Dragonforge (7 page)

“A few years?” Jandra said, her heart sinking. Her mind felt adequate already. What could possibly be worth years of not being able to trust her own eyes?

“Finally,” said Vendevorex, “I must warn you of the most serious threat. I’m not the creator of the helmet. It is a tool from the hidden city known as Atlantis. You may have wondered why, given my abilities, I took a subservient position in the court of Albekizan, and seldom used my power to truly alter the world.”

Jandra had often been frustrated by her mentor’s reluctance to use his powers more aggressively.

“The helmet wasn’t a gift from the Atlanteans. It was stolen. Take care to avoid their attention. You may think that after so many years the Atlanteans are no longer searching for their property. Unfortunately, time is no obstacle to the Atlanteans who are, for all practical purposes, immortals. I have no doubt they will come for the device. It may even be that they were simply waiting for my death to reclaim it. You may be in grave danger. Use utmost caution should you encounter an Atlantean. Their powers will exceed yours by an unimaginable factor. However, this doesn’t mean they can’t be defeated. Atlanteans possess one flaw that may prove fatal should you choose to exploit it. All Atlanteans—”

Vendevorex’s voice was drowned out by a shout from below, a cry of rage that sounded violently torn from the shouter’s throat. It was followed by the voice of an earth-dragon screaming, “Stay back!” Though the voices originated several floors beneath her with layers of thick stone to muffle them, the words sounded almost as if they had been spoken in the same room.

As she thought about the voices, images flickered through her mind. The faces of thousands of earth-dragons she’d met flashed before her in an instant. A heartbeat later, the images were gone, and a single face remained in her memory, that of a guard named Ledax. She barely knew him, having only heard him speak once in all the years he carried out his duties around the palace. Yet, she somehow knew it was his voice that had shouted the warning to stay back. She also knew, with equal certainty, that the first shout she had heard had come from the lips of a human woman.

Below, Ledax let out a pained grunt. The woman’s gurgling scream transformed into a satisfied, eerie giggle.

Jandra ran for the steps, slowed somewhat by her heavy funeral gown. She wished it was shorter. As she moved, the gown inched upward to her knees. The fabric pleated into a loose skirt, allowing her legs greater freedom. She leaped down the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. She could hear the chilling laughter growing closer. She burst into the room, freezing as she took in the gory scene. Vendevorex’s warning of hallucinations suddenly seemed relevant.

Ledax was splayed limply on the floor, blood oozing from a gash in his shoulder. Crouched over him was a naked girl, younger than Jandra, her breasts and belly painted with blood. Her lips were spread wide in an evil grin. Dark red saliva streamed down her chin as she giggled. Black, serpentine tattoos decorated the skin of her scalp and neck. Similar inkings coiled down her thighs and arms. In her right hand, she held a long dagger, its black blade glistening. The girl’s eyes made Jandra hesitate, wondering if she’d slipped into a nightmarish hallucination. The girl’s pupils were vacant black circles set in bloodshot pools of pink. Jandra had faced killers before. She’d stared down tatterwings, locked eyes with earth-dragons, and stood defiant in the gaze of sun-dragons. Nothing prepared her for the empty void of the girl’s eyes, the hollow, unblinking stare of a fanatic transformed into an instrument of death.

While Jandra was frozen by her doubts, the girl suffered no such paralysis. With a grunt she leapt, swinging her dagger in a high overhead chop aimed at Jandra’s face.

Jandra raised her hand to catch the girl’s arm. The black blade sank into Jandra’s palm, puncturing it. Droplets of blood splashed against her face. Instantly, her hand numbed; with her next heartbeat, her whole arm went limp. The girl drew back, still grinning. A third heartbeat numbed Jandra’s entire torso. There was no fourth heartbeat. Her lungs no longer drew breath. In serene silence, her body lifeless as a doll, Jandra crumbled to the cold floor. She tried to blink and couldn’t. She could only watch, suffocating, as the girl leapt over her.

In her dying, paralyzed body, Jandra listened helplessly as the girl laughed her way down the hall, in search of more victims.

Pet glumly walked
through the palace, lost in thought. When he’d been the companion of the sun-dragon Chakthalla, he would amuse himself in the evenings by stealing out to visit young women in the nearby village. He’d not been with a woman since he met Jandra, mostly due to spending the majority of his time as Albekizan’s prisoner. Still, he was free now. The human town of Richmond wasn’t too far away. Yet he found himself unable to imagine the company of anyone but Jandra. What was wrong with him?

He found himself heading to the courtyard with the heated baths. One of Albekizan’s ancestors had built giant pools whose waters were warmed by a system of pipes that ran through hidden furnaces. Pet thought it would be comforting to sink into those warm waters and let his worries melt away.

Alas, as he stepped into the brick courtyard, he discovered it was already occupied. Shandrazel was sitting in the main pool. Shandrazel was the heir of Albekizan. The sun-dragon’s blood red scales glistened in the flickering torchlight surrounding the bath. Beside him in the pool was Androkom, the high biologian, apparently taking a moment to relax in the aftermath of the fiasco of Vendevorex’s funeral.

Pet turned to leave, but Shandrazel shouted out, “Ah! Bitterwood. Come join us.”

Pet looked around, wondering where Bitterwood was, before remembering that he was now Bitterwood. He’d claimed the name as part of a ruse to save the villagers near Chakthalla’s castle. As a consequence of his deception, he’d been branded with the identity of Bitterwood by King Albekizan himself before thousands of his fellow humans in the Free City. By all rights, Shandrazel should have treated him as a mortal enemy. Yet, either Shandrazel didn’t believe Pet’s ruse, or else Shandrazel was completely drunk on his dream of launching a new age of peace and justice, and willing even to forgive a man famous for killing dragons.

Pet gave a charming smile as he approached the pool.

“We were just discussing the upcoming summit,” said Shandrazel. “We would love to hear your thoughts.”

“Okay,” Pet said, loosening his belt. He slipped out of his clothes unselfconsciously. He’d never been embarrassed by his own nudity. He held his breath and leapt into the water. The pool was quite deep, built for the comfort of a sun-dragon, creatures that stood over twice the height of humans. The water was uncomfortably hot, almost scalding. Pet rose to the surface with a gasp. He noticed an oily film on the water. Fish were a major component of the diets of dragons, and the oil coated their scales as they preened themselves. Pet would require a bath after this bath.

“So,” he said, bracing himself against the edge of the pool. “What did you want my opinion on?”

It was Androkom who answered. A sky-dragon with vivid blue scales, Androkom looked uncomfortable in the water, since he was forced to cling to the sides of the bath as Pet was. Androkom said, “We were thinking that true reform cannot take place without a change in our vocabulary. For the last half century, the lands from the mountains to the eastern sea have been called the Kingdom of Albekizan.”

“I guess that should change now that he’s dead,” said Pet. “The Kingdom of Shandrazel?”

“No,” said Shandrazel. “I am the king who will end the age of kings. I will not rule this land—I will serve it. I make no claim to its wealth. Instead, the land is the common wealth of all, dragons and humans. Which is why I propose we call it the Commonwealth of Albekizan.”

“Hmm,” said Pet. “I notice the name Albekizan is still in there.”

“While I did not approve of my father’s tactics, it is pointless to dispute that his conquest of smaller, warring states created one united territory that has largely existed in peace for decades. In a sense, my father created the Commonwealth that we all share. Leaving his name on the land recognizes historical reality and pays tribute to the opportunity for true justice he created.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Pet said, though it didn’t.

Shandrazel’s eyes brightened. He looked pleased at Pet’s acceptance of the idea.

Pet was familiar with the look. His life had been devoted to making sun-dragons happy. It was his calling in life. As a result, he’d lived a life of comfort other humans couldn’t dream of. Perhaps it would be best if he continued doing what he knew how to do well, and simply accepted everything Shandrazel suggested. Shandrazel was kind hearted. Things would work out, wouldn’t they?

“Excuse me,” Pet said, pinching his nose and sinking beneath the steaming waters. Here, weightless, surrounded by water as warm as a womb, he felt free to think.

What he thought about was that horrible day he’d stood on the platform of the Free City, with Albekizan looming over him, taunting him as the dragon armies warmed into the square to slaughter the assembled humans. Of course, the king’s plans had gone wrong. The humans had fought back. Was he now going to surrender their lives back into the control of dragons? Was this the reward those countless unknown soldiers would pay for his survival?

His lungs at the point of bursting, he popped back above the surface of the oily water.

“No,” he said.

“No?” asked Shandrazel.

“No what?” asked Androkom.

“No, I don’t like having Albekizan’s name appearing on new maps of this land. If we truly wish to form a new government, we should cut ties with the past. Simply call it the Commonwealth and nothing more.”

Shandrazel raised a fore-talon to stroke his scaly chin. “There is wisdom in your words,” he said. “So much injustice in this world exists as an artifact of history. Grudges and grievances planted centuries ago blossom as today’s violence. Very well. The Commonwealth.”

“I like its brevity,” said Androkom.

“It’s bold in its simplicity,” Shandrazel mused. “It says that we have closed the book on history, and now take a quill to fresh pages to write the world anew.”

Androkom said something in response, but Pet didn’t hear it. There was a disturbance in the castle, near the chamber door that led to the bath. It sounded like women screaming, high pitched shrieks that trailed off into cackling. Pet was something of an expert at deciphering the shouts of women. Despite the laughter, these women sounded out for blood.

Androkom and Shandrazel got out of the pool. The wave created by Shandrazel’s sudden motion was enough to lift Pet to the pool’s edge. As he stepped out, an earth-dragon attendant came toward him with a big white cotton towel. The towel was meant for a sun-dragon, as big as a bed sheet. Pet draped it over his shoulder to form a toga. He rubbed his hair dry, wrinkling his nose at the fishy odor that clung to him.

“I wonder what the commotion is,” Androkom said, sounding nervous.

In answer, an earth-dragon soldier stumbled into the courtyard. He collapsed on the brick, his own spear jutting from his back.

“What—” said Shandrazel. Before he could finish the thought three women burst from the shadowy doorway, leaping over the guard’s body.

The women were naked, their pale bodies young and limber, as they charged across the room toward Pet and the dragons. Normally, Pet welcomed the presence of nude young women throwing themselves at him. The fact that these women were soaked with blood and waving long black daggers over their tattooed heads made him think their visit would not be a pleasant one.

“Shandrazel!” Androkom shouted, leaping into the sky. “Save yourself!”

Androkom beat his wings and rose into the air, unsteady. Sky-dragons used their tails for balance in flight; Androkom’s tail was little more than a stub after his escape from one of Blasphet’s deathtraps.

Shandrazel didn’t follow his smaller companion into the air. As the women charged, one of them threw a volley of darts. The darts struck the earth-dragon attendant who stood near Pet. The dragon shivered, then fell to the ground, no longer breathing.

A second woman threw her darts at Shadrazel—the biggest target in the room. Shandrazel responded by sweeping his wings forward, creating a powerful gust that knocked the darts off course. Two of the women continued to charge the sun-dragon while the third picked Pet as her target. An unearthly shriek erupted from her bloody lips. She hacked the air before her with her dagger as if she were stabbing at a swarm of invisible bees.

In the course of a decade of carousing, Pet had bedded, if his math could be trusted, a total of three-hundred seventeen women. Some of the more heartbroken ones had physically expressed their displeasure at his faithlessness. Which is to say, Pet had experience in dealing with young women trying to sink a knife into his chest. He danced aside at the last second, allowing the assassin’s knife to slice only air. He kicked out his leg and caught her by the ankle, tripping her, sending her splashing into the hot pool.

He turned to see if Shandrazel needed any help. The sun-dragon seemed to have little to fear from the two girls. He swung his long tail around in whipping motion, catching the first attacker in the belly, folding her in two. The momentum of the blow sent the girl flying, crashing into one of the marble pillars that decorated the courtyard.

The last woman leapt at Shandrazel, attempting to plant her dagger in his thigh. He caught her in mid air, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She squealed as she thrust the dagger up with both hands, burying it to the hilt in Shandrazel’s jaws.

Shandrazel’s face went limp. The girl fell to the ground, a vicious row of red puncture wounds dotting her left shoulder. Shandrazel stumbled backwards, knocking over a large clay pot filled with shrubs. He clawed at the blade with his fore-talon, freeing it. It fell to the bricks with a clatter. Shandrazel lowered his head and stared at the blade with unfocused eyes. He lurched drunkenly then toppled, his tail whipping about as if it had a mind of its own. The wounded girl darted forward and grabbed the blade, then turned toward Pet. The assassin who had smacked into the marble column was also on her feet, limping toward him, her blade held in a trembling hand.