To everyone’s astonishment, nobody died during the next week. I’ll take credit. Having been turned away from Jawa Fruit territory, I had Relic guide the party along the cliffs to reach the north slope. This was the harshest terrain on the island; I knew it well, since the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom here had been left relatively untouched by previous generations of tomb raiders. Treasure seekers have a tendency to look for the easy score; if they had the taste for actual work, there were more reliable careers available. So, most of the explorers stuck to the relative ease of the southern and eastern slopes, as I had done early in my career. It was only after I’d forged a friendship with a woman who could toss half-ton rocks around like bales of hay that the northern slope had opened up to me. Some of my most profitable discoveries had been made here.
There were no substantial navigable rivers on this side of the island, just cascading streams, so there were no river-pygmies. The few trees that clung to the rocky slopes were gnarled and stunted, unsuitable for forest-pygmies. That left only lava-pygmies to worry about, and since the Shattered Palace sat near the dead center of their territory, I didn’t see anything we could do to avoid them.
As luck would have it, in the chaos that followed Infidel meeting my grandfather, she’d never bothered to clean the bone-handled knife. Relic had returned it to her, and I was still free to move about. I felt like a child opening gift-wrapped presents, flitting from ruin to ruin as the others slogged slowly along narrow tracks that would give a mountain goat vertigo. The men of the Vanished Kingdom had regarded this rugged landscape as a spiritual place, carving countless small temples directly into the steep rock faces.
On my last trip through the area, I’d spotted some dark spots high up a jutting cliff that looked more like windows than natural cave openings. Infidel had been willing to risk the climb, but we’d spotted it near the end of our trip and our packs were already bulging, so we’d decided to save it for another day. As Tower’s party crept along the yard-wide lip of rock that led beneath the windows, I could see from Infidel’s expression that she remembered the place. I felt a pang of regret over this and a thousand other plans we’d made that we never got around to doing.
I fixed my eyes upon the windows and lifted toward them, as if carried by the updrafts that swept across the slope. I drifted inside, eager to discover if we’d passed up some priceless treasure.
Even before I went in, I saw clues that this wasn’t an old temple. I’d looked at enough weathered rock over the years to tell the difference between stones dressed centuries ago and relatively fresh work. These windows looked no more than a few decades old, which meant they were likely the work of lava-pygmies. Once inside, the truth was even more evident, since the ceiling was low, only about five feet high, black with soot from a fire pit lined with stones. The fire pit was still warm, and the gritty floor was covered with fresh footprints. At the back of the cave was a tunnel leading deeper into the mountain.
The whole volcano was honeycombed with these passages, carved by lava-pygmies with obsidian pick-axes. Despite all the work the little orange men put into digging these tunnels and caves, they didn’t actually live underground. They used these tunnels mainly for religious rituals. For forest-pygmies and river-pygmies, Greatshadow was a god, but for lava-pygmies, Greatshadow was the god, and these tunnels normally led to pools of lava where sacrifices would be made.
When I first discovered these areas, my instinct was to back out. For one thing, exploring them meant crawling for hours, which was rough on the knees. Plus, you never knew when you’d turn a corner and find yourself face to face with a band of pygmies armed with poison darts and a sense of righteous indignation.
Once I started exploring with Infidel, the balance of power had shifted enough that lava-pygmy temples had become targets. While the lava-pygmies lived in the same relative poverty as the rest of the islanders, their sacred sites were often decorated with a commodity too valuable to ignore: dragon bones.
In theory, there were no dragons left other than the primal dragons. A scrap of dragon hide or a single dragon tooth were exceedingly rare in the rest of the world. Yet, somehow lava-pygmies always had dragon bones aplenty, along with hides that looked like they could have been tanned the week before. In The Vanished Kingdom, Grandfather had argued that these were the remains of ancient dragons, mummified and preserved by the dry, hot air inside the volcanic chambers. I’d never liked the theory. I’d spent enough time around the volcano to know that it might be hot, but it definitely wasn’t dry. Things rotted in a heartbeat in these areas.
I may have been given a key to the mystery when the two dragons attacked Commonground. Maybe the remains came from Greatshadow’s avatars once his spirit no longer animated them. Yet, when they’d been killed, their bodies had turned into slag and stone. No bones or hide had been recovered.
Since the party was creeping along the narrow path at a pace somewhere between snail and turtle, I decided I’d probe the tunnel a little deeper. The narrow passage was pitch black, yet my ghost eyes proved worthy to the task. In the absence of true light, the walls glowed with a soft, pale luminance. I wondered if the eerie illumination was some spiritual energy I had been unaware of when I was alive.
I followed the winding passageway long enough to get bored. Just as I decided to turn back I heard faint whispers ahead. I willed myself more swiftly along the corridor, in pursuit of the sound. The feeble, colorless spirit light gave way to a red glow. The dank tunnel air began to stink of smoke and rotten meat. I floated out of the narrow passage into a relatively large room, a rough circle twenty feet across, with a ceiling high enough that I was able to stand up straight again, assuming standing means anything when your feet can’t actually touch the floor.
A dozen pygmies were gathered near a jagged crack in the floor, casting long shadows from a dull red glow. Lava bubbled at the bottom of the crack. A shaman dressed in feathers was tossing sticks into the hole, where they exploded into bright flares. The smoke had the sweetness of eucalyptus.
They pygmies jabbered excitedly; I think they were discussing the patterns of the smoke, reading them for omens. My lava-pygmy vocabulary wasn’t all it could be. The only phrase I ever heard directly from lava-pygmies was “Yik! Yik! Yik!” which loosely translates as, “It’s a long-man! Kill him!” Still, as best as I could piece together, the shaman was telling the men that the fire-giver had once again blessed them. The pygmies were standing shoulder to shoulder in a circle, looking down at something other than the smoking lava. I peered over the short wall they created and gasped.
A dragon lay before them.
Unlike the beasts that had attacked Commonground, there was no question this creature was flesh and blood. It was quite dead; its burst belly revealed entrails writhing with white maggots. The pygmies leaned down and began cutting into the scaly hide with obsidian knives. I’d used these blades before. They didn’t hold an edge well, but when they were fresh, there wasn’t anything sharper.
The pygmies peeled the flesh away from the skull. I winced as I saw that the left half of the skull was bashed in. That would certainly hurt its market value.
In size, the dragon wasn’t much bigger than a goat. Its leathery wings had already been hacked off and were folded up along the edges of the lava pit. The snout had a bony horn similar to ones that baby lizards have to help chop themselves free of their eggshells.
Off to one side, a team of three shamans dressed in parrot feathers were scraping bright red scales from the hide into a large stone bowl. One of them grabbed a stone pestle and started grinding up the jewel-like scales. All three men spit frequently into the bowl, until it turned into a dark orange paste.
I’d always wondered what lava-pygmies used to dye their skins. Mystery solved.
Sadly, the dragon was decayed well past the stage where it had anything that could be called blood. I remembered my brief return to corporeality when Infidel had hacked into the dragon in Commonground, and my ability to touch Ivory Blade’s ghost blood. What would happen if I could put my hands onto some fresh dragon blood?
Hoping that Relic might have some insight on the matter, I surrendered to the ever-present tug of the bone-handled knife. A second later, I shot out into bright sunlight and hot, gusty winds, where the others still inched along the rugged path.
I flitted down to Relic. “I just saw a dragon. Not a flame drake like Reeker let loose, but an actual corpse that was probably alive as little as a week ago.”
Relic nodded. I see it in your mind.
“I thought all ordinary dragons were dead.”
And that is all you saw. A dead dragon.
“Yeah, but freshly dead. Well, not fresh, but recent.”
Relic didn’t respond as he kept hobbling along the path.
“If human blood can restore my ghostly body, could dragon blood bring me back to life?”
Relic shook his head.
“But when Infidel-”
Regaining corporeality isn’t the same as regaining life.
“I had a heartbeat. I was breathing. I was solid enough to get cut by the dragon’s scales. If it wasn’t exactly life, it was still better than what I’ve got right now.”
Relic dismissed my reasoning with a wave of his gnarled hand. Dragon blood possesses more life energy than human blood, but it is far more volatile. Human blood will dry on the knife, sustaining your phantom form indefinitely. Dragon blood will vaporize in seconds. The illusion of life will be powerful during those seconds, but it will be unsustainable.
“In theory, if I had a herd of dragons to stab, I might stay alive for a long time.”
Relic rolled his eyes.
“What’s wrong with this idea?” I asked. “That baby dragon can’t be the only one. It must have parents, uncles, aunts, cousins. I mean, what are the odds that I just happened to stumble on the very last one of its kind?”
I admire your reasoning, but it is deeply flawed. The dragon you saw had but one parent: Greatshadow.
“This wasn’t like the slag or fire dragons we’ve seen. It had entrails. It was meaty enough to rot.”
Judicious provided you with the solution to the puzzle.
I scratched my ethereal scalp. What was he talking about?
Greatshadow is among the more physical of the primal dragons. Just as he hungers for meat, he also still possesses sexual urges, and has the magical abilities needed to satisfy these instincts.
“You mean Grandfather wasn’t joking when he said that Greatshadow can make extra bodies with female aspects?”
Judicious also told you that the primal dragons pay for the vast scope of their powers with a loss of identity. The female bodies Greatshadow creates sometimes become so confused they believe themselves to be true dragons, separate from Greatshadow. They unconsciously use the magical energy that sustains them to shape their bodies further, to the point that mating with Greatshadow is capable of producing fertilized eggs.
“That is just disturbing.”
Greatshadow isn’t pleased by the consequences either. Some females are wily enough to conceal the eggs; once or twice a decade, an egg actually hatches, and a new dragon is born. Despite being born with a portion of Greatshadow’s own memory and intelligence due to their inherited telepathy, they never survive long. Greatshadow eventually discovers them and kills them. Lava-pygmy shamans harvest the remains.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
He again tapped his forehead. Maybe he’d read the thoughts of lava-pygmies. For all I knew, he’d read the thoughts of Greatshadow himself.
He looked up the slope and thought to me, We are near. I smell it on the air.
He was right. In another mile we’d leave the worst of the cliffs behind and have a clear path along the relatively tame terrain leading to the Shattered Palace. It was still ten miles away, but once we were off these goat-tripping pathways, we’d make good progress.
I glanced back to Infidel, who’d fallen once more into her War Doll role. Her face was utterly blank as she inched along the narrow stone, the oversized pack balanced upon her shoulders. A single misstep and she’d be over the edge; it might be a mile before she stopped rolling. Of course, Tower would probably swoop in to save her.
“So… have you been keeping track of her thoughts? About Tower?”
Yes. Would you like to know her true feelings?
I stared at her for a long moment. When I’d been alive, I’d lacked the courage to ask about her feelings. Now, I was going to learn them in the most cowardly way possible.
I turned away from both Infidel and Relic. “Not yet,” I said.
And maybe never. Because, if there was even a sliver of hope that I might be briefly reunited with her, I wanted to be able to look into her eyes without shame.
We arrived at the Shattered Palace barely an hour from sunset. I hadn’t visited these ruins in years; they hadn’t gotten any less spooky in the intervening time. The entire area is surrounded by a stone wall that used to be sixty feet tall, but most of it has collapsed into overgrown mounds. A few lone towers still stand, leaning at precarious angles, the stones held together by their corsets of vines. Beyond this was the grand courtyard, a quarter-mile of barren, pitch-black stone rumored to be cursed. The fine ghost hairs of my arms rose as I followed Infidel across the ebony earth.
The palace itself had once been carved into the side of the mountain. In classic Vanished Kingdom style, it had been adorned with high, narrow pillars, large stone heads, and numerous windows and balconies. At some point in the distant past, the palace had collapsed in on itself. The columns were broken, the stone heads split in two, and the walls shattered into gravel. If you scrambled over the rubble, there were passages leading into the mountain, but these, too, were mostly filled with broken stone and more bat guano than any sane man would want to crawl through.
Of course, men who came this far into the jungle were seldom the model of mental health. In any tunnel, you could find evidence of previous explorers — lanterns with broken glass, block and tackles locked with rust, various spikes and pinions draped with the rotting remains of rope.
The sheer scale and scope of the ruins called out to any treasure hunter. I’d come here long before I met Infidel. I’d turned back when I found the crushed remains of an earlier explorer. There’s a chance the guy had been someone I knew; the stench of the corpse, if corpse was the right word, was still relatively ripe. The reason I hesitate to use the word corpse is that it implies there was a body, and, really, what remained was best described as a smeared paste, vaguely man-shaped, coating a smooth stone wall. Whoever he’d been, he’d had a shovel, and whatever had smacked into him had caught the blade on the edge and folded it up like an accordion. After two days of wheezing in the ammonia rich air, slipping in the guano, the sight of the flattened body had dampened my curiosity and I turned back.
“This is a good place to set up camp,” said Tower, touching down in the center of the courtyard.
“I respectfully disagree,” said Relic. “Lava-pygmies conduct rituals here. If they find us on their sacred ground, we’ll have to fight.”
“They already know we’re here,” said Menagerie, in the form of an ocelot, scanning the mounds of stone surrounding the courtyard. “I’ve spotted a few dozen, but they seem wary. My gut tells me they’ll keep their distance. They may not be as kind to the others.”
“Others?” asked Tower.
“Explorers. Tomb looters. They have a camp about a half-mile down the mountain. I can smell them.”
Zetetic raised an eyebrow. “You can tell they’re looters by the way they smell?”
“In this case, yes,” said Menagerie. “I know those scents well. It’s Hookhand and his Machete Quartet. They always fence their stuff at the Black Swan.”
“Of all the people to survive the tidal wave,” I said, giving Infidel a knowing look. Hookhand and I had a rivalry that ran back twenty years. More than once I’d gone off chasing the rumor of some newly discovered ruin to find the bastard had beaten me to it.
“I don’t think the pygmies pose a serious threat,” said Lord Tower, rising up to survey the area. “The walls may be in ruins, but they’re still formidable barriers. To attack en masse, the pygmies would have to come through the gate. We’ll simply post a watch there, and frighten them away with a show of force if necessary. Aurora and Father Ver can start the night. No-Face and Menagerie will follow them. The War Doll and I will take the final shift to see us through until dawn.”
Aurora winked at Infidel, though I don’t think anyone else saw it. Infidel simply stared straight ahead, still playing the emotionless machine.
Without the steady winds of the north slope to shield us, the mosquitoes came on strong that evening. Father Ver was particularly afflicted by the buzzing bloodsuckers. He was in a foul mood as he waited at the gate, his scowl lines and bald pate covered with red welts.
Aurora had little to fear from the insects. They froze stiff the second they touched her pale skin, tumbling into an ever growing pile around her.
“I can soothe those if you’d like,” Aurora said as Father Ver scratched his face.
“I want no part of your pagan magic,” said Father Ver. “Under any other circumstances, I would have already banished an abomination such as yourself.”
Aurora leaned back against the stone pillar. “Is there something in your holy book that demands that you be nasty to people?”
“You don’t qualify as people,” said the Truthspeaker. “Ogres, along with pygmies, mermen, and the shadowfolk, are merely distorted reflections of true humanity, lies given substance by the false beliefs of fools. When the Omega Reader opens the One True Book, your kind will vanish from this world like a nightmare fading from a waking mind.”
“Whatever,” said Aurora. “You know, I hope I’m around when your book is finally opened. It would be priceless to watch your face fall as you discover everything you believe is wrong.”
Father Ver didn’t respond.
Aurora kept talking: “You Truthspeakers spend the majority of your life hidden in a remote temple, purposefully set apart from the real world, so that you can be brainwashed into a ‘truth’ that has nothing to do with reality.” Aurora looked up at the sky. There were very few stars shining through the tropical humidity. “I come from a land where truth is stark and tangible, a landscape white as paper for as far as the eye can see. You quickly come to grips with what is real, or you die. Spend a single week out on the tundra, old man, then come back and tell me if you still believe reality is found in some book.”
Father Ver slapped a mosquito on the back of his hand. “I find discussions with unreal beings tedious. Let us pass the guard shift without further attempts at conversation.”
Aurora said, “I’d be fine with that, except we’re going to be fighting for our lives together against Greatshadow. Among my people, it’s important to know the mind of the person you’re standing shoulder to shoulder with. If you and I must be allies, shouldn’t we make at least some small attempt to be friends?”
“My mind is no great mystery,” said Father Ver. “I’ve come here to make a stand for what is good; against an evil as strong as Greatshadow, I grudgingly agree to stand shoulder to shoulder with monsters. I don’t like you, ogre, and will never be your friend. But, in battle, know that I will surrender my life to save yours should victory demand it. You do not need my friendship. You have something far more valuable: my sacred word.”
Aurora nodded slightly, then returned to her star-gazing, letting the rest of their shift pass in silence. And though Father Ver never acknowledged it, let alone thanked her, the air around the gate was cold and dry, and frost-covered mosquitoes fell like snowflakes around them.
“M UH HUHN HURS, ” moaned No-Face, rubbing his bandaged hand as he leaned against the stone gate and peered out into the darkness.
Menagerie sat cross-legged on the ground, his hands resting lightly on his knees. He said, “I know your hand hurts. Talking about it won’t make it feel better. Listen.”
No-Face tilted his head. The forest was cacophonous with life; frogs, bugs, and night-birds shouting with all their power to catch the attention of potential mates. It took a moment’s concentration to pick out a distant, dull, doom, doom, doom.
“Guh?”
“War drums. They say the Death Angel has returned.”
No-Face pointed a finger at his own chest.
“Don’t flatter yourself. They mean Infidel. Apparently she did something to piss them off.”
No-Face chuckled, low and gravelly, then said, “Muhbuh shuh fuhd. Huh huh huh.”
“Yeah, right.”
They both fell silent, listening to the bass pulse beneath the thrumming ocean of sound.
Menagerie craned his neck, following the bouncing signals. He allowed himself a slight smile. “The Cracked Earth tribe reports a bad omen. The goat they tossed into the lava screamed three times before it died. Attacking tonight would bring certain disaster.”
“Grah,” said No-Face, his shoulders sagging.
“Don’t sound so disappointed. You’ll see plenty of action. We won’t have Reeker around for wide area control. I’m already out of blood for some of my big cats. I need you to fight smart.”
No-Face wrapped his chain around his damaged hand, then spun around and punched the stone beside him, sending out a spray of sparks. The sharp crack of the blow momentarily silenced the nearest wildlife, leaving only the throb of the drums, which suddenly quickened their pace. No-Face lowered his hand, his one eye gleaming with satisfaction at the dinner-plate-sized crater he’d made in the solid rock.
“Gut duh jub dum muh wah!”
“Fine then,” Menagerie said, shaking his head. “Fight the way you always fight.”
The bugs began to buzz again as the two men fell into silence. Soon the drums vanished once more beneath the sonic waves of life.
“Duhm,” said No-Face, rubbing his knuckles. “Muh Rukuh.”
“I know,” said Menagerie, staring into the darkness. “I miss him too.”
Since we’d left the Jawa Fruit tribe, Tower had barely made eye contact with Infidel. When I spied on him at night, his prayers had been especially heavy with the whole “wisdom to know lust from love” theme. With any luck, he’d decide to just forget Infidel and find some nice girl whose life wasn’t an affront to all he held holy.
The two of them walked up to relieve the Goons. Lord Tower was fully dressed in his armor; I couldn’t see his face. Infidel strolled behind him, biting her lower lip. Her expression could have been nervousness… or it could have been anticipation.
“You hear the war drums?” Menagerie asked as Tower reached the gates.
“No,” said Tower.
“The pygmies aren’t happy we’re here. But, the Cracked Earth tribe is refusing to take part in an attack tonight. Bad omens.”
“Excellent,” said Tower. “We won’t be here tomorrow night. I see no reason for unnecessary bloodshed.”
“Hukhuh,” said No-Face.
“He’s right,” said Menagerie. “They aren’t going to attack Hookhand either. With your permission, we’ll slip down to their camp and finish them off.”
Tower cocked his head. “Why would we want to do that?”
Menagerie looked genuinely startled by the question. “We’re going to be too busy fighting the dragon to secure any treasures we might find along the way. We don’t want Hookhand to slip in behind us and start looting before we even have time to make an inventory.”
“They don’t even know we’re here,” said Tower.
“Which makes this the perfect time to take them by surprise,” said Menagerie, grinding his fist into his palm.
“I’m not going to order innocent men be put to death simply because they had the misfortune of camping near us.”
“Innocent?” Menagerie stared at the knight in shock. “You don’t earn a name like Hookhand and the Machete Quartet by being good citizens. We need to-”
“I’ve heard your concerns,” Tower said. “I’ve made my decision. If Hookhand bothers us, we’ll deal with him. For now, get some rest.”
Menagerie opened his mouth to argue further, then caught himself. He said, tersely, “Yes sir,” then headed back to the sleeping area with No-Face close behind, rattling his chain.
Once they were several yards away, Tower pulled off his helmet. He produced the small leather-bound book from his hip compartment, opened it to a blank page, and tapped his helmet against it. There was a bubble of light, a sound like ripping paper, and the helmet was gone. The blank page now had a drawing of a helmet upon it.
“That’s damn convenient,” said Infidel, her eyes wide as she looked at the book. Her expression changed to a frown as she rubbed her jaw. “Man, it feels weird to talk after being quiet for so long.” She pursed her lips, licking them. “The words tickle my mouth.”
“I have something else to tickle your mouth,” said Tower, leaning forward, his eyes closed, his lips puckered.
He kissed only air. She stepped backward at the last second.
“Careful,” said Infidel, glancing back toward camp. “The Goons aren’t in bed yet. You don’t want them to see anything.”
“Let them see,” said Tower, stepping toward her, grabbing her by the arms. “Soon, I shall declare my love to the entire world!”
“Soon, maybe, but not now,” said Infidel. “We don’t want to get Father Ver all riled up.”
Tower’s grip loosened on her arms at the mention of the holy man. His eyes locked on hers in a look of fierce confidence. “Since last we spoke, I have searched my soul. You asked if I would obey Father Ver if he ordered that I arrest you. At the time, I was greatly troubled by the question. Now, I have no doubt. I would fight to the death to protect you, even against Father Ver. My love for you is greater than blind obedience to authority.”
“Ooooh,” said Infidel. “That kind of attitude will get you put on the naughty list. Believe me, I know.”
“Let it be so. I would suffer the torments of hell for a single night in your arms, my love,” he said, his voice low and serious.
Infidel pushed his hands off her arms and turned her back to him. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I mean, I’m flattered. Really, it’s a very nice thing to say. But, I hate to think I just lugged a half-ton of gear across a million miles of goat trails for nothing. We’ve got a dragon to hunt. After we kill it, we can start discussing, you know, romantic stuff. For now, we need to stay focused on the task at hand. Like… well, for instance, I was wondering if you had, I don’t know, any sort of special weapon to use against Greatshadow? I mean, your hammer didn’t even make a dent in that little fire lizard we fought.”
Tower smiled. “We would not undertake this quest if the proper weapon for the job hadn’t fallen into our hands. Have you heard of the Jagged Heart?”
“Nope. Never. Tell me about it,” said Infidel.
“The Jagged Heart was a weapon revered by the ice-ogres. It’s a harpoon tipped with a fragment of the shattered heart of Hush, the primal dragon of cold. Once, she was in love with Greatshadow, but she betrayed his trust in an affair with Glorious, the primal dragon of the sun. After Glorious went on to reject her, Greatshadow spurned her as well. Hush’s heart broke into a thousand shards, the largest of which was turned into a harpoon by the ice ogres.”
“Sound’s painful. Must not have been fatal, however. Hush is still a power up north.”
“As elemental creatures, primal dragons obey different physical rules. Hush endures, but her bitterness still chills much of the world.”
“And this Jagged Heart is pretty powerful, huh?”
“It’s cold is such that it extinguishes any heat or flame. Anything it touches shatters, be it steel or dragon hide.”
“Anything? How about your armor?”
“My armor could resist the cold. It’s composed of prayer and faith rather than base matter. As long as the monks maintain their vigilance, I’m immune from all harm.”
Infidel leaned close, placing a hand on his chest. “So… nothing can break through it? Nothing at all?” She ran her fingers along his breastplate. “Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “It doesn’t feel like metal. It’s warm. And sort of… silky.” She breathed on it, then rubbed her finger. “I notice it doesn’t show fingerprints, either.”
“You may touch it as much as you desire,” said Tower, his voice purring. “It will always maintain its pristine condition.”
Infidel pulled her hand away. “So, uh, the Jagged Heart’s a harpoon? Those are pretty big. You obviously aren’t carrying it. I guess that book stores more than just your armor?”
“Yes,” said Tower. “It’s filled with many types of equipment. And, on the final page, anything I write is instantly duplicated in a matching book in the monastery. They may also add items to their book for my use.”
“And that’s how you’d trigger the X sanction?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Don’t you think it’s creepy that we’re working with someone who’s kinda, sorta dead? I mean, I never got along with my father, but I didn’t think he’d get involved with necromancy. I especially didn’t think the church would go along with something like this.”
“The needs of a king and the needs of the church don’t always overlap,” said Tower. He looked toward the faint glow of the caldera. It had been especially calm ever since the eruption. “Of course, sometimes they do. The church hates all primal dragons. The king wants this island for its natural wealth.” He waved his gauntleted hand toward the forest. “Think of the navy that can be built with such an endless supply of large trees. We’ve long ago exhausted all useful timber on the Silver Isles, and now the forests on the Isle of Apes are producing fewer and fewer large trees. Anywhere the king searches for new resources, he finds primal dragons standing in the way. But, plans have now been set in motion to rid the world not just of Greatshadow, but of all the dragons. In the not so distant future, King Brightmoon will face no barriers at all in his quest to expand our great civilization.”
“Hmm,” said Infidel, running her hands along the seams of his chest plate, tracing the joints lightly with her fingernails. “I suppose ruling the world does excuse a little necromancy.”
Tower stared deeply into Infidel’s eyes. “And you, my lovely princess, you are the last surviving link to the bloodline of your father. Our children will have the sole claim to inherit the crown. Think of it, my darling: the product of my seed and your womb will hold dominion over the earth!”
Infidel met his gaze, and said, “This is quite a vision.”
“A grand vision,” said Tower. “And a true one. I believe with all my heart that our story is the central narrative of the One True Book. Our life and love are the very core of history. It is destiny. Our destiny.”
Infidel turned her back to him. “You’ll pardon me if I need some time to think about this. This is quite a lot to swallow.”
“Would it help if you had something sweet and cream-filled to swallow first?” Tower asked.
At first I assumed this was the worst sexual innuendo I’d ever heard, but Tower surprised me by turning to a new page in the book and tapping it. Instantly the night air was cut through by the scent of vanilla. Infidel’s nose twitched as she peeked back over her shoulder. Her face lit up with a huge grin as she spun around.
Tower was holding a silver plate on which set the tallest slice of cake I’d ever seen. The dessert was composed of seven inch-thick layers of golden cake separated by velvety frosting as white as fresh snow. The whole plate was dusted with confectioner’s sugar and delicate daisy petals composed of frosting. As Infidel stared at the pastry, I felt a surge of delight to see her smiling so after such a long period of sadness, then a surge of jealousy that I wasn’t responsible for her joy.
“I wrote the monks and asked them to hire the finest bakers. They placed the result into my book only hours ago. Enjoy!”
Tower produced a fork as he spoke, but it was too late. Infidel had already snatched up the confection with her fingers and was shoving it into her mouth. She might have been raised in a palace, but she’d had fifteen years in Commonground to shed any table manners. I hoped that Tower might be turned off by the sight of such messy hunger.
Instead, his own eyes as he stared at her frosting covered lips told of a deeper hunger still.