A girl who talks to ghosts.”

Burke furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not traveling alone,” said Bitterwood. “I’m the guardian of a girl named Zeeky, and her brother, Jeremiah, once I find him. Their family was killed by the goddess. The ghosts of everyone from their village are trapped in a crystal ball. Zeeky can hear them whispering to her. They’ve told Zeeky we need to save Jandra.”

“You’re here because you’re guided by ghosts?” Burke asked. Saying it out loud didn’t help it make more sense. “I’m afraid the ghosts have led you astray. Jandra was here, but she left at sunset. What time is it?”

“Almost dawn,” said Bitterwood.

“She’s miles away by now.”

Bitterwood sighed. “In fairness to Zeeky, the ghosts didn’t say Jandra was here. We followed her first to the Nest. We learned that she’d come to Dragon Forge. I should have come straight to the gates yesterday. Instead I wanted to investigate the area. It wasn’t a waste of time. I killed a few slavecatchers.”

“Did the ghosts say what you’re saving Jandra from?”

“No,” Bitterwood said. “I can’t hear them myself. Only Zeeky can. She says they’re tough to figure out. They all talk at once.”

“I don’t place any faith in the words of ghosts, but if you want to chase after Jandra, she’s heading up the Forge Road. My own daughter, Anza, is with her.”

“You have a family now?” Bitterwood asked.

“Only Anza. Biologically, she’s my niece, but I’ve raised her as my own. She’s definitely my child in spirit.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember what they called me at Conyers?”

“Kanati the Machinist.”

“Now I’m Burke the Machinist. My name I wear lightly; the Machinist is my true identity. I’ve always been comfortable working with cogs and clockwork and springs, far more than I have with my fellow men.”

“What’s this have to do with your daughter?”

Burke lowered himself back down onto the bed, his weight resting on his elbows. Perhaps it was the pain in his head that weakened him. Perhaps it was the presence of the man who’d shared in his darkest defeat, long ago. Whatever the source of the weakness, there was something he had to confess: “From the day Anza was old enough to pick up a dagger I’ve been … programming her. When she was five, I captured a young earth-dragon and had her kill it.”

Bitterwood didn’t look shocked by this confession. Somehow, this caused Burke’s guilt to well up even faster. “I’ve raised her with a single-minded focus on combat. I’ve taught her to think of her body as a weapon, precise and tireless. She fights like nothing you’ve ever seen, Bant. She’s my ultimate weapon. But there are times when I look into her eyes, and there’s something cold and mechanical staring back at me. Fate gave me a daughter. I turned her into a machine.”

Bitterwood winced as Burke’s words triggered memories. “I had daughters once,” he said, softly.

“I remember your story. Albekizan killed your wife and children and burned your village. It was the spark that brought flame to that time of drought.”

“I was wrong,” said Bitterwood.

“About what?”

“My family hadn’t been killed. They were taken captive and sold as slaves. They lived another twenty years, beyond the day I believed they’d died.”

“Oh,” said Burke.

“They were executed the day after I killed Bodiel, Albekizan’s beloved son. The king ordered all the palace slaves slain in retribution.”

“Oh,” Burke said again. What else was there to say?

“It’ll be light soon. I should leave.”

“I hope you find Jandra,” said Burke. “Do you… do you need anything before you go? I’ve made a new type of bow that’s going to be far superior to whatever you’re using.”

Bitterwood grinned. It was an unsettling expression. “I doubt that.”

“How about fresh horses?” asked Burke. “We don’t have many to spare, but I…” He let his voice trail off. Bitterwood was still grinning.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I was thinking of what you would say if you saw my ride. I won’t be needing a horse.”

Burke lay back on his pillow. The movement made his brains slosh. He closed his eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. A cold draft washed over him. He welcomed its cool touch.  “If you don’t need anything from me, I guess you should be on your way.”

Bitterwood didn’t answer. Burke opened his eyes. He was alone in the room. For a moment he wondered if he’d dreamed the whole encounter, a phantom companion to match his phantom toes. But he could still smell Bitterwood’s distinctive smell, a mixture of stale sweat and dried blood. Not for the first time in his life, Burke wondered if he’d done the right thing. He hadn’t known Jandra long, but he liked her, and judged her to be competent and sane. Had he done her any favors by putting this strange ghost onto her trail?

CHAPTER FIVE:

SLAVERY AS AN EVOLUTIONARY STRATEGY

THE CHILL OF
night yielded as the winter sun climbed in a flawless blue sky. Shay unbuttoned the collar of his coat as they stopped by a stream to allow the horses to rest. The cool fresh air felt good against his throat. The tiny puncture wounds from Zernex’s claws were scabbed up and puffy beneath his fingers. He wished he had a mirror. The grooves on the underside of a sky-dragon’s claws collected a foul-smelling goop that harbored disease. Shay hoped he hadn’t survived the encounter with the slavecatchers only to perish of some horrible illness.

Shay was exhausted but didn’t complain when the others voted to keep going. As the day wore on they passed through three villages, all destroyed, the severed heads gathered into mounds. The tracks of earth-dragons were everywhere. They all rode in silence. Anza looked especially withdrawn, her face an emotionless mask. She had to be wondering if her home had also suffered this fate.

Shay was also worried about the town. Had Burke’s hidden library been destroyed? He felt guilty that the fate of the books weighed so heavily on his mind, when Anza no doubt faced the loss of friends and family. He could still feel the empty hole that had opened in his gut when he saw
The Origin of Species
crumble to ash. How could he have been so wrong about Ragnar? The prophet had been delivering firebrand sermons calling for human rebellion for years. His words traveled throughout the kingdom as hushed whispers from slave to slave. Burke may have been the strategist who supplied the rebels with a worthy arsenal, but it was Ragnar’s vision that the rebels followed. How could such a great leader despise books?

It was late in the evening when the dragon tracks they followed suddenly veered south, leaving the Forge Road. Ruts from a convoy of supply wagons led up the sloping hill of a field gone fallow. Shay looked toward the top of the ridge, wondering if an army was on the other side.

“Where to you think they’ve gone?” Vance asked, pulling his horse beside Shay.

Anza snapped her fingers and traced a wavy line in the air. Shay was puzzled by what she was attempting to convey. Anza looked frustrated, and repeated the motion.

“A river?” Jandra asked.

Anza nodded.

“I’d noticed we hadn’t passed any good drinking water in several miles. They must have gone to the river to camp. How far south is the water?”

Anza held up two fingers.

“Two miles?” asked Jandra.

Anza nodded.

They all stared at the hill. The trampled ground was reasonably fresh, but whether the army had turned south an hour ago or a day ago was beyond Shay’s guess.

Lizard stood up on Jandra’s shoulder, his head held high. He sniffed, then crouched down and assumed a brown shade that matched Jandra’s hair.

“Bad bosses,” he whispered.

“If they’re close enough for Lizard to smell, we should get going,” said Shay.

“Or we should spy on them,” said Vance. “Find out how many there are. See if they’re settled in for a long stay, or just resting for a night.”

“No,” said Jandra. “We should press on to Burke’s Tavern. Warn any towns along the way that the dragon armies are on the march and they should run.”

“Run where?” asked Vance. “If they head toward Dragon Forge, they might run into the army.”

“Then east,” said Jandra. “Toward Richmond. Shandrazel may be dead, but Androkom, the High Biologian, will maintain law and order around the palace. The High Biologian can command the aerial guard in the event of the king’s absence. He’ll keep the peace in his immediate vicinity, at least.”

“You have a lot of faith in Androkom,” said Shay. “He was somewhat infamous at the College of Spires. He was a prominent abolitionist, and made a lot of enemies among the biologians. I’m not certain the other sky-dragons will obey him.”

“I didn’t like him either,” said Jandra. “He had a snooty air that made it clear he didn’t think anyone else in the world was as smart as he was. Still, while I have every reason to hate dragons”—Lizard whined; Jandra stroked his arm—“I trust Androkom. If anyone is smart enough to keep the kingdom from spinning into chaos, it’s him.”

“Don’t we want the kingdom to be spinning into chaos?” asked Vance. “Order and peace haven’t been all that great for humans. That’s the whole reason I joined up with the rebellion. If peace means that dragons are in charge, count me as friend of war.”

Before they could debate this any further, Anza gave a silent sigh, rolled her eyes, and turned her horse in the direction of Burke’s Tavern. She dug her heels into the flanks of her steed and trotted off.

“I guess we’re following her,” said Jandra, shaking the reins of her mount.

“For someone who can’t talk, Anza always manages to win arguments,” said Vance.

IT WAS LONG
past dark when they reached Burke’s Tavern. Jandra was exhausted. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be truly weary. When she’d worn her genie, the device had constantly monitored her physical state, negating the fatigue poisons that built up her blood. She resolved not to complain about her discomfort. She knew she was experiencing nothing worse than the others.

Burke’s Tavern, the town, wasn’t much more than a cluttered spot on the Forge Road, a few dozen houses clumped together. In the center of all this was a two-story building with a large porch and a painted wooden sign that read, “Burke’s Tavern.” The town was silent and still, but it was the quietness of sleep, not death. There were no signs of violence; the retreating dragon armies hadn’t reached this far. It was quite possible no one here knew anything about the events from further down the road. The size of a dragon’s world and a man’s world were quite different. Sky-dragon messengers could cover two hundred miles a day, spreading news quickly. Humans lived much more insular lives—it could take many days for information to spread a hundred miles among humans. For a winged dragon, a town ninety miles distant was part of the neighborhood. For a human, a town ninety miles distant was out of sight and out of mind. Vendevorex had told her that most men never traveled more than fifty miles from their birthplace, though Jandra wondered if this was true or merely a myth believed by dragons. Many of the men she knew, like Bitterwood and Burke, had traveled through more of the world than she could imagine.