SHANDRAZEL ROSE INTO the starry night, not believing the turn his life had taken. Behind him the chorus sang as the pyre was lit; it broke his heart that he wasn’t even allowed to mourn his brother.
The most difficult thing to swallow was how plainly he’d been warned that this moment would come. Since he’d been a fledging, he’d been taught the ceremony of secession. He’d witnessed the drama unfold over the years as one by one his older brothers vanished, banished from the kingdom, or disappearing in shame into the libraries of the biologians. Why had he never accepted that this would be his fate? Why had he been so certain that he, alone, among countless generations of royalty, could break the chains of superstition and introduce a new age of reason?
By now he was far beyond the river. He was a swift, powerful flyer; miles could pass during a moment lost to thought. It did him no good to fly blind. He needed to pick a destination. There must be some place in the kingdom where he could find shelter.
He looked to his left, searching the heavens for the pole star, But for some reason the stars were blotted out. He startled as he realized that he was in the company of another sun-dragon, dark and hidden in the night.
It was Zanzeroth. He raced toward Shandrazel on an intentional collision course. Shandrazel banked hard, pulling up to avoid the old stalker. His speed and strength gave him the edge; Zanzeroth passed beneath him with a yard to spare. Without warning, something snaked through the air with a snap, entangling his leg. Searing pain flashed up his spine as his body whipped to a halt. Suddenly, he was falling, dragged by Zanzeroth’s dead weight as the old dragon folded his wings. Shandrazel stretched to grab as much air as he could to slow their descent. Still they plummeted.
Then, only a few feet above the treetops, Zanzeroth opened his wings once more, catching his own weight. Shandrazel tried to recover from the sudden change in balance, but it was too late. The branches snatched and dragged at him, yanking him into the canopy. He crashed unceremoniously onto the leafy floor of the forest.
Shandrazel lay on his belly, stunned, all breath knocked from his body, until sharp claws wrapped themselves in the fringe of scales along his skull and jerked his head back. A cold sliver of steel pressed against his throat.
“You’re working with the wizard, aren’t you?” hissed Zanzeroth. “You’re up to your eyeballs in this. You could have won the contest fairly… Instead you conspired to have your brother killed.”
“That’s insane,” Shandrazel spat.
“Is it? Who profits more from your brother’s death?”
“I wanted no profit! I publicly defied my father and pleaded to have Bodiel appointed king!”
“A clever cover,” said Zanzeroth. “I confess, I was fooled until I had time to eliminate the false leads. Then I was left with the obvious.”
Shandrazel had heard enough. He jerked his head backward, slamming into the old dragon’s snout. He raised his fore-claw to catch the wrist that held the blade to his throat and twisted, forcing the weapon away. Zanzeroth was a skilled, experienced fighter, but Shandrazel had youth, speed, and strength to spare. He yanked the stalker free from his back, slamming him to the ground. A tall, narrow pine toppled as Zanzeroth’s hips cracked against it. Shandrazel sprang to his feet, bracing for a new attack.
“You senile old idiot,” Shandrazel said, his voice crackling with anger. “Your stunt could have killed us both. All over some baseless theory!”
Zanzeroth’s wings lay limp as blankets on the forest floor. The twitch of his tail revealed him to be conscious, however. The old dragon took a ragged breath, then chuckled.
“If I’d wanted to kill you, the whip would have gone around your neck rather than your leg,” Zanzeroth said.
“And if I wanted to kill you,” said Shandrazel, “I’d snap your old neck in two before you ever saw me move.”
“I believe you could,” said Zanzeroth. “You never lacked ability as a warrior. Only bloodlust. You fight only with your brains, never with your heart.”
“You didn’t chase me down to critique my fighting techniques,” said Shandrazel.
“Didn’t I? I honestly believed you planned Bodiel’s murder. But if you had, would I still be alive? You’d have killed me to silence me. I’m disappointed, not for the first time tonight. I guess you might be innocent after all.”
“You should know I’m no murderer,” said Shandrazel.
“But I had hope,” said Zanzeroth with a sigh. “Hope that you were a schemer, a deceiver, a cheat, and a killer. Hope that you had what it takes after all.”
“What it takes?”
“To come back,” Zanzeroth said. His joints popped as he rolled to his belly, raising himself on all fours, stretching his long neck to limber it. “I hoped you’d do your duty and kill Albekizan.”
“You’re his oldest friend,” said Shandrazel. “How can you wish such a thing?”
“What is the future you envision? A world where your father grows increasingly old and feeble until death claims him in his sleep? This is not an honorable way to die. In his decline, the kingdom would crumble. A loving son would sever his jugular while he still enjoys life.”
“A world where old dragons may die in their sleep doesn’t frighten me,” said Shandrazel.
Keeping his eyes fixed on Shandrazel, Zanzeroth rose. Shandrazel tensed his muscles as Zanzeroth reached for a pouch slung low on his hip. The hunter’s old, dry hide sounded like rustling paper as he moved. He untied the clasp of the leather bag and produced two round, red things the size of melons. He tossed them toward Shandrazel’s feet.
They were severed human heads, their bloodless white faces in sharp contrast with their gore-soaked hair and the brown-crusted stumps of their necks.
“Cron,” said Zanzeroth, “and Tulk.”
Shandrazel supposed it to be true. The faces were too distorted by death to be recognizable.
“Did you think you would spare them last night by not hunting?” Zanzeroth asked.
Shandrazel shrugged. “I hadn’t given their ultimate fates a great deal of thought. But yes, part of me hoped they’d be forgotten in the confusion.”
Zanzeroth cast his gaze down at the severed heads. He stood taller as if drinking in the sight of them gave him strength. “Do you enjoy looking upon dead men, Shandrazel?”
“Of course not,” said Shandrazel. “What kind of question is that?”
“Perhaps not so much a question as a warning. Your father plans to kill all the humans. He will build monuments from their bones. Pyramids of human skulls will rise from the fields. The species will be driven into extinction.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Shandrazel.
“The beauty of truth is that belief plays no part in whether it happens or not.”
“Why would father do this?” said Shandrazel.
“Is it important?” asked Zanzeroth. “From where I stand, the only thing that’s really important is that no one can stop him. Nothing will save the humans… except, perhaps, a new king.”
“You’ve come here to tempt me, then,” said Shandrazel.
“Take my words as you wish,” said Zanzeroth, turning away and limping into the shadows. “I will take my leave.”
SAFELY BEYOND SHANDRAZEL’S sight, Zanzeroth slumped against a tree. His head throbbed from the blow Shandrazel had dealt; his whole body was bruised and numb. He could barely feel his left leg. There was no doubt about it. If Shandrazel grew a spine, he would be a formidable match for his father. Perhaps the prince’s misguided sense of affection toward humans might save them yet.
Not that Zanzeroth gave a damn about the human race, as a lot. But somewhere among them was the man who stole his eye. With the king’s policy of killing off the whole species, Bitterwood, or the man pretending to be him, might be lost. If the king were to poison the wells of the humans, and his assailant were to die anonymously, just one bloated corpse among millions, Zanzeroth would never find satisfaction. Thus, it was in his best interests to complicate the king’s plans. And if Shandrazel was to be the tool, so be it.
SHANDRAZEL FLEW THROUGH the night and day, past the point of exhaustion. Tradition held that he had twenty-four hours to escape the kingdom. At nightfall, all subjects of the king were duty bound to kill him. His older brothers were all reported to have flown toward the Ghostlands, the cursed, dead cities that littered the northern wastes. There were rumors of powerful magics within the Ghostlands; Shandrazel had himself been tempted by the promise of exploring the unknown. And yet the day found him heading south, deeper into the lands held by Albekizan rather than to the possible safety of the north. He was determined to reach the one place in the kingdom where he knew he would find kindred spirits: the College of Spires.
Evening was evident in the blood-touched tint of the clouds. His target was finally in sight. From the seemingly endless canopy of emerald trees that blanketed this rolling land, the hundred gleaming copper spires of the college emerged. This was a city built long ago by biologians as a place for the finest minds of the kingdom to gather and study the great mysteries of life. And more so than his father’s castle, this was the place Shandrazel truly thought of as home. He’d been educated here, spending years studying the collections of tomes and scrolls and leather-bound journals housed in the libraries. More importantly, he’d been challenged here; the Biologian Chapelion, Master of the University, had taken him under his wing (though, not literally, given that Shandrazel was twice his size) and mentored him. Through endless hours of arguments, he’d taught Shandrazel the art of discerning truth from fiction. Some called Chapelion the ultimate cynic, a skeptic who believed in nothing. But Shandrazel knew, in fact, that Chapelion was the ultimate romantic-so deeply in love with truth he would never be seduced by convenient or comfortable falsehoods.
Shandrazel could credit Chapelion for his own stance against the ancient mythologies that shackled the races of dragons. If there was one place on earth that was certain to provide sanctuary, it was here.
The dense forest canopy gave way to green rolling hills dotted with tall oaks. Sky-dragons on the gravel paths below pointed toward the sky. Some rose to join him, shouting out his name. Soon, he traveled with a score of young sky-dragons. From the nearby spires, bells chimed a welcome.
Shandrazel spotted a good landing site. He angled his wings to slow himself, drifting gently down toward a white fountain that sat in the center of the college. A trio of marble sun-dragons craned their necks toward the sky from the center of the fountain, water bubbling from their open mouths and spilling into a pool below, green with water lilies. Shandrazel came to rest on the edge of the fountain, his talons grasping the familiar stone. The scent here was well remembered; the lively, humid air of the fountain square brought back recollections of debates stretching through long, warm nights. For the first time in two days, he felt safe. The sky-dragons that shadowed him landed as well, joining a growing crowd. In the moment it took Shandrazel to regain his breath after such a prolonged flight, he was surrounded by a sea of blue faces, all eyes fixed upon him. His name was spoken a hundred times in tones ranging from curious and excited to worried as the crowd speculated on the reason for his presence. From the cacophony of voices speaking his name, his ears found a welcome voice.
“Shandrazel!” It was Chapelion. The Master Biologian emerged from the crowd, draped in the green silk scarves that denoted his rank among the scholars. “You’ve come back!”
“An interesting assertion,” said Shandrazel, falling back into the ongoing joke he shared with his former mentor. “I admit there’s anecdotal testimony to support your claim, but do you have any physical evidence?”
In response, Chapelion punched him in the thigh.
“Ow,” said Shandrazel.
“Ow, indeed,” said Chapelion. “Why have you come here? Where is your mind? How can you be so thoughtless?”
“Thoughtless?”
“It’s nearly nightfall,” Chapelion said, looking up at the red sky. “In moments, I, and everyone in this crowd will be bound by law to slay you. This is a dangerous gamble you’re taking, Shandrazel.”
“You, sir, are the dragon who taught me that an unjust law may be disobeyed in good conscious. This is no gamble. I’ve come here to seek sanctuary and your advice.”
“You’ll receive neither,” said Chapelion.
“Please,” said Shandrazel. “If you’ll listen to me, I-”
“No!” snapped Chapelion, his scaly brow furrowing until his eyes were mere slits. “Your presence here dooms us all! We are scholars, not warriors. If Albekizan’s armies come here, there are no walls to protect us, no gates to defend.”
“He need not learn I’m here,” said Shandrazel. “Is there a dragon among this crowd who would betray me? I know I can count on your loyalty. We citizens of the college are bound with a camaraderie that may endure any test.”
“You fool!” said Chapelion. “Did I teach you nothing in your years here? You dare speak of camaraderie when your reckless action could mean the death of every student before you. You speak of loyalty yet apparently give no care that Albekizan may torch these hallowed spires and render to ash the accumulated wisdom of three hundred generations. Leave this place!”
“But, sir…” Shandrazel’s voice trailed off as Chapelion turned from him. From the tower the evening bell tolled, marking the arrival of sunset.
“Kill him,” barked Chapelion as the crowd parted to allow him passage.
The crowd closed once more in his wake. In mass, the sky-dragons crept toward Shandrazel, their eyes showing fear.
“Stay back!” Shandrazel shouted, lowering his head and opening his jaws wide to brandish his perfect, knifelike teeth. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”
Then from behind, a stone smacked into his shoulder. Shandrazel spun, his talons extended. He was completely encircled. The sky dragons were pulling the larger stones from the gravel walkways. A second stone flew toward him, glancing his wing. He retreated back into the shallow waters of the fountain. More rocks rained down. He was fortunate that the pathways held few stones larger than pebbles. But though the stone missiles caused little physical pain, each blow hammered into Shandrazel’s mind the awful truth. He was alone. There was no shelter here.
A splash in the fountain behind him signaled the rush of one of the bolder students. Shandrazel whipped his tail in an arc, catching his unseen attacker in the neck. There was a louder splash as the dragon fell. Shandrazel growled then charged to the edge of the fountain, snapping his jaws inches from the nearest student. The crowd roiled as dragons stumbled into one another, trying to avoid Shandrazel. He raked his wings across the crowd front, knocking students from their feet and causing shouts of panic to fill the air.
A circle expanded around him. Outnumbered a hundred to one, a sun-dragon was still a frightful force. In their wide, frightened eyes, Shandrazel could see every dragon before him wondering if they would be the one snapped in twain by his powerful jaws. Their fear stirred his soul to anger. Was this how a fellow scholar was to be treated?
Then, like a flood, shame washed away the anger. What was he doing? Was he prepared to fight and kill every last one of these students? If he weren’t, he knew his father would. Chapelion was right, as always. Shandrazel had betrayed these students by coming here.
“Anyone who tries to follow me is dead,” he growled, then spread his wings and rushed back toward the fountain. He leapt to the rim of the fountain and flapped with all his might, taking to the air, the downbeat of this wings knocking the smaller sky-dragons from their feet. He skimmed over the crowd, rising slowly, climbing with effort among the spires. His wings felt like lead; he’d flown two hundred miles to come here.
Two hundred miles, to reach the start of a journey to which he saw no end.
FOG COVERED THE moonlit valley as Jandra watched from the window of the log cabin. Vendevorex was asleep; the cooler clime of the mountains they’d taken refuge in these last two weeks seemed to stir an unspeakable weariness in her mentor. In the hours when Vendevorex wasn’t sleeping, he would take mysterious trips down into the valley to conduct business about which he wouldn’t discuss with her.
Jandra’s world had shrunk to the four wooden walls of the rustic cabin and a circle of a hundred yards around it that she’d been gleaning for firewood. She was bored. She’d gladly devour a book on the anatomy of mollusks if she’d had one handy; she’d even read the acknowledgements and the footnotes.
She went back to where Vendevorex lay in the corner. He was curled onto a pad of wool blankets with a patchwork quilt draped over him. His chest heaved slightly as he slumbered.
A small fire still glowed in the fireplace but cast little warmth. An iron pot hung on a hook over the fire; it held the leftovers of a stew of squirrels and some potatoes Vendevorex had smuggled from a farmer’s cellar. They’d been eating the same stew three days now. Jandra couldn’t help but think back to the feast held at the palace the night before the contest. She imagined the tables piled high with roasts and freshly harvested vegetables and crusty breads frosted with white flour. She could still taste the grilled trout she’d consumed that night; for desert she’d had fresh strawberries in syrup.
She sighed, trying not to think of it. Looking out over the moonlight fog she suddenly felt cold. To fight the chill, Jandra lay down beside Vendevorex, resting her head on his shoulder and pulling the large quilt over her as well. The quilt was musty. It had been in the cabin when they found it; there was no way to tell how old it was. The wool pads beneath her were rough and scratchy.
Resting next to Vendevorex triggered dim fragments of memory. When she’d been a mere baby he’d cradled her. His musky, reptilian scent made her feel that all was right with the world. She had no memories of her parents before Vendevorex. He’d told her they died in a fire and she alone had survived. She’d asked if she might still have surviving relatives, some distant cousin perhaps, but Vendevorex claimed that his research into the matter was fruitless. Her dead family had been migrants that had come to work Albekizan’s harvest. No one knew where they’d come from. Jandra had no idea what her birth name might be.
Most of the time, her former identity didn’t matter. Now that they were on the run, homeless and hunted, she wondered about the truth. Did she have remnants of a family out in the far reaches of Albekizan’s kingdom? Was there someone in the world she might yet turn to for help in this awful time?
Vendevorex was lucky, sleeping as he pleased. Jandra hadn’t slept soundly since they’d left the castle. Hours passed in the darkness as she alternated between dwelling on her worries and drifting through her memories.
Sometimes, in the weightless, dark void of pre-slumber, she could still smell the smoke of that long ago fire that had taken her family, and still see the blue talons reaching down into her crib to rescue her.
Then, just as sleep was taking her, Vendevorex stirred, waking her. She could tell from his breathing that he was fully awake. However he set his internal clock, an alarm had been triggered. She sat up and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, rising and freeing himself from the quilt. He stretched, his broad wings touching the far walls of the cabin. The diamonds that studded his wings glimmered red in the firelight. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“Gathering,” he said.
“At this hour? What? Are you going to steal more potatoes?”
“Perhaps. Or I may go and see about acquiring better quarters. I should say no more,” Vendevorex said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to raise false hope.”
“Ven, I need hope, false or not,” Jandra said. “Another day here in this cabin and I’ll go crazy. We can’t just wait here while Albekizan is killing the entire human race.”
“Then I can give you genuine hope,” said Vendevorex. “The slaughter has yet to begin, according to my sources. Albekizan killed the workers of the palace and then stopped. No broad order to kill humans was issued to the kingdom at large. Perhaps his rage has abated. More likely, I fear, he’s merely taking the time to plot a bolder strategy. If my meeting tonight is fruitful, we may soon be in a better position to gather news.”
“Meeting?” Jandra asked. “Who are you seeing? I want to come.”
“That would be unwise,” said Vendevorex. “Again, I’ve said too much.”
“Ven, you wouldn’t have said it unless you really wanted to tell me. It’s out in the open now. What’s going on?”
Vendevorex moved to the window of the cabin and looked out over the valley. He studied the scene for a moment, lost in thought.
“Very well,” he said. “Queen Tanthia had a brother who was killed by Albekizan’s brother, Blasphet. His name was Terranax; his wife was Chakthalla. She dwells in a castle about fifty miles from here. She manages these lands for Albekizan; socially, she’s well connected. More importantly, she has an affection toward humans.”
“She treats them like show dogs, you mean,” said Jandra. “I know her by reputation. She buys and sells humans based on their breeding.”
“Precisely,” said Vendevorex, sounding pleased that Jandra understood this point. “As you see, she has an economic interest in thwarting Albekizan. More, if what I’ve learned of is true and Blasphet is involved in this dirty work, then she has an emotional stake in stopping the scheme as well. She’s our best hope.”
“Fine,” said Jandra. She had little use for the sun-dragons who bred and displayed their pet humans; perhaps that was because she was only a mutt in their eyes. As a foundling, she had no noble lineage to boast of. But mutt or no, she was willing to swallow her pride if it meant getting access to an actual bed and to something to eat besides squirrel stew.
“I’ve long maintained a network of trusted contacts,” Vendevorex continued. “There’s a sky-dragon within Chakthalla’s court named Simonex who I’ve corresponded with through this network. I’m meeting him tonight, to work out the details of an alliance with Chakthalla.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Jandra.
“You’ll stay invisible,” said Vendevorex.
“Of course,” she said. She was surprised he wasn’t arguing against the idea.
“You won’t make a sound. In fact, breathe as little as you possibly can. We cannot risk spooking Simonex. He is fully aware that speaking with me could land his head on the chopping block should the king learn of it.”
“You won’t know I’m there,” said Jandra.
“Let’s go,” said Vendevorex, heading for the door.
Invisibly, the two of them headed down the winding, root-covered path that led to the river. The damp night air smelled of mushrooms and moss. The ground was slick; slimy rocks lay hidden beneath rotting leaves. Vendevorex held her hand to guide her over the most treacherous ground. She felt guilty that her presence was slowing him. He could simply have flown down the mountain if she hadn’t insisted on coming along.
At length they reached a large rock by a stream that fed into the river. Vendevorex paused in the open area. Then, he faded into the fog, only to reappear several yards away in the center of the rock. In actuality, he hung back near the edge of the stone, his claw still clutching Jandra's hand.
“Started to think you weren’t coming,” said a ragged voice from the fog. Jandra strained her eyes to see a figure emerging from the wispy cotton of the air. Vendevorex flinched.
“You’re not Simonex,” he said.
“Simonex?” said the sky-dragon who approached them, still half-veiled by fog. “Oh, you mean this fool?”
The sky-dragon now stood mere feet from Vendevorex’s doppelganger. He lifted a severed head high, revealing the tortured visage of a sky-dragon, eyes open and dull, the tongue hanging limp from its slack jaw. In her horror Jandra noticed a second detail-the sky-dragon who stood before Vendevorex’s double had only tatters for wings. The membranes that stretched between the extended fingers that formed his wing struts had been slashed, a punishment reserved for sky-dragons convicted of property crimes such as the murder of humans. This irreversible injury crippled the sky-dragons, severing them from their namesake element. It also marked them permanently as outcasts; she’d heard rumors that these tatterwings would retreat to the wilds and band together into thuggish gangs.
As she recalled this a second sky dragon appeared beside the first, then a third. From the edges of the stone two more appeared. She held her breath as she heard a rattle in the bushes next to her. A tatterwing carrying a long, crude spear crept no more than five feet to her right, crouching as if to spring.
With a final one stepping out from the other side of the stream, she counted seven tatterwings, all armed. Poor Simonex never stood a chance.
The lead tatterwing dropped Simonex’s head and rested his fore-talon on the hilt of the sword he had slung to his side. “Before your friend died he told us you work for the king,” the tatterwing said, sounding smug. “Said there’d be quite the ransom for you. In the meantime, those fancy jewels in your wings will make a good down payment.”
“You’d not live to spend your ransom,” Vendevorex said calmly. “There’s no corner of the earth you will not be hunted if you attempt to harm me.”
“We’ll take that risk,” the leader said, drawing his blade. The steel edge was jagged, more saw than sword. Suddenly, three large rope nets swirled from the fog, flying over the area. Two nets fell over the spot where Vendevorex’s doppelganger stood. They fell harmlessly to the ground, causing the illusion to flicker and shimmer. The leader drew back, eyes wide as if he’d realized that he was standing before a ghost.
Alas, the third net was badly thrown. Jandra leapt away as it headed for them. The tatterwing to her right rolled out of the path of the spreading hemp.
Vendevorex proved to be too slow. The net hit the edge of the circle of invisibility, then wrapped around her mentor. Vendevorex gave a mumbled curse as the illusion fell away, his concentration broken.
“By the bones!” the tatterwing across the stream exclaimed when Vendevorex’s double vanished. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the king’s wizard!” the lead tatterwing shouted. He sounded panicked and was swiveling his head, searching the shadows. Suddenly, his eyes focused on the wizard’s netted form. He pointed his jagged blade toward Vendevorex as he cried, “He’s too dangerous to hold hostage! Kill him!”
The nearest tatterwing rushed forward, his spear held level with Vendevorex’s heart. Invisibly, Jandra dove into his path, tripping him. This ruined her invisibility; she gambled that there would be a moment of surprise in which she might dart back to safety and vanish once more. Unfortunately, the tatterwing fell on her. She fought to get out from under him. She rolled to her back to find a second tatterwing rushing at her with a spear.
Before the dragon reached her, a loud sizzling sound, like bacon in a skillet, drowned out even the water in the stream. The net that covered Vendevorex flared in a searing flash, disintegrating and freeing him. All the tatterwings reflexively raised their talons to shield their eyes.
Vendevorex pointed his left wing toward the dragon with the spear that had been charging Jandra. The dragon yelped in shock as his spear crumbled to ash and took a large chunk of the flesh of his talons with it.
“You murder my associates?” Vendevorex said, his voice trembling with rage. “You threaten me and my companion, attacking us with ropes and pointed sticks? Fools!”
Vendevorex drew his shoulders back seeming to double in size. “I am Vendevorex! I control the building blocks of matter itself! Know that your actions have brought my judgment upon you!”
White balls of flame engulfed the tips of both wings. Vendevorex lunged out and touched the flame to the snout of the dragon near Jandra, who stood staring at his damaged talons. Shrieks echoed from the hills as Vendevorex pushed the dragon’s suddenly limp body away. The tatterwing fell to the stone, his face boiling to pink mist, revealing his skull.
Jandra kicked free of the dragon who had fallen on her as Vendevorex leaned and plunged the flame into the dragon’s spine. This one didn’t even have time to scream before he died.
Jandra struggled to her feet. She rose to find herself face to face with Vendevorex who said in a firm tone, “None can escape.”
Jandra understood. A single survivor could reveal their location to the king. And who knew if Simonex had told them about Chakthalla? As Vendevorex turned to face the leader of the tatterwings, Jandra grabbed the fallen spear of the dragon she’d tripped. She set her sights on the tatterwing on the far side of the stream who’d turned to run. Luck was with her; he tripped on a root, hitting the ground hard.
Jandra had never killed before. She’d never even carried a spear. But there are moments in life when one discovers the most primitive actions are built into the very muscles. She jumped the stream, the spear tucked tightly against her body, both hands gripping with all her might. With her full weight she drove the shaft into the back of the tripped tatterwing, feeling the slips and snaps as the stone tip worked its way through hide and muscle and gristle to the ground beneath.
The tatterwing thrashed and gasped, its talons scraping the earth, still struggling to rise. The air suddenly smelled of urine. Jandra released the shaft and staggered back, unable to believe what she’d done. She turned to find Vendevorex surrounded by a mound of charred corpses. His foes all died so quickly and quietly. The smoke from his victims wafted across the stream; she braced herself for a horrible scent. Instead, the aroma reminded her of roast venison.
The weak, wet calls for mercy from her victim lingered for several long moments until Vendevorex caught his breath, crossed the stream, and silenced him.
Jandra sat down by the stream, her eyes closed, her cheeks wet with tears. She grew sick to her stomach; her hands felt slick with blood, though in truth, there wasn’t a spot on her.
Vendevorex placed a fore-talon on her shoulder.
“It had to be done,” he said.
“I know,” she sobbed, wiping her cheeks. “I know.”
“I apologize. I failed to train you for a moment such as this,” said Vendevorex. “I’ve sheltered you from the darker side of our arts. I’ve showed you illusion and minor transmutations. As you’ve seen, there are more… aggressive skills to be learned. In the morning we’ll begin your lessons.”
Then he left her and began to dig through the satchel of the fallen leader. She went to the stream and splashed water on her face. It helped; she no longer felt quite so close to losing her dinner. Her body trembled as the adrenaline worked through her. She looked at her hands. Had they really killed someone? Though it happened only a moment before-the corpse of her victim was in the edge of her sight, the spear thrusting up like a young, straight tree-it all felt so distant. Like a memory from years ago, a different life.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She could kill if she needed to. The knowledge gave her a grim strength. It was good to know, in a way. She’d wanted hope earlier in the evening; now, in the least expected fashion, she’d found it.
Vendevorex rose with a folded sheet of paper in his claw. He opened the paper, agitating the molecules of the air above it to create a soft light by which to read. He nodded his head slowly as he studied the words.
“It’s from Chakthalla,” he said. “These tatterwings had no idea the treasure they carried. Albekizan would give half his kingdom to know the contents of this letter.”
ALBEKIZAN STIRRED FROM his sleep, sensing an alien presence in the room. He opened his eyes to the dim light of the chamber. Among the shadows something rustled like dry leaves. He raised his head for a better view. A shadow moved toward the large table on the far side of the room.
Then, a scratch, and a spark. A match had been struck. An oil lamp flickered to life revealing the dark-scaled hide of Blasphet.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Blasphet said, placing a roll of parchment on the table. “I confess, I feel rather giddy. I’ve been contemplating the task you gave me. Quite a thorny problem. I now have a solution.”
“Blasphet,” Albekizan said, standing, stretching, fighting off the stiffness of interrupted sleep. “It’s late. Why did the guards let you in?”
“They didn’t. I killed them,” Blasphet said with a shrug. “It was depressingly simple. No challenge at all in killing such a dim-witted lot. Try to replace them with something a little brighter next time.”
“I assigned all my best guards to cover you,” Albekizan said.
“Oh dear,” Blasphet said. “I have more bad news for you then. But that can wait. This can’t. Come. Look. Isn’t this the most marvelous thing you’ve ever seen?”
Albekizan glanced at the parchment. Blasphet raised the lamp to cast a better light. A nearly impenetrable maze of parallel and perpendicular lines covered the surface of the parchment. Albekizan looked closer. Slowly the lines began to make sense. They were roads, buildings, walls, aqueducts, and sewers. It was the map of a grand city.
“What is this?”
“This is the ultimate destination of mankind,” said Blasphet. “Their final home. Do you like it?”
Albekizan rubbed his eyes. His brother was insane; this was a given. Albekizan normally wasn’t surprised or disturbed by Blasphet’s odd tangents and flights of fancy. But this?
“I asked you to plot the destruction of all mankind and you design a housing project. This is unexpected, even from you.”
“Yes, well,” said Blasphet. “If the humans expected this it could never work. But I took inspiration in your words. I thought that was a very insightful thing that you said, telling me that freedom would be my shackles.”
“Hmm,” said Albekizan. “I suppose I did say that.”
“This is the Free City,” said Blasphet. “It’s the city of humanity’s dreams. What they will never know, until it’s too late, is that it is the city of our dreams as well.” Blasphet ran a claw dreamily along the lines of a major street.
“If you say so,” said Albekizan.
“You can’t see it, can you?” Blasphet said. “Let me explain the beauty of this plan.”
Albekizan said, “Go on.”
And, come the dawn, Albekizan considered the inky paper stretched out before him to be the loveliest thing under all the sky.