VENDEVOREX STEPPED BACK from the now paralyzed body of the prophet. The three smartwires continued to snake toward the silvery command homunculus he held. He reached out his free claw, fusing the tips of the three wires together so that they fell dead. The human whose life he’d just saved stood looking at him, slack-jawed.
“This is a very dangerous toy,” Vendevorex said. “Did you bring this with you from Atlantis? Are you still working with Cynthia?”
“No,” the man said. “I never saw her again. You’re Vendevorex? You survived Zanzeroth’s assault?”
“Yes and yes,” Vendevorex answered. “So, if you aren’t working with Cynthia, who are you?”
“I’m Bitterwood,” the man answered.
“I see,” Vendevorex said, furrowing his brow. “I expect you’ll be trying to kill me, then.”
Bitterwood shook his head. “I agreed to spare you. I gave my word. To Jandra.”
“Jandra,” Vendevorex said, remembering his reason for being here. With a thought, he encased the homunculus in a thin coat of lead, then turned away from Bitterwood and moved toward his fallen student. He knelt next to her, reaching out his hand to feel the pulse in her throat, then gently touched the gash above her ear. Jandra moaned slightly and turned her head away.
At that moment three guards ran around the corner of the nearest building.
“Halt!” one cried.
“No,” Vendevorex said, reaching into his pouch of powders. He flicked his dust-coated claws in the direction of the three green dragons. “My friends and I will be left alone.” Vendevorex closed his claw in a deliberate, dramatic gesture. Suddenly, the spears carried by the dragons began to glow. Then Vendevorex flapped a wing, sending a breeze across the dusty ground. The spear shafts crumbled to ash and were carried off by the gust.
The leader of the three dragons looked confused. His eyes glanced down to his empty hands, then looked toward the decapitated body of the slain soldier, before turning to the frozen form of the black-garbed man, then fixing, finally, on Vendevorex. The leader’s face flickered with sudden recognition.
“You’re the wizard!” he yelped.
“You’re right,” Vendevorex answered.
“Yaa!” they shouted in unison. Their scales suddenly stood on end as they spun about to flee.
“Stop!” Vendevorex commanded. “If you try to run, I will disintegrate your legs as easily as your spears. I want us to come to an understanding.”
The three guards didn’t take another step. Vendevorex could see their muscles trembling as if resisting an invisible spring that threatened to snap them away.
“You should know that now that I have seen your faces, I can kill you at any time with just a thought,” Vendevorex said. “I can make it as quick and simple as I did with your weapons, or I can prolong your agony, depending on my mood. I spare you on one condition. You must speak to no one of what you’ve witnessed. Understood?”
“Y-y-yessir.”
“Then go,” Vendevorex said.
The three dragons tripped over one another as they raised their tails high and raced back down the side street.
“It was foolish to let them go,” Bitterwood said. “To silence them, you should have killed them.”
“I didn’t see the need for bloodshed,” Vendevorex said. “I fear there may be blood enough spilled in the coming days. Now be a good fellow and carry Jandra for me, will you?”
“I’m not a slave to be ordered around by your kind,” Bitterwood said.
“No, of course not,” said Vendevorex. “However, given your status as a legendary hero, I assume you’re too gallant to simply let Jandra recover from her wounds in the middle of the street, yes?”
Bitterwood glowered. “I’ll help her, but don’t try to manipulate me.”
“Understood,” Vendevorex said. “I hate to even ask the favor of you. I’d carry Jandra myself but I doubt you have the strength to carry our friend here.” Vendevorex moved to the frozen body of the axe-wielding man and tilted him backward, catching him with a grunt.
“What did you do to Hezekiah?” Bitterwood asked as he slid his arms beneath Jandra’s shoulders and knees.
“It’s a little hard to explain,” Vendevorex said, his voice strained as he tried to get a grip on Hezekiah’s heavy form. “I suppose you might say I’ve taken his soul from his body.” Vendevorex looked up and down the row of buildings. “I'm surprised your fellow humans haven't been drawn to the commotion. Are most of these dwellings still empty?”
“My 'fellow humans' tend to cluster together. I stick to this area because I like my privacy,” Bitterwood said, carefully lifting Jandra. He tilted his head toward an empty building. “Follow me.”
BLASPHET PULLED THE weed from the soil and tossed it aside. Laboring on the balcony beside the trellis full of poison ivy, he had occasion to contemplate the sunlight on his skin, still a novel sensation after his years in the dungeon. The sensual pleasures the world offered thrilled him anew each day. How could others be so insensate to a world full of life? Blasphet doubted that Albekizan felt even one-tenth of the satisfaction when he looked out over his kingdom that stretched as far as the eye could see, as Blasphet felt tending this small potted garden. He reached for the watering can, tilting it, releasing a shower of fresh human blood to nourish the soil in a pot that contained a belladonna shrub. Ah, the simple pleasures of gardening.
Sometimes, while contemplating the life that burst from the soil, the answers seemed so close. The dark, wholesome earth was made rich by decay and excrement-surely a key to life’s mystery. But what lock did this key fit?
A shadow passed over him. He looked up to see his brother descending from the sky. Blasphet drew back to allow his brother room to land.
“Blasphet,” Albekizan said as he came to rest on the balcony, knocking over potted plants. “Thanks to your sage words, I’ve made a decision.”
“I see,” Blasphet said, wincing as his brother crushed flowers beneath his heavy talons. “Odd. I don’t recall advising you to come here and wreck my garden.”
“I speak of Bitterwood,” said Albekizan. “I’ve decided his fate. But first, I need information about the Free City. Everyone tells me it’s filling ahead of schedule. How many now dwell there?”
Blasphet shrugged. “It’s difficult to say. The numbers increase daily, though the real influx will begin after next week’s full moon. The harvest moon, the humans call it.”
“You didn’t answer my question. I want a number. How many humans are within the Free City?”
“Why do you need this information so urgently?” Blasphet said, crouching to turn a potted nightshade upright once more. Its pink blossoms were horribly mangled. “You said you’d made a decision about Bitterwood. Is it possible you’ve decided upon a course of action before you’ve gathered the relevant information?”
“I grow impatient, Blasphet.”
“Very well, if it will get you to leave my balcony quicker. The total at present is eight thousand, approximately.”
“A fair number,” said the king. “And how many guards are currently stationed in the city?”
“Right now, most of the guards are out in the countryside preparing to herd the humans here,” Blasphet said.
“But in the city itself? How many?”
“Kanst could answer this for you,” Blasphet sighed.
“You know everything about the city. Don’t pretend otherwise,” said Albekizan.
Blasphet felt contrary, wanting instinctively to hold back any information that Albekizan might consider useful. However, a second part of him was curious. What did Albekizan have in mind? “By my count, there are six hundred earth-dragons. Fifty sky-dragon officers. What are you planning to do with them?”
“There is a square at the center of the city? Large enough to hold a crowd of eight thousand?”
“Not comfortably,” Blasphet said.
“Order the guards to gather the humans in the square tomorrow morning. During the night, Kanst’s army will join with the city’s guards, bringing the force of dragons to two thousand. This should be more than enough.”
“Enough?” Blasphet asked. “For what? To keep order?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” said Albekizan.
“You are no good at being coy,” Blasphet said. “There’s only one reason you could want to herd the humans together. You plan Bitterwood’s public execution.”
“A public execution, yes,” the king answered. “You’re right; I shouldn’t be coy. A public execution is precisely what I desire. Order the guards to cooperate with Kanst’s troops.”
“Of course,” Blasphet said, disturbed by Albekizan’s intrusion into his affairs, but feeling it unwise to press the issue now. Most likely, upon Bitterwood’s death, his brother’s interest in the Free City would wane. He said, in his most sincere tone, “I live but to serve you.”
“You live to torment me,” Albekizan said, turning away and spreading his wings. “But you live because I allow it. Remember that.”
“Have no fear about my memory,” Blasphet said as his brother leapt into the air. The king’s long tail whipped around, knocking over another flowerpot. Blasphet looked down at the shattered terra-cotta and crushed blossoms that marked his brother’s visit. He glanced back up at Albekizan’s retreating form. He said, softly, “I remember everything.”
THE BLACK CURTAINS that shrouded Jandra’s mind parted. She opened her eyes with a start, expecting to find Hezekiah towering over her, preparing to kill her with a final strike in the middle of the dusty street. Instead, she found herself alone in a darkened room on a scratchy wool blanket. Her head throbbed as she sat up. She raised her hand to discover bandages around her brow. In the next room, she could hear a muffled but familiar voice.
“Ven,” she whispered.
She rose on wobbly feet and tiptoed toward the door. She paused, listening to her former mentor speaking with someone else. A human’s voice. Bitterwood?
Feeling unready to face Vendevorex, she steadied herself with her palms against the wall and peeked through a small crack in the door. She could see Hezekiah propped against the far wall, his body rigid, his eyes unblinking. Vendevorex walked into view holding a small metal sphere in his claws.
From beyond her view, Bitterwood said, “Hezekiah hasn’t aged a day in all the years I’ve known him.”
“Understandable,” Vendevorex said, pulling free a yellow wire from the clump he had fused earlier. “He isn’t really alive. He’s a simulacrum.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Long ago, people were able to make copies of themselves, or anyone, really.” Vendevorex pried open the left eye of the paralyzed prophet and examined it closely. “The artificial bodies were practically indestructible, could mimic the human form perfectly, and were designed in such a manner that the maker of the simulacrum could feel and see and hear anything his double did. More, actually.” He let the eye close. “This one sees into the infrared and ultraviolet, I think.” He turned back to face Bitterwood. “Humans once used these doubles for sport. Normally, the simulacrum only did what its maker told it to do, but a few were fitted with the ability to think and act on their own. That’s where this comes in,” Vendevorex said, raising the sphere. “The homunculus. The soul of the machine.”
“This is a soul?” Bitterwood asked. “I’ve cut open many dragons and never seen this organ. Are dragons truly soulless?”
“You won’t find these in people, either. ‘Soul’ is merely an analogy.” Vendevorex turned back to the black-garbed prophet and picked up one of the three wires draped over its shoulder, a yellow one. He said, “It’s more accurate, perhaps, to say that this is Hezekiah’s mind. It’s the source of his intelligence and what passes for free will. For us,” Vendevorex said, touching the yellow wire to the sphere, “it’s the source of answers.”
“Online. Testing,” Hezekiah said, though his lips didn’t move and his body remained motionless.
“Skip diagnostics,” Vendevorex said.
“Diagnostics aborted. Activating personality core. Activated.”
Vendevorex spoke toward the orb he held. “What is your mission?”
“To spread the word of the Lord,” answered Hezekiah’s seemingly disembodied voice.
“Who gave you this mission?”
“I was programmed by Jasmine Danielle Robertson.”
“When?”
“In the year of our Lord 2077.”
Vendevorex glanced toward Bitterwood. “He means A.D. The numbering system of years that preceded the Dragon Age.” Then addressing the sphere once more: “Hezekiah, do you know why Robertson gave you this mission?”
“The world was falling into chaos and decadence. Few people remembered the word, and my maker believed it likely that the world would be cleansed once more, just as the Lord had cleansed it in the days of the flood. I was created to survive the coming cataclysm, and to spread the word among the survivors.”
“I see,” said Vendevorex. “Somehow this mission involves chopping off people’s heads?”
“I am designed to remove any obstacles to the success of my mission.”
“Excellent,” said Vendevorex. “As long as you’re programmed for violence, I think you should put that programming to good use. Only your mission will change when I let you go’
“Let him go?” Bitterwood said. “You can’t mean to release him from this spell you have on him.”
“I can,” Vendevorex said. “Don’t be afraid. He’ll be no threat to you when I’m done with him.”
“No threat?” Bitterwood said, moving forward into Jandra’s line of sight at last. His fists were clenched. “Hezekiah’s not human!”
Vendevorex looked impatient. “That’s been established. However, being inhuman doesn’t make one a threat to humans. I’m proof of that. Hezekiah is too useful a tool to discard. As a fighter, he’s nearly unstoppable. He’ll be the perfect weapon if things turn ugly with Albekizan.”
Hearing this, Jandra decided the time had come for her to make her presence known. She pushed open the door and said, “So. Now you plan to fight.”
“Jandra,” Vendevorex said, looking startled. It gave her a slight tinge of satisfaction to realize that he wasn’t ready to speak to her yet. “I apologize for not keeping our voices down,” he said. “We shouldn’t have disturbed your rest. You’ve suffered serious trauma. Even with the treatment I’ve given, I recommend allowing several hours to heal completely.”
“It’s funny how you pretend to care,” Jandra said. “Why did you come here, Ven? Not to apologize, I hope.”
“Yes,” he said, sounding sad. “I am here to apologize, whether or not you’ll accept. I’ve made horrible mistakes, Jandra. I’d be foolish to think that things can go back to the way they were.”
“That would be foolish,” she agreed.
“I’m hoping that the last fifteen years of my life count for something. I’ve tried to be the family you never had.”
She crossed her arms. “You did a poor job.”
“Yes. I can’t deny it. But if I can’t win your favor with my past deeds, I still hope I may influence your opinion with what I’m doing now. I’ve decided to fulfill your wishes and go to war against Albekizan.”
“Don’t do it because you want to earn my forgiveness. You won’t receive it,” she said. She was surprised to realize how deeply she meant it. She had practiced the words often enough in her mind in recent days. Now that she’d said them, the truth sank in. She would never forgive him.
“For what it’s worth, it’s not only your forgiveness that has led to my reassessment of my actions. I’ve gained new information since we parted which makes me believe a revolution can now be successful.”
“Oh?”
“I saw little hope in revolution before. If Albekizan fell, the candidates for the throne were unattractive. Now, Shandrazel has returned. He’s perfect for the job. I feel that placing him on the throne will return peace and stability to the kingdom. Assuming, of course, I can change his mind.”
“Whose mind?Shandrazel’s? About what?”
“Shandrazel is perhaps a bit too idealistic and kind for my purposes. The prince doesn’t want to rule, nor does he want his father killed. I’m not sure that can be avoided, however.”
“You would know about killing fathers,” said Jandra.
Vendevorex turned his face away from her. Jandra knew her words had stung him.
Bitterwood, who had listened intently to the conversation, suddenly stiffened. He said to Vendevorex, “You killed her father?”
“Yes,” the wizard answered.
He turned to Jandra, “Why did you beg me to spare him?”
“He’s… I didn’t know then, but even so, I want you to spare him. Let him live with his guilt.”
Bitterwood approached her. “If you’ve lost your father to a dragon, then you must understand how I feel. I lost my whole family to dragons. For years I thought them dead-”
“I suppose, in that light, you’re almost happy to learn they were sold into slavery,” she said. She almost instantly regretted the words. They sounded so callous. Like something Ven might have said.
Bitterwood didn’t look as if he took offense, however. “The possibility that my family is alive is something I can’t ignore. If only Hezekiah hadn’t killed my only lead. I don’t know where or how to search for them.”
“I might be of use,” said Vendevorex. “If your family was sold as slaves during Albekizan’s reign, there will be written records. By law, all transactions are documented for taxation.”
“But it was twenty years ago,” Bitterwood said.
“That won’t matter,” said Vendevorex. “Albekizan never destroys any records. The king built his vast empire with blood, cunning, and paperwork.”
“Where would these records be?” Bitterwood asked.
“In the castle.In the library. You’ll probably need a biologian to navigate the maze, unfortunately.”
Jandra realized this was a chance to hurt Vendevorex once more. She said, “I can take you there. I’ve spent enough time studying in the libraries. I know where those records are kept.”
“Very well. We can all go there,” Vendevorex said, “after I’ve changed Hezekiah’s mind.”
“We’ll go alone,” Jandra said. “I don’t want your help.”
“No, but you’ll need it,” Vendevorex said. “The castle’s too dangerous. Suppose you run into Zanzeroth?”
“Suppose we do? How will you being there help? Bitterwood and I both run while Zanzeroth guts you again?”
“I’m only saying your invisibility will be no defense. I’ve learned that.”
“No dragon within the castle walls is a threat to me,” Bitterwood said, picking up the slain guard’s sword. He moved toward the door and looked back at Vendevorex as he said, “I’ve waited long enough. As for you, wizard, if you plan to make Hezekiah your ally, you can count me among your enemies. I want nothing more to do with this demon.”
“I’m ready,” said Jandra, walking to join him in the doorway.
Vendevorex sighed. “Please reconsider. I’ve come a long way to find you, Jandra. I don’t want you placing yourself in further danger.”
“I don’t care what you want,” she said. “I can take care of myself. Let’s go, Bitterwood.”
“Please,” Vendevorex said, but Jandra paid no mind. She placed her hand on Bitterwood’s arm, both to show her solidarity with the dragonslayer and to steady herself, for the wound to her head hurt worse than she dared reveal. They stepped outside. Vendevorex came to the door and said, “You’re being very unreasonable.”
And reason’s all you know, she thought, but held her tongue, knowing that silence hurt him more. The pain in Jandra’s head paled next to the pain in her heart. Vendevorex would never understand her, and she would never understand him. Bitterwood was right. Men and dragons could never share the world.
Bitterwood led her away. She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to see the look on Vendevorex’s face. But her mentor didn’t follow and now turned back inside. As Jandra watched his deep-blue tail vanish into the shadows of the building, a chill ran through her. This might be the last time she ever saw her former mentor.
“Are you okay?” Bitterwood asked, noticing her shudder.
“I’m fine,” Jandra said. “‘But I just thought… What about Zeeky? We never found her.”
“We’ll have to hope she’s okay,” Bitterwood said. “She’s a tough girl.”
“True. And it’s not like we could take her with us. So. Any ideas on how we get out of here?”
“Follow me,” Bitterwood said. “I’ve found a rope and hidden it. I know of several places on the wall where we can climb up then use the rope to rappel down. We’ll need to wait for night before we can move safely, though.”
Jandra looked at the sun high in the sky, the bright light making her head throb even more. “It’s several hours until sunset. Why don’t we scale the walls now? We can cross invisibly then make our way to the castle. By the time we get inside it will be nightfall. That will give us all night to search the records while the biologians sleep.”
“Invisible?” said Bitterwood, sounding disdainful. “I dislike relying on your witchcraft.”
“Would you stop that? I’m not a witch. I just happen to have fancier tools than most people. Trust me on this, okay?”
Bitterwood looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Very well. If I must. Follow me.”
Bitterwood led her behind one of the empty buildings. He pushed aside a half-filled rain barrel, then pulled up a loose wallboard that the barrel had pinned down. He reached inside the wall and retrieved a long coil of hemp rope.
Jandra splashed some of the water from the rain barrel onto her face. The cool water helped greatly. Taking a deep breath, she felt strong and calm enough to make them invisible-but for how long? She tore a strip of cloth from her dress and wetted it to dab her brow as she needed it.
“You sure you’re okay?” Bitterwood asked.
“I’m feeling better,” Jandra said, trying to make herself believe it. “I just need to keep moving.”
“If you’re certain. We can go up the wall here,” he said. The alley they were in ran along the outer wall of the city.
“Let me get ready,” Jandra said, reaching into her pouch. “We’ll still be able to see each other, but we need to stay close if you don’t want others to see you.”
Bitterwood nodded, then turned the rain barrel over and placed it against the wall. He hopped on and extended his hand to help Jandra up. Jandra activated the invisibility as she stood next to him. But now what? The wall stood twenty feet high, made of logs driven into the ground.
Bitterwood didn’t share her hesitation. He placed his hands and feet between the gaps in the logs and scaled the wall as quickly as if he were walking across flat ground.
“Wait!” she said. “You’re out of range!”
Bitterwood didn’t stop. He placed his hand on the top of the wall and pulled himself up. He straddled the wall and turned around, looking down at her. He cocked his head.
“You really are invisible,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she said. “But you’re not. Someone will see you.”
“Then we should make haste,” Bitterwood said, tossing one end of the rope toward the sound of her voice. “Don’t even try to climb. I’ll lift you.”
Jandra wrapped the rope around her hand and arm and Bitterwood began to pull her up. She helped him by using her feet to climb the wider cracks when possible.
“I see you now,” he said as she neared the top of the wall.
He reached down and took her hand and lifted her the rest of the way. Jandra looked around for guards and noticed a nearby guard tower, but the guards within weren’t looking in their direction. Instead, the guards watched the sky. Jandra looked up and gasped. Sun-dragons!
“I see them,” Bitterwood said. “I don’t think they’ve seen us.”
Jandra soon realized this was true. She’d gotten him into the invisibility field just in time. The dragons weren’t headed directly toward them. They weren’t even looking in this direction. They seemed to be heading toward the center of the Free City, to the square.
Albekizan himself led the way. It had been months since Jandra had seen him. The king was breathtaking in flight, with broad, crimson wings driven by a deep, well-muscled breast. He flew with powerful, precise movements, showing his mastery of the air. Tanthia followed. The queen was smaller than the king, sleeker, and her wings trailed yellow silk ribbons that flashed in the sunlight. If anything, she looked even more graceful in the air than Albekizan. In contrast to the elegant royal couple, Kanst followed behind in his slow, jerky motion. Weighed down by his heavy armor, the great bull dragon beat the air mightily, raising himself higher one flap at a time before holding his wings stiff and gliding down, losing the height he’d gained. He didn’t so much fly as climb and fall through the sky. Zanzeroth lagged even further behind, the stiff movements of his wings betraying his half-healed wounds. Another dragon would have stayed in bed with such injuries, Jandra suspected, but the tough old hunter was too proud ever to admit to weakness. A single sky-dragon completed the procession, Pertalon. Despite his youth and strength, Pertalon trailed behind Zanzeroth, for he carried a burden, a cocoon of white cloth wrapped around what looked to be the body of a man.
Could it be Pet? Could it not be? She should have freed Pet when she had the chance. Now that Vendevorex was going to fight the king, there was no need for Pet to sacrifice himself. As much as she hated Vendevorex she respected his abilities, and knew that if he was intent on overthrowing the king, he would. The white bundle struggled as the dragons banked. She felt heartened that Pet was still alive. Jandra would help Bitterwood for now. When she found the information he needed, she would make him return the favor and rescue Pet.