by James Maxey
Jandra shivered at these words, remembering how Shandrazel had been energized by the thought of her serving as an assassin. Was she now part of the fear he commanded? And if Shandrazel had fallen back on the lessons his father had taught him, was she any different? She was drawing on Vendevorex’s moral choices to guide her this evening.
“You never answered my question,” said Pet. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come… on a mission of diplomacy. I need to talk to Ragnar.”
“I can take you to him,” said Pet. “But I don’t think he’s interested in diplomacy. Neither am I, to be honest.”
“I need to at least try,” she said.
“If diplomacy means surrendering Dragon Forge, forget it,” said Pet. “We’ve paid for this fort with blood. We won’t give it up.”
“Not even if it means more blood shed?”
“We’ve made our stand,” said Pet. “Every man here would give his life to keep this town in human hands.”
“You might get that chance,” she said. “Shandrazel’s talking about burning this city to the ground. And, from what I’m told, it sounds as if Shandrazel’s army might have lost their first attack due to bad luck. He says some sort of illness swept his army just after the attack began. Can you count on a mysterious illness a second time?”
Pet crossed his arms, looking stone-faced. He answered, in a cold tone. “We don’t rely on luck. Ragnar says the Lord is on our side. So far, he’s been right.”
“You used to be so scornful of prophets,” she said. “How can you be part of this?”
“I’m not the man I used to be,” Pet said.
“Look, this is getting us nowhere. Just take me to Ragnar. I should at least hear what he has to say. Maybe he can make a believer out of me.”
“Maybe,” said Pet. Then he paused again. He was now close enough that she could smell him. His scent didn’t trigger the same erotic response it had the last time she’d been near him. Her senses were now more under control, for one thing, and he smelled especially ripe, for another.
Despite this, a small chill raced through her as she met his gaze. Before, when she’d looked into his eyes, though they had been beautiful as gemstones, they’d been empty; vacant windows into a vacant soul. The only emotion she’d ever seen inside him was lust. Now, his eyes were lit with something else—a hardness, a seriousness that told her Pet no longer desired her. He’d surrendered his life to a larger cause.
“Shandrazel hasn’t sent you here to do something dumb, has he? You’re not here to kill Ragnar, are you?”
Jandra froze. Pet couldn’t see her face though he was less than an arm’s length away. Was there something in her tone that tipped him off? Or had war simply left him with a greater degree of caution than he’d once possessed?
“I told you I’m here to talk,” she said.
“Good. Because you’d be dead in a heartbeat if you tried anything.”
Jandra was incredulous. Pet couldn’t possibly be threatening her, could he? “Why?” she asked, scornfully. “His God would strike me down?”
“No.” Pet’s open hand darted out. He clumsily struck her shoulder, rapidly ran his fingers down her arm to grab her bicep, and growled, “I would.”
“Unhand me,” she hissed. His grip was solid; his rough and jagged nails were piercing the sheer fabric that covered her arms. “Or I’ll unhand you. You’ve seen what my powers can do to human flesh.”
He relaxed his grip, but still held her. They stood, unmoving, for several long moments. Pet stared at where he knew her eyes must be. She turned her gaze away. At last, he released her.
“As long as we have an understanding,” he said. “You can follow me.”
Jandra dropped her invisibility as Pet led her into the house at the end of the street. She hoped Pet would take it as a sign of goodwill. Plus, it could prove useful not to have anyone else in the room know she could turn invisible.
The wooden house was modest and plain. The place felt claustrophobic compared to the abodes of sun-dragons or sky-dragons. They entered in a kitchen dominated by a large table built of roughly-finished pine, with stripes of black grime caked into its oily surface. A bushel basket of onions sat on the table and, from the smell, a fair number of the onions were rotting. Pet opened the kitchen door into a room with a fireplace. The heat washed over her in a wave.
Ragnar sat on a wooden chair by the fire. There was a woman sitting on his lap, her clothes in a state of disarray. The woman looked toward the door; her eyes were hard and indignant at the intrusion. A serpentine tattoo was faintly visible under the short dark hair that covered her scalp. A Sister of the Serpent? Jandra tensed. Shandrazel had said Pet was working with Blasphet.
Ragnar sneered as he caught sight of Jandra, his eyes wandering in disdain over her fine clothes and careful grooming. They had never been formally introduced. The last time he had seen her, in the Free City, she’d been disguised as a peasant.
“Who’s this?” Ragnar demanded of Pet. “Why do you disturb my counsel with Shanna?”
“Sorry,” said Pet. “This seems important. Apparently Shandrazel wants to talk.”
“I’m Jandra Dragonsdaughter,” Jandra said, with a respectful bow. “I’m here to speak for Shandrazel.”
Ragnar’s face slackened. He stared at Jandra as if she were a ghost. It wasn’t the reaction Jandra expected. After an awkward moment of silence, she decided to proceed. “Shandrazel intends to take back Dragon Forge. Your most valuable weapon in the recent battle, your improved bows, will no longer have the element of surprise. The illness that swept his forces was a chance occurrence. You faced an army unfit to fight. When the dragons attempt to take this city again, you’ll face certain death.”
Ragnar didn’t say anything in response to her words. He continued to stare, his expression unfathomable.
Mildly rattled by the possibility that Ragnar was, in fact, a madman, Jandra tried once more to appeal to reason. “There’s still a chance that bloodshed can be avoided. I was at the Free City. I’m sympathetic to the cause of human liberty. Shandrazel, too, is a proponent of greater human freedom. Tell me your demands for the surrender of this city, and I’ll carry them back to Shandrazel.”
Ragnar’s face took on a gray pallor as he looked down at the floor. He said, quietly, “I almost killed you as an infant, you know.”
Jandra cocked her head, perplexed. Was this just insane babble?
“What?”
“When you were a baby. A sky-dragon killed all my family save one, my infant sister. Later, he attempted to return her to me. But I knew she’d already been corrupted. I tried to kill you. To this day, I’m not certain what saved you. One moment I held a rock, preparing to smash your skull. Then I was struck unconscious by an unseen enemy. When I woke, you were gone. I was never certain of your fate.”
Jandra’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as she stared at the nude man. His body was crisscrossed by a hundred scrapes and cuts, his hair hung around his face in tangles. There were clumps of horrible things in his beard that she didn’t want identified. This was the leader of the rebels? He was so obviously insane, she couldn’t believe anyone had ever listened to him.
“Wait a minute,” Pet said. “Are you saying Jandra is your sister?”
“Once,” said Ragnar. “Before the dragons stole her and infected her spirit. I’ve heard rumors over the years of a girl named Jandra being raised in the palace. She had the same name as my sister—I had blurted out her name to the dragon who’d stolen her. The powers attributed to the king’s wizard, Vendevorex, were the same as those the sky-dragon displayed that night—command of fire and ice, and the power of invisibility. These are powers of the devil.”
Jandra felt the hair rising on the back of her neck, at least where it wasn’t clamped down by her genie. “My powers have nothing to do with the devil,” she said defensively.
“Perhaps you believe this,” Ragnar sighed. “I regret that I couldn’t spare you such
corruption, sister. The fact that you come here as a representative of dragons rather than standing for your own race is proof that you’re beyond redemption.”
Jandra felt like the room was spinning. Vendevorex had never told her of a brother—but, he’d never told her anything about her origins until she’d discovered it by chance. And the goddess had said an older brother had survived.
“She does kind of look like you,” Shanna said, looking back and forth between the two. “Same color eyes. The lips are similar. The hair color’s pretty close.”
Jandra shuddered. She didn’t look anything like Ragnar. Yes, they had a few superficial similarities, but it was impossible that she could be related to this brutish lunatic.
“If this is some kind of trick,” she said, “it’s not a very good one. Pet, what did you tell him about me?”
“I never mentioned you,” said Pet.
“Can you prove this?” Jandra asked Ragnar. “Do you have any evidence that I’m your sister?”
“None,” said Ragnar. “I lost everything that night. When I returned to the site of the fire, everything was burned, even the stones of the walls.”
Jandra nodded. Vengeance of the Ancestors burned stone. How could he know this if he wasn’t telling the truth?
“That night I made a vow to the Lord,” said Ragnar. “I would never again cut my hair or wear clothes as long as dragons had the freedom to kill humans without consequence. I gave myself over as an instrument of God, allowing Him to guide me to this great day. Go and tell your master there will be no surrender. Tell them we will slaughter any dragon who comes near this place.”
Jandra knew what Shandrazel would want if she went back with these terms. He would want Ragnar dead.
But what if Ragnar really was her brother?
She needed to get back outside, into the cool air. She needed time to think.
“I’ll tell him,” she said. “I should go.”
“Wait,” said Pet, grabbing her by the arm. “I want to come with you. I need to talk to Shandrazel.”
“What?” she said. “Why? Shandrazel thinks you’re a traitor. He’ll kill you on sight.”
“We both know you could protect me,” he said.
“What can you possibly hope to accomplish?”
“I spent weeks listening to Shandrazel talk about his dreams for peace. I know what he wants more than anyone in this room. Make no mistake: I’m willing to die to keep Dragon Forge in the hands of humans. I’m not going there to compromise. But I think I know what I can say to him that will change his mind about retaking the city. If he believes half the words he’s said, he’ll listen to me.”
“You cannot speak to that serpent,” said Ragnar. “I forbid it!”
“I take my orders from Burke,” said Pet. “He’s the one who made me commander of the sky-wall team. If you have a problem, go talk to him.”
“Talk to me about what?” a faint voice asked as a chill breeze swept through the room. Jandra looked into the kitchen. In the doorway, there was a man sitting in a strange contraption that was half-chair, half-wagon. His right leg jutted straight out before him, immobilized by steel rods. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying, and he was squinting, as if he couldn’t see well. His wheeled chair was being pushed by a woman only a little older than Jandra. She was tall, dressed in dark buckskin. She stared at Jandra with an unnerving directness, like a cat watching a bird.
“Burke,” Pet said. “This is Jandra. She’s a representative of Shandrazel. The dragons want to talk.”
“I bet they do,” Burke said through clenched teeth. He was obviously in horrible pain.
“I know Shandrazel personally,” Pet said. “I want to talk to him. I don’t think there’s anyone in this fort better qualified to give him our demands.”
“We have no demands!” Ragnar shouted, waving his fist at Pet. “We have victory! We have Dragon Forge! Let him send his armies against us! We shall crush them! As the days pass, the forge will provide our armies with better weapons, better armor, and machines of war the likes of which no dragon has ever seen! The end days of Revelations are upon us. When next we march from this fortress, it will be to drive the dragons into the sea!”
Burke closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as Ragnar ranted. He seemed to be thinking over Pet’s proposal rather than listening to the prophet.
“Ragnar’s right,” Burke said, at last. He sounded quite rational. “We have no demands. The dragons are only willing to talk because they’re scared.”
Jandra found herself worried that she’d given these people false hope. Shandrazel wasn’t truly interested in talking, either. But, perhaps if Pet could talk to him? Maybe Pet really did know Shandrazel well enough to persuade him to return to a path of peace.
Jandra walked over to Burke. The woman behind Burke lowered her hands to the hilt of her sword.
“Sir, you sound like a rational man. You look like you’re in pain. I can heal your leg with my magic if you let Pet go talk to Shandrazel. I can use my powers on all the wounded here in Dragon Forge if that will help avoid further bloodshed.”
“Magic?” Burke answered with a sneer. “Girl, I’m the last person you should talk to about magic. I know who you are. You’re that girl Vendevorex raised. He was either a pawn of the Atlanteans, or a pawn of the goddess. In either case, if you’ve been raised by him, you’re no friend of mankind.”
“I’m nobody’s pawn,” said Jandra. “If you know about the goddess, you may be interested in learning that she’s dead. Bitterwood killed her with one of her own weapons.”
Burke raised an eyebrow. “Do tell. Bitterwood? He’s still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Huh,” Burke said. He shifted in his chair as he contemplated this news. He winced at this minor movement. “You know, girl, if you’d told me anyone else had killed the goddess, I’d tell you you’d been tricked. My ancestors fought that high-tech witch many times, and thought she was dead more than once. But if I’ve ever met anyone up to the task of killing her, it was Bant.”
“So, I’m not a pawn,” said Jandra.
“Not her pawn,” said Burke. “But, if you possess Atlantean technology and aren’t staying in this fort to fight for the freedom of mankind, then you’re a pawn of the dragons. From what I know of Vendevorex, he had access to machines I can only dream about. If you possess a tenth of his knowledge, you have the power to change the world. Technology was mankind’s greatest competitive advantage in the Darwinian struggle for survival. If the goddess hadn’t crippled mankind, the dragons never could have risen to where they are today. If we still had gunpowder, the last dragon would have vanished ages ago. If you possess advanced technology, why aren’t you sharing it? Why do you allow your fellow men to grub around in the dirt to survive, rather than helping us rise once more to our rightful role as masters of this world?”
Jandra frowned. Burke was trying to make her feel guilty, but his use of the phrase masters of this world made her wonder if Jazz had been right. Maybe mankind couldn’t be trusted with the power she commanded.
“I don’t need you to heal my leg, Jandra,” Burke said, his bloodshot eyes burning into her. “If you want to use your ‘magic,’ heal the world. Lift mankind back to the top of the food chain.”
Jandra sighed. This was more than she could think about at the moment, and didn’t seem to address the immediate crisis at hand. “There’s no reason dragons and men can’t share this world. We’re intelligent beings. We can talk this out. Let Pet come back with me.”
Pet nodded in agreement. “Let me take my best shot.”
Burke sat quietly, looking past Pet and Jandra toward the fireplace in the next room. He looked tired.
“Go,” he said at last. “I guess it can’t hurt to hear what the big lizard has to say.”
As they left the house, Pet lingered until Jandra had stepped into the street. Then he turned and fixed his eyes on Shanna. He’d worked many years on the ability to com
municate his innermost desires to women with a single glance. Unspoken words passed between them. He held his hand open, as if to catch something.
Shanna understood. She moved to the table where she’d placed her belt. She loosened the sheath that held her poisoned dagger. She tossed the sheathed weapon toward Pet, who snatched it from the air, then spun smoothly on his heel to follow Jandra. He stuffed the dagger into the back of his pants, beneath his filthy cloak. Jandra wouldn’t be the only one this night in command of an unseen power.
Chapter Thirty-Two:
That Strange Land to Which We Must Journey
Jandra and Pet walked through the snow-covered night in uncomfortable silence. She found it difficult to look at him; his once fine face was now ruined. She knew she could heal him; he must also know this. But he hadn’t asked her to restore his looks. Somehow, in this most serious of times, it struck her as an insufferably trivial subject to bring up.
A driving wind cut down from the north. Pale patches of moonlight dappled the ground as the sky churned. Countless gaps in the breaking clouds opened and just as quickly closed.
In the end, it was Pet who spoke first. “I don’t think you look all that much like Ragnar.”
He said the words in an almost comforting tone, as if he sensed that the matter was weighing heavy upon her.
“I don’t either, but it’s not impossible that he’s my brother,” she said. “I guess I could use my powers to learn the truth. Compare our cells and find out how closely they match. But what if it’s true? What then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I used to dream of having a human family. I saw the way that Ruth and Eve were so close. I envied the intimate bond they had as sisters. The way they knew that they were bound by blood to the best friend they would ever have. So what if Ragnar is my brother? I can’t possibly feel that same connection. It’s pretty obvious he loathes me. If I want the companionship of an irrational, dragon-hating fanatic, I can go hang out with Bitterwood.”
