Dragonforge

by James Maxey

  Alas, as he stepped into the brick courtyard, he discovered it was already occupied. Shandrazel was sitting in the main pool. Shandrazel was the heir of Albekizan. The sun-dragon’s blood red scales glistened in the flickering torchlight surrounding the bath. Beside him in the pool was Androkom, the high biologian, apparently taking a moment to relax in the aftermath of the fiasco of Vendevorex’s funeral.

  Pet turned to leave, but Shandrazel shouted out, “Ah! Bitterwood. Come join us.”

  Pet looked around, wondering where Bitterwood was, before remembering that he was now Bitterwood. He’d claimed the name as part of a ruse to save the villagers near Chakthalla’s castle. As a consequence of his deception, he’d been branded with the identity of Bitterwood by King Albekizan himself before thousands of his fellow humans in the Free City. By all rights, Shandrazel should have treated him as a mortal enemy. Yet, either Shandrazel didn’t believe Pet’s ruse, or else Shandrazel was completely drunk on his dream of launching a new age of peace and justice, and willing even to forgive a man famous for killing dragons.

  Pet gave a charming smile as he approached the pool.

  “We were just discussing the upcoming summit,” said Shandrazel. “We would love to hear your thoughts.”

  “Okay,” Pet said, loosening his belt. He slipped out of his clothes unselfconsciously. He’d never been embarrassed by his own nudity. He held his breath and leapt into the water. The pool was quite deep, built for the comfort of a sun-dragon, creatures that stood over twice the height of humans. The water was uncomfortably hot, almost scalding. Pet rose to the surface with a gasp. He noticed an oily film on the water. Fish were a major component of the diets of dragons, and the oil coated their scales as they preened themselves. Pet would require a bath after this bath.

  “So,” he said, bracing himself against the edge of the pool. “What did you want my opinion on?”

  It was Androkom who answered. A sky-dragon with vivid blue scales, Androkom looked uncomfortable in the water, since he was forced to cling to the sides of the bath as Pet was. Androkom said, “We were thinking that true reform cannot take place without a change in our vocabulary. For the last half century, the lands from the mountains to the eastern sea have been called the Kingdom of Albekizan.”

  “I guess that should change now that he’s dead,” said Pet. “The Kingdom of Shandrazel?”

  “No,” said Shandrazel. “I am the king who will end the age of kings. I will not rule this land—I will serve it. I make no claim to its wealth. Instead, the land is the common wealth of all, dragons and humans. Which is why I propose we call it the Commonwealth of Albekizan.”

  “Hmm,” said Pet. “I notice the name Albekizan is still in there.”

  “While I did not approve of my father’s tactics, it is pointless to dispute that his conquest of smaller, warring states created one united territory that has largely existed in peace for decades. In a sense, my father created the Commonwealth that we all share. Leaving his name on the land recognizes historical reality and pays tribute to the opportunity for true justice he created.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Pet said, though it didn’t.

  Shandrazel’s eyes brightened. He looked pleased at Pet’s acceptance of the idea.

  Pet was familiar with the look. His life had been devoted to making sun-dragons happy. It was his calling in life. As a result, he’d lived a life of comfort other humans couldn’t dream of. Perhaps it would be best if he continued doing what he knew how to do well, and simply accepted everything Shandrazel suggested. Shandrazel was kind hearted. Things would work out, wouldn’t they?

  “Excuse me,” Pet said, pinching his nose and sinking beneath the steaming waters. Here, weightless, surrounded by water as warm as a womb, he felt free to think.

  What he thought about was that horrible day he’d stood on the platform of the Free City, with Albekizan looming over him, taunting him as the dragon armies warmed into the square to slaughter the assembled humans. Of course, the king’s plans had gone wrong. The humans had fought back. Was he now going to surrender their lives back into the control of dragons? Was this the reward those countless unknown soldiers would pay for his survival?

  His lungs at the point of bursting, he popped back above the surface of the oily water.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” asked Shandrazel.

  “No what?” asked Androkom.

  “No, I don’t like having Albekizan’s name appearing on new maps of this land. If we truly wish to form a new government, we should cut ties with the past. Simply call it the Commonwealth and nothing more.”

  Shandrazel raised a fore-talon to stroke his scaly chin. “There is wisdom in your words,” he said. “So much injustice in this world exists as an artifact of history. Grudges and grievances planted centuries ago blossom as today’s violence. Very well. The Commonwealth.”

  “I like its brevity,” said Androkom.

  “It’s bold in its simplicity,” Shandrazel mused. “It says that we have closed the book on history, and now take a quill to fresh pages to write the world anew.”

  Androkom said something in response, but Pet didn’t hear it. There was a disturbance in the castle, near the chamber door that led to the bath. It sounded like women screaming, high pitched shrieks that trailed off into cackling. Pet was something of an expert at deciphering the shouts of women. Despite the laughter, these women sounded out for blood.

  Androkom and Shandrazel got out of the pool. The wave created by Shandrazel’s sudden motion was enough to lift Pet to the pool’s edge. As he stepped out, an earth-dragon attendant came toward him with a big white cotton towel. The towel was meant for a sun-dragon, as big as a bed sheet. Pet draped it over his shoulder to form a toga. He rubbed his hair dry, wrinkling his nose at the fishy odor that clung to him.

  “I wonder what the commotion is,” Androkom said, sounding nervous.

  In answer, an earth-dragon soldier stumbled into the courtyard. He collapsed on the brick, his own spear jutting from his back.

  “What—” said Shandrazel. Before he could finish the thought three women burst from the shadowy doorway, leaping over the guard’s body.

  The women were naked, their pale bodies young and limber, as they charged across the room toward Pet and the dragons. Normally, Pet welcomed the presence of nude young women throwing themselves at him. The fact that these women were soaked with blood and waving long black daggers over their tattooed heads made him think their visit would not be a pleasant one.

  “Shandrazel!” Androkom shouted, leaping into the sky. “Save yourself!”

  Androkom beat his wings and rose into the air, unsteady. Sky-dragons used their tails for balance in flight; Androkom’s tail was little more than a stub after his escape from one of Blasphet’s deathtraps.

  Shandrazel didn’t follow his smaller companion into the air. As the women charged, one of them threw a volley of darts. The darts struck the earth-dragon attendant who stood near Pet. The dragon shivered, then fell to the ground, no longer breathing.

  A second woman threw her darts at Shadrazel—the biggest target in the room. Shandrazel responded by sweeping his wings forward, creating a powerful gust that knocked the darts off course. Two of the women continued to charge the sun-dragon while the third picked Pet as her target. An unearthly shriek erupted from her bloody lips. She hacked the air before her with her dagger as if she were stabbing at a swarm of invisible bees.

  In the course of a decade of carousing, Pet had bedded, if his math could be trusted, a total of three-hundred seventeen women. Some of the more heartbroken ones had physically expressed their displeasure at his faithlessness. Which is to say, Pet had experience in dealing with young women trying to sink a knife into his chest. He danced aside at the last second, allowing the assassin’s knife to slice only air. He kicked out his leg and caught her by the ankle, tripping her, sending her splashing into the hot pool.

  He turned to see if Shandrazel needed any help.
The sun-dragon seemed to have little to fear from the two girls. He swung his long tail around in whipping motion, catching the first attacker in the belly, folding her in two. The momentum of the blow sent the girl flying, crashing into one of the marble pillars that decorated the courtyard.

  The last woman leapt at Shandrazel, attempting to plant her dagger in his thigh. He caught her in mid air, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She squealed as she thrust the dagger up with both hands, burying it to the hilt in Shandrazel’s jaws.

  Shandrazel’s face went limp. The girl fell to the ground, a vicious row of red puncture wounds dotting her left shoulder. Shandrazel stumbled backwards, knocking over a large clay pot filled with shrubs. He clawed at the blade with his fore-talon, freeing it. It fell to the bricks with a clatter. Shandrazel lowered his head and stared at the blade with unfocused eyes. He lurched drunkenly then toppled, his tail whipping about as if it had a mind of its own. The wounded girl darted forward and grabbed the blade, then turned toward Pet. The assassin who had smacked into the marble column was also on her feet, limping toward him, her blade held in a trembling hand.

  Behind him, he heard the splashes of the first woman climbing from the pool.

  “Ladies,” he said, raising his hands, backing away, turning in a slow circle. No matter which direction he looked, there was always one just out of sight. “I’m sure we can talk this out.”

  The women responded with laughter, spitting blood.

  Jandra could hear her killer in the outer hall. More guards had come in response to the commotion. One by one, their armored bodies crashed heavily to the ground.

  If only she could have known the poison they were using, perhaps it wasn’t too late to command the microscopic machinery that swam in her blood to form an antidote. At the thought, a single molecule came into focus before her, enormously magnified. The years Vendevorex forced her to study chemistry proved useful. She recognized the molecule as an organic alkaloid. The long chain of atoms was coiled like a serpent about to strike. The poison was made of dozens of carbon and hydrogen atoms, tangled together with a few oxygen and nitrogen atoms. Just two nitrogens, in fact. The molecule would be easy to break at these points. In her mind’s eye, one of the tiny machines that swam in her bloodstream darted forward and snapped the molecule in two with its infinitesimal claws. She imagined the action being repeated through her body.

  An instant later her heart beat. It was a feeble flutter, faint at first, but it grew stronger. Air gushed back into her lungs. The fingers of her left hand wriggled. Her right hand, which had taken the knife thrust, remained limp and useless. She sat up, woozy, and found herself staring at Ledax’s lifeless body.

  Or was it lifeless? Was he paralyzed as she had been, slowly suffocating? She saw the puncture wound in his shoulder. She jammed two fingers into the hole. It was as if her fingertips were covered by a million tiny eyes. She found the same poison in his blood, which now lay stagnant inside him. She willed the microscopic machinery within her to leach from her pores to attack the poison inside Ledax. Nothing happened as the seconds ticked by. Her own blood had been full of the devices necessary to fight the poison. The earth-dragon lacked this advantage. She knew she should give up, abandon him, and go in search of the assassin. Yet, there was a look in the earth-dragon’s desperate eyes that told her that some spark of life still burned within him. Her heart leapt as those eyes blinked. Ledax gasped as his lungs stirred back to life.

  Confident that her devices were working to save Ledax, Jandra struggled to her feet. Her dizziness was fading but her right hand was still limp. She studied the wound. Her eyes focused on such fine detail she felt as if she was examining her hand under a magnifying lens. She could see how each side of the puncture wound fit together, skin cell to skin cell, nerve to nerve, with each torn blood vessel having a perfect mate across the gap. Willing the matched cells to reconnect, the wound closed over in less than a minute, leaving a ragged scar. She wriggled her tingling fingers. She liked this new helmet!

  With a killer in the castle, there was no time to dwell on her new-found powers. She chased down the hall, listening for any clue. She found the still bodies of two earth-dragon guards as she turned a corner. There was perhaps still time to save them, but if she tarried, how many more dragons would the assassin reach? Clenching her fists, she made the bitter determination that it was a higher priority to stop the assassin than to heal the dying. She ran faster, her strength fully restored, all traces of the poison gone.

  She raced around one more corner and found the assassin surrounded by the bodies of three more guards. It looked as if one had gotten in a blow, for the tattooed girl was bleeding profusely from a gash across her ribs. As Jandra ran toward her the girl looked up, her eyes still full of the same dark hatred. Yet now something new flashed within them: confusion.

  “Ah ough ah ill ooo,” the girl grumbled.

  “You thought you killed me?” Jandra asked, drawing up short, her eyes focused on the deadly blade. Jandra no longer feared the poison, but she wasn’t anxious to be stabbed again. It was time to attempt a feat she’d witnessed Vendevorex perform many times. She dipped her fingers into the pouch of silver powder that hung at her side, then flicked her fingers toward the girl. She waited several seconds as she and the girl circled each other, their eyes locked. The girl seemed wary, as if she were facing a ghost.

  The microscopic dust settled over the dagger. Vendevorex had been able to command the particles to instantly decay matter. Jandra reached out with her mind, willing the dagger to crumble to rust.

  The dagger glowed with an internal fire, then began to crack and crumble. The fire didn’t stop at the dagger, however. The girl dropped the weapon and wailed, shaking her hand as if it were in terrible pain. As she shook, the skin of her hand unraveled, the flesh falling away in damp nuggets until she was waving fingers of bone.

  Blood gushed from her wrist as Jandra watched in horror. The glow continued up her arm. Jandra reached out, trying to find all the particles with her mind, commanding them to stop. The girl fell to the floor, her right arm now nothing but bone. The flesh of her shoulder bubbled, but the girl had stopped screaming. Jandra finally brought the reaction under control, but it was too late. The girl was dead, with a good portion of her right rib cage exposed. Jandra turned away, sick to her stomach, as the girl’s blood pooled across the floor. She slumped against the wall, welcoming the coolness of the stone. The sound of the girl’s dying agony still echoed in her ears. Only, as she listened closer, she realized it wasn’t the girl’s death cry she was hearing. Another girl was screaming, several of them in fact. There was more than one assassin in the castle.

  There would be time to feel sick later. Now, she clenched her fists and ran toward the noise.

  Pet weighed his odds. He was confident he could deal with any given girl. It was just a question of how quickly the other two would move to attack when he acted. The two that Shandrazel had fought were wounded. The bitten girl grew paler with each step as her wounds trickled wet red ribbons across her breasts and belly. The other girl was limping after her collision with the column. So, the greatest threat was the girl he’d tripped. He tilted his head to see her movements from the corner of his eye. She was growing closer… closer… and then, she leapt.

  Pet whirled, slapping the knife from his attacker’s hand. Before she could react he swung his fist in a roundhouse punch, catching her on the chin, putting his full weight into it. The blow numbed his arm. The girl spun backward, stumbling, her arms flopping limply. He was certain he’d knocked her out. Unfortunately, she stayed on her feet and turned around to face him, her eyes full of hatred. She stood next to one of the decorative marble columns and placed one hand on it to steady herself. She used her other hand to wipe the blood from her mouth. Pet’s eyes flickered over the bricks. Where had her knife flown to? If he turned his back on her…

  Suddenly, a heavy flower pot dropped parallel to the marble column, crashing into the girl’s head
, smashing into a hundred fragments. The girl toppled sideways, her legs twitching.

  Pet looked up. Androkom perched atop the marble pillar, his eyes wide with fear. “Watch out!” he shouted.

  Pet spun to find the limping assassin barely a yard away. Her blade cut the air as Pet jerked away, the tip missing his throat by inches. His feet carried him backward, trying to open some space between him and the girl. Unfortunately, the enormous towel he was wrapped in wound up under his feet and he tripped, falling to his back. The girl loomed over him, raising her blade high.

  Then, suddenly, her blade was gone, along with most of her hand. She lowered the stump of her wrist, staring at the blood jetting out with each heartbeat. She grew white as Pet’s towel as her eyes fluttered up in her head. As she fell, Pet saw a familiar figure behind her.

  “Jandra!” he yelled out. “There’s a third one! Be careful!”

  “Where?” said Jandra, her eyes scanning the room.

  “She’s behind that column,” Androkom yelled, pointing with his wing.

  Jandra crept toward the marble pillar as Pet found his footing. He cinched the towel up higher as he, too, approached the column, his eyes alert for any movement.

  Rounding the column at a respectful distance, Pet found the final assassin sitting with her back to the marble, her legs splayed before her, her arms hanging limply by her side. She was shivering, and her skin had taken on a bluish cast. She held the black dagger loosely in her right hand.

  “Drop the knife,” Jandra said.

  “She’s dying,” Pet said.

  “I see that,” Jandra said, sounding annoyed. Then, to the girl once more, “I can save your life. Just put down the knife.”

  The girl cocked her head toward Jandra, fixing her vacant, dying gaze upon her. A smile played briefly upon her lips. Her mouth moved as if she was saying something, but no sound came out, only a gush of fresh blood. With a final burst of strength, the girl raised her blade, grasped it with both hands, and plunged it into her left breast, burying it to the hilt.