“I’m busy,” he said, looking them up and down. “What do you want?”
“We’re looking for King Dane,” said Socrates. “Can you tell us where to find him?”
The man turned, scanning the workers in the area. He put two fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Several turned to see what was the matter. “Jaren,” he called out, waving at one of them. A man in his early twenties hurried over.
“Take these people to Dane,” he said, nodding at Socrates.
Jaren looked them up and down. “Follow me,” he said, and started walking down the slope.
A few yards down the road, they came to an opening in the wall that looked like a very small room. Jaren ushered half the group inside, and told the others to wait their turn. He pulled a switch on the wall and a metal gate shot out, blocking the entrance. The room dropped out from under their feet. The crewmembers scrambled, latching onto the iron bars bolted to the walls.
“It’s an elevator,” Jaren said, watching them with an amused grin. “El-e-va-tor. Because it elevates things.”
River, who was hanging onto the metal bar as if her life depended on it, still managed to be a little offended. “You could have warned us,” she said, straightening up.
“I didn’t realize that our simple technology would frighten you. Would you like me to explain how it works?”
“I think we can figure it out,” she said through clenched teeth. She looked at Socrates, and the ape shook his head. River unclenched her fist, which she had been about to use to wipe the smirk off Jaren’s face. Socrates was right. It wasn’t worth a fight, especially since Jaren’s arrogant presumption was wrong. The truth was that River, Socrates, and many of the others had used elevators before, back in Sanctuary.
Those elevators however, bore no resemblance whatsoever to this one. While Sanctuary’s architecture was elegant and sophisticated, Dragonwall was primitive and its technologies somewhat crude by comparison. The elevator, being a simple stone-walled room with a metal grate for a door, was a perfect example. Had Jaren warned them what he was about to do, there wouldn’t have been a problem. Instead, he’d taken the others by surprise in order to make them look foolish. Or perhaps, to make himself feel clever.
It didn’t matter, River decided. There would be plenty of time to teach the boy some manners later.
Through the iron gate, River kept an eye on the passing levels as they made their descent. Each section of roadway seemed to grow wider and more crowded, and she caught glimpses of machines out on the balconies; of motorized carts and vehicles, and more men wearing powered metal suits. Her view of the mountain’s interior expanded until she could see the complex framework climbing the walls, thousands of springs, gears, and pulleys in a constant state of movement. Inside and behind this framework, workers hurried to and fro, their movements hidden by the machine, their appearance like shadows behind a curtain.
The elevator came to a stop at the base of the mountain, and they all stepped out. The lake of molten lava glowed and bubbled in the center of the cavern, and they saw half a dozen blacksmiths on the smooth stone platform in its center.
“That’s Dane,” Jaren said, jerking his thumb towards a tall shirtless man with black hair and a thick beard. He stepped back into the elevator. “I’ll send your friends down in a minute.” He pulled the switch, closing the iron grate, and vanished.
Chapter 16
King Dane had broad shoulders and massive biceps. His muscles bulged as he lifted a length of steel out of the lava pool with a pair of tongs. He was shirtless, but wore a leather apron around his waist, loosely covering his leather breeches and boots. He slapped the steel bar down on an anvil and began hammering violently. A shower of sparks fountained into the air, skittering across the smooth stone platform.
“It’s hot in here,” said Micah.
River spun around and glared down at him, frowning. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been right behind you the whole time.”
“Who invited you?”
“I invited myself.”
River rolled her eyes. “Micah, this group was supposed to for be armed warriors only.”
“Really? Why?”
River glanced at Socrates, then at the massive blacksmith hammering the red-hot iron in the middle of a lava pool. “It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “Have you been drawing all of this?”
“Of course!”
“Good. Don’t leave out any details. I want to go over your drawings later.”
They approached the bridge and paused there, looking it over. It was a formidable structure, consisting of heavy wooden beams reinforced with steel bars, brackets, and bolts. Still, it was just a few feet over the lava, and no one was racing to try it out first.
“It looks solid to me,” Kale said, projecting confidence.
“It’s made of wood,” River said in a skeptical tone.
“Most bridges are.”
“Yes, but most bridges aren’t a hair’s breadth away from molten rock. Look at the bottom of these timbers. They’re scorched!”
“It’s well reinforced,” Socrates said behind them. “I’m sure you have nothing to fear.”
“Even steel melts,” River said.
“Nonsense,” said the ape, walking around her and stepping onto the bridge. “If the air in here was hot enough to melt steel, this bridge would be the least of your worries.”
He strode across without a backwards glance. The boards groaned and creaked under his great weight, but didn’t move an inch. As Socrates reached the far end, Kale hurried after him. Not to be outdone, River leaped onto the bridge and raced across. The rest of the group stayed behind. The king shoved his steel back into the lava pool next to his anvil, and turned to face the three of them as they approached.
“You’re not from around here,” he said, looking Socrates up and down. “Welcome to Dragonwall.”
Up close, River realized that King Dane was even taller than Kale, if only by an inch or so. Despite being much older, the man was impressively well-muscled, and considering the fact that he was dripping with sweat and covered in forge residue, surprisingly good-looking.
“You’re Dane?” River said, unable to hide her awe of the formidable man. “You’re the king?”
“King, blacksmith, mechanic; whatever else the moment calls for.”
“Forgive us,” said Socrates. “We didn’t expect to find the king working as a blacksmith.”
“I pull my own weight,” Dane said. “We all do. Never enough time or able hands, but always plenty of work to do. In Dragonwall, we don’t have the luxury of servants and slaves.”
“I see,” said Socrates. “In that case, please forgive the intrusion. I had hoped we could discuss a business proposition.”
“I’m listening.”
Socrates glanced around at the other smiths, several of whom were busy hammering red-hot iron bars. “Is there somewhere else we could talk? Someplace more quiet? It shouldn’t take long.”
Dane dropped his hammer into an iron loop dangling from his belt. With a pair of tongs, he pulled the metal bar out of the lava and tossed it into a bucket of oil. Acrid black smoke churned up in a thick cloud. It formed a column that rose up in the air and drifted towards the peak of the mountain. He retrieved his shirt, which had been hanging from a hook outside the smithy, and pulled it over his head. The garment was made of dense cloth, perhaps canvas, and it was a deep blue color. It was sleeveless, and the open laces at the front accentuated the king’s brawny physique.
“Come with me,” Dane said, walking between them. He led the group back across the bridge. By this time, the rest of their team had arrived and River watched Dane closely to see if he would say something about their weapons. Not only did he not mention the swords and muskets, he didn’t even seem to notice them.
“This way,” the king said, leading them along the edge of the lava pit.
As they walked, the group got their first clear v
iew of the mountain’s interior. A clockwork structure of enormous gears and springs climbed all the way from the bottom of the pit to the top of the mountain. At the center, perhaps ten stories up, a twenty-foot bronze gear turned slowly, moving a huge iron chain that stretched up into the darkness overhead. They walked around a massive metal strut bolted to the floor of the cavern, and River paused to stare up at the framework.
“The Chronoforge powers all of Dragonwall,” Dane said.
“Chronoforge?”
“It is the lifeblood of the entire kingdom. It operates continuously, day and night.”
“What does it do?” said River. “What is it for?”
Dane pointed across the fiery lake, to a series of iron pipes embedded in the far wall. “We harness the power of the volcano,” he said. “We capture the seawater that flows naturally through the crevices on the far side of the mountain. We funnel it into pipes and then, as it heats, into pressure chambers.”
River followed the course with her eyes, noting a row of cylindrical pressure chambers embedded into the walls of the mountain. “They’re giant boilers,” she said.
“An ingenious design,” said Socrates. “You’ve created a steam engine that works forever, and never requires fuel.”
“Exactly!” said Dane. “The chambers at the base of the mountain provide an endless supply of energy. Throughout the mountain, you’ll find PTO receptacles, where we rewind the springs that power our machines.”
“I don’t entirely understand something,” said Socrates. “Your people have clearly mastered this technology, but… why don’t you share it with the rest of the kingdom?”
Dane raised his eyebrows. “The kingdom?”
“Your brother in Stormwatch, for example.”
“Brother?” said Dane. “Ah, you’ve met Baron Fenn. How is my brother?” He emphasized the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Not well,” said Socrates. “He seems to be quite ill. I’m afraid he spoke of you in… less than glowing terms.”
Dane led the group under a tall stone arch and into a tunnel at the far end of the cavern. The arch and the walls had been carved with shapes of long intertwining vines creeping up towards a hammer and anvil at the peak. Inside, a staircase led up to the next level.
“Did my brother tell you he used to live inside Dragonwall?” said Dane as they began climbing the stairs.
“We didn’t get to talk long,” River said.
“Of course not. A conversation requires taking turns. Fenn likes to talk a lot, but he doesn’t like to listen. Let me tell you a few things about my brother... No, better still, let me show you.”
The staircase opened into a large room carved with more arches, pillars, intricate inlays, and other clever architectural details. At the front of the room, they saw a long wooden table, and behind it, a row of tapestries and paintings hanging from the wall. Dane stood before the table and stared up at the painting in the center. It was an image of a king and queen standing on the battlements, looking out over the sea.
“That king looks like you,” River observed, noting the dark hair and beard.
“He was my father,” said Dane. “King Dane the fourteenth ruled Dragonwall for forty years.”
“Fourteenth!” Micah exclaimed. “Your family has ruled for fifteen generations?”
“Not quite. I am the third ruler in my bloodline. Dane is the name given to every king of Dragonwall, on the day of his coronation. It’s a tradition going back a thousand years. I took the name when I proceeded my father, just as he proceeded his. My brother Fenn never forgave me for this. He always believed it was his right to be king. Unfortunately for him, Fenn was a bastard, the product of an unfortunate affair between my father and a serving girl.
“My half-brother never forgave our father. Fourteen years ago, he tried to organize a revolt to throw my family out of the mountain. He didn’t gain many followers, but that didn’t stop him from trying. It was at this very table that Fenn poisoned my parents. I watched them die, seated in those chairs.”
“And you let him live?” said River.
“I made him live,” Dane said with a grim smile. “I did the worst thing one man can do to another.”
“What’s that?”
“I gave him everything he wanted. I gave him a city to rule, subjects to lead. I gave him the power he had always craved. He didn’t expect the burden of responsibility that came with it.”
“So you gave him enough rope to hang himself,” Kale said.
“Well said. Now Fenn commiserates with his daughter, scheming in the shadows and darkness of their palace, spreading their misery to everyone they meet. I realize now that I should have killed him, not for my sake, but for the sake of my kingdom.”
“Why don’t you?” said Kale. “It doesn’t seem like it would be that hard.”
Dane looked sideways at him. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. Unfortunately, Fenn has poisoned the minds of his people against me. I send them food and he keeps it for himself, making the people starve. I send equipment and he secrets it away to sell it to other cities, outside the kingdom. I’m afraid that if I attacked him now, Fenn would rally a rebellion against Dragonwall. I already have enough problems with the dragons.”
“Dragons?” said River. “There’s more than one?”
Dane grinned. “If there was just one dragon, I’d be the happiest man alive. Unless it was the black one, of course.”
“Black?”
“Dragons come in a thousand different colors: gold, copper, silver, blue, you name it… only the males come in black.”
River glanced over her shoulder at Socrates. The ape’s face was an unreadable mask. She turned back to Dane. “Are the males more dangerous?” she said.
“Male,” said Dane. “Singular. There is only ever one male at a time. That’s why it’s best to strike at the male, if you can find him. But they are dangerous beyond description. They’re large, they’re mean, and extremely clever.”
“Why only one? Does he kill the others?”
“We don’t know for sure. At any given time, you’ll find thousands of dragons inside the rim of the wall, but all female. It seems that male eggs are very, very rare.”
Micah’s eyes widened. He stepped forward, about to say something, but Socrates put a heavy hand on his shoulder and River glared down at him. Micah licked his lips and averted his gaze.
“Has anyone ever killed a black dragon?” River said.
Dane shrugged. “We have a legend. According to the story, a great knight slew a black dragon a thousand years ago. The knight received a fatal wound in combat, and they both died inside the dragon’s lair.”
“The male is more dangerous,” said Socrates, “but you believe that if you kill the black dragon, the rest will die out?”
“It may be true, or it may be an old wives’ tale. It doesn’t matter, because no one can find the dragon, or his lair. If anyone does, they don’t live long enough to share the information. And the dragon’s territory is huge. He never stays in one place long, and even if his lair is discovered, he moves before an attack can threaten him.”
Dane started walking towards the tunnel at the back of the room, and the rest of the group followed, except for Micah. The halfling stood next to the table, staring up at the painting, his head tilted slightly to the side.
“Micah,” River said loudly, trying to snap him out of it. “It’s time to go.”
“What is that noise?” Micah said, glancing at her.
“What noise? I don’t hear any-”
Before she could finish, the stone wall behind the table exploded. The paintings and tapestries fell to the floor as chips of stone and clumps of dirt flew across the room. Micah ducked, turning away, shielding his face with his arms.
“Dragon!” Dane shouted, leaping back into the room.
Chapter 17
Before the dust could settle, the glittering blue head of a dragon emerged from the hole in the wall. It snarled, sn
orting out a brief burst of fire. Loren shot three arrows in quick succession, but they bounced ineffectively off the dragon’s thick scales. Dane caught Micah by the collar and shoved him back out of the way. Micah tripped, rolling sideways, and River scrambled not to step on him as she drew her revolver. The warriors fanned out behind the king.
The creature pressed into the room, knocking stones out of the wall as it crept forward. It was smaller than the crimson dragon Kale had battled. The blue was merely six feet at the shoulder, and approximately twenty from snout to tail. Even so, it likely weighed several thousand pounds, and the beast’s mighty jaws could easily have snapped a grown man in two.
“Sound the alarm!” Dane shouted at the top of his lungs. He leapt up onto the table, dodging as the dragon snapped at him.
River moved, looking for a clear shot. When she had one, she lined up the sights and squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck the dragon on the forehead and ricocheted off the creature’s thick, bony skull with a loud zing! The bullet bounced upwards, hitting the stone ceiling, and then whizzed over their heads and hit the far wall with an exhausted plink. By this time, almost everyone in the room had either ducked down or dropped face-first onto the floor. River straightened up and turned to see Socrates glaring at her with a dark frown.
Very calmly, he said, “Don’t. Do. That.”
River nodded emphatically, her eyes wide. She flicked the safety switch and tucked her revolver back into its holster.
Dane drew his smithing hammer from the ring on his belt and struck a furious blow against the dragon’s shoulder. The beast recoiled with a hiss and unleashed a fiery gust. Dane flopped onto the tabletop, face-up. Cups, plates, and silverware flew off the table, shattering against the stones and clanging across the floor. The flames whooshed over him. As they trickled out, the dragon lunged, climbing up onto the table with him. Dane kicked at it and then dodged aside as the dragon snapped at his leg.
The others rushed forward, waving their swords and shouting, trying to attract the dragon’s attention. The beast turned on them, exhaling another fiery blast. The flames sent them scattering. Except for Kale. He snatched up a silver tray that had fallen to the floor and brandished it in front of him like a shield. He stepped forward, right into the flames. The handle grew hot against the palm of his hand and began to smoke, but the sinewy warrior ignored the pain.
The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3) Page 12
