by James Maxey
And yet… Why would Vendevorex have plotted against Bodiel? Helping Cron survive may have fit within the wizard’s quirks, but working to harm Bodiel seemed too… active. There was more to this story than footprints alone were going to tell. Perhaps Cron himself would be more talkative.
“WAIT HERE,” SAID Vendevorex, peering through the branches toward the town beyond.
Jandra stepped forward for a closer look. She was glad they were hidden by the trees and not relying on her maintaining the invisibility shield. It left her free to use the same technique she’d used in the tower to turn the water into mist to gently dry out her clothes and hair, still damp from her plunge into the river.
They were hidden within a small grove of trees on the outskirts of Richmond, a human town several miles upriver from Albekizan’s palace. Richmond was a thriving place, built beside a long stretch of rapids. A canal running through the town connected the broad, deep river below the town with the swifter, yet still navigable river that wound up into the mountains. A gateway between the ocean and the mountains, Richmond bustled with activity as the wealth of the kingdom flowed through it. Vendevorex and Jandra watched the nearby river docks. A few dozen people could be seen going about their business.
“Where are you going?” Jandra asked.
“I think our best course at this point will be to take a boat,” Vendevorex said. “We can save our strength rather than exhausting ourselves on foot.”
“When you say take a boat, do you mean steal a boat?” Jandra asked.
Vendevorex turned his long, narrow face to her. His face was back to normal. He’d taken ten minutes to concentrate on the cut to his cheek, and now there was little sign of the wound, only a thin, pale line of blue scales that were fresher than the others.
“Yes,” he said flatly. “I mean steal.”
“But—”
Vendevorex raised his talon to his mouth in a gesture of silence.
Jandra clenched her jaw at the dismissive signal. She understood, of course, the danger they were in. But it always bothered her the way that dragons treated human property as their own. “People need—”
“These people are all dead,” Vendevorex said. “You saw the slaughter in the courtyard. It’s only a matter of time before the king’s troops descend on this place. Albekizan means to kill every last human in his kingdom. These people have much greater things to worry about than a missing boat.”
Jandra could hardly breathe. She had thought that the king was slaughtering only the palace workers in retribution for Bodiel’s death.
“Did… did you say…” she could barely think the thought, let alone speak it.
“Every last human,” said Vendevorex.
“We have to stop him!” Jandra said. “We have to go back!”
“We would return to our deaths,” Vendevorex said. “We escaped due to the haste with which I acted. We had the element of surprise. I turn invisible, not invulnerable. You of all people know how many of my magics are based on illusions. In a direct, violent confrontation with Albekizan, I could possibly best him, but then what? If I kill him, we’ll wind up with anarchy, or worse, under the rule of a buffoon such as Kanst. I see no immediate good options.”
“B-but, you’re his advisor. You can reason with the king, can’t you?”
“Albekizan’s notion of reason was to lock you in a cell to blackmail me into assisting him. I defied him, Jandra, for your sake. I won’t throw away our lives by returning to the castle.”
“Then, what? We sit idly by while all of humanity is slaughtered?”
Vendevorex shook his head slowly. “I… I need time to think. Let me secure a boat. There may be allies we can contact. Albekizan’s decision to wipe out the human race will meet with opposition from other sun-dragons, I’m sure of this.”
“We should at least warn the people of Richmond,” Jandra said. “Give them time to flee.”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Vendevorex. “We must be careful to leave no clues of having passed this way. I’m certain Albekizan’s troops are searching for us. Worse still, he may put Zanzeroth on our trail. We can’t be careless.”
“I can’t believe you,” Jandra said. She was thinking about the cries from the courtyard. She remembered the wet sound the axe made as it fell. Perhaps Vendevorex was content to allow these people to die, but she would have no part of it.
Without another word, she ran. Vendevorex reached to grab her but she slipped past his grasp and dashed from the trees, heading for the docks.
“Run!” she shouted. “Run! Albekizan wants to kill you!”
Instead of running, the men working on the docks merely looked up, bewildered. As she drew closer and her shouts grew more urgent, more people emerged from boats and buildings to see what the commotion was.
She reached a gray-bearded man who stood coiling rope at one of the nearest boats.
“Calm down, girl,” the man said. His eyes twinkled with bemusement against this leathery, tanned face. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re all in terrible danger,” she said. “You need to run. Albekizan plans to kill everyone.”
The old man chuckled. “Is that right?”
More men approached.
“What’s wrong?” a young man shouted as he strolled up.
“This girl says the king wants to kill us!” the old man said, sounding amused.
“He’s doing a good job of it,” another man shouted. “Takes half my wages in taxes, he does. That wicked old beast is starving my family.”
“Let the king try something,” another man shouted, brandishing a large, dangerous-looking hook. “He shows his scaly hide around here, I’ll give him what for.”
Jandra was out of breath. She bent forward, resting her hands on her knees, and said, “Please. This isn’t a joke. He’s killing people right now in the palace.”
A tall man appeared on the deck of a large boat twenty yards away.
“Oi!” he shouted to the assembled men. “Get back to work. We’re behind schedule already.”
The gray-bearded man shouted back, “Girl here says Albekizan’s killing people. I reckon this means we can take the rest of the day off.”
The crowd of men laughed.
Then, as one, the men turned pale and sucked in their breath, their eyes fixed behind Jandra.
Jandra turned.
Albekizan dropped from the sky, only a few steps away. As his shadow fell over her she suddenly felt very, very small.
Albekizan landed, his weight on his hind claws, his enormous wings spread for balance, the tip of his tail swaying like a cat’s with prey in sight. His red scales glistened as if wet from blood. His eyes smoldered with hatred.
“You mock me?” he roared. “I’ll kill the lot of you!”
Suddenly, the dock shuddered and banged with the panicked dance of a hundred feet. The men behind Jandra fled, some leaping into the river, others racing for the narrow alleys of Richmond. Inside of thirty seconds she faced Albekizan alone.
She swallowed.
Albekizan lowered his serpentine neck, bringing his face close to hers. His head was bigger than a horse’s, the long jaws capable of opening wide enough to close around her torso with a single chomp. His white teeth glistened with saliva. The pale wisps of feathers around the king’s nostrils swayed with each breath. Yet… she didn’t feel the breath, though his face was now inches from her own. And the perfumes the sun-dragons soaked themselves in… There was no smell.
“Ven?” she asked.
“That would be a lucky break for you, yes?” Albekizan said in her mentor’s voice.
“I can’t believe you’d frighten me like this,” she said.
“More important, I frightened the townsfolk.” The image of Albekizan fell away in a shower of sparks revealing her master at the center. “You’ve got your wish. They are warned.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I suppose they are. Let’s steal a boat and get out of here.”
&nbs
p; “An excellent suggestion,” said Vendevorex. “I wish I’d thought of it myself.”
CHAPTER SIX: SPARKS
Tulk and Cron had barely spoken to one another on their daylong flight along the riverbank. Tulk felt there should be a bond between them; they had been, literally, in the same boat earlier, drifting downriver until the dawn made travel by water too risky.
Yet Cron barely looked back as he raced through the woods. He showed no willingness to slow his pace or assist Tulk who lacked his companion’s youth and stamina. It was all Tulk could do to keep up.
At last, Cron paused at the forest’s edge, allowing Tulk to catch up. Tulk looked out at a large, reddish blob in the distance. He had no idea what he was looking at.
“Where are we?” Tulk asked between gasps for breath.
“That ship down there,” said Cron. “It’s Stench’s place.”
Tulk was confused. His eyesight wasn’t great but he certainly wasn’t overlooking the river. They were facing dry land. “What ship?”
“You really are blind, aren’t you, old man?” Cron said.
“I see you well enough to knock in your teeth, boy,” said Tulk.
“That big rusting thing down there… It’s a ship. It’s ancient. It’s on land now but centuries ago they say the river flowed through here.”
“Is it Stench’s place?” Tulk asked. He’d heard of the tavern many times, but having spent most of his life in captivity, had never had the pleasure of drinking an ale there. “I’ve heard that it was made of iron. I never believed the stories.”
“It’s true,” said Cron. “A priest of Kamon told me it was once a ship that could sail the oceans, built by humans before they angered the gods and fell from grace.”
Tulk felt as if he’d been slapped.
Cron, apparently sensing the offense, said, “What?”
“You spoke the blasphemous name.”
“Oh,” said Cron. “You’re one of them.”
“You’re a Kamonite?” Tulk spat after saying the name to remove its evil from his tongue.
“I’m not saying,” said Cron. “I take it you are a follower of Ragnar that you find such offense in his name?”
“Kamon is an abomination,” said Tulk, spitting again. “His lies have corrupted thousands. He turns people from the true path and preaches that dragons are divine things, the offspring of angels. He wants us to be inferior and subservient to dragons.”
“True. And you followers of Ragnar believe that we’re to fight the dragons at every turn,” said Cron. “We see how well that philosophy is working out. Men are inferior and subservient to dragons. The world will be a better place for everyone once we swallow that.”
“You mock Ragnar’s teachings?” said Tulk. “Speak truthfully. You know Kamon’s—” Tulk abruptly stopped speaking in order to spit, “—heretical philosophies, but of course, so do I. I will not condemn you for mere knowledge. But to practice his teachings is beyond all decency. Are you, or are you not, a follower of that foul prophet?”
Cron sighed. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. Besides, we have other things on our minds than a discussion of philosophy.”
“I am duty bound to slay followers of Kamon,” said Tulk, stopping to spit once more. He clenched his fists. He had to know the truth. Traveling further in the company of a Kamonite could risk his very soul. “We travel no further until you answer my question. Ragnar himself would slit my throat if he knew I’d traveled this far in the company of one of the fallen. Do you follow Kamon’s teachings?” He spit once more.
“If you keep spitting,” Cron said, “you’re going to turn to dust.”
“I’d sooner be dust than the companion of a heretic.”
“I don’t see any guards around Stench’s place,” said Cron, turning away from Tulk. “I’m making a run for it.”
The young man sprinted off. Tulk followed, afraid of being stranded. They dashed across the open ground that led to the red, boxy blob. As Tulk got within a few dozen of it, he could see that Cron had spoken the truth. Stench’s place was shaped like a ship, a hundred feet long, lying on its side. Could such an enormous structure have ever floated on the water? If it had been seaworthy once, it was no longer. Age had rendered most of the ship into a mound of rust. Holes gaped in what had once been solid plates of iron. The rear of the ship had collapsed under its own weight at some point. What had once been a hatch in the deck now served as a door, reachable via rickety wooden stairs.
“Stench!” Cron cried out as he vanished into the dark reaches of the hold.
“I’ll be damned,” echoed a reply from the darkness. “Cron! Is it really you?”
Tulk carefully made his way up the stairs and poked his head into the dark doorway. The first thing he noticed was, unsurprisingly, the stench. Swamp water saturated with the bloated corpses of skunks was the only odor he could compare it to. No wonder dragons steered clear of this place. He’d heard their sensitivity to smell was more developed than that of humans.
What had once been a hold of the giant ship had been converted into a bar. The room was long and thin; a wooden ladder led down to the floor, which at one time, Tulk assumed, had been a wall. A half dozen patrons sat around, too drunk to move, slumped against the wall on low couches. A wooden plank at the end of the room served as the bar itself. Behind the bar was a metal barrel full of some sort of flaming liquid. The smoke rising from the blue-green fire carried the horrible odor that permeated the place. A bald, withered man stood next to it, smiling a toothless grin.
“I see you brought a friend,” the old man said. “Tulk, I’m guessing. I heard you both escaped.”
“Word travels fast,” Cron said. “Is there a price on our heads yet?”
“Could be,” said the man who Tulk guessed to be Stench.
Tulk climbed down the ladder. He said to Cron, “If there is a price on our heads, you shouldn’t be reminding people of it.”
“We’re all friends here,” said Stench. “No one will turn you in. Besides, I’ve been told to treat you well by someone I’d rather not mess with.”
“Venderex, right?” Cron asked. “The wizard. He saved us. Why’s he doing this?”
“Can’t say,” said Stench.
“I’ve heard he has a human companion,” said Tulk. “I thought I saw a girl at the ceremony. I kept trying to make her out. I can’t be sure, though.”
Cron chuckled. “I noticed you gawking. Next time you’re in the presence of Ragnar, ask him to fix your eyes. That girl stood out at the ceremony. There were more eyes on her than on us, I wager.”
“You saw her?” Tulk asked. “It’s true? The wizard has a human for a pet?”
“Raised her like a daughter, I hear,” said Stench.
“That’s horrible,” said Tulk. “I’d rather be a slave than a pet.”
“Lucky you wound up in the right line of work, then,” said Stench.
“I don’t think it would be so bad to be a pet,” said Cron. “And, if humans and dragons are both God’s creation as Kamon teaches—”
“Again you speak his name!” Tulk said, his voice echoing against the metal walls.
“Take care,” said Cron. “This is a bad place to be sympathetic to Ragnar. Right, Stench?”
“Look,” said Stench. “You’re both in a bad place, period. Cron, you know I’m a loyal Kamonite like you. Every man in here is. But none of us have the luxury of squabbling about religion right now. If the king has his armies looking for you, I’ve got to get you both far down the river as soon as possible. You can spend the night here in my hidden room. Tomorrow, I’ll smuggle you downriver in a fishing boat. But when you reach the sea, you’re on your own. Tulk, if you do follow Ragnar, put aside your hatred of Kamonites long enough to get to the ocean. And Cron, can you not provoke him? It’s like you’re trying to pick a fight.”
“Sorry,” said Cron. “I’m not in the best of moods. I’ve spent all day expecting to be murdered at any second. Knowing that it mi
ght be a fellow human that does the deed is a bit much to swallow.”
Tulk couldn’t believe this cruel twist of fate. Alone in a den of Kamonites. To be faithful to the teachings of Ragnar would mean certain death. How many could he kill before he died, especially since he had no weapon? He gazed at the fire barrel. Perhaps he could somehow… then he dropped the thought. He didn’t want to get any closer to that smoke than he already was.
“In the name of all that’s holy, what are you burning?” Tulk asked, nearly gagging as he thought about the odor.
“My own special blend of herbs and skunk glands dissolved in hundred proof alcohol. You like it?” said Stench. “There’s pockets of stagnant water all through this place. Without the smoke we’d be sucked dry by mosquitoes. And as a bonus, it keeps dragons away. People get used to the smell. Dragons never do.”
“No,” said a loud, deep voice from the other side of the wall. “No, I don’t think I could ever get used to this smell.”
Tulk looked toward the iron wall in the direction of the voice. Then the whole room shook as something slammed against the metal. The noise was deafening. A shower of rust flakes fell, coating Tulk’s skin. Suddenly the room trembled again, as a red, scaly fist larger than Tulk’s head punched through the metal. The fist withdrew to be replaced by dagger-like claws that gripped the edges of the aged iron. The room shuddered as the claws peeled the metal back, popping the rivets free. The wall flew away, tossed over the shoulder of an enormous sun-dragon sporting a bandage covering his right eye.
