KANST LIFTED HIS gleaming ceremonial sword high over his head, then sliced it down in a swift arc. With his deep, booming voice, he shouted, “Kill them!”
WHEN AT LAST Bitterwood spoke, Jandra could barely hear him.
“What?” she asked.
“Go,” Bitterwood whispered.
“Not yet,” she said.
“Go,” he repeated, more forcefully.
“But-”
“Go!” he screamed. “Go!”
The look on his face -a twisted mask of distorted pain and anger- told her he would never listen to her words. Still she had to speak them.
“Fine,” she said. “Blame yourself. Act as if nothing matters but your own guilt. Let Pet die in your place, let Zeeky rot away inside the Free City, let the whole world come crashing down. But I’m going to try to stop it!”
Jandra turned and ran, not bothering to render herself invisible. She had been a fool to trust him.
THE CROWD SCREAMED as the guards surged forward.
Zeeky hadn’t seen or heard what had happened on the stage, for she was near the back of the crowd. She cried out, frightened, as the crowd pushed her about like a mouse batted by a dozen cats. “What’s happening?” she begged.
Suddenly, the adults closest to her screamed louder, and the crushing pressure of bodies abated as the crowd parted. The people were fleeing from a snarling ox-dog, a whip-wielding earth-dragon mounted in the large saddle on its back. As the adults ran the gigantic beast locked its dark eyes on Zeeky’s small figure and bounded toward her, barking, its teeth bared, its tan neck hairs standing up like brush bristles.
“Aw,” said Zeeky, in an instant forgetting the confusion of the crowd. Here was something she understood. “Aren’t you a big ’un?”
The ox-dog skidded to a halt before her, thrusting its face into hers, growling, its steaming breath foul with the smell of fresh blood.
“You’re just a big puppy, ain’t ya?” she said.
The ox-dog stopped growling. “Hrunmph,” it snorted.
Zeeky reached out and scratched the dog above his big, wet, black nose. The hair on the dog’s neck relaxed. It showed gratitude for her scratches with a big, wet lick of its pink tongue.
The dragon in the saddle lashed the beast’s flanks with his whip. “Forward, Killer! Attack! Attack!”
The ox-dog’s right legs buckled and he rolled over, tossing the dragon from the saddle. As the dog rolled, he crushed the dragon with the whole of his massive weight before coming once more to his feet. The humans in the crowd scrambled to stay out of the beast’s way.
“Damn you, Killer,” the dragon wheezed as he struggled to stand. He raised his whip. “I’ll thrash some obedience into you yet!”
Killer opened his huge jaws and leaned forward, placed his maw over the dragon’s head, then closed his mouth.
“Ret goo!” the dragon shouted, his voice muffled.
The ox-dog shook his head from side to side, jerking the screaming dragon from his feet. Zeeky ducked as the dragon’s feet passed just over her head. It was too awful to watch, even if it was happening to a dragon.
“Put him down!” she said, placing her hands on her hips and looking stern. “Right now!”
The ox-dog paused, looking at her. Then he flipped his head to the side once more, hard, and let go. The dragon sailed for a few brief seconds of flight, his wingless limbs beating the air in a vain attempt to control his motion. Then he fell among the turbulent crowd of humans and was gone.
The ox-dog again turned its attention to Zeeky, letting its foot-wide tongue hang from its mouth.
“Good boy,” Zeeky said. Then her fear and confusion returned as the crowd continued to scream and mill about. Still, Zeeky was safe in a bubble that formed about ten feet around the ox-dog. Even panicked people steered clear of such a beast. All Zeeky wanted was to get away from here. She had to go to the stables to find Poocher then leave this terrible place forever.
She grabbed the stirrup of the saddle and managed to pull herself up. From her new vantage point she could see dragons killing people all around her. Tears filled her eyes.
“Get me out of here!” she sobbed.
Killer woofed in agreement. The ox-dog wheeled around, racing forward toward a gap that opened as dragons fell over one another to get out of Killer’s way. Zeeky closed her eyes tightly and swore that if she ever got home, she’d never run away again.
A QUICK, INVISIBLE flight gave Vendevorex a view of the catastrophe. He’d heard the soldiers moving through the streets before dawn, commanding the humans to the gathering, but he never anticipated the scene below. Albekizan was on the platform, standing behind Pet, holding the human’s eyes open. Behind the king a large black-scaled sun-dragon struggled with a sky-dragon. Blasphet?
Kanst continued to bark out orders. Hundreds of dragons tore into the crowd. Vendevorex needed to think the situation over but there was no time. The only thing that offered a brief glimmer of hope was that a few of the humans had managed to overwhelm the earth-dragons with their numbers and now fought back with stolen arms.
Vendevorex swooped back to street and called out, “Hezekiah! Come!”
The black-robed figure emerged from the nearby building as Vendevorex landed on the dusty street.
“Go to the square,” Vendevorex said. Until this moment, he’d hoped that the situation might be diffused without bloodshed. Now there was no time for subtlety. He gave the command he’d hoped to avoid: “Kill every dragon you see.”
“Even you?” the artificial man asked.
“No, except me.”
“And other sky-dragons? Don’t kill them?”
“Kill sky-dragons, except for me,” Vendevorex said, wishing he’d had time to do a little more sophisticated job on the logic loops. “Kill sun-dragons, too, earth-dragons, great lizards, and ox-dogs. Don’t hurt people.”
“I will obey,” Hezekiah said. He turned, swung his axe up to rest on his shoulder, and marched off in the direction of the commotion.
“Hurry!” Vendevorex said.
Hezekiah began to run, streaking down the street with inhuman velocity. Vendevorex knew what Hezekiah was capable of. The automaton could kill every dragon in the Free City given time. Yet with each second that passed, dozens of humans died. Vendevorex needed to do something big to tilt the odds but felt a chill at the thought of making himself known. The presence of Albekizan and Kanst didn’t bother him. Unfortunately, Zanzeroth stood on the platform as well.
BLASPHET WASN’T USED to physical confrontations and quickly found himself in the humiliating position of being pushed to his belly by the much more skillful Pertalon. The sky-dragon twisted Blasphet’s wings behind his back, causing him to cry out in pain. Blasphet whipped his tail up around Pertalon’s neck but couldn’t pull hard enough to dislodge his tormentor.
“Zanzeroth,” Pertalon said. “Bring me chains.”
Zanzeroth didn’t answer. The pressure on Blasphet’s wings shifted ever so slightly as Pertalon twisted around to see where the hunter had gone. With Pertalon distracted, Blasphet flicked the fake nail from his right fore-talon with his thumb, revealing the sharpened claw beneath, wet with poison. With his wrist twisted painfully, he could barely scratch his opponent, but the barest scratch was enough.
“Wha-” Pertalon began, but never finished the syllable.
The pressure on Blasphet’s wings ceased as the weight fell from his back. He rose and turned to the already dead Pertalon who lay twisted in pain. Blasphet kicked the corpse, angry that he’d been forced to waste one of his poisons on such an insignificant fool. Still, Kanst’s back was to him, for the general was busy shouting commands to the Black Silences that surrounded the platform. Zanzeroth had vanished, not that Blasphet had been overly worried about the hunter, still half-crippled from his wounds. As he’d expected, Albekizan was too busy laughing at the sea of carnage before him to pay any attention to Blasphet. Blasphet shuddered at the sound of elation in the king’s voice. He’d hoped to never see his brother this happy again.
Then let him die happy, thought Blasphet. With a flick of his left fore-talon, his final poisoned claw was revealed.
HIGH ABOVE, ZANZEROTH circled, looking through the seemingly endless field of faces below him. The real Bitterwood had to be among them. Ever since his nose had healed enough to restore his sense of smell, he’d known beyond all doubt that the prisoner Albekizan tormented wasn’t Bitterwood. He’d chosen the wrong man, no doubt due to his exhaustion and injuries. In retrospect, he couldn’t have planned events better. The intervening days had allowed Zanzeroth time to rest and recover a bit from his wounds. He wasn’t fully healed, but he felt strong enough to face any man, especially now that it would be he who held the element of surprise. Albekizan had his own victim to torment. This left the true Bitterwood as his prey alone. He need not share his revenge with anyone, not even a king. Alas, the carnage unleashed now threatened to steal Bitterwood once more from his grasp. He had to find the man, and quickly.
Then he spotted a human attacking from behind the line of the dragons, tearing through the rear troops like a demon. Bitterwood? Zanzeroth swooped for a closer look. The man below was dressed in black and fought with an axe, and continued to fight even with three spears embedded in him. The man stood ankle deep in foul mud created by the blood and offal of slain dragons. The human wasn’t Bitterwood, but Zanzeroth was impressed nonetheless. Who was this?
“NO! I’LL KILL you!”
Blasphet didn’t have time to turn and face the female voice that cried out behind him. A wave of patchouli washed over him. Blasphet crashed once more to the rough boards of the platform as Tanthia threw herself against him, her painted claws digging into the skin of his neck.
“You took my brother,” she screamed. “You won’t take my husband!”
Blasphet twisted in her grasp, bringing himself face to face. Her cheeks glistened liked jewels from her tears. Tanthia was strong and his equal in size, but no more used to combat than he. He pulled her claws from his neck with ease, taking care not to prick her with the exposed poison.
“Your devotion is commendable,” he said through clenched teeth as he twisted her wrists backward, using the pain to force her from him. “Now be a dear and go gather wood for the pyre, hmm?”
“Murderer!” she shouted, and thrust her jaws forward, clamping her teeth deep into his shoulder.
“Aiigh!” Blasphet shrieked. Enough was enough. Albekizan would have to wait. He ran the sharpened, poisoned claw along Tanthia’s slender neck. Her jaws slackened and she fell with a sigh.
Blasphet looked back. Kanst still hadn’t noticed him. His attention was focused on a battle at the front of the platform, and he certainly couldn’t have heard the struggle over the deafening cries of anguish that rolled through the air like unending thunder. The roar now washed out even Albekizan’s mad laughter.
Spotting Pertalon’s sword, Blasphet considered running his brother through from behind. But if his brother survived the blow, he’d fight much harder than Pertalon or Tanthia. The time had come to return to the tower for more poison. With luck, he would be back before Albekizan even noticed he was gone.
HE HAD GONE mad. He must be mad. Why couldn’t he go mad? Pet screamed and could barely hear his own voice over the crowd’s panicked shouts. The tears that blurred his vision rolled down his cheeks, across the sharp-nailed claws clamped upon them. Albekizan laughed wildly.
He would go mad. He had to go mad. But he couldn’t. Pet could only watch through the teary mist as men, women, and children died before him by the uncounted hundreds, some at the hands of dragons, many more beneath the trampling feet of their fellow stampeding men.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “Oh please, stop it!”
“Your cries are music, Bitterwood,” Albekizan shouted. “You wanted to save them! You killed in their name! Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done!”
Pet looked for he had no choice. However, he stilled his voice in his throat. He would not beg. Albekizan wouldn’t have that satisfaction, at least. Albekizan released his eyelids as he had every minute, perhaps to make sure he wouldn’t go blind. Pet clamped his eyes shut but to no avail. The king’s claws upon his cheeks and brow quickly pried them open again. His vision fresh once more, Pet looked upon the violence before him. He noticed some intense fighting immediately before the platform, where a group of men had wrested weapons from the Black Silences and now defended themselves fiercely.
Tears robbed his sight of clarity before he could be sure of what he had seen. Could the men truly have been winning?
JANDRA BURST FROM the stables astride a dappled mare, knocking aside the earth-dragon stable hand. She dug her heels into the horse’s flank and raced toward the open gate. Even from this great distance she could hear the cries from the Free City. What was happening? Was she already too late to save Pet?
Then she saw the glow towering above the walls of the Free City.
“SIRE,” KANST SAID, placing his claws on the king’s shoulder. “We must go!”
Albekizan turned his head, fixing a gaze like daggers upon Kanst.
“What?” asked the king.
“Sire, the guards around this platform can’t hold out. The sheer weight of the humans is crushing them. For every ten we slay, a hundred take their place. I warned you that-”
“Kanst,” Albekizan said, “it is not your duty to warn me. It’s your duty to see that your soldiers fight on. Join the fray if you must, but do not interrupt me again!”
“Sire, Queen Tanthia is dead,” Kanst said, revealing what he had discovered only seconds ago.
“What?” Albekizan released Pet, spinning around. His jaw dropped open at the sight of his beloved queen, lying still, as if asleep. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Kanst said. “Both she and Pertalon are dead without a wound on them. Zanzeroth is missing, as is Blasphet. I fear betrayal.”
Albekizan looked dazed. Then he looked up, his eyes wide. Kanst followed his gaze into the glowing sky.
ZANZEROTH COULDN’T RESIST. He might never find Bitterwood among the crowd, but there was no way he could lose the man with the axe. All his life Zanzeroth had craved hunting the most dangerous prey he could locate. Never had he seen a challenge such as this. Single-handedly, the human had broken an entire regiment, leaving a street cluttered with the bodies of a hundred dragons over which the humans now fled, spilling from the square like water surging through a hole in a dam. A few dragons fled before them, one mounted on an ox-dog-no, that wasn’t a dragon in the saddle but a child. And was that a pig in her lap? No matter. The axe-man chased down one of the remaining earth-dragons who tried to flee by climbing to the roof of a building. The man now stood on the rooftop as the soldier cowered before him, pleading for mercy. As the man raised his axe to kill his panicked victim, Zanzeroth made his decision. Here was the true test of his prowess.
He braced his spear in his hind claws and folded back his wings, angling into a dive. He noted the light brightening behind him, like the sun coming from behind a cloud. His shadow touched the black-robed man who turned his head in time to see Zanzeroth, his spear tip now inches away.
THE GLOW AROUND Vendevorex shifted, swirled, and coalesced as he mentally positioned the floating particles in the edges of the field. All below looked up, both men and dragons. Vendevorex activated the white plastic disk he’d removed from Hezekiah’s torso. Stamped on the outer edge of the plastic were the words, “Voice of GodTM.”
“I AM VENDEVOREX!” he announced. His amplified words boomed like a clap of thunder and the din of voices beneath him lessened. He swooped within the sphere of light that surrounded him, careful to maintain the motionless illusion that he had created. Vendevorex had grown to a hundred feet in height, his eyes bright with flame, lightning playing about his outstretched wings. He decided on a last second improvement to the illusion, and suddenly his claws became the blue-gray of hardened-steel as they grew as long as swords. “HEED ME, O DRAGONS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS, OR FACE MY WRATH! THIS BATTLE IS OVER!”
“THE HELL IT is,” Pet heard a nearby man shout, and a dozen men joined him in a battle cry. The sound of blade against blade rung all around the platform.
“Sire,” Kanst said behind him.
“I’ve considered your advice, Kanst,” Albekizan said, his voice trembling. “I’ll return to the castle. Make sure your soldiers continue to fight. And kill that damned wizard! Do it personally!”
“Of course, Sire,” Kanst said.
The entire platform shuddered as Albekizan and Kanst leapt into the sky like sparrows before a cat. Alone on the platform, Pet struggled to free himself to no avail.
ALIVE, THOUGHT ZANZEROTH as he heard the wizard’s voice. It was too late to turn back now. His spear struck the black-robed man squarely in the chest. Zanzeroth tilted his wings so that his great speed would cause him to swoop skyward, carrying the impaled human with him. Alas, the human proved too heavy for the maneuver; he was more like a mound of stone than flesh. The spear shaft snapped. The human was thrown to his back by the force of the blow but Zanzeroth’s momentum shifted as well. Instead of returning to the sky, he hit the rooftop hard. He slid across the wooden roof, splinters tearing away his bandages, until he collided with the brick chimney. His breath exploded from him in a pained cry.
“DRAGONS!” Vendevorex shouted.“RETURN TO YOUR BARRACKS AT ONCE! FEAR MY VENGEANCE!”
Alas, the dragons didn’t seem to fear his vengeance as much as he’d hoped. Below him, the fighting resumed once more, though the dragons now fought more defensively as the humans surged against their ranks. To stop fighting was to risk death. But perhaps there was another way to stop the battle. Albekizan had taken flight, as had Kanst who flew straight toward the illusion. If he could slay them here, in full sight of the troops, the war would be won.
Kanst reached the edge of the illusion and struck with his spear, then spun off balance when the blow connected only with air. Vendevorex knew he’d never have a better chance. He shifted his concentration to his hind-talons, allowing the illusion around him to crumble as he formed a boiling ball of the Vengeance of the Ancestors. He hurled the flaming orb toward his target.
Kanst recovered from the missed blow much faster than Vendevorex would have guessed. The general turned, steadying himself on outstretched wings, just in time to face the flame that raced toward him. He then did the worst thing possible from Vendevorex’s view. He thrust his chest forward, straight into the path of the flame, allowing the deadly plasma to splash against his iron breastplate.
Iron. The one thing the Vengeance wouldn’t burn.
ZANZEROTH SHOOK HIS head to chase away the stars. There was the faintest vibration on the boards beneath him.
Move.
He rolled aside as the axe sunk deep into the wood where he had rested. He kept rolling, tumbling from the roof’s edge, letting the rush of wind catch his wings. He pushed himself higher into the air, noticing Vendevorex attacking Kanst. There was no time to give thought as to why the wizard was still alive. He wheeled in the air, bringing himself around once more toward the roof. The man stood, his axe tightly gripped in both hands, his legs braced, his eyes fixed upon Zanzeroth. Zanzeroth passed over the rooftop well beyond the man’s reach as he freed his whip from his belt with his tail, placing it in his rear talons.
“Let’s see how formidable you are without that axe,” he said.
The hunter climbed higher in the air then wheeled once more, diving straight at his opponent. The human raised the axe, preparing to strike. At the last second Zanzeroth pulled up as the human swung his axe forward. With a flick of his hind claws the whip snared the axe-shaft, ripping it from the man’s hands.
KANST COULD SEE the look of consternation in the wizard’s eyes. He hurled the heavy spear he carried in his rear claws. Vendevorex folded up his wings and dropped from the spear’s path, then, spreading his wings once more, vanished.
“Damn!” Kanst shouted, flying to the spot where the wizard had just been.
“Lose something?”
A sudden weight on his back sent Kanst listing sideways. The wizard had latched onto him, securing himself with his tail around the general’s waist and his claws on each of his wings, the only large expanse of Kanst’s body not protected by armor. In horror, Kanst watched flames burst from his exposed skin. The air rushing over his wings pushed the flames rapidly along their entire length.
The weight on his back lifted as Vendevorex released him. Waves of excruciating pain swept over Kanst’s mind but failed to wash away the realization that he was going to die.
But not alone…
He swung his tail about, hitting the wizard’s leg. He constricted his tail with all his strength. Vendevorex struggled, but to no avail, as Kanst jerked him closer and clamped his rear claws into the wizard’s shin. Then Kanst simply closed his blistered wings to his side and fell. The wizard’s wings couldn’t support their weight. The ground was a long way down.
ZANZEROTH LANDED, BRANDISHING the axe. The weapon was heavy, even for a dragon, and slick with red-brown gore. Zanzeroth felt his hunting spirit stir at the familiar scent of blood and excrement. The black-robed man charged across the roof toward him, as expected. Zanzeroth was ready. He pushed his tail around in a rapid arc, catching the man’s legs while he was still two yards away. As his foe stumbled forward the hunter struck, bringing the axe down hard in the center of the man’s back, severing the spinal cord. His foe fell to the roof, face-first. Zanzeroth relaxed. That had been easier than expected.
Then the human’s arms thrust forward, grabbing Zanzeroth’s ankle. Zanzeroth was startled more by the movement than by the pain of the man’s incredible grip. How could he fight with his spine severed?
With a grunt Zanzeroth swung the axe against the man’s elbow, severing the arm. But the hand that held him didn’t release him. In fact, it squeezed harder still. With a sickening snap his ankle gave way and Zanzeroth toppled.
The human rose to his knees. Zanzeroth felt panic rising in him and struck out in fear, swinging the axe with one talon and landing a solid blow against the back of the man’s head. His opponent ignored the blow and rose to his feet.
Zanzeroth sat up, getting into a position to better defend himself. The hand that held his ankle released him, and scratched its way toward the blood-soaked man, who casually lifted it and placed it back in its proper place.
“What are you?” Zanzeroth muttered.
“His name that sat on him was Death,” the man said in a squeaky, hollow voice. He straightened the brim of his hat before advancing on Zanzeroth. “And hell followed with him.”
VENDEVOREX COULDN’T BELIEVE Kanst’s will. Even with his wings engulfed in flames he wouldn’t release his grip. Vendevorex beat the air but to little avail. The general’s armored weight was too great. He was being dragged down into the crowd of humans below. From the corner of his eye he could see Hezekiah on a nearby roof, and Zanzeroth sprawled before him, looking seriously wounded. If only he could stay in the air long enough to guide the path of his descent, he could reach the artificial man who was more than capable of prying Kanst free.
With a mighty effort he turned toward the rooftop. As he stretched his wings to their fullest to slow his descent, something in his shoulder snapped from the strain. They plummeted earthward.
ZANZEROTH SAW THE ball of flame that had been Kanst blazing toward the roof. The unkillable man stepped closer. Zanzeroth kicked out and up with his good leg, catching him in the crotch. No look of pain passed upon the man’s face, but the blow still had the intended effect, pushing his foe backward, straight into the path of the hurtling fireball.
AT THE LAST possible second, mere yards from the roof, Kanst’s grip slackened. He’d finally lost consciousness. Vendevorex thrust his wings out once more, fighting the pain, pulling himself free of the sun-dragon’s body. He watched as Kanst plummeted to the rooftop, smashing directly into Hezekiah’s back.
Hezekiah staggered forward, the Vengeance quickly racing across his skin, engulfing him. Vendevorex swooped closer, mentally willing the flames to cease. Hezekiah was built out of much more advanced materials than simple iron. Vendevorex had no clue how the Vengeance would react with these materials.
The fire only brightened as chemical reactions beyond Vendevorex’s control raced through the body of the artificial man. Vendevorex decided he didn’t want to be around when the flames penetrated Hezekiah’s power supply. He raced upward, only to have the shock wave lift him faster than his wings could. A thunderous explosion deafened him. An unbearable flood of heat engulfed him, singeing his scales, burning all air from his lungs.
A second wave of concussion slammed into him, then vanished. The atmosphere became too thin to support his wings, and he fell earthward once more, the world going black.
“FIGHT ON!” A dragon on the platform shouted but it was too late. The humans charged the remaining Black Silences, cutting them down with the weapons taken from their fellows.
“Release the savior!” someone shouted.
Pet felt the leather strap that held his head slacken. His heart leapt as the post that held him shuddered with a loud crack of a sword striking chains. Pet toppled forward but never reached the ground. Hands thrust in all around him, lowering him carefully to his feet.
Pet recognized a few of the dozen faces before him from Chakthalla’s village. He was startled to see Kamon, the ancient mad prophet among them. How many men must have died to keep the old fool alive through all of this?
Kamon raised his hands toward the sky as he cried, “It is as I prophesied! We have freed the savior from his bonds so that he may free us from ours!”
“No!” someone shouted.
The men turned to face another small crowd of men who had climbed onto the platform. They, too, were armed with weapons taken from the bodies of dragons. Their leader was a tall naked man with intense, angry eyes. His coal-black beard hung all the way down to his pubic hair. The only article of cloth on his body was a blood-red ribbon tied around his forehead, holding back a mane of dark hair that reached halfway down his back. He was thin yet well muscled, and tanned so darkly it seemed that his nakedness was a way of life. The naked man shouted, “I am the Prophet Ragnar! Bitterwood is the savior I prophesied! Release him, filthy Kamonites, and we’ll grant you swift, merciful deaths!”
“We’ll fight your blasphemy to our dying breath!” Kamon shouted.
“Then die, infidels!” Ragnar cried, brandishing his sword.
“Stop!” Pet shouted. To his surprise, they did.
“I don’t believe this,” Pet said. “The dragons are killing us by the hundreds and you fight among yourselves?”
“These heathen dogs are undeserving to breathe the same air as you,” Kamon growled. “Let us remove their hideous faces from your sight.”
Ragnar stamped his feet in anger. Purple veins bulged in his neck as he shouted, “They are the dogs! Kamon has tainted three generations of men with the false doctrine of compliance with dragons. He has brought this horrible day upon us!”
Kamon shook his withered, age-speckled fist. “Fools! We were to obey the dragons until the savior arose! That day has come to pass, as I foretold! Now we must cleanse the awful stench of dragons from this world!”
“Shut up,” Pet said, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “You think I’m some kind of mythic figure from prophecy? You’re wrong. I’m not your savior. All I am is mad as hell. Albekizan must pay for what’s happened today. If it’s dragon blood you want, follow me. I’ll fight until there’s no life left in my body! What we do this day may decide the fate of all mankind. Who’s with me?”
“I am!” Ragnar shouted.
“We are!” Kamon said.
“For humanity!” Pet cried, grabbing the sword of a fallen dragon and lifting it high.
All around him they answered, “For Bitterwood!”