by James Maxey
Stonewall didn’t respond to this, but his face was easy to read. He still hoped that Cain was innocent, that everything was a misunderstanding. At the same time, in the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, she saw a second emotion. Guilt. Part of him worried that the accusations were true, and the failure to discover Cain’s treachery before now was entirely his fault. Anza felt sorry for Stonewall. She’d fought side by side with him when breaking Vulpine’s siege of Dragon Forge. He’d saved her life. She had no question of his courage and integrity, and still thought her father had chosen well in appointing him commander of the rangers. Stonewall was a good man, but this goodness was perhaps his greatest flaw. He assumed an innate decency in all men. This was in stark contrast to her father, who viewed his fellow men as engineering problems, riddled with unseen flaws that would inevitably cause them to fail.
Burke trusted no one fully save for Anza. He’d trained her in both body and mind to be a living machine, an instrument he could rely on to do whatever he needed done. From an early age, she’d understood the unusual nature of their relationship. After all, he’d explained it carefully and deliberately. The role she was to play in his life had been spelled out with flawless logic.
Now, Burke would educate Stonewall with the same blunt approach. Burke nodded toward Anza. She handed him the two rifles she carried. Burke stepped toward Stonewall. “These were recovered from the village of Multon. The dragons there have enslaved human women to serve as whores, and distill whiskey from grains given to them so they could make bread. Where there are whores and whiskey, there are men willing to pay any price for one or both.”
“I know this,” said Stonewall. “I’m doing all I can to stop it.”
“You’re not doing enough,” said Burke.
“I don’t even drink!” said Cain. Anza thought it was foolish for him to speak while her father had turned his attention to Stonewall. Stonewall had disappointed Burke, but Cain had betrayed the rebellion, and anything he said only brought him one step closer to the noose.
Burke handed one of the guns to Stonewall and continued holding the other.
“Bitterwood brought these back from Multon.”
Stonewall frowned as he studied the gun.
“I… I haven’t even been to Multon!” said Cain.
“I’ve found men who say you have,” Burke said, turning back to the prisoner. “I’ve also found witnesses who say you and Jubal got into a fight over a whore and that you shot him in cold blood. The men who witnessed this couldn’t speak since doing so would mean admitting that they were doing business with dragons. One of these dragons probably convinced you that they could earn a few coins by making sure the truth of what happened reached me. In exchange for silence, you surrendered the guns.”
“Lies,” said Cain. “Who speaks such slander? Stonewall, you know me! I would never do such a thing!”
“Then how do you explain that I’m holding your shotgun?” asked Burke, holding up the weapon. “The gun you swore you’d thrown into the river after the barrel split apart?”
“That’s not my gun!” said Cain. “Your guns all look the same. It could belong to anyone!”
Before coming into the room, Burke had removed the screws that secured the wooden stock. He slipped off the stock and turned the gun so that a series of numbers were revealed on the metal beneath. “It’s not widely known, but each shotgun is stamped with an identifying mark that’s hidden by the stock. To date, we’ve manufactured four hundred and forty-two guns based on my original design. Thirty-nine of these weapons have been ruined, usually because the barrel fails. Three hundred ninety-eight guns are accounted for in the hands of rangers and guardsmen. Five are lost, and I’ve foolishly trusted Stonewall to investigate what happened. Ultimately though, I’m responsible. I wanted to believe that fellow men wouldn’t betray the rebellion by selling our most priceless advantage to our mortal enemies. I clung to hope despite my long years of experience.”
Cain licked his lips. His eyes darted around the room, from the gun, to Anza, to Stonewall, then the floor. “I… I must have been mistaken,” he said, his throat sounding dry. “The dragons were attacking from all sides. When the gun misfired, there was so much smoke… maybe the barrel didn’t split. I swear, I threw it into the river! The dragons must have fished it out!”
Burke turned away. “You’ll be able to tell your story at trial. Now that we’ve confronted the witnesses who were there that night, we’ve got four men who’ll testify to what actually happened. My daughter can be very persuasive.”
“You mean she’s tortured people into saying what you want them to say!” said Cain.
“Have you tortured witnesses, Anza?” asked Stonewall, sounding troubled.
“No,” she said, instantly wondering why she said it. It was technically true, yes. Holding a knife to a man’s throat was intimidation, not torture. Still, only the fact that everyone she’d questioned had succumbed to threats had kept her from hurting anyone. Cain’s bruises were the only bodily harm she’d inflicted, and that only because he’d tried to run.
“You lying bitch!” snapped Cain. “Everyone knows the truth about you! Everyone hates you! You’re a damned monster!”
Burke slipped the wooden butt back onto the gun, took a step forward, and smashed Cain’s mouth with the improvised club. Cain fell to his side, spitting blood.
“For betraying mankind, I intend to hang you,” said Burke. “Insult my daughter again and you’ll never make it to a noose. I’ll cut your damned tongue from your mouth and let you choke on your own blood.”
Cain didn’t answer, though Anza could see he was still aware of every word. Stonewall looked deeply unhappy, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of her father’s violence toward a helpless man or because he was now accepting the reality that he’d been wrong.
Burke glanced at Anza and said, calmly, “Put this traitor in the cell with Bitterwood.”
Anza nodded, understanding at once that anger had won out over fear within her father. He’d stepped back from the pit of despair and was now thinking through the problem before him.
Stonewall said, “Bitterwood will murder him.”
“What of it?” said Burke.
“Cain deserves a trial, and, given the evidence against him, an execution. Handing him over to Bitterwood is no different than handing him over to a lynch mob.”
Burke turned his back to Stonewall. He let out a long, slow breath. “Fine. He’ll have his own cell.”
“I’ve heard Bitterwood brought back three guns,” said Stonewall. “I’ll organize the rangers at once to raid Multon and find the other two.”
Burke shook his head. “An army riding into Multon is only going to alert the dragons that we’re on to them. They’ll have all the time they need to either run or conceal the guns where we can’t find them. Anza will go alone, tonight, to fix this.”
“No,” said Stonewall. “I’ll go. I’m responsible. No one should be put in danger because of my mistakes.”
Burke said, “Anza is more than capable of—”
“We’ll both go,” said Anza. Her father looked shocked. She was slightly shocked as well. She worked best in silence and shadows. Stonewall was a competent fighter, but no one would describe him as inconspicuous. Having him accompany her was a risk, but it was a risk she was willing to take, for reasons that would be difficult to explain if her father asked questions.
“Very well,” said Burke. He turned to Stonewall. “I suppose you deserve a chance to redeem yourself. Help Anza bring back those guns. Kill any dragon you find who’s even laid eyes on the weapons. And since you’re the only one in this room who believes in God, it can’t hurt for you to pray that we’re not too late.”
NIGHT HAD FALLEN when Anza and Stonewall flew over the village of Multon. There was only a thin sliver of moon, but in the cloudless night it was enough to cast their shadows on the rooftops, two human silhouettes with wings like eagles. A superstitious observer looking up at
that moment could have been forgiven for believing he’d seen angels.
There was nothing supernatural about the wings Anza and Stonewall wore. According to her father, they were artifacts of now lost technology. Anza didn’t truly understand how the silver wings worked. She suspected her father didn’t either. They were attached to a large silver disk that adhered to Anza’s back without straps, and required little conscious thought to use. You just set your eyes on a point where you wished to go and the wings would carry you there in utter silence. Unlike dragon wings, her wings didn’t flap, though they bent and folded to catch the air to steer her.
She led Stonewall toward a burned out shell of a building, landing in the shadows behind it. With a thought, the silver wings folded compactly back into the disks they wore, safely out of the way, making soft, musical chiming noises as they did so. Ordinarily, she liked the wind chime sound of the wings opening and closing, but on a stealth mission the noise sounded dangerously loud. She looked around the corner of the building, studying to make sure no one had heard them. Seeing no one, she glanced at Stonewall, indicating with her eyes that he should follow. They darted along the back of a neighboring building. She moved lightly, nearly soundless in her moccasins. Stonewall did his best to be quiet, but his giant boots thumped as he followed, and she questioned the wisdom of bringing him along, though didn’t yet regret it.
The simple truth was, she liked Stonewall. She had no other friends at Dragon Forge. Women shunned her and men feared her. Stonewall always treated her decently. They saw each other frequently in the course of their duties and he always took time to talk to her, even though she possessed no capacity at all to engage in what was sometimes called “small talk.” She’d grown up mute, unable to speak due to a tumor in her throat, until the tumor had been removed a few months ago. She’d gained control of her newfound voice with the same discipline she brought to the control of the rest of her body, but found most of the babble of conversations she overheard to be utterly pointless. Why anyone bothered to discuss the weather befuddled her. What was the use of stating that it was hot, or that it was raining, or that it was windy? Both speaker and listener were observing the same weather.
Yet, somehow, it was different with Stonewall. For him to say it was a sunny day made the day feel sunnier. He also told her about his life as the son of a fisherman in a village on the Drifting Isles. The hard work had left him strong, but he would sheepishly confess to her that he didn’t think himself to be much of a fighter. He honestly hadn’t had much practice. With his size, no one dared to attack him and he was too soft spoken and good natured to pick any fights himself. She’d offered to train him, but he’d been worried he’d hurt her, and though she’d rolled her eyes at the thought, she’d let the matter rest. What Stonewall lacked in combat finesse, he made up for with sheer muscle. With his mace, Stonewall could bash through the defenses of even the most heavily armored earth-dragons.
And on an underlying level she was still attempting to puzzle out, those same muscles made him… pleasant to look at. Even more than his impressive physicality, she liked his face, the openness of it, the way he freely smiled, even the way he’d shown his grief and guilt when confronted with Cain’s duplicity, so different from the taciturn coolness of her father, or, for that matter, herself. Burke had trained Anza to use her emotions like tools. Fear was fuel to fight, happiness was her reward when she’d served her father well. Her feelings had been shaped with the same clockwork functionality as her muscles, so it brought both consternation and excitement that Stonewall stirred emotions she’d never experienced. All she knew of romance she’d learned from books; they proved a poor guide for defining what she felt. Stonewall didn’t set her heart aflutter, nor did thoughts of him consume her every waking moment. But she did find pleasure in his company, even now, when attempting to move unnoticed with him at her heels was roughly the same challenge as remaining unseen while being followed by an ox.
They reached the rear of a two story building. The windows were open to let in the summer night breeze and the large room on the main floor danced with shadow and light from a dozen lanterns. The voices of dragons and humans, both men and women, could be heard. A woman was laughing in a false, wearied tone that indicated she had a financial incentive to find a cloddish male companion witty. The smell of strong whiskey wrinkled Anza’s nose.
She motioned for Stonewall to stay hidden at the back of the building. She crept beneath the nearest window, staying low, and whistled the trilling song of a whip-poor-will, a night bird common to the area. She repeated the call three times, then crept back to the rear of the house.
“Are you sure he’s inside?” whispered Stonewall.
“No,” said Anza. “And if he is, who knows if he’s awake? He’s trustworthy, but at his age he does tend to nod off even when surrounded by noisy crowds.”
“Ish ‘cause of my age that no one thinks twice about speaking freely around me,” said a familiar voice as the door at the back of the house swung open. “Also, most folks my age are half-deaf. I still hear as good as I did when I was your age, Anza.”
An old man stepped onto the stairs with an unsteady foot. He swayed as he came down to the ground, reeking of whiskey and tobacco. He spread his arms and, in a slurred voice said, “Ish good to see you, Anza.” He wrapped his arms around her in a hug that seemed as much to keep him from toppling over as to greet her.
“It’s good to see you too, Thorny,” she said, returning the embrace. Thorny was her father’s oldest friend, and during her childhood he’d been the one person willing to hug her freely. Thorny was the closest thing she had to family other than her father.
“When Burke told me he had a spy inside Multon, I didn’t expect it to be you,” Stonewall said, looking concerned.
“You think I’m too old for such work?” asked Thorny, pulling back from Anza but keeping a hand on her shoulder to steady himself.
“I think you’re too much of a drunkard,” said Stonewall. “I’ve not seen you fully sober since the day we defeated Vulpine.”
“Whish is why I’m the right man for the job,” said Thorny, with a crooked grin that revealed his yellowed teeth. His breath was eye-watering. “Set me in a rocking chair in a tavern and no one takes a second look at me, even though they know I’m Burke’s friend. The dragons aren’t scared of me, because I’m old.” He held up his wrinkled hands. “I’m fit as a fiddle but look used up. People feel free to say anything around me because it looks like I’m passed out drunk about half the time, even though I’m not.”
“You’re not really drunk?” asked Stonewall.
“I’m not really passed out,” said Thorny. “I can drink an earth-dragon under the table. Nobody holds hish liquor better than me.”
“We all have our talents,” said Anza. “Father said to tell you we’ve no more time. Bitterwood took three rifles off the earth-dragons last night. He said he thinks there are more. Do you know who has them?”
“Sure do,” said Thorny. “I wished I could have gotten word back to Burke, but Lark never showed up this morning for me to pass on what I’ve learned.”
“Lark’s dead,” said Anza.
“The dragons got him?”
“Lark tried to defend a fellow ranger against Bitterwood,” said Stonewall.
“Bitterwood!” said Thorny. He winced when he realized how loud he’d been, looking back at the door. “Bitterwood,” he said again, in a whisper. “He was here last night! Burned down the big saloon. Killed twenty dragons like it was nothing, then rode off on that big weird snake of his.”
“We know,” said Anza. “What we didn’t know was that there were guns here. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t know until they pulled them out when they went after Bitterwood. Not that the guns did ‘em any good. The bullets just went right through him like he was made of smoke. I’ve always heard he was a ghost. I guess it’s true.”
“He’s no ghost,” said Stonewall. “He�
�s just a man, with a neck that will fit into a noose for what he’s done.”
Thorny looked skeptical. “Why would—”
“It’s not important,” said Anza, looking around to make sure they were still unseen. “All that matters now is that we get our hands on any guns the dragons still possess. Tell me you know something.”
“Sure, I know something,” said Thorny, grinning. “Look, for a few weeks, valkyries have been going in and out of Bigmouth’s place almost every day. Word is, he’s got something valuable he’s trying to sell them, but they won’t agree to his price.”
“Bigmouth?” asked Stonewall.
“He’s the earth-dragon who runs this town, more or less. I think his real name is Bimgrath or something like that, but everyone just calls him Bigmouth. He’s a lot smarter than most earth-dragons. Used to be one of the dragon king’s Black Silence assassins. He was born with the camouflage mutation that lets him blend in like a chameleon. Now that he’s been running Multon for a few months, raking in money from whiskey and his stable of whores, it’s kind of gone to his head. Doesn’t see why he needs a winged dragon giving him orders. A year ago, any earth-dragon would have obeyed a sky-dragon without asking a question. Bigmouth knows he’s got something valuable with those guns, and wants to make sure he gets something more valuable in return.”
“What’s he want?” asked Stonewall.
“Dragon Forge,” said Thorny. “He knows that the endgame once the sky-dragons figure out how to make guns is the defeat of the human rebellion and the capture of Dragon Forge. He wants to be appointed leader of the town. But, get this, rumor is, he doesn’t want to be in charge of the forge to follow orders from other dragons. He wants to run the forge so he’ll control all the weaponry in the kingdom, command his own army, and declare himself king.”
“This sounds like a political career we should nip in the bud,” said Stonewall. “Where would we find this Bigmouth?”
“He’s holed up in the rock house on the hill,” said Thorny, motioning across the rolling hills with his gnarled hands. In the faint moonlight, a single house stood on a hilltop above the town. Even from this distance, Anza could see a dozen large earth-dragons around the house, standing guard.
