James Maxey: Dragonforge

"You cannot speak to that serpent," said Ragnar. "I forbid it!"

"I take my orders from Burke," said Pet. "He's the one who made me commander of the sky-wall team. If you have a problem, go talk to him."

"Talk to me about what?" a faint voice asked as a chill breeze swept through the room. Jandra looked into the kitchen. In the doorway, there was a man sitting in a strange contraption that was half-chair, half-wagon. His right leg jutted straight out before him, immobilized by steel rods. His eyes were red, as if he'd been crying, and he was squinting, as if he couldn't see well. His wheeled chair was being pushed by a woman only a little older than Jandra. She was tall, dressed in dark buckskin. She stared at Jandra with an unnerving directness, like a cat watching a bird.

"Burke," Pet said. "This is Jandra. She's a representative of Shandrazel. The dragons want to talk."

"I bet they do," Burke said through clenched teeth. He was obviously in horrible pain.

"I know Shandrazel personally," Pet said. "I want to talk to him. I don't think there's anyone in this fort better qualified to give him our demands."

"We have no demands!" Ragnar shouted, waving his fist at Pet. "We have victory! We have Dragon Forge! Let him send his armies against us! We shall crush them! As the days pass, the forge will provide our armies with better weapons, better armor, and machines of war the likes of which no dragon has ever seen! The end days of Revelations are upon us. When next we march from this fortress, it will be to drive the dragons into the sea!"

Burke closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as Ragnar ranted. He seemed to be thinking over Pet's proposal rather than listening to the prophet.

"Ragnar's right," Burke said, at last. He sounded quite rational. "We have no demands. The dragons are only willing to talk because they're scared."

Jandra found herself worried that she'd given these people false hope. Shandrazel wasn't truly interested in talking, either. But, perhaps if Pet could talk to him? Maybe Pet really did know Shandrazel well enough to persuade him to return to a path of peace.

Jandra walked over to Burke. The woman behind Burke lowered her hands to the hilt of her sword.

"Sir, you sound like a rational man. You look like you're in pain. I can heal your leg with my magic if you let Pet go talk to Shandrazel. I can use my powers on all the wounded here in Dragon Forge if that will help avoid further bloodshed."

"Magic?" Burke answered with a sneer. "Girl, I'm the last person you should talk to about magic. I know who you are. You're that girl Vendevorex raised. He was either a pawn of the Atlanteans, or a pawn of the goddess. In either case, if you've been raised by him, you're no friend of mankind."

"I'm nobody's pawn," said Jandra. "If you know about the goddess, you may be interested in learning that she's dead. Bitterwood killed her with one of her own weapons."

Burke raised an eyebrow. "Do tell. Bitterwood? He's still alive?"

"Yes."

"Huh," Burke said. He shifted in his chair as he contemplated this news. He winced at this minor movement. "You know, girl, if you'd told me anyone else had killed the goddess, I'd tell you you'd been tricked. My ancestors fought that high-tech witch many times, and thought she was dead more than once. But if I've ever met anyone up to the task of killing her, it was Bant."

"So, I'm not a pawn," said Jandra.

"Not her pawn," said Burke. "But, if you possess Atlantean technology and aren't staying in this fort to fight for the freedom of mankind, then you're a pawn of the dragons. From what I know of Vendevorex, he had access to machines I can only dream about. If you possess a tenth of his knowledge, you have the power to change the world. Technology was mankind's greatest competitive advantage in the Darwinian struggle for survival. If the goddess hadn't crippled mankind, the dragons never could have risen to where they are today. If we still had gunpowder, the last dragon would have vanished ages ago. If you possess advanced technology, why aren't you sharing it? Why do you allow your fellow men to grub around in the dirt to survive, rather than helping us rise once more to our rightful role as masters of this world?"

Jandra frowned. Burke was trying to make her feel guilty, but his use of the phrase masters of this world made her wonder if Jazz had been right. Maybe mankind couldn't be trusted with the power she commanded.

"I don't need you to heal my leg, Jandra," Burke said, his bloodshot eyes burning into her. "If you want to use your 'magic,' heal the world. Lift mankind back to the top of the food chain."

Jandra sighed. This was more than she could think about at the moment, and didn't seem to address the immediate crisis at hand. "There's no reason dragons and men can't share this world. We're intelligent beings. We can talk this out. Let Pet come back with me."

Pet nodded in agreement. "Let me take my best shot."

Burke sat quietly, looking past Pet and Jandra toward the fireplace in the next room. He looked tired.

"Go," he said at last. "I guess it can't hurt to hear what the big lizard has to say."

As they left the house, Pet lingered until Jandra had stepped into the street. Then he turned and fixed his eyes on Shanna. He'd worked many years on the ability to communicate his innermost desires to women with a single glance. Unspoken words passed between them. He held his hand open, as if to catch something.

Shanna understood. She moved to the table where she'd placed her belt. She loosened the sheath that held her poisoned dagger. She tossed the sheathed weapon toward Pet, who snatched it from the air, then spun smoothly on his heel to follow Jandra. He stuffed the dagger into the back of his pants, beneath his filthy cloak. Jandra wouldn't be the only one this night in command of an unseen power.

Chapter Thirty-Two:

That Strange Land to Which We Must Journey

Jandra and Pet walked through the snow-covered night in uncomfortable silence. She found it difficult to look at him; his once fine face was now ruined. She knew she could heal him; he must also know this. But he hadn't asked her to restore his looks. Somehow, in this most serious of times, it struck her as an insufferably trivial subject to bring up.

A driving wind cut down from the north. Pale patches of moonlight dappled the ground as the sky churned. Countless gaps in the breaking clouds opened and just as quickly closed.

In the end, it was Pet who spoke first. "I don't think you look all that much like Ragnar."

He said the words in an almost comforting tone, as if he sensed that the matter was weighing heavy upon her.

"I don't either, but it's not impossible that he's my brother," she said. "I guess I could use my powers to learn the truth. Compare our cells and find out how closely they match. But what if it's true? What then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I used to dream of having a human family. I saw the way that Ruth and Eve were so close. I envied the intimate bond they had as sisters. The way they knew that they were bound by blood to the best friend they would ever have. So what if Ragnar is my brother? I can't possibly feel that same connection. It's pretty obvious he loathes me. If I want the companionship of an irrational, dragon-hating fanatic, I can go hang out with Bitterwood."

Pet laughed. "Killing Albekizan didn't mellow him?"

"Did you know he eats the tongues of dragons?" Jandra asked. "I mean, he was preaching to me about how I shouldn't trust sun-dragons because they eat people, and then he cuts out Blasphet's tongue and eats it for dinner!"

"Wait, Blasphet? He killed Blasphet?"

"Oh, right. There's a lot to fill you in on. And, just looking at your face, I'm guessing you have a lot to tell me."