Dragonseed

by James Maxey

  The gate tore from its hinges and fell, raising a cloud of dust.

  The earth-dragons at his back let up a loud cheer.

  “RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Sawface jumped onto the fallen gate and charged.

  He ran down the central avenue toward the well. The footfalls of the army he led sounded like thunder. It enraged him that there were no living humans visible, only hundreds of freshly slain bodies still bleeding in the dust.

  “GRRRRRRREEEAAAA!” he cried out, as he smashed his hammer down onto the stone lip of the well. The wall shattered, sending shards of stone heavenward. He swung around and banged the shattered wall with his thick tail and watched as a long section of it tumbled into the black pit of the well. The collapse of the well brought him no satisfaction. He needed blood! He needed to see the fear in a man’s eyes in the second before he crushed his skull!

  On the second floor of the foundry, a window swung open. A short man with a wispy mustache fired an arrow that whistled toward Sawface. It landed at the exact tip of his boney snout, quivering between his nostrils.

  Sawface tore the arrow free and charged the foundry. He slammed his hammer into the brick wall. Cracks ran up the mortar to the window where the man stood.

  “Idiot,” the man called down. “Too dumb to use the door.”

  “RRRRRAAAAAAAAUUUUUHHHH!” screamed Sawface. The mammal dared taunt him! He spun around and looked into the eyes of the earth-dragon immediately behind him. The soldier was half his size, heavily armored in plates of thick steel. He snatched the soldier by the arm and said, “BRING HIM TO ME!”

  He threw the soldier with all his strength at the window.

  The man who taunted him turned pale and jumped back into the room.

  The earth-dragon smashed into the wall a foot below the window with a loud crash, then dropped back to the earth at Sawface’s feet. Blood poured from his mouth.

  “EEERRRRRRAAAAAAAAGGAA!” Sawface screamed as he spun back to face the soldiers behind him. As one, they all jumped back a full yard. They stared at him with wide eyes.

  “GAAAAAHHRRRR!” he cried out as he barreled toward them. The soldiers parted, and then quickly closed in behind him as he ran around the side of the foundry toward the great central doors. He swung his hammer with every fiber of rage he could muster. The double doors flew apart in a spray of splinters.

  He leapt into the darkness beyond, halting for the briefest second as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He was hungry to find a target as quickly as possible. Behind him, he heard the clatter and clang of his Wasters as they, too, paused at the door.

  Before him was a wall of men, at least a hundred, crouched down on their knees, pointing rods of iron at him.

  Behind them were a hundred more men standing, also pointing iron rods. He recognized these pieces of metal. They were the bang sticks that had killed so many of his brothers at the battle near the river.

  Above the twin rows was a man with wings.

  “Now,” said the man.

  Sawface heard the SNICK of two hundred pieces of flint striking steel in unison. He heard the SSSSS and saw the dancing sparks as ten-score flash-pans sizzled to life.

  “Raaar?” he whispered.

  THE THUNDEROUS REPORT deafened Burke, but the visor protected him from the flash. He saw in crystal clarity the heavy iron head of Sawface’s hammer drop through the pink mist where the beast had just stood. The anvil-shaped metal bounced in curious silence next to the claw prints on the stone floor.

  Beyond, a dozens of earth-dragons writhed in agony as their horrified companions looked on. The sky-wall team must have heard the guns go off—for that matter, the men on the moon must have heard the gun go off. But it was the sky-wall team that poured to the windows and roof and began to fire arrows into the dragons in the street. The arrows flew so rapidly they looked like flashes of light in Burke’s visor. Above the ringing in his ears, he began to faintly hear the familiar song of the bows—zing zing zing zing zing!

  The earth dragons screamed as a single chorus. Never before had Burke heard such music.

  In thirty seconds, it was over. Not a single earth-dragon on the street outside the foundry was left alive.

  “The sky-dragons will see this,” Burke shouted. “They’re free to use the catapults again. Bombers! Go!”

  VULPINE LIFTED HIS head as he heard a thunder similar to the one that accompanied the explosion at the bridge.

  Sagen said, “Did the humans have a second war machine?”

  “Possibly,” said Vulpine. “It sounds as if this one fared no better than the first.”

  Seconds later, wisps of white smoke rose into the air near the foundry.

  Odd. With an explosion of this size, he would have expected black smoke.

  He looked up at the sky-dragon spotters high overhead. All had their necks craned toward the city as they rode the wind. Suddenly, one broke off and dove toward them. It was a member of the aerial guard. The sky-dragon spread his wings fifty feet above the ground and parachuted to a halt on the red-clay earth by the catapult. “The earth-dragons have been massacred!”

  “What?” said Vulpine, finding the dragon’s exaggeration amusing. “In the three minutes since they knocked open the gate?”

  The dragon shook his head. “In the thirty seconds after they reached the foundry.”

  “Are they in retreat?”

  The sky-dragon sounded angry. “I mean, sir, that every last earth-dragon that followed Sawface has been killed.”

  Vulpine’s voice caught in his throat. In the distance, he spotted the angels shooting into the air, straight up, one, two, three, four, five of them. They rose at an impossible speed until they vanished in the bright sky above.

  Arifiel, who was with them at the command post, turned and said, “As of now, the valkyries are no longer part of this mission.”

  “What?” asked Vulpine.

  “Has age dulled your ears?” Arifiel asked. “An angel came to the defense of the Nest. I’m alive because that angel saved me after I’d been badly burned. I was uncomfortable this morning when I saw the angels. They look different from the one who saved me, but their wings are the same. Now, the angels have come to the defense of Dragon Forge.”

  “And it’s your duty to fight them!” said Vulpine.

  “No, sir,” said Arifiel. “A valkyrie’s first loyalty is to the Nest. The Nest survives due to angelic intervention. Now, they have chosen to defend Dragon Forge. I don’t know what their purpose is. But there are mysterious forces at work here, and I don’t intend to leave those forces angry at the Nest.”

  “Arifiel!” said Sagen. “Such cowardice!”

  “It’s not cowardice that guides my judgment,” said Arifiel. “It’s—”

  She never finished her sentence.

  Vulpine’s jaws closed around her throat quicker than she could react. He felt her swallow against his tongue. He whipped his head violently to the side, tearing away her windpipe.

  She dropped to the ground, dying; bright red blood surged from the long rip in her pale blue throat. Vulpine spit away the bits of scaly hide that clung to his teeth.

  “You’re now in command of the valkyries,” Vulpine said to Sagen.

  Sagen looked pale as he stared at his father’s bloody mouth.

  “What if she’s right?” Sagen asked. “What if there are forces at work here we don’t understand?”

  Vulpine’s anger welled. “Of course there are forces here we don’t understand! Wars unfold in a great fog, and any dragon who thinks he can see the grand picture is a fool!” He shook his head. “As I have been a fool,” he whispered.

  “Sir?”

  “From the start, I’ve been advised to simply burn Dragon Forge and build a new foundry on the ash pile.” He sighed. “In my arrogance, I believed I could control events to produce a more favorable outcome. I should have known better, Sagen. I should have known that the world is bigger than any one dragon can fathom.”

  “No one could ha
ve foreseen the intervention of angels,” said Sagen.

  “It’s not angels that plague us,” said Vulpine. He was certain of this, despite the evidence of his own eyes. “It’s our unknown genius within the walls of Dragon Forge. All this time, I thought we had the luxury of waiting them out, as disease and dwindling resources depleted them. In truth, they were waiting us out… no doubt he calculated that the great empire Albekizan commanded would unravel before their food was exhausted.”

  At his feet, Arifiel convulsed briefly before her body went completely slack. Blood stopped spurting from her throat and slowed to an ooze.

  “I learn from my mistakes,” said Vulpine. “Load the catapults with oil and pitch. We may not eat lunch in the foundries, but it’s not to late to roast our dinner upon the coals of the—”

  Before he could finish, there was a clap of thunder from the southern side of the fort. He looked up and saw black smoke rising from the hill where the southern catapults had been stationed. An instant later, the ground beneath their claws trembled as if a giant fist had struck the earth.

  He followed the trail of black smoke upward and spotted the five angels a mile above. “Load the catapults quickly,” said Vulpine, kneeling to pick up Arifiel’s spear.

  “Where are you going?” Sagen asked as his father spread his wings and jumped into the sky, catching the spear in his hind-talons.

  “I’m going to kill the angels,” said Vulpine.

  “YOU HAD TO hit it,” said Jeremiah. His voice sounded odd. His ears were still ringing from the simultaneous firing of the rifles. Bombing the catapults below hadn’t helped things.

  They were up so high that Jeremiah was certain, had it been night, he could have tested his theory that Vulpine had carried him high enough to touch the moon. Even though the sun was out, the wind was piercing cold. He held the torch of oil-soaked rags closer, grateful for the heat.

  Poocher hung beside him in the air. The pig was draped with a dozen quivers of arrows. Vance hovered nearby, sky-wall bow at the ready, eyeing the thick black smoke beneath them for any signs of dragons.

  “I’m pretty sure you destroyed it,” Stonewall said to Anza. Anza was about thirty feet down, tilted out parallel to the ground, studying the brief flashes of the dragon encampment that could be seen through the smoke. Stonewall was almost directly above her. He looked as at home in the air as Jeremiah felt. Except for Thorny, everyone who used the wings liked them. Jeremiah wondered if the wings did something to his mind to make him feel less afraid.

  Stonewall was dragging a net filled with eight twenty-pound kegs of gunpowder. They’d already used two kegs. Anza’s job was to pull them from the net and figure out the right spot to drop them from to hit the catapults. Jeremiah’s job was to light the fuses. Vance was to protect them from any dragons who tried to reach them, and Poocher’s job was to make sure he didn’t run out of arrows.

  Finally, Anza nodded and gave a thumbs up.

  “West,” she said, swinging around and darting off.

  “West it is,” said Vance.

  The southern catapults had been taken completely unaware. They weren’t going to be as lucky at the western station. There were at least thirty sky-dragons climbing toward them, straining to match their height. Jeremiah wondered if Vulpine was among them. It was hard to tell sky-dragons apart. They were all about the same size and color. Still, he didn’t see any of them carrying whips.

  They closed in swiftly on the thirty dragons. Jeremiah was a little nervous, but Vance said, “They carry spears, but they can’t throw them far. They normally use them when they dive at people. We can be a few yards from them and not be in any real danger.”

  “I’d prefer not to test that theory,” said Stonewall.

  The dragons were now a hundred yards away and closing.

  Vance lifted his bow. He began to fire, and dragons began to drop. Jeremiah eyed the dragons nervously as they grew ever closer. Poocher, too, focused his attention on the wall of enemies that approached.

  Anza temporarily had her hands free, so she reached for her throwing knives.

  Stonewall said, “Shouldn’t we climb higher?”

  “You guys are too nervous,” said Vance, as his bow continued to sing.

  As he reached the last arrow in his quiver, a dozen dragons were in freefall. The survivors wheeled, fleeing for their lives. He turned toward Poocher and grabbed a fresh quiver.

  Jeremiah noticed how Vance’s face went slack as he looked back. Before Jeremiah could turn his head, a blue shadow flashed across the corner of his vision. A long slender spear caught Vance dead in the center of his chest and pushed through. The impact of the weapon through his shoulder blades popped his wings off cleanly.

  The sky-dragon who’d killed Vance released the spear in his hind-talons and snatched the loose wings from the air. He swooped up higher, flapping his wings to pause for a moment as he looked down to study the device.

  A long whip of tan leather hung from the slavecatcher’s belt.

  “Vulpine!” cried Jeremiah.

  Perhaps it was only a reflection of the silver wings, but Vulpine’s eyes twinkled as he gazed at the boy. “A true angel wouldn’t need machines to fly,” said the slavecatcher.

  ANZA HURLED HER throwing knives at Vulpine, folded her body, and shot into a dive. Vulpine kicked up with the silver wings still in his hind claws and knocked the blades away. It was too late to save Vance, she knew, as she shot toward his body. But the skywall bow was caught in his limp fingers. If they were swarmed again, she would need it.

  Vance’s eyes were still open. He seemed to smile contentedly as she reached out, snatching the bow and jerking it away.

  She slung the bow over her shoulder, which still throbbed terribly from the earlier catapult attack. If the blow had caught her on the ground instead of in the air, it would likely have broken her bones instead of merely bruising her.

  She shot back toward the battle above. Poocher was being ignored by Vulpine at the moment, so the supply of arrows weren’t in imminent danger. She could give her full attention to Vulpine.

  Unfortunately, Jeremiah decided to give Vulpine his full attention first. He charged the slavecatcher, lashing out with his torch. Anza’s battle-trained eyes could instantly see what was to come next.

  Vulpine released the silver wings he carried and kicked out, knocking the torch from Jeremiah’s grasp. The slavecatcher caught Jeremiah’s slender throat in his left hind-talon.

  With his right hind-talon, he caught the upper edge of Jeremiah’s wings near the shoulder. He pulled, tearing Jeremiah free of his wings. The slavecatcher dropped the wings, which tumbled away in the wind.

  Then, he let go of Jeremiah.

  VULPINE SMILED AS the giant man released of the net of barrels he carried and dove to save the boy. He was now alone in the sky with the pig—an absurd figure barely worth his attention—and the girl, who he’d seen in action at Burke’s Tavern.

  She rose in the air on her silver wings. Steel tomahawks dropped into her hands. He could tell as he studied her that her left arm was injured. She was more graceful in the air than her companions, but Vulpine had seven decades more experience in aerial combat.

  She threw the tomahawks. The one from her left hand went wide of its mark. He caught the second one in his hind-talon.

  “Care to try again?” he taunted as he glided in an arc around her. She did possess one mild advantage—she could hover. Vulpine had to keep moving to maintain flight.

  In his experience, humans wore their thoughts on their faces. He often knew their next actions before they did. This woman was different. As she watched him move, her face grew blank, utterly devoid of emotion.

  Suddenly, she shot toward him with an impossible burst of speed. Her right hand moved toward her shoulder and came back holding a razor sharp sword.

  He twisted his torso, allowing the blade to slip into the thin flesh of his wing just beyond his ribs. It stung, but there were no major nerves or arterie
s there. He swiveled his jaws around and clamped them down onto her wings. The metal made his tongue tingle. With his hind-talon, he grabbed her ankle and jerked.

  It took no more than a tenth of second to strip her of her wings.

  She fell, still with the look of utter dispassion on her features.

  She reached out and caught the looped whip on his belt with her right hand. Her sudden weight tugged him down. He beat his wings to regain his balance. A knife appeared in her left hand. She thrust it over her head, sinking it into the center of his breastbone.

  If this had been her good hand, Vulpine knew he would be dead. As it was, the blade caught in the bone. Pain radiated through his whole body, but the blow wasn’t fatal.

  “A good effort,” he said, craning his neck toward her. “I suspect you might have won on the ground.” He snapped his jaws onto her cheeks, sinking his teeth down until they rested on her skull. She let go of both the blade and his whip, and reached for his mouth. Her hands never reached their target.

  He opened his jaws and gravity claimed her. As she slipped into freefall he saw, at last, fear flash into her eyes.

  It was a most satisfying sight.

  “So much for the angels,” he said. “Where’s the damned pig?”

  There was a grunt at his back.

  He craned his neck and saw the black and white beast gliding along behind him, his snout only inches from the tip of Vulpine’s tail.

  “You’ll do nicely for dinner,” said Vulpine.

  The pig snorted. With the barest boost of speed, he shot forward the final inches.

  Vulpine winced as the pig’s jaws clamped down on the last vertebrae in his tail.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:

  DAWN OF A GOLDEN AGE

  VULPINE’S TAIL WAS stretched straight as an arrow. He kicked, trying to reach the beast that held him, but his tail was much longer than his legs. He beat his wings harder. The bones along his spine popped. The pig simply wasn’t flying as fast as he.