Liberator (8 page)

R
andall let his gaze drift from a tall evergreen tree to a moss-covered boulder to a marshy pool. The early morning

sounds of the forest—cricket chirps, bird calls, and dripping dew—had diminished … ominously so. Even the breeze had settled, and the treetops no longer rustled. In spite of the still air, leaves fell from the deciduous trees like rain, as if autumn had arrived at an accelerated rate. The loss of shelter was troubling. Soon any beast flying overhead would be able to spot them.

He propped his sword against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you hear something, Tibber?”

Standing at Randall’s side, Tibalt grabbed his stringy gray hair with both hands, pulling it away from his ears. “Not a thing.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Yep. Noise is good. My years in the dungeon taught me that. Too much quiet means either you’re dead or everyone else is. I remember once when six prisoners died on the same night. It got so quiet I started to wonder if I was dead myself, but when I heard my heart beating, I decided —”

“Shhh!” Randall craned his neck. For a moment, a flapping sound had mixed in with Tibalt’s ramblings—either a huge bird or a dragon—but now silence ensued again.

“What did you hear?” Tibalt whispered.

“I’m not sure.” Randall pointed his sword at a southward path, no more than a series of gaps between knee-high thorn bushes. “If Elyssa’s directions are accurate, I think we should head that way.”

As the two continued their single-file march, Tibalt chattered from behind. “The forest sure beats the mining area. I thought Solarus was going to pound every last drop of water out of me. But these trees are nice. And I hear water running, so there must be a stream close by.” He drew in a deep breath, then coughed. “The smell could be better. Something foul is in the air, like a dead dog. It’s a wonder we haven’t seen vultures. Still, with no dragons around, this world of slavery and cruel oppression ain’t so bad.”

“True. This section of Starlight is a lot like home.” After several minutes of quiet walking, Randall halted at the edge of a wide, shallow stream, one of Elyssa’s landmarks. If this was the right place, the campsite she and Wallace had made should be only a hundred paces more to the south. Now it was time to listen even more carefully. If any escaped slaves were around, the two would-be
rescuers might be the cause of their deaths, not by the teeth of dragons, but by the ravages of disease.

Randall scratched his chest, where a rash had erupted. Tibalt had reported the same. As old as Tibalt was, the contagion might consume him like fire through tinder wood. Yet, he seemed as spry and cheerful as ever.

“Do you still have the note?” Randall asked.

“Right here.” From his belt, Tibalt withdrew a rolled-up parchment tied with a leather cord. “Should I post it on a tree?”

“Not yet. We have to make sure someone will find it.” Randall listened again to the silence, waiting, but nothing reached his ears. “I suppose I should call out.”

Tibalt shrugged. “At this point, what could it hurt? If a dragon hears us, we’ll just die sooner rather than later. At least the disease will burn with us.”

“That’s not exactly an uplifting scenario.”

“I tell it like I see it. As my pappy used to say, ‘There’s no use planting daisies around a pig sty.’ “

“Wise words.” Randall set a hand at the side of his mouth and called out, “Can anyone hear me?” His words echoed once, warbling, as if divided by the surrounding trees.

While they waited for an answer, Randall trained his ears skyward. The flapping returned, somewhere to the east, but no shadows interrupted the clear blue sky. The mining mesas lay two miles or so in that direction, so a dragon on patrol in that area might have ventured into the forested region.

Another flapping noise sounded, this time from the west, too far away to be the same dragon. Maybe they
were birds after all, huge eagles looking for a catch at dawn, or maybe vultures that had detected the rotting flesh of two diseased humans.

“Birds?” Randall asked.

“Birds twice the size of horses, maybe. If they’re hawks, I’m gonna be a scurrying rat in about ten seconds.”

Randall lifted his sword and pointed it toward the eastern sky. A shadow passed across the clearing. One second later, a dragon swooped low from east to west, its reddish belly brushing the treetops. Curling its neck, it aimed its red-eyed stare at them as it passed by.

“A drone,” Randall said. “Smaller than the other dragons.”

“To a mouse, a hawk is a hawk. Even a small one can bite your head off.”

The dragon bent into a tight circle and flew down into the clearing. As debris lifted into the air, it landed on the run straight toward them and blew fire from its gaping mouth.

Randall grabbed Tibalt’s arm and dove to the leaf-covered ground. The fire shot over their bodies, igniting a swath of leaves beyond them. The dragon followed the volley, dug its claws into their backs, and flung them toward the trees one after the other.

Randall slammed into a trunk, his back bending at the impact. As he slid to the forest floor, Tibalt flew by and tumbled in reverse somersaults until his momentum eased. He rested on his back, gasping for breath. “I’m glad … it’s just a drone.”

The dragon stalked toward them. More flames spewed from its nostrils. “Taushin ordered your execution. It
seems that he has no fondness for invaders from Darksphere.”

His ribs aching, Randall searched the smoldering underbrush for his sword, but it was nowhere in sight. Another dragon shadow crossed the clearing. When the first dragon looked up, Randall scrambled to Tibalt, hoisted him over his back, and ran into a cluster of densely packed trees.

He set Tibalt on his feet and peeked around a boulder. A second dragon, slimmer and of a lighter hue, landed between them and the first dragon, shadow dappling its spiny back. Both shouted in the draconic language, each retort louder than the previous one.

Wobbly and massaging his head, Tibalt looked over Randall’s shoulder. “That critter slung me like a dead cat.”

“Good thing you have nine lives.” Randall spied his gleaming blade near a patch of burning leaves. “I need to get my sword. Otherwise, when this dragon battle is over, we might be the prize.”

“Dinner for one?”

“Exactly.”

“Then what are we doing here? The last I heard, the mice don’t wait around to see who wins the cat fight.”

“True, but I’m hoping one of the cats might be on our side.”

The second dragon switched to the human tongue. “We need not kill them. I will assume responsibility and take them to Taushin myself.”

“You are a betrayer, just like your mate,” the drone said. “I cannot trust anyone in Arxad’s family to act according to Taushin’s wishes.”

“She must be Fellina,” Randall whispered. “Jason told me about her. She
is
on our side.”

“Stay there. I’m smaller than you.” Tibalt dropped to his belly and slithered toward the sword.

Fellina growled. “Leave them be, or prepare to fight.”

“You think you can fight me?” The drone snorted. “You are a mere female!”

“I find it comical that a drone would make an issue of gender. You boast as if you still possess masculinity, though your whiny voice proves its absence.”

“Be silent! Your mindless chatter will let them get away!” The drone flew toward Randall, but Fellina leaped in front of him. When they collided, the two bit and clawed at each other. Snapping jaws and piercing shrieks ripped through the clearing. Wings flailed, and tails swung and thumped. Fellina pushed her way on top and, like a striking adder, thrust her gaping mouth at the drone’s neck again and again, but hard scales repelled every blow.

The drone slapped Fellina with his tail and rolled over her. Now on top, he clawed at her vulnerable spot.

“Help her out!” Tibalt tossed the sword. As it rotated, Randall timed the hilt’s arrival, snatched it out of the air, and charged. He dove between the two dragons and plunged the blade into the drone’s belly. Blood spewed over his legs and spread over Fellina’s scales.

The drone snapped at Randall, but he rolled out of the way just in time. Fellina was not as fortunate; its teeth gouged her underbelly. While Fellina thrashed, Randall hacked at the drone’s neck with all his might. After several blows, the neck severed, and the drone’s body rolled
to the side, though the head, with a foot or so of neck dangling, stayed attached to Fellina’s abdomen.

“Be still!” Randall shouted. “Let me check your wounds.”

“I will not!” Fellina batted the head away and rolled upright, beating both wings to balance. Scarlet blood covered her belly, but it was impossible to tell how much of it belonged to the drone. “I will not have the teeth of one of Taushin’s brutes spearing me for another second.”

As she heaved deep breaths, every exhale carried a shower of sparks that drizzled over the underbrush and ignited small fires.

“Well done,” Randall whispered.

“Yep.” Tibalt rose to his feet, brushed himself off, and called out, “You sure taught that drone a thing or two!”

Fellina’s eyes flashed. “Do you think I rejoice in this conquest?” She glared at Tibalt, again spewing sparks-filled breaths. “Did I kill a dragon to rescue a pair of fools?”

Tibalt backed away, a finger raised. “Apparently at least one fool who can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s supposed to.”

Taking a deep breath, Randall steeled his trembling legs and strode closer to her. “Please accept my sincere apologies, Fellina. My friend was in a dungeon for decades, and he sometimes doesn’t think before he speaks. We are in your debt.”

The fire in Fellina’s eyes faded. “Perhaps one of you is not a fool after all.”

While pondering what to say next, Randall smothered the closest flames with his boot. The other fires were dying on their own. “Have your earlier wounds healed already?”

“Enough so that Arxad felt that he could leave. He planned to fly toward the Northlands to see how Jason and the others are doing.” Fellina wiped her wound with a foreclaw, smearing blood and revealing an oozing cut. “We must find him, and soon. The Benefile have come to the village, and they are gathering the slaves in front of the Zodiac. They intend to kill every human in order to arrest the spread of the disease. They want to allow the soldiers from Darksphere safe access to the village so they can, as one of the Benefile said, ‘bring justice by the hand of the oppressed race.’ “

“That makes no sense,” Randall said. “They’re going to kill humans to protect humans?”

“By their logic, the humans will die anyway, so putting them to death quickly is merciful and expeditious. By allowing the soldiers safe access, the Benefile hope to punish the dragons of the Southlands with a twist of irony. Xenith and I decided to sneak away to find Arxad. Since Xenith does not know the location of the refuge, she flew north while I flew south. I told her not to go far. There is no sense chasing him all the way to the Northlands.”

“When do the Benefile plan to kill the slaves?”

“Xenith overheard much of their conversation, and they debated the topic to the point of absurdity, but she believes they will wait until the army from Darksphere is visible on the horizon.”

Randall kicked the remaining embers. “And we don’t know how long that will take.”

“It will probably be a while. When Xenith left the Northlands after delivering Cassabrie’s finger, she said there was no sign of soldiers. She also looked for Koren,
Jason, and Elyssa, but never saw them. It is possible that they ventured into the forest to travel under tree cover.”

“Jason would do that.” Randall nodded toward Tibalt. “We were hoping to find the refuge to warn the escaped slaves about the disease. Maybe you could point us in the right direction.”

Fellina’s head swayed as she looked Randall and Tibalt over. “You have the disease yourselves. How do you plan to warn them without risking exposure?”

Randall glanced at Tibalt again. He was brushing leaves and twigs from his hair. “We have a note we were going to post,” Randall said. “We hoped people would read it without us having to come close.”

“Show me the note.”

“I have it!” Tibalt shuffled through the brush, unrolling a parchment along the way. Gripping the top and bottom of the page, he held the parchment in front of Fellina’s snout.

While Fellina read silently, Randall read it as well, hoping the words didn’t appear foolish in her eyes.

“To all humans formerly enslaved by dragons, read this warning from fellow humans who have come to rescue you. A fatal disease is spreading among those still enslaved by the dragons, so you must not venture into the village or any work colony. We will send an uninfected rescuer to you who will lead you to a place where you will be examined for symptoms of the disease. We are working on a cure, and once it is found, all slaves will be taken to a world where they will be free. Frequently return to the place you found this note, and we will contact you again with further news.”

Fellina huffed a fiery stream that instantly ignited the parchment. Tibalt threw it to the ground and began stomping out the flames. “What did you do that for?”

“The paper itself is potentially infected.”

Randall scooped up the charred remains, a handful of scorched scraps. “How do you know?”

“I detected human skin cells on the surface. Arxad and I have much experience with this disease, and I assure you that even the most casual contact will spread it.”

“So do you have a suggestion?”

“If I fly over the slave refuge with one of you, we can warn them about the disease from a safe distance. I could deliver the warning myself, but the message would be more readily accepted if an infected human delivered it.”

“You mean, show them our skin,” Randall said.

Fellina’s head bobbed. “I can see the rash here and there, but I am not sure how visible it will be from a distance.”

“I’m probably not a good candidate for that.” Randall scratched his chest through his tunic. “It hasn’t progressed far enough to see. It itches quite a bit, though.”

Tibalt lifted his own tunic. Red welts covered his skin from his bony ribcage to his emaciated waist. “Hoowee! I look like a beekeeper after a mutiny!”